37 Face/Off
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18th February 1997 (Tuesday)
Ricky Stirling (POV)
KNOCK-KNOCK
KNOCK-KNOCK
"Give it a break kid, I'm coming!"
Yeah, ok. Sure Mr. Pacino, I'll wait for a minute or two. It's not like I've been knocking since 5 o'clock, standing out here in the hallway for 3 minutes now.
*Sigh*.
No-no. I can't be bitchy about this, or about anything really for a long long time.
After my little temper tantrum, which I spent a considerable amount of time addressing, keeping it under wraps, I've lost a vital component required to initiate snarkiness.
And that my friends, is the moral high ground.
I'm like Anakin right now, just, smarter and far more handsome.
And Pacino I suppose, is like Obi-Wan… he's got the high ground right now, having offered to teach me some 'real' method acting, whatever the hell that means.
…Erm, then again… it's not like my invented style is flawless or anything. Don't get me wrong, the fault does not lie with the technique I developed, it lies solely with me.
There's something out there… something essential that I have not been able to grasp as of yet.
I'm man enough to admit that much I suppose, instead of blindly blaming my so-called 'Art of Recreation'.
A weapon after all, is never harmless in nature, but the wrong wielder can use even the sharpest of swords as a kitchen knife if he lacks understanding of the tool in his hands.
And right then, I finally hear the sound of footsteps closing in, until they stop, and the door opens… revealing a half naked Al Pacino, with a towel wrapped around his waist.
Ah, now I see the reason for the delay. Well, I still say he should've planned it out better to be done taking a shower by 5 but… he's nearing his 60s, I guess I can let 'this' go.
"You interrupted my bath… I've still got a mesh of salts floating around in my bathtub. I'm sacrificing a LOT, for this- whatever the hell this is. You better get that in your head boy." He nodded, his eyes reflecting the severity of his words.
…
I'm so tempted to just laugh out loud in his face… no, bad Ricky.
"I assure you Sir, I got 'it' in my head."
He just scoffed in disbelief, before gesturing inside, "Get in kid, and you better continue calling me Sir the next few hours."
Al Pacino (POV)
He walks in languidly, as he makes his way to a chair by the bed.
I walk past him to another chair opposite his, and take a seat.
"Now, kid, whatever the hell you've developed that passes for 'Method Acting'... forget it for the next few hours. We don't need it. Got it?"
He nods, so I continue, "Now, I'm assuming you're already familiar with the basic components of it, so no beginner crash course for you. We're gonna jump right in."
He continued paying attention as I spoke. Huh, he really did come over here with an open mind.
Good.
It means he won't see what's coming until it stares at him right in the face. His stupidly smug face. I hope it works, but if it doesn't… it ought to humble him if nothing else.
"Now, Strasberg, always stressed on the psychological aspects of method acting. There are 6 aspects, and if you follow every single one of them, I don't see why you can't give an amazing performance tomorrow and anytime hereafter. So without further ado, we start. Now, you gonna take notes or anything?"
"Oh no, not really. I don't actually 'need' to take notes, I remember everything." He replied, sounding cocky as hell. Though I guess he kinda deserves to if he really does have such a gift.
…
"-Now, number 5, 'Substitution'. It involves substituting our own emotions and experiences for those of our character. It allows us to tap into genuine emotions, making our performances more authentic and resonant overall. I believe you've got that part covered, so I'll move on to number 6, 'Inner Truth'."
"Hold on," He interrupted, "I think I know number 6, in fact I'm familiar with it to a certain extent." He said confidently.
Oh?! You think you know number 6? "Then I suppose, you won't mind explaining it to me now, would you?" I raised an eyebrow, curious to see what he would come up with.
He smirked before rattling off, "Not at all. Does it involve discovering and expressing the emotional and psychological truth of the character, even if it means delving into uncomfortable or challenging emotions?"
…
"Ricky…"
"Yes?"
You cheeky little shit, "Have you perhaps read the book, 'A Dream of Passion' by Lee Strasberg?"
He smiled annoyingly, clearly having strung me along for his own amusement, "You know what? Yeah, I-I think I recall reading it a few… months ago."
Son of a bitch. *Sigh*...I want to help him, I do… but his devil-may-care cavalier attitude is making it really hard for me to stay objective here.
It's going to be the primary cause of his 'downfall', unless… I squash it right here, right now. Then again, that was the plan from the start.
"Well since you're familiar with all 6, I think we're ready to move on to the next level."
His eyes shine with a child-like curiosity as he asks, "What's that exactly? I'm afraid the book fell woefully short regarding that aspect. It wasn't really a manual after all, but rather just an intellectual guide towards the concept itself."
"Right you are… the book was just a marketing gimmick really, to attract more students to his newly established school for acting. I'm a trustee you know? Sometimes I pop in as a guest lecturer… just for the heck of it. Anyway, there's a secret 7th rule. Well, not exactly secret, but… it forms the root of his teachings. You wanna venture out a guess here smartass?" I offer, knowing full well he's got no idea what the answer is.
And oh, how the shake of his head fills me with satisfaction… knowing I stoked the flames of his curiosity. He's probably thinking something along the line of 'what the hell did I miss, and how the hell did I miss it?'
Well, that's the problem with geniuses worldwide, they're so set in their intellectual superiority, that if they miss out a single piece of information, even if it might be some inconsequential trivia… it fucks around with them.
I continue ahead with a smile, ensuring he caught a glimpse of my self-satisfied expression in the process, "Strasberg's method is vast and complex, encompassing a variety of core tenets that intertwine systematically to produce what audiences worldwide call, 'Iconic performance'. But among these 'tenets', one stands out. He used to call it, 'Emotional Memory'... also known as 'Affective Memory'."
Seeing his eyes shine with recognition, I sigh inwardly. Kid probably figured out the rest already.
But nevertheless, I am on a roll, and I will not. Stop.
"His students were encouraged to draw on their own personal experiences and emotions to connect with the emotions of the character they're portraying. This highly surgical process involves recalling specific moments from your life that evokes similar feelings to those of the character. You following?"
"...Erm. I'll be honest here, I got the gist of it. But how does it work?"
"Huh. Okay-okay. I'll give you an example that you'll understand. Have you seen the movie 'On the Waterfront'?"
"No."
"Really? You haven't seen the Brando classic? Ok then… 'The Cursed Piano'?"
"... I'm sorry what? No I-I have not seen it." He responded, shaking his head.
"... You know what? I'll stick a little closer to home. A month ago, you and Christine had a scene together… the argument. I saw the raw footage and it… piqued my interest I suppose. So one fine morning, I made my way to her trailer, and we talked a little. Now, she's not a student of Strasberg, obviously, but apparently she made a flawless use of her 'emotional memory'... to facilitate her performance back then." I narrated, enjoying the changes his face made every few seconds.
"Wait, hold the fuck on… What? Ok, elaborate please, I need something more here. How did she even, like… has she encountered a similar situation in her life or something?"
"Yes… and no. It's in the name Ricky… 'emotional' memory. She told me about her time back in college. She and this jock dated for a semester, all casual. Then, they decided to get serious, and the jock proposed, a week after their graduation. Anyways, things were going great for her, but the jock? Not so much. He got an injury or somethin', and so was benched for an entire season, before being dropped entirely. He started drinking and, long story short… She went through hell for 3 whole months before she got the courage to end it, and move back in with her parents. She thought back to the fights she had back then, channeled her naive hope for improvement, and provided something far more heartrending than you have, in this entire fucking shoot."
…
Ricky Stirling (POV)
"... Really? This entire shoot? You're telling me, my acting was bad? Gotta hand it to you man, real ballsy criticizing your boss to his face, you know?" I joked, trying to steer my way away from the awkwardness his monologue generated.
His face turned incredulous as he asked, "Did you jus- did you really just do that?"
Huh? Do what? Make a joke to diffuse the awkwardness?
I verbalized as much, only for him to fire back, "A joke. A-a fuckin' joke, I can't even. You didn't diffuse the awkwardness boy!" He raises his voice by a couple of notches as he continues, "You diverted the emotional flow of the conversation to avoid processing the fuckin' implications of it!"
"Implications? Wh-what the fuck do you mean by that? Don't tell you're still in character or somethin' Al? What you think you're a fucking therapist now? You think my jokes are some kinda… oh I don't know, a fuckin' defense mechanism or somethin'?"
Without missing a beat, he leaped out of his chair, walked around the table and lifted me by the collar, dropping all reservations as he proceeded to scream in my face, "YES! YES YOU TWISTED LITTLE MOTHERFUCKER, YES! YOUR OFF-THE-RACK SENSE OF HUMOUR, which you think people find charming, IS A FUCKIN' DEFENSE MECHANISM! And you know what the most fucked up part is? Your sarcastic quips flow out so fuckin' naturally, so seamlessly, that people don't realize how many demons you're hiding in your big-ass head, you bighead! Except, your father… oh he realized right away."
"Hold the fuck on!" I cut in, pulling myself away from his face, "You spoke with my dad?"
"Yes."
"What did you talk about?" I asked, my voice deathly calm.
Al sensed my tone right away, going by the widening of his eyes, as he tried to explain, "Ricky, I just talked about your dilemma. It… he was the one who suggested I talk it out with you, so just talked on and on, and I listened-"
"What did you talk about?"
"... What you went through, after… your mother passed on."
A suffocating silence followed as I somehow managed to reign in my anger, not at Al, but rather at my father for sharing what he did to Al.
"Ok," I finally break the silence as I turn around, "That's it, I'm ending this. We're done."
"No, Ricky no- we're not done boy, not by a long fuckin' shot." He said, as he took hold of my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.
"How much do you know?" I ask, without turning back.
"Pretty much everything-"
"Great then. That means you don't need me to tell you anything now, right? Since you already, 'know everything'?"
"No! I know your father's side of the story, which he thinks is all there is to it. BUT… I know it. Deep down I know you've got a side of your own! The shrinks all thought you were too fucking young to process what happened, and since you didn't bother correcting them, your father thinks that too. Well I call bull on that."
"Al, stop pleas-"
"They thought that you, a 2 year old, couldn't possibly comprehend it… I'll say it again, I call bull! I recognize trauma boy! How you might ask? CAUSE NEWS FLASH! MY MOM DIED TOO! HER AND THEN MY BEST FRIENDS! They all kicked the bucket one after the other, leaving me all alone… and I blamed myself for it. Not for my friends, no they were just junkies, they had it coming. My mom, I blamed myself for her death and as someone who's spent decades perfecting the art of emotions I know exactly what you're going throu-"
"NO YOU DON'T! YOU DON'T! You- YOU CAN'T! Congratulations Al! It seems like I picked the right fucking guy to play the therapist, you want a medal Al? Per-perhaps a trophy? Cause yeah, you're absolutely fuckin' right, I played those shrinks like a drumset! You hear me? A FUCKING DRUMSET!"
"They all thought I was too fucking young to understand! Every single one of them! HAHA! Joke's on them I guess! I knew exactly what happened! Hell, I acted as my dad's cuddle toy for weeks after… not cause he was comforting me Al, no. It was the other fuckin' way around! I. Comforted. Him." I enunciated, as I deactivated my poker face skill, exposing the hotpot of emotions on my face.
"How?"
I tilted my head slightly, "Wh- what do you mean by how?"
"I mean how? As in how did a 2 year old gain the emotional range that he did at his tender age? You are a genius, a prodigy even. You matured real fast. Your brain… I read the reports. It works differently, in extraordinary ways, so I ask again… how did you realize back then, that you needed to comfort Ambrose?"
…
"I'm waiting, kid. And we've got nothing but time."
"You want the truth Al?"
"No I want you to lie your pretty little ass off- of course I want the truth!"
"...You think my ass is pretty?"
"Have you looked in the mirror kid? EVERYBODY… Thinks your ass is pretty. And by ass, I mean your face. Now don't fall into old habits, don't fuckin' deflect and redirect again. Answer the goddamn question. I want to help you Ricky… So let me."
*Sigh*
Well played Al, dad, and whoever else was even remotely involved in this… well played.
I guess it's true then… sometimes you gotta lose yourself, before you find anything.
Toggle off Passive skill: Gamer's Mind
[Warning! You are about to toggle off this passive skill for the 1st time since its inception. This spontaneous decision might have unintended consequences! Toggle off anyway?]
Yes
[Gamer's Mind toggle off]
I looked Al in his eyes, as I finally spoke "..."
Author's Note: Relax guys, don't blast me in the comments. Ricky won't be revealing the gamer, he's not that stupid. He'll simply open up about some things that he had compartmentalized for years without any reprieve.
