Well, I am back, and thanks to the sunshine and change of Los Angeles, I am in a much better mood. Seeing the Captain in his temporary lodgings in Santa Monica was just the injection I needed. He has rented with Archstone again, but instead of right in the centre of Broadway, which was a little like having a flat in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, he picked a top floor flat in Main Street, which is the uber-cool, mung bean and salad section of Santa Monica, a little like Crouch End in its feel. It is possible to get a view of the Pacific in all its blueness from the balcony, taking five minutes to walk there for regular jaunts to our favourite cafe, Back on the Beach.
The overall temperament of the Captain has been different from last year, however. Our initial three month dabble in the shallow waters of Hollywood last year during pilot season was regarded by him as an adventure and by me as a terrifying step into the unknown. My confidence was low, having undergone yet another operation, and all I really wanted at the time was to be at home in safe territory. Looking back, I am glad we did it, because we saw and experienced such colour and texture at the exact point of ten years into our marriage. This second time round was different. In the first place, I was not there for the first six weeks, which meant that the Captain had to go through all the difficulties of negotiating his way through Hollywood alone and with little, if any, support. He only had me on Skype most days, but the time difference and my work schedules often proved tricky.
It has become clear that William Goldman’s book, Which Lie Did I Tell? is way more accurate than I would care to believe. For instance, while some claim it is absolutely necessary to have a work visa, others claim that as most filming is done abroad, outside the USA, a visa is not a priority. Last year, it was all that the agents and personal managers asked. This year, it has become less poignant. What appears to be plaguing personal managers in the US now, is who their UK agent is, who do they represent and would it be possible to hook up with them. There is a hunger to develop relationships with their British counterparts. I suspect that it is ever since Downton(or Downtown, as they refer to it) Abbey and Mr Selfridge, which has generated a belief that US actors can be placed in these prestigious British projects, while as an act of trade they try to place a few British actors (less important on their agenda). The more I learn from the industry the more I realise that there are simply no rules. It is like an insane game of Snakes and Ladders only no one is instructed as to when they can start. It makes me wonder whether Lewis Carroll ever came to Hollywood in a previous life, since Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking Glass depicts exactly the experience the Captain and I have endured.
I cannot claim that it is any easier in Blighty, but at least it does not feel like the absolute beginning. To be made to feel like a complete novice when we have been in the business for twenty-five years is quite a lesson, but one that I do not regret, as I believe this stuff will be the making of the Captain and of me. I suspect that even if we fail at the task we are currently attempting that we will have won in terms of personal development. In the words of Bob Dylan, “There’s No Success Like Failure, and Failure No Success At All.” Between you and me, I think we are going to win, but every boxer says that before going into the ring. We are not saying, “I could have been a contender.” like Marlon Brando’s Terry in Elia Kazan’s On the Waterfront. We are contenders! You can only win the lottery if you buy a ticket.
On the fun side, we went to Palm Springs, where the sensation of sun on the skin with a mild breeze was nothing short of heaven. We stayed at the Colony Palms Hotel, a boutique venue, which used to belong to a gang-leader and operate as a brothel back in the day, but has since been bought and renovated. The decor has a delicate feel of Cuban bordello, Mexican hacienda and Moroccan riad, with a nod to the rat pack days as well as an homage to naughtier times demonstrated by the bedroom bar also offering an intimacy box containing lubricants among other sexy ingredients. Music plays over the system in a funky way, feeling appropriately bohemian, and switches on sunday to a live band of cool Ella Fitzgerald inspired jazz, who sing under an umbrella by the pool. I “kicked back” from the minute I arrived, ordering a Marguerita which I drank lying on a comfy couch that nestled conveniently between some trees and the rays of the sun. We also tasted hot dogs which come as Farmer John, or Hebrew National served with all the trimmings including saurkraut at a fabulous and cheap place called Atomic Dog in La Plaza. The Caifornian phrase, Oh My God, right? Right? Right? Totally amazing, right? does not do those hot dogs enough credit.
I also enjoyed a stunning deep tissue massage as a Valentines gift from the Captain before we left, with a spa called Alchemie, in Main Street, Santa Monica, which set the tone beautifully. At some point in the two weeks there I also had a chance to drink a Manhattan at the Tavern (George Clooney and Barack Obama have both hired it out recently). It had a low-key vibe, which I enjoyed, as much as I did the Manhattan. Good cocktails plus you can actually hear what you and your partner are saying to each other, what’s not to like? As part of living some of the Captains life, I went to his Pilates class at Santa Monica Yoga, and met women who had not had face lifts (a rare sight in Los Angeles) who were all my age and older with figures of twenty and thirty year olds.
Overall, I watched many films on the flights there and back and I would stress that Django Unchained is a masterpiece as well as unquestionably inspired by Mel Brooks’ Blazing Saddles. The indie film, The Late Quartet is also a gem. I thoroughly enjoyed Zero Dark 30, but found Argo at best, watchable. Cloud Atlas and The Master lost some direction, but I enjoyed them. Seven Psychopaths did not cut it, for my money. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, it seems, was a chance for a whole load of my favourite actors to go and have a holiday in India, while passing the time uttering non-descript sentences to each other in front of a camera for a few hours a day.
I leave the US with thanks to its sunny, if a little relentless weather, and a gratitude to Blighty for its non-yakkety dwellers. From a person who I know is not short of a word to say, I have never known such a chatty bunch. They talk while walking, jogging, trekking. They talk while driving, cooking, working. And they talk loudly and fast, with no indication when they will stop or draw breath. Even I know when time for quiet exists, so that you can actually hear yourself think. But then, I am not sure if thinking is something that has enterend the Los Angeleans’ culture. That would be, like, too deep, right? Right?
Kate Terence's Letters from London 