Friday, August 19, 2016

An Afternoon with an Actor

It was just another winter day on the ranch: plowing snow with my dad’s John Deere tractor. The weather was sunny, calm, and about 20 degrees—a lovely last day of 2015 in Montana.

It is hardly routine for ranchers to spend an hour or two with Hollywood actors. So I did not plan to eat my final lunch of the year with somebody 1000 times more famous than me—according to Google.

Neighbors

As my green machine pushed snow off the road, I passed my late grandparents’ former home one time after another. They had built it as their retirement house in the 1970s. I last entered it before they died some 15 years ago, as it has changed hands two or three times since then.

Our ranch headquarters is three miles to the south, so I knew of some modifications to the house. But its adjacent 20 acres remained pristine: an alpine stream, cottonwood trees, evergreens, hills, sagebrush, car-sized boulders, and mountaintops just eight miles away.

As I drove back and forth, I pondered knocking on my neighbor’s door. I wanted to say “hi” and see the old house. But I also felt shy, since we had met only briefly once before. Finally, I talked with God about it, requesting courage and obedience if He wanted me to make a new friend.

On my very next pass, I saw my neighbor outside. He flagged me down to thank me for plowing his driveway. I was at a bridge, so I pulled over to kick off some snow the plow could not reach. My neighbor asked what I was doing. When I told him, he jogged the 100 yards or so over to his house, grabbed two shovels and his four-wheeler, and drove back to help. We started talking.

Outdoors

My neighbor loves being outside. He had been cutting down dead trees all day. His girlfriend had visited recently. She enjoys running, but this place was too quiet for her. He joked he might have to find someone else, but added it is not just her—some of his Hollywood buddies react the same way: too far from cities, highways, and Wal Mart. For my neighbor, who lives much of each year in southern California, this place is his refuge.

Wildlife and hunting were among the first topics he probed. He is wary of mountain lions, bears, and rattlesnakes—as am I. He usually has a gun on him when he is outside, and like me he would shoot a hostile animal if necessary.

You just shot your first deer, he asked in disbelief. Yes, I admitted; most Montanans harvest their first deer before 33. Well, he said, a friend of his recently had given him some elk steak. Would I like to come inside and eat some? I thought of the tractor, the house, my unused lunch break, my prayer—and said yes.

Indoors

As he led me into his house, I was struck by how much I remembered it—though much had been changed or upgraded. There was the old “ping-pong table room,” and the old “treadmill room”—wait, no that wall was knocked out and there was a nice new fireplace! Half of the rock wall was gone, but lots of nice wood trim had been installed. There was the big stone hearth next to which my grandparents put their Christmas trees, and the tall picture windows against which local black bears stood up and stared inside. And there was the cupboard in which my grandmother’s never-empty cookie tins were kept. Ginger snaps, little Nikki?

I shared some of this with my neighbor. At 10-20 years my senior, he seemed as attentive as if it had been his own grandparents’ former property.

His queries diverted to the steak. Had he never cooked elk before? Or did he want to make sure I liked the end product? Or did he enjoy collecting other people’s tips on cooking game? Whatever the case, he basically had me direct the process. Yes on more seasoning, medium or medium-rare is great, butter is always a plus…

He gave me a water bottle—then shared his own food tip: apples and cheese go well together! At last the meat was ready, and we sat on stools at counters to eat what ended up being a tasty meal.

Movies

If Google is any standard, my neighbor is hardly Hollywood’s biggest celebrity. But he gave one major name after another as being among his past colleagues. He respects most of them, whether they are fun, humorous, intelligent, or hard-working. His most recent movie was with two of the top actors and directors in recent memory.

I was not interested in asking “What is your favorite movie?” or “Have you ever met so and so?” However, I could not help feeling surprised when he said he never watches movies. I assumed he meant he avoids public theaters or watches less than other filmmakers, but he was unwavering. I saw some DVDs on a small table across the room. He said someone had left them there.

Still doubting, I said he must only watch the movies he makes. Nope: he has not seen any film in years, even his own! He said the experience of shooting a picture differs so greatly from the final production that he prefers not to watch them at all. He evinced no bitterness. He simply said how it was for him. However, he admitted he may amend his policy sometime—because his girlfriend wants to watch movies with him.

Artists

My neighbor was attracted to the fact that I am a writer. He asked what most people ask—“What do you write?”—then went deeper. Who do I like to read? C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, I said, among others. He affirmed them as superior writers, along with classical authors such as Fyodor Dostoevsky. He underscored their creative genius, and said we writers can learn from them.

“We writers” has two meanings. First, as an actor, he always is writing or rewriting scripts, story ideas, or whatever comes to his head. Second, my current status as a little-known writer appeared irrelevant to him. His inquiries and tone graciously put us both in the same ballpark as artists.

My afternoon with an actor confirmed my disinterest in People magazine and its ilk. Hollywood folks do not just make movies, get fat checks, then drive around in sports cars and hang out with attractive people on beaches all day. Between projects, many try to get away from the cameras to live a somewhat normal life.

Regarding work, the competition is intense—just like any art—so to succeed they pour countless hours into their jobs. Yet many people in show business, including one huge star he named, tend to wonder or even worry about their next contract. So despite all the red carpet, if not because of it, no artist’s career carries a lifetime guarantee.

Decisions

Do you like to make movies that merely entertain, or do you prefer to produce meaningful stories that offer a message? My neighbor engaged the tough question.

He has made films that earned an income, and he has played roles that he actually respected. The choice to make a positive impact or not gnaws at him, but it can be a hard choice. One picture he deeply regrets making because of its dark content. Such shows probably should not be made, he said, and in general he wants to move toward more inspiring tales.

What if I set up a $10,000 interview for you on something you do not believe in, he asked. It was not a retort, but an example of the challenge in turning down big deals on moral or ethical bases, especially for beginning artists like me or even well-established, but not top-tier, artists like him.

I concurred regarding subjects of secondary importance, but not on my core Christian faith. This he respected, adding hints of his own theology, yet he implied that trust in God often is absent in show business. He added, or maybe lamented, that movies on God rarely sell in Hollywood.

I asked whether it was easy to talk with his fellow actors about their work. Honesty is important, he stressed, but criticizing another’s movies does not really fly in his industry—too many people get hurt. But my neighbor generally avoids those uncomfortable conversations, since he watches no movies!

Farewell

It was mid-afternoon. My neighbor walked me outside. We shook hands and exchanged hopes of meeting again.

He planned to return to California soon. So a few days later I gave him some of my deer sausage, along with one of my published articles. My neighbor was all smiles. He promised to try my deer and read my article that night with his dad. I believed him, but will not ask him about it, in honor of his Hollywood culture.

It was a great start to a new friendship.

(Originally published by the Montana Pioneer.)