11/12/22
Newletter156
The Crack of Dawn
The actor Andrew Prine died on Oct. 31 at the age of 86. Mr. Prine was a ubiquitous character actor who appeared in hundreds of TV shows and movies. I know him from the movie The Miracle Working (1962) where he played Helen Keller’s snotty older brother. In 1986, Scott, my old buddy and writing partner at the time, had just moved to Hollywood. We were in Larry Edmunds movie memorabilia and bookstore when Scott saw his first movie star (or, movie actor, really) – Andrew Prine. Scott nudged me and whispered, “Is that Andrew Prine?” I looked and indeed it was. Being light on his feet, Scott went over to the selection of 8x10 stills, found what he was looking for, then stepped up to Andrew Prine and handed him a publicity still of him from the movie The Evil (1978) and asked him to sign it. Mr. Prine was shit-faced drunk. He was swaying around as he focused in on the photo, blinking several times, then recognized that the picture was actually of him. He smiled broadly and he and Scott began discussing The Evil, which I haven’t seen. That had to be a highlight day for Andrew Prine, whom I would venture wasn’t recognized all that often, and certainly not by name. And since this was Scott’s first encounter with a “movie star,” he was truly gushing. So, Andrew Prine signed Scott’s picture. However, being drunk, Prine wrote, “Let’s scare hell of them! Andrew Prine.”
I don’t give a shit about autographs. I told the incredible story of me haunting Dean Stockwell for his autograph way back in Newsletter #44. I have personally signed thousands of autographs – mainly on Evil Dead paraphernalia (for the completists) – so clearly they’re not worth all that much. The only other one I’ve ever gotten is of Barrett Strong, a Motown songwriter who wrote the lyrics for I Heard it Through the Grapevine, as well as writing and performing the first Motown hit in 1959, Money (That’s What I Want). Barrett lives nearby in Ferndale (where our offices used to be) and was surprised as shit when I asked for his autograph in a health food restaurant called The Om Café. He signed a restaurant sales ticket for me.
However, my old pal Jay, whose father was an insane autograph collector who spent thousands of dollars on these silly things, figured out the combination of these fan elements so that it has meaning to me. I who do not care about such things. Hanging in my living room is a framed collage of: the original poster of Raging Bull (1980), a signed 8x10 black and white still of Robert DeNiro fighting in the ring portraying Jake LaMotta, and a signed 8x10 black and white still of Jake LaMotta in the ring. As a Raging Bull fan, as well as a boxing fan, not to mention a Robert DeNiro and Martin Scorsese fan, this collage fulfills me in a plethora of wonderful, nerdy ways. Thank you, Jay.
OK. One more autograph story. In 2007 I directed Eric Roberts for in an ill-fated feature film called Intent that has never been released. Eric is a dick. A full-fledged, creepy asshole. At lunch on the first day of shooting he grabbed my arm and literally pulled me into his trailer, where the producer and I were commanded to eat with him. He spent the entire meal complaining about his sister, Julia, whom he said was “awful” and that nobody in the family liked her. I thought, “Who asked?”
I quit/got fired a week later. I know that they completed principal photography because my friend Dan was the DP and he stayed aboard for three more weeks of shooting. I suppose it completely fell apart somewhere in post-production. In any case, it never came out in any form.
Seven or eight years later he and I were both guests at a comic convention. I recognized him, but he had no clue who I was. At the end of the convention, as it was near closing time and I could see there were just a couple of people in line to buy Eric’s autograph for $25 (I never sold an autograph). I took $25 of my paltry earnings on my books and DVDs, went over and stood at the end of the short line. I stepped up to Eric, who was seated at a table, and gave him my money. He was cordial and smiled, but did not have the faintest glimmer of memory that we had worked together for a hellish week years before. As he signed a black and white headshot of himself, I said, “I’m a big fan of your sister, Julia. Could you tell her?” Without missing a beat, no reaction, he said, “Sure,” and turned away.
I am such an autograph collector that as I passed the first waste receptacle available I discarded Mr. Roberts headshot. And it was such a keepsake.
How will I ever forget while we were shooting in a snowstorm, he felt it was just the right moment to take me aside and confide in me that he was “hooked on marijuana.” I’m behind schedule and freezing, and this asshole is hooked to pot? What a schnook.
A fine day to you.