Boomp3.com

Eastern Promises director David Cronenberg disappointed a few fans at the Rom Film Festival on Friday afternoon. The group of film fanatics have been following Cronenberg’s career since Scanners, and were expecting more out of the Canadian legend. One fan said, “I thought he was going to be a lot weirder, but he seems like a normal guy.” Another fan added, “We knew we wouldn’t see any exploding heads or people turning into bugs, but maybe a lil’ fake blood spray?”

[Photo Credit: Splash Pic]

*A Call To The Bullpen is a work of fiction. Although the pictures we use are most certainly real, Defamer does not purport that any of the incidents or quotations you see in this piece actually happened. Lighten up, people ... it's a joke.

I’m no opera buff, but I heard that David Cronenberg was directing an opera version of The Fly and I wanted to go. When I saw that decent tickets were like $250 each, I decided to pretend I was a journalist and get in for free. This worked shockingly well. Not only did I get orchestra seats to The Fly, but also tickets to Il Trittico (a Puccini trilogy directed by William Friedkin and Woody Allen) as well as an invitation to the opening weekend black tie gala. In other words, my ass got hooked up.

I arrived at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion on Friday night, at least 20 years younger than everyone else and certainly the only one in a rented Men’s Wearhouse tuxedo. The women, bronzed and tucked within an inch of their lives, were draped in gowns that looked like fine Renaissance tapestries. Golf ball-sized bangles hung from their elongated earlobes. The men had self-tying bow ties and wore patent leather loafers without socks—a move only extremely successful people and total douches can pull off. The crowd even smelled rich. No Axe body spray here, this was strictly a Creed gathering, filled with people who made their money long ago. These guys didn’t have to worry about whether the studio would greenlight their next project; they were too busy donating wings to museums. I grabbed some complimentary champagne and drank a flute or five, thinking it would help me blend in a little better.

The opera began and I was carried all the way to intermission afloat on a sea of alcohol. So much for the performance. Before I knew it, I was in the lobby with the swells once again. There was a reception for the media but I decided to skip it, preferring to stay with my rich brethren. I noticed that a select few of them were making their way to the left side of the auditorium and I decided to follow. They were filing into the Founder’s Room— an exclusive members only club within the already exclusive club of people who attend the opera on opening night. I snuck in, which was surprisingly easy to do because security doesn’t assume anyone would be so uncouth as to pull a stunt like that. The room was a gorgeous wood-paneled affair and the people here made the people in the lobby seem like paupers. There were even some celebs. Michael Eisner stood alone in the corner thumbing through a program. Martin Short walked by entertaining a group of dowagers who cackled at every word he said. William Petersen talked shop with some ancient executives. Don Johnson (!) strutted around with his amazingly tall ex-model wife. Josh Groban was being Josh Groban. I drank more free champagne to steel myself for the opera’s final act.

Soon enough the show was over and it was time for the opening night gala dinner. Only large donors to the opera were invited to this shindig and I was one of the lucky few members of the media asked to cover it. The courtyard of the Music Center had been converted into a banquet hall. Crystal stemware, silver, and a centerpiece of expensive roses graced every table. I was seated off to the side with the other journalists, but they were professional opera journalists, and therefore far classier than I. We dined on filet mignon and creamed Tuscan black kale catered by Patina. A live orchestra tinkled out standards and I fortified myself with still more champagne. Placido Domingo, living legend and director of the L.A.O. took the mike. In his glamorously Italian-accented yet boring speech, he thanked the opera’s many benefactors and introduced the cast and crew. Then he singled out Woody Allen.

Earlier in the evening Woody made his operatic debut by directing Gianni Schicchi, the only comedic opera in Puccini’s Il Trittico. It was a smashing success and received a standing ovation, but the famous recluse never came out for a curtain call. Many of us wondered if he even bothered to show up at all. I certainly didn’t expect him to be at the gala dinner. But as soon as Placido said his name, Woody stood up and shyly waved to the crowd. He had skipped the tux in favor of his traditional uniform-the famous thick black glasses, khaki pants, frayed Oxford shirt, and a blue blazer—and it made him look more like a living cartoon character than a real human being. It’s rare that anyone gets a chance to be near Woody in the flesh, especially Los Angelinos, and within seconds well-wishers mobbed him. Most memorably, Don Johnson came up to him brimming with confidence. “I’m a big star,” thought Don. “There’s no way Woody wouldn’t be psyched to meet me.” But when he tapped Woody on the shoulder and shook his hand, Woody said hi, and then immediately turned to talk to someone else. Obviously Woody Allen could give a shit about Don Johnson. For the briefest second, a look of embarrassment flashed across Don’s face, but then he bucked up and went back to his model wife, pretending all was right in the world.

After that, the evening pretty much died down. I drank the last of my free champagne and floated off into the night vowing to become super rich so I could hobnob like this every year.

[Photo Credits: FilmMagic]

DEFAMER: Mel Brooks and John Waters turned their old movies into Broadway musicals. How come you went the opera route?

CRONENBERG: As a kid I saw the original West Side Story and The Pajama Game in New York, and I have a fondness for musicals, but I've never really been attracted to them as something I would do myself. It makes sense for John Waters to do it. He's into that kind of stuff. But I'm much more snobby and elitist! Although truthfully, opera was popular in its time. It's only now, in retrospect, that it's become an elite art form.

DEFAMER: What did your agents and lawyers say when you told them you wanted to direct an opera?

CRONENBERG: They don't tell me what to do. Your agent is there to help you realize the projects you want. Sure, they're interested in money—they want to get their ten percent—but they work for me.

DEFAMER: Your work has been getting more and more critical acclaim lately. Do you care about winning an Oscar?

CRONENBERG: You have to remember, the movie I did in 1986 won an Oscar.

DEFAMER: Yeah, but for best makeup.

CRONENBERG: You know, everybody disdains the Oscars and wants one at the same time. And I think that's the right attitude. Many wonderful, creative people have won Oscars, so if you win one, you're in their company. And there are also some great filmmakers who have not. So when you don't win an Oscar, you're in that club. But that can never be your motivation. The Oscars are such a lottery. You don't know what films you'll be up against. You don't know what people's attitudes will be. It's foolish to spend two years of your life working on a movie on the off chance that you might win an Oscar.

DEFAMER: Who is it more important to please, yourself or an audience?

CRONENBERG: There's no difference. You are your own audience to begin with. I once met Oliver Stone and he said, "Do you mind being so marginal, with such a small audience?" And I said, "Well, how big of an audience do you need?" There comes a point where if you try to please too big an audience, you lose what was interesting about what you're doing. You have to achieve a balance.

DEFAMER: Why does it seem like all your movies are in some way obsessed with the human body?

CRONENBERG: People don't pay enough attention to the body. My understanding of life is very existential. I think that we are our bodies. There's nothing else, and when we die, that's it. No afterlife. I'm very anti-religious because religion tends to disembody you. There's an emphasis on your spirit, or where you'll be when your body's gone, and that's misleading. I think the world would be a better place if it we admit that's not the case.

DEFAMER: Did you see that BodyWorlds exhibit at the science center here? You of all people would love it!

CRONENBERG: That's what people tell me.

DEFAMER: I've heard you say that you are lazy, but you seem like such an obsessive guy. How is that possible?

CRONENBERG: I get other people to do work for me and then I take credit for it. I say it jokingly, but it's true. I have a desire to be creative, but that's not the same as obsession. I'm happy reading a book or riding my bike through the hills. I get up late, I stay up late. I'm not very well organized unless I'm plugged into a structure like the opera or a movie. When I'm doing that, I have to be organized. But left to my own devices, I like to laze around. I think that's a huge part of creativity. You have to let your mind relax and then another part of your brain suddenly connects with the solution you're trying to find. I nap all the time when I make movies. Often I give my cameraman a very difficult lighting set up so I can get a longer nap.

DEFAMER: What a great scheme. Alright, one last question. Who is weirder, you or David Lynch?

CRONENBERG: Oh, Lynch is way weirder than I am. That's obvious.

(From L To R: Composer Howard Shore, performer Daniel Okulitch, David Cronenberg and conductor Placido Domingo)

[Photo Credits: FilmMagic, Getty Images]

• The Fly: The Opera

Cronenberg kept staring at me, like in this weird way, and I said, 'What? What?' And he goes, 'I'm really hoping you'll lactate.' . . . At one point, while we were filming, I screamed and my poor milk just shot off.

I [said] to him, 'Oh, I think you may have gone too far' . . . He cut [the scene] and later sent that little bit of film to me . . . I remember saying to [him] . . . 'Well, you cut out the most significant thing I have ever done on film."

Quite a claim from a woman less than a decade removed at the time from Amazon Women on the Moon, and certainly quite a claim from the set of a film where pretty much everything that could go did go. We have to assume her "poor milk" just never made the shot itself; otherwise we just know Cronenberg would have plugged a copy into the Lactated and Unrated Director's Cut DVD years ago.

[Photo Credit: Getty Images]

• ROSANNA'S SCENE TO FORGET [NYP]