Roll ‘Em

A Love Letter to the Los Feliz Cultural Affairs Committee

Vuk Mitrovic and Brian Morrison at the Los Feliz Film Fest (photo courtesy of the festival)

In the days leading up to the 2^nd annual Los Feliz Film Fest, I was in pain, and a lot of it. A recurring viral condition caused by a chronically damaged submandibular (salivary) gland was giving me the aches and chills and swelling to which I had become accustomed. During this bout, however, the amount of oral agony I was in led to troubled sleep, an inability to chew or swallow, a frequent unwillingness to talk, and occasional jags of sobbing. I did the best I could to get over it by staying hydrated, resting as much as possible (not easy given the pain), and popping Aleve like it was my job. It was more than a week before I felt like myself again, and as the film festival dates approached, I was quite concerned. My friend Vuk Mitrovic, whose brainchild the festival was, and who serves as Executive Director of the event (meaning he does almost everything), had asked me to serve as the master of ceremonies for the first two nights of the three-night affair. I was thrilled to do so because the event would present me with the opportunity to celebrate so many of the things that matter most to me, including Los Feliz, movies and the communal experience of coming together, sharing in story, and learning about each other in the process. Yet, I wasn’t sure my physical condition would permit me to do the job I so hoped to on behalf of the event, my community, and my pal, Vuk.

There was something I would frequently tell my acting students when they would need to perform under less than ideal physical condition. I would tell Lily the same thing when she would have a stage performance for which she would be “playing hurt” due to illness. “You know who isn’t sick (or in pain)?” I would begin. “Your character.” Too many times to count, I would see performers fully open themselves to the reality of their characters’ experiences and suddenly, for, however long was required, the awareness of illness, ailment or physical discomfort would dissipate.

On other occasions, I would point out that the illness, or injury, or discomfort might have presented itself because the character needed it in order to express itself fully. The most dramatic example of this I can recall was when Lily was doing a play at South Coast Rep in Orange County, a 25^th anniversary production of Beth Henley’s Abundance. Largely a two-hander about mail-order brides in the old west, the play had its original world premiere at South Coast Rep before moving to New York. For its 25^th anniversary, the play was revived in New York before finally returning home to Southern California. As opening night approached, it was apparent that they had yet to “find” the show. It simply wasn’t working. Lily was almost distraught. Then, on the eve of opening night, after a particularly frustrating final preview, a horrible and wonderful thing happened. Lily’s co-lead took an accidental fall, shattering her right hand in the process. As to whether alcohol and climbing onto a table were involved, it’s not my place to say. What I can say is that following emergency surgery, and in a great deal of pain, Lily’s co-star made the opening curtain. The performance that ensued was nothing short of breathtaking. No one would have known what had happened. The old west-appropriate fashion served to cover the cast protecting the surgically repaired right hand of my (now) wife’s co-lead. Incredibly observant audience members might have wondered why, when the two female lead characters met for the first time, they shook hands with their left hands, but that was the only available clue as to what had happened behind-the-scenes the night prior.

Looking back, Lily stated, “the show was about pain” and so, it made a great deal of sense that what they needed in order to find the heart of the show was for one of the company to be pushing off against genuine, intense, physical pain. The rest of the run would proceed in spectacular fashion, with each performance probing deeper than the one prior. The night of the opening, while waiting for Lily and her cast-mates to get ready for the ritzy after-party, I took advantage of my backstage access to avail myself of the many blown-up images on display, all from opening nights past that had taken place in that hallowed theatrical institution. I came upon a huge shot from the opening night of the premiere production of the very show I had just seen gloriously revived. Something odd in the photo struck me. Had I been a detective of yore, I most certainly would have produced a magnifying glass. Instead, I ran out into the hall and found the show’s director, Martin Benson. I almost dragged him to the photo. Martin was SCR’s founding artistic director, so he had been intimately involved with Abundance during its original staging all those years prior.

I pointed at the spot in the photo that so troubled me. Martin leaned in for a better look. “What is that?” I asked, knowing the answer, but not knowing I could trust my own eyes, or handle the ramifications of what I was seeing.

“That’s right!” Martin exclaimed, as he stood upright. He confirmed that the lead actress of the production 25 years earlier had also broken her right hand prior to opening night, and was forced to wear a cast, well camouflaged by the authentic old west-period wardrobe.

So, it wasn’t the actresses who broke their hands so much as the character who had a broken hand.

Regardless of whether the roles we are called upon to play can provide (albeit temporary, perhaps) relief from physical ailments, or whether those ailments have come forth (in part, at least) to aid in our performances, the point I would always stress to my students, and to Lily, is the same: Don’t separate yourself from the character. Make your reality totally available to them, and make their reality totally available to you. As the first night of the Los Feliz Film Fest approached, I was reminding myself of this over and over. Sure, I wasn’t playing a “character”, per se, but when I host, I am certainly embodying a “persona”, derived from the Latin word for a “mask” one adopts to become the ideal representation of a role. It is a public image presented to the world, often differing from the performer’s private self. For me, dropping into the persona of “host” allows me to more easily share my private self. After all, I hope to create a sense of intimacy for the audience and for those who will be taking the stage. The more authenticity I bring to my persona, the better job I do.

Of course, the necessary aspect of sacrificing parts of myself (my ego, my fear, my judgment) in the name of fully playing the role of “host” often leads to me dreading the experience as it approaches. Sure enough, as the hours towards the Film Fest kickoff counted down, and I found myself feeling better and more physically able to perform my role, I also found myself finally free to plunge into energetic dread. I went from not being sure I could perform my role to knowing I did not want to perform it! In a previous essay (Fear as a Force Multiplier), I described what a dear friend refers to as “stage brain”, the preternatural focus and awareness I experience when hosting. It animates every cell in my body. If I have prepared sufficiently, it allows me to let go of that preparation and be fully present, to embrace what wants to come forward. If I feel I have NOT prepared sufficiently, my stage brain reminds me that the show is not about me. I am there to serve all those in attendance and the importance of that which we are there to celebrate. By the time I hit the alleyway that leads from Vermont Ave. past (the excellent) Bar One and into the Skylight Theatre, my stage brain had taken over. I was in a great mood. I wasn’t ready to go on, but I was ready to get ready and I felt the best I had in weeks.

Skylight Theatre is something of a marvel. I love getting to attend shows and events there. No small theatre has the right to be as intimate AND as comfortable as Skylight. Most performance spaces trade the latter for the former. I had previously enjoyed the great pleasure of interviewing the brand new artistic director of Skylight, Cameron Watson (so new that he still has that “new artistic director smell”), for an episode of “The Voice of Los Feliz” podcast (episode 16). Long one of the truly great theatre directors in Los Angeles, Cameron has beautiful ideas for the many ways Skylight can become a true community hub. Night one of the festival was a showcase of films directly connected to Los Feliz, either made by local filmmakers, or shot in the neighborhood, or about life in our village and its environs. Cameron and his team made us feel incredibly welcome. The place truly felt like home.

All who arrived were greeted on Vermont Avenue by the Hollywood Highsteppers. Cultural Affairs Committee co-chair Brian Morrison, as he frequently is, was a part of the performance by this local musical treasure. The Highsteppers not only served to thrill those who were attending the festival, but even the patrons and proprietors of neighboring businesses. I will never forget the sight of the young American Cinematheque employees sprinting down the street, phones drawn in filming position to capture (and no doubt post) videos of the performance. It occurred to me that there ought to be marching bands at the mouth of all alleys. If there were, there might never be crime again. And if you don’t think I shared that silly idea with Council District 4 Representative (and mayoral candidate) Nithya Raman during the evening’s festivities, then you don’t know me at all!

While most were enjoying the pre-show festivities, including cocktails at the aforementioned Bar One, I was in the green room, running my monologue again and again. I still couldn’t be sure I would be as ready as I would like, but I knew one thing: If I looked as good to the audience as I did in the green room mirrors, I had nothing to worry about! Seriously, lighting is everything, and the lighting in that green room made me look easily 15 minutes younger than I am. Because my monologue was about the communal experience of coming together, sharing in story and learning about each other in the process, I decided to talk about the first movie I ever saw in a theater back in 1976.

I would never describe the Disney live action film Gus as being anything but the Citizen Kane of football-playing mule movies. In truth, though, I spent most of the movie with my back to the screen. I was too busy staring over the back of my seat at all the people in attendance to watch much of the movie. I was entranced by the way the flickering images played across these people’s faces. I wasn’t so much falling in love with movies as I was with the idea of being part of an audience!

Then I noticed there was a little room up in the back, from where the flickering images were being projected. And there was a little man up in that room. Actually, he was probably full-size, but from my perspective way down in front, he did seem quite small. Suddenly, I was struck by the realization that the flicker was caused by the light in the projector being literally cut off, over and over. The machine was not projecting constant images! It was alternating between dark and light. Yet, when I turned around and looked at the screen, there was always an image up there. How was this possible?

Of course, I would later learn that when watching a standard 35 millimeter film projected, we were watching it in 24 frames per second. This was only a third of what was possible. So, in actuality, that screen was blank more often than it had images projected onto it! How was THIS possible?! It was possible due to something called the “persistence of vision”, describing how our brains process images.

Over the course of the coming years, it became MY persistent vision that motion pictures are meant to be shared communally. Sadly, the persistence of that vision has been shaken through the pandemic and through technological advances that have led to more and more of us viewing stories alone on our own screens and devices. So, it was with heartfelt gratitude that I thanked the audience for attending the opening night of the Los Feliz Film Fest. In so doing, they were supporting independent film. They were celebrating the act of coming together and sharing an experience. They were, perhaps, learning about each other in the process. In short, they were helping to build community. For all that, I was truly thankful.

I am always grateful for any opportunity to share a stage with Nithya Raman. That night, in particular, it was a genuine pleasure to introduce the honorable representative for City Council District 4, as she is someone who truly understands the importance of movies and of Hollywood. Indeed, our local entertainment industry is of personal importance to her. More broadly, though, she is someone who understands the importance of storytelling itself, the way story can help us make sense of where we have been, of what is possible in the present, and where we might be able to head moving forward.

As a host, the most important tasks for me are to set the right tone, make everyone feel welcome, build the energy, keep the trains running on time, and have fun with any delays or difficulties so that the energy can remain high throughout. The part I was most looking forward to that night, however, was getting to introduce my pal, Vuk, who had worked so hard to make the event a reality. All assembled expressed the genuine appreciation Vuk deserved and when his remarks were done, I was allowed to share in a delightful, and utterly unplanned moment of comedy with him. His remarks were brief and in a charming, self-deprecating manner, he referenced his Slavic accent, a product of his Serbian upbringing. He concluded by saying, “All that’s left is to say three words: ‘Roll ‘em!’”

The audience applauded. The lights went down. Because I knew there would be a momentary pause before the first film would begin, and because I knew both of our microphones were still on, I could not resist … “Uh … Vuk,” my voice rang out in the darkness. “That’s only two words.”

There was much laughter, and then Vuk’s response absolutely brought down the house: “That’s what I meant when I said, ‘Slavic accent’!”

The films rolled, and the selections were nothing short of impressive, entertaining and inspiring. Afterwards all the artists in attendance that had contributed to the works screened took the stage for a panel discussion moderated by Jon Deutsch. Co-chair of the Cultural Affairs Committee, Jon has been tireless in his efforts on behalf of the community, and, not that it matters, I suppose, but he is someone whose taste in footwear I greatly admire. He did an outstanding job and the night just kept getting better and better. All that remained, aside from a few announcements, was the presentation of awards. To handle that duty, I called up to the stage Céline Vacher and Debra Matlock, two of the true pillars of the community. Céline is a member of the Cultural Affairs Committee, spearheads the annual Los Feliz Holiday Extravaganza, and has long worked on behalf of small businesses through various organizations including the Los Feliz Business Improvement District. Debra is the President of the Los Feliz Improvement Association and is my partner in our ongoing “Viva Los Feliz” stage shows. How many filmmakers receive congressional certificates just for participating in a film festival? The filmmakers at the Los Feliz Film Fest did! They also all received a wonderful book about local Hollywood history.

After the event, as so many creative participants in night one of the festival, as well as many members of the audience, mingled in the pedestrian alleyway outside the theatre or grabbed drinks in Bar One, I checked in with Vuk. He seemed genuinely pleased by how the evening went. All my fellow Cultural Affairs Committee members expressed incredible pleasure as well. Several of us reminisced about just one-year prior and the inaugural Los Feliz Film Fest. Though a very fun event, that night had felt chaotic and we were all struck by how stress-free, relaxed and fun everything had felt here in year two. We proved ourselves a community that knows how to come together and put on a celebration, as if we did so all the time, and were well prepared to do so again.

Hosting night two of the festival at the Barnsdall Gallery Theatre

In fact, we were back at it, doing so again, the very next evening at the Barnsdall Gallery Theatre. It was night two of the three-night festival and the chaos we remembered from the previous year was, it turns out, saved for night two! It was a bigger show, in a bigger venue, with a pre-show deejay and an open bar in the downstairs lobby. Both the deejay and the bartender were provided by Tabula Rasa, a bar a few blocks away on Hollywood Blvd, where the night’s after-party would take place. While most of the stress to get the show started on time fell on Vuk’s shoulders, Jon Deutsch, Brian Morrison and I escaped the madness and the madding crowd, by sitting together in the front row of the yet to open house. As we relaxed, we discussed other possible ideas for forthcoming community events, pondering what the neighborhood didn’t have celebration-wise, but might need. I am not sure which one of us suggested the idea of a Mardi Gras parade through the neighborhood, but we all immediately sparked to it and discussions of having the first ever Los Feliz Mardi Gras celebration this coming February have continued at every subsequent Cultural Affairs Committee meeting. As Jon is quite rightly delighted to point out to all newcomers to these meetings, this is frequently how such events begin. Neighbors and friends show up with an idea and we talk about them. Before you know it, an idea that actress and impresario Hélène Udy wants to discuss has become Porchfest L.A. (now approaching its third year), or an idea teacher and “Literary Pixie” Sammy Ginsberg brings in evolves into the Los Feliz Writers Festival (fast approaching its second iteration).

If you are ever hosting a live stage show, I hope you will be so lucky as to do so at the Barnsdall Gallery Theatre, where you will be likely to collaborate with technical director Sammie Wayne. He and his team are always a joy to be around, highly skilled and full of a delightful sense of fun. In the lead-up to the show, while Sammie was heavily engaged with Vuk, handling last minute technical issues, and while the seemingly insurmountable task of setting up the step and repeat was tackled, I decided I should play the role of host by mingling upstairs where different organizations had tables set up to provide information about their undertakings. Whereas our venue on night one fell within the boundaries of Council District 4 (hence Nithya’s appearance), Barnsdall, though still within the bailiwick of the Los Feliz Neighborhood Council, falls within the boundaries of Council District 13. Representing CD 13 that night was its Communications Deputy Andoni Elias-Nava. Though I knew of Andoni, and knew him to be an incredibly bright and creative individual, I had never before had the pleasure of interacting with him. We immediately hit it off, and I look forward to welcoming him onto the “The Voice of Los Feliz” podcast as soon as possible.

Once the program began, Andoni made some wonderful welcoming remarks. My monologue that preceded those remarks, in part dealt with Aline Barnsdall and her vision for what became the Barnsdall Art Park. An oil heiress and an arts philanthropist, she wanted Olive Hill to house an entire complex where local artists and artists from around the world would come together to foster community. By attending night two of the Los Feliz Film Fest, everyone was helping to fulfill that vision. For the meaning of any artistic expression, whether it is on canvas, on stage, or on screen, is written in collaboration between the audience and the artist. The films shown that night came from many different parts of the world, were in a wide array of genres, and explored a richly diverse thematic terrain.

Perhaps my personal highlight was watching a movie about comedian and actress Judy Tenuta (“The Love Goddess” as she was known). My mouth hung open in disbelief. Whereas many younger audience members might have actually had a hard time believing that this was a real person being portrayed, I had a hard time believing that anyone, let alone the talented young filmmaker and star, Taylor Blackwell, would have thought to depict her on screen! The film’s title, therefore, was particularly pleasing to all disbelievers no matter their generation - It Happened: The Judy Tenuta Story. A spectacular highlight of the entire evening was the participation by local Oscar-winning documentary production house Breakwater Studios, who sponsored a generous grant for the filmmakers behind the selected winner for Best Documentary. So much of Hollywood history finds its origins in our neighborhood and it’s thrilling to know that history is being made all around us still, especially by the likes of the Breakwater Studios team.

Unlike the previous night, I allowed myself to imbibe at the after party, first pulling up a bar stool at Tabula Rasa to get better acquainted with its general manager, PJ Zettle, who had been overseeing a quite eclectic array of social events at the locale (you can learn all about him on episode 17 of “The Voice of Los Feliz” podcast). By the time the party was in full swing, I had made my way to the patio, where I found myself sitting with Vuk. The herculean effort it had taken not only to produce a second edition of the film festival, but to expand it from one night to three, no doubt exhausted him. Yet, sitting there, with one night still to go, he knew that the effort had gone toward an event that was an unqualified success. I felt really proud of my friend. Soon, our friends Jon Deutsch, Brian Morrison, and Céline Vacher were sitting with us. We all stayed there for quite some time, sipping on delicious beer and wine and savoring each other’s company. It was, in fact, the first time I had ever been able to enjoy a long, leisurely conversation with Jon and it was an experience I will long remember, a rare pleasure, indeed. As I glanced around at each of these wondrous souls, it occurred to me just how much they all matter to me.

I came to Los Angeles to pursue a life in film. Although I have not made a feature film in almost a decade, the ambition to do so has been slowly returning. The ideas have never stopped, but the ambition required was lacking, the kind of glorious ambition displayed on screen earlier that evening at the Los Feliz Film Fest. Still, not making movies has been about my career in film, not my life in it. Again, my filmmaking dreams led me in pursuit of a life. Having celebrated over two nights the art of film, the people who make movies, the people who gather together to watch them, and our neighborhood that has such a rich history intertwined in no small part with the history of motion picture making, I was reminded of an important truth about pursuing one’s dreams. You may not know where those dreams will lead you, but you will absolutely meet the people you are supposed to.

After night two of the 2026 Los Feliz Film Fest, I found myself surrounded by people I truly love.