Forward to Glory

by Brian Paul Bach

  Sonny was also an architect – of people’s careers, of course. His mellowing wisdom now focused on Butterbugs in ways very much wiser than before, and the piers of these foundations were being sunk into solid earth. His ritual strip-tease in front of the actor was now long forgotten, mainly because the agent had remained true to his word, in every way.

  Properties were thrust out at them like roadside signs before a county commissioner’s election. With a ‘Timon of Athens’ deal for Butterbugs now inked at Warners, Sonny looked further down the shining path.

  The poetry of Robert Southey was making a huge comeback. Therefore, Hollywood was rabid about securing Southey properties. Sonny scored quite a coup by grabbing up ‘Thalaba the Destroyer’ (from 1810), and soon Butterbugs was slated to play the Destroyer, with shooting to commence in Libya later in the season, for 20th-Fox release. The scene with the talking teraph, and the descent into the deep, promised to really shake up the Industry.

  There was also talk about doing a ‘D.R.E.E.P. Patrol’ picture. Plus, with the resurgence of Nouveau Marxism in the new nations resulting from the Properties of Principle movement based upon progressive precepts, Sonny thought that romantic depictions of the Red Icons would be a goldmine. It was his idea, and his alone, and he was right.

  So, after the mega-success of ‘Dear and Glorious Chairman’ (MGM), and ‘He is Our Leader and Teacher’ (Columbia), and ‘My Very Own Cult of Personality’ (Your Basic), script conferences were already taking place on the film that would most likely be THE defining picture of Butterbugs’ early-early career: ‘Lenin’.

  UA had already bankrolled it. Location scouts were busily combing Samara, Tatarstan, the confines of Siberia, Helsinki, St. Pete., and of course, fabled Moscow, for choice settings. Vassili Eyckckhrytovich, one of Shostakovich’s most promising pupils, was already at work on arranging the monumental musical program, which would evolve simultaneously with the script. Maestros Vyachislav Ovchinnikov and Gavriil Popov would also contribute in key sequences. Among the brigade of top directors was Sergei Eisenstein, newly emerged in restored form, fully pardoned, and fully rehabilitated to his pre-Purge powers.

  Indeed, Gogol-esque wags called it ‘brigade filmmaking’, due to the Socialist Realist die-stamp of collaborative combinations, but even they could not argue that it was appropriate to tell such a story, in its most definitive form. And for the Kid from Carstairs to portray the one true Ilyich, and to have such casting approved by the Old Believers, was indeed a cultural honor.

  The New Realism’s dictates were strict about issues of height in accurate character depiction, but because Butterbugs was at the forefront of the New People (which is what his generation was prosaically called, by some) and the public would accept no other in the role, the self-regulating Board for the Propagation and Enforcement of the New Realism would most likely relent and allow for Purposeful Pictorial Distortion so that Butterbugs might indeed appear as the pint-sized Vladimir Ilyich, up on the mega-sized screen.

  The picture would have a special featurette, to be shown during the third Intermission, called ‘Conversation With Ilyich’, in which Butterbugs, as Lenin, is confronted by an angry group of Stakhanovite steelworkers, but manages to talk his way out of overt conflict by thinking out loud, and, in the process, a whole new dialectic of Marxism-Leninism is born, titled ‘Another Thesis’, which would also be reproduced as an annotated text in the Souvenir Booklet.

  Whilst in Russia, Sonny arranged so that Butterbugs could appear as a guest star in a Mosfilm production, ‘Higher and Higher’, about the love affair between Koba and Uelga, high-tension electrical workers. Location filming promised to be hazardous, but Sonny wangled a deal so that Butterbugs only had to ascend to level two (out of five) on any given pylon.

  He and Butterbugs thought this guest-slot gesture was one of good will, and perhaps it would pave the way to bigger things in the future. ‘Higher’ was also a musical. Music: Arkady Zinoviev, whose Soviet Era war symphonies were well known. In this picture, he teamed up with Argon Zynvok, of St. Pete’s Tin Kopek Alley, to produce an ass-kicking and tuneful score. Serafima Ryangina even painted a new Butterbugs-oriented version of her famous depiction of the high-rise workers, which inspired the film in the first place. (With the addition of the young American as the rival lover Oknik, shown lower down.)

  In the Sovscope 70 picture, poor Oknik gets electrocuted and plummets into a Caucasus canyon.

  ‘I very much like this gig,’ he postcarded Sonny. ‘And I think it’ll be a dandy show. I spoke all my lines in Russian – flawless, so my director Moynyayev (sp?) tells me! And I did the Bashkir, Buryat and Yukaghir versions too!’

  Even in his lofty enlightenment, Sonny Projector could not imagine bigger or timelier projects in which to engage his Most Valuable Player.

  As these thoughts streaked through his brain as he settled into his David Prain-designed therapy bed, twin evil stars rose that night, as bright and as sure as a Bethlehem sign of portent: one over Arkbash in Uncertain Asia, and the other over the suburban town of Tuckerover-Wagtaff, in the northeast of the Commonwealth of Virginia.

  41.

  Perry Flask And His StageMom

  They strolled in the Drygardens in the summery dusk.

  Perry was in a circumspect mood, perhaps distracted by the full moon rising in a sky that was still almost daylight in tone. Such was the quietude of the canyon that one might think they were in a sequestered estate, somewhere south of Carcassonne.

  It was Perry Flask, and this was his new residence, not far from Butterbugs’ own new residence (more on that later). The same Perry who had linked so early on with things Butterbugsian: as a fellow actor in the ‘Parker XI’ strangeness, way out in that Jangtown monster movie palace.

  They had re-linked a while back, on the Pomeranian set of ‘Paul Rée’ (Svensk Filmindustri), with Perry portraying the Peter Gast character. (Liv Tyler played Lou Salomé, Liv Ullmann played Malwida von Meysenbug, while Ronald Pickup rolled off a log in his role as Nietzsche.)

  ‘You were my first Hollywood drama friend,’ the hot new actor had said to Perry on set. Ingmar Bergman had come out of retirement to direct these two new talented kids, and with Sven Nykvist lensing, the two Svenskas overheard the actors’ conversation, after the shooting of the day had ceased.

  ‘Hej, I would correct you somewhat,’ the Maestro interjected. ‘You two are Jangtown friends. Not Hollywood types!’

  ‘We are thinking of doing a picture there,’ Sven added.

  ‘Jangtown! Ja.’

  ‘A location of much existential excitement.’

  ‘My first Western…,’ Bergman added, contemplatively.

  Ingmar and his cameraman retired to discuss their ‘Yangtown’ ideas.

  ‘Are you sure you want to call it ‘Jangtown Ladies Sing This Song’, Ing?’ (Translated from the Swedish.)

  The reunion of Butterbugs and Perry was christened with aquavit. Then the two looked out upon the placid Baltic.

  ‘That was indeed an awkward time,’ Butterbugs said.

  ‘True!’ agreed Perry. ‘I could never have predicted the odyssey that would follow – for either of us.’

  ‘Best to file the past in the appropriate bin, my dear fellow. Right now we are in the crucible of our characters’ facing Nietzsche, head-on.’

  ‘His collapse.’

  ‘Now, what do you think Ingmar will present to us? You know, as a premise for dealing with it?’

  ‘Well, we’re not supposed to know about the venereal aspect.’

  ‘He’s going to try and spring it on us in a hypothetical way, I think. Through Lou. Her character is torn, of course…’

  Butterbugs, Perry and Liv T. were just what the two old lions of filmmaking were looking for.

  The present evening, in the Drygardens, they reviewed their topics again. Here, in Hollywood itself, Perry and Butterbugs surveyed the layout, not with aquavit, but Boil-Downs, that new cocktail sensation.

  ‘These vine-c
lad walls! These stones, the folly over there to the south, the lanterns, obelisks, urns and terraces; the very daydreaminess…,’ observed Butterbugs with quiet pleasure. ‘…Magnificent!’

  ‘Yes, Butterbugs, yes. I know we have the same sensibilities. I knew you would like it.’

  The great actor Parley Baer had built these gardens, back in the Golden Age.

  Butterbugs was ecstatic. He could not say anything in reply.

  ‘I wanted cryptomeria over there,’ Perry gestured expansively to the east. ‘Even though they can be a bit funereal. To balance the Lombardy poplars in the west, and the cypresses to the north. A few palms, for accent. I even like their drooping fronds! Bougainvillea, herbs de Provence along the gravelly path… You know, I’m creating a virtual Symbolist painting out here, I think…!’

  ‘Man, I didn’t ever know it, but you’re a sort of poet!’

  They followed the course of the old central water channel, empty now, as it emerged from a keystoned tunnel. Passing the folly ruins of a country chapel on the slope, they continued up the course by walking in the dry channel itself, as it wended along. Heady scents of sage, then rosemary, and later, weaffelbury, wafted their way.

  Rounding a corner, they returned to the path. Something caught Butterbugs’ eye, as his vision actually tended to improve in the dusk. It was a cage. A squirrel-cage, in fact. Venturing near, he was followed by his host. He detected a form inside, and, after the slightly hallucinogenic low-light interpretation of things-are-not-quite-as-they-seem-in-the-gloaming, especially because they had switched from Boil-Downs and taken Old Tarn Herb Liqueur at the tumbledown pergola just beyond the crossroads yonder, it was only after a re-setting of his mind’s evaluation of reality that Butterbugs was able to discern that the form within was human. Indeed, it seemed to be associated with its immediate environment in terms that could only be determined as harmonious.

  ‘My mom, Butterbugs. Yes, she lives here, in this spot! Can you believe it? She would have it no other way. We can speak freely. She snoozes soundly, so soundly. It was she, you know, who got me where I am today. It was she who carved out my destiny in these hills, upon those Mike Todd-built soundstages away down there. Even unto the cameras, both silent and talkie, for it was she who designed and implemented my career as a matinee idol. The least I could do was give her what she herself wanted.’

  ‘And she, indeed, wants… this?’ Butterbugs asked gently, open palm towards the cage.

  She was curled up in a ball, all cozy in brushed denim, fast asleep. Butterbugs could see her close-cropped hair, her finely chiseled features, her cheekbones, like a cat’s. An emotion welled up inside him. An emotion so remote, it might have been given a file’s name and number to identify its existence, for future reference. Yet, it was not quite strong enough to squeeze a tear out of him.

  Where was his stagemom?

  Where were the answers to the questions he never asked? How could he ever know them, if he never even knew the questions to ask in the first place?

  ‘It’s time we got back to the guests,’ said Perry, softly.

  42.

  Flickering Light

  Butterbugs and Perry could now see the illuminated patios and terraces where the mod party was proceeding. The white dinner jackets and cocktail dresses glowed with a phosphorescence against the electric purple background. The tinkle of cool, very cool, piano jazz was becoming audible.

  ‘Oscar Peterson was a terrific choice for tonight, Perry.’

  ‘Thanks. He’s been a friend of the family for years. My mom…’ He gestured back in the direction of the squirrel cage.

  ‘She introduced you two? I shook his hand earlier this eve. It’s about twice the size of mine! I hear that Little Milton’s coming over later. Another friend of the family?’

  ‘Oh yeah, and he’s so cool. Well, you’re pals with the dean of cool: TABP himself!’

  ‘Sure wish he were here tonight, too. It’s been a while. So Perry, you have Music in your soul as well as the Drama?’

  ‘Back before my matinee career, I tried to break into Vic Mizzy’s band. Bibby Blubb-Blubb told me some good shit.’ (Perry went into a successful imitation of the famous band-and-songmaster’s characteristic Darfur-to-Brooklyn-soul voice and accent.) ‘‘Kid! We can’t take every charity case off the street! Mr. Vic’d have me boiled in groundnut acid if he found out I’d gotten another cornet player for an already top-heavy brass section! Don’t ya know? You mean ya don’t?’’

  They laughed.

  ‘So, Mom somehow got backstage at an Oscar Peterson concert at Otto Preminger Hall. Prem himself was there, presenting, and Mom usually gave him a little scalp massage whenever she’d corner him. Well, Prem would always bellow ‘Cut!’ Anyway, backstage, she dragged me to Oscar’s piano before curtain-up, then gave him a song-and-dance about my talent, and before we knew it, it was dinner at Oscar’s every month! Mom didn’t stop at Oscar. After that, my acting career really took off.’

  ‘Cool!’

  ‘Yup, strange how labyrinthine our path toward greatness can be! Er, that’s not my own poetic license, but a line from my latest RKO Radio Picture, ‘To Think In The Present’, the sequel to ‘Dear and Glorious Physician’ (Bronston), which is something, ahem, I think you should know a little about.’

  ‘Good line. Yes, my lead in ‘Dear and Glorious’ was ably taken up by you in said sequel. It’s going to be a terrific picture. Did you know I do a cameo in a flashback sequence in ‘To Think’?’ And no, no, I believe it was a Bronston Studios release, also. Not RKO.’

  ‘Super! If I could approach anything like ‘Demetrius and the Gladiators’ after ‘The Robe’ (both 20th-Fox), then I think I have achieved success. Oh, and I stand corrected. Bronston it is! You’re so good at all that technical and chronicle kind of stuff.’

  ‘You have achieved success! A wonderful kind of success! I tell you, you already have!’

  ‘You know, Butterbugs, we in the second string picture industry look up to you most heartily.’

  Smiling benevolently, the higher actor could only utter the subtlest, scarcely enunciated:

  ‘Thanks…’

  ‘Darcie must’ve given up on me,’ said Perry.

  ‘Yeh! You left your ToFindU at table,’ replied Butterbugs, who then grew wistful. ‘Darcie! You’re so lucky to have her. She’s a peach. Second string pictures, indeed!’

  ‘I’d trade it all for Darcie. But you see, I’ve got both she and second-string pictures! C’mon through.’

  ‘You’d trade it all for…? Why Perry, of course you would!’

  ‘Some day, Butterbugs, you too will have a Darcie. But not mine, I can tell you that right now.’ Then he went into Basil Rathbone-speak: ‘I would duel you to the death if you crossed me!’

  They did a bit of frolicsome tap-dancing with air-rapiers, around the broken columns and travertine plains. Parry and thrust, parry and thrust. But no thrust home.

  Collapsing on opposing stone benches, and almost out of breath, Butterbugs quipped, ‘Well, I hope you’ll never have to do anything remotely like that!’

  Someone was playing a comedy trombone up at party level.

  ‘You go on ahead,’ quoth the youthful star. ‘I’m going to explore the Drygardens yet.’

  He took a deep breath of LA evening shade.

  ‘OK, brother. Mighty fine out, isn’t it?’

  ‘This dusk! At this time!’

  Knowing the brighter star’s rapture of his estates, Perry cheerfully agreed.

  ‘I’ll ask Oscar to add you to the guest list this month. And later on, we’ll do something at Little Mil…’

  Perry’s voice had already faded.

  The collective mysterium of the southern night now enveloped Butterbugs. Startle-bugs flitted, Woonsocket leaves glimmered, and a carefully-attended network of soft lamps connected the features in this enchanted realm. No one was about. The lamplighters had long ago retreated to their demi-party in the Classified Staff Sub-Basements, so he was
alone.

  But perhaps not quite. He remembered the strange squirrel cage, and the being inside, and wasn’t quite sure if it had all been a designed cinematic sequence of the most virtual kind. Cinema acting was like that sometimes; objectivity could play tricks, especially on newly-minted professionals.

  At length he reached a rusticated sort of landing ghat which faced the dried-up canal. Cast iron lampposts glowed with flames of a far lower wattage than their fixtures would suggest. Away in the parched ground that rose behind, he fancied he could spot a subtle trail entrance, and thither he went. Finding himself deep in the Drygardens proper, the pebbly walk was nevertheless peppered with lamp-lit alcoves, trysting spots, benches, and pedestals. Oscar & Co. were doubtless keeping everyone enthralled near the cocktail piano, rather than down here in this canoodle-nook neighborhood.

  Suddenly the faint recall of having been in this exact spot not long before came upon him. He rounded a bend and saw the selfsame cage, so obviously meant for squirrels, unmoved, and with the same ambience.

  ‘A home!’ whispered Butterbugs, his face all under-lit, like a tragedy mask.

  There, within the rays of a dim lamp, was in fact the cage. Its occupant, barely illuminated by gentle strobings, remained tightly coiled in repose, pristine, protected, perfectly normal. And, oddly, not particularly vulnerable-looking, either. A basin of fresh water sat next to a bowl of Kobble crunchies. The little gate to the cage was closed, but there was no lock, nor even any latch. If the occupant had been hostile, she could have been a real threat. But not now. A slight whistling noise was heard, a curled creature in pure hibernation.

  Perry’s stagemom! Friend of great musicians and picture people! This, apparently, was her design for living. Peculiar, even for Hollywood. Perry had never discussed the fact that he had a mother who lived in a cage, nor did he display any sort of objection or embarrassment about the fact when showing and telling. A quiet creature of the wilds when off-duty? A delicacy of eccentricity, shielded from limelight? Yet, what a powerhouse, mover, and shaker. Here, under the stars, was a star-maker.