Grow up in New York City.
Meet a lot of interesting people
on both sides of the law.
Go to a screening of THE GODFATHER PART II
in the Bronx.
Look at the actors on the screen and say
“I can do that!”
Take life savings and buy a one-way bus ticket
to L.A.
Work as a fry cook at a Santa Monica Boulevard
burger joint.
After a year, quit and take a job as a waiter
at the Hollywood Boulevard Hamburger Hamlet.
All this time, take acting lessons.
Get typecast as a gangster.
Play a gangster on episodes of HAPPY DAYS
and STARSKY AND HUTCH.
Rejoice in practicing the craft of acting-
even in tiny roles.
Yearn to break out of the gangster stereotype.
Go on an audition for a low-budget drama
about drug addiction.
Perform the audition scene brilliantly.
While performing, notice that the director, writer
and casting director aren’t paying much attention
to the audition.
Become angry as they laugh it up.
Leave the room.
Get fed up with Show Business.
Go back to New York City.
Join the Teamsters and work as a truck driver.
One day, wake up and see a vision
in front of the bed.
It’s the God of Movies, saying
“It’s okay to be an actor again."
Return to L.A. with wife and children.
Audition for a supporting role in a Big Studio movie-
as a gangster.
Win the role.
Make the movie.
Win all sorts of awards-including the Big One.
Get a new agent.
Move family from Woodland Hills to Beverly Hills.
Make three movies as a leading man-
use newfound clout to play "normal" roles.
Writhe in agony as third starring movie flops.
Become disappointed when leading man offers
are now only from independent companies wanting
the gangster character to appear in teen comedies.
Take the offers.
Make three more flops.
Wail in despair as no more
movie or TV roles are offered.
Move family from Beverly Hills to Agoura Hills.
Retire from films and make money raising horses.
Wake up one night and see a vision by the bed.
It’s the God of Advertising, saying “It’s okay to
launch a career in TV commercials. The agencies
love former Big Stars who will work at reasonable
prices.”
Realize that son and daughter are approaching
college age.
Appear in a series of commercials for Metamucil
as a chronically constipated gangster named
Charlie Mezzo.
Forget about the joy of practicing the craft of
acting and give an awful performance.
Become depressed when the director, crew
and ad reps applaud-because they wouldn’t know
real acting if it bit them on the ass.
Return to your trailer between setups.
Go to sleep.
Dream of childhood stickball games
on the New York streets.
Smile.
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