Susie Bright's Journal

My Graveside Celebrity

I've been getting recognized at the grocery store lately because of my appearance in the last season of Six Feet Under, which is finally on DVD.

The episode I'm in, "Rainbow of Her Reasons," is Jill Soloway's last script for the series, and her piéce de resistance!

I miss SFU, as a viewer of course, although I am now sweating my way through Chloe Sevigny's polygamous and creditcard misadventures in Big Love. I am so hung up on her — always have been.

Don't you think I should have a Big Love guest spot where I show up as the polyamourous hasbian that Wife #2 can't resist? Sort of a kinky cougar subplot?  Oh— you say you've already TAKEN that guest spot?  Darn it... those sisterwives are always sneaking ahead of me.

I watch HBO's Sunday night treats at our friend Helen's house with a group of friends. The night of the "Rainbow" episode, Helen presented me with a special cake from The Buttery to commemorate the occasion. Isn't it awesome?

Why I'm Not Fit For The Late Show

An Open Letter to Late, Late Night Host Craig Ferguson,

This weekend, you spoke in Los Angeles to a packed house on the subject, "Writers Pushing the Envelope." It was a book festival panel— you shared the stage with me, Karen Finley, and Dennis Cooper.

Quelle BORDELLE.

Over the course of an hour in a dismal UCLA lecture hall, we lost power and were plunged into darkness three times. In another surreal moment, a black phone on the wall rang repeatedly, like a rejected lover.

I'm sure if you'd picked up the receiver, you would have screamed, "Who the fuck put me here with these cunts?" 

We were wondering the same thing about you.

You are a Scottish immigrant who's had a magnificent run in Hollywood— as a comic, a a sitcom actor in a hit show, and now  the affable host of The Late Late Show. Half the crowd were your adoring fans, women who shiver at your good looks, and men who'd love to browbeat someone with just your style. Plus you have a new book and your Godlike publicist has made it very clear that you are in command of the English language.

We three knew who you were, but I don't think you got the memo on us.

You were sitting next to the contemporary equivalent of Brecht, Jean Genet, and Dorothy Parker— artists whose cultural influence and impact have made them a legend among their peers, but whose "envelope pushing"— make that shredding— has resulted in direct punishment by the State: blacklisting, death threats by vigilantes, and  direct suppression.

Corporate media has followed suit with even more effectiveness. Pop culture banality, now in its greatest flourish since the 50s, is a direct result of this puritanical iron fist— and you were seated with the beleagured opposition.

The Supreme Court went after Karen Finley's NEA grant in the 90s. It wasn't just a way to shut up one of the most transformative female and performance artists of the century— it was the administration's wedge to make federal funding for the arts all but irrelevant. "Let's put on another production of The Music Man, everybody!" Or does that have a hidden homosexual context as well?

You know all those slightly risqué jokes you make on your show? Well, there's no public arts funding for that kind of smut in the United States. And your book couldn't be read on an FCC-controlled-station anywhere. Try Canada!

I know you said that this is the best country in the whole world, and that we should get on our knees and be thankful we're not in some infernal desert republic, but you don't seem to realize that this nation has one of the most reactionary attitudes towards the arts in the international community. Or haven't you noticed that with your TV guest list? Don't you notice how most of them have nothing to say?

But that's not the point, is it... If CBS didn't think you were easily manageable, you wouldn't have a pot to piss in.

Dennis Cooper was shy and you didn't notice him. Snarling at feminists is more entertaining. But you should know Cooper is one of the four or five best American writers alive, and acclaimed as the closest thing Genet or Burroughs has to a literary heir. Most of his books are only wellknown in the rest of the world, not in the US, where his work is underground transgression. You might pick up a craft tip or two from him.

Yet you haven't the time to bother. You've just written a debut novel, and you shouted you are "too rich" to care what anyone thinks of it.

That was the most interesting and sickening thing you said all night. It hit me that there is also such a thing as being too poor to give a shit, as well. It's only those in the middle who strive and strive. Which end do you think is going to enter the kingdom of legend? 

I imagine you do care about something, that you privately care if people find your work memorable, and lasting. It would be meaningful to have a legacy. Your book certainly has more intelligence than the scriptwriting on late, late, night TV. I bet it meant a lot to you to show people that you are not an airhead.

But so far, your book has not changed the world, and you haven't heard from readers yet who've thanked you for saving their lives, or inspiring them to fight another day— or just plain ole' blowing their minds. But that shit doesn't happen overnight; I say, keep at it! Just keep that chatter about your entitlement to yourself, it never seems to work out.

Next time, don't spit at us that you are having more sex than anyone, thank you very much, or that your commercial success has insulated you from tiresome political concerns.

Belligerence is never becoming, and it ages you even quicker.

You mugged and mocked us while we were speaking, and when that got tired, you showed us the kind of sacrifice you'd made for your art: You let it be known that you "wrote your book on spec."

Wow. I'm getting goose bumps, Craig. Call the Nobel committee, call Amnesty International. This man has been through THE MILL.

If only you could have spit Lenny Bruce in the eye, or told Salman Rushdie he's a fucking pussy! 

Look, I get it... you know nothing about radical sexual politics or why it's been the lightning rod of American art for the last 50 years. You weren't here for women's liberation or queer revolt. You think girls with something incisive to say are real dick-wilters. And fags? It's hard to comprehend.. you did say that sex boils down to "one man and one woman."  The bookfest audience cracked up at that one.

Sensitivity, compassion, or sacrifice is not what you got hired for, eh?  You're supposed to be The Man Show with a brogue.  If Karen, Dennis, and I had come as Fembots, would that have been a better set?

That murderous farewell you gave me at the end made my heart sink like a stone. It was right up there with the Michigan judge who told me, pre-sentencing, I was going to pay for being a menace to society. Maybe he watches your show and laughs, too.

Why did you hate me so much if you "don't care"— if you're so rich and well-laid and impenetrable? Your fans stretched across the lawn, but you took the time to kill me with a look. I can tell you believe in bad spells. The next envelope I lick will likely give me a nasty paper cut right across the lip. Bad mommy, don't make Craig mad again!

Call me when the tide turns, old man, and I'll show you the other cheek. When you get fugly, canceled, and deported under some Homeland Security mix-up, I'm sure we can figure out something "on spec" that will save the day!

Won't we have fun remembering the days when you were arrogant, and the rich and artless didn't have to care one little motherfucking bit about anything?

I'm off to march with some other whores and immigrants now. They're hoping to inherit the earth.

The Ghost of Vixens Past,

Susie

Oprah: Shut It. Shut It Tight.

Yesterday, my friend Nancy S. emailed me:

I woke up this morning to a commercial about today's Oprah show in which she states that "pornography is the number one addiction" in the United States. 

She goes on to warn her female audience: "Could this be your husband?"

In the promo on her website, Oprah makes pornography out to be the worst thing happening in America today.  Perhaps Senator Brownback should give her a call and they can work together.

Today's show features a famous "victim" and recovering porn addict:  Kirk Franklin. He's a Grammy-winning Gospel singer (and total fool- sb).

Oprah's "pornography addiction expert," Rob Weiss, claims that 10% of the 40 million online pornography users are addicts. As with most of Oprah's shows, this information isn't given out until the last ten minutes. By then, the viewers are all worked up about what they think the issue is, and are no longer paying attention to the fact that the big problem really isn't as common as you think.

Nancy! When will these people stop lying through their teeth! I am throwing-up right alongside of you.

Do you know why Kirk Franklin is pimping himself and his wife like this? Because he has a new album out! And if he doesn't get the sales on this one jumping, his recording contract is over!

The hot promotion for popstar-wannabe's like Kirk, is to say you're a "porn addict" who's recently been saved. Your record company will then dress you up like a stud supermodel and pose you in steamy pictures for your album's release. But no one can call you a "tart" because you're redeemed! You're living for God now! BLECH!

Have you seen Kirk's album covers when he was a secret sinner? Oh, he's such a dork. But now— now that he's rejected porn— he is a total BABE. Isn't that amazing?

To my horror, I see that Oprah hired Rob Weiss, as her "expert." What an old phony he is. He is the original snakeoil salesman. Note that I linked his name to his bracing essay on "compulsive masturbation."

This hustler Weiss has made the rounds of TV talk shows for years, ranting about sex addiction, in every flavor du jour.

I was on a show with Mr. Wonderful once, where he flew into a rage simply because I gave me an incredulous LOOK. I know I have a penetrating gaze, but geez, Louise!  He chased me down an alleyway afterward, shrieking, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He can't stand to have people know he's a fraud. He doesn't represent legitimate psychology in the slightest— in fact, every shrink I know recoils at his name. I wish legitimate therapists would speak up about this. He should be "disbarred."

What about  those figures he quotes about how many people "watch" Internet porn, and how many are addicts? Nancy, HE MAKES THEM UP. There's not a cite in the world to support him.

Weiss feeds off of all these hip new Christian fundie churches, like that XXX.church we talked about here a few weeks ago. They "use" porn to recruit. Without it, they're dead in the water. They play on people's sexual feelings to get them excited, and then shame the shit out of them.

People have often asked me why none of my books are ever on Oprah's show. Why has she never brought anyone on her program to talk about feminist erotica or sex-positive ideas?

Well, it's not for lack of interest. The point is, her company has taken a stand in the opposite direction.

Do you really think Oprah wants savvy, authentic people looking at her and saying, "Gee, Oprah, why don't you come out? Why can't we have an honest sex discussion on this show? Why are you so ashamed of your sexuality? When will the time come when women and men deserve your erotic respect?"

Her Christianity and sexusl shame has been a thorn in every progressive woman's side for years.

Did you see the "porn poll" on her web site? I took it. I made sure to say that my partner and I both "look" at porn, and amazingly, have survived it intact.  The questions are stupid to begin with, but I struggled through.

After I entered my answers, the website revealed how everyone else has responded so far.

The most interesting statistic is this: 43% of her viewers have never seen porn. Whatever they think it is, they haven't seen it. 

The best way to run these shame & blame crusades is to talk to people who have never been out of their egg. You can say whatever nonsense you like, and they believe it. Hey little girl, come here, I have some anti-porn candy for you!

For any woman who has jilled off now and then, the hysteria seems ridiculous. You're going to look at handsome Kirk Franklin, and wonder if you could get him and his pretty wife over to your house to give nice wholesome erotica another try.

The thing is, these talk shows are produced by cynics who consider this all an incredible laugh. They think we're silly for caring. They think their fans are  a bunch of pathetic idiots, and must  be pandered to with every hysterical female stereotype. If you could convince them they they'd get  high ratings saying that shit tastes good on toast, they'd get you an afterschool special on it. With butter.

But I fret about that 43%, who think their boyfriends don't care about them, just because they masturbate or like sex pictures. Or women who think they're perverted because they feel some similiar stirrings. It is so cruel to lead them on and make them think they are dealing with a pathology that requires spending thousands of dollars to "Doctor" Weiss to be cured. A pox upon them!

Six Days Under: It's Not the Porno Way

I have the stats now:

I'm going to be in Episode 506 of Six Feet Under
Scheduled Air Date: July 11 on HBO

I had a whale of a week shooting my small bits for the new season. I’ve been biting my lips wondering what I can and can't tell you, prerelease. After all, a great deal of my script is necessarily secret.

I can’t tell you who died. I can’t tell you what state Nate and Brenda are in— NO WAY!  You are going to die when you see what Clare has gotten herself into. The Keith and David drama made me cry, but I can’t tell you why.  I can’t say a darn thing about the best parts of this soap opera until after it airs.... it’s unbearable.

I can tell  you that I play myself, a dear friend of the “deceased” in the episode I appear in. The deceased is not a total stranger, (as in some episodes), but rather a character who is known to those who follow the show.  How’s that for suspense?  I think I could plan a wicked contest around this.... but it seems a  little early to start. I can’t give you five months to guess, can I?

But some of you are more interested in backstage gossip. Is Peter Krauss as handsome as he looks on screen?  Yes. Everyone in this show is made up quite naturally.  There were no shocks. The hotties are hot, the redheads are red, even the pregnant are really pregnant.

I think I look more different on screen versus real life, than anyone else in the cast. Perhaps that even because I play "myself" in this script, I play  more of a New-Age-Me than the real Never-Say-Die-Karl-Marx Me.

For example, in real life, I'm an athiest. In the show, along with the other mourners, I  sang a song about angels over the body of our dead friend. In real life, I’d be more likely to be singing I Dreamed I Saw Joe Hill Last Night. I’m not an angel person, and when people ask about the enormous white feathered angel wings I've hung over my bedroom door, I tell them it’s my Haight Ashbury Cockette Drag Outfit.

As for the work on making the show: it is very hard. People work 12-18 hour days without anyone thinking that’s peculiar, day after day, until the season is done.  There’s about 100+ people who work on each episode. 

When you leave at night, you are an idiot of fatigue. I’m sure you have nothing to say to your family when you get home except, "Good Night Nurse." I had big plans to see all my friends in the evenings, but I could barely call them up to beg off.

Being an actor in these sort of things, more than anything else, is an exercise in tedium and patience. You shoot some little moment over and over again, where you say two words and move one inch. It’s like being a doll in a doll house. Your make-believe mettle is tested as you are asked to replay emotional moments over and over until they seem nonsensical.  this isn’t SFU, per se; this is  conventional film and TV making.

I’ve had quite a bit of live theater experience, where you often rehearse scenes all the way through. There’s a lot of room for improvisation when you're putting it together. You get to have your performance catharsis. In front of an audience, it’s electric; the adrenaline is always pumping.

I couldn't help tickling myself with the comparison between a mainstream shoot like this, versus porno, where moving expeditiously is the name of the game. When I saw the luxury of time at 6FU, the opportunities afforded for postproduction, I said to myself, “That’s not the porno way!”

I imagine the people who have the most fun on a TV set are people who get to do a lot of hands-on work,  who make creative decisions. That's the porno way, too, since a few people wear all the hats. I envied the 6FU make-up and costume artists, the DP, the lighting and sound directors, and of course the writer and director, because they got to DO STUFF all the time, and  even though they’re working hard, time moves more quickly, because they’re cranked.

Los Angeles, as I have remarked before, is a company town, since the 1980s, as much as any Kentucky holler. A town's values tell you about the product they make. Coal speaks volumes about miners, and “entertainment” tells you everything you need to know about showbiz communities.

Prerecorded entertainment is illusion, it's the fantasy machine. It is ephemeral, and it is only as successful as its last five minutes. The insecurity, the narcissism, the emptiness that you hear about in Sad Hollywood Tales is a function of the factory... it could hardly be anything else.

What’s interesting about a show like 6FU is that the writing and conception of the characters has worked against stereotype. I’ve never watched women characters in a serial drama that had so much sexual depth— real women with erotic desires and conflicts.  To create female characters who are more than cute virgins, vicious fatales, or boring matrons has been quite amazing. Those chicks on Sex in the City don’t have an ounce of sexual guts compared to Ruth, Brenda, Clare, or their compatriots.  I knew my appearance, as the "Feminist Sex Author,” was one more wonderful little outrage in this tradition.

My favorite adventure on the set resulted in the picture you see above. I staged my own death at the funeral parlor, and made one of the other actresses use my camera to record it. What I wouldn't have give to move around all the dolls myself!

As the time gets closer, I’ll tell you more about the episode, and let the guessing game begin in earnest. I promise to spill my guts out after the debut. In the meantime, if there’s any questions you want to ask me about the experience, or you own two cents from TV production, feel free to post here!