If you’d happened to be skulking the seamier alleyways of Albuquerque around 2008, looking to bum a 3:00 a.m. cigarette – or perhaps a more powerful stimulant – you might’ve encountered a guy who looked a lot like Aaron Paul. He was looking to score an understanding of the role that changed his life. It was one he’d fought ten Ramen-fueled years for, and he was going to give it everything he had. Extreme research, maybe, but the connection he forges to each character he embodies is so deep, we not only believe them, but feel their every blow, doubt and happiness as our own. In acting parlance, it’s called commitment. In Paul’s case, love seems the better word. He cherishes and cares for his characters as friends, and embraces his job with the joy of someone who gets to prove time and again that he’s really good at the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. We talk about his road from small-town Idaho to sin-filled L.A., his fateful audition for Breaking Bad, and The Path almost not taken. And, why you probably don’t want to mess with his mom.
Rachel Bloom remembers it all. The childhood neuroses, her first taste of humiliation at the hands of a stranger, the awkward locker room glances and every middle-school taunt. She also remembers how her talent and love of theater could erase so much of it. As they say, it’s all material. Material, as it turned out, for Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, one of the most original, subversive and strangely uplifting shows on network TV. Her rollercoaster journey there can be traced from a copy of The Martian Chronicles through stints as a singing/floating waitress and one hostile writers’ room. Bloom fills us in on her life-changing shift from musical theater to comedy, how structure informs creativity, and the show that for all its darkness, offers viewers an empowering, entertaining invitation to discuss our common, but not commonly discussed issues and insecurities. “What motivates us to write the show is the pursuit of true inner happiness, which often defies not only stereotype, but what you think should make you happy.” We might just break into song.
Rachel Bloom remembers it all. The childhood neuroses, her first taste of humiliation at the hands of a stranger, the awkward locker room glances and every middle-school taunt. She also remembers how her talent and love of theater could erase so much of it. As they say, it’s all material. Material, as it turned out, for Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, one of the most original, subversive and strangely uplifting shows on network TV. Her rollercoaster journey there can be traced from a copy of The Martian Chronicles through stints as a singing/floating waitress and one hostile writers’ room. Bloom fills us in on her life-changing shift from musical theater to comedy, how structure informs creativity, and the show that for all its darkness, offers viewers an empowering, entertaining invitation to discuss our common, but not commonly discussed issues and insecurities. “What motivates us to write the show is the pursuit of true inner happiness, which often defies not only stereotype, but what you think should make you happy.” We might just break into song.
Rachel Bloom remembers it all. The childhood neuroses, her first taste of humiliation at the hands of a stranger, the awkward locker room glances and every middle-school taunt. She also remembers how her talent and love of theater could erase so much of it. As they say, it’s all material. Material, as it turned out, for Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, one of the most original, subversive and strangely uplifting shows on network TV. Her rollercoaster journey there can be traced from a copy of The Martian Chronicles through stints as a singing/floating waitress and one hostile writers’ room. Bloom fills us in on her life-changing shift from musical theater to comedy, how structure informs creativity, and the show that for all its darkness, offers viewers an empowering, entertaining invitation to discuss our common, but not commonly discussed issues and insecurities. “What motivates us to write the show is the pursuit of true inner happiness, which often defies not only stereotype, but what you think should make you happy.” We might just break into song.
Fortunately, Greta Gerwig was never comfortable being the charming, likeable ingénue who exists (in Hollywood, anyway) to be adored and/or saved by a male lead. When she came to the realization that she probably couldn’t sit by the pool and wait for the scripts to roll in, she decided she’d have to write them herself. Creating your own destiny can be a lot of work, but there’s comfort in knowing the result will ring true not only to you, but also to the artists whose work you find most exciting. It’s also the best way to use your own peculiarities and gifts, which in Gerwig’s case include a rare lack of artifice, a writerly ear for dialogue, and a way of turning the standard story tropes a few degrees askew. As you’ll gather from the following pages, she actually is quite charming and likeable. Just don’t tell her you “liked” Hamlet.
Fortunately, Greta Gerwig was never comfortable being the charming, likeable ingénue who exists (in Hollywood, anyway) to be adored and/or saved by a male lead. When she came to the realization that she probably couldn’t sit by the pool and wait for the scripts to roll in, she decided she’d have to write them herself. Creating your own destiny can be a lot of work, but there’s comfort in knowing the result will ring true not only to you, but also to the artists whose work you find most exciting. It’s also the best way to use your own peculiarities and gifts, which in Gerwig’s case include a rare lack of artifice, a writerly ear for dialogue, and a way of turning the standard story tropes a few degrees askew. As you’ll gather from the following pages, she actually is quite charming and likeable. Just don’t tell her you “liked” Hamlet.
Fortunately, Greta Gerwig was never comfortable being the charming, likeable ingénue who exists (in Hollywood, anyway) to be adored and/or saved by a male lead. When she came to the realization that she probably couldn’t sit by the pool and wait for the scripts to roll in, she decided she’d have to write them herself. Creating your own destiny can be a lot of work, but there’s comfort in knowing the result will ring true not only to you, but also to the artists whose work you find most exciting. It’s also the best way to use your own peculiarities and gifts, which in Gerwig’s case include a rare lack of artifice, a writerly ear for dialogue, and a way of turning the standard story tropes a few degrees askew. As you’ll gather from the following pages, she actually is quite charming and likeable. Just don’t tell her you “liked” Hamlet.
It’s hard to come by any better example of a true artist—and split personality—than Andrew Garfield. He came out of the womb as “a lunatic, a wild animal, a clown,” who couldn’t hang with rules, threatened to tear up our studio, and regularly butted heads with a father who wanted him to choose a “safe” career. He’s also piled up acclaim for consistently soulful, vulnerable performances in a career full of uncannily successful projects. He admits to having both a Caligula-like ego, and an “inner accountant” who reminds him he’ll never be enough. He loves a scene one day and is horrified by it the next. It makes you wonder how he’s able to survive as an actor; and also how he could ever survive any other way. Garfield muses on working with directors as diverse as Scorsese, Gibson and Fincher, why he loves acting, and the role of storyteller in celebrity culture. You will never see Death of a Salesman or listen to “Vincent” the same way again.
