Yesterday I finished writing Episode 7 of "Candyland" - and for the first time in a long time, as a writer, suffered pangs of postpartum depression when it was done. The series and characters are getting more and more complex - more difficult to write - taking twists and turns already that I hadn't foreseen (and 29 episodes still to go), with more characters leaping onto the stage when I'm not looking, demanding to be heard.
One of my goals with this story of "making it big" in Los Angeles was, in particular, to touch on the experiences of young, good-looking guys trying to maneuver their way through the minefield that is show business. The pitfalls for women in the industry have been widely chronicled - sexism, ageism, the casting couch - but in the nearly four years that I lived in Los Angeles, I had the incredible privilege of talking and making friends with many actors, and apart from what I observed myself was also in turn shocked, amused, disbelieving, or happily surprised by what many of the guys recounted to me ... some of which is making its way into this world I find myself more and more obsessed with every week (something I hope is happening to my readers, as well - and it seems to be, thankfully, based on comments and feedback I've already received).
(WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD; proceed at your own risk if you haven't yet read Episode 7!)
Nowhere are some of these stories touched on more than in Episode 7, "Secrets & Fries", in which a struggling actor finds himself quite literally the victim of a horrific crime, after being lured into a scam photo shoot that ended in spiked drinks leaving him nearly unconscious and the unwilling participant in a porn film. And in another storyline, a young talent just starting to get attention - and real work - in the industry, who has always used his face and body to charm women, finds himself struggling with the realization that he's fallen in love for the first time ... with another man.
In the first instance, Dominic finally tracks down the other actor/male model victimized that same evening with him, causing him to reflect yet again on the night that changed his life - and, he feels, ruined his chances of an acting career:
When they’d first met up in a bar, he and Brandon could barely look at each other, each man seeing his own shame in the other’s eyes. Half a dozen Heinekens later, they were best friends – a feeling that continued over into sobriety, when the next morning Brandon picked him up and the two of them went to the Hollywood police station at Dominic’s urging. There, they filed an assault report and separately gave statements as to what they could remember of that day more than two weeks prior, and God Bless them the cops hadn’t smirked or rolled their eyes or shown signs of anything other than taking them seriously. Sadly, this didn’t seem to be their first time at the rodeo, making Dominic wonder just how many men they’d talked to who’d been victimized – who were, lets face it, raped – or, maybe more importantly, how many men they didn’t talk to; how many guys there were in this sad, sick town who had been victims, but had let pride or fear or embarrassment keep them from reporting the crime at all. If you were a guy, you grew up with horror stories in the news of such things happening to women around the world almost every day. But no one ever prepared a man for the possibility that it could happen to him.
In the other storyline, 19-year-old Hunter's friend Hannah who has seen the truth, even when he can't. Finally seeing it through her eyes he breaks down to her, in the middle of an early dinner out, finally admitting (even to himself) his true feelings for the guy he's called his best friend for weeks ... and Hannah decides a trip to the beach is in order:
After both the tears and Hunter’s initial shock had subsided, Hannah suggested they take transit out to Santa Monica. There the two friends took off their shoes and walked for hours barefoot along the beach, watching the gold and orange and pink of the setting sun, only the occasional word passing between them. With the ocean – nearly as blue as Hunter’s eyes – spread before them on the horizon, turning to ink as night settled in, they plopped down onto an empty stretch of sand and reveled in the wet, squishy grittiness between their toes as the tide rushed in and out before them. She reminded him of Neil Patrick Harris, Matthew Bomer, and even Jussie Smollet – star of “Empire”, the hottest show on television right now – and how being gay no longer meant you couldn’t have a successful career as an actor.
And that even if it did, what did any of it matter anyway - if you couldn’t share it with the person you loved?
It was different, out here. All the pettiness and rushing around and trying to impress; the fake handshakes and even more fake smiles, leading more often than not to promises never kept. The users and the takers, and whether you were the played or the player … none of that mattered out here. The game faded away to nothing. Hunter stared at the ocean - watched the surf roll in to cleanse the sand off his feet, Hannah sitting next to him and leaning on his shoulder in a gesture that felt so affectionate, so pure and without motive, he found himself getting choked up with tears again.
I'm not saying, of course, that either of these are typical of what happens to young men trying to break into show business. And these two men and their stories are but a small part of the entire tale that is "Candyland". All I stress is that both Dominic's and Hunter's stories are more than just stories to some people out there; are stories that should be heard. And one of the reasons I have the greatest respect in the world for actors, in the first place - male or female, whether it's someone whose name is above the title or the guy crossing by in a cop suit in the background, with no dialogue at all - is because of all they go through, every day, trying to be seen and heard and recognized in this business, while still hanging onto to their sanity, their self-esteem, their dignity ... and their privacy.
But in the end, the question I hope "Candyland" addresses most of all is the ultimate one for all the characters - and the real Hollywood wannabes, day players, ingenues and rising talent they represent - who've struggled through countless highs and bottomless lows to learn their craft and be recognized for it. A question I think many actors eventually ask themselves in real life, sooner or later, no matter their level of success:
Was it worth it?
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