My Tempting Brush With ‘Celebrity’

In Woody Allen’s wonderfully absurd short story “The Kugelmass Episode” an average man finds himself magically transported into the novel “Madame Bovary.” It seemed to me like an equally absurd scenario when I found myself acting in a Woody Allen film.

Like most people, I get star-struck when I’m anywhere near a famous person. So acting in the Woody Allen film “Celebrity”--playing a small role as a frantic, in-over-his-head film director (talk about typecasting)--was both thrilling and nerve-racking and, like the film itself, gave me reason to ruminate about the joys and sorrows of celebrity life.

As a filmmaker with only one little movie (“The Daytrippers”) under my belt, my place in the celebrity solar system cannot be detected by even the Hubble telescope. This year I ranked near the top of the Entertainment Weekly Powerless List. The biggest change in my life is that I now get recognized by the employees of my local video store--and all that means is that every time I rent a movie there’s an extra 15 minutes of “whattaya seen lately” with the NYU film student behind the register.

The greatest benefit of getting my first film scene has been the chance to meet some of my heroes. First, a little background on my feelings about Woody Allen: His movies affected me at a very critical juncture--as he was becoming a more serious filmmaker, I was becoming a more serious film watcher. Having grown up revering the Marx Brothers, Bob Hope and Charlie Chaplin, I was an immediate fan of his irreverent comedies and in reading interviews with Woody I started to learn about the European directors that he loved.

I love being in the world of his films. I love the mixture of light-footed comedy, skepticism, romantic melancholy and despair. “Manhattan,” “Annie Hall” and “Hannah and Her Sisters” are justifiably celebrated, but I find others to be just as wonderful--”Crimes & Misdemeanors,” “Broadway Danny Rose,” “Husbands & Wives,” “Zelig,” “Sleeper” . . . the list goes on. I think you get the idea: I’m an unabashed fan.

A little over a year ago, I was asked to audition for a small role as a film director in what was then being called “Woody Allen Fall Project 1997.” To my everlasting astonishment, I got the part.

The first day I was required on set I was exceedingly nervous, on the brink of a seizure. I discovered that the first shot of the day was going to require me to run around, barking orders at the crew and I would be acting in front of Melanie Griffith, Winona Ryder, Kenneth Branagh, Woody and about 50 extras.

I felt like Alvy Singer in the scene from “Annie Hall” where he was nervously waiting to go on stage; I needed Allison Portchnik to calm me down. But Woody has a way of conveying great trust to his actors and it was surprisingly easy to relax once we started working. It was an invaluable learning experience and incredible fun--a real movie lover’s fantasy come true.

In September I attended the New York Film Festival opening-night screening and party for “Celebrity”--with all the stars in the movie and all the stars at the event it was like a hall of mirrors. (Not surprisingly, the only star not in attendance was Woody.) Late in the evening, my friend Liev Schreiber (who acted in my film “Daytrippers”) and I were told about Leonardo DiCaprio’s private party so a group of us headed downtown.

When we arrived, we were stopped at the door by a monolithic bouncer who told me something I already knew: I wasn’t on the guest list. Thinking uncharacteristically fast, I turned to one of my friends in a desperate gambit and said: “Hey, give me Leo’s cell number, he’ll straighten this out.” The bouncer said, “Don’t bother,” and stepped aside and let us in.

The party itself was like a boldface fever dream: There’s Leo! Claire Danes! Ben Affleck! Cameron Diaz! Brigid, a friend who was visiting from Chicago, turned and said, “Oh, there’s Billy,” and marched over to chat with Smashing Pumpkins lead singer Billy Corrigan, who, it turned out, is actually a friend of hers. Given the pedigree of the guests and the dim lighting, it was no wonder that (Miramax chief) Harvey Weinstein mistook my friend Jennifer for Claire Forlani (Brad Pitt’s co-star in “Meet Joe Black”). Being outnumbered by real celebrities is a weird feeling.

It makes perfect sense that celebrities need to hang out with other celebrities; who else can relate to their problems? Could you imagine being sympathetic if your friend called you up to complain that the studio refused to fly his shaman first-class?

To be fair, none of us really know what it’s like to be Leonardo DiCaprio. It seems like hell to me. To constantly be stared at, to be hunted by paparazzi (they’re like rabid jackals but less civilized) and to have your love handles become the object of international scrutiny.

Even the concept of being adored and desired by millions of women sounds good in theory, but I for one would miss the challenge I face from women who ignore and scorn me (I might need to do some more thinking on this last point). There is no denying that it’s exciting to be in the presence of famous, talented and attractive people. For instance, I’ve been to the ultra-exclusive private room at Moomba, which is the place to be these days in New York--in case you’re wondering where the artist formerly known as Prince likes to have a glass of the Beverage Formerly Known as Sparkling Water.

There is a strange thing that happens when a big star walks in. Nobody wants to make a big deal out of it but the room tingles as everyone experiences their own private turn-on. Besides Woody, I’ve met some other people I consider celebrity royalty: Dustin Hoffman, the great French actress Anouk Aimee and Al Pacino, who generously shared his peach cobbler with me.

Some critics have compared “Celebrity” to “Stardust Memories,” which is one of my favorite Woody Allen films and one that I think was a bit misunderstood when it came out. Many critics interpreted “Stardust” as a disturbing peek at Woody’s negative feelings about his fans, but I disagree. I think it’s a brilliant comic nightmare about self-consciousness.

“Celebrity,” too, has a serious idea underneath its satiric surface. Essentially it’s about how fame comes to people who possess a genuine superiority (Anthony Mason: athletic prowess; Charlize Theron playing a supermodel: sublime beauty), as well as those who have behaved notoriously (Joey Buttafuoco, Charles Manson . . . or that White House intern whose name I wish all newspapers would agree to stop printing).

While making very funny jabs at our culture, the film examines how a recently divorced couple, Lee (Kenneth Branagh) and Robin (Judy Davis), are affected by their brushes with celebrity. I think that Woody is pursuing something very interesting--and not terribly optimistic--about the effect that celebrity culture has on identity. In portraying a hotel room-trashing actor, DiCaprio delivers a dark and hilarious portrait of the compulsive/addictive side of celebrity.

Lee is also compulsive, always yearning for something better than what he has and it is corroding his serious aspirations. It’s a real dead-end. Meanwhile, his former wife, Robin, becomes a TV star and she manages to find self-esteem, fulfillment and love.

What are we to make of this contrast? Is Woody telling us that fame can actually provide peace of mind? Or is he saying that as people adapt to the strange world of fame, they accept a new set of delusions to pacify their disquieted souls? I lean toward the latter interpretation.

We crave celebrities because they play out our fantasies of power or hedonism or punishment or love. This funny and disturbing new film shows us that although we are often victims of our illusions, we cannot live without them.