"My Life in the Theatre de la Huchette" by Tosh Berman (Paris)

Not too many people know this, but besides being a publisher (TamTam Books) and writer ("Sparks-Tastic, "The Plum in Mr. Blum's Pudding," and the upcoming memoir "Tosh"), I'm also a movie actor.  I did a cameo in Anna Biller's "Viva," in which I had a line, or to be more exact just one word "precious," and the role of 'Boy' in Andy Warhol's "Tarzan and Jane Regained Sort Of..."   Also, I had starring roles in various films by Relah Eckstein.   Now, due to financial issues, I have decided to become an actor for the stage, and not just any stage, but The Théâtre de la Huchette in the Latin Quarter in Paris. 

The theater is located at 23 rue de la Huchette, and since 1957 they have been presenting a double-bill of "The Lesson" and "The Bad Soprano" by Eugène Ionesco.   The playwright has the knack to convey the absurdity of life in such a manner that articulates my view of the world.  Therefore I went to the Huchette theater and told them I'm willing to work for nothing if they give me a role in the production.  They asked if I can speak French, and I said "NO."  I told them it would be faithful to the playwright's concern if I were an actor that couldn't express myself in another language.  But the rub is that Ionesco such an exact type of writer, that language, of course, is essential. But the fact that I couldn't deliver his lines in such a manner means that the director has to up his game by presenting me in such a production.  Every night I have to learn m lines in French and to remind you, dear readers, it's two plays I'm doing every night.   I do all my lines in French of course, but it has a California accent attached to it, that caused my director to winch whenever he hears me recite the lines. 

It's interesting to note that Ionesco is Romanian, and French is his second language, which is the language he wrote his plays in.  So in that sense, I feel we have something in common. I told that to the director, and he agreed that I was on to something.  "The Bald Soprano" in my mind is about language and communication.  Therefore since Ionesco wrote it in a second language, and I don't speak proper French makes this production the essential version of the play. 

I often have dreams where I'm either in a public space or at a party with friends, and I'm naked.   Everyone else is dressed, but for some reason, I either lost my clothes or forgot to put them on before leaving home.  The thing is no one says anything about my nakedness. Acting in these two one-act plays, I have that feeling, but I'm awake and aware of what is in front of me.   Which are embarrassment and shame.   My role model for acting is Peter Sellers in the Pink Panther films directed by Blake Edwards.   If I speak fast enough with a strong fake French accent, I may get away with the performance.  Hopefully, the audience, and especially the theater critics will see it as an absurd performance in a highly ridiculous pair of plays. 

Tonight is opening night, and as I walk from the 3rd arrondissement to the 5th I try not to think of the pain in my stomach, but also I realize that I forgot my lines.  My immediate reaction is to run away from the theater.  Still, as a professional, and as a representation of an American, with the 'go-for-it-spirit' I enter the backstage of the theater to face my fate. 

- Tosh Berman, Paris, September 17, 2018

November 26, 2014

November 26, 2014

“A writer never takes a vacation.  For a writer life consists of either writing or thinking about writing.” Which makes me a bit of a bore.  I know I should take an interest in other people’s lives or at the very least, pretend that I’m interested in their lives.  The truth is I find my world absolutely fascinating, because … well, me.   My work is basically focusing on the one thing that I know, or I “think” I know.   Surely there is not anyone out there in the world, who could write a full bodied biography on yours truly.  Therefore it is my responsibility to write, and to write what I know of - which again, is basically, me.

My entire life before I started writing, was to please others.  As the boyfriend I had to tell the girlfriend that she’s the one, and when I worked for my various bosses, I told them that they were the one, and I had to consistently bite my lips so I won’t tell them my true desire.   The only time where I felt at home, was when I read a book.   Reading text on a page is probably the most satisfying series of moments in one’s life.  The relationship is pure.  The writer and the reader.  Eventually as a reader, I decided to promote myself as a writer.  Now, for the past three or four years I read nothing but my own writings.

I have two books out now.  I read them many times.  I try to imagine myself as a reader, who doesn’t know me.   Would I still like the books?  Surprisingly I do!   “I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious.  Too deep, too shallow.  Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes.” Which I think makes me unique in today’s world.  Everyone is so black and white.  Truth or lies.  Left or Right.  Soldier or terrorist.   Everyone has a role and they play that role as if it was a vehicle going down a straight highway from point A to point B. As for myself, I like to explore the mystery and the paradoxes that are truly me.  Even though I have been thinking about myself for numerous years, there are still things I don ’t understand.

I often feel that language alone does not describe my world.  My basic struggle every day is to provide a description of my condition, but I often feel limited by my knowledge or use of language.  “Without language, thought is a vague, uncharted nebula.” When I walk down Waverly Drive, I think of what is it about the street that makes it so unique.  The only thing I can think of is that it is because I’m walking down this specific street.  Me being at a location makes it significant.  Without the “me, ” then it is just a street or location.  “I’ve always been suspicious of collective truths.” The only process I can truly trust, is what I see, and then there’s the art of writing down what you see - but can one ever do that?  “Sometimes I lie awake at night and I ask, “Is life a multiple choice test or is it a true or false test?… Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, ‘we hate to tell you this but life is a thousand word essay.’”