Warner Brothers and Castle-Rock have set up in the lovely Beverly Hills Four Seasons again, a favorite place for press junkets. Today I'm covering The Salton Sea, which stars Val Kilmer. The valet takes my small sports car, pretzeling himself into the space between my seat and steering wheel; moving the seat is a no-no at the chi-chi hotel of the rich, famous and probably sometimes temperamental.
I make my way to the Burton Room, where I check in with studio personnel and get my parking validated. I'm too late for lunch, and there is no goody bag to peruse, so I head for my assigned room where the "round tables" will take place. For those of you not in the know, journalists who work in print, radio, or the internet spend several hours broken up into small groups at separate tables, while the talent (the stars, the director, and sometimes a producer and a screenwriter) move from one table to the next, giving each group 15 to 30 minutes. The Salton Sea is a smaller movie, only coming out in New York and L.A. at first, then gradually going wider (a method of release called "platforming"), so there are fewer than usual journalists at each table in separate matchbox-sized rooms. This is a good thing, as far as we're concerned.
We've all seen the movie (or should have). General consensus on The Salton Sea is positive; some of the journalists have read things into it that I have not, and most loved the scene I especially disliked (more on that later), but we are pretty much in agreement: it's a good movie, but hard to market. Noir is greatly respected, but not especially popular in the big screen popcorn world. The Salton Sea follows the sometimes comic but mostly grotesque and surreal misadventures of Kilmer as Danny Parker, a tortured man searching for the ruthless murderers of his wife. The affable jazz musician is turned into a tattooed, spiky-haired meth-addict as he slips into the world where his unsuspecting nemeses live and lurk.
The table is actually round for a change (usually they are oblong or rectangular), and I select the seat next to where the talent will be (the designated spot so marked by the chair tipped forward). Ordinarily I don't do this -- I prefer to sit directly across -- but perhaps I am hoping that the star of The Salton Sea will slap my knee while telling a particularly amusing story. I will later discover that Mr. Kilmer does not tell knee-slappers at press junkets. He, my friends, is a Serious Actor.
The first of the talent in is D.J. Caruso, the director. He's got green eyes, very white teeth, a dark tan, and is wearing a casual suit. He seats himself and tells us in between sips of coffee that while making The Salton Sea, he was most influenced by Chinatown, one of the few legitimate in-color film noirs, and a timeless Robert Mitchum movie called Out of the Past. Despite some similarities in The Salton Sea to classic noir, it also brings to mind films such as Pulp Fiction, Requiem for a Dream, and Memento. Any similarities to those films, especially Memento, is purely coincidence, says the director. "The day Salton Sea wrapped," Caruso tells us, "Memento was released. When I saw the tattoos and the spiky hair, and I heard that it's the non-linear story of a conflicted man searching for the killer of his wife, my stomach just fell." Later on, though, he learned that the two movies are actually quite different.
Caruso, a first-time film director (he's done lots of TV in the past), admits he was a little concerned about Kilmer's reputation for being... difficult. I'd forgotten about this. These are not the sorts of things I dwell on. In fact, if you told me that James Caan was the Dale Carnegie of Tinsel Town, I'd probably have to think twice before disbelieving you. "But we connected," Caruso says of Kilmer, "we've both lost brothers, and both wanted to make a film exploring that feeling of loss."
Caruso recounts his research for the film: "We went to three-day meth blowouts. They were insane, they were intense, they were euphoric in ways, and they were the most tragic things you've ever seen." As stylized and darkly comic as the movie is, it also has an emotional core, and that is Danny's quest to right the deadly wrong and to assuage his own guilt. "I've always wanted to take moments back," Caruso says. "The day that my brother left the house and died in a car accident -- I don't think I even looked at him when he said goodbye. I was obsessed with [this character's] obsession with wanting to go back and just make it okay."
Tortured souls aside, someone brings up the one scene in the movie I really can't abide: it's titled (yes, titles flash across the screen within the movie to introduce the vignette) "Kujo's Big Heist", and it follows gack-head (speed-freak to those of you born anytime before 1980) Kujo (played by Adam Goldberg) on a madcap quest to steal Bob Hope's stool sample from the hospital and then sell it on eBay. Caruso admits he didn't cover himself on that scene, and as The Salton Sea's release date kept getting pushed farther and farther back, and as Hope suffered health scare after health scare, he prayed for more reasons than one.
There are several bizarre, Tarantino-meets-Lynch scenes in the film; Kujo's Big Heist, an attack badger belonging to a noseless drug dealer that's trained to ferret out an enemy's privy parts, and a game of shoot 'em up in which four pigeons reenact the JFK assassination, complete with the convertible and Jackie-O's pillbox hat. "Nobody wanted to play JFK!" Caruso jokes. (But rest assured, no actual pigeons were harmed during the filming.)
We talk a little bit about the marketing for the film, and how hard it must be for the studio to, er, pigeonhole. Caruso has concerns, but he is heartened by the positive buzz on the Internet, and by how well the film has tested, especially amongst the older demographic. However, he says, he thinks the film will play best to the younger crowd (18-30).
Caruso's got to cruise, and Kilmer is next. The man with the "reputation." Some of the journalists will later ask the other actors if they had reservations about working with him, but nobody has the cajones to ask Kilmer himself about his "reputation." Least of all me. Now I'm questioning the wisdom of my seating choice. It's quite close, and my foot touches his. Will Val (can I call him Val?) think I'm being forward? Will he blow his stack and storm out, rushing to lodge an official complaint about the overly-aggressive redhead?
Kilmer doesn't seem to notice. He keeps his foot where it is, and so do I. If I move it now, he might think I'm avoiding touching him. That's not good, either.
Someone breaks the ice right away, asking Kilmer what was trippier, this or The Doors? "Different drugs, same high," Kilmer deadpans. He smiles, and due to my proximity, I can't help but check him out. It's no secret (except to him, probably) that he's one of my all-time favorite actors, and I've seen almost all his movies more than once. His longish, loosely wavy hair falls perfectly, and he's casually clad in a checked shirt, jeans, and boots. On the surface he looks inviting, but his demeanor is more guarded. He fidgets a lot, puts his hands over his mouth while talking (thanks, Val -- transcribing the tape has been fun!), and generally avoids eye contact. However, that's not to say he isn't looking at anything. He's a very observant man. He eyes all of the tape recorders set before him in turn, and when I put my hand on mine to check the tape spool, he takes a good look at my chunky Union Jack ring. When I set my pen down -- a pen the shape of a gecko, or perhaps a lizard king of some sort -- he checks it out and later uses it as a prop to punctuate a story he tells.
Kilmer's been tattooed in a few movies (Heat is notable, for one), but the centerpiece tat he wears in The Salton Sea, a massive grim reaper spreading its arms out across his back, a symbolic icon of his character's bète noire, is quite a thing apart. I ask about it. Not exactly the James Lipton question, but Kilmer, not looking at me, answers it with tolerant aplomb. The tattoos, he tells me (or the tabletop; I'm not sure which) were a "unique hell" which took over three and a half hours to apply each time. He takes a swig of his mineral water and awaits the next question; one, like mine, which he has probably answered dozens times at half as many round tables here and at the official junket held last week in New York (this is actually just a "press day" -- don't ask, it's too complicated).
Kilmer indulges us with a few personal stories -- his brother's death, sans details, how the drug culture is now prospering in his mother's once-idyllic neighborhood in Arizona and why he thinks that is -- and more about The Salton Sea. He, too, says it's played well to older audiences. I liked it. Does that mean I'm "older"? So I ask him. "What do you consider 'older'? I'm wondering if I fall into that category..." He glances at me for the first time, grinning. "No, no. Sixties." Okay. Then I wonder; am I younger or older than Van Kilmer? I think I am a few years younger. But when it comes to men and women, women's ages might as well be counted in dog years.
Someone asks a question Kilmer has probably not heard today. His surprise is palpable. "Are you looking forward to seeing Spider-Man?" Kilmer stammers for a moment and fiddles with a tape recorder. "What?" The question is repeated. "If my boy wants to see it, I'll go." Then he says something jokey about Batman (he played the caped crusader in one film between Michael Keaton and George Clooney's portrayals).
Our time with Kilmer is winding down. We've already been given the five-minute warning. After Spider-Man, the questions wane. Kilmer notices that one of the journalists has brought his DVD of Willow. "Oooh, can I sign that?" he pants with mild sarcasm. The DVD is slid across the table, and Kilmer signs with what looks like a couple of straight lines. Another journalist hands his Salton Sea press kit to Kilmer, and he signs that, too. He glances in my direction. My press kit is out, but I don't budge it. I'm not into collecting autographs. I'll probably regret that in my dotage, when Social Security is even more of a joke than it is now and eBay is my sole form of income, but what can I say? That's that and Kilmer bade us a friendly farewell. He's glad to be out of there.
He's left his water bottle behind. I hold it aloft and ask, "Does anybody want to sell Val Kilmer's spit on eBay?" It's a nod to the Bob Hope scene everyone loves in the movie, but nobody seems to get it. They shake their heads no thanks, and chat about how the interview just went. He was nice. It went all right. But was Kilmer pissed about the superhero question? We're not sure. We hope not.
Talk turns to a newspaper clipping about Cameron Diaz's lack of acting/singing/dancing talent. We pass it around, read it. We wait. Someone gets up to ask one of the Warner Brothers publicists where the rest of the talent is. They are in their limos, still en route. We wait. A couple of the journalists plead prior obligations and bail out. They got the director and the star, after all. I and a few diehards stay, and we are not disappointed. Co-stars Doug Hutchison and Adam Goldberg, and screenwriter Tony Gayton, are actually quite interesting.
Hutchison is the first one in. I've seen him in countless movies and TV shows, things I've enjoyed (The X-Files, A Time to Kill, The Green Mile, and of course The Salton Sea just a few days ago), but if I passed him on the street I would not recognize him. It's a testament to his chameleon-like talent. This actor who usually plays thoroughly unlikable people (he was a racist redneck in A Time to Kill, and he was a sadistic prison guard in The Green Mile) is actually quite laid-back, friendly, and soft-spoken in person. Thoroughly likable. Wearing no jewelry, a short-sleeved black shirt and a baseball cap, he sports that I-know-it's-sexy-oops!-I-forgot-to-shave-stubble. On his cap, emblazoned in bright white lettering, it says, "It's HUTCHISON dammit!" It seems everyone wants to call him Hutchinson. I remember reading somewhere that Michael Hutchence of INXS had the same problem. Look how he wound up. The cap seems to be a good preemptive strike, if you ask me.
Out of the five people we speak to, Hutchison is the only one to "work the room"; he makes sure he glances at everyone as he speaks, making us all feel included. Even when somebody asks about -- you guessed it -- Kilmer's "reputation" he's unfazed and answers without hesitating. "I was thrilled to be working with Val," he says. He waxes philosophical on the thin line between madness and genius, and eventually surmises that his co-star is just "always on Planet Val." Generally, I got the impression he liked Kilmer, even when the Danny character had a gun to his head. That's a great scene in The Salton Sea, sort of a hazy homage to the Dirty Harry 'Do You Feel Lucky, Punk?' scene ("I know what you're thinking. Did he fire six shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I've kinda lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya punk?")
Hutchison shares some amusing and interesting stories with us on his ride-alongs with the Riverside, CA., police, where he learned to speak more authentically for his role as a small town narc, and talks of his co-star and partner in the movie, Anthony LaPaglia. I notice he pronounces it with a hard g. (Thank you, Doug. I always wondered if the g was silent or not. Now can you clear up the Zeta in Catherine Zeta Jones for me?) Hutchison said that LaPaglia was his "saving grace," and he was grateful to work with such a nice guy, because they had a lot of down time together.
Time is up, and he waves a cordial goodbye as Goldberg enters the room. Goldberg hasn't put a lot of thought into his appearance... or maybe he has. Perhaps it's what they call "studied indifference." He's in shapeless slacks, and a wrinkled plain brown tee-shirt. Any attention to his tacky tattoos is diverted by the thick, super-chunky silver rings and ID bracelet he wears. He splays out on the chair, fidgeting. I have a feeling he wishes he could smoke in here.
The day is stretching out, and we're all a bit tired. Still, there are plenty of questions for Goldberg. He answers them, speaking quickly but eloquently. He talks about working on his California accent, and the way the gack-heads speak, their mannerisms and the way they think. A case in point is Kujo's Big Heist. Only a gack-head would so meticulously plan out such a, um, crappy scheme. He says he doesn't usually get into his own acting, but "I laughed at myself watching that." Even he loves the Bob Hope gag. I guess it's just me. Goldberg wriggles restlessly and twists his rings as he speaks of his upcoming project, something he's directing, which will hopefully star his good friend, Giovanni Ribisi. "It's about a movie star who becomes obsessed with a fan," he tells us. Sounds interesting indeed, but there isn't much more to tell yet.
Goldberg exits, and the screenwriter, Tony Gayton, enters. So this is the guy who thinks Bob Hope's poop for sale on eBay is funny. This is the guy who dreamed up the noseless drug dealer who sics a bad-tempered badger on hapless male appendages and uses presidential pigeons for target practice. Hmmm. You'd never guess it. Gayton is an amiable, bright-eyed fellow with salt-n-pepper short hair and a ready smile. He sits down, and someone asks him right away about the badger (a male someone, I might add). Gayton chuckles and says he loves those scenes that make you squirm, "like the dentist scene in The Marathon Man." Everyone squirms.
Someone asks what Gayton thinks of the casting, and whether he wrote the Danny part with anyone in particular in mind. "Val is perfect," he tells us, "I'd heard 'the stories' about Val..." he offers, saying once again that Kilmer was perfect and added a lot of his own ideas to the role and helped flesh it out. And no, Gayton wasn't thinking of any actor in particular when he wrote the script. It was spec script, which gave him more freedom. He, in turn, let others have freedom with his script. While it's "remarkably" close to the original, many of the actors put their own spin on the characters, and Caruso added all the surreal stuff. Gayton is pleased with the end result.
Someone asks Gayton how he became interested in the drug culture. He says it was due to his growing up in Florida, and I quip, "Oh, all that Geritol?" One of my well-meaning but humorless colleagues gently corrects me. "No, the trafficking." Oh, I see. Thank you.
Gayton's got another movie coming out soon, and talk turns to that. It's a more Hollywood-friendly thriller called Murder By Numbers, starring the ever-bankable, ever-marketable Sandra Bullock. In that script, he tells us, there were constraints and he had to make certain changes (i.e., expanding the Bullock role) to please the powers that be. But, he assures us, it's still got lots of twists and turns. We talk about mysteries. What makes him so good at writing them? someone asks. It's a mystery to him, it seems. So I ask: "Are you good at figuring out other people's mysteries?" Gayton has an answer ready. "I figured out The Sixth Sense just by watching the trailer." Damn! He is good.
All's well that ends well. As fate would have it, I'm heading off for the screening of Murder By Numbers, so it's time to make another valet do the lotus in my car. I ride down in the elevator with Goldberg and his friend. He allows me to step into the lift before him, but aside from that doesn't acknowledge me. Nor I him. It's not like we're friends now. While I wait for my car, Goldberg steps into a limo, rolls the window down and lights a cigarette.
Just before my vehicle arrives, P. Diddy (or the Artist Formerly Known as P. Diddy... I can't keep up) pulls up in his immaculate black Ferrari, vaulting out and heading for the hotel. Diddy doesn't wait for any valet. He doesn't wait for a ticket, either. He knows his beauty will be taken care of. The stratospherically expensive machine is just sitting there. Did he leave it running, or not? The question is, Do I feel lucky?
