An adult perspective

I was dancing my ass off to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band recently, and when Ringo came on singing "With a Little Help From My Friends", I did what I usually do, which is to gently make fun of him for the flatness of his tonal quality.  But this time, it occurred to me: He can carry a tune.  He can play the drums.  He's a Beatle, fer cryin' out loud.  He's got me beat for accomplishment by about four billion.  Where do I get off making fun of him even a little bit?

Then I found myself thinking about A Hard Day's Night, which was the movie and music that shaped and enriched and pretty well completely absorbed my adolescent.  I don't know how many times I sat through that movie, practically peeing myself with delight.  When that first guitar chord is struck and the Beatles appear, running for their lives as they are chased by screaming girls, I used to go into deliriums of pleasure.  But now, in my adulthood, I find that image very disturbing.  What are those girls going to do if they catch one of them?  It looks as though they would tear them apart for a chance to touch Beatle hair or skin.  This was how these four men lived, constantly under assault, constantly being chased and screamed at, always seen as Beatles rather than as people.

And this got me thinking about fame.  I  have always been hugely fascinated by fame, by the idea of it, probably because I used to want it for myself, wanted it bad.  This was mostly in my acting days, when the possibility of fame was the carrot which made it possible to put up with rejections and disappointments and casting couches and awkward auditions and poverty and brutal self-doubt.  And because I wanted it, I would try to imagine what it was like.  But I was always imagining it from the outside, as though I were a camera looking at myself get out of a limo in an elegant dress at an Oscar ceremony while camera flashbulbs sparkled and people screamed my name and everybody wanted my autograph or an interview.

But now, in my adulthood, I'm able to imagine that scene from the inside, imagine myself about to get out of that car, which means managing that elegant dress and plastering a smile on my face whether I feel like smiling or not.  Those flashbulbs are blinding me, and because of those cameras, I have to be sure not to stumble, not to frown, not to say anything inane - or worse, controversial.

And think of the royals of any country, their lives circumscribed by protocols and ancient expectations, their posture and demeanor having to be correct.  Famous people are always putting on performances, and their lives to do not belong wholly to themselves.  Fame now sounds rather ghastly to me, and I'm grateful to have remained obscure.  I'm still hoping that someday I'll write a play good enough to win a Tony, but I don't need the Tony itself.  I'll take the money that comes with success, and the praise, but the fame, you can keep.