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Goodbye, Mr. Nothing
Goodbye, Mr. Nothing
Goodbye, Mr. Nothing
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Goodbye, Mr. Nothing

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A magician once told me that the problem with creations is they’ll never know their true value. From a son to an idea to your very own work, a creation will resent you for whatever reason they can find. They assume you don’t love them. They assume you don’t care. They assume themselves into resentment. After a while this war becomes familiar. But just because something is common doesn’t make it fine. Mr. Nothing, the greatest artist on earth, what more could you ask of me? I’d be lying if I told you our story has a happy ending. But I lie as well as you perform. Don’t fault me for my rotten nature. The significance of lies is to tell stories. It is to plant a seed of deception in the minds of an unwilling, unknowing audience. As bad as a crime, a lie. As impactful as sin. As powerful as birth. Come, invite yourself in. Get me the hell out. It’s how this story goes. Goodbye, Mr. Nothing. This player has met his end.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherF.K. Preston
Release dateJan 18, 2018
ISBN9781370953707
Goodbye, Mr. Nothing
Author

F.K. Preston

Author and artist. Creator of The Artist, The Audience and a Man Called Nothing and Goodbye, Mr. Nothing. Among other works.

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    Goodbye, Mr. Nothing - F.K. Preston

    GOODBYE, MR. NOTHING

    By F.K. Preston

    CONTENTS

    CHAPTER ONE

    CHAPTER TWO

    CHAPTER THREE

    CHAPTER FOUR

    CHAPTER FIVE

    CHAPTER SIX

    CHAPTER SEVEN

    CHAPTER EIGHT

    CHAPTER NINE

    CHAPTER TEN

    CHAPTER ELEVEN

    CHAPTER ONE

    This is a story born from memories. I couldn’t retell them in order because they shift in and out of my comprehension, as memories tend to do. I know a fact: all of this is real. But I couldn’t tell you which direction to navigate this story. You’ll just have to trust me.

    I’ll start us off with this interview transcript. For your entertainment, I’ll start us off with Rider Fairfax.

    *

    Interviewer: The roles you play are usually fairly extreme. How do you cope with the emotions your characters demand?

    RF: It’s always cathartic. I really used to look out for these movies that had these kinds of characters in them. Even the hyper-violent ones I find I enjoy.

    Interviewer: Why?

    RF: Cause of my personal experiences. Something makes me unable to emote to certain situations, I guess. But then I’m given the opportunity to act the way I always wanted to and not have any real consequences to my actions. So that’s the peaceful part. Plus acting gives me the gift of a clear head. It’s why I always tell people they should do two things to live a happy life: go to therapy and act.

    Interviewer: You have a scene in this film where its two minutes of you just crying. The camera is zeroed in on you, really close up. The audience sees everything.

    RF: So what’s the question?

    Interviewer: I guess I’m wondering if it’s really you crying, or the character?

    RF: How did I know you of all people would pick up on that?

    Interviewer: I guess I know real acting when I see it. Can you elaborate on your answer?

    RF: Yeah, yeah. Cines had me do it three times prior the final take, which is the one you see. For scene prep she kept asking me: What’s the most depressed you’ve ever been? What made you cry? Something hurt you. Use that for me right now. Use that pain and cry for what hurt you so badly. She got all close to my face and was shaking her fists like I would get it. It was pretty tough.

    Interviewer: It worked. Even the length of the scene works.

    RF: It was real short for me.

    Interviewer: What was the feeling around set after she called cut?

    RF: People were feeling pretty fucking awkward. I’ll admit that. She was nodding and seemed kinda proud but the crew was looking away and sort of staring at the ceiling or at their shoes. It was strange cause I’d had this intense moment where it was just me on this beautiful set we’d built specifically for the movie. And you get to see this moment that’s deeper than just the act, you know? You see me reacting to something true through the disguise of a character. People know what’s been going on with me – it’s all documented so anyone who’d been there for the story seven years ago can probably guess what I was crying about. But I didn’t feel any shame cause it was my pain. I finally had a right to express my own pain. And it seemed like such a bonus that I could express it through this character. So her herding me into this emotional corner and saying: live the moment for yourself and I’ll just catch it on camera, was clear enough. It became our movie after that cause that’s me up there, you know?

    Interviewer: I think the audience might have felt shame. I certainly did. Because we wanted to console you. But we also wanted to look away. It seems strange to watch someone hurting for entertainment.

    RF: I think there is shame. But shame from the fact that we’ve all, in some point in our lives, seen someone hurting and done shit-all to help. That’s some of the reactions I’ve heard, as well as yours. This man actually came up to me and introduced himself as a father and he looked, you know, very clean cut, very groomed. But he was in pieces. He told me: That’s how my daughter used to cry. Her face would look exactly like yours. And I never did anything to stop her from making that face again. I never even tried. I never helped her.

    Interviewer: Wow. That’s a pretty crazy thing to say to a stranger.

    RF: Yeah, you’re telling me! I was on my way to get a sandwich and this fucking figure just shows up and ruins a really simple day I was meant to be having.

    Interviewer: How did he ruin it?

    RF: He left after he told me that. He didn’t even ask for anything. And now because of that fucker, because he felt the need to cross into my life and tell me that horrible fact and leave immediately after, it’s left me wondering. I can’t stop thinking: why was the daughter crying? I’ll never know. But now I have this intense need to find out if she’s alright. But I never will. I’ll never find out. And I can’t even find him again cause something tells me he drove out of his way to get to me and drove twice as fast back home. He’s never gonna see or bump into me again. So I’ve got this thing on my chest. It’s picking at me. I’m thinking about this little girl all the time and she could be dead, you know? Or she could just be miserable. Man, people are crazy.

    Interviewer: But things like that; weird fan or non-fan encounters, must have happened to you before, right?

    RF: Sure. And I forget about them eventually. But that was me on screen. Something I did reminded him of his kid. So in some fucked up way, thanks to him, we’ve got this connection now. And nothing good will ever come out of it. I’ve still got to keep saying my lines and following the cues of the life I lead. We all do. Meanwhile I’m thinking of this girl and hoping she’s okay.

    Interviewer: Well, that’s my time. Do you wanna end on a sad note? The viewers will complain.

    RF: They can scream for all I care. No one gives a shit anyway. People love sad endings.

    Interviewer: As long as it doesn’t make them cry.

    RF: Sure. As long as they’re not crying or killing or hurting, or forcing actors into existential crisis corners, they can do whatever their fucked ambitions muster up.

    Interviewer: Thanks for this.

    RF: Hey, no problem. I’m a huge fan so doing this was a total no-brainer.

    Interviewer: I’m glad to hear there are still some people watching. Seems like an age since I’ve had anyone talk to me about work.

    RF: Well, we all get that. It’s called life, man. Gotta live these short years while you can, right?

    Interviewer: Of course. What could be more important than living?

    *

    There are three types of folks in Hollywood. I use Hollywood as my example because everything is extreme in this place. So if someone’s a prick, you’ll know immediately. If someone’s the opposite, you’ll hear about it. There are no well-kept secrets among entertaining bodies. So we’ll use these shiny people as our subjects to determine the state of human consciousness. Buckle up.

    You have horribles, good people, and the ghosts. The horribles are just as you’d expect: truly awful individuals. Awful in their particular ways. Most are so egotistical that a conversation with them becomes surreal. Am I dreaming? Or is this guy’s head truly so far up his own ass? They tend to work and socialise together. So you walk into a room of horribles, as the joke may go, and walk out five hours later a little richer, a little emptier on the inside, a little more popular, and a whole mind of corruption leading you on. Step by step it goes. Step by step, further from redemption. Hello. You’re a horrible. See how easy it becomes to be awful?

    Horribles are the abusers, the con artists, the false-victims, the ones who make their living off the backs of other beings. Death is a game when you’re a horrible. Horribles are a unique kind. They exist by the billions. They coexist with the rest of us. They speak and love and dream with the likes of us. What does that say about our own minds, I wonder?

    The good people, on the other hand, are great people. They’re lovely people. Good people can have an inflated ego. They can get their money from horribles, be partnered with them. There are shades of good. Probably too many shades if you think about it. So many shades, in fact, that you begin to realise most of the shades on one end are pretty damn awful. But on the other end? It’s pretty charming. These people are beautiful. Not because of the structure of their face or the whiteness of their teeth. Not because of any physicality that may be associated with the word beautiful. They are beautiful because they’re kind. They listen and smile and hear you out. They help you without any of those Hollywood strings attached. They say, I know a guy – and don’t expect payback that feels more like a death sentence. They have a lot. A lot of cash, cars, love and time. They have it in excess. Everything is good for the good people. Nothing ever gets too serious. They have fame. And even the ones who don’t, they’re good people because through action and reaction they prove to be giving, generous souls who are always quick to say thank you for whatever you can offer. But don’t get trapped into thinking the good people actually care. Look deeper into their eyes and you see something true. You’re just an extension of them. That’s why they’re so willing to lend a hand. Helping you makes them feel good because to a good person, you are them. Because it makes them think this is what a good person is. It’s a little fake. A little phoney. But don’t call Holden Caulfield just yet. Because this is Hollywood. What’d you expect? The actors are everywhere. Never forget.

    Lastly, the ghosts. My favourites. Only because when I do walk into Hollywood I’m constantly being overwhelmed. This is the fault of my overactive imagination. Or rather, my overactive cynicism which is actually just pessimism in a fancy disguise. I have a friend who is an incredibly good person. Think of the best celebrity you’ve heard of and double the charity. Coincidently, he’s now acting in Hollywood. But he was good even when he wasn’t part of the shine and glory of the industry of dreams and nightmares. So to speak. That’s how I described Hollywood to my kid the first time I visited. He didn’t find it too funny. Although neither had I at the time.

    Ghosts are a favourite because they’re silent. They don’t move too quickly and you always know you’re in a room full of ghosts when you walk into one. You don’t necessarily know that with the other two. If you’re familiar with crowds and the general way of people, you’ll know whether the stranger you’re talking to is speaking out of their heart, their mouth, or their ass in the first twenty seconds. Even if they’re trying to hide it. But ghosts are quiet. They don’t look you in the eyes often. Not because they’re lying but because they don’t care. That’s the crux of it. They don’t care. Now this carefully crafted nihilism might appeal to some, but there is a distinct depressive odour to these ghosts. I’m familiar with the smell. It’s thick. It creates a miasma of sensation that is oppressive. It chokes you. Slowly. Carefully. Makes you want to rethink things. The smell of depression is stale on some, tired on others. These ghosts are always tired.

    I remember an interview I did with a ghost. With interviews, you may not know, they’re usually four to six minutes long. Six if you’re lucky or it’s just a slow day, four if you’re annoying to the talent or it’s just a fast day. Unfortunately, you’ll never know if you’re a lucky bastard or an irritating one until an agent approaches you before an interview and says, And none of your usual questions. It’s startling to find out you’re irritating. Especially if you’ve lived as long as I had at that point. Why had no one told me? I felt caught out. A bird on a wire which just turned electric. I remember smiling back at the scowling man and assuring him I would be distinctly not myself for the following six minutes. His eyes turned cold as he stated, We’ve only got three.

    I felt better about my apparent annoyingness when the event proceeded and I met the actor in question. This actor was the star of a movie which everyone saw and no one liked. Not as tragic as you may think. It made over a billion dollars worldwide in the end. Not so tragic at all. This actor walked into the room with his agent ushering him in like a lost child. He sat down across from me in one of the new canvas chairs I was forced to bring myself because a Very Famous Director had sat in the previous one and complained that the material was so cheap it was giving him hives just looking at it. I wouldn’t call this director a horrible, just an asshole. But I don’t need to explain what or who an asshole is. We all know them when we see them.

    Sitting in my own chair and observing the general state of things, I noticed that this actor didn’t say hello. He didn’t look at my face, his back was hunched, his eyes to the ground, his feet shuffled and his posture was as bad as if he was carrying Pluto upon his shoulders. Another thing you may not know about interviews; there is forty seconds of unaired time before the interview begins. This isn’t filmed. If it is then it’s obviously cut out. It’s the moment before an actor emerges out on stage. It’s the pause before a conversation. The lull in the movement of dance. It’s the almost-minute spent preparing the cameras one last time and fixing any microphone issues. The agent hadn’t interrupted this time. He had come early to tell me off about my irritating questions. He had told me before this forty-second moment had begun. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to say it on camera. Calling a nobody irritating in front of a potential audience of potential millions can be pretty damning. Even if the forty seconds is always cut out by the editor. Someone might just try to be funny and leak it. And who would be to blame then? But my suspicions are he hadn’t wanted his client to hear. This actor was a ghost because I wasn’t sure he was even alive sitting across from me. His chest didn’t rise to breathe. His gaze was unblinking and empty. His hands were relaxed, arms draped over his knees as he slumped forward in my lovely canvas chair. I thought he was literally on the verge of dying. I had never seen this kind of behaviour from a healthy, thriving person. And what were actors if not healthy, thriving people? How little I knew back then. I wasn’t just irritating. I was unaware. We can’t forget that.

    The forty seconds were over in what felt like minutes. I was astounded; as I usually am when I witness behaviour I haven’t seen before. I felt my cue cards in my hands, cleared my throat to ask the first question. We were counted down. Three seconds left. The agent darted

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