Off Camera with Sam Jones

Just mention Will Ferrell’s name or glance at a picture of him and chances are you’re already smiling (or smirking or laughing out loud). But the really funny thing is that it’s not necessarily because his best-known characters are so gosh-darn loveable. See, Ferrell never bought the conventional movie truism that comedic leads have to be likeable, and went on to prove it, perhaps most pointedly with the iconic Ron Burgundy. In fact, he doesn’t even think comedy has to be particularly funny to be hysterical.

While working a number of “regular” jobs, (he actually almost became an anchorman), Ferrell did stand up in small clubs, clinging to his father’s surprisingly helpful advice that his ever making it would be a long shot. It was just that take-it-or-leave it approach that allowed him to pursue his unique comedic style free from the angst that might have otherwise crushed it. It might also explain a small sadistic streak that underlies his performances – if you don’t like what he’s doing, sit back and enjoy it anyway…or else.

In this issue, he describes his stomach-churning, knee-buckling Saturday Night Live audition and the even more daunting experience of joining the legendary show at one of its lowest points. He also shares his writing process, stories behind some of his best loved impersonations and his long and sometimes perplexing feature film cv. His success and work in projects as diverse as Elf and Stranger Than Fiction illustrate the rare genius of someone who can make the ridiculously absurd not only believable, but sympathetic. Chalk it up to talent or unquestioning commitment to any role he takes on, but not to hard work. Ferrell’s a firm believer in not overthinking the work or worrying too much about whether his projects succeed, as long as he’s having fun along the way. He may not be cerebral, but trust us, he’s brilliant.

We expect actors to dramatize a range of emotions as the characters they play; even, to some extent, when they’re playing a version of themselves on The Tonight Show or E! News. That’s what actors do, after all; they “act”—tearing up, raging, clowning, and otherwise emoting. So what secret magnetic field does Don Cheadle tap that allows him to convey all that with no detectable effort and a virtually unreadable face? He sits back, unruffled and self-possessed, while we do the work of reading into his performance whatever it is he needs us to know. This is not charisma of the “Let’s put on a show!” variety; it’s the kind that makes an actor impossible to look away from.

The Hollywood Reporter noted in its review of his current series, House of Lies, “There’s an exceptional cast…, but everything revolves around the fact that Cheadle is riveting and impressively deft at being funny one moment, serious the next… He’s the giant magnet at the center of the show.” But a number of critics (and casting directors) looked under the radar long before a lot of us in the mass movie-going public, noting his uncannily facile power in films like Rebound: The Legend of Earl “The Goat” Manigault, Talk to Me, Devil in a Blue Dress, and Traffic. Most of us, though, wised up a few years later with the release of Hotel Rwanda, The Atlantic along with us: “[Producer and director] Terry George has, in Don Cheadle, perhaps the most underrated performer working in motion pictures. A character actor of uncommon range and charisma, Cheadle has over the last decade shown himself to be exceptional at playing characters both ineffectual and ferocious. Cheadle delivers a performance without seams, one in which the character’s later heroism is merely another facet of his earlier pragmatism. His genius makes Hotel Rwanda not only an important work of politics, but an important work of art.”

It was a role George was honest in telling Cheadle he’d have to give to an actor with a bigger name, if he could get one. Cheadle’s reaction says a lot about him and how he sees his career. He told George he’d support the film in any way necessary regardless of whether he got the part, because it was a story that needed to be told. Cheadle honestly doesn’t care a whole lot about Oscars and fame and the like; he’s interested in longevity and the ability to make work that he believes has value—whether it puts him in front of or behind the camera. These days, he’s finding himself in both places, often simultaneously. He writes, directs, and stars in the upcoming film Miles Ahead, a take on musician Miles Davis so fiercely imaginative it demands its own genre. He’s also established his own production company, through which he’s now producing a new comedy for NBC—all while continuing to lead House Of Lies, which just became the first U.S. scripted series to shoot in Cuba.

All to say, he’s going to need his preternatural calm more than ever. But it should be noted that in Cheadle’s case, “calm” does not mean “reserved.” He continues to be an outspoken advocate for issues like humanitarian aid to Darfur and climate change awareness through fundraising, and by making films and co-authoring books on the subjects.

You get the feeling the man contains multitudes we’re only starting to see. Fittingly, we’ll let Miles summarize: “When you’re creating your own shit, even the sky ain’t the limit.”

If souls or psyches can be compared to houses, Kristen Bell’s would be one with few dark corners. It would probably also be lavender scented, with a nice breeze blowing through. Delightfully real and candid, she’s become one of the most relatable and loved personalities on TV, that personality often being herself: Her Samsung commercials and goofy personal videos with husband Dax Shepard are some of YouTube’s most popular. No word on how many high-tech home appliances they’ve sold, but the Toto cover video they shot in Africa has garnered well over five million views. The soft heart and strong values that Shepard both teases and loves her for are ones she supports in both words and example—marriage equality, animal rights, and voter registration, for starters.

Not surprisingly, then, the sunny, perky blond wasn’t the first actor that came to mind for Veronica Mars creator Rob Thomas. “I had Christina Ricci in my head when I wrote it. I wanted someone who had a caustic delivery for lines that had weight and dryness.” As it turned out, Bell was also damn funny, with a gift for injecting just the right amount of dark, wry wit into what became her breakout role, turning her into a geek goddess of sorts. Her excellent turn as Elle Bishop in Heroes only settled that crown more firmly on her head.

Maybe the fanboy hall-of-fame was a pre-destined landing place for someone who always felt (and early on, was often told) she wasn’t homely enough to play the nerdy girl and not nearly pretty enough to play the pretty girl. If that was a struggle at the outset, it seems to have made her a guileless and non-judgmental career plotter. That approach doesn’t work for everyone, but in Bell’s case, it’s allowed for angst-free role choices that ultimately did justice to her surprising range. (Check out Hit & Run for an early example of her abilities—and her director and then-fiancée’s knowing exactly how to push her buttons.)

Post-Veronica Mars, her big screen break arrived with a part in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, a potentially intimidating career leap that landed well. In its review, Rolling Stone gave “Cheers to Bell for finding nuance in a diva written as a stone-cold bitch.” More recent evidence of her range turned up in a role in which she technically never appeared. For thousands of unsuspecting fans, Disney’s unstoppable snowball of a hit Frozen unmasked her extraordinary talent as a singer, a gift she honed in years of early musical theater training but modestly underplays.

These days, Bell finds herself increasingly in demand, and increasingly in the company of bar-raising colleagues, a challenge she deliberately seeks out. She’s playing the ambitious partner and foil to Don Cheadle in Showtime’s not-so-sunny House of Lies. In the upcoming film The Boss, Bell plays a mousey would-be brownie maven alongside Melissa McCarthy, one of her comedic idols. She’s also somehow managed to start work on a new NBC show called Good Place from the executive producer of Parks and Recreation and co-starring Ted Danson. The series allows Bell an interesting opportunity to explore the character of Eleanor, a not-so-good person trying to figure out how to become a good person—if she can figure out what actually defines “a good person.” Our advice to Eleanor? As examples go, your friend Kristen Bell wouldn’t be a bad place to start.

Success came to Ethan Hawke when he was young, and across a wide spectrum. He landed a major motion picture, “The Explorers,” at 13, off his first audition. His second film, at 18, under Robin Williams’ tutelage on and off screen, was the now-classic “Dead Poets Society.” He’s been an established star ever since. At age 24, In the midst of his early film successes, he published “The Hottest State.” Hawke admits that adding “novelist” to his resume made him an easy target for ridicule. The word “pretentious” has been thrown at him countless times, often by foes, a few times by friends, even by himself. His response? “It beats not trying.”He did keep trying, and with this true renaissance man’s every career milestone over 20-plus years, the naysaying is drowned out by the praise. His insecure high-schooler Todd in “Dead Poets Society,” ultimate slacker Troy in “Reality Bites,” sincere rookie partner to sleazeball cop Denzel Washington in “Training Day,” his soulful Jesse in the “Before Sunrise” trilogy and most recently his increasingly less immature father Mason Sr. in “Boyhood,” as well as his critically beloved screenplays for the trilogy, which he co-wrote with Julie Delpy and Richard Linklater, have entrenched him in the top tier of the film industry, with four Oscar nominations. He has the faith of stage producers and directors as well: He’s done Shakespeare, Chekhov, and three plays with Tom Stoppard. His second novel, “Ash Wednesday,” was a best seller, and inspired The New York Times to write: “He displays a novelist’s innate gifts. He has a sharp eye, a fluid storytelling voice and the imagination to create complicated individuals.”A funny thing happened as Hawke, and his career, ripened into maturity: He morphed from embodying the essence of perpetually promising youth – ”I’d always been the youngest at everything” -- to a personification of the wisdom that comes with the passage of time. In the Sunrise trilogy, 18 years in the making, and “Boyhood,” 12 years in the making, we watched Hawke get older, less idealistic, more attuned to life’s ups and downs, meeting life’s challenges realistically, if not always admirably. On screen, he’s let himself wise up, screw up and then get up and move on, older and smarter. In his real life, he takes these lessons to heart. Now, in his latest film, he moves behind the camera to show the world someone who’s played the game of life even more skillfully than he, someone who embodies an ethos that Hawke has embraced: In the grand scheme, it’s not about growing up, it’s not about growing old, it’s simply about growing.

Sam Jones does it again. Listen in as he fields some burning questions from Off Camera fans.

Liz Phair introduced herself to the music industry in the 1990s with her bold first record Exile in Guyville. Rock and roll was traditionally dominated by men, but Liz forged her own path to success despite the loneliness it entailed. She used her art to express her feelings about sexuality, gender, and politics. As she says, “I had a sense that if I wanted to make my artistic dreams comes true, I was going to be on my own. I knew I would be going against the grain.”To this day, Liz unapologetically speaks her mind, and with the recent release of her memoir Horror Stories, we get a glimpse of the human being behind the art and the experiences that shaped her. Her remedy for the hopelessness she felt after the 2016 election was to write a brutally honest account of her life. “I decided to put something out that was as true as I could make it. I could expose myself and make myself truly vulnerable in order to plant a flag for honesty.”Liz joins Off Camera to talk about rebelling against the “beautiful lie” that was her suburban upbringing, her quest to untangle who she actually is versus the person she is perceived to be, and why getting up on stage never gets any easier.

Well folks, you are in for a treat this week, especially if you are a skateboarder. Mike McGill and Steve Caballero were two of the founding members of the most famous skateboard team in history, the Bones Brigade, founded by legendary skater Stacy Peralta, who had a knack for scouting young talent. As a kid growing up in Fullerton, California, skateboarding was my passion, and I witnessed both of these guys change the sport I loved from a street corner pursuit to a worldwide phenomenon that has influenced popular culture, changed our athletic landscape, and is now, unbelievably, an Olympic Sport.Mike and Steve grew up on opposite coasts, but their shared love of skating (and a call from Stacy) brought them together. Now, Mike and Steve are in their 50s, and little has changed—they’re still great friends, they still skate together, and they’re still pushing each other to be better.The Bones Brigade was a make-shift family—a group of teenaged boys with Stacy as the father figure at the helm. Under Stacy’s mentorship, Mike and Steve turned pro at 15 years old, which meant traveling, competing in contests, and making videos. Juggling school and the demands of the sport was hard for both of them. Steve’s grades dipped, and Mike’s principal called his parents to reprimand him for missing too much class. But they knew what they wanted to do, and they were already earning a living. A good living.When The Bones Brigade hit their peak in the early '90s Mike and Steve were earning way more money than their parents, and traveling the world like rock stars. It gave them a perspective that few kids get, and it also solidified their identities forever, which caused both growing pains and afforded them a life of doing what they love to do.Mike and Steve’s other passion is Motocross, so you can understand why I like these guys. We get together most Mondays to ride dirt bikes at various motocross tracks around California, and as I result I have been afforded a unique perspective on how they approach fear, injury, aging, and passion. We get deep into those topics, and I come away with a new respect for them and a renewed desire to throw caution to the wind in pursuit of a life well lived.Mike and Steve join Off Camera to talk about accepting that suffering is part of the journey, the pressure that comes with creating new tricks, and how they hazed Tony Hawk when he joined the Bones Brigade. All I can say is, don’t ever accept gum from Mike and Steve. You don’t know where it’s been.

I’m really happy to have Jenny Slate back again. She’s smart, funny, and charming, and she’s refreshingly honest about her struggles as an artist and human being. Every time I find myself in conversation with her, I feel inspired and joyful. She’s just released a Netflix special called Stage Fright, which is part standup, part documentary, part confessional, and wholly original. And she’s also released a new memoir called Little Weirds, which is probably the most esoteric and private book to ever land on The New York Times bestseller list. Bottom line, Jenny is an unapologetically human artist, and she is at the height of her powers.

Jenny had to do some soul-searching over the past few years. Divorce, the public spotlight, and emotional turmoil were inhibiting her creativity, and as she depicts in her memoir, she had to work through some of that “gloop.” Writing Little Weirds led to a maturity and self-assuredness that helped her reach not only new creative heights, but also to find peace and happiness within herself. She inhabits an interesting space between creating entertainment and soul-searching. As Jenny says, “I don’t think that there will be a world in which I don’t try to be funny and add levity to reality, but the most important thing for me as an artist and the only constant is, ‘Openness until death.’ Stay open until you’re terminal.”

Jenny joins Off Camera to talk about losing her creative spirit in the woods of New England, freaking out after she bombed the Stage Fright rehearsal, and the psychological and creative benefits of dressing monochromatically for a couple weeks.

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The first time Tracy Letts participated in a community theater play, he knew he found something special. At school, Tracy was shy and had a hard time connecting with his peers, so when he discovered the comradery surrounding the theater, he finally felt embraced by a community. His talent for acting came later, when his father, also an actor, taught him the power of speaking simply rather than proclaiming. As Tracy says, “I went onstage, and I said my lines simply and truthfully. It was my first real acting lesson. Speaking truthfully in a room has great impact—everyone can feel it. After that, I was hooked.”After graduating from high school, Tracy was eager to start his life and decided against going to college. He landed in Chicago, which had a rich and booming theater scene. When he wasn’t auditioning, he filled his free time writing, a passion of his ever since he was young. Killer Joe, a play about a brutal and murderous family in Texas, was Tracy’s first attempt, and it became a massive success.In the years since, Tracy has continued to write and act. He won a Pulitzer Prize for his play August: Osage County, based on his own family, and in addition to his acting work on stage, he’s been in a number of projects on TV and in film, such as Homeland, Lady Bird, and most recently, Ford v Ferrari. There’s an empathy that suffuses all of Tracy’s work, and it all stems from his desire to achieve self-acceptance. As he says, “It’s hard to give yourself a break, isn’t it? You can’t just decide to do it. It’s not an act of will. It takes actual work, whether that means getting sober, getting into therapy, writing or acting in plays, or paying attention and really listening to other people.”Tracy joins Off Camera to talk about working with his father in August: Osage County, how theater provokes vulnerability, and why his career trajectory basically comes down to chasing a girl.