Strung Out to Dry

I’ll admit I was suckered just like everybody else. I got a call Monday night from a fellow Scrubs obsessive who had read that Zach Braff was going to be speaking on campus. I got excited immediately, but tried to contain myself until I verified the info and checked that my schedule was clear. I was going to hear ZB speak! I could finally ask him all those questions that had been pressing on my mind since I saw Garden State and began, with the rest of the world, to respect him as a legitimate voice in the movie making world with insight to his craft and exceptional musical taste that had influenced my life. “So like, is Natalie Portman THAT hot in real life?” I could see myself asking, at which point we would laugh, because YES! OF COURSE! And he would say “I like your style, we should write my next movie together.” And I could respectfully decline saying “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think my material would be as effective rendered visually and while I respect you as a filmmaker there are journeys one must start alone.” And then we would both contemplate that for a moment and continue the interview.

In order to get this interview though, I was going to have to have some sort of credibility. Luckily I had been to the Occidental Weekly’s story assignment meeting that morning and was currently assigned to review the new Wallace and Gromit movie. (They call me Peter “Hard News” Frick-Wright around the Oxy Weekly)
“Please please please please please please please can I cover the Zach Braff thing for the paper?” I wrote to the Managing Editor. “Ok.” She responded. I was in.

Well, sort of. I could get in, apparently they have to let you in to events if you say that you’re covering it for the paper, but 30 something Writer/director/actors do not have to consent to your interview requests. I would hop that stream when I got to it though, because 30 something Writer/director/actors usually will talk to anybody who will listen about the new movie they are promoting, especially if that person works for a publication with a weekly circulation of 1,000. That sounded more impressive in my head.
“Is there anything you want to share with the students of Occidental College? An Oxy-specific music reccomendation? Advice for young filmmakers trying to get their name out there?” “Yes,” he would say, as our interview concluded. “Be sure to write your movie so that you make-out several times with Natalie Portman… because, damn.”

It was with no small amount of anticipation that I showed up at the specified room an hour and a half early to wait in line with the other loyal fans, all of us wrestling with tough questions like, Why is he speaking in a regular classroom with only 25 desks? Why is he at Oxy at all? Why did they wait to announce it until the night before and only do so on an Oxy events publication that most only skim through?

“I totally skipped all my classes today so I could be here. He is so cute, when he walks by I am just going to reach out and grab him.” Ok, so many of the other loyal fans who respect him as an artist were First Year (the new PC term for Frosh) girls armed with camera phones and front-row seats who had come to Oxy to be in LA because there are celebrities around every corner. I was still the only guy in line, but there was still an hour before his 1:30 appearance and I was covering it for the paper. I HAD to be there.

They let us into the classroom to wait and I took a seat in the non-stalker-ish third row. A few minutes later the AV crew showed up to set up the equipment for the talk.
“Hi, we’re from AV, we’re going to be rearranging some desks and things for Zach so we may need you to move.” The problem was, and don’t ask me why I know the AV roster so well, none of these people worked for AV. Suddenly, I got skeptical.

The “crew” started setting up a projector and a microphone, both of which looked to have been new in 1980, and I started thinking about putting my things away. When the crew then got out a ball of yarn and some twine and began taping ends of both to walls, lights, desks and running them throughout the room to create a spider-web effect, I decided it was time to go.

Not for good or anything, as a semi-serious prankster myself and because I still had to write about something for the newspaper, I was still interested in the story. I went to get a photographer. By the time I left the scene at 12:45 the 25 desks were filled and people were filing in to sit on the floor. A few strings running through the room were beginning to inconvenience people as they moved. When I got back, an approximate headcount revealed almost 50 people sitting in the room, (40 girls and ten guys) and enough string to keep everyone’s brown paper packages secure for the rest of their lives. The lights were off and there was room only in the aisles, but people kept filing in.

“We’re going to see Zach Braff!” Seemed to be the most common sentiment, instead of “Perhaps something could be amiss given that the lights are off and the entire room is filled with string?”
At best, it was “I wonder why Zach wanted them to fill the entire room with string? Oooh, there’s a spot where we can sit!” By 1:15, some people had been waiting more than an hour, much of it in a dark room filled so completely with string that the “crew” had stopped moving around and was simply sitting in front staring at everybody. As an intrepid journalist, I went looking for someone, anyone, who seemed to have figured out the joke or who even had a skeptical look on their face. I found confusion at best.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” a sophomore responded when I asked why she thought they would fill the room with string.
“You aren’t skeptical at all?” I asked, “Maybe thinking about leaving?”
“I’m just really confused. Maybe he’ll show up. I don’t have anything else to do.”
Another sophomore was similarly perplexed. “I’m confused, because I think if a movie star comes they would pick a bigger room than a tiny corner here… I don’t know why they put the string up either. People are getting claustrophobic.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Since 12:50.”
“It’s almost 1:30 now, how long are you going to stay?”
“Probably until I can see his face and hear him utter one word.”
“Are you uncomfortable in here?
“Yes! It’s hot!”
“What brought you here? Are you just a Zach Braff fan or was it Garden State…?”
“Yes, I also want to see if he’s just funny because he has a script or if he’s funny in real life.”

I felt like Bruno interviewing the fashion world on the Ali G show. I was trying to keep a straight face but few would admit any doubt that Zach was indeed going to show and reveal the secrets to a successful career in Hollywood. I finally found someone who would accept some force-fed skepticism.
“Why are you here?”
“I do a lot of theater and I want to be an actor.”
“What do you think is going on with all the string?”
“I have no idea, maybe it has to do with his new movie.”
“Are you skeptical at all?”
“A little, it might be like a joke.”
“How long would you be willing to stay?”
“Till 1:45.”

A male voice from the madness:
“What brought you here?”
“I heard about it actually this morning, I wanted to stop by. I actually can’t stay because I have class. I just wanted to see him.”
“What do you think is going on with the string?”
“I think it’s some kind of like, artistic presentation. I’m actually really sad that I don’t get to stick around because it seems like he’s going to do some kind of presentation involving the string, which would leave me to believe that he might have planned a nice presentation out so… that would be pretty interesting.”
“Yeah, too bad you can’t stay.”

When 1:30 came and went, I did find two girls who had been sitting in the front who were willing to believe that someone had pulled a fast-one.
“What do you think is going on with all the string?”
“I’m pretty sure at this point that it’s a pretense situation set up by a contemporary art class. I’m kind of irritated but I think they’re testing what people are willing to do for a certain celebrity.”
“Yet you’re still here.”
“Yeah, it would be kind of difficult to get out of here.”
“So you’ve embraced the fact that he’s not coming.”
“Yeah we embraced it a couple minutes ago.”
“Can I get an exact time, it’s 1:30 right now.”
(They debate for awhile)
“About seven minutes ago. 1:23.”

As that interview concluded the lights were shut-off once again and the room quieted in anticipation. The “crew” turned the projector on and a fuzzy image of ZB was projected on a dry-erase board. They approached one by one with markers and scribbled random lines all over the board before making their way through the string to the hallway. Other members of the crew, having handcuffed themselves together and covered their faces with western-style bandanas, began running stronger twine around the room.

Another member of the crew stood in the aisle of the desks and began wrapping herself in masking tape, using a majority of the roll. Everyone watched for several minutes, the “crew” escaping to the hallway.
“Has it ended?” The contemporary art professor who had assigned the project had been sitting in the front the whole time. “It’s ended. You can read about it in the school paper.”
Few said anything, and few seemed surprised as they filed out to the hallway. Most just seemed disappointed. A few first year girls were visibly upset when I caught up with them ten minutes later in the quad.
“That’s so fucked uuuuupppp.” One wailed.
“They broke my heart and destroyed my day.” Her friend echoed.
“I called friends back home to tell them I was going to see him.”
“Write that it was messed up… but make it sound more sophisticated.”
Me:“A more sophisticated way of saying it was messed up… it was… scrambled?”
Both at the same time: “YEAH!”

That’s as much as I know about what went on. I have interviews with the professor of the class as well as the students who pulled it off. I am, of course, still trying to get an interview with ZB, (I think it would be hilarious if he actually DID come to campus this year and no one showed up) but I might have to wait on that one. I’ll post the real news story I write on here, as well as my review of the Wallace and Gromit movie.
Until then peace, crackers, and practical jokes.
-Peter