Charlie McCarthy I Hardly Knew Ya

Sears Catalog was the go-to for all possible things in my life. It had roller disco skates. And outfits like Kristy McNichol wore as Buddy in "Family." Cassette tape recorders that we could record songs playing on WNBC (the only radio station that played pop music AND made it up the river valley into my house). And, for the kid who was looking for a back door into show biz without having to admit it out loud, ventriloquist dummies. A whole page of instant Borscht Belt acts without the mess of a skill. I was a kid. Me and the dummy would ride adorable all the way to Wonderama stardom! I worked on my parents for a year until, for my 10th birthday, Charlie McCarthy arrived.

Charlie being cheeky to my sister, Chrissy.

I picked out Charlie from the dummy herd on the page of the catalog and am, in retrospect, grateful for my choice. Because, as much as Charlie would wind up scaring the shit out of me, the other choices would have easily turned me to drugs by the time I was 15.  Particularly Simon Says with his Kingston Trio V neck and molded side part hair emanating the air of a 1963  hipster with a child porn collection in his desk drawer or The Clown whom I believe went on to flash-in-the-pan stardom screwing with young Robbie Freeling's head in the movie "Poltergeist." Charlie was  already an established personality. He was respectable, dressed like a pint sized Fred Astaire complete with a tuxedo jacket, a top hat and a damned fine monocle. Oh how I loved that monocle, often wearing it myself to create that Angela Lansbury feeling.

Then, just a couple of months after Charlie and I really started cooking up good ideas for the act, the television ads started running for the movie, "Magic" staring Anthony Hopkins and the most demented  psycho to ever be whittled from a tree.

The doll  in the movie wasn't exactly like Charlie. He wasn't as classy. Or was he? Every time I saw that commercial, I lost a little more faith in the Mike Nichols to my Elaine May. I was an imaginative kid to begin with, for years waiting for Frankenstein and skeletons to get me in the dark. And Charlie was right there, in my bed or on my shelf, always looking like he was waiting for something to happen. He had arms and legs that began to look more and more likely to move when my sister and I  were conveniently asleep in our room.  Magic Psycho Dummy looked like he was trusted too  and Anthony Hopkins certainly regretted his choice.

 I tied Charlie's arms and legs up in knots after I removed his monocle so he couldn't see where he was going. It didn't sit right with me, though. I imagined it would just piss him off more if he got out of it. So I moved him into the hamper in the laundry room at the other end of the house. At night I would listen for feet with tiny plastic shoes skittering across the linoleum. Eventually, my mother removed Charlie from the house.  I kept the monocle.

Years later, I ran into Charlie at a comedy club. He was working as comic Chris Coxen's War Doll with  his character Danny Morsel. I didn't recognize him at first. He had become less formal, sporting a moustache and had a large well toned man strapped to his back. I felt silly. Chris didn't look frightened at all.

Photo of War Doll at Mottley's Comedy Club thanks to Chris Coxen

On the other hand, I was listening to an interview with the Way brothers from My Chemical Romance  on Kevin Smith's Smodcast. Mikey Way spoke about a film he made in college that involved a Charlie McCarthy doll chasing someone (I am paraphrasing and possibly getting it wrong entirely).  I was glad that Charlie had that effect on other people too. Not only did it justify my irrational reaction to him a little, it emphasized his diversity as a performer.

Wherever you are out there, Charlie, I am glad that time has not lessened your power to entertain. I was never meant to be your sidekick anyway, being more of the solo artist sort. And you look better without a monocle anyway.

Jessica Baade is (not really) deceased: A comic actor gets age neutered.

I'm marking the age range "deceased."

Recently those of us in the potential over 40 category got a series of texts from a Boston casting director ordering us to update our age ranges within 5 years of our real age.  I get it. Some actors get a little zealous about trimming off the years and, as a result, there probably has been some backlash from the film production teams that keep receiving submissions wrong  for the roles to fill. And what is so wrong with being your age? Not a damned thing. Unless it blocks you from getting called in for the work you would actually book.

 I don't normally try to cover up my age. The chronological order of my life is the foundation of my act. I do not look the assigned number.  But every role that I have ever booked has been on a submission sent in for a role way more than a decade younger, usually based on a casting director's assumption of my age, not a computer's assigned category. Sure, in order to book me, the producers went older than they intended too by a smidge or at least on the high end of the age range. But, due to the weeding out process created by computerized systems that a few modern casting directors  use, I would have never been called in for those jobs based on my number of years age. And, if I change my age category, when they punch in the age groups that they traditionally go for into the computer to search for available female comedy actors, I will not surface as an option.

Dignity in my twilight years.

 I am a  quirky bleached blonde character actor in the tradition of Victoria Jackson and Georgia Engels. Both of whom in their hay day would have been called in for characters in their  30's. I also use a voice that sounds much younger than my number age which is also a bitch since our voice over stuff goes into the same data place.  They do not look for my comedy type in the over 40 set. For some reason, goofy physical female comics just can't be the numbers that be not named although even Flo from Progressive is playing for our team. And the irony is, it took me being over 40 to not care enough what other people thought to get good at it. When did people start thinking about Martha Plimpton ("Raising Hope") as primarily a comedy actor? Think about it.

I give up.  I am going to get another tattoo but this time its going to be on my arm, not on my torso hidden like the others. Its going to be of the middle finger flipping high into the air, symbolizing the demise of my present ability to get acting work.  I am also going to pierce my nose with a gold loop. And dip the ends of my bleached blond hair in deep red and black. If they want the real me, they will get the real me. The East Village one, not the motherhood joke one. And under my age I will write, "Jessica Baade is dead." Because it will be the same as me writing "45 to 50."

Sigh. Okay. I lied. I folded and changed my age range.  And I didn't write "Jessica Baade is dead." Even though  its pretty much the same thing with this one casting group. And I didn't get the nose ring because I hate potential face infections. And I will get another tattoo but probably will hide that too. Because the truth is, as much as I hate being thrown into that category, I don't want to scare the casting directors who bring me in because they actually know me and what I can do, not relied on a computer to remind them of my existence.  Its a small town. And, I may not look it, but I'm too old to be that stupid.