But your brain-wrapping skills will improve.
* * *
To bask a little more in the happiness of making Clara’s Heart—and to hear from an old friend—go HERE.
To star in your next movie, this one receiving a cavalcade of negative reviews both unanimous and deserved, go HERE.
* * *
1And they’re paying his airfare too! Dude, this is crazy.
2Get used to it, future Doogie.
And now a word from your friend …
WHOOPI GOLDBERG
Once upon a time, way back in the day, when I was a big ol’ movie star, I had been offered a film called Clara’s Heart that was to be directed by Robert Mulligan (who directed To Kill a Mockingbird, so you know I wanted to make this movie!). The focus of the movie is a little boy who was to be played by you (be it, a much shorter version of you). And the very first time we met, what I saw was a little boy with gigantic glasses, but bigger than the glasses was a boy with a phenomenal heart.
Now, you and I talked about all kinds of things while we were on the set … girls, kissing, singing and dancing, and “eww, what are those people doing in the bushes?” Kissing, you definitely want to do. Girls? Who knows. Folks in the bushes, “STOP looking in that direction!”
And through the years as I watched you grow into an amazing actor, there was no surprise to me, you nailed everything you wanted to do. Now, there is nothing worse than older people talking about “you” in the old days, but it’s been such an honor to be able to watch and say out loud and in a braggy way, “I know that man, I did his first movie!” It’s exciting and you, my dear—are exciting.
* * *
For a less happy memory from the following year, go HERE.
To meet your own two cute kids, go HERE.
This marks the end of your professional magic career. But your passion for magic never wanes, and when you achieve fame, and the LA club scene rapidly disillusions you, it is the world of magic that provides the much needed re-illusioning. Stephen Dorff introduces you to Ed Alonzo, a comedy magician who later becomes your best friend. When you start hanging out with him, you learn that he shares a warehouse with Gallagher. As in sledgehammering-watermelons Gallagher. So you spend a lot of time playing hooky from nightclubs with Ed and his wife, tinkering with his magic props and playing with the giant bowling pins, Trojan horse made out of oil barrels, and twenty-foot-long trampolining enormo-couch Gallagher uses in his act.
Being Doogie opens a few magic doors. You get to hang out with mega-magicians Penn and Teller in New York after a show. They are on their Refrigerator Tour, and it’s an epiphany to see magic performed so irreverently and bullshit-free. One time Penn even invites you back to his apartment to see all his cool toys.1 He has a pickle light: an actual light that uses electric currents, and you stick an actual pickle on it and the pickle glows and lights up. How cool is that? Very, is the answer.
* * *
To spend more time in Penn Jillette’s apartment, go HERE.
If you’re not ready for that kind of intimacy with Penn Jillette, go HERE.
* * *
1Not a euphemism.
Alas, your acting career doesn’t leave you with enough time or focus to practice magic enough to actively perform it. Your performances end up relegated mostly to talk-show appearances. But you remain an avid fan and aficionado. You never stop studying it, and you’re pretty confident no one loves it more than you do. And fortuitously, an opportunity to be of great service to the magic community arises … that doesn’t require another ill-fated attempt at going pro.
* * *
If you would like to pursue this cunningly teased opportunity, go HERE.
If you would like to take part in another life-changing magic trick, go HERE.
And now, in a never-before-attempted bit of meta-metaphysical wizardry, the real Neil Patrick Harris will reappear to bedazzle you with a magic trick. And by “you,” we mean you, you. And by “we,” we mean me, Neil Patrick Harris.1
I’m going to perform a card trick for you. It will take a little bit of imagination, but if you’re willing to help, I’m willing to amaze you.
First, get an ordinary deck of cards. Go ahead, get ’em. I’ll wait here, at the period at the end of this sentence. Got ’em? Good. Now shuffle them. Shuffle them as much as you like. When you’re done, turn the deck face up in your hands and choose the card facing you at the top. Now of course I can’t possibly know what the card is because you’re reading this in a book, and I’m not in the room with you. I mean, I’m good, but I’m not that good.
Now we’re going to “spell” your card, in a manner of speaking. Begin by spelling its name. For example, if you picked an ace, deal the cards face up onto the table, one card atop of the previous one, as you spell the word “ace.” If you picked a 7, you’d spell “s … e … v … e … n …,” dealing one card face up, then another, then another, for each letter. Do that now. Spell the name of your card.
You now have a pile of face-up cards on the table, right? Good. Drop the rest of the deck on top of those cards, and pick up the whole deck again.
Of course, the name of your card actually has three words. You’ve just spelled the first. The second is “of,” so I want you to spell “o … f …,” dealing two cards onto the table, one on top of the other one. Then drop the rest of the deck on top and pick them all up again.
Now a little switch, just to confuse you. Turn the whole deck over in your hands, so it’s face down. Now, with the cards face down, spell the last word of your card’s name, its suit. It’s either “clubs,” “diamonds,” “spades,” or “hearts.” Spell the whole name, including the “s” at the end, dealing one face-down card for each letter.
You’ve got another little pile of face-down cards on the table, right? Good. Drop the rest of the deck on top of those cards and pick up the whole deck again.
Since I don’t know what card you picked, I can’t know how you mixed them. I can’t know where it is in the deck. (Did I really need to explain that?) But we’re going to find it. Together.
Turn the deck face up again. Look at the bottom card. That’s not your card. Deal it onto the table.
Now look at the next face-up card, on the top of the deck. That’s not it either. Deal that card off, onto the table.
But the next card, the card that’s showing in your hand, is your card.
Isn’t it?
If I were there with you now, you’d see me bowing.
* * *
If you’d like to take part in another magic trick, go HERE.
If not, go HERE.
* * *
1And by “me, Neil Patrick Harris,” I really mean with the help of master magical thinker Jim Steinmeyer, who has compiled all the effects for this book. But who are you/me to gaze at the man behind the curtain? Gah! Stop reading this.…
It’s 1988, and you are in the director’s trailer on the set of a film based on the old novelty song “Purple People Eater” starring you, Ned Beatty, Little Richard, and a profoundly unhappy Shelley Winters, who spends most of her days moaning about back pain and droning, “Where’s my pillow? Where’s my pillow?”
Clara’s Heart has just come out to decent reviews, but the only follow-up project you have lined up is a summer job working the sandwich counter of a Schlotzsky’s Deli in a Ruidoso strip mall. You’ve only been slicing roast beef for a few weeks when your agent calls and asks if you’re interested in making a fun, happy family movie called Purple People Eater with puppets and hot-air balloons. Farewell, slicing roast beef; hello, pre-sliced craft-services roast beef!
So your brother Brian comes along with you to Hollywood and proudly watches the cameras record your second movie: the story of a dreamy twelve-year-old who plays an old Sheb Wooley LP on his turntable only to find—oh my goodness—its eponymous one-eyed, one-horned flying monster has come to life! To be your friend! And help prevent your elderly grandparents from being evicted by a greedy landlord! And sing
a bunch of vintage-era rock ’n’ roll songs! And cause Little Richard to appear in a cameo! And maybe, just maybe, melt a few hearts along the way!
Oh dear lord is it a horrible movie. Just … yeah. And it requires you to work with two of the more unpleasant people you will ever encounter in show business. One is costar Dustin Diamond. Dustin, playing the role of Big Z (?!?), goes out of his way to offend pretty much every person he comes across, both individually and as a member of a weight class. Decades later, when he is better known to the public as that curly-haired guy who used to play Screech in Saved by the Bell, he will publish an autobiography implying that you had some kind of love affair with your best friend Ed Alonzo, who is (a) straight, (b) married, and (c) not even going to meet you for another four years. It’s a completely false story that propagates a vicious lie to the grand total of twenty-three people who buy his book, presumably ironically.
The second less-than-pleasant person is the one you have been summoned to talk to in the trailer. She is Linda Shayne, the writer/director/auteur of this visionary sci-fi classic, and she has called you in during this final week of the four-week shoot explicitly to tell you that, based on the handful of times she has observed your attention slightly wandering over the course of the last month, you are an awful actor to work with, and your bad behavior, inability to focus, and overall lack of talent will most likely doom this movie to failure.
She is totally wrong. Also, you are fifteen years old.
You run out sobbing, thinking what an awful thing that is to say to a child you’re directing in a movie with only four days left of shooting, particularly when that movie is called Purple People Eater. She may be having a bad day. She may be under stress from the transition of going from actress (Bootsie Goodhead in 1983’s Screwballs, Bank Teller in 1987’s Big Bad Mama II) to director. But as the years go by, the memory of her outburst will grow in your mind as a textbook example of how not to treat other people of any age, much less children.
And so you return to your own trailer, where the tears dry, then crust into rage; and you begin fantasizing about the day—far, far in the future—when you will enact karmic literary revenge against Linda Shayne.
It would appear that day has come.
* * *
If you’re ready to appear in a creatively and commercial successful piece of entertainment, go HERE.
If you’re ready to appear in a better class of kids’ movie, go HERE.
If you’re ready for a vacation, age twenty years, go HERE.
(Warning: You will take it with your male partner, because by then you will be gay.)
HOW I WET YOUR MOTHER
Whenever you need to relax after a long day of acting, awards-show hosting, or playing starting point guard for the Sacramento Kings, you like to relax with a fine bespoke cocktail. Here’s one of your favorites—an original recipe by your friend, the successful mixologist Adam Frager. This unusual concoction blends together two of your favorite drinks, the Manhattan and the Old-Fashioned, combining the dry spiciness of the former with the slightly sweet, fruitier essence of the latter. (And to add an extra twist, it uses a couple drops of the very spicy Hellfire Habanero Shrub, uniting the whole mixture with a nice New Mexican kick.)
2 ounces Templeton Rye whiskey
½ ounce Carpano Antica vermouth
½ ounce Pierre Ferrand Dry Curacao
¼ ounce Luxardo Maraschino Liqueur
¼ ounce Averna Amaro
2 drops of Bittermens Hellfire Habanero Shrub
2 dashes of Angostura bitters
Lemon twist
Mix all ingredients except the lemon in a shaker full of ice. Stir and strain into a small coupe. Garnish with a twist of lemon.
* * *
Return to the page from which you came HERE, HERE, or HERE.
Although now that you’ve had the cocktail, it’s a little bit harder to find it. What number was it? Did it start with a “g,” maybe? Ah, screw it, let’s keep the party going HERE.
After your first film role and a few supporting parts on TV shows, you are utterly addicted to acting. It’s something you want to do as much as you possibly can. So you approach your parents with the idea of trying out for a recurring role in a series. They know that would mean moving to Los Angeles, at least temporarily, and they’re pretty dead set against it. Not so much for their sake but for yours: the prospect of plunking their beloved fifteen-year-old down in the middle of La-La Land fills them with terror. (The older you get, the more you will realize their terror was absolutely justified.) They offer you only the slightest glimmer of hope by saying, “We would only even consider letting you work in TV if it was for a Steven Bochco show.” Bochco is the genius behind their two favorite series, Hill Street Blues and L.A. Law, and they feel the hypothetical chance to work with him would be too incredible to pass up, albeit too unlikely to ever happen.
There then follows a series of strokes of astounding good fortune. Amazingly enough, Steven Bochco is launching another show. Amazingly enough, that show is about a sixteen-year-old child prodigy with a medical degree. And amazingly enough, your then agent’s assistant’s boyfriend is head of casting for ABC, and he not only tips you off to this information, but sends you the script, and gets you in for an audition with Steven Bochco. It’s a set of circumstances so implausible and far from reality it would be completely out of place in a script written by Steven Bochco. But somehow, it is what happens.
You fly to LA and have a great audition. Then you wait for months. You are one of the very first people to try out for the part, possibly the first, and naturally the producers are keen to see hundreds of other potential Doogii.1 But your name stays with them, and at the end of the process they fly you back out to LA for one last reading in front of the studio execs.
The casting had taken so long that a few weeks later, when you arrive on the set for your first day of shooting, the entire crew is wearing “I’ll Be Doogie” T-shirts as a joke. But it’s over. You are Doogie Howser, M.D., and you will remain officially so for four years, and unofficially so, to some extent, for the rest of your natural life.
You and your parents move into a rental apartment near the 20th Century–Fox studio. From the very beginning they’re right there with you every time you go in to shoot. Not only do they want to be, they have to be. California state law requires that one or both parents be no more than one hundred yards from a working child actor at all times. It’s like an anti–restraining order. It cannot be emphasized enough that your parents have moved away from home solely to support you. They’re putting their careers on hold; it’s not like they’re licensed to practice law in California. Even worse, you soon come to realize they are ostracized on the set—not for anything they do or say, but simply because they’re your parents and having anyone’s parents on a Hollywood set is awkward. So no one talks to them and they wind up spending all day sitting in folding chairs being ignored. No matter how old you get, you will never forget the image of them sitting in those folding chairs. It will remain your personal image of what unconditional love looks like.
Doogie Howser is a big show. There’s a fair amount of comedy, which is what you’re naturally most comfortable with, but the dialogue can also be very intense, and the scenes of Doogie’s personal life are often filled with turbulent emotions and conflict. He fights with his family, regularly faces moral and ethical crises, and his love life is a roller coaster. You spend many hours every week learning your lines, not just because you’re a professional but because Steven Bochco writes fantastic dialogue, and he’s earned the right to expect you to perform it flawlessly.
There’s also the medical aspect of the show, the one that frequently involves you running into emergency rooms rattling off medicines and performing procedures. There’s a medical advisor on staff and you’re always questioning her not only about proper pronunciations but the actual details of real-life operations. You do your best to memorize these lines too, but sometimes when there’s a heavy
-duty medical scene you just take the relevant script sides, insert them into the medical folders and charts you’re holding, and read them off the page. Or if you’re doing surgery, you just stuff them into the wounds. This doesn’t really hurt the “patients” that much, since they’re usually just chicken breasts opened up with fake blood all around them.2
Every week brings a fun new set of challenges. In one episode you have to speak a few sentences of fluent Japanese, so you spend some time learning dialogue from a native instructor. The line is: It means “It’s a pleasure to meet you. If there’s anything you need in the future, please let me know.” The words, along with the pressure and embarrassment you feel having to utter them in front of an actual Japanese person, sear themselves permanently into your brain. In “The Adventures of Sherlock Howser” episode you play an old-school version of Sherlock Holmes, complete with deerstalker hat, stiff-upper-lip British accent, and prosthetic nose. In “Doogie, Can You Hear Me?” you date a hearing-impaired girl whom you’re trying to persuade to get a cochlear implant. For that one you spend a month studying ASL, and you will remain forever thankful to have learned something as beautiful and elegant as sign language. In still another episode you and Lisa Dean Ryan, who plays your love interest Wanda Plenn, do a shot-for-shot re-creation of the pottery scene in Ghost. (For six months you and Lisa have a torrid but short-lived behind-the-scenes kissing affair. Why not? You’re Doogie, she’s Wanda, and she’s got fantastic lips.)3