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Ladies and Gentlemen of the Los Angeles Television Industry: I know Peter Birkenhead; I've worked with Peter Birkenhead; I've grieved for Peter Birkenhead. You have no right to accuse Peter Birkenhead of being "a great actor" when you bespeak hostility for the words "great" and "actor" in your product roll-outs everyday, whereas Birkenhead actually is--or dare we say, was--until succumbing to the great maw and the muck of Nielsen Country--a great actor, but more pointedly, for the stage, whether it be the 99-seat variety or the 1500- seat touring house. In TV-Land (so hostile to the stage, to the printed page, to the aging process in general), language, talent, meaning, and value are inverted; Quality is the contaminated commodity; complements kill; the rarefied is ratings poison. Birkenhead, the smart writer, reveals the insiduousness of our time and how it's permeated our way of receiving the world--and sadly, how it's dictated the course of his life and artistic choices. Can we spell "Captiluation?" Can we say "Squandering our great gifts?" Sure, we live it everyday. Can we all, members of the American theatrical community, both in the audience and on (and behind) the boards, scream in unison: "What the hell are you still doing in L.A., Peter Birkenhead, when good works await you where you were raised and where you belong? Who bit you in the butt and made you drink at the celebrity fount? Stop watching so much TV! Oil up your rusty chops. You're a great teacher. You'll support yourself the same way you do now but you'll be sharing and exercising your talents with a population that will challenge and reward you, not yawn and ingore you and your artistic essence." Unspoken in his brilliantly effacing, confessional article, is Birkenhead's own betrayal of the artform upon which he was raised; on which he cut his teeth. Another New Yorker adrift in L.A., as the country sinks and the nation's spirit falters, and the artists abdicate their calling. Somebody should kiss this guy and kick his ass and send him packing back home where he might finally--with new wisdom and prowess at his fingertips--at last seize the moment and transform the dark into light. It's called the Actor's Job.
