When Jerry Seinfeld and Quentin Tarantino Met Lawrence Tierney ...

Lawrence Tierney as Elaine's father Alton Benes 

Seinfeld (S2/E3, 1991)

 

 

I. 

 

Twice recently, I have encountered a Lawrence Tierney look-alike on the 174 bus to Romford and have been tempted to start humming 'Master of the House' [1].

Of course, that would be silly, as he isn't the real Lawrence Tierney - i.e., the American actor best known for his portrayal of mobsters and tough guys in a career that spanned over fifty years and who died in 2002.

 

And even if it were the real Lawrence Tierney, miraculously resurrected and living in Essex, I doubt he'd appreciate me reminding him of his one-off appearance on Seinfeld which didn't end well ...

 

 

II. 

 

'The Jacket' is a very early episode of Seinfeld [2], but contains one of my favourite scenes, in which Jerry and George meet Elaine's father, played by Lawrence Tierney, in the lobby of his hotel and are made to squirm by the latter's gruff, no-nonsense manner while waiting for Elaine - who's late - to arrive.   

 

Tierney's magnificent performance as Alton Benes was praised by cast and crew alike. However, they were ill-prepared for his rather eccentric and intimidating on-set behavior, particularly when, during filming, it was discovered that Tierney had attempted to steal a butcher knife from the knife block in Jerry's apartment set.

 

Seinfeld decided to confront Tierney and, in a lighthearted manner, asked him what he had in his jacket pocket. Rather than try to lie or bluff his way out of the situation, Tierney pulled out the knife and jokingly re-enacted a scene from Psycho, holding the knife above his head and advancing towards Seinfeld with mock murderous intent.

 

Understandably, everyone was a little freaked out by this and so there were no further appearances on the show for Tierney, even though Alton Benes was intended to be a recurring character. Later, Julia Louis-Dreyfus (Elaine) would express her regret about this, but conceded that whilst Tierney was a wonderful actor, he was also a total nutjob [3].   

 

I don't know if the latter description was fair, but it's certainly true that Tierney had a long history of violent and often drunken behaviour [4] and even managed to get himself fired from the set of Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs (1992) the following year, after he and the director came to blows [5].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] My reason for this is not because Tierney appeared in the musical Les Misérables, but because he appeared in an episode of Seinfeld in which George (Jason Alexander) repeatedly sings this song. It certainly is catchy: click here. 

 

[2] 'The Jacket' is the third episode of the second season and only the show's eighth episode overall. Directed by Tom Cherones, written by Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld, it aired on 6 Feb 1991. To watch a clip from the episode featuring the meeting between Jerry, George, and Lawrence Tierney as Alton Benes, click here. 

 

[3] See Inside Look: 'The Jacket' (Seinfeld season two DVD extra): click here.

 

[4] Tierney's numerous arrests for being drunk and disorderly and jail terms for assaults on civilians and police officers cast a dark shadow over his career as an actor. Between 1944 and 1951, for example, he was arrested over twelve times in Los Angeles and served several months behind bars.

 

[5] Tierney played crime boss Joe Cabbot in Tarantino's debut movie. During filming of Reservoir Dogs in July 1991, Tierney was arrested and jailed for firing a gun at his nephew in a drunken rage and had to be given special day release so that he could complete his scene. 

      After firing him, Tarantino described Tierney as a complete lunatic, thereby lending support to Julia Louis-Dreyfus's character assessment. Click here for a clip from the movie featuring Tierney in his role as Joe Cabbot assigning aliases to the members of his gang. Click here for a short video in which Tarantino reminisces about his experience of working with Tierney. Thanks to Thomas Bonneville for sending me the latter link.   

 

Ghost Variations: Notes on the Madness of Robert Schumann

Robert Schumann (1810-1856) 

German Romantic composer, critic, and madman

In the season two episode of Seinfeld entitled 'The Jacket' [1], George has a catchy tune from Les Misérables stuck in his head which he can't stop singing: Master of the house, doling out the charm / Ready with a handshake and an open palm ...

Jerry warns him that the ninteenth century composer Robert Schumann went mad after just a single note earwormed its way into his mind and he involuntarily heard it playing over and over again. Obviously, George doesn't find this story very reassuring - Oh that I really needed to hear! - but is it true?

The short answer is yes: Schumann did go insane and have to be institutionalised; and he did hear a persistent A-note at the end of his life as well as other increasingly disturbing auditory hallucinations.

Thus it was, for example, that on one cold winter's night in February 1854, the composer leapt from his bed and began feverishly attempting to set down a melody that he believed at first was being dictated by the very angels of heaven. By morning, however, he was convinced that what he actually heard were the hideous cries of demonic beasts.

Whatever the true source of his inspiration [2], the melody became the basis of the six piano variations - known today as the Geistervariationen - that were the last thing he wrote before his final crack-up. They thus occupy a unique (and somewhat disturbing) place in his body of work - as, indeed, in the history of classical music. 

On 27 February, Schumann attempted suicide by throwing himself from a bridge into the Rhine. Rescued by a passing boat and taken home, he requested that he be admitted to an asylum for the insane. Here he remained until his death, aged 46, in the summer of 1856. During his confinement, although his friend Brahms had permission to visit, Schumann wasn't allowed to see his wife, Clara, until two days before his death.

The cause of his death - just like the cause of his madness [3] - is something that has been endlessly discussed ever since; was he schizophrenic or syphilitic? Did he have a bipolar disorder or were his neurological problems the result of a brain tumour of some kind? Was it pneumonia or mercury poisoning - mercury being a common treatment for syphilis at the time - which finally did him in?   

I suppose we'll never really know. But what we might do - and should do - is resist the urge of some commentators to regurgitate the romantic vomit and tired narratives regarding the genius and madness of artists ...

The view that creativity is rooted in or fatefully tied to madness is such bullshit. Artists may well think differently from most other people - that is to say, they may be neurologically divergent and able to experience the world from a wide array of queer perspectives (to delight in paradox, inconsistency, and even chaos), - but it's banal (and mistaken) to reduce this (or their heightened sensitivity) to mental illness.       

Ultimately, I return to Michel Foucault's conclusion in Madness and Civilization: the onset of madness marks the point at which creative work ends; a moment of abolition that dissolves the truth of the work of art [4].  

Notes

[1] Seinfeld, 'The Jacket' [S2/E3], dir. Tom Cherones, written by Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld, (first broadcast 6 February 1991). Click here to watch a clip from the episode on YouTube.

[2] Sadly, Schumann's mind had deteriorated to such a degree by this point, that he was unable to recognise that - far from being the work of angels, ghosts, or demons - the melody was in fact one of his own, written several months earlier.

[3] I'm taking Schumann's mental health issues - evident from a young age - as a given here, but, interestingly, there are critics such as John Worthen who vigorously challenge this idea. For Worthen the composer's tragic deterioration was rooted in a physical condition (syphilis) and was not a form of madness per se. See: Schumann: Life and Death of a Musician (Yale University Press, 2007).

[4] Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization trans. Richard Howard, (Vintage Books, 1988), p. 287.