Ally Sheedy
Live at Brentano's Bookstore
New York, NY
April 23, 1991

by Mike Appelstein
Writer's Block #8

 

 

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 I'm not sure what was the bigger cultural aberration; watching the editorial staff of Sassy try to be a band, or witnessing a former Brat Pack member with a literary-agent mom present a poetry reading. I go for the poetry reading, for sheer celebrity alone. (Chia Pet are far from the first journalists to try their hand at music, you know.  Pick up the Rolling Stone unauthorized bio and read about the Dry Heaves featuring Kurt Loder, Jann Wenner, et al.)

Apparently Sheedy kept her literary side far from the public, what with appearing in John Hughes teen thrillers and indulging in recreational drugs with her Hollywood pals. But according to the foreword of Yesterday I Saw The Sun, her poetry tome, she's always written poems and song lyrics, and when she reached a level of semi-fame, she used them almost as a form of therapy. "I wrote them to record and remember where my emotions were taking me, and -- quite frankly -- to keep my head on straight in Hollywood." Later, when she wound up in in Hazelden Rehab Center, her poetic pen once again began running full blast.

I don't mean to belittle someone's personal problems, but it's highly doubtful, therapeutic value aside, that Yesterday I Saw The Sun would have ever seen the light of day if it was, say, a sincere but anonymous teenager, or an antisocial stoner type instead of the star of The Breakfast Club and Short Circuits #1 and #2. As it stands,Sheedy's work doesn't stand up, grab you by the shoulders and shake you with its hard-hitting talent. She writes with all the earnestness and unschooled sincerity of a heartbroken eighth-grader, except she also gets to name-drop (everyone from Demi Moore to Jon Bon Jovi's wife gets a plug).  All her poems really exhibit is a rather shallow view of life and a belief that her problems supercede everyone else's, but what else would we expect?

All the same, I found a lot of Yesterday to be endearing, almost lovable, in a moronic sort of way. I even went to see her in Only The Lonely, where she had to fall in love with John Candy, as a result.  But when I heard about an actual reading, I knew I had to drop everything and watch her do this in person. So I took a day off from work and drove into the city.  This had to be seen to be believed.

The crowd at Brentano's was much smaller than I expected. Not too many stargazers at all: just the usual lunchtime crowd, many of whom didn't even seem to know what was happening. A few photographers, one of which expressed a wish for her to "rip her shirt off" rather than read poetry. (I imagine that guy wished he'd had the Demi Moore Vanity Fair assignment some months later.)  A few people from her literary agency were there, including Mrs. Sheedy herself.  The reading was due to start at 12:30, but the actress herself didn't appear until 12:45, when she sat down at a table and began signing autographs.  Visibly petrified, she took the podium some minutes later. "I'm terrified," she admitted. Then she took a deep breath and pIunged headfirst into the abyss of poetry. She started with "A Man's World," which contains the opening line "It was a man's world, but I asked a woman for advice."  Uh, OK.  Next was "Amends," which she prefaced by asking the assembled crowd to "think of the one person you wish you had never let into your life, the person who makes you think 'ohmigod.' Everyone got one?" Since no one answered, she continued with the poem: "I owe you an amends/for thinking you were God/when you are just a little ratty little person/without much grace/even to speak of.../I'm sooo sorry."

What sticks with me most about her delivery is how flat it was, as if she were an elementary school kid reciting a book report she'd only half finished. At the same time, her very nervousness added a certain dimension to she gathering. No matter the quality of her work, this was clearly a huge risk for her, and putting her in this unfamiliar position almost breathed life into an otherwise-moribund set of poems. At least it transcended what was supposed to be a carefully-orchestrated press event, if it didn't make the mediocrity of her poetry any better...especially for someone like her who's made a career of playing it safe.

Ten minutes of poetry later, she breathed a sigh of relief, signed a few more books, and it was over. I can't say I'll be rushing to the bookstore if there's a second volume -- much less start following her career -- but this sure was a novel way to spend a day off.