There’s an old Hollywood story, which may or may not be true, about Humphrey Bogart. He was about to film an “explainer” scene — one of those dialogue-heavy set pieces in which one character drones on for a page or two of crucial but eye-glazing exposition.
But Bogart, like most actors, worried about boring the audience. So he looks down at the script, with its long column of dialogue, and tells the director that the only way the scene won’t bore the audience is if two camels are placed in the background and, hopefully, do something interesting together.
In the story, of course, he doesn’t say, “Do something interesting together.” He uses a shorter, punchier Anglo-Saxon verb.
So the director gave Bogart what we call in the entertainment industry some “business.” All he had to do to inject the scene with some interesting drama was to say the lines while taking out a cigarette, tapping it lightly to compact the tobacco. Then he could say some more lines, strike a match forcefully against a nearby rough surface — matches back then were designed to be flexible like that — and light the cigarette with a match. A few more lines and he’d wave the match out and toss it contemptuously aside, say something else, take a big drag, exhale slowly, and finish the speech.
Cut. Print. Instant drama.
So although Bogart didn’t get his two camels, he did get a Camel Unfiltered.
And eventually, he got esophageal cancer, too. But it’s hard to deny he looked cool.
I thought of this story while recently searching for something to watch. One of my selections came with a viewer discretion warning. It was rated “for mature audiences” because, as the warning in the top right of the screen revealed, the show contained scenes of “violence, suicide, and smoking.”
I would hate to have to explain that to Bogart.
Smoking is a collection of hand movements, lip actions, match-striking, and heavy breathing, all to a measured, controlled tempo. It’s irresistible to actors for the same reason it’s irresistible to teenagers: It draws attention inexorably to the smoker and away from whatever mediocre dialogue he or she is forced to say, either because of a lazy screenwriter (in the case of the actor) or because of a lack of imagination caused by listening to simplistic dance music and watching too many music videos.
Smoking is the answer to the question that adolescents and movie stars ask themselves all the time: What can I do with my hands so that I don’t look like a loser?
A thought experiment: The ponderous, wooden dialogue of the recent Star Wars movies would have seemed zesty and sharp if only, say, Yoda had dangled a Marlboro from his greenish lips. “Begun,” he says, taking a long, slow last drag, “the clone war has.” And then he tosses the butt to the ground and grinds it out with his tiny green foot.
I don’t smoke, but I’d love to light up at a Starbucks. When the cashier asks me what I’d like, I’d tap a cigarette on the counter. “What would I like?” I’d ask, thoughtfully. I’d put the cigarette in my mouth, pop open my Zippo lighter with that unmistakable cling, light the cigarette, take a drag, snap the lighter shut — cling! — and after a long, melancholy sigh, I’d say, “I’ll have a venti soy latte. Hazelnut.”
And you and I both know that I would look cool doing it.
The trouble, of course, is that smoking is a dangerous and deadly habit, not to mention filthy and terrible for your skin. It’s a self-destructive and idiotic thing to do in real life — surely we can all find better ways to look cool, right? — but as long as movies and television and real life are filled with explainer scenes and rotten dialogue, it’s the best way to keep things interesting on-screen and in the home.
Netflix can put as many viewer discretion advisories as it wants on every movie and television show in its library, but as for me, when I see the message “Warning: People Smoke In This One,” I’ll know that at least it won’t be boring.
Rob Long is a television writer and producer and the co-founder of Ricochet.com.
