Did anyone ever tell you...?
Did anyone ever tell you...?
Kate Capshaw started this whole Tom Hanks thing and it's never gone away.
That long weekend hanging out photographing REM turned out, as suspected, as being the exception to the rule. And I got so I didn’t mind having mere minutes to shoot, as long as I could take my sweet time setting up. I had been assigned to shoot the actress Kate Capshaw, and the publicist took my request to allow me time to set up to an extreme, and we arrived at like nine for a one o’clock shoot.
Ms. Capshaw is also known as Ms. Steven Spielberg, and we were to shoot at their mansion in the Hamptons. Of course, being the grubby journalistic types we weren’t actually shooting in their house, no, the address we’d been given was another house entirely. The Spielberg family and their stuff would be situated safely a couple hundred yards away across several fences and a field. We were to shoot in “Quel Barn,” the guest house.
The only person on scene was their chef, a personable young woman who preferred to cook over in the Barn so as to be out of the way of the activities in the main house. She wasn’t even the main chef,she was the auxiliary, snack chef. Tasked with making fabulously labeled, healthy and delicious snacks all day she was pretty chill. She also explained that the Spielberg’s yacht, the , would be picking the family up the next day for a jaunt to Martha’s Vineyard. She was preparing delicious box lunches for that outing as well. My assistants and I set about choosing our locations, setting up lights, and shooting test Polaroids. This took about an hour, leaving us an hour to lay about the house, chat with the chef, and marvel and the fabulousness of it all. A TV that arose from the floor may have been the pinnacle, especially when our new friend explained the kids loved to ride up and down on it and invited us to try.
Quel Barn was clearly named tongue in chic, as it comprised a fabulously comfortable and perfectly proportioned beach side cabin. Jennifer noticed something odd before I did, but then we started looking more closely and realized that most, no literally every family snapshot proudly displayed, on tables, in fancy frames on the wall, on the mantel, was of Tom Hanks and his family. The “Big” guy, I don’t know, movie star, had really not given him more than two seconds of thought until this very moment.
“What’s up with all the pictures of Tom Hanks and his family. How come no Spielbergs?” we asked the voluble chef, who was happy to fill us in. Nothing nefarious, the Hanks and Spielberg families had been friends for decades. The Hanks were the most frequent visitors to Quel Barn and thus made it their home on the East Coast.
When finally the time came, Ms. Spielberg, neé Capshaw appeared, radiant and glowing. We chatted a bit, I showed her the Polaroids of my assistant on her set, then made some of her. Kate Capshaw is lovely, delightful, and knows her angles. With beautiful wardrobe, makeup, and lighting, of course everything went smoothly, and we created an array of beautiful photographs together that afternoon.
Though there was always time pressure, part of the Zen control of your set (controlling everything yet appearing to care about nothing) was to maintain a relaxed interest in your subject. So we chatted about everything from the snacks coming out of the kitchen to tomorrow’s upcoming boat trip to Nantucket. The rhythm of a shoot involves shooting fairly quickly for ten shots at a time, interrupted by changing the film. Then when we feel like we have gotten the shots we needed, further pauses for wardrobe, lighting or location changes. At this shoot in particular, perhaps because Capshaw was comfortable in her role as mistress of the house, the atmosphere was very relaxed and homey. My assistant Jennifer joked on the way home that the set and indeed the entire endeavor felt like one of those commercials for International Freeze Dried Coffee. You know, the one where one sip evokes your college trip to paris where you, amazingly, found a cute little spot with the best espresso. I noticed an odd look come across Kate’s face several times, but thought little of it.
Before I could wonder much more, the Hanks family’s best friend blurted, “Did anyone ever tell you you look like Tom Hanks?” Well, no, nobody had. I hemmed and hawed to that effect, eliciting an even more preposterous proposition: “Or even more to the point, did anyone ever tell you you talk just like Tom Hanks?” No, not that either. And I don’t know if she’s some kind of witch or I really do look and talk just like Tom Hanks, but I have spent the ensuing thirty-some years fending off doormen, taxi drivers, and random people on railroad cars who seem convinced that I am Tom Hanks. Opening my mouth to deny it elicits, “see, told you so!” aversions to the reality that I am just not Tom Hanks. I consider myself lucky to resemble such an apparently fine upstanding human. After all, someone resembles Harvey Weinstein or Kevin Spacey.
The fact that my first introduction to, “Did anyone ever tell you…” was someone who intimately knew the celebrity in question is certainly germane. Years of listening to Howard Stern radio callers describe themselves as looking like Michele Pfeifer have well illustrated that everyone has a celebrity doppelganger. What I find funniest about it is the, “Did anyone ever tell you?” figure of speech. Why can’t people just say, if they must say anything at all, “You look like X?” Why do humans feel the need to be the first to make the connection? When I’m not in the mood to fuck with them, there are two possible answers: yes and no. Of course, when there is fuckery afoot, “Tom who? He an athlete?” will do nicely.
“Yes,” seems odd, because well, yes, of course I look like Tom Hanks. You really think you’re the first one to notice and comment on the resemblance? What hubris! And if the answer is, “No,” then you maybe ought to question your pattern recognition skills a little bit more?
I’ve noticed the Tom Hanks comparisons seem to ebb and flow with whatever look the always working actor seems to have going at the time. Peak Hanks was probably the early 90s, in particular when I worked in Los Angeles. My assistant there bore a distinct resemblance to Meg Ryan. The two of us appearing together definitely stopped traffic on more than one occasion. We joked about how to monetize this hilarious skill (or was it a talent?) but otherwise, the Hanks/Carroll doppelganger relationship remains unsullied by actual contact. I do thank Kate Capshaw for pointing out, aligning chakras, casting spells whatever magic she did to enable this Tom Hanks comparison thing as it has been a source of amusement for more than thirty years. And one of the main reasons I’m sorry I’m not on the celeb photo beat any more is a lost opportunity to actually meet the estimable actor, and finally get the ultimate Insta selfie of me and my doppelganger. With audio for the voice, naturally. Alright Tom, ball’s in your court, call me, maybe?
You do, but I wouldn't have seen it if you had not said it.