Harry Hamlin - Full Frontal Nudity: The Making of an Accidental Actor

A Note on the Cover

My dad died on April 30, 1982, while watching the CBS Evening News anchored by Dan Rather. Two weeks later I received a box with some of his belongings. Among them was the wallet he had in his pocket when he died. I went through it and found this photo of me sandwiched between a couple of credit cards. It is the only picture of me that he ever carried. He kept it in his wallet for twenty-six years.

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Copyright 2010 by Harry Hamlin

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First Scribner hardcover edition October 2010

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Manufactured in the United States of America

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Library of Congress Control Number: 2010007846

ISBN 978-1-4391-6999-5
ISBN 978-1-4391-7001-4 (ebook)

Certain names and identifying characteristics have been changed.

All photographs are courtesy of the author, except for photograph
on p. 263, by William Grimes.

I dedicate this book to my beautiful wife, Lisa,
who is no stranger to full frontal nudity.

FULL FRONTAL NUDITY

PROLOGUE
August

I dont like to work in August. Its not that Im lazy, its just that Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer used to spend August fishin and catchin frogs and thats just what I like to do with my two little girls, who are smack-dab in the middle of their wonder years. Dont get me wrong, I love acting and Ive made a good living playing other folks for more than thirty years. At this point in my life, I love my kids more, and August for me and my family is kid time at our cabin on an island, on a lake in Canada. Every August we go there to wash off the past eleven months and start the next eleven fresh.

So I swore I would never take a job in August. Those thirty-one days would be ours, at least until catchin frogs and the like were no longer of interest to my girls.

I broke that promise when my daughters were eight and ten.

The offer came in unexpectedly the first week of the month. They needed me right away but Id have to be gone from the cabin for only two weeks. The job was a television pilot being shot in Vancouver and directed by a famous film director whom I admired. The money was good enough and the part was delicious. So, hypocrite that I am, I flew from Toronto to Vancouver, leaving my wife and girls alone on the island. Before I could begin shooting, though, I needed to grab a work permit at the nearest border crossing. Americans can only work in Canada with a bona fide work permit signed by the ministry of labor or some such department. A PA (production assistant), Lyn, had been sent to the airport to pick me up and drive me to the border. Getting a work permit was a no-brainer. Id picked up at least ten of them over the years as movie and television production ran away to Canada, where the greenback went a lot further.

Lyn and I reached the border late Sunday afternoon and ran inside the office to pay the small fee and pick up the permit. There was a cute twentysomething brunette on the other side of the counter and I thanked the stars above that I wouldnt have to face some grumpy old border guard with stale breath. Little did I know that the stars hanging over me that day were not my lucky ones. I sauntered up to the pretty agent in her crisp black uniform, handed her my passport, and announced with a smile that I was Harry Hamlin and that I was there to pick up my work permit for Harpers Island. Thats when those stars began falling from the sky.

The girl gazed at me through a pair of red-rimmed plastic glasses, cocked her head slightly, and gave me a quizzical look as though she recognized me. But it was not the kind of look an actor gets from a fan who cant quite place the famous face, it was more like she was remembering me from a Ten Most Wanted poster hanging in the back office. She quickly began barking out questions with a snarl.

Where exactly is Harpers Island? she asked.

I said that I didnt know, it probably didnt exist in real life, it was a TV show.

What kind of work are you looking to do? she barked again.

I told her that I was an actor.

Do you have your paperwork? she demanded.

What paperwork? I asked.

She looked at me like I was a terrorist. You need your proof of education and your signed contract, she responded, not looking at me but leafing through my passport in search of stamps from Afghanistan or Pakistan, or some other -stan.

I told her that the permit was already in the computer and that everything had been prearranged and that all she had to do was type in my name and Harpers Island and I should be able to pay the $135 Canadian and be on my way.

Not so fast! she barked again. Thats not how it works. You need your paperwork. You need your proof of education and your signed contract.

I explained that I did not have a signed contract because I had just been hired and had not even seen a contract. I asked her what exactly she meant by proof of education.

She said, Why, your diploma, of course, as though I was the town idiot, which, at that point, I would have settled for.

I told her that I had graduated from Yale in theatre arts some thirty-five years ago and that any diploma I might have had was long since dust but that she should feel free to look me up on IMDb, where my entire pre- and postgraduate history is located.

She looked me in the eye and said with pursed lips, Thats not how it works here. If you cannot produce proof of education, at the very least Ill need a signed contract.

At this point, Lyn and I were going nuts. How could this pretty little thing be such a bitch? What had I done to create this madness?

I once again explained that there was no signed contract and that if she would just type my name into the computer, the permit would probably pop up preapproved. She starred at me as though I was deaf. I need your signed contract or I cant let you into the country. Thats all there is to it.

Then Lyn, who was fit to be tied (I love that expressionfit to be tied! The picture it conjures up is good. There is Lyn, hog-tied and gagged, squirming around and squealing on the floor of the customs house!!), slid a call sheet in front of Miss Lunatic Customs Agent and said, Look! Theres Mr. Hamlins name on this call sheet. He has to be at work at six. Theres the name and phone number of the production company. Please just look for the permit in the system.