Yes Helen, There is a Ray Bradbury

Posted on: 22 February 2008 by Thom Ernst

My friend Stevenson is having a difficult time convincing his sister Helen that he has a friend (me) who interviewed Ray Bradbury. The following is an account for Helen, and any other naysayers of Day 5 in our 2007 L.A. trip when, in fact we do meet and interview Bradbury. Photos included.

It's Day 5.

Karma winds us through the L.A. streets with the ease of Indy pro on a closed circuit track. We’re following the vans heading along the route that take us to the home of author Ray Bradbury. It’s a perfect morning to meet one of the most prolific and recognized names in literature. I’m feeling particularly ‘Hollywood’ today in the Prada sunglasses I bought a few days back at a Santa Monica boutique. You pay extra for buying in a boutique, but in L.A. department store sunglasses just don’t cut it. But it’s not just the shades, it’s riding with Karma that makes me feel Hollywood, she’s lively, fun, confident, a bonafide Midwest girl transplanted into the heart of Los Angeles. Karma is our make-up artist and has been since our first trip to L.A., her husband, Mark, our cameraman. They make a great team, Mark and Karma, but since Karma laughs at my jokes more than Mark, I usually ride with her. Besides, L.A. looks better from the passenger seat of a Mustang then the shotgun view of a rented van.

Karma and me. Check out the Prada shades.

Map Quest assures us that Bradbury’s home, the one he’s lived in for much of his professional career, is tucked somewhere in this upper end L.A. suburb. We’re a three-vehicle convoy weaving a head-turning invasion through the otherwise empty tree-lined streets. Mark and Todd (who does our sound) lead in Mark’s equipment van, Murray and Jeremy (our Production Assistant) follow in the rented van while Karma and I bring up the rear.

Setting up shot in Bradbury's studio. Notice Murray's reflection in the picture frame.

Today is unusual in one respect - If there is anyone on the Saturday Night at the Movies team given to weak-in-the-knees jitters at the prospect of meeting a celebrity it’s me. Today, however, it’s Murray who finds himself in the role of the adulating fan. Murray, inspired I think by Ellen, his exceedingly inspirational younger sister, (I met her once, and in that brief meeting I found something undeniably motivating about her enthusiasm) are both fans of science fiction, and although Bradbury flinches at the notion of being labeled a science fiction writer, his contribution to the genre can hardly be ignored. Even now, as we pull in front of Bradbury’s home, on a street void of all other traffic, where not even a parked car can be seen, and the villagers, if they are any, hide sheltered in the luxury of their air-conditioned bungalows, I am invariably reminded of THE MARTIAN CHRONICLES and of Bradbury’s lone astronauts who stroll into an abandoned Martian settlement.

The vans arrive before us. I have a full view of Bradbury’s home. His corner lot house, though peeling in spots beneath its curved ceramic tiled roof, is painted a sunny pastel in perfect keeping with the equally sunny disposition of the neighbourhood.

Murray's signed copy of SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES.

Mark and Murray talk with someone through a barely open screen door. I imagine a cautionary elderly woman, or a housekeeper, perhaps, fending off the intrusion of a resourceful stalker who lucks upon an accurate map-of-the-stars. On a closer look I see a man who, were he at any other door, would inspire about as much intimidation as a crossing guard. In L.A. anyone of importance has a gatekeeper, and this one, wearing a noticeably stained t-shirt, remnants of a rushed breakfast, could only have earned his authority by being a long time trusted friend who otherwise would have been swept aside in a wave of movers and shakers and adoring fans. He snaps and snarls his expectations in sharp demanding bites, teetering on the brink between authoritative and rude. But these first few moments are what will dictate the mood of the interview. I leave these three to their negotiations.

Karma, Bradbury and Me.

A few moments later they reach an agreement and we are led into a room where Bradbury waits. Bradbury’s significant mane of snowy white hair curves up slightly at the collar, his black rimmed glasses tilt slightly on his face giving him a disarming look of curiosity. He wears a necktie and an unzipped blue sports blazer over top a white collared shirt that he tucks into a pair of knee length shorts.

A room full of tapes and memorabillia

The room filled with wall-to-wall memorabilia is perhaps the smallest room anyone has ever filmed in since Wolfgang Peterson shot DAS BOOTS. Many things, the hour-glass, the stuffed raven, the endless shelves of books and manuscripts – all familiar props for anyone who has ever seen the opening of Bradbury’s long running television series. There is no space left for Bradbury, camera crew and me. Something has to go. Surprisingly it's the camera crew. Mark shoots from outside the room, through an open door while I tuck myself away on and apple cart just out of sight of camera but close enough to keep eye contact with Bradbury.

Todd hooks me up for sound.

This man mesmerizes me, by his achievement, and by his kindness. We’ve caught him at a great time in life. He tells us he just won a Pulitzer Prize the day before. I assumed he already had one. We talk, of course, about writing, about THE MARTIAN CHRONCLES and a great deal about Francois Truffaut’s film version of FAHRENHEIT 451. Both Murray and I get our books signed.

Much of that interview can be seen on this weekend’s SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE MOVIES: THE INTERVIEWS on BRADBURY ON FIRE. A lot of the magic of that day, the sun, the neighbourhood, the simplicity of his home, the loyalty of his manager, the pride of his own achievements, is, I believe, evident in this conversation.

Murray Battle would write in his blog that day (essentially a diary of each and every interview)

They say you should never meet your heroes. I beg to differ. When I was a kid – pre teen, I bought every Ray Bradbury paperback and read each one over and over again. He was my introduction into science fiction … actually into reading fiction. When I tell him that Ray replies, “Good for you.” And when I hand him my copy of SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES to sign, I let him know that title lead me to discover Shakespeare. Ray smiles, then quietly, “Well, good for me.”