Jon Hamm on the set of ‘Howl’

Source: Huffington Post
Date: September 2010
By: Jane Ganahl

On this frigid spring morning in 2009, the fourth floor of the Bronx courthouse is littered with movie and TV stars who mingle in the crowded hallways with Average Joes slated for face time with a judge. Literature lovers all, the bold-face names are here to make the movie Howl, a cinematic homage to Beat poet Allen Ginsberg’s poem directed by Oscar-winning documentary directors Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman, and starring James Franco as Ginsberg. Franco, not filming on this morning, is scarcely missed by star-watchers. Jeff Daniels condenses his tall frame uncomfortably on a wooden bench while studying his lines; Mary Louise Parker scurries quietly past on the way to the courtroom set; David Strathairn spreads cream cheese on a bagel at the craft services table and Treat Williams, star of the 1979 movie version of Hair, holds forth with crew members about the new production opening on Broadway.

But if only a few passers-by are not too preoccupied with legal matters to gawk, most of those heads turn toward a relatively new face in the fame firmament. “Have you seen that show, ‘Mad Men?’” murmurs a briefcase-toting lawyer in a heavy overcoat to a female colleague as they navigate the busy hallway. He gestures with an elbow: “That’s the guy…”

Her head snaps to the side and she fixes an appreciative gaze on a figure leaning against the wall. Jon Hamm, looking Don-Draper-dashing in his 50s period suit and slicked-back sable hair, doesn’t notice her; he is texting intently on his iPhone.

What did actors do on breaks, Hamm is asked, before the invention of PDA’s? “Smoked!” he says instantly, then cracks a dazzling grin befitting a Disney cartoon prince.

Hamm, 39, came out of seemingly nowhere to win the Golden Globe best actor award in 2008 for his iconic role in Mad Men, AMC’s drama about corrupt Madison Avenue executives in the early 60s. It was an era in which litter was tossed from car windows (and women were almost equally disposable), cocktails were consumed at the stroke of 5 – even by pregnant women – and everyone, in fact, smoked.

Up close and personal, Hamm loses something of Don Draper’s sociopathic sheen, but none of his square-jawed sex appeal. And, perhaps because he is new at this fame game, he is still accessible: cheerfully chatting with cast and crew, making jokes, thanking everyone who falls at his feet with a muttered I’m-such-a-fan. Hamm is the high school quarterback you wanted to hate because he was handsome, popular and smart to boot – but you couldn’t because he was so damn nice.

After Hamm’s uproarious comedic turn in three 30 Rock episodes as Tina Fey’s boyfriend (a hapless doctor who could not perform the Heimlich maneuver), Fey was quoted as saying that just to look at Hamm’s gorgeousness, one is required to first poke a hole in a paper plate. Asked about it, he blushes, then demurs: “Tina Fey makes a very good living as a comedian doing exaggeration.”

He clearly would rather discuss the project at hand – the movie Howl, which opens Friday in select cities – and why he was drawn to a small-budget film when blockbuster scripts are being lobbed at him daily. “I feel strongly about the messages in the movie,” he says in between takes, perched on jury bench in the hallway. “And I was also drawn to the character. Jake Ehrlich was a bit of a dandy and a real showman – and a very successful litigator.” Ehrlich was the Northern California attorney for poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, “Howl’s” publisher, who faced a six-month jail sentence for daring to print Ginsberg’s sexually explicit, Odyssean poem. Ehrlich, who took the case pro-bono, would become the inspiration for the television series Perry Mason.

“The important thing I’m trying to get across in this character is that he believes people should not be censored,” says Hamm. Is he a fan of Ginsberg? The former English major pauses, chooses his words carefully. “I am very familiar with Ginsberg’s work, but I would not say I am a huge fan. But you can appreciate something’s artistic merit without liking it. And I do understand the significance of it. And that mirrors what this trial is about: you don’t necessarily have to like something to understand its importance in an artistic sense. Sometimes when people are challenged by something they will assume it’s worthless, or doesn’t count. And fortunately, the trial got it right. It came to the conclusion that ‘Howl’ was a significant work.”

A make-up artist fusses with Hamm’s slicked-back hair as he sits very still. Has this look become like a comfortable old shoe – easy to slip on?

He laughs. “It certainly takes a lot of variables out of the equation. It’s an era that sits well on me. I wonder if people will think Don Draper is trying to keep the world safe from censorship?”

Hamm is called again to do a courtroom scene, and while he waits for directors Friedman and Epstein to roll cameras he fidgets, slaps his abs with his open palms, snaps his fingers, whistles. When they say action, he is all business with his lines, taken verbatim from the 1957 obscenity trial transcript.

Hamm as Ehrlich: “Do I understand you to say that Ginsberg used the Walt Whitman style?”

Daniels as expert witness David Kirk: “Yes, the form of the book ‘Leaves of Grass.’”

Hamm: “Who did Walt Whitman copy?”

Daniels: “No one…”

Hamm, interrupting: “But you don’t know – isn’t that your answer? You don’t know?”

He plays the flamboyant Ehrlich like a coiled snake: controlled but capable of mayhem.

Done for the day, he ruminates on “Howl’s” descendants as he walks toward his dressing room. “If you read the poem, you’ll see that the language is pretty salty even for today! The guy had something to say, and this is how he chose to say it. And people reacted. We’ve had this same conversation over and over again as a culture. Whether it’s Robert Mapplethorpe, or Andres Serrano, people have wanted to put their own particular moral take on the outrage of the moment. And we’ve seen that usually, art will find its own way out, and for the most part, we live in a society that allows that expression to take place. This film is a reflection of that.”

As he passes down the narrow hallway, through a cluster of avidly chattering women that includes producers Elizabeth Redleaf and Christine Walker, their conversation comes to a grinding halt. Aware that all female eyes are on him in an unholy way, he doesn’t speed up his pace.

A journalist asks if he is enjoying his time in the sun.

He smiles and sighs. “It could be worse…”