Episode 031 – The Art of Subtlety

Welcome to the show. Even with 31 of these things in the books, I still consider The Mind Unset a new show. Still finding its voice and dialing in the concept. It’s an ever fluid process.

Now that we’ve got a small body of work, the emails from listeners are growing more and more interesting. Some with suggestions or advice, mostly about the solo episodes. The guest episodes are straightforward. I don’t think there’s any mystery or complexity there.

But when it comes to the solo pieces, I get a lot of entertaining comments. Yeah, I’ll use the word entertaining. A lot of them are fabulous – very complimentary and kind. My favorites though, are the ones telling me to get therapy, try meditation, or better yet, medication.

I’ve had more than a few folks suggest that I should just hand over all of my questions to God. If I did that… I’d no longer have a show.

This is leading into today’s topic… I promise.

One of the comments I get the most is, “you need to inject more of you into the show.”

Recently, I had a cup of coffee with a friend who listens to the show and he said the exact same thing, I want to hear more you.

Honestly, this confuses the hell out of me because as I write and produce the episodes, I am constantly trying to inject less of me. The solo episodes already stem from my interest in a particular area that I might be wrestling with or fascinated by and if I’m curious, I think maybe others are also curious.

The lead-in is always through me. The outro usually has some sort of wrap up with my take.

So… naturally, I was intrigued by his comment and I asked him to tell me more… explain what he meant.

He said, “There’s no passion. No definitive statements. You don’t give us results… too many loose ends.”

Now, I mention this as the lead-in today for a reason.

I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect setup for today’s topic, the art of subtlety; the captivating dance between the lines, the delicate balance of expression and restraint, the whispered nuance that, when performed correctly, elevates above the din of the modern world and teeters at the edge – where the question just might be more important than the answer.

[Music]

When I was 7 or 8 years old, I remember being at my grandmom’s house on Gross Street in South Philly. It was a Sunday, just after church and a lot of my family was there, brother’s sisters, cousins, aunts, and uncles.

My grandmom lived in the typical inner-city row house. Neighbors on each side, stone steps, and one of those metal sofa gliders. I loved that thing. The interior– was wall-to-wall in plastic. Sofa covers, floor runners, dinning room chairs… protected; for the millennium and beyond.

I doubt the woman’s butt (or anyone elses butt) ever touched the fabric on her couch, nor her bare feet to the rugs. Plastic. Miles of plastic. I could go on and on describing her house, the smell of basil and oregano, the herb garden out back and her beautiful wedding photo that hung above the black and while consol television.

But this story is not about a row house in Philly. It’s about a button. The button on my grandmom’s blouse. Second one from the top. The one she had resewn with a thread that was a few shades lighter blue from all of the other buttons.

I noticed it. I didn’t know why at the time… but I noticed little things like that all the time. “Grandmom, why’s that thread different from all the other buttons?”

My question embarrassed her. I was 7 I didn’t know what that meant. I was reprimanded by my father and it was the first memory I have of a time when my noticing got me in trouble.

[Music fades]

I have always noticed the little things. The tiniest nuances that a lot of people might overlook. The small bits of life hold my attention longer and more intently than any grand gesture. The slightest sounds, fragrances, shades of color. The slight mannerisms and body language of those around me, expressions, words…

I notice the frequencies in people’s voices, the way they move their eyes when they talk, their laugh, how the corners of their mouth drift up when they smile. I notice how they hold their coffee cup or tuck their hair behind their ear when they’re nervous or self-conscious.

That my neighbor has a front wheel bearing that will need attention and that the cashier in our neighborhood market alway matches her lipstick to blouse and her earrings.

I’m fascinated by the subtle differences in how people walk or run. How they swing their arms, tilt their head. Are they smiling or knitting their brow. So many variables. So much to observe. it all registers and can be overstimulating and overwhelming at times.

As a young guy, I didn’t know how to decipher the information or compartmentalize it into things that matter and things that don’t. It created a lot of problems. I learned to tamp it down. Or… tried to.

This recent conversation with my friend triggered this memory and several others. It’s always good to be challenged on your work. A good challenge goes a long way in getting me to look critically at what I’m doing from the point of someone who’s opinion I value.

He’s also a regular listener and probably listening right now. I don’t think I’m breaching any confidence by telling this story.

It’s relevant because as things have been doing lately in my life, our conversation aligned perfectly with this episode at just the right time.

It seems lately, I will think of something, begin to flush it out and then watch as it appears in other areas of my life.

It’s amazing and beautiful and the story is developing much like a Hollywood movie.

Speaking of movies… I need to take this exit ramp for a minute to talk about the Oscars.

Yes, I’m talking about The Academy Awards. Seems like a random left turn. It’s relevant.

Full disclosure: I don’t watch them. I don’t watch the Grammy’s or any award shows.

BUT… Every year when the Oscars roll around, I am reminded of a guy – not just a guy but quiet possibly one of the greatest character actors of our time. To quote Al Pacino, “…not just our time but that time before and any time after.”

This guy only acted in 5 films during his short 10 year career. Why was his career so short?

Because John Cazale died from lung cancer in 1978 at the age of 42.

So, why do I think think of John Cazale every year when the Oscars roll around? And what the hell does it have to do with me as a 7 year old kid and this episode decades later?

I’m gonna connect the dots but before I do, let me first name the 5 films that John Cazale acted in.

• 1972: The Godgfather
• 1974: The Conversation
• 1974: Godfather II
• 1975: Dog Day Afternoon
• 1978: The Deer Hunter

All five of these films won or was nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards. John Cazale was never nominated for a single best actor or best supporting actor. Never once acknowledged for his performances.

Every one of the films he acted in achieved the highest honor bestowed on a motion picture and never once did Cazale receive a nomination.

Francis Ford Coppola said that Cazale was so remarkable and instrumental in his role as Fredo Corleone in the original Godfather, he wrote in a bigger part in Godfather II just for him.

Coppola talks about his improvisational instincts and mentions the famous scene in the Godfather where Michael Corleone – Al Pacino – informs Fredo that he’s being excommunicated from the family. Cazale sank into a chair and then used the chair to convey one of the most memorable scenes in the movie.

Go on YouTube and watch it.

To this day, John Cazale has never received the acclaim he deserves. A lot of people say he never stood a chance next to actors like Pacino, Brando, James Cann, Gene Hackmann, and Robert DeNiro, Meryl Streep and Diane Keaton.

Others say John Cazale wasn’t acting. It was just great casting. They say that was who he was. There was nothing brilliant about it.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

If you only watch one of Cazale’s performances, it would be easy to miss his brilliance. The subtle nuances. But if you spend time with several of his movies, you’ll notice that Cazale is not playing a character. He is not acting. He becomes the character through the most subtle of movements that he created to bring the character to life.

There was nothing bombastic or exaggerated. He’s exposed mannerisms, expressions, sadness, and humor that the writers and directors never imagined.

He didn’t draw from previous roles he played. No two characters were ever the same. They walked differently. Talked differently. They never held a cigarette the same way.

Meryl Streep, the love of his life at the time of his death said, “No matter how tragic and sad the character was, he found a way to inject humor and no matter how funny the scene, there was an inherent sadness that was John.”

One reviewer wrote: “Amidst all of the great performances and masterful direction is a performance so underrated because of the way it blends into the story. It blends so well, it almost goes unnoticed.”

The word subtle itself contains a b that is – by itself the definition of the word; not immediately obvious, delicate; difficult to notice.

John Cazale was the master of subtlety… of nuance – and some say that is the reason he was never acknowledged for his performances.

It is astounding to me… that the Academy Awards, a show devoted to celebrating the art of acting and movie making, packed with masters of their art; members of the Academy have for decades, completely missed the guy who did what they are celebrating so well… that he’s gone unnoticed.

Remembering John Cazale reminds me that there is immense power in delicate moments. There is an art to the understated. The story lies in between the lines.

Here’s the quote I want to get to from Pacino. “John taught me about asking questions and not having to answer them. That’s the beauty. You ask the question. You open the door for things. You then have the variables.”

[Music]

We live in a world that often demands our attention through a cacophony of sights, sounds, and messages.

The art of subtlety invites us to pause, listen, and truly engage with the hidden depths that lie beneath the surface. We risk missing a great portion of the story if we confuse the elegant labyrinth of subtle communication with lack of passion or equate nuance with uninteresting.

That 7-year-old kid hasn’t changed. I still notice the thread, the nuance, and I have never been as interested in the answers as I am the questions.

This is not a show about results. Every episode of this show has two objectives; to inspire and encourage. Now, what you do with them is up to you.

And if you want more of me, I suggest read between the lines and listen in the pauses because I’m… right here.