Bio of Egot Smithee

“Egot? Take the wise out of wisdom—and you’re just left with dumb.” ~ Kim Kardashian

Egot Smithee is the nom de plume, then common-law name, and eventually adjudicated name of Egot NMN Smithee. He was born and raised in the most fun three blocks of Los Angeles, a ferry ride from Echo Park Lake. His father, Alan Smithee, directed 24 features and 150 assorted disappointments, all of which he disowned—from Death of a Gunfighter (1969) to the posthumous Anatar (2023), citing creative usurpation — or just not showing up.

His mother, Alana, was a "non-pro"—Hollywood parlance for “one step shy of being a call girl.”

Named “Egot” for aspirational reasons, he remains awards-free. Still, with this memoir, he expects his namesake trophies—Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony—to come groveling. “Egot,” he now says, “is a four-letter word that’s mostly ‘ego.’ The ‘t’ makes it one-quarter truthful.”

From ages two to four, Egot progressed from superiority complex to inferiority complex to moral complicity. He quickly learned to redirect scrutiny via antics: talkative, shy, terrified of girls, reverent to adults, and deeply impressed by a friend with a mustache who could buy beer.

At 11, he made an 8mm film—then accidentally double-exposed it upside down. This early work hinted at his future of unrecognized genius. As a high school comic, he felt the satisfaction of power and the adjacent abandonment of girls who demanded he also be funny offstage.

He attended an Ivy League university that thrilled his mother, studying boring adult things until senior year, when he dared to enroll in Acting 1. Denied entry by Most Venerable Professor Jamison O. Barnyard (“You’re a senior. I won’t waste my time on you.”), Egot pivoted from rejection into a prestigious role at the largest environmental organization in the world. He was hired as part of a government initiative to include more part time workers and was paid 39/40ths of a salary, had 39/40ths of benefits, and left one hour early on Fridays.

On his first day, his new boss, Ilene Leanleftovich (heiress to a pickle fortune), drew him a dazzling org chart: He was seven bureaucratic layers below the President of the United States.

He was miserable.

By night, he did stand-up across the Anacostia River in a bar where the bathrooms dispensed tetanus shots. A comic there pointed him to an acting teacher, Charlotte Tighe, with the ominous referral: “I’ll never speak to her again, but you should take her class.” “Will it help with my comedy?” “Probably not, but you should take her class.” On Wednesdays, he descended into a Georgetown church basement, where Charlotte ripped him a new personality and pronounced him “very raw.”

Egot started auditioning and got cast as rageful delinquents and funny guys. At a theater, softball picnic, Egot was at bat, joking around with Martok and the Black Iago. A woman near third base, was pointing wildly in his direction. He stole home, and went over to see what was going on, but she refused to speak to him. Her friend explained that she’d seen his delinquent character on stage and couldn’t believe he was the same person. She was too frightened of the character he created to say a word. That’s a run scored and another home run in the same play.

He did Shakespeare. He moved to New York. Auditioned for Uta Hagen. Ha ha ha. At HB Studios (H is for Hagen), he studied under Stephen “Mr Terrific” Strimpel, who wore the same tiny black-and-white checkered shirt daily. Egot’s friend JC (of the non-violent gay mafia) confirmed 15 duplicates in Strimpell’s closet. (That’s a clothes closet.)

Egot got a union card carrying sparklers Off-Broadway, another by delivering a telegram on One Life to Live. He showed his script to a producer who said, “It’s got no heat.” Lesson learned: Egot avoided conflict, but story needs it.

He loved film sets—the cameras, the hot asphalt, the logistics. But actors? Bottom of the food chain. So, armed with nepotism and Ivy League hyper-responsibility, Egot applied to film school at a prestigious private program in downtown Los Angeles. (It’s prestigious because they say it is, private because it’ll bankrupt you).

At film school, he branded himself as “Actor” and to demonstrate this, he wore white pants daily. The editor of this book says “Bio too long 1000 words. Cut it.” Egot ascended to make a “480” film and was pursued by Gersh agent Laurie Applespice, He signed with Charles Gersh (son of Phil), who stole Egot from his hospitalized partner, Applespice’s boss. Charles Gersh defended this saying, “We’re one big happy family.” Egot believed him. Mistake. Laurie Applespice, who was actually Tom Chasin Seniors’s assistant, ghosted Egot in fury. Egot, in his ignorance, was baffled. Meanwhile, his friend Rick signed with another Gersh agent, wrote a hit, bought a house in Ojai. Egot? Not so much. Was he going to not sign with a prestigious agent and wait for a guy he’d never met? Or sign with Alan Greene, who really wanted him and was universally loved? Nothing would have worked. Alan died of AIDS. Despite this, Egot’s career flourished, stalled, flourished again, collapsed, re-flourished. 1000 words, not counting that last part.

If you’d like to learn more (and why wouldn’t you?), email: Egot@EgotSmithee.com