From Warren Littlefield's memoir of "Must See TV" which has lots of quotes from NBC actors.
Debra: "When we were done, everyone was talking about what they wanted to take from set as a memento. I said: "I want the door to my office. Just the door that says "Grace Adler" and I want to put it in my office at home as a piece of sculpture against the wall" Then two weeks later, I get a call. NBC wants $225 for the door to pay for the wood."
"I said: "are you kidding me?" They were like "Well, no. They could use the door on another pilot." I said "Tell them to sue me." So much for being part of the family."
In the end-of-show DVD extras, Max Mutchnick said she showed up for the original W&G audition in a limo.
NBC gave that bitch a Porsche at one point.
What a CUNT!
I need to know more.
"Everyone was talking about what they wanted as a memento" is vague.
Did someone from NBC say it was okay to take anything she wanted?
This is something her people could have handled so she'd never have to know.
All four of them got Porsche Boxters, R3, you CUNT.
Deb usually has to pay for anybody to give her wood, I don't know why she's so shocked this time around.
My point is, Debra, a.k.a. R5, after getting a damn Porsche you had nothing to snipe about.
I know you have a lot of time on your hands waiting for that back-nine pickup for Smash that's never going to come, but you might want to stop Googling yourself.
You puffy CUNT!
Ah, they owe it to her. I like her in SMASH.
It's just a door.
Debra on being cast as Grace: "I was working on the spectacular, futuristic drama Prey...I was the protagonist so I was working 16-18 hours a day."
"The show got canceled. I emailed my agent & said "Don't wake me for four months." Bob Gersh, my agent, called and said "We have a special script. You have to read it. And I was like "no, no, no. I'm exhausted. I cannot move. I'm in bed." And he said "We'll send it over. Don't leave bed. Just read it in bed."
Max Mutchnick: "Debra Messing was sick of earning $35 000 a week since she was eighteen. She was exhausted."
Why would anyone pay Debra Messing $35,000 a week pre-Will and Grace? That's insane.
Debra on Ned & Stacey: "I had just come from doing plays and being in graduate school, where it's collaborative. My contribution was not valued. It just felt like "We're going to decide what the scene is. We're going to decide the way it should go and it's your job to execute it."
She's lucky they haven't SHOWN her the door on "Smash."
That does make her sound whiny, r11. Of course she was just a hired hand on her first sitcom, she was a nobody. But apparently she thought it was The Debra Messing Show, what a freak.
Does anyone remember her "spectacular" drama Prey? How spectacular was it, spectacularly bad?
R13, to be fair to Deb, I've been posting the quotes that amused me. She also says lots of gracious things about Will & Grace.
The most entertainingly pompous quotes in the book come from Deb and David Schwimmer.
What I remember most about Prey was how hot Roger Howarth was in it, nearly naked. I actually liked the show in general but I was not knocked over by Messing. She wasn't bad she wasn't great.
I fear Deb will have a harsh menopause.
She did a great job as Grace Adler on "Will and Grace" and deserved to have that door for a souvenir.
I liked her the The Starter Wife TV series, especially the episode where she appeared as Carol Channing in the "Hello Dolly" title song.
"All four of them got Porsche Boxters"
And Rosario got an Impala.
She didn't ask for a Porsche Boxter, NBC gave it to her. "Will & Grace" made millions and millions for NBC. She asked for a fucking wooden door for all her years of successful service. They should have given the door.
Well, R21, unless NBC sued her for the money, they DID give her a door … because that cuntress hewed to the stereotype.
Some down the ladder guy at NBC had a boss with a bug up his ass and went out of his way to have an underling nag a multi million dollar actress for $225?
We know Our Deb has no class but NBC had even less.
Seeing cunt to cunt conflict is amusing.
Our Deb won.
I wonder what Sean and Megan took.
[Already forgot about what's-his-name the Faux-gay Wilma.]
All Deb will get out of Smash when it wraps forever on March 8th will be a bunch of Julia's scarves, some which the fired wardrobe department of Season One pissed on and one with cum stains from Will Chase's semen.
Or maybe the rehearsal hall couch where she fucked Will Chase? Excuse me, where Julia fucked Will Chase's character (as if I remember HIS name)?
What? She can't afford $225?
Isn't she fucking Will Chase now? Up against that door?
Just a simple miscommunication. After Will and Grace was cancelled, the crew of the show remarked, "don't let the door hit you on the way out bitch." and Deb took this to mean she'd better take the door with her.
More deb dirt please
Hate her. But she deserved the door for free
She cures eye cancer in African orphans.
Surely someone saved the Darfur orphan post regarding our Deb.
whats up with Grace's nipple dress when she had that wedding reception with Marvin?
I fuckin' loved Prey, now that's a show they should remake. These insane mystical conspiracy government coverup tv shows... Prey was clearly just ahead of it's time.
Does she cure it merely by being gazed upon?
"Oh shit, my eyes! Oh hey, my cancer is cured!"
that nipple dress. my eyes, my eyes!
Let me tell you about Deb Messing.
In early January, I had just returned to the States from Victoria, where I had been immunizing some of the indigenous tribes there in the grueling Australian midsummer heat. I'd been home barely a week when the earthquake struck Haiti, collapsing building and killing thousands, and within the day I was headed back to the airport â destination, Port-au-Prince.
Commercial flights were, you may remember, were unavailable for days afterward. I was standing in LAX, cursing my stupidity, when a woman tapped me on the shoulder. âI noticed your bag,â she said (I was carrying my Medecins Sans Frontieres kit). âAre you trying to get to Haiti?â
The woman told me she had chartered a Cessna and hired a pilot skilled enough to land it in a small parking lot if necessary. âWe have one more seat,â she said, insisting I come with her.
There was a brief argument on the tarmac â apparently Anderson Cooper had been promised a seat, but my mysterious benefactor said medical help was more important and insisted I take his place. When I boarded the small plane, I found it filled with a veritable United Nations of aid workers, all as somber as I.
Once we were in the air, her warmth and humor quickly put an end to our initial shock. She introduced herself as âDebâ and â though she was obviously well-off â said the biggest regret of her life was dropping out of medical school just short of getting her degree. (She had supplied portable DVD players under each seat, and it wasn't until the flight was underway and I was engrossed in a double feature of her films âThe Womenâ and âThe Starter Wifeâ that I realized she was a film actress.)
The devastation in Haiti was beyond description. We had to land in Cite Soleil a few miles outside the city and take a Jeep down a rutted road, where we came across a roadblock of armed guerrillas that terrified us all, but Deb took them aside and conducted negotiations in perfect Haitian Creole. (The DVD players from the plane flight came in handy as barter, and they allowed us to pass.)
There were so many buildings collapsed in the city center we didn't know where to begin. We set to work in a pile of rebar and concrete, where a team of National Guardsmen was scaling the rubble with scent-rescue K-9s. When a dog would alert to someone trapped below, the National Guard would excavate the site, and if the patient showed any sign of life, the Guardsmen would carry them to us on a makeshift stretcher and we would begin triage there, in the middle of the filthy Avenue John Brown. (Deb was a great help here, too, holding the patients' hands and singing to them softly; her husky contralto was perfectly suited to La vie en rose and brought a tear to the eye of even some hardened rescuers.)
As the day went on, fewer and fewer patients were being brought to us and the rescue K-9s, sadly, were only uncovering corpses â and small ones, covered in concrete dust, their mouths open in a silent scream. We realized, to our horror, we were excavating a day care or elementary school.
I was setting the crushed leg of one old woman who was hysterical with shock, eyes rolling back in her head, babbling. I tried to hush her, but Deb stopped me:
Deb put her shell-like ear to the woman's mouth, inadvertently smearing her earring with blood, and listened to the old woman's wheezing Creole. The expression on Deb's face changed from puzzlement to incredulity to horror.
"Stop!" she yelled to the Guardsmen atop the rubble. "This woman's grandchild is buried up there!" she told them, pointing to a precipice of gnarled rebar and crumbling concrete.
The young Guardsman who was helping us was a towheaded Southerner, probably no more than eighteen. "We can't, ma'am," he told her.
Deb would have none of it. "She says he's alive; she can feel his cries in her heart!"
"Ma'am," the Guardsman told us, "it's not safe up there, not even for the dogs."
"Then I'LL do it!"
Quick as a wink and before any of us could stop her, Deb was scaling up the face of the rubble like a mountain goat, her Tevas barely finding purchase on one crumbling piece of cement before she shinnied to the next. (Later we would find that mountain climbing had been Deb's passion as a teenager.)
The Guardsmen stood mute and unbelieving, but the towhead found his voice: âRanger!â he cried. "Help her!"
The biggest of the German shepherds raced after Deb, catching up to her just as she reached the spot the old woman had described. Deb and Ranger fell to digging, the animal with his paws and Deb with her hands, while we could only watch from the ground and pray.
After a few minutes, Deb staggered to her feet, holding a tiny object in her bloodied hands. "Jean-Phillippe!" she yelled to us. "And he's alive! Il est vivant!"
The most hardened Guardsman could not hold back his tears as Deb descended from that pile of rubble containing so many corpses of the young, pressing the tiny miracle to her breast as Ranger led the way. When she finally reached the ground, I held out my hands for the baby, but Deb shook her head.
"He needs her touch," she said. "And she needs his."
With that tender smile I had seen in âThe Starter Wife,â she placed the infant in the arms of his grandmother, where he worked his tiny fists for a moment before letting loose a cry in the destroyed streets of Port-au-Prince.
"The kid's got some lungs on him," said Red. "That's the sound of a healthy baby."
Deb put her finger to his lips. "No," she said "That's the sound of LIFE.â"
As the other medics turned their attention to the blood and glass in Deb's feet (she had lost her Tevas on the downhill climb), I looked at the old Haitian woman on the stretcher. With one hand, she pressed her grandson to her heart; the fingers of the other hand worked an invisible rosary.
Her parched mouth moved in silent prayer, and I knelt next to her to dampen her cracked lips with a few drops of water from my canteen when she suddenly grabbed my sleeve with a strength belying her advanced years. At that moment, the blood left her face, and I knew we had lost her; she had held on in hopes of an angel saving the life of her grandson, and now that God had done His work, she was ready to meet Him.
I bent down to moisten her lips once again, and in a palsied wheeze, she uttered her last words:
â"Qui etait cette cunt?"
Let me tell you about Deb Messing.
As Katrina roared toward New Orleans, more than a million people fled the area, but 29 of the city's littlest, most sickly babies were left to ride out the storm in University Hospital with Deb Messing. Many, born prematurely, were too weak to make the trip out. Deb’s job, some would describe as Herculean, was to make sure they all stayed alive. That we all stayed alive.
The horrors began the first day when the staff heard that the levees had been breached. "People got really scared and thought they were going to drown," said Deb, a volunteer who I discovered was in town visiting a friend. "I wasn't scared. I had been in touchy situations in Haiti and Darfur, but instead of machete toting rebels, we had water. And lots of it."
The staff was getting calls from members of their families who were stuck in attics as the water was rising. Some wanted to leave any way possible--and take their tiny charges with them. Deb Messing went from group to group, telling the frightened nurses that they would get out "when it was safe. When it was safe." But she too was worrying--about her husband and child, whom she had not heard from who stayed behind in New York.
Katrina posed an extraordinary challenge, isolating Deb, hospital staff and their charges for five harrowing days. Without power, the incubators had stopped working, so Deb had no choice but to carry the babies in her arms most of the time to keep them warm. For once in her life, Deb was grateful for the extra room in her bra. "Sometimes you have to roll up your capris and open your heart," she said to me, and I wept.
With no electricity and the backup generators flooded, the staff got news from the hospital's lone ham radio. At one point, a helicopter rescue was planned with a pickup point atop Tulane University Hospital three blocks away. Deb Messing gathered up her courage and led a bunch of desperate nurses carrying babies and boarded rowboats --respirating the sickest ones by "hand bagging," a method of forcing air into the lungs that Deb had taught them that morning, just in case. Just in case.
But the helicopter was commandeered for another mission, and Deb and the nurses returned with their swaddled patients. "We shall overcome," Deb reassured the party and led the nurses back, wading through the hip-deep water. "The staff was just emotionally drained. They're crying and upset as they came back," said Messing. "I wish they could perk up," she confessed to me, "pretend for the moment that they had some hope, that all wasn't lost, pretend for babies. Pretend for life."
She walked the units reassuring the nurses. She told me, "They needed to look in my face and see that it was going to be all right. This was the most important role of my life. I told them our No. 1 focus is our patients. Those teeny, tiny, veiny patients. We don't want to rush out of here and go drown and die in the process. That would be horrible and unfortunate."
Deb Messing was near exhaustion, having had no sleep most of the week and eating sunflower seeds she fished out of a vending machine. Yet she took on more duties, overseeing nurses in other areas of the hospital, all in the name of service and compassion. On what turned out to be their last night, Deb successfully delivered a 23-week-old preemie and even BBQd the placenta with a Bic lighter. "There is nothing she can't do," a nurse sighed, "except empty a bedpan."
The next day, they were finally evacuated. All the babies were fine. "We don't feel like heroes," said Deb "We feel like humanity."
Then, standing off to side, another nurse quietly added, "We just wanted our babies to go home alive and be reunited with their parents. And we wanted that crazy cunt with the hair to go back to New York."
Someone please sum it up: Why do we hate this bitch?
Is it so onerous for an actress of a show that was successful wanting to keep a memento like that?
I remember when Ugly Betty went off the air, Ana Ortiz kept the "Hilda's Beautilities" neon sign from Hilda's salon, and Vanessa Williams kept the "Wilhelmina Slater" nameplate from her desk and some of her wardrobe.
The Voice of the Night
I've never hated Debra Messing, nor Eric McCormack. I hated Jack and Karen. But they're Gay Groupthink Cool, so we're not allowed to hate them. And we can't hate Will, because he's so goodlooking, and gay. That leaves Grace, who has no Gay Groupthink points. Since Grace is a fictitious character, we hate Debra Messing.
But I don't hate her. Never have.
Not a frau. A gay man.
r37, r38, r39 now THAT is the witty pointless bitchery that makes me laugh out loud.
You must be an EST veteran.
R26 - that was my thought. That asked what they wanted from the SET, not from the studio. They have to replace that door - the stuff from the set is done.
Just pay the fucking money and move on. She got fame and fortune - she should thank her lucky stars.
Of all the swag whores in town, Deb Messing's the worst of them. That cunt would run down her own mother for a free pair of sunglasses.
My former college roommate was a writer for Will & Grace. He said Debra Messing had the worst smoker's breath he had ever come across in his entire life. She was also desperately insecure about her looks and had an entire team working on her hair during breaks between shooting.
He didn't like any of the main cast except Sean Hayes. He said Megan Mullaly had a bad drinking problem and Eric McCormack was cold and unfriendly.
R37, 38, 39 - so much effort, so little payoff.
If you imagine you're a writer, keep your day job.
It's hilarious. That they wanted to charge her, that she was do offended by it. Love it.
I wish I could find more DL Debra Messing posts.
I'm exhausted. I cannot move. I'm in bed, bitches.
I barely tolerated her on "Will & Grace." Several actors/actresses that possess extremely annoying characteristics throw in Seinfeld's Kramer with those very unfunny pratfalls. Messing appeared in one episode of Seinfeld early in her career.
I couldn't watch Will & Grace because Deb Messing was so revolting. It was a pity, I liked the other three, especially the two supporting players but that red-headed cow was a dealbreaker.
Deb should have simply paid for the freakin' door.
Such unnecessary drama.
R47 turn in your DL membership card immediately, toots, and do a google search for "Deb Messing troll"...I just posted that for someone up thread...
[quote]"I said: "are you kidding me?" They were like "Well, no. They could use the door on another pilot." I said "Tell them to sue me." So much for being part of the family."
Gee. When I got fired from my last job I got . . . the things I brought in with me.
R47, that's an old and well loved post from DL's archives. Clench your diseased asshole about something else.
As much $$$ as NBC made off of Will & Grace they can't afford a $225 'gift'???
A friend of mine who worked on the crew of Smash said she was by far the nastiest person out of the entire cast, crew and staff.
Hey butt pirates, you need to find another word to replace cunt with. It's getting old.
Deb's antics continue - she got a supporting actor FIRED from the Broadway play she's about to open in. Seems she didn't like the actor and said either he goes or she does...
And God help us all, she has to have an Irish accent for this play. Saints preserve us!
I love her. I think she's a gifted comedienne and Grace was the role of a lifetime. I own every W&G season on DVD and it's still the only sitcom that can cheer me up and give me belly laughs.
The show's contribution to gay progress cannot be underestimated. It brought (and still does, through repeats) likable gay people into Amurkan's living rooms in an unprecedented way. Everybody's seen the show.
where did it say that she got him fired?
[quote] Hey butt pirates, you need to find another word to replace cunt with. It's getting old.
Thanks, smelly clam.
I believe that cunt is pointless bitchery at its finest and that is why it is a DL classic. But only here.
It doesn't matter if you can afford it, it doesn't matter if Debra Messing is a nasty bitch in real life.
Given all she had done for NBC and all the money they made off her and the rest of the cast work a simple token like that was more than fair for her to take. It was incredibly dickish of them to send her a bill.
I have to imagine they only did it because they honestly didn't like her which makes me think she really must be a piece of work.
Hi, I'm an enabler of untalented wealthy entitled people.
r49, are you posting from a TARDIS?
I'm going to see Deb in John Patrick Shanley's new play next week. I suspect she'll be awful.