If you’d talked to aspiring filmmaker/musician Todd Giglio five years ago about his personal artistic struggles, his story would basically follow the same trajectory as that of anyone who flirted briefly with fame during his twenties. He majored in theater at SUNY Fredonia, graduated in 1990 and relocated a year later to New York City’s Lower East Side, when it was still hip, dangerous, and accommodating to piss-poor artists. He supported himself via a catering job at Madison Square Garden (which he still holds to this day). He scored a few decent movie roles in forgettable films–such as the straight-to-video Adam Ant/Debbie Harry comedy “Drop Dead Rock”–and a few tiny walk-on roles in big films, like “As Good As It Gets,” where he played a singing bum. By that time, Giglio had learned to play guitar and was a prolific songwriter–talented enough, in fact, to receive an off-the-cuff compliment from Jack Nicholson.
Soon after, he ditched acting and eased his way into his friend/guitar teacher’s band, then called Domestic Oblivion. The trio played all over Manhattan–eventually rechristening themselves Six Mile Hill–before coming to a halt at the end of the decade. Giglio and crew, now thirty-somethings, were fed up with indifferent or hostile club owners and weak turnouts. After the band’s demise, Giglio got married, moved to Westchester, had a son. By the early 2000s, the music dream had ended, youth was over, family took priority. OK, so far, so average.
Cut to 2006. During a night of beer-drinking and nostalgia with his college buddy Christopher Springer (who, oddly enough, is married to Giglio’s wife’s sister), Giglio played some old Six Mile Hill tunes. Springer blurted out his concept for a music video for the song “Nowhere”–in Giglio’s words, “a working-class guy in a small town, walking down a hill. And I said, ‘To hell with that. Let’s take it one step further and make a film.’” Three years and $80,000 later–the budget was initially $8,000 of Springer and Giglio’s savings, but Giglio later borrowed from relatives, maxed out credit cards, sold equipment and even turned to investors–the end result of that brainstorm emerged as “Drawing With Chalk.”
Giglio co-wrote (with Springer), directed, produced, starred in, financed and catered “Chalk,” a small-scale, gently downbeat, somewhat autobiographical tale about choosing between sturdy domesticity and starving artistry. He shot scenes in his own house, often annoying his more reserved wife. He cast his own son, Brennan, as his character’s son, as well as former professors. Exterior sequences were filmed–on the cheap–in Giglio’s hometown of Canisteo, south of Buffalo. And of course, Giglio–who plays one of two 40-something rock musicians–put his own music in the film, some old, some new, some polished, some made up on the spot. “Chalk” was well-received on the festival circuit throughout 2009 and 2010, but after a one-week showing at NYC’s artsy Quad Cinema last spring, it was brutally panned by The New York Times’ Jeannette Catsoulis, who dismissed Giglio’s efforts as a “vanity project.”
Giglio is still stung by the nasty review, but he’s hardly giving up. “Chalk” is now available for streaming on IndiePix Films, and Giglio and his distributors will soon try to get the film released on Netflix. Better yet, the whole experience inadvertently led to the reformation of Giglio’s band, which, thanks to the kindly investor, was able to finance a slick album recording, produced by former Beach Boys engineer Jeff Peters. Now called The Turnback, the group recently shot and posted a popular Apple iPhone video, and played a well-attended show last month at the International Pop Overthrow Festival on the Lower East Side, its first performance in 12 years. Giglio, 43, knows he’s past his prime, and family still comes first (another son came along six years ago). But he’s pleased that, for the past year or so, his own life, filled with new, unforeseen possibilities, has played out like a hopeful, rewarding sequel to his movie.
Sam Weisberg: You shot the film in your hometown of Canisteo. Was it easy to film there?
Todd Giglio: Oh, God yeah. I had gone to our current hometown, Greenburgh, near White Plains, to get permits. My son Brennan was with me. He was only four at the time. He had a lot of food allergies. So he had eaten something that wasn’t agreeing with him, and in the process of trying to get this permit, he threw up all over the office floor. I helped them clean up and they gave me paperwork. I go back to the car and it says it’s $750 for the permit. I called the office, and they told me it would cost $750 per day. I said “Oh, thank you.” And then I hung up the phone, turned to Brennan, and said “Nice job.”
But upstate…we had written the crane factory[scene] in because we wanted a steel worker-type thing, and there was a crane factory about ten miles from Canisteo. I asked the owner, “Do you mind if we shoot our independent film here?” and he said “Oh yeah, we’re about to lock up, but take a look around and when you’re done, lock up.”
SW: So they didn’t charge much to shoot there?
TG: Nothing. The only place we paid for was the Kill Buck [Inn, in Canisteo]. The owner opened it up for us and we had to shoot 16 pages of dialogue that day. There was a big scene there, in the first half hour of the film, that we cut out. It involved Matt [Springer’s character] turning 40 and his birthday party. It was very slapstick-y. We think he’s taking us to a strip club but it’s actually a dance club, and most of the people there are 22 years old, and we look like these dirty old men. He’s hitting on the bartender and she’s skeeved out by him. It ends up at the Kill Buck, where he’s drunk, talking to two former bandmates, who have come to the party from New York City. He says, “This is my fucking fault what happened [to the band] in New York.” But we realized that it took his character arc away, because he had no place to go. He starts off angry and he ends up angry.
SW: How long was the shoot?
TG: It was random, because we needed seasonal footage and we also needed money. We didn’t have a crew. So we’d shoot and then reschedule. We started shooting in September 2007 and our very last day was in June 2008. Overall it was maybe 25 days.
SW: I watched the YouTube video of the Q&A panel after the Newport Beach Film Festival screening, and you and Chris Springer said you both worked your respective catering and waiter jobs while making the film. Were your employers supportive of the film?
TG: Mine was, because we filmed one little scene at [Madison Square] Garden. The supervisor let us do it. And we needed liquor bottles [for a scene that wound up getting cut from the film], so they let me take all these empty liquor bottles home. Chris was working at a restaurant in the city, I forget which one, but he quit because his job wasn’t as flexible as mine. They let me leave to do all the festival stuff. I traveled to nine festivals during 2009 and 2010, some of them for a week at a time. Phoenix Film Festival, Naples International Film Festival, that was last November, that was phenomenal. We went to Canada, Buffalo, Long Island, New Jersey. We finished up at the Jacksonville Film Festival Special Screening, in April.
SW: Besides your day job salaries, how was the film financed?
TG: I had $4,000 saved up, and I needed $12,000 total, because I wanted to build a motorcycle for my 40th birthday and I was 38. At the time, I was doing wedding videos. I was trying to do anything but catering. And I enjoy cameras, I’m a gadget geek. I had all this equipment.
[After we brainstormed the film], Chris said he would save $4,000 as well, so we’d have $8,000 to make the film, which sounded like a lot. It wasn’t. The film ended up costing us closer to $80,000. [The money came from] family, friends, working, selling equipment, and then at the very end, we had an investor who put up enough money to finish the soundtrack and pay for the [week-long] screening at the Quad Cinema [in the East Village], which in hindsight we should not have done. But it got us the money for the soundtrack.
SW: What was the original soundtrack before that investment?
TG: We recorded everything ourselves. People who heard the older recordings thought they sounded good enough. We had no intention of hiring an engineer to do everything. That came across because at another film festival we did in New York City, this Indian musician Siddartha [Khosla], who was in a band called Gold Spot, very Beatles and Beach Boys-esque, came up to us and liked the music. I asked him who [his engineer] was and he said Jeff Peters in Pasadena. I sent him our stuff and he said “I really like your music, here’s our rates.” It was $1,000 a song and we had 12 songs. We decided to do it. But up until then, we were just gonna mix it ourselves. For our first cuts, at every festival, there weren’t even recorded songs yet. We just had acoustic guitar.
SW: Which interest came first, music or film?
TG: Film. Not just film, but how music was integrated with film. I’m a huge John Hughes fan, and how he incorporates music…it gives the music character. You can’t walk away from watching “The Breakfast Club” without putting your hand up [like Judd Nelson’s character does]. It was cutting-edge music, and how it was incorporated into the film really drove me to want to be an actor. When I would act as a kid, in front of [my family’s] eight millimeter camera, I’d always have a soundtrack in my head.
SW: So you made eight millimeter films of your own?
TG: We would make horror films. They’re the easiest to do, you just throw some ketchup on your head. We’d put firecrackers in [toy] helicopters and blow them up. My buddy Rich still has those films. Every so often, we’ll pull the projector out and watch them and there I am, a 12-year old kid. I remember that day of filming, I remember my dreams and ambitions and youth. I look at that and it’s 30 years ago, and I’m like, “Where the hell did this time go, and did I do what I wanted to do or what I envisioned I was gonna do at 12?”
SW: When did acting come in to the equation?
TG: Probably my sophomore year in high school. I did musicals. I was in “Mame.” And then “The Sound of Music,” I was the lead character. And “Annie.” I didn’t want to be Daddy Warbucks, but they wanted me to play him. There were 72 kids in my class. I wish I’d gone to a bigger school but at the same time, there’s more attention given. My high school drama teacher, Mark Smith, I brought him aboard my film. Granted, some of his scenes were cut. But he still has a line in the film. “Hey, rock star, you’re missing lunch.” And the guy who played Chris’ father in the film was our college drama professor
SW: What eventually got you away from acting and into music?
TG: Frustration, more than anything. I did a film in 1994 [“Drop Dead Rock”] with Debbie Harry and Adam Ant. Terrible movie. I was one of the main characters. It was about this rock band who thinks that if they kidnap this rock star, they’ll become famous, and everything of course goes wrong. It could have been really good. It was a well-written script, but because of time and budget constraints, they just couldn’t do it the right way. And the acting was horrid. Even my acting. People say, “You were one of the best ones,” and that doesn’t say much, because it was really shitty. I started watching it with Brennan—I couldn’t show him too much because it’s rated R—and I’m in the first couple of scenes. And he said, “Boy, everyone sucks in this film.” But those guys went on to make some good films. Adam Dubin [the director] did a Metallica documentary, and he’s one of the best cutting-edge comic writers. But just as a director, he wasn’t quite there.
SW: How did you get involved with that film?
TG: This casting director came to my apartment on West 47th Street and auditioned me. I was a huge Abbott & Costello fan. I remember almost crying from laughing at this Abbott and Costello spoof [in the script]. Instead of “Who’s on first?” the joke was “Eat her pussy.” One of [the other guys in the scene] thought it meant “eat the cat.” It was funny as freaking hell. It could have been very funny, a “Beavis and Butt-Head” type thing.
SW: But the movie itself turned you off of acting?
TG: I think it was Kenny [Sherman, bassist, guitarist, vocalist in The Turnback] teaching me how to play an Elvis Presley song. I played guitar for “Sound of Music.” I had to play “Edelweiss,” but I sucked at it. But I had to play bass for “Drop Dead Rock,” and Kenny taught me how, and I really learned the songs. I bought guitars and recording equipment. [My friend] Jimmy was in a band with Kenny [already], and the first incarnation was called Domestic Oblivion [the name of the band in “Drawing with Chalk.”] Next thing you know I’m in the band, and I’m kind of pushing Jimmy out of the band because the style of music was changing.
SW: Did you guys ever come close to being signed, like the band in “Chalk”?
TG: Oh, hell no, we never had a chance. The only thing that ever happened was, right after our drummer quit, we really didn’t want to play live anymore. We were tired of clubs–like the New Music Cafe–whose owners were coked up and pissed off that we [only brought] eight people to shows. I said, “Do me a favor. Figure out how many of those eight people drank. I guarantee they gave you more business than the other fifty.” We were tired of the scene.
We got offered to open up for a CD release party for The Psychedelic Furs. We told [the promoter] that the band wasn’t together anymore. This was 1997 and the show would have been in 1998. He offered us an acoustic set, so we did, but not for the Psychedelic Furs. I’m not sure that would have done anything for us. These days, you have to do something completely irrational or gimmicky.
SW: On that note, did you worry that people would just see the film as a type of gimmick, as a promotional device for the new band?
TG: I would say that is one reason behind it. The funniest thing we’ve heard is that people want a sequel to the film. And I’m like, “The sequel is happening now, with the real band.” We’re getting great reviews. We got invited to play in Liverpool next year. Just to play at the Cavern Club, where the Beatles played…that’s on my bucket list. Things are happening. Not as fast as I’d like, because when you’re hitting that age card, you’ve gotta make it happen faster.
Trust me, I’m the last person to worry about cross-promotion. Have you ever watched “SpongeBob SquarePants,” and then you see the fucking Big Time Rush thing coming on? I can’t even see SpongeBob anymore! You can’t even watch what you’re watching without being interrupted by something else.
SW: Has the band gotten lots of other attention since the movie came out?
TG: Those who saw the film loved the music. We did a video for “Beyond Belief,” shot on the iPhone. The video got picked up as one of the best iPhone videos, which got us some buzz. Then I had the idea for the [Apple iPhone] 4S video [for the song “Cellophane Sky,” shot at Webster Hall in New York City]. Some people absolutely loved it and some people hated it. I posted “Cellophane Sky” on MacRumors, which has 600,000 registered users. Within two days, I had 300 views, but I had people attacking me, calling me a pedophile. Because we’re these old dudes playing at a club and there are young chicks in the video. So this guy said “Obviously you guys are pedophiles.” And I said, “Whatever happened to storytelling in a song?” The song’s about a woman dying from an overdose, and this is the club she’s in. We’re not interacting with her or them [the dancers]. But it just made me realize, not everyone is gonna like you.
It’s a long process. I told my wife, jokingly, “The only reason we’re not making any money right now is because no one knows who we are.”
SW: Have there been tensions with your wife and your relatives analogous with those in the movie, where they want you to get a more secure job?
TG: It still happens! Chris and I share the same in-laws. I love my mother-in-law. She would never intentionally say anything to hurt us. But he had a birthday party for his daughter, and he made a cake from a Duncan Hines box. She said the cake was so good, he should open his own restaurant, start a business. He said, “I’ve got a business.” And she said, “No, I mean a real business.” It happens to me. They aren’t trying to hurt me, but until they’re seeing money, it’s not real.
SW: You have said that the film is not that autobiographical, even though your character, like you, is married to an Indian woman who comes from some wealth.
TG: We were going to make it more autobiographical. It was originally about two friends that are actors, and then we realized that actors don’t share a bond like musicians. One actor could succeed and the other doesn’t. But in a band, there’s a bond.
Certain things are real. Like the Christmas scene [in which Giglio and Springer perform a Christmas song as a present to his Indian wife’s family, who talk loudly over it in their native tongue]. That really happened. Now, I just found out that my wife’s family was actually saying “That’s nice” [when we performed the song].
But more things happened in real life that happened in the film after the film was already done. I was working with Kenny one day and my wife came home and sighed and said “Is Kenny still here?” [similar to what occurs late in the film]. I had already shot the film. She hadn’t read the script or seen the scenes.
SW: So was there less tension during the making of the film than after?
TG: There was tension there, too. Especially for the scenes where we had to shoot in our house. We shot eight straight days there. I ended up putting a hole in the wall upstairs. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I literally threw Chris into the wall [during a fight scene]. I filled it in but still haven’t spackled it. It’s still the way it was three years ago. That was the last day of filming in the house, and it was a big hole. My wife got home, and I couldn’t hide it. I told her, and she said, “Is this your last day of filming? Then I don’t care.” It was tough on the family, especially on her. She’s a very private person.
SW: In the fight scene between your character and your wife’s, she certainly comes off as pretty hard on him, though you understand both points of view, that she’s fed up with his band taking up all the time.
TG: The funny thing is, there’s a little reality to that scene. My wife had no idea how much money I spent on the film. I basically hid it from her. She had no idea I was running up credit cards, that I was like $50,000 in the hole. My wife is not in the business, she’s a teacher, so she didn’t understand this passion and why it cost so much money. Any other business would fold at this point, if you’ve lost this much money trying to do it.
My wife said, when she saw that scene, “People will think that’s me, that I’m bitchy.” And I told her, “Break down the argument. Analyze what is said between the two parties. Who really comes across bad?” Especially when [my character] just got done yelling at his son. Think about a guy who’s not really providing for the family, not really going anywhere. And to be honest—this is ironic, because I’m still going through this as a musician—if you’re 40 years old and still trying to make it in the music business, the odds are so stacked against you, it does seem ludicrous that you’re even trying. And my character says, “Take music away from me and I got nothing.” You don’t get more cold than that. If you break that down, he comes off as the asshole, not her. She’s the rational person that’s put up with a lot of shit, in the numerous years she’s been with this guy.
And she’s got news [her second pregnancy] to tell. When my wife was pregnant, her chemical balance was whacked. I tried to write that in, as to why Jasmin suddenly flip flops, from supporting him to freaking out. Not only is she pregnant, but she comes all the way back from [a trip to] D.C., with her son, to tell Jay she’s pregnant, and the first thing she sees is Matt and him in the house with pizza and beer. I thought I stacked it in favor of her. I thought I was being a little harsh on Jay in that scene. I was taken by surprise how many people sided with him, but then I realized there’s so many people like him. If you’re a struggling actor or musician, of course you’re gonna think that way.
SW: Do you think the movie paints too downbeat a portrait of domestic life?
TG: I was worried about that, but the best thing that ever happened in my life, hands down, are my two boys. I think what I was trying to say is that there are things more important than your own dreams, or maybe the dreams you have aren’t what you think you have. There’s that crucial moment when Jay takes his headphones off after seeing the picture of his son playing guitar with him. And he plays the song “One Day I’ll Be Rich.” There’s the line, “I wonder who will be my legacy/I’m looking down, he’s looking up at me.” I still believe that today, even though I’m still struggling as a musician. When I come home and my six-year-old is wearing a Beatles shirt and he’s comparing that shirt to the Turnback shirt, knowing the Turnback is Daddy, that’s special.
SW: Speaking of which, what was it like working with your own son? I know you had to swear in front of him…
TG: It was amazing. Brennan was a little delinquent as far as his speech patterns go. But the focus and the concentration and the delivery that he gave…I remember the scene where I had to yell at him. I kept saying, repeat your line, “Can we go outside and play?” over and over again, and out of the blue, I screamed “Goddamn it!” And that’s when he shook and he started crying. It looks like he’s laughing but he’s actually starting to cry. Then I yelled “Cut!” and he walked away from me. I walked up to him immediately and gave him a hug. And he turned around and said—now it’s actually gonna make me tear up—he said, “It’s OK, Daddy, because you’re acting.” The best thing that ever happened to me was having him in the film. I just didn’t want anything negative [like that Times review] coming back [and haunting] my son, because you Google his name and it comes up, you can’t avoid it.
SW: How would you assess your performance? Did doing the film give you the acting bug again?
TG: It did. I was scared shitless. I had so much to worry about that the acting was the last thing [I thought about]. Which is probably a good thing, because if I overthought as an actor, I would have sucked worse. The worst thing for me in the entire film is my acting, which is ironic because I actually won an acting award over some pretty big people at some of the festivals I’ve been at. In Washington, D.C. [at the World Music and Independent Film Festival], I beat the guy who played Booger in “Revenge of the Nerds” [Curtis Armstrong, nominated for “Route 30”]. He was good in that film. I always considered myself a very weak actor, so it was an honor to have that happen.
SW: Is your biggest hope going forward that you’ll make another movie or that the band will take off?
TG: The band. I’m a musician at heart. The reason I got out of acting is because, as an actor, you’re always—I mean we did this movie because we could. If someone else was making it, they never would have cast us in the roles designed for us. You’re always at the mercy of somebody else. But as a musician, I don’t give a shit if you like me or not. I can pick up my guitar and play a song, and fuck you if you don’t like it, don’t listen.
I want the music to do well, but listening to music today, is there even room for this kind of music? I was working Jay-Z’s concert [at the Garden], and there’s no fucking music in that shit. You have somebody say something and loop it and then have someone say something else and loop that, and you have that repeat. And the Black Eyed Peas…anyone who does that kind of bullshit—if they were right in front of me, I’d say “You suck.” Because if you have to use auto-tune and you’re still out of tune, you’re in trouble. With the state of music [today], when it’s all about money, is there room for someone like us?
SW: You’re clearly more passionate about the band, but if the movie was a hit, would you make another one?
TG: I’d jump at it. Granted, the film didn’t turn out the way I envisioned. When you go from a festival circuit where people cling on to this thing like it’s their story, and then you put it on the main stage and it gets mixed reviews like it did, it deflates you so much, that you almost lose that passion. You just wanna say, “Fuck you, world. I put this out there, you don’t like it, screw you.” I didn’t want to become that bitter filmmaker—and I was for awhile—calling myself a genius and everyone else an idiot because they didn’t get it. It’s not for everybody. I should have been smart as a filmmaker and put the film in front of people that need to see it, not just to get reviews.
SW: How did you get the film into the Quad Theater?
TG: We had a screening at the Long Island Film Expo and the gentleman who runs the Quad, Elliott [Kanbar], was doing a seminar about distribution. He had mentioned the 4-Wall Select program, and that certain films get accepted. We won Best First Feature at the festival and I sent him a copy of the film. He got back to me and said, “I loved your movie. Do you want to do the program? It’s $11,000.” It plays for a week, it’s like 35 screenings, and you keep the box office. The last thing I wanted to hear about was [spending] more money. Chris was against it, but I said, “Everywhere we went, people loved this film. We’re guaranteed a New York Times review [this way].”
The Quad Cinema allowed me to get the soundtrack finished, so that was worth it, but the pain that followed it was not. The screenings were terrible. We spent $11,000 and made $1,200 back. I sat in the theater, I was the only one there. And when you get someone from as high up as the New York Times bashing you, almost as a personal attack against you…especially the line where she says it’s a vanity project…it’s like, no, I did everything because I had to do everything. I tried to get another [artist’s] song in the film, a Christmas tune, and the publicists wouldn’t even get back to me [about the rights to use it], so I had to write a Christmas tune. The editing? I did it because I could do it. Everything I did, I did because I couldn’t afford to pay anyone else. I only had credit cards and most people, when you hire them, only want cash, and I didn’t have cash.
I was insulted. And certain things that she called me really took me down. For awhile, I was really pissed. I thought the film would be the golden child, finally a film that’s not a fucking remake, it’s not in 3-D, it’s just a film about real people. And then she called certain locations I filmed at ugly. There were no backlot studios, these are real locations. Now she’s insulting where I grew up. I said, I’m gonna do one of two things. Get really angry, which I did for awhile, or I can cut out that thing and put it on my wall, and remind myself that I’m much better than she said I was.
SW: Did you contact her at all?
TG: I tried. I posted a comment to her on Rotten Tomatoes, and I said, “You’re right, it was a vanity project. I did all the catering too, by the way.” I was fuming. I got it out of my system Thank God she didn’t say anything about my son. The only thing she called him was “angelic.” Basically, she put me on a playground as the bully and beat the fucking shit out of me in front of the entire world, and I couldn’t defend myself.
It was funny, because we’d already been bashed by a couple of [publications], and I remember waiting for the Times review. I was at work [when] I read it, and I’m kinda walking down the hallway, looking around at everything, thinking, “This is it, this is my fucking life now.” It really killed me. I came back to work the next week and not one person mentioned the film, because they had read the review. Someone said, “At least you got reviewed by the Times,” and I said, “That’s like having your underwear hanging on the biggest flagpole in the world. Does that really make you feel better?”
Eventually, I thought, if I had to get a negative reaction, I want it that strong, because something triggered her, to the point where…I remember one person sent me a message and asked, “Did you eye-fuck her mother or something? She beat up on you like you said, ‘Hitler is the second coming.’”
SW: Do you think that an independent film sinks or swims based on the Times review, more than, say, a Michael Bay film?
TG: Yes. A good review helps us out more than a bad review hurts us. Most people didn’t even know the review came out. That reviewer probably already forgot about the film. But those who were touched by this movie, it still lives with them today. One guy told me he spent three hours typing up an email to me, after seeing the film at a festival, composing it, trying to make it perfect. He said, “What the film did for me was so revolutionary in my own life, that I had to make the email be consistent with that.” The truth is, there’s so many goddamn guys like us, that are never gonna make it in the music business. I want to reach them and say, “This is your story. It doesn’t have a fucking happy ending. You’re not gonna be on a big stage at the Garden playing in front of 20,000 people. You’re lucky if you’re playing in front of even ten people by my age, and chances are you’ve already given up by then.” But if someone in a band [that’s around my age] emails me in a year and says, “Thank you, it’s because of you that we kept going,” I’m happy.
SW: Just out of curiosity, how did you get the idea to pass out “Chalk”-related trading cards at the festivals? [NOTE: Giglio also sent cards to me!]
TG: I collected all the “E.T.” cards [as a kid]. I was a paperboy and every single month I’d buy a new set until I had the entire collection. In 2007, at the 25th anniversary, they were still in mint condition. You know what that was worth on eBay? Ten fucking dollars.
SW: Finally, I noticed, on the imdb.com page for “Drop Dead Rock,” that you are billed as Todd Anthony. Any particular reason you changed your name back then?
TG: As an actor, I thought I didn’t look Italian enough for “Giglio,” and I wanted a cooler name. But I figured, fuck it now. I like my last name and I’m going with it.