Saying No

Audrey II

For once, I finished the 2014-2015 season of shows with my 2015-2016 season in mind. I knew what I wanted to sing, which production conflicted with other productions, and my probability of each role already mapped out (in an actual chart, made by the lovely Shiksa). Of course, things never go just as you plan. Shows later in the season have earlier auditions, other opportunities arise, and sometimes the cards just are not in your favor. So, with one show slot booked and my second audition (and earlier show slot) approaching, I faced a moment I knew I’d struggle with: Saying no.

There are harsh realities we all have to embrace when pursuing the acting dream, and there’s no easy way to put this. A) Your goal may be unrealistic and you don’t have the skill to play that dream role at the moment. B) Your schedule is so packed already, there’s no possible way you can accept another gig. C) There is still life outside of the theatre, and you have to sit out a show or two in order to get your world back on track. I know, I know, it’s all a bit blunt, but if The Business was easy, everyone would be doing it. It doesn’t mean all three of those apply and there are other obstacles that factor into it, but in my case, those three were enough for me.

I found myself hopping back and forth from ‘yes, I’m going to go to that audition and do that show’ to ‘no, I really need to just focus on my job/money/life right now’ up until an hour before said audition. I busied myself all day with plans not involving the theatre, but made sure to do my make up and bring a change of clothes in the instance I decided to go, and when it was time for the audition to start and I was still 15 miles away, I had to stand by my decision and know that I made the right choice.

There’s a bittersweet sense of empowerment knowing that it’s not that I couldn’t do the show, but rather, I shouldn’t do it, so I didn’t.

I know this career field is really more like a battlefield. I know there are people going to hundreds of auditions every year in the hopes of even a few minutes of stage time. I know you’re supposed to “fight for your dream” and be 100% dedicated, or your big break will never come. I applaud and support every one of those people. But for the first time, I took a step back and realized the most important factor to achieving success as an actor is myself. I am going to get myself where I need to be, on my own volition, and maybe that means saying no in order to give 100% for the next time I say yes.

You’re Only As Old As You’re Cast

Prof. Harold Hill

I find myself in an interesting situation. This past October, I reentered the theater scene after a bit of a hiatus. When I did, I discovered that I was suddenly being cast in the role of a father, the father, ANY father. Mind you, my confusion came at the realization that I am 35 years old and was being cast as the (usually overbearing and/or alcoholic) father of a teenager. Now, this is not so large of a stretch than, say, If I were being cast as the grandfather of a 30-year-old. However, I must confess to being confused at first. I mean, I’m 35, and certainly have been told that I don’t always look my age. Shouldn’t I be playing to my age? I’m not so egotistical as to think that I should be playing the romantic lead or an action hero. But, certainly I can pass for a best friend or voice of conscience to the romantic lead (a Jeremy Piven to a John Cusack, if you will).

Perhaps I just give off a mature vibe? Maybe I give off a paternal aura now that I actually am a father (to an infant, mind you.) Maybe I was just the best fit for the role, and they decided that some gray in the beard would add 10 or so years? The point is this: as character actors, we don’t always play to our age. The term “character actor” itself means you’re not always going to play the expected. Latex and makeup can do amazing things, but at the end of the day, it is up to us, the performers, to add that element of realism to our performances. I may not be the father of a teenager, but I can certainly imagine how I will speak to my son when he is 18.

Subtext and particularization are two very important tools when it comes to a performance. B.B. King once said that it is not enough to know which notes to play. You need to know WHY they need to be played. And the same can be said for theater. Knowing dialogue is not enough, having a beautiful voice is not enough. What elevates your performance is the realism you bring to it. And you should never, EVER rely on watching another performance and mimicking that because it got someone to Broadway. Every performance of every role should be different because every performer is different.

What I am getting at, is that I may not be the father of a teenager, but I am damn sure going to be someday. And if that knowledge elevates my performance and makes me more believable to play the father of a 20-year-old at the ripe old age of 35, then I’m going to be the best damn elderly-ish father I can be. At the end of the day it’s a role I have been cast in and once you’ve been cast and have accepted the role, you owe it to yourself and the cast to bring your all to that role. Plus, you should never be afraid to try something new. It may not be the role you had in mind, but it might just wind up being your new niche. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go onstage and drunkenly tell my son not to get married.

-Prof. Harold Hill

Where am I?

Shiksa Goddess

It’s my birthday (well it was yesterday, it’s going on my birthday weekend now.) It’s not a very interesting birthday or anything. I’m closer to 30 than 20  which is just terrifying. College doesn’t seem like a too distant memory but I can’t remember much about how awkward I was in high school. Maybe I’ve finally managed to block those years out of my memory.

This was the third year that I had been in a rehearsal on my birthday. I am mostly definitely not complaining. I was surrounded by castmates (Audrey and Harold Hill included) and I got to dance and sing. There are worse ways to spend a birthday. I was fortunate enough to be doing what I love with some wonderful and talented people. They were so sweet too, they sang me “Happy Birthday” after warmups and people gave me cards and one friend even brought me the cutest little cupcake. Theater people are the best kind of people.

Although that’s wonderful and all, I can’t help but feel that familiar birthday melancholy when you realize you are not exactly where you wanted to be at this age, or that this isn’t what you imagined your life would be like. I’m not unhappy, I’m just unsatisfied.

The two previous blog posts were about taking jobs that aren’t related to performing in order to supplement the passion. We work to survive so that we can still do what we love. “The business” is hard. I don’t think anyone would deny that or assume otherwise. We are told when we are young that we can be anything we want to be, but as we get older the dream of becoming a famous actress becomes more comical than anything else, which is sad. It may be hard, but if there is only one thing in this world you love doing and will be satisfied doing, you should be doing that. I wish someone had said that to me when I was in high school.

So, where am I now?

I have a job, I save money so that one day (even though I am constantly afraid I am getting old) I can make a legitimate try at my dreams. And I’m going to say this because it makes me feel better in general, it is never too late. Also, life is too short, but we all knew that.

I usually pick an anthem for my birthdays, you know on my 23rd birthday my anthem was “What’s My Age Again?” by Blink 182, that kind of thing. Well, this year my song is “Where Am I Now?” from Lysistrata Jones.

Don’t you think about using this as an audition song, I know you were, back off, I already thought of that.

This song is how I feel right now, where I am in my life. I want more, I want to pursue my dreams, I know it’s hard, but until I do I will regret it. I don’t want to be that person watching the Tonys thinking, “Why didn’t I at least try to do what I wanted with my life?” So, for the rest of you trying to find your place in the world, I give you this song. Use it well.

“Is this all there really is?
Just endless days of making do?
Putting up with second best,
Always wanting something new?
Wanting something better
To shake me to my core
Something magic, something more

I want more.
I want more.

Where am I now?
Where am I now?
I’m standing alone
With nothing but fear.
Please give me a sign.
Will an answer appear?
Where am I now?
Where am I now?
Where am I now?”

-Shiksa Goddess

May the Work Force Be with You

Prof. Harold Hill

For those of us who once harbored the dream of making our livings onstage, literally or metaphorically returning home can be a difficult adjustment for the ones of us that didn’t make the cut.

Let’s not kid ourselves, the odds were against us from the start. We’re talking about an industry that sets itself apart from most other vocations on this planet simply by its very nature. You’ll seldom see a lawyer get cut from a job interview simply because they don’t have the right attorney “look” (though wearing a clown costume to the bar exam might be unadvised). You’ll rarely come across a Vascular Surgeon passing out resumes on the street inviting folks to come to his/her showcase this weekend, where he’ll be operating on Mrs. Holmes’ malignant brain tumor. And let’s not forget that this is one of the few vocations out there that is looked upon by the mass populous as a hobby, rather than a career (how many of us have faced the dreaded “So, what do you do?” and, upon being told an actor/actress, are hit with “No, I mean, what do
you REALLY do?”?)

For every one of us that makes it to the “great white way,” there are hundreds who languish and toil for years. Some are all too happy to live that life (God bless you all), but for the rest of us, the decision eventually becomes to return home to the lives we once led. Maybe we’ve rearranged our priorities and feel it’s more important to take on steadier employment for reasons like a reliable paycheck or health insurance, or perhaps the daily audition grind has simply gotten to be too much. I’m painting with a very broad brush, but this is simply the case for some.

This may seem like a prison sentence to many. But I am here to tell you that it is not. Far from it.

In some ways, it can be quite freeing. Like anything else, there are some bumps along the way. But like any period of readjustment, the ends far outweigh the pain of the means. Also, and this is the best part, YOU CAN STILL PERFORM! As you readjust, you just have to watch out for a few pitfalls that can lead to PTSD flashbacks. So, lay down on the couch, listen to your grief
counselor, and let’s get through this together.

WORK – A major reason people reach a certain age and/or breaking point and want to get out of the audition game is a desire for steady employment. Some of us feel a pull towards what sustained us through the auditioning years, such as bartending or waiting tables (again, I’m painting broad), others will bring their skill set to the classroom (don’t give me that “Those who can’t do, teach.” B.S. That sounds highly derogatory and undervalues some of the best mentors I have ever had the pleasure of learning the craft from), even luckier are those who listened to their teachers before pursuing the dream and finished a college degree in another vocation. But, for the rest of us, it becomes necessary to “surrender” to the nine to five grind of the desk job.

Now, before you get an image in your head of sitting in some dark corner, crunching numbers while the theme to Requiem For A Dream underscores your daily life, understand that as soul crushing as this may sound, that there are plenty of jobs like this out there that offer you a chance to use your considerable skills to your advantage. Think of doctor’s offices, hospital
waiting rooms, places where people are normally used to being greeted by people who have all the warmth and compassion of a block of ice. But now, you’ve arrived. You’ve got personality, charisma, dare I say it, HUMOR. Employers want these qualities.  Couple this with a desire to go back to school and you could find yourself in an excellent position for years to come, perhaps
even permanently. To say nothing of the fact that it offers you steady work, reliable pay, dependable hours and health insurance (worth its weight in gold, these days.) Plus, as I said above…

YOU CAN STILL PERFORM!! – Yes friends! It’s true! Throughout your readjustment period, never forget the fact that your time onstage does not have to end just because you have made the decision to not consider it a life’s pursuit any longer. Cities and towns across this great land are filled with theaters just looking, nay ACHING for talent such as yours. And don’t you dare be dissuaded by those either in or out of the business who speak the words, or regard the concept of, “Community Theater” as if they’re speaking about the Holocaust. Some of the best experiences, talent, people and fellowship I’ve discovered in the theater world, have been found in and among community theater people and projects. They rehearse mostly at night so that it works with your new-found reliable schedule. Some pay, most don’t. And most importantly, it keeps your talent sharp, and your love for theater and performing alive and well.

THE TONY AWARDS – I include this here because I’ve spoken to a few people, and I myself have been guilty of this, who have trouble watching this yearly gathering of the would be worthy because it dredges up painful memories or “woulda coulda” regrets about our time spent in the “big city.” To this I say, this will pass. Put away your desire to flip your coffee table over whilst screaming “THAT SHOULD BE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” belay that dry heave when Neil Patrick Harris proclaims, “To those watching at home who imagine themselves here one day. Remember that dreams do come true.” And remember that, while your dream to be receiving nightly standing ovations and signing autographs at stage doors may have been put on hold, or
perhaps even put away entirely, that you can still pursue your passion while living your day to day life.

You may even realize one day, that it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

-Prof. Harold Hill

What I Did For Love

Audrey II

We’ve all felt a passionate, burning love for theater at some point in our careers. But chances are, some of you have also experienced that feeling outside of the stage: A love shared with a person. It may not seem like the two coincide but humor me for a second. There’s the heart racing, palms sweating, terrifying adrenaline rush that comes from performing, right? But there’s also the feeling of being home. The comfort of sitting down at your station in the dressing room, your new family by your side, the familiar smell of the theater once you open the door (let’s be real here, that smell is foot. Straight up, foot). And is that not that same with relationships? The nervous craze you feel when things are still new, the comfort provided by just their presence, the familiarity that, too, feels like home (without the foot smell, hopefully).

What I’ve found is, as much as you love both things – a partner, and acting – Sometimes it doesn’t seem like you can balance the two. Both demand and consume so much of your life. Some people date inside of the theater, more than show-mances, and claim that’s the answer. Others refuse to mix the two, exclaiming that theater and love can’t work when you’re both feeling the whirlwind of emotions performing provides.

As for me? I’m not sure which is the right answer. I’ve dated fellow thespians and dated people that say, “Wicked and The Wizard of Oz are the same thing.” Please insert the world’s loudest scoff here. It is a sinking feeling when you’re excitedly breaking down a show, rattling off symbolism and actor’s credentials and your SO would rather unpause Scandal. But then, their blissfully ignorant support is always nice, too. They don’t care that you only said four lines in the show, or that you flubbed up your footwork in that one number. They smile and congratulate you and tell you how good you were. No nitpicking actors or choreography or songs. No constructive criticism or theories on how they would have done something.

Then again, isn’t it nice to have someone who completely understands your pain? Not just sympathizes with you, but has been there and felt the same heartache the theater provides. They might excel in the one aspect of performing that you’re lacking. They can help you with that tricky dance, or warm you up vocally before a show. They know all the people you work with, because chances are they’ve worked with them, too. And though things may get rough if you’re both cast in the same production, at the end of the day it’s an experience spent together.

I could list the pro’s and con’s for each side, for a long, long time. But in the end, I think it’s up to each actor to decide which best suits their lifestyle. Sometimes, it isn’t the answer you want to hear. Sometimes, hearts are broken. But what can you do? Love conquers all, but which love?

-Audrey II