...a very strange reaction

Growing up I was an “inside” kid. I didn’t like sports. Tennis, football and basketball were where my brothers excelled.  I excelled in academics. I preferred drawing, reading or watching TV to going outside and getting dirty. I mean why get dirty? You’d just have to get clean again right?

At school I hated gym and abhorred swim class. So it seems natural that I was drawn to the Arts. And hence the Drama Club.

Unlike many drama clubs across the nation our high school did four full musical productions every year. They ranged from Two Gentlemen of Verona to Jesus Christ Superstar. The later was the first musical I would ever be in.

Jesus Christ Superstar, is as you may have guessed, about the last days of Jesus and his twelve disciples. For a high school to mount this show was a huge undertaking. First the Drama club had to get permission to do the show. Secondly they had to get enough high school guys to be in it. The production calls for at about 20 males, many of whom need to have excellent singing voices and acting ability.

I could neither sing nor act. Lucky for me I was guy number 18. I was in. Guy roles number 19 and 20 were played by girls. Little did I know what was in store.

Every day we would have to run directly from our last class to the auditorium for rehearsals. We’d sit down and jump right into learning music. Then jump up and learn choreography and blocking for the music. We did this every school night until almost 11pm. Then home to do our homework, sleep and jump up the next morning to do it all again.

Because our productions were entirely student run, from stage management to light board operator to set builder, on the weekends there was no rest. We were required to do stage crew. There would be no more watching Saturday morning cartoons and reading for me. No more being a heady intellectual. I had to lift things and hammer things and saw things.

During the school year I was a busy bee.

When school was out for summer there wasn’t much to do. I would ride my bike to a friend’s house and we’d hang out. We'd watch TV, play a game and generally complain about being bored. So when I heard about the opportunity to audition for a summer youth theatre program, I jump at the chance.

Every summer the town I grew up in would try to provide activities for people. It was aptly named “The Experience”. There were art shows, ethnic festivals, and tons of crafts. During the Experience there was a musical theatre youth group who did performances. They were called “The Experience Players”.

The Experience Players were run by my high school Drama Club director John Eckler. The company auditioned in April and began rehearsing shortly after the last high school musical closed. During the summer the players would perform a half hour to 45 minutes of musical theatre singing and dancing. There were two sometimes three shows a day. The performances took place in a concrete amphitheater outside the convention center and in a grassy area in one of the state parks nearby.

I wanted to be an Experience Player so badly. Only the best of the area got picked. I had to learn a song to sing, solo. I had to be prepared to learn a dance and do some acting improvisation. All of which I started working on as soon as the auditions were announced.

However I couldn’t sing. Everyone told me I couldn’t sing so I knew it to be true.

I couldn’t act either. I mean I had never done it so how could I do it?

I did have natural dancing ability though. I couldn’t pick up fast (still can’t) but I could do the steps and look like I was having fun at the same time. This is something guys from my area weren’t very proficient at. They could sing like birds and dance Ballet like the best, but musical theatre dancing was a concept that eluded them.

Musical Theatre guys who could dance were needed for the Experience Players. And again I was in.

The Experience Players was part of a state wide arts program. We were connected to the festival scene throughout New York State. Every August the troupe would set out on a tour of the state. We’d leave our home town and drive around in a recreational vehicle, with our camping bags and costumes. For two weeks we‘d travel throughout the state sleeping in host homes, in recreation centers, gyms and camping sites.

We’d stay in most places for a day maybe two. We’d do our performance on stages, in grassy areas, in parking lots, malls, on marble staircases and in county jails.  Then we’d hop back into the RV and drive off to our next destination to repeat the whole process.

I was lucky enough to have done this every summer of high school, including the summer before going to college.

In college opportunities expanded. In addition to the theatre singing and theory classes, I now had a half hour voice lesson every week.  Every week I would come in and the teacher would do a 15 or 20 minute warm up. We’d then work on repertoire for the final ten minutes. Here I could learn to sing.

We had jazz and tap and ballet classes. They were taught at a studio off campus. So we’d have to carpool it down into the town. Some of those classes were at 8 am so we’d literally roll out of bed and pile into a car like circus clowns. We’d get to class change and begin class: the warm up, then center work, then across the floor. Afterwards we’d squeeze our sweaty bodies back into the cars and drive back to the university for our next class.

Sophomore year the class load was so full that we would go from 8am until 4pm without a break. We’d then have a half an hour before the next class started which went until seven. Then we’d go straight into rehearsals. We'd jump in and learn songs, choreography and blocking. Just like high school.

The university schedule was no big deal to me. After high school I was used to it. The running around jumping right from one thing to another was old hat. Through all of it I was learning, especially singing. I wasn’t making leaps and bounds of progress in honing my skills though. I wouldn’t understand why for several years.

After graduating from University I did Miss Saigon in Germany for three years. Then I went directly to do Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat also in Germany. Both had original creative teams and all the original choreography, which was fun and exciting. This made Joseph... like a two hour aerobics class, especially with the dreaded “mega mix”.

The mega mix was the final number of "Joseph..." It basically recapped the entire show from start to finish in 10 minutes, complete with full on singing and dancing. To help get through the mega mix and the show itself, I was taking ballet and jazz classes that were being taught by other cast members. I was also taking voice lessons from Michael Mills, the boyfriend of the Artistic director. Dance classes were free. The voice lessons we had to pay for and boy did I get my money’s worth.

Before I had come to Germany I was studying with a famous voice teacher from L. A. He was known for helping people increase their vocal range. At the time I was struggling to sing an F above middle C, a true baritone. I was tired of all the tenors getting preferential treatment because they could hit a high C. I heard musical directors and choreographers say to guys during rehearsals after they’d screw something up “Oh don’t worry about it. You can hit a high C”.

This infuriated me. I couldn’t hit a high C. I was four notes away, but surely I could get closer than an F. For those of you who may not sing or play an instrument the notes that I’m talking about go in this sequence with each letter representing a note and each note getting higher as you move left to right:

middle C D E F G A B C D E F (where I was singing) G A B high C (where the tenors were singing).

I increased my range to a G with lessons from L. A. guy and practice on my own with his tapes. I gained one whole step up. When I was cast in Miss Saigon I took his tapes to Germany with me to continue the work. I hoped lessons with Michael Mills at “Joseph...” would accentuate and compliment that foundation.

Michael’s lessons were much like lessons at University. I’d come in and we’d warm my voice up. However, unlike school I now had an hour long lesson. More time was spent on actually warming up. Then we’d work on some piece of music to add to my repertoire.

The same old same old. And still no high C.

Michael was a very popular teacher so his schedule was full. Once the only free time he had to teach a lesson was between shows on a two show day. So after doing two hours of aerobics and singing my heart out (I played “Judah”, who sings “Benjamin Calypso”) I went to my voice lesson. We warmed up quickly and then went on to singing a song I had been working on.

At the end of my lesson he invited his next student, who was also in the show, to come in and listen to me sing. When I had finished the other actor complimented me as did Michael.

“You sound great.”

“Thanks.”

“Why don’t you sing like that in the show?”

I quickly made up some excuse about being in character and blah blah blah. But that wasn’t it. I had no idea what was different.

Through later conversations Michael came upon the fact that I didn’t warm up before my voice lessons. I relied on warming up with him during the lesson. When I walked in I wasn’t ready to sing. He told me that having my voice ready from the second I entered the room meant we could make quicker progress not only to singing a song, but in stretching my range.

This was a new concept for me. Up until this point I had spent most of my theatrical life running from a day job to lessons, or from academic class to rehearsal, or going from an RV to performance. I never warmed up for auditions, vocal or dance much less lessons. There was no time. I just jumped in head first and prayed for the grace of God.

I was young and resilient. I could sing and dance anywhere. It didn’t matter that I didn’t warm up. Nothing ever phased me. Singing in a barn? No problem. Dancing in the rain? Sure. In high school we even tap danced on concrete. Consistently. I’ve had no consequences from that (as of yet knock wood).

I did warm up before performing though. In non-equity companies, and some companies outside of the U.S., there is usually some sort of physical and vocal warm up at call time. These vocal and physical warm ups before a show are group warm ups. Group warm ups of this kind don’t address much in terms of individual needs. And they sure don’t help stretch your range.

I had gotten through a physically demanding show like “Joseph...” because I was going to dance class before the performances. I had been a little boy who drew and read books. I didn’t have any knowledge of what it took to do physical activity. I was a little boy with a boundless imagination. I didn’t know what it took to maintain physical activity. Thinking can be exhausting but not like manual labor, that muscle aching, drenched with sweat exhaustion. And that's what "Joseph..." was.

Unbeknownst to me I was using the classes to physically warm up before hitting the stage. But I wasn’t doing the same for my voice. And it was suffering. It wasn’t breaking down like the bodies of those dancers in the “Joseph...” who weren’t going to class or warming up but it wasn’t growing or progressing either. Singing a high C was just not in the cards for me.

No one had ever suggested warming up before a voice class.  After this revelation Michael also deduced that I had outgrown my L. A. guy warm up tape. Together we made two new tapes, one when I wasn’t feeling well vocally and the other when my voice was healthy.  I used one or the other of these two tapes before every lesson with Michael. Slowly but surely my vocal range started to move.

Today I consistently sing a high B flat. That’s two and a half steps above an F, where I started and a mere step away from a high C where I need to be. If you remember that scale I showed earlier it now looks like this:

middle C D E F G A B C D E F (where I was singing)  G (where L. A. guy helped me get to) A B flat (where I sing consistently now) B high C 

Can I sing without warming up? Sure. Anyone can. But it won’t put a performer at the peak of his or her ability for that day. I know that first hand. I lived it. Now I can hear and feel the difference in my singing when I haven’t warmed up enough.

 “Practice makes perfect”. The thing I missed was that you have to be ready to practice before you can ever hope to come close to perfection. For high voiced male musical theatre singers a consistent healthy high C is perfection. My high C’s are happening in lessons and are becoming more and more common place.

This increase in my range is possible because I am physically built for it, coupled with a smart caring teacher. Michael Mills nurtured me and my voice. He told me to always warm up before doing any kind of singing. Now I’m vocally warming up before every show, before every audition and before every voice lesson. Sometimes I warm up just for fun.

And I still use the tapes he made for me.

I can now vocalize to a D flat. A high freaking D flat. That’s half a step above a high C. And all I keep thinking while I'm warming up is...

“...Higher baby. Get higher baby. Get higher baby and don’t ever come down!”

.

I think I'd better think it out again...

In 1999 I lived in a Germany.  At the time there was one major producer of musicals with one casting director and one musical director. They all knew me. They knew what I could do. They knew what show I was currently performing in and how valuable I was (or wasn’t ) to that production. Feeling a bit frustrated and under used I left the country. I moved to New York City seeking out more opportunities.

No one knew who the hell I was here. No one knew what I was capable of, talent wise.  I wanted to find classes and teachers. I wanted desperately to meet  hundreds, no thousands of industry folk and generally get my name out there. In other words network. Naturally the first place to start is at auditions.

When I’m not acquainted with people I can be a bit shy, so networking doesn’t come easily to me. Unless someone speaks to me first I generally keep to myself. Kind of the anti-thesis of networking.

Anyway, I was so concentrated on trying to make my name the household kind, the things I truly needed slipped my mind. When I left Germany I was in the middle of orthodontia. In NYC I didn’t know any doctors, much less an orthodontist. One day I was standing in line waiting to sign up for a time slot (it was an EPA). The guy in front of me who was my type almost exactly turns to me and says “Hey I have braces too. Who’s your orthodontist?”

We chatted for a bit and I told him my situation. He loved his orthodontist and recommended him. After I had gotten my audition time slot I called the doctor and made a consultation appointment.

My doppelganger and I also talked about classes. He had been in the city for a while and had what I thought was an insider’s scoop on what was going on. He spoke of something called “Actor’s Connection”, a very unique class experience for the time.

Actor’s Connection was one of the very first “pay to play” groups in New York. An actor would join the group. He or she would then be sent a listing of all the classes they were offering. The list included who was teaching the class or seminar, where they were from be it a casting agency or a talent agency, and what to prepare in advance. And how much each class cost.

In these “classes” Actors were given an opportunity to meet with, talk with and audition for industry personal for a price: “Pay to play”. Each class had a different vibe depending on who was moderating it and what they were looking for. This sounded exactly like what I was looking for: a no pressure situation to introduce myself to the people behind the tables.

So I joined Actor’s Connection. I paid my money and started searching for an agent, convinced that was what I needed. Back then an agent was something only the elite of the show business world had. If you had an agent you had access to a world of things no common actor did. You had someone who believed in you and your career. An agent was someone in your corner, a show business wing man so to speak, who helped promote you and your talent.

Most of the seminars I attended at Actor’s Connection were formatted the same.

There would be a group question and answer session. During this any actor could ask the agent anything they wanted to know. It was during one session I learned that there are three things to never ask an agent:

How big is your agency?

How big is your client list?

Do you have someone like me on your roster?

If you’re seeking representation from an agency you should already know its size. That information is listed in publications an actor can buy, along with the address of the agency, the agents and their divisions (stage, screen, commercial, voice over, literary) and whom each division represents age wise.

An actor who asks an agent any information that is easily found is an actor who is unprepared to meet with and/or be represented by that agent.

Each client an agent represents holds the potential to make the agent a 10-15% commission off the actor’s salary. Asking an agent how big is their client roster is almost the same as asking a lay person “how much money do you make. Don’t do it. Talking about money to someone other than your intimate friends is still considered impolite.

Asking if an agency already represents clients like you is unnecessary. As one agent put it “If I had clients like you I wouldn't be talking to you right now”. That’s not necessarily true. If there is a type of actor that is currently hot, an agency will stock its roster with that type of actor providing all of their current “type du jour” are out working. It's all about making money and the more people an agent has out working the more money the agency is making.

The classes for Casting Directors ran the same format but the important questions changed:

What do you look for in an actor?

What can an actor do to increase his chances of getting cast?

What makes you not want to hire an actor?

Again these questions aren't quite right. The scope is too broad. In essence most of the casting directors had the same answer for all three questions...

What do you look for in an actor? Someone who is prepared and knows what he’s doing.

What can an actor do to increase his chances of getting cast? Be prepared with not only the material but for anything that may be thrown your way.

What makes you not want to hire an actor? The actor not being prepared, not making choices and making excuses.

Not very helpful. That’s because the questions need to be more specific and pointed to what casting directors actually do. They cast shows based on their personal preferences.

Do you prefer and Actor dress up for the audition?

Should an Actor stick to the guide lines of audition material or should he think outside the box?

Do you prefer an Actor to be animated or still while auditioning?

I continued with the ‘Pay to Play” scenarios and with making acquaintance with other actors. One actor I met told me of this fantastic class he took with an agent. This class was a 6 week audition class meant to get you ready for, well, auditions.

The actor couldn't speak more highly of this class and this agent. He just gushed on and on. Finally I was resolved to take her next session. In terms of Theatrical instruction most actors are looking for someone to help them to the next level. Something new something different and something wonderfully life changing.

As was the case with Henrik.

Henrik was a guy a class ahead of me at University. He was an American of German descent. He would go around singing “Deutschland, Deutschland uber alles”, which as I understand it now was in the German national anthem until after the war (yes that war). Henrik was blessed with typical Aryan good looks. He had height and talent. More striking was the fact that he had a gorgeous Irish tenor voice. His rendition of “Danny Boy” made everyone cry and his singing of “Come to Me, Bend to Me” was effortless and soaring.

Henrik felt the voice teachers at University had taught him all they knew. So he went in search of outside instruction. Through word of mouth he found a new voice teacher. He would now have to pay out of his own pocket for lessons.

After his first couple of lessons he was walking on cloud nine. The things the teacher promised him were exactly what he wanted to learn, in terms of technique and repertoire. So Henrik stopped taking voice lessons at school and started studying with this new outside teacher exclusively.

Most classes here in New York City are limited in how many students can attend. Sometimes it’s dictated by law. You find this happens with dance classes: the room can only accommodate so many bodies. And sometimes it’s by design. The teachers or studios want to give individual attention to each of their students so they cap the number of attendees based on the curriculum and what the class requires. It was the same with this fantastic class I had heard about from the Pay to Play colleague.

When the class was offered again I immediately signed up. I didn't want to be closed out of the class. I wanted to benefit from this agent’s knowledge and teaching. And of course I wanted to make a good impression in hopes of being represented by her.

The first class we were asked to prepare a song of our choice and provide our picture and resume, which I did. One by one each student got up and sang their choice of song. The agent discussed the actor’s song choice and resume. She even went so far as to say what roles and shows she saw each actor in.

When my turn came I sang my song, which was “On the Street Where You Live”. At the time I was perfect for the role of “Freddy”, the misused love interest in My Fair Lady. When I finished the agent said nothing about my song choice right away. She went to my resume and named three shows she could see me in. She named the only three ethnic shows I had on my resume.

The agent then moved on to discussing music with me:

Do you sing any R & B?

No.

Do you sing any Gospel?

No.

Well you really need to decide if you want to be in this business or not.

And that was the end of my first of six weeks with this agent. It never got any better than that first day. In fact it got worse.

Every week I would learn a new song. Every week she would give me nothing to go on but the fact that I wasn't giving her what she wanted. And what she wanted was for me to “be black” and all the stereotypical aspects that are associated with it.

Every week I would leave more and more frustrated because this “teacher” wasn't teaching me anything. She had nothing of valuable to contribute to my growth as an actor.

One week one of my classmates got up and sang a song perfect for him. The guy was 6’2” with thick wavy jet black hair, olive skin and a muscular build. He looked like “Gaston” from Beauty and the Beast and he sang Gaston’s song. The agent gushed over him and I thought rightly so. It was a great choice for him and he sounded amazing with his deep full manly baritone. The agent then went on to say, based on him singing Gaston, that the guy was right for “Curly” in Oklahoma. He looked a little puzzled but went with it.

It was at this point I knew the chick was a charlatan who had stolen my $400, at a time when $400 was like $4,000 dollars to me.

Then I just didn't care anymore. The check was cashed. There were no refunds. So I went into class and did my thing and she did her thing and never the two did meet. By then end of the six weeks, even the class accompanist was wise to the abuse the agent was giving me. He apologized for the class and her behaviour. He then gave me the name and number of a teacher who could actually teach me something and contribute to the betterment of my career.

I called that teacher up and luckily he was starting a new four week session. I joined over the phone sight unseen. Two days later I walked into another class just as eager to learn and willing to spend money to do it.

Henrik went on studying with his outside voice teacher. He was so enamored of the prospects the teacher promised that he didn't notice his voice being ruined. He would come into University classes and rehearsals hoarse and tired. According to this new “teacher” this was part of the process in building Henrik’s new voice.

And ladies and gentlemen that’s bullshit. At this point in your life you know the difference between when something hurts from working outside your normal scope of action and when something’s just physically hurting. 

No matter what anyone says, do NOT do things that physically hurt you. If there’s ever a question in your mind as to which pain you’re feeling stop doing whatever is causing the pain immediately. You need to assess the situation and address the cause of the pain. Because by the time he graduated from University, Henrik had lost half an octave of range and the clarity of his Irish tenor sound. Not to mention almost all of that “ping” a true tenor has. His voice was destroyed by the very teacher he went to for help in fostering his talent..

He literally works as a salesman in Florida now.

After my first class, the new one that was recommended by the accompanist, the teacher pulled me aside and gave me some advice that I had never heard before. He said “You should have audited my class first, before paying out your hard earned money. It may not have been a good class for you”.

Auditing a class prior to taking the class to see if it's a good fit was a new and radical idea. Before this I had only taken the classes that I was told to take by people I trusted. Unfortunately trust and integrity are rare commodities in New York City

I knew I had found something real and helpful. This new teacher had integrity. He was teaching not for the money but for the passing on of knowledge. He was earning money doing it, sure. But don’t we all want to earn money doing something meaningful, something we love, something connected to our Art?

I studied with this guy for six years.

As for the agent/teacher from the hell seminar at Actors Connection, she’s since retired from being an agent. I wasted my money on her because I took the advice of someone without doing my part to investigate. I suffered through six weeks of mental anguish because I couldn’t wait. Had I audited the class I would’ve seen some red flags. That would have caused me to stop and take stock of what was happening and being said, helping me to determine whether I should take the class. Or not.

This former agent is now a casting director. Whenever I see her name associated with a project I stop and really think about what could happen. I weigh what I went through against what I could gain. I always come to the same conclusion: I won’t go near her. I won’t audition for anything she’s associated with, and that includes a recent pre-Broadway show.

Am I shooting myself in the foot? Not really. Sure I may not get a chance to audition for a potential Broadway show. But as far as she’s concerned I would never have a real chance at being cast anyway. She doesn't understand who I am and what I do. So why should I subject myself to more torture and abuse? If there was something I was dying to do, a part that screamed my name and she was the casting director for it, I would make it happen.

There are ways around Casting Directors...

My quest for name recognition in 1999 missed the mark. However I did gain a lot. I gained an awesome teacher with a vast knowledge of music and musical theatre. I gained a great orthodontist. One whom I investigated prior to him doing anything to my teeth. An orthodontist who knows show business and what its demands are. And I gained knowledge that I can impart to other actors, both aspiring and professional. The biggest of which is this:

It takes time to make good proper connections that can advance your career. It takes time to locate good teachers who will help you and not hurt you physically or psychologically. And that time is spent investigating every detail of the connections and of the classes. Otherwise you end up wasting time and hard earned cash like I did.

I learned my lesson the hard way. Now with every new and possible advancement in show Business, whether it's a new class, a new connection or a new show...

...I’m reviewing the situation.

I feel the snow! I feel the cold!

Recently there was an audition for a role and a show that’s on my bucket list. I decided to bite the bullet and make it happen. The audition proved to be a cathartic and enlightening experience.

I had picked out the perfect outfit and made sure that all aspects of it were cleaned and pressed. I've noticed a trend happening at auditions. Men are getting back to dressing nicely. They’re not wearing suits, but they are starting to wear vests and ties and dress shoes. A nice change from the sweats, flip flops and shorts I've seen in the past. I walked into the audition studio looking the part. I was calm, cool, collected with a sense of rakish style.

There were a lot of EPA auditions happening and my friend Arthur and I were trying to hit as many as we could. We focused on which was most important to us, individually. We never actually saw each other. We were texting each other throughout the day with updates.  

For an EPA (Equity Principal Audition) I have to rise before the sun does. Then I have to get dressed as if I’m hiking across Siberia, which keeps me warm and toasty while braving the wind and snow to get the subway. Then I have to pleasure of sweating my butt off in an overcrowded, over heated subway car, provided the subway is actually running that day.

Once at the audition site I have the privilege of waiting in line for maybe two hours, sometimes outside. Once the building where the audition is opens, I get to go inside and wait in line, again. Then finally I can sign up for an actual audition time slot. If I’m late getting into the line, all the appointment times maybe gone. So then I can sign up as an alternate. Being on the alternate list entails sitting and waiting at the audition site all day in hopes that someone doesn’t show up (or is late because the trains are screwy). Then the people on the alternate list are called upon to fill the newly vacant audition slot.

If I get in line early enough I can choose from a wide range of audition appointment times and not have to spend my day waiting around.

I made an educated guess, which is all one can do in these types of situations. I based my arrival time on where the audition was, what other auditions were happening, the general age of the actors needed and the morning temperature. For this important audition I arrived to stand in line only an hour before the sign up began.

It was a gamble since this was for a role and show that’s on my bucket list. Not to mention that pay is decent and the proximity to New York City made it commutable should an important audition pop up during the contract. 

None the less I arrived an hour before hand, which meant I would not have to stand outside in the freezing cold.

Luckily I was right. My fact analysis and number crunching paid off. I was only about the fiftieth person in line, which meant that I could have my pick of virtually any audition time. Not to mention the fact that I could go home and go back to bed, or warm up or do whatever else I wanted before having to get ready for and get back to the audition.

The people behind the table at this audition were nice and attentive. The accompanist was amazing. Arthur sent a text saying so. This made me confident there would be no accompanist drama with my song choice. I was singing a very difficult piece full of acting and dissonance and dynamics. It’s Sondheim. It’s a song that I've never done at an audition before ...because it’s Sondheim. Most audition accompanists would have been challenged trying to site read it.

The song is extremely long. It had to be cut. It made the most sense to do the most difficult part of the song, but not because it was difficult. It has the widest arc and the biggest vocal range. Both my vocal coach and I had decided this was the section to do. We worked on the song a week prior to the audition.

I met my vocal coach, Eddie Schnecker, doing a Fringe show. We were both in the cast and like so many performers these days, we both wear many professional hats. We do more in theatre than just performing. And in this show’s case, that was a good thing.

The choreographer of the show was abysmal. A week before we were to open, only one number had been fully choreographed and a couple others had been improvised. The “name draw” of the show (the star who would put butts in the seats) called the writer/producer and demanded the choreographer be let go. And of course she was. Eddie, who also dances, was approached to choreograph the show.

Because the original choreographer was friends with the director, the director quit following the firing. At this point we were supposed to have a costume parade and a run through. I asked if anyone minded if I took over and ran things. In my head I was thinking I could just help out so we could get through the one rehearsal and then find a director. To everyone else my words meant I would be the new director of the piece. And that's what came to pass.

Eddie and I worked very closely together to get the show up and running. He choreographing and me directing. And it went off without another hitch, largely in part to an amazing bunch of people. I’m still friends with the cast to this day, including taking the new choreographer/actor Eddie on as my vocal coach.

I had gotten this Fringe show role from submitting myself on Actor’s Access.

Actor’s Access is a website that allows projects to list what roles they have available. Then actors peruse the site and find what projects for which they’d like to audition. The actors then submit, electronically, a picture and resume. The casting people then go through the submissions and choose which actors they’d like to see and issue audition times. Everything from commercials, to radio spots to stage productions list on the site. Some offer pay some don’t. I’ve not heard of one thing being listed on Actor’s Access that wasn’t one hundred percent legit.

I heard about Actor’s Access through my colleague Bruce. We would run into each other at auditions. We struck up casual conversations and became friends.

One day, as we were sitting waiting for our audition appointments, Bruce was indecisive. He didn’t know if he wanted to go through with the actual audition. He had submitted himself for the show online, on Actors Access. The casting people didn’t give him an appointment. Now there are any number of things can result in not getting an appointment, from submitting after all the slots have been filled to the casting people not wanting to see the actor. Bruce, like most of us, automatically jumped to the conclusion that he didn’t get a time because the people behind the table did not want to see him.

In the end Bruce did audition. I mean it’s our job to audition. One we continually train for. In fact I originally met Bruce when taking musical theatre dance classes from the late Tony Stevens at Steps.

Tony was one of the last Fosse boys, having studied and danced for Bob Fosse himself. Part of the iconic musical theatre story of A Chorus Line is Tony’s real life story. He lived the legend. And he had stories to tell about all of the greats he worked with and loved sharing them in class.

Taking class with Tony was wonderful. I never felt out of place, unwanted or incapable of doing something. That was one of the things that made Tony special. He cared and he was caring. My favorite thing he used to say was in reference to standing in relevé: Stay and dance. Be beautiful. I think that should be the title of the documentary about Tony Steven’s life...”Stay and Dance. Be Beautiful”.

Fortunately before he died a documentary of his life and all his wonderful stories was made. It’s doing the rounds on the independent film circuit. I’ve only seen a few cuts of it, but I have to hand it to the husband of my friend Louise. It’s quite good. And I expected nothing less as Louise was close personal friends with Tony and the reason I started taking class with him in the first place.

Louise and I had been friends for years. She knew that I was looking for a good class, a class that was challenging and fun. She suggested that I go up to Steps and 72^nd Street and Broadway and try Tony’s class. Since Louise had been my teacher, she knew what I was capable of handling, both physically and mentally.

I had always been afraid of going to Steps to take class. When I was young I went to Steps, once. I was and traumatized by the teachers and intimated by the talent. I think I would have quit the Business was I forced to go to classes there. Luckily I didn't have to. I got a scholarship at another studio in New York, Broadway Dance Center. That’s where I met Louise.

I was young and in New York City. I was staying in midtown Manhattan. I was on scholarship at Broadway Dance Center. And I was at a complete loss as to what to do. My roommate at the time was Sean, or rather I was Sean’s roommate. It was his one bedroom apartment in Hell’s kitchen. He took me in after my sublet had gone terribly wrong. It was a true blessing that Sean and I had worked together at Surflight Theatre, “Broadway on the Beach”. We had done A Chorus Line together. Not counting cruise ships, that show was my last job as a non-equity performer.

I thought being non-Equity was fun, for a while. There were tons of auditions. I was new to the scene and didn’t want to traverse being a “professional” actor alone. I mean a city of nine million people is scary. Add that to the fact that seven million of them are actors and it gets really frightening, well for me anyway. I would drag one of my besties Helga around from audition to audition trying to be seen at as many as we could.

To this day Helga still talks about that one Valentine’s Day that I dragged her to seven auditions. And we were seen at all seven! That would be unheard of today. It was probably that day that I booked the show at Surflight.

Running around like that was a bit traumatic for Helga. Back then she was a bit prissy. She caught my attention at my very first summer stock job. She arrived late one night. Apparently her luggage got lost in transit and she had nothing but the clothes on her back. Yet the only thing that she worried about was her Estee Lauder make up and her tap shoes. Helga being upset about make up made me think “what a beyotch...I like her”.

That first season of summer stock for me was full of tap shows like 42^nd Street, My One and Only, and Sugar Babies. We were starting rehearsals the morning after Helga arrived, so I understand about her being upset not having her tap shoes. One of the choreographers, the one for Sugar Babies had a notorious reputation for being a hard ass. He never took any excuses and he rarely gave anyone a compliment. Yet he always gave scathing criticism. He tempered his abrasiveness by hiring a lovely and talented dance captain, Leslie. Though she was no push over either.

Leslie made us work and work hard. She had a reputation to uphold. Her shows were crisp and clean and that’s why the choreographer hired her in the first place. He knew he could trust her to maintain the level of artistry that he desired. And she did. In fact we had a cleanup rehearsal the morning of the closing night of our final show, 42^nd Street. Leslie told us that she didn't care that the show was closing.

“Tonight will be as good as opening night, if not better. So go put your tap shoes on”.

Leslie had such dedication and theatre savvy. She watched over me that entire summer, making sure I knew what was going on. And more importantly making sure I stayed out of trouble. It only made sense that she took me to my first ever audition in New York City.

Up until this point I thought I knew everything, which is the folly of youth. But in reality I knew nothing about the world of Show Business. I only attended two auditions outside of my home town area. The first one was when a group of us seniors from University carpooled it down to Point Park College in Pittsburgh to audition for Disney. I was the only one called back to dance. I danced and fell out of my double pirouette into the table that the people behind the table were sitting behind. I didn't get the job.

The other audition was the NETC.

The NETC is the New England Theatre Conference. It’s a combined audition. Thousands of performers apply for an appointment to do one two minute audition for hundreds of potential theatre employers. My friend Contadina and I were lucky enough to be given time slots. We had to get from Buffalo, NY to Boston, MA for the audition. This wasn't an easy feat for poor college kids. Luckily Contadina had a car and was willing to drive us. Since I couldn't share the burden of driving (I didn't have a driver’s license) I paid for gas.

Contadina had a plethora of callbacks from her two minute audition. I had a handful from mine. We ran to our respective callbacks and spoke one on one with the people behind each table. We were poked and prodded, ogled and ah’ed. We were handed brochures from theatre companies and resorts and told to be on the lookout for offers.

We couldn’t afford to stay overnight in Boston so we drove back that night. I’m sure we couldn't have slept any way from all the excitement.

The offers quickly started flowing in for Contadina. She took one and began making plans for Life after graduation. I didn't get a bona fide offer until long after graduation and a week after our last University show closed.

I attended a small private catholic university. The school had affiliations with a major Equity theatre in the area. The theatre allowed the university to mount pre-season shows. We did two every year before the Equity shows started production. This was a draw for students from around the country, including Bathsheba who transferred into the program my senior year. I remember being in awe of the Equity shows when my high school drama club director Mr. Eiklor took me.

Mr.Eiklor knew everyone and everything about theatre. As far as I was concerned he was the sun and I had to orbit around him. (If you knew the man you would find this funny because he was about the size of a large planet) The man was Theatre incarnate. When he said a show was good and worth seeing, you did. In high school he took his favorites and a few promising thespians to see productions he deemed worthy. On a few nights I was lucky enough to be asked to accompany him.

These days this would seem highly irregular. A teacher, a grown man, taking some of his students out for a non-school related evening. But all the parents trusted this man. They believed in his ability to teach and inspired their children. Even my over protective mother had no choice but to let me partake of all Mr. Eiklor and his Drama Club had to offer. After all it was her idea that I join in the first place.

At the start of tenth grade I had to decide on a career path. I had toyed with becoming an architect but gave that up when I realized I would be forty before I could open my own company. Forty was eons away. Then there was cosmetology. I liked doing hair and make-up. But I changed my mind after realizing all the stereotyping and stigma that was attached to being a male cosmetologist. I even thought about being an operatic costume designer. I could draw really well and I liked designing gowns and clothes. It seemed interesting, artistic and creatively fulfilling.

I finally landed on becoming an accountant. I was good at math and bookkeeping so it was easy. According to my parents, who worked hard to keep my suburban life very upwardly mobile, I needed more extracurricular activities for college applications. They started pushing for me to get involved with the clubs and groups at school. I put it off for as long as I could.

One day after much nagging from my mom, I promised that whatever social event had a meeting that day I would join. Off to school I went to become a member of this club or that club. To me it didn't matter. I just had to do something or I would never get into college.

In home room that morning I listened to the announcements. There was only one club meeting that cold and rainy day in October: The Drama Club. 

It seems as if New York City is getting inundated with bad weather. Every other day there’s a winter storm warning or advisory. If it’s not snowing it’s raining. And then there’s the frigid temperatures. A few days ago the wind chill was -7. It all makes me feel as if I’m a kid back upstate again.

Growing up outside of Buffalo was brutal. The snow starts around Halloween and doesn't end until almost April. There’s not many interesting things to do up there when you’re snowbound. I believe that’s the reason the line from the show A Chorus Line is so profound to me: “To commit suicide in Buffalo is redundant”. To me there was nothing worse than getting stuck in upstate New York for the rest of my life. I had to escape the madness of boredom. I had to flee the ennui that trapped me inside of a snow fort and pelted me with snowballs.

As a child I dreamed about my escape almost every day. I fantasized while watching TV shows about exotic places and sunny locales. I longed to be one of the people who were doing amazing things. I think that’s how, at five years old, I got the idea to become an archeologist.

I knew that making discoveries and digging up old bones and civilizations would allow me to travel the world and do something special with my life. But when I realized that I didn't like getting dirty or being pounded on by a blistering sun, that idea quickly vanished. The dread grew in me that I would be forever stuck upstate New York, in bad weather.

But wasting away in the snowy suburbs of Buffalo never came to pass because:

My parents insisted I go to college.

To get into college I needed extracurricular activities.

There was only one club, the Drama Club looking for new members at the time I was looking to join something.

The club’s advisor Mr. Eiklor’s influence over me resulted in me applying to only one college.

I was accepted at that one college and spent four years there.

During the four years I met Cantadina and became friends.

A student, Bathsheba, transferred into the program and shared what she knew about auditions.

Contadina and I drove hundreds of miles to attend a combined audition. Then drove right back.

I got an offer for employment from that combined audition that would take me away from home.

At this first job away from home I met Leslie who took me to my first New York City audition.

I also met Helga. We were both complimented on our talents by the hard ass choreographer. Helga was told that she was a "lovely tap dancer" and I was told that my portrayal of "Mark" in A Chorus Line was the best he'd ever seen. After summer stock, together Helga and I set out to conquer the New York City non-equity audition scene.

My last non-equity job I met Sean, who later not only saved me from being homeless but introduced me to Louise.

Louise became my teacher and friend and introduced me to Tony Stevens.

In Tony’s class I met Bruce.

Bruce told me about Actors Access, an online resource where actors submit for various projects.

I got a job in the New York Fringe Festival from a submission on Actors Access.

I met my vocal coach Eddie doing that Fringe show.

My vocal coach and I worked on material for the onslaught of auditions this year.

I walked into the audition room confident because Arthur professed the pianist’s prowess (later I would learn that Arthur never went to this call and was talking about an accompanist at a different audition!)

When I finished singing for my dream role, I walked out of the audition room. I got dressed in all my layers to battle the cold. I changed my shoes to boots so I could traverse the snow. I walked outside, hopped on the subway and went back home. I had done my job. It was time for the people behind the table to do theirs.

The after math of the audition was surreal. I didn't have the usual feelings of relief, or accomplishment, or regrets, or elation or sense of self. For the first time in my career there wasn't a thing I would've changed. There wasn't one thing that I could have done differently or better. From all the way back to joining the Drama Club in the tenth grade, everything up until now was building a foundation for me to land a dream role in a dream show. I made every right choice and every right move. My whole life seemed to lead to this one audition.

But I didn't book the gig.

I should be devastated but I’m not. It was for the lead in a show directed by a well-known director at a well-known theatre. I’m sure he can and will call in a few favors and get a star name to well, star in the show.

And that's the reality of the Performing Arts.

This audition made me realize that I’m in New York City, working on my craft, surrounded by supportive people (both past and present). It gave me an inner peace. I'm now satisfied, sated with the idea that I’m worthy to create Art and create it well. This audition gave me a new level of confidence. A confidence that I can actually do this thing called show Business.

And so can you.

You don’t need to proclaim your talents and craft form the roof tops. It’s not about Ego. It's not about accolades. It's not about booking a gig. It’s about perseverance and preparation combined with opportunity. The Universe will align with your purpose and all will come to fruition within your world, whatever that will be. 

I've learned from this audition that no one should let getting a callback, booking a gig, winning an award (or even getting into a school) validate who they are as a person or an Artist.

You validate who you are.

So I've decided to do what I can do and that’s all I can do. Everything else is out of my control. I just have to prepare and show up. That's my job. And I leave the people behind the tables alone to do their job. No longer will their decisions affect me. No longer will they have to power to build or destroy my world with an offer or lack of one. 

And with catharsis, this amazing insight...

“...I dug right down to the bottom of my soul and...I felt nothing”.

Logs on the fire...

As the year comes to an end, I think we all should reflect on our lives. Since this is a blog about being a working actor, let's focus on our lives in the Performing Arts. It's a busy time of year, with friends and family, parties and celebrations so I'll be brief.

Did this year bring you everything you wanted? Did Santa Claus bring you that starring role in a movie, that Broadway contract and/or that recurring role on a hit TV show? Fame? Fortune? Success?

If Santa did, then congratulations! Apparently you've been very good this year. If he didn't then I suspect you're on his Naughty list. Perhaps it's because you echo the sentiments in this video:

(warning: there are three swear words in the song)





Of course Mrs. April Stewart is very talented. She's worked hard at her craft. The song isn't her story. However the song does tell the story of the way some actors, new and old, think. There's a sense of entitlement. This'll get you on Santa's Naughty list faster than putting gum in Susie's hair.

In Life there is no entitlement. There are exceptions to this (the Kardashians for example) and we see them everyday. Hell, we help contribute to their entitlement. The best we common folk can do is hope what we put into our careers is equal to what we get back from our careers: Hope all of our hard work and planning will come to fruition.

But let's be honest. It does take hard work to have a successful career. It does take preparation. It does take laying out a strategy, making goals to move you towards what you want to accomplish.

Everyone thinks Santa is such a kind and loving person. But truthfully, for theatre folks he's a sadist. He's not giving up any performance booty until he sees blood sweat and a hell of a lot of tears.

If you want to be on Santa's Nice list in 2015 and get all that your greedy little Actor heart desires, then be prepared to work and work hard.

It's a simple gift I give you, the gift of knowledge. You may not like it and it may not fit but it's yours. Keep reading in 2015 as we set goals and make plans to conquer the Performing Arts world and kick Santa's sick sadistic behind

Oh and...

"...I wish you Merry Christmas, Happy New Year too..."

You will get what you are due...

It’s the start of the holiday season. Everyone is busy trying to beat the rush and get the best deal so let me be quick and to the point...

An agent or manager works for the actor and only gets paid once the actor is employed in a show. They take ten to fifteen percent off the top of an actor’s salary.

At no time should a performer ever pay upfront for representation. Period.

Any agent, manager, casting director or the like, who asks for money upfront for anything is scamming you. Walk away.

I’m surprised this still happens, but it does. Actors are in such a rush to make it big, to get the next great gig that some will do anything to get a leg up on their “competition”. Or perhaps some are so inexperienced and green or far removed from the center of the show Business world that they don’t know any better.

Now you do.

The simple fact of the matter is you are the only one you’re in competition with. You are the only one who can help you on your journey to be an employed actor. Anyone who proclaims a short cut is selling you a load of crap, and is probably, literally, selling it to you.

Save your money.

Being a “working actor” (one who is actively pursuing performing as a career) as opposed to an “employed actor” (one who has a job performing) is about going to auditions, taking classes, networking, and taking care of yourself mentally, spiritually and physically.

Being a working actor is about maintaining a healthy balance of Life outside of the Business of show.

So get a Life. Take care of yourself. Take care of your money. You’ll need it for all the legit classes, lessons and seminars...

...and rent...

...and food.

So while you're standing in line this holiday season, wishing it would move faster, remember: Don't hand over your hard earned money to agents, managers, casting directors and the like who make unrealistic career promises. If you’re a “working actor” the opportunity to do what you love will present itself in time. You can’t buy it and you certainly can't rush it.

...“All you have to do is wait.”

...threat of Hell...

 

 Usually there is an onslaught of auditions that happen in the months of September and October. This year there has only been a smattering. For a while I was only averaging one audition a week and even that has dried up now. Luckily that gives me ample time to pursue other things.

 

With so much free artist’s time I decided to work on the musical that I’m writing. I found a composer and off we went. We worked feverishly for weeks writing and re-writing music and script. The script and half of the music was finished. I decided with all the free time I had I was going to do another table read of the project.

 

A “table read” is just what the name implies. A group of actors each take a role and sit around a table and read a script. The writers and anyone associated with the project sit and listen. They make judgments as to what works and what doesn’t. Then the project goes back to being reworked or completely rewritten. This is usually the first step in getting a new show on its feet (produced).

 

A brother of a friend of mine, Rhett, had written a one act and wanted to hear how it turned out. Rhett contacted me to see if I had an interest in reading a role. Of course I said yes. But the role was written with someone else in mind, someone a little different than me. The role was for an Italian actor, with references about it in the script.

 

The play was quite good and interesting. Afterwards we, the actors, the writer and Rhett (who I assumed would be the director) sat around the table and discussed the play. We each had our particular opinions about the piece and the characters we played. We shared them and thus sent Rhett’s brother away with some valuable information and insight into his new piece.

 

It was more of that outside insight that I was looking for. So I went about arranging my second informal table read. First I contacted people to play the roles. There were about 25 to be filled. We, the composer and I, decided that it would be best if we got singers to sing the songs and readers to read each role. This way the amount of material would be split between actors. This would give them a chance to really focus on their particular piece of the puzzle.

 

I went through my Facebook friends list and selected people I thought might have an interest in dong a table read of new material. I invited them to participate. Once there were enough people confirmed I went about assigning parts and songs. I set a date and arranged for a space. My day job, which has lots of gigs at the moment, provided me the opportunity to pay for the space.

 

I was working one of the many day job gigs when a guy comes over to me. He starts talking about how the evening was progressing. He looked very familiar. After talking for a bit we discovered that we were both in musical theatre. We had seen each other at auditions and at readings.

 

The guy, while working at our day job, then lamented on how many readings he had done. Jokingly he had said that Equity should offer a production contract for every twenty readings an actor does. More seriously though he was frustrated because one of two things happened to him with all of the readings he took part in.

 

Many of the readings that he was in didn’t make it to fruition. For whatever reason, maybe their bad, or ill-conceived, or there’s just no interest in or money for the project, these pieces went nowhere. No one ever heard of them again.  Thousands of projects end up like this, tossed in the trash bin.

 

When a project was good or well-conceived or had interest or financial backing, it went on without him.

 

With my cast list in tow I set off to do my second informal table read. Friends and colleagues such as Bruce, Donalda, Arthur, Teagan, Ann, Lisa and Phineas (who I cast in an Equity showcase a few years ago) were invited to read.

 

Donalda couldn’t participate. Her life was crazy. This is the second time I’ve invited her to do something and the second time she’s declined.

 

Bruce agreed to help but got an important audition at the last minute. Understandable, frustrating but understandable.

 

Ann is an understudy in a show and had to go on that night.

 

Arthur showed up as did Teagan.

 

Phineas accepted the invitation. Then later, unbeknownst to me, declined it. After sending the script, and music, and numerous updates he never bothered to send me a quick note to say that he had dropped out of the project. When it came time for his part in the reading there was nothing but silence.

 

I sent Phineas a text simply asking “hey where are you?” I didn’t hear from him that night. In fact to this day I’m still waiting for an answer. I know he’s okay because he has posted on Facebook since and even updated the invitation to his one man show.

 

For Rhett’s brother’s play there were no rehearsals. There never are for table reads. I had an opportunity to work on my craft and that’s what I did. I invested my own personal time in becoming very familiar with the play. I investigated how my character related to the others and what it is the character wanted and the conflict that it gave rise to. I went in prepared with my choices. I wasn’t paid for any of it, my time or the reading.

 

Rhett came to me after and told me how impressed both he and his brother were with my interpretation of the role. Both wanted me to continue with the project. Next after doing some rewrites they wanted to do a staged reading. The part I read was mine if I wanted it. And I did want it.

 

The piece I wrote is quite complicated and intricate. It’s a thinking man’s musical. As an audience member, one has to really pay attention to the character relationships, what’s happening between them and the underlying meaning of it all. It’s the actor’s job to communicate all of this to whomever is paying attention, whether it’s paying audience or the director at rehearsal or just a writer at a table read.

 

How is this done? In a word: home-work.

 

Whether during an informal table read, a showcase, a rehearsal or a full blown production on Broadway, an actor has to show up prepared and ready to work. Lisa, whom I invited to come to the second table read couldn’t make it. She was going to be out of town in rehearsals for a new show. However before she left she was stressing. She still had 20 more pages to become familiar with, so familiar that she would be almost memorized.

 

Lisa knows that to be an effective performer she has to be prepared from day one. She doesn’t wait for rehearsals to begin to start memorizing or working on her character, or accents or any of the other requirements needed for the piece or her part. She knows that the majority of the information is written in the script. What isn’t written in the script will have to wait for the creative team to dictate, things like over all concept, costuming and blocking.

 

Lisa was at home, prior to the start of rehearsals, working on the script. An award nominated actress was doing Home-work. She’s talented, yes, but she’s also smart. She knows that to be successful, to be nominated takes work. Work that needs to be done at home. And she knows that work will continue every day, outside of rehearsal.

 

Getting a show off the ground takes collaboration. It takes hearing the piece outside of the writer’s head which is why there is such a thing called a “table read”. It needs living breathing people to make the words come alive off of the page. Any show needs to be heard to see what works and what doesn’t, to see if all the elements are congruous.

 

Before making my second table read happen, I had to make cuts in the script. There were too many characters and the plot was muddy.  Everything that happened still needed to happen, it just had to happen faster with less characters doing it. When it came down to it five roles were cut, while one role was expanded. Why was one particular role made larger? Because during the first table read Teagan invested so much and was so prepared in his portrayal that he inspired me. Teagan made me, as the writer, see the possibility to use that character more. And as a result and use him more.

 

Rhett and his brother finished their rewrites. They moved to the next step in the process, the staged reading.

 

A staged reading is the second step in the process of getting a work produced. It’s where a new work, or a reconceived work, is presented to an audience. It’s so important that Actors Equity (the actor’s union) has a specific contract which allows union actors to participate in such an event. Because of this there are some strict rules which include:

 

No sets, props, wigs, make-up, or costumes.

 

No advertising or reviews.

 

Book in hand, no memorization, only minimum staging with no choreography permitted

 

For invited audiences only. (If Programs are provided, the names of all AEA members in the production are to be designated by an asterisk (*) with the indication that Actors and Stage Managers so designated are members of Equity)

 

There may be only one use of the Stage Reading Guidelines per project within a six-month period without the express written permission of Equity.

 

And...

 

There is a set number of rehearsal hours, 29, in which the company must completely rehearse and perform the piece. The number of hours actually gives rise to the name of the contract: The 29 hour staged reading contract.

 

The 29 hour staged reading contract's name is a misnomer. For musicals you actually only get 15 hours of rehearsal and for straight plays 10. Imagine trying to learn Sweeney Todd, all the music, all the blocking and all the character development in 15 hours. Since an actor is now being paid that’s exactly what’s expected. How do they do it? They work on it at home. Any actor knows that his or her reputation is on the line. Future employment is on the line.

 

After an actor has been working with a show through the different stages, he or she can become legally tied to that show. Should the show continue towards being a full production, the creative team must use this original actor in the production. If they want to replace the actor, he or she has to be bought out of their contract. Meaning the actor will get paid to leave the show. Now that replaced actor has the “privilege” of having to watch someone else perform a role that he or she has already performed. They now get to watch someone else possibly get nominated for awards for that role and that show.

 

For an actor this is tantamount to being banished to the ninth circle of Hell.

 

I was asked to participate in Rhett’s staged reading. Unfortunately I had already committed to my day job for the duration of rehearsals and the two performances. Not working these important dates would have meant losing that day job.

 

Rhett told me afterwards that the person who replaced me was different than I was. There were changes and rewrites made that suited what I did for the role. He didn’t do what I did. He didn’t fit with what had been envisioned for the role. Both Rhett and his brother want me back. Doing my work at home paid off.

 

Since Phineas didn’t show up to my second table read, I ended up doing the part myself. Good thing I wrote the piece and didn’t have to read it blindly for the first time. Unfortunately this is what some of the people who volunteered their time for me actually did. What they gave was of no help to me as a writer and no help in the collaborative process.

 

Actors who aren’t prepared are of no use to the writer, no use to the composer or director or choreographer and no use to the other actors involved. The people who didn’t do their homework, who came seemingly unprepared, or didn’t come at all are actors who are not valuable to this piece.

 

In fact anyone who participated without being prepared did a two-fold disservice to their career.

 

First, a good majority of the actors who were reading my piece do other creative things in the industry besides acting. In attendance were several directors, writers, producers and choreographers. One of the readers was a woman who a few years ago started her own company which produces several pieces every year. Rhett, a working actor, was also there. He had just directed and produced an extremely limited run of a new musical. The musical actually made money and has partial backing to continue to a full production. This was a prime opportunity to impress and network.

 

Secondly actors who weren’t prepared won’t have the opportunity to continue with the development of the piece. I hope to one day take the show to Broadway, or at least regionally produce it. Then I can offer contracts, paying jobs, to the actors who contributed valuable insight, who volunteered their time, talent and effort to make the show work. It’s these actors who’ll get the privilege of creating an original role.

 

Being the first to play a role in a recognized production is not something that happens every day. In fact some actors have very long prosperous careers without ever having originally created a role. But it is something that most actors covet. That lucky actor who creates a role will become the standard for that role. Everyone who comes after will be held to what he or she originally created.

 

Remember the guy I met at my day job? The one who was lamenting over how he never gets to progress with a reading when it does move on? Perhaps the problem is as simple as he doesn’t do his work at home. He waits. He waits until the director or writer tells him what is what. He waits until he has the time, or he waits until rehearsals to do any work at all. And then it’s too late. He gets replaced. He then becomes a mere memory, a ghost of what once was.

 

Now has to wait to audition just like the other 5 million nameless and faceless zombies in New York City. He’ll be auditioning for roles that are most probably already filled by the actors who did their work at home, who continued on with the production from its table reads and staged readings.
 

To be successful, an actor has to use every creative opportunity available. That’s what table reads and staged readings are, an opportunity. It’s during these times an actor can impress the people behind the table and make creative teams want to work with him or her.

 

Talent isn’t everything in Show Business, which is a scary thought. That just means you have to be smart. As an actor you have to do work at home. And...

 

"...if you’re smart, you’ll learn your lessons well".