Stritch to stretch

I've been thinking of Elaine Stritch lately. Why not?





On a recent drive to and from Manhattan, I listened to the recording of her one-woman show, "At Liberty," so she's surfaced in my consciousness this week. I love her to death, who doesn't? Yet I can't help thinking that only those people who have seen her in person can really explain her appeal. Her career has included just about everything, but she is by far best known for her roles in various musicals. From "Sail Away," which Noel Coward constructed with her in mind, to her most famous role in "Company," to the Hal Prince revival of "Show Boat," to countless others, she is remembered primarily for her musical work. But in listening to her recordings, one can't help but notice that she is more likely to wobble off the note than hit it cleanly, so her appeal must be in the theatre itself.














I have not seen her in a musical, but I consider myself lucky to have seen her searing performance in Edward Albee's "A Delicate Balance" on Broadway. She received one of her numerous Tony nominations for that role, and would have easily won it too, if Zoe Caldwell hadn't attracted so much attention as Maria Callas in "Master Class" that season.










Stritch is currently reviving her "At Liberty" show at the classy Cafe Carlyle, so I was excited and amazed to read that she will next be appearing in a starry revival of Beckett's "Endgame." For anyone who did not study Beckett in college (nobody likes Beckett, we only study Beckett), "Endgame" takes place in a vaguely post-apocalyptic world (Beckett's favorite setting for his plays), in a basement room with one window, a guy in a wheelchair, a silent servant, and two trash cans. Hamm, the guy in the wheelchair, will be played in this production by John Turturro. Elaine Stritch will be playing his mother, Nell. She lives in one of the trash cans. Her husband, Nagg, lives in the other trash can. See why nobody likes Beckett?









But I bet our Elaine will wipe the stage with her costars, even though trapped in the garbage bin.

The Perp Walk

I've entered a period of life (reentered, I should say) which I have often had to endure. It is the period of time which actors optimistically call "Between Engagements." It's the common industry euphemism for Out Of Work. And in my case, it's optimistic because "between" usually means something has ended, and soon something else will begin. I can only claim the former part of that equation: I have no idea when my next job will be, or even if there ever will be one.







These are the thoughts which fog the brain of all but the most foolish of actors.









So, the new year has begun with these surrounding clouds. I suppose I should feel lucky that, even this early in 2008, I have already had the chance to be rejected by two theatres! I'm on a roll...













A week or so ago, I returned to the scene of my most recent crime to audition for their Christmas 2008 musical, "Peter Pan." Olney holds group auditions for their musical productions. A dozen or so actors are called for an hour. One by one, the Actron Unit is ushered into the Jury Room to sing a song and perhaps read a side for the character in question. Once all that is done, the entire group is taught a dance combination and then required to strut their stuff.















I don't like group auditions, but I see the necessity of them for large scale musicals. But here's the hard part. After everyone has sung, danced, acted, and schmoozed, everyone is led back out into the lobby to await their Final Judgement. In a few minutes, the casting director steps out and announces who is called back for further auditions the next day.















See the problem? This is pretty embarrassing for those people not called back, to have that fact announced to the world. I have not noticed this problem before, because I have always been called back for Olney musicals. Until now.















It's tough enough if you are surrounded by strangers; you can try to slink away with your tail between your legs relatively unnoticed. But if you are surrounded by people you know, people you have been laughing with and carrying on with for an hour, it is pretty humiliating to have the theatre announce that you are not talented enough to warrant further attention.















As I slunk away with my Brave Face on, I started to feel like a perp being led in handcuffs through a mob of press after being arrested. I know that Olney handles these auditions this way in order to reduce the manpower necessary to call or email people individually, but they could take some lessons in Actor Handling from tiny Bay Theatre's routine. I suppose they think, "Hey, you (the actor) will get up onstage and do the weirdest, wildest, most outrageous things, so why would you care what other people think of you?"















So, I won't be visiting Never-Neverland next Christmas.















This week, I was summoned to New York to audition for "The Elephant Man" for a Vermont theatre. At least they did not require a perp walk. In fact, my reading went quite well, and the director responded with, "that was a good choice." This is AuditionSpeak for "You appear to be a good actor, but I have no interest in you." At least they did not communicate their disinterest to everyone in the lobby.















Well, the week has not been a total failure. I was invited to perform in the first of a series of staged readings for the Washington Stage Guild. I am playing the all-important role of the butler. It's a pivotal role. I get to announce people. And every once in a while, I get to arch my eyebrow.















It's actually fun to be back with the Guild Gang, if only for a few days. It's a fun bunch, and we eat well. We'll be reading the play, "The Return of the Prodigal," Friday night and Saturday matinee, before what we hope will be appreciative and forgiving audiences.


















So, after a banner year in 2007, the new year has seen a return to the regular ups and downs of my Actor's Life. So far, one kind invitation, one harmless rejection, and one outright humiliation.









Hi-Ho, the glamorous life...

"Take Your Toys"

That was the admonition given by my dear friend and longtime acting coach, Bobbi Holtzman. I heard her say it countless times to actors, including myself. In a nutshell, it means going after what you want. Need something from another character ? (all characters do). Get in there and get it. Don't be afraid to stand up for yourself; if you need something, go for it. This direction, one of many I received from my 12 or so years studying with Bobbi, always led to the kind of raw, emotionally available work for which she was known. I think of her every single time I am faced with an emotionally challenging scene to play.

I've been thinking about Bobbi a lot this week, wondering what my life would have been like had I never met her. After a long decline, she passed away at midnight on New Year's Eve.

I first met Bobbi during my undergrad days at Cal State, Northridge. She was on the adjunct faculty there, meaning that she occasionally taught a class or two. I had heard her name bandied about the department for a year or so before I landed in her Acting II class. I knew immediately that she was something special. She spent no time at all on how you moved or what you sounded like; her emphasis was on what you (and your character) were feeling, and how to express it honestly and completely.

I was mesmerized by this woman, so different from anyone else teaching on that campus, so when the semester was over, I summoned my courage and asked if I could study with her privately. She ran a professional actors' workshop at the time, and I was thrilled to be able to join it. Thus began a creative, artistic, and personal relationship which lasted to this day. Bobbi's workshops were tough; you would sometimes work a scene in class for a solid hour and a half. During those sessions, when she was both a commandant and a cheerleader, Bobbi taught me the art of acting.

And what a class. We met at a pre-school in the Valley, so this very adult work was being conducted among tiny chairs and tables and fingerpaints. Nobody cared about the surroundings, though. Bobbi usually assigned me roles which I would never play out there in the Real World, but from them, I learned my craft. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Caligula, Mourning Becomes Electra, A Delicate Balance, Romeo and Juliet, the list goes on and on. I still occasionally use a speech from I Never Sang for my Father, which we worked on extensively. In addition, Bobbi was always eager to explore work we may have been doing outside class. She helped me tremendously when I was appearing as "Harry the Hoofer" in The Time of Your Life in Hollywood (I had to conquer one of the actor's danger zones, the Telephone Call). She coached me on the pieces with which I auditioned for graduate school, pieces which ultimately changed my life.

Bobbi was a well-respected stage director during that period, too, and I appeared in her production of Brendan Behan's The Hostage. She gave me the confidence to play the flamboyant Rio Rita, the Irish transvestite. She appeared onstage herself a good bit, too, and in productions such as Awake and Sing, Toys in the Attic, In a Northern Landscape, and Working, she put her teaching techniques to the test. She took her toys.

There are less than a handful of people whom I would consider made a real, lasting impact on my creative life. Joan Peterson was one, as was (and is) my best buddy Judy, but I can say for certain that Bobbi Holtzman's influence will be felt in my work forever. She taught me to be brave and honest, assertive and vulnerable, all at the same time.

I still recall the last scene I worked on with Bobbi, in a workshop only a week before I left for grad school. Every once in a while, she would give you a role you were born to play, but one which had passed you by. Such was "Tom" in The Glass Menagerie. While I was playing this uptight southern boy who is forced to leave the family he loves, I'm sure I did not recognize the similarity to my own life. But perhaps Bobbi did. Perhaps she knew that, by going to grad school, I was taking the only positive step I could take to improve my life, all the while feeling tortured over what I was leaving behind.

Blow out your candles, Bobbi. And so, goodbye.

New Year's Peeved

I'm one of those people who dislikes New Year's Eve. I can't say I hate it, I just don't get it. The holiday surrounds a completely arbitrary calendar change, set eons ago by who knows whom. But because the number of the year changes, somehow the day has developed into a moment in time where everybody is supposed to look back on the year and take stock of our accomplishments (and failures!) before looking ahead to another year.












New Year's Eve has always made me uncomfortable. As a kid, of course, you feel very left out of things; it is a distinctly adult holiday. (If a kid is ever likely to take stock of past accomplishments, it's going to happen at the end of the school year, not the calendar year.)











And as a young adult, my discomfort with the holiday grew to actual dislike. First and foremost, there's all that kissing business. You know, midnight arrives, the ball drops, everybody starts blowing those horns and throwing that confetti, then you have to find someone to kiss. What if you are single, as I always was, and didn't bring someone to the party, as I never did? There's that horrible awkwardness of standing around while all the couples kiss, then once they pry themselves apart, they realize that there are a few poor schnooks who haven't yet been kissed, and yada yada yada.











There was usually a big party during my college days, but I often missed it. In those years, a group of us traveled from LA to New York right after Christmas to spend a week seeing shows. (That's another blog altogether; during those trips, I saw many many Broadway shows, including the ORIGINAL casts of "Chicago" [Gwen Verdon, Chita Rivera, Jerry Orbach], "A Chorus Line,"[Donna McKecknie, Priscilla Lopez, Sammy Williams, Kay Cole, Baayork Lee, Wayne Cilento, Robert Lupone] "Ballroom" [Dorothy Loudon was wondrous], "Annie" [ditto], "Pacific Overtures," and so many others.) We were in New York at least twice for New Year's Eve, and the first year, we actually did the Times Square thing. This was years before the Disneyfication of the district, so we were crammed into the square with about a million other people, including bums, whores, crack heads, and crazy people. Happy New Year!










I remember that the second year we were in NY for the Big Night, we all looked at each other and went, uh-uh. Once you've done Times Square one time, that's enough, so we booked a big table at Joe Allen's and spent the evening there. The big thrill that year was at the table behind us, where Tommy Tune was hosting a bunch of friends, including Priscilla Lopez.










Hmm, I guess that was a pretty good New Year's Eve, but one of only a few.




Once I became a waiter, the pressure was off. If you worked in a fine foods establishment, or even a steak house, you could always count on working New Year's Eve. For most establishments, it's the second biggest dinner of the year. (What's the biggest? Here's a hint: it's in February.)











So, I spent many years working on the Big Party Night, and that suited me just fine. It was always a hectic shift, but a big money maker, and you never had to feel awkward at midnight. Your hands were always full of dirty dishes or cocktail glasses or somebody's change or something. Midnight would slip by unnoticed those nights.









I do remember one other really terrific New Year's Eve Party, which I threw. It was my dear Claudia's idea, and she co-hosted. At the time I was living in my family home in LA, a large 4 bedroom palace, and for reasons too boring to explain here, I was living there alone. It was a terrific house in which to have a party. I must have had a good time. Here are Claudia and Scott helping me celebrate; I'm obviously feeling no pain:











My dearest Jenny was there, too, with husband Frankie. She wasn't drinking that night, as she was about to give birth to one of the kids:








I think I spent most of the evening at the fridge, refilling my own champagne:

That's "Brady Bunch" star Eve Plumb on the left. We became friends after we were lepers together in "Jesus Christ Superstar"

I've missed a lot of recent New Year's Eves by, you know, nodding off. I just can't deal with trying to make it the biggest, wildest, most fun night of the year. Too much pressure! I'd rather let the New Year slip in unnoticed.

("pssssst! happy new year.")

Rolling in it

Today's mail brought my final paycheck for 2007. It was a residual for an episode of "The Wire." I laughed out loud, then started wondering if it was a harbinger of the new year...







I started 2007 unemployed, but was not worried in the least. I had just completed two gigs in late 2006, and had several projects already lined up for the new year. I spent a very busy spring doing two shows simultaneously, Shear Madness at the Kennedy Center, and Opus at the Washington Stage Guild. I had a ball.









The summer brought some stock, playing one of my dream roles, Harry MacAfee in "Bye Bye Birdie." The fall included a remount of "Opus" and my debut at Olney Theatre, in "Of Mice and Men."









I had a very good year.







But I had to laugh at today's residual check. It reminded me of a neighborhood bar in Studio City, CA, which I was told about recently (I never heard of it when I lived in LA). It's called Re$iduals, and is located close to Universal, Warner Bros, NBC, and other spots where actors occasionally make money. The "hook" at this bar was this: any actor who brought in a paycheck under a dollar received a free drink.







We work for poverty wages all the time in this business, but when I heard this, I rolled my eyes. A paycheck for under a buck?








I'm not rolling my eyes anymore. The amount of my residual check for "The Wire" was 87 cents.

Dis'd by the Post

So, there are several lists of Theatre Favorites for 2007 out there, including a comprehensive look back by the three critics at the Citypaper.



The Post's is out, too, but not by any means comprehensive. Peter Marks contributed his favorite shows (he had only five, rather than a traditional ten), and his favorite performances. It's understandable he could only come up with five favorite shows, as he was only one third of the reviewing staff who handled this year's theatre pieces. Where are the lists of Nelson Pressley and Celia Wren?




I notice that ALL film reviewers at the Post contributed their top ten lists, even when they overlapped. There would be no such repetition with the three theatre critics, who all saw different shows.



It's understandable that Marks cannot get to all the shows in town, but why were all the shows covered by Pressley and Wren dismissed as too unimportant to be evaluated at year's end?

Blame it on the Name

I don't keep up with current pop culture too well. I couldn't pick Nicole Ritchie, Lindsay Lohan, or Britney Spears out of a line-up, even with such a large likelihood they'll be in one.


But I couldn't avoid the trumpet sounds, announcing another Hollywood marriage biting the dust. This time it's The Penns, Robin (Wright) and Sean.


I don't give a flip, except this piece of news proves yet again my thesis regarding Hollywood marriages. I've been mouthing off about it for years.


When two Hollywood types tie the knot, if the woman changes her name to the man's, the marriage is doomed.


It may take some time: the Penns were married almost 12 years and have two kids.


Or even a longer time: remember when Phylicia Rashad was Phylicia Ayers-Allen? She married that hotshot sports guy, then a couple of decades later dumped him. Maybe if she hadn't taken his name, they'd still be together.




I know, I know, lots of Hollywood marriages end up on the skids even without this Name Change Phenomenon, but just look at the ones which didn't: Joanne Woodward & Paul Newman, Richard Benjamin & Paula Prentiss, Steve Allen & Jayne Meadows, Alan Ludden & Betty White, Hume Cronyn & Jessica Tandy. Maybe those oldsters knew something: that when the lady changes her name, the match becomes unequal.











It just might be how Kyra Sedgwick and Kevin Bacon have never had a degree of separation.


It's just a thought. But one which may be catching on with today's crowd. Remember when Courtney Cox hooked up with one of those Arquettes? She changed her name for the last season of "Friends," and inflicted us with Courtney Cox Arquette.


She has since wised up. Perhaps she took note of her predecessors Farrah Fawcett Majors and Meredith Baxter Birney. She's back to Courtney Cox. At least now, her marriage stands a fighting chance.