April 27, 2009
The phone rings this morning at 9:40 a.m. It’s Meg; I answer it as calmly as I can manage. Cara just about jumps out of her pants when the phone rings; and it is hard to focus when your hot wife is jumping out of her pants. But Meg just wants to check in and see how the audition went. I tell her it went well enough, and leave the details for her to read about if this book ever gets published.
At 10:30 a.m., the phone rings again. I sit down on the couch before answering, knowing this has to be news—good or bad. Before even saying hello, Meg whispers, “Dan, you got it.”
I got it.
I actually got it.
Cara crawls onto the couch next to me and is hardly controlling herself. I say, “Oh. My. God.” Cara jumps up with a squeal, and I start thinking of all the million-and-a-half things I now need to do. Why can’t I just live in the moment like our therapist (yes, our therapist) says I should?
The first thing Meg tells me is that I should send Merri Sugarman a nice bouquet of flowers. I am thinking, “And one for you, too, I believe.” But the truth is I had already planned to send Merri some kind of thank you today anyway; this thank you will just be a bit more lavish.
Meg has no details for me yet, but my mind is revving with a to-do list. I actually start writing these chores down while I am still on the phone with her because there is much to be done and I only have a half-hour before I have to leave for a meeting at the Roundabout.
In the next blur of thirty minutes, I assign Cara the task of picking out the perfect flowers to send to Merri and Meg. (She has a much better eye than I for these things, and confirming this, Merri later calls me a “class act” for sending such a nice ensemble. Well done, Cara!) I call my mother, who has to bottle her excitement because she is among patients at work. I send a text to my brother, and he replies that I am “gonna b famous.” (I text back that I am “scared shtlss.”) I email my stepfather at work, but my mother called him already during the two minutes I spent texting. I call my producing friend at Theatre-By-The-Sea and he knows instantly what I am going to say. My agent will make an official call to him soon, but I wanted to reach him first. And I call John Cariani to bow out of his production of Almost, Maine. This one’s tricky. I am very afraid of burning bridges, and I really want to maintain a friendship with this well-known guy. He takes the news well enough, and asks for recommendations for someone who can take my place.
Then I have to run to my meeting! Boy, there is never time to just sit down and appreciate things, is there? Toward the end of the meeting I begin helping with the daunting task of re-assigning all of the workshops, classes, and lectures I was to give over the next few months. The projects I work on with Roundabout are many and varied, but today my job is to quit all of the following:
After many hours of re-organizing these projects, I return home and, as is the modern thing to do, update my Facebook status with my news and a comment that “dreams really do come true.” Truer words have never been spoken. With this job, I feel like my oldest dream is almost coming true. Almost. My dream has always been to star in a Broadway show. Now I will be starring in a Broadway show…in Canada. Ok. It’s close. And can I even dare to dream that it will be a gigantic stepping-stone to actually starring on Broadway? Yup. I will dare to dream that.
My Facebook status inspires about sixty people to write their congratulations, and about twenty people to call me. My phone rings so much I can’t keep up. I am exhausted with thoughts and plans, and I don’t even know when I’ll be starting rehearsal yet. I have no details and no idea when the details will be revealed. My agent says they are talking about sending me to rehearse with the National Tour of the show, or maybe with the Chicago Company. And Cara and I have to figure out whether we will all be able to spend the summer together in Toronto (we have to, we just have to) and to get plane tickets to…where?
Today is the glamour part of getting the job: the excitement, the phone calls, the spreading of good news. Tomorrow will bring the work: the planning, the schedules, the memorizing. I have a feeling I’m going to be exhausted for weeks to come.
And did I mention that, as I write this, I am starting to get pretty nervous? How am I going to pull off this cocky character? How am I going to learn all that choreography? I suck at choreography. Kick, ball-change.
April 28th, 2009
Meg said she would call as soon as she knew some dates, and today passes without a call coming in. As silly as it is, I start fearing something happened to the guy I am supposed to replace and he’s decided to stay on in the show. That guy is Jeremy Kushnier, by the way. He is a stellar performer who originated the lead role of Ren in the Broadway production of Footloose. I saw him many times in that one. I also saw him in the Broadway production of Rent and a Kansas City production of Jesus Christ Superstar. I think he totally rocks and I will never, ever be able to compare. To top it all off, he’s been doing Jersey Boys for two years now in various companies, so he’s leaving gargantuan shoes for me to fill.
Why is he leaving anyway? My bet at this point is that he has been cast in either a Canadian television show or a new Broadway musical. Those would be good reasons to leave. Whatever the reason, I will be sloppy seconds to Jeremy Kushnier any day.
I spend all day doing more of the transition work involved in leaving the Roundabout. I meet with the different Teaching Artists who will be replacing me, go over notes and plans, and lead a few final workshops myself. This has all been surprisingly emotional for me. While I am realistic enough to know that I will probably be back teaching for them again next year, I find myself hoping that I will not be, and that makes leaving difficult. I love the people there. They are incredible artists.
I am kind of freakin’ out! I am stressed because I want to organize the next year of our life, but I don’t have enough information to do that yet. And my wife wants to go out to dinner. She is waiting for me in the other room right now. But I am incredibly tired. And I have to learn lines. I am thinking of buying this big Jersey Boys coffee table book from Barnes & Noble just so I have something I can start learning lines from. Isn’t that crazy? I should just get an official script before I start rehearsal, but I am too embarrassed to ask for one.
And Cara wants to leave. Like, now. “Hon, what are you doing?” she asks from behind the door.
“I am pouring my angst-ridden thoughts into a journal.”
“Can we go eat?” she wonders, with no impatience in her voice. Yet.
“Yeah. Let me just write down what you’re saying right now.”
“You’re writing down what I’m saying right now? Why?”
“To inspire others to follow their dreams, regardless of the obstacles set before them.”
“Am I an obstacle?” she asks.
“Well, right now you are. But only a little.”
“How am I an obstacle?”
“Because I can’t go out to dinner until I finish writing today’s entry, and I can’t finish writing today’s entry until this conversation is over.”
She is silent. I guess this conversation is over.
I get a little snarky when I’m stressed out. Sarcasm helps me lighten the burden. Good luck dealing with me tonight, my darling.
April 29th, 2009
Here we go. Meg calls today at 5:00 p.m. saying that I will start rehearsing this coming Tuesday. That is six days from now. Six days! Now I’m really freaking out.
My rehearsal/travel schedule will be a bit insane. Apparently, I will rehearse in New York for three days, fly to Toronto for a day to see the show, fly to Orlando to rehearse with the National Tour for two weeks, fly back to New York for a week of fittings, and then fly up to Toronto for two weeks before opening on June 16th. At least that is what they say now. Everything is subject to change, and I have many nervous butterflies in my stomach. Big butterflies. With razor-sharp wings.
I decide today that I need to have the script as soon as possible, so I go to Barnes & Noble to buy the coffee table book. The first two stores I try don’t have it in stock, so by the time I reach the third store I have walked exactly fifty blocks, listening to the Jersey Boys cast recording the entire way. As if the album isn’t thrilling enough, now I am picturing myself singing the songs and I get rammed full of excitement.
I pay a whopping $45 for the book—all because I am too timid to ask for a script in advance. So now I will be learning lines for my blockbuster musical debut out of a giant picture book.
I later learn that Jeremy Kushnier is leaving the Toronto cast because his wife (who also used to be in the show) is pregnant and they want to have the baby back in New York. So it’s not a new Broadway musical or some television show causing him to leave Jersey Boys, it’s just life. His wife is fierce, and he is a rock star. I have a feeling that baby will be fronting a band by the age of seven.
April 30th, 2009
Ready and rocking! I say my goodbyes at the Roundabout office, and compose an email to send to the various Teaching Artists I worked with there, all of whom are scattered around the city in their own pursuits. (No more than two of us ever seem to be in the same place at the same time.) The email kind of sums up my thoughts about the teaching portion of my life, so I’ll reproduce it here:
Dear Roundabout Colleagues,
It is with sadness and excitement, and more sadness and more excitement, that I must bid you all a temporary goodbye. I will be moving to Toronto, Canada in just a few days to join the cast of Jersey Boys as Tommy DeVito. While I am sure I will be back at Roundabout eventually, I fear that I would regret not saying a few words of “see you later” if I do not say them now.
Without a doubt, Roundabout has been my artistic home for years now. How many people in this world are blessed to work at something they love (teaching artistry), and be encouraged there to pursue something else they love (acting)? It is no exaggeration to say that my work at Roundabout has enabled me to pursue my childhood dream of performing in large-scale jukebox musicals…
Ok, maybe my childhood dream was not as specific as that, but you get the point.
I have found more talented, dream-supporting people at Roundabout than anywhere else in the world. I have loved my time here. I am always wowed by our core group of Teaching Artists, and I am always envious of the creative brain-power of our leaders. I will miss seeing you all on those rare and wonderful times when we get to come together. And I will probably feel dumb for writing all this if the show closes and I am back here in September. If you're ever in Canada, drop by and let me take you out to dinner. I'll be up there living a dream…and probably giving dramaturgical talks in the lobby.
–Dan Sullivan
Though, I still have two more workshops to teach tomorrow, and a few months of paperwork that will be coming, the bulk of my work at this place is now complete.
I receive my official offer from the Canadian producers, and lots of detailed information along with it. For rehearsals in Orlando, I am given the choice of two hotels: one across from Walt Disney World, and the other ten miles away from it. I think I should go with the one ten miles away, just so that I am not tempted with distractions! I will have to be quite focused, I’m sure.
I email two people today for advice: Buck, my audition buddy and current Jersey Boys National Tour cast member, and Dean, my accountant. Buck speaks highly of the family atmosphere Jersey Boys has created, and congratulates me on finally getting in. Dean tells me some steps to take to let certain expenses be regarded as out-of-town travel business deductions.
Working in another country will be a bit tricky to keep track of, business-wise. For one, Canada regards actors as self-employed business entities, unlike the United States where actors are usually regular employees. And being a non-resident, there will be some tax withheld from my paycheck, but not the full amount I will actually owe; so I will need to make sure to set money aside for April 15th. My paycheck will be in Canadian dollars, so that leaves a whole other layer of confusion with our very specific budget.
And, to be brutally honest, my salary will not be as much as I expected. Granted, it is still more money than I have ever made from a theatre in my life, but their initial offer is not quite as dramatic a number as I would have hoped for. Know that the amount per week is much more than the union’s minimum, but it still isn’t life changing money, and much of it will be sequestered by the airlines when I fly home as often as possible in an attempt to maintain some semblance of family life. I shouldn’t be complaining; it is a very generous number. I guess I was just dreaming too big.
I am writing this while waiting for three loads of laundry to dry. I figure I should wash everything now before things get even busier. I also need to make sure that I have lots of dance rehearsal clothes to sweat in. I haven’t had a sweaty dance rehearsal in quite a long time. Oh! And I need to buy new sneakers. I will probably be wearing sneakers in rehearsal and my running shoes are so old that there’s a good chance my baby toe might pop out of them any day now.
May 1st, 2009
Contract negotiations finish and it all becomes official. Truth be told, there weren’t too many negotiations to be had. What am I going to do, say “No” if they don’t give me enough money? They could pay me minimum wage and I would still find a way to make it work. (Of course, I don’t tell them this.)
The contract says the producers will give me a place to live in Toronto for a month, but after that I will be on my own. I know this may become tax deductible, but renting a place will still make my salary drop even further. However, some minor perks in my first big contract: my own dressing room, a plane ticket for my wife to come up for my opening night, a small raise after six months, and four free tickets. That’s four free tickets, period. Not four per show or four per month or four per year. Four. Period.
And my contract is for a year. This is just starting to set in. One year. I’m sure my family will be able to join me for the summer, but the school year is a different story. If I think too long about this right now I will start to get really sad. Traveling out of town for a theatre job is something that I think most actors would agree is inherently detrimental to a relationship. I have met very few couples that can survive it for long. Cara and I are very proactive in working to keep our relationship strong (so is our therapist), but it will not be easy to manage this separation. I’m already thinking too much about it.
Momentarily taking my mind off the long distance, I speak to a great guy at the Dodger’s production office. Jeff sets up my rehearsal schedule (so scary) and tells me I will be his job for the next month. I’ve never been anybody’s job for more than an hour (the dentist), so being somebody’s job for an entire month seems a bit ridiculous. He will work with me on flight reservations, rehearsal locations, rental cars, and the like for all the cities to which I will be traveling. I think his job title is “Assistant Production Coordinator,” and he is my first Jersey Boys friend.
Tomorrow, I get to go to the August Wilson Theatre to see the Broadway Company’s wardrobe supervisor and try on some shirts. The bulk of my clothes, however, will be custom made by a tailor. And that, my friends, is awesome. I have never had a tailor-made suit before, and now I think I am going to have at least four!
Oh, and I chose the hotel near Disney World after all. How can I turn that down? I love Disney World.
May 2nd, 2009
Today is all about the clothes. I stop by the August Wilson and check in at the stage management office just like I had while seeing the show last year. I should be feeling more secure this time around, seeing as I have now booked the job, but I must admit I’m feeling just as intimidated as the first time. I have zero confidence when it comes to anything related to Broadway. I have a great work ethic, and I can convince people by faking confidence, but there is usually nothing genuine behind it.
The production stage manager gives me directions on how to get to the wardrobe room, directions that include four left turns, three right turns, a staircase, a tunnel, and a revolving bookcase. Needless to say, I get lost in the basement of the theatre. It is a maze down there. For anyone who might imagine Broadway dressing rooms, hair rooms, and wardrobe rooms to be glamorous, I can attest that they most certainly are not. They are basement rooms, musty, damp, and lit with the same type of fluorescent tubes that Tom Wingfield rails against. I find my way thanks to a small group of stagehands watching TV, and I introduce myself to the wardrobe department.
“Hello. I’m Daniel Robert Sullivan. Is this the wardrobe department?”
“Yes, it is. You’re Daniel?”
“Yes. I’m Daniel.”
“You’re blond.”
Are there no blond Italians? And is it really possible to tell a person’s heritage based on their hair anyway? Aren’t Irish guys and Italian guys the same on the inside? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
My visit here, it turns out, is quite simple. I have to try on some white shirts from Express to find the correct size. They are then going to buy a few of the shirts and dye them to the light purple color the Four Seasons wear through much of Act One. Also, I have to be measured for the only suit worn that is purchased off the rack. The suit is a black Calvin Klein, and I will wear it for “Rag Doll” and “Who Loves You.”
Next, I have to go to be measured for the rest of my suits. In addition to the Calvin Klein, I will wear four other suits, all of which will be made by the famous St. Laurie Merchant Tailors on 32nd Street in Manhattan. This place is, quite literally, steps from my apartment—so I arrive for my appointment nice and early. I am greeted by the owner and his son, and am asked to wait just a few minutes while they get their paperwork together. While waiting, I check out their wall of photographs. In addition to Jersey Boys photos, there are pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio in Revolutionary Road, Denzel Washington in Malcolm X, and other stars that I would like to be friends with. These tailors are the real deal.
When the owner returns, he tells me that I am the first fair-haired Tommy he has seen. (Really, this again?) I ask him how many Tommys he has built suits for and he can’t even count. Building for Jersey Boys, he says, has been a full-time business since 2006. Let’s do some math; there are four lead characters, each with four suits. Each lead character has two understudies, and there is an additional actor who plays Frankie Valli for the matinees. That makes thirteen sets of four suits apiece, for a total of fifty-two suits per company. There are now seven companies throughout the world. That makes three hundred and sixty-four suits for the original lead actors in each company. But there have also been replacement actors in each company, like me. I’m guessing here, but I think about twenty-five replacement guys came into the show in the last couple of years. That makes another hundred suits, for a total of four hundred and sixty-four. And guess what? That doesn’t take into account the ensemble.
Now the cost: if each suit for the lead actors costs, conservatively, $4000 to make from scratch, then St. Laurie Merchant Tailors has brought in $1,856,000 from Jersey Boys alone. And again, that is just for the lead actors. There are ensemble actors that need suits, too. And more companies opening soon. Unbelievable.
The father-son team taking my measurements is extremely well dressed; in fact, every employee in the place looks impeccable. I guess you have to if you work in a fancy suit-shop, but this is all new to me. The best suit I ever bought was from Men’s Wearhouse. (They said I would like the way I looked, and they guaranteed it.) I bought my wedding suit online, another off the rack at Macy’s, and have a hand-me-down winter suit from my uncle, which was given to me when I was a sophomore in high school and is still very much a part of my wardrobe.
After taking measurements, the gentleman helping asks me to try on a mock-up pair of pants. I go into the small dressing area, remove my shoes, and realize that both of my socks have holes in them. Big holes. Like, each big toe is sticking completely out of the sock. I am too embarrassed to come out of the dressing room like that, so I try to pull the holes down underneath my feet. Arranging the sock in a way that would look somewhat normal takes some time, far more time than I should have been taking just to try on a pair of pants. One of the employees asks if I am ok in there, I say I am fine, and I shuffle out. I have to shuffle, of course, because if I lift my feet at all then the sock will flip out and expose my little trick.
I am rescued a moment later, thank goodness. They notice that I am not wearing shoes and ask if I could go back and put them on. They like to see how the pants fall on the shoes. Nice. I should have known that.
Michael Lomenda, Jeff Madden, Quinn VanAntwerp, Daniel Robert Sullivan
©Joan Marcus
May 3rd, 2009
I’ve been at home nearly all day learning lines from that big ol’ picture book again. The print is small and impossible to highlight, so the memorizing job proves more difficult than I am used to. But it is still nice to know I am getting a jump-start on things.
I am a firm believer in knowing all, or at least most, of my lines before beginning rehearsals. Every actor differs in this regard, but because I rely so much on the physical side of acting (like how a character moves and speaks) I find I cannot dive into the work until the script is out of my hand. It will be some time before I know the lines cold, but it is nice going into the first set of rehearsals with some idea of what words to say.
Learning lines is a skill that takes practice, but I believe that non-actors often place too much emphasis on the task. “I don’t know how you guys remember all of those lines!” is a comment actors hear often. But it is really no different than knowing the words to hundreds of songs that you sing along with in your car. Both scripts and sing-a-longs require repetition, nothing more.
I sit with the Jersey Boys script for a total of seven hours today, and I probably only learn about three new scenes. I speak the words a hundred times or more, talking back to the book while my hand covers the next line. But still, only three new scenes are in my brain. There is no mystery to the skill of memorizing lines. It just takes time.
Whenever I start getting sleepy, as is bound to happen when sitting in one place staring at the same five pages of a book, I try to do something to wake myself up. I make a quick trip to the gym this morning to do just that, and come back with fresh eyes. The next time I begin nodding, I remember reading that while in rehearsals John Lloyd Young, the original and Tony Award-winning Frankie Valli, used to swim every day just to keep up his stamina for the draining hours of choreography and singing. Immediately, I decide that I should do the same. But I don’t have a pool. So I grab my new sneakers and go for a run, and I come back again with fresh eyes and a brain that is ready to remember. I think I should vow to do this every day until I open the show, if only so I can be like Tony Award-winning John Lloyd Young. Who wouldn’t want to be like Tony Award-winning John Lloyd Young?
Even though I have been busy working on lines, it is very nice to be home with Cara. She sits silently by my side while I study; building up time together before I head out, I guess. (She remains by my side as I pause to write today’s entry.) Late in the afternoon, she tries to work out some plans for her and the kids this summer. It is a frustrating puzzle for her, what with grandparent visits, summer camp, and school letting out late this year for one child and starting earlier next year for the other. And Cara feels, as I do, that we won’t be able to start dealing with our separation until we know exactly where everyone will be for the next six months or so, and the time span of each separation.
May 4th, 2009
Crunch time. Rehearsals start tomorrow morning.
Today, I go to the Dodger’s office to get a dramaturgy packet, a script (finally!), a vocal score, dialect recordings, a CD of the Seasons original recordings, a packet with pictures and names of the National Tour cast, a packet with pictures and names of the Toronto cast, and a list of doublings.
Doublings, you ask? Yes! One of the stylistic techniques Frankie Valli used in his original recordings was a doubling of his and other voices. In other words, there was always more than one voice singing each vocal line. While you hear Frankie Valli in the foreground, you also hear another voice (usually Frankie Valli again) in the background singing the exact same thing. Jersey Boys mimics this technique by fully utilizing its large cast. According to the score I received today, there are always two people doubling nearly every word I sing. And there are two or three doubling what Frankie sings, two doubling what Nick sings, and two doubling what Bob sings. What an amazing thing! Broadway shows have often used singers in the orchestra pit to augment the sound, but I can’t recall a show using live, onstage doubling before. This proves to me that, even in the ensemble tracks, nobody in the cast of Jersey Boys has any time to relax.
Returning from the Dodger’s office, I highlight my new script, spend a few hours learning another scene, and have a wonderfully theatrical talk with my wife. “You are always talking about the Dodgers these days,” she says.
“Well, the Dodgers will be paying our rent for the next year.”
“Oh, I know,” she continues, “I just find it funny that we always refer to theatre producers as the somethings. The Dodgers. The Shuberts. The Nederlanders. I am pretty sure that the actual Shuberts aren’t there anymore; and were there even any actual Dodgers?”
“Don’t think so.”
“And yet we name them as if they are a family of people with the same last name running this large, theatrical business.”
“It’s a tradition, I guess. Like the Ringling brothers.”
I have no better answer than that. And I’m pretty sure Mr. Ringling and his brother (the other Mr. Ringling) aren’t still running the circus.