May 10th, 2009
I rise early, as has become my custom (by necessity, not by choice). I make coffee in my hotel room and work on choreography for two hours in front of the window, this time in my underwear. Cara would kill me if she knew I was doing this. She hates it when I assume that no one can see me. Apparently, dancing in my underwear is a sight for her eyes only, according to our relationship rules. But if any of these Canadians see me today it will be a really funny image for them: a guy with nothing but underwear, a guitar, and wild bed head flailing through his version of the Mashed Potato at 8:00 in the morning.
After my private rehearsal, I go for a short walk around the neighborhood, just to see what it’s like. It has a few nice restaurants, a movie theatre, a few coffee shops, a Staples, and a Dairy Queen. And the theatre. And that’s it. Nothing else. Ok, I’ve learned that we are kind of the only game in this part of town.
I want to buy something to take over to the theatre for the cast, so I go to the nearby supermarket and grab a few nice bunches of strawberries and some chocolate. (The fact that these are sexy foods usually reserved for lovers and those staying in a luxury suite at the Hilton doesn’t cross my mind.) I learn my first thing about food shopping here in Canada: they don’t take American Express! So, I pull out the MasterCard I haven’t used in years and hope that it is still active. If it is not active, I am probably going to be in trouble for eating one of the strawberries on my way to the cashier. No problem, though, the card works.
I bring the fruit and a nice card over to the theatre, leaving them in the green room with a note that says I am looking forward to coming back and getting to know everyone better. It feels weird to have met my cast, but not be learning the show with them. If a new quarterback has been signed by the New York Giants, he doesn’t go learn the playbook with a bunch of guys in Florida who happen to be running the same forward passes. (Afterthought: That is probably be the only sports metaphor I will ever use in my life. I am amazed I could even remember the name of New York’s team. I don’t know if the Giants are any good or if they have ever won a World Series...)
I watch the matinee, then jump in a cab that is waiting (yes, waiting) to take me to the airport.
“Are you one of the Jersey Boys?’ the driver asks.
“Yup.”
“Did you just get off the stage?!”
“Yup.” I am such a liar. But it feels so good to say.
After a brief layover, my plane arrives in Orlando after midnight. The producers arranged a rental car for me, but sadly it is at a place that closed at midnight. Only one place, Budget Rental, is still open, but since it is just about the end of their day too, they only have one car available. No problem. I am sure I will be reimbursed by Jersey Boys for their mistake. While they finish filling out the paperwork, their computer system shuts down automatically because it is past closing time. The employee actually has to call a manager at home to figure out how to get the system back online; needless to say I am very late getting out of there with a car. I have directions, so I begin driving towards Walt Disney World Resort. What I do not have, however, is cash, and the first thing I notice about the highway I get on is that it’s a toll road. When I arrive at the tollbooth, I explain that I have just come from Canada, am here on business, and am so sorry but I don’t have any money.
Do they have an ATM I can use?
“No,” I am told. “You just need to take this paper with you and promise not to make this mistake again.”
A promise? That’s it? I’m definitely not in New York anymore. The paper, incidentally, is very funny and talks about how understanding the highway commission wants to be to tourists and other visitors. They praise themselves in this paper for allowing the occasional freebie, and I praise them, too.
I praise them even more when I encounter a second tollbooth fifteen miles down the road. Once again, I explain my situation and am given a second, very nice note from the highway commission.
When I finally arrive at the hotel, I actually feel like I am on vacation. There are palm trees galore, signs telling me about breakfast with Mickey, and a gigantic gift shop. I am starving, so I go to the hotel store and buy a sandwich and a beer and bring them both to my room so I can unpack and settle in. I will be here for two weeks, I think (I’m losing track of the days), and I want to feel comfortable.
While eating, I rearrange the furniture to give myself the rehearsal space that I know I will need. Half of the hotel room becomes my stage, clean and empty with plenty of room for Mashed Potatoes. When I finish the new design, I step outside my room onto the shared balcony, just to breathe for a bit. My short meditation is interrupted when the room next to mine opens up and a German man in his underwear asks me, very sternly, if I have been banging on his door.
“Of course I have not been banging on your door,” I tell him. But then, five minutes later, a security guard walks up to me and asks the same question. Welcome to Disney World! I assure the security guard that German men in their underwear are not usually my type, and that he probably just heard me rearranging furniture through the very thin walls of this populist resort.
It’s 3:30 a.m. and not even an irate German man can keep me from drifting in and out of sleep as I write. I check my email for the rehearsal schedule and discover that I will have only a few hours of rehearsal each day because the people who will be teaching me the show are actually in the National Tour and they open here in two days. Ugh. I need more than a few hours a day of rehearsal to get this stuff right. How am I going to immerse myself in the show if I am only rehearsing a few hours a day? On the other hand, this will give me plenty of time to run things over and over by myself, so at least I will know well the things I learned. I will have no excuse not to know things well. Maybe it’s good to have lots of time by myself. I still have more harmonies to learn, after all.
May 11th, 2009
Today is, officially, my only day off for the week. My brain can’t afford to actually take the day off, but I at least give my exhausted body what it needs and sleep until 11:30 a.m., and then begin working. I sit with my coffee and work on harmonies. I use the stage I created and the small mirror hanging on the wall to go over the choreography I have learned so far, then decide to go down to the pool to review my lines (I lead a tough life).
When I go outside in the light of day, I realize this resort looks nothing like the pictures I saw online. Though it’s nice enough, it is not a fancy resort, and actually seems more like a glorified motel. It does have a hot tub, though, and I sit near it while running my lines. Would you believe it? I know them all. Every one, no mistakes. Ok! I’m getting there.
I find myself needing changes of scenery to keep my brain attentive, so I spend the rest of the day, and long into the night, fluctuating between my in-room rehearsal studio and various locations outside. Inside my room, I review choreography while listening to harmony parts on my digital recorder, putting the two elements together for the first time. (I don’t get through any songs without messing up. Yet.) Outside, I wander the paths of the neighborhood listening to harmonies and trying to get through at least a few songs without a vocal mistake. I work from 11:30 a.m. until 2:00 a.m. with only a quick break for a shower and a muffin, and another for a sandwich from the lobby. Some day off!
I shouldn’t be sarcastic about that, though. In reality, I spend my day across from Walt Disney World in perfect weather working on the kind of show I have dreamed about being in since I was a little boy. It is amazing when I really stop and think about what I am doing, but it is hard to stop and think about what I am doing when there is just so much of it to do.
Tomorrow, my rehearsal will begin with a choreography session led by the National Tour’s dance captain. Now that I have a relationship with Caitlin and know how she likes to work in rehearsal, I am nervous to have to start a relationship with a new dance instructor. Everything makes me nervous these days, doesn’t it?
Even my marriage.
“I have been crying for half an hour,” Cara says in a late-night call, “How are we going to do this for a year? I have no one to talk to.”
“I’m right here, hon. My phone is always on.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t feel like you are right here when you are down there because down there is very far from right here.”
“You sound like Dr. Seuss.” (Afterthought: Not a smart thing to say.)
“Huh? Daniel, I don’t even understand you.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I was making a dumb joke. I’m sorry. You are feeling alone,” I say.
“I’m not feeling alone. I am alone.”
I’ve been away from home exactly sixty-seven hours, which is exactly sixty-six hours too long.
May 12th, 2009
Today is a major workday, but also ends up being a day of major excitement and inspiration. I begin by driving ten miles (still in a funk from last night) to a rehearsal studio the producers rented. There are no studios at the theatre Jersey Boys is playing in downtown, so they found one a little off the beaten path. I arrive early and observe a stilt-walking team rehearsing jumps and flips. Ok, so they have a cool job, too.
When they finish, I enter the room and begin running through the Big Three while waiting for the dance captain, Kara Tremel, to arrive. In New York, I rehearsed with just Caitlin or Shelley in the room, sometimes with an accompanist on the piano. But here in Florida, the dance captain arrives with the production stage manager, associate musical director, and props master. This is the real deal now, my friends. A lot of money is being spent on me today.
After brief introductions, they want to see what I know. So, the associate musical director plays straight through “I Go Ape,” “Sherry,” “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” “Walk Like a Man,” and “Dawn” without a break. I sing something close to my vocal parts and dance something close to my choreography. I do not totally rock it, but (all things considered) I do not embarrass myself.
We work for four hours cleaning choreography for the portions I was already taught and learning just two new parts: Dawn Three and “Beggin.” Dawn Three is the culminating theatrical moment of Act One, when the performance is turned around backwards so that the audience sees the Four Seasons performing in concert from a reverse perspective. For most of the audience, this is the first time experiencing what it feels like to be on a huge stage and lit by so many bright lights. “Beggin” is a fun number to do, and has a lot of fancy footwork. I am told that the hardest thing in this song will be matching guitar angles with the actor dancing next to me, but for now the hardest thing is just getting my feet to move in the right direction. I write down every little move (Kara lets me have short breaks to do this) so that I can remember it all in my hotel room later.
After rehearsal, I drive over to the nearest gas station for a perfect dinner of coffee and hot dogs. I eat in the car on my way to downtown Orlando, listening to my harmonies the entire way. After taking far too long to find parking, I go into the Bob Carr Performing Arts Centre. This theatre has the biggest auditorium of any legit theatre I’ve seen. It holds twenty-five hundred people, and feels like it stretches out forever. I am introduced all around.
The Jersey Boys performing company is comprised of:
I think I just met all of them tonight. I am given an ID badge that identifies me as a cast member(!), and move out into the house to find an empty seat. There are very few. I meet up with some of the swings out in the house. They are watching the show tonight because this is a very exciting performance for the company. Remember Buck, who I auditioned with so many times back in New York? Well, after a year of being an understudy for Bob and never having the chance to go on, he performs the role for the first time tonight. His wife is watching as well, and can barely control her enthusiasm. I am asked to sit with this contagiously enthusiastic group, and instantly feel like part of the family.
So, what are my first impressions of this cast? Buck is terrific and innocent and sounds strong. He is a much better Bob than I could have been. The show as a whole seems broader, probably because they are playing in a much bigger space than any other company. The jokes all land. The choreography is clean and fierce. And best of all, the Tommy DeVito is different than Jeremy. The actor, Matt Bailey, is terrific and clearly has his own spin on the part. He sings with a fuller voice. He is much more aggressive. And, therefore, he gives me visible permission to find my own take on the character. I know this should be obvious and may seem kind of silly to put into words, but this show is directed with such detail that I was starting to feel like there was only one way to do it, and that I had to find that way. But there’s not only one way. This Tommy is entertaining hundreds of thousands of people with a different spin, and I can too. I’m invigorated. I’m ready for more rehearsal where I can play and experiment. I’m also very tired and am going to bed now.
May 13th, 2009
I have four hours of blocking rehearsal onstage today with the production stage manager, Eric Insko. This man knows the show backwards and forwards, and can tell you within inches where anyone should be standing at any given moment. His knowledge of Jersey Boys is epic.
This rehearsal is the first time they allow me to actually stand on a Jersey Boys set, and it feels wild. Like every set of all the shows I’ve ever been a part of, it seems a lot smaller when you are on it.
There is a bridge section raised high in the air, and every time I walk across it, I feel like I am going to fall off. There is also a small perch section that I will have to stand on many times. This section rises ten feet above the stage, twenty feet above the front row, and has only a short railing to hold on to. And my big discovery of the day? The floor of that perch is made of Plexiglas, so you see right through it when you stand up there. I go up five times today and still can’t get rid of the dizzying feeling.
While working on blocking with Eric, I don’t really say my lines full-out. In fact, I realize that I haven’t ever said my lines full-out to anyone. I am forever marking my performance because I am forever working on some element that is not character, voice, or intention. In order to really learn about this character, I need to speak and interact. It is hard to get in the head of Tommy and track his thoughts while being taught where to stand and how to dance; and not saying the lines full out doesn’t help either. I have always worked best, and learned most, with full run-throughs of scenes.
On the other hand, if I want to say my lines full out then I should say them full out. Maybe the truth is that I am nervous about being judged. I’m embarrassed. A ridiculous reason, but I think it might be true. I have worked for two years for this coveted role, and I am embarrassed to speak the lines aloud because I’m not good enough yet.
I have an hour of rehearsal with the National Tour’s musical director. There are a lot of people helping me learn this show, but I am still not sure why I am learning it here in Orlando instead of in Toronto with my actual company. (And I will come to see that I never learn why I rehearsed in Orlando instead of Toronto.)
The musical director and I go through all of my harmonies just to make sure I am singing the correct lines. And I know them all! I am relieved at that. Now, I have to repeat a few of them once or twice to correct myself, but in general the hours I have spent listening to and singing the harmonies have paid off.
When we are finished, he closes his book and says, “Well, you know all your parts.” Note that he does not say, “Well, you sound great.”
“Yeah, I guess I pretty much know them all,” I reply.
“Yes, you do.”
The subtext here is that Jersey Boys cast members have been fired outright for not singing up to the company’s standards. This is a fact. I may know all my parts, but if I don’t do them well then I will be fired. That is how this world works. I wanted the musical director to say I sounded great. But he did not.
May 14th, 2009
Rehearsal is scheduled back in the stilt-walker’s studio from 2:00-5:00 p.m. today, but at 1:08 I get a call from Kara, the dance captain. “Where are you? Rehearsal was supposed to start at 1:00.” Great. Luckily, I am already on my way to the studio, having thought I would arrive a half-hour early. It seems that the rehearsal time changed, and that the change was posted on the callboard at the theatre. But I didn’t think to check the callboard at the theatre because I am not in that show! Eric insists he told me about the change, and that may be so. But Eric, I don’t deal well with change…
So, my day begins with a negative impression cast upon me, and unfortunately it continues throughout the day. I ask Kara to clarify some of the moves in “Beggin,” because I noticed last night at the show that the guys did it slightly different than I do in my room. We check my notes and it turns out that I wrote down the choreography incorrectly. And I practiced a lot. So now I am an expert at the wrong choreography.
We work on “Who Loves You” next. This is a very fun song to do. The number begins with the four guys walking onstage one at a time, building the song verse by verse. As they enter, they look to each other as a way to check in and re-connect. I discover today that every one of these looks is choreographed. Every single one. Walk, walk, snap, snap, look left, step-touch, look right, pivot, snap, snap, look further left. Why do choreographers stage things like walking and looking? Leave that to the individual actor, I say. Of course I haven’t staged multiple productions of a Tony Award-winning musical, so I should probably keep my opinions to myself. (Or publish them in a book.) (Hee-hee.)
May 15th, 2009
I have choreography rehearsal onstage for the first time today. This is another expensive rehearsal for the producers, for not only do I have my usual cadre of multiple stage managers, the props master, the dance captain, and the associate musical director, but they need to hire in two local stagehands to move the scenery. Very intimidating.
“You the new guy?” one of the stagehands asks.
“Yeah, I am. I’m Dan; nice to meet you.”
“Well thanks, Dan.”
“Thanks for what?” I ask.
“The overtime.” Then he chuckles.
The work goes well, but I am hesitant to perform full-out in this big, empty space. As these days go by, I am less embarrassed to do a performance full-out and more nervous of getting into habits and choices that don’t work. There is still a lot of character-forming to do, and I don’t want to get used to doing something any one particular way. Some guys can jump right into a full performance, but I have to step into it gradually. I am forever marking things.
Next, I have a one-hour rehearsal with Ron Melrose, the music supervisor of the show. This is the only hour I will have with him, as he is just in town for a couple days to check in on the tour. This is also the first day I am in front of someone with the power to fire me.
Ron asks whether I have any questions and I say no, why don’t we just do it. We sing through the first three songs without stopping, after which he gives me some great notes:
Ron does not fire me. I love him for that. But he does tell me a great story of an actor who never made it past his callback. In one of the early scenes, the character Hank Majewski gets angry with Tommy, telling him, “Stick to what you know. Rob a bank.” This is always a big laugh line. Apparently, an actor auditioning for the role was given this scene to read and thought it was a pretty easy little bit. With frustration, and at the top of his voice, the actor exclaimed, “Stick to what you know, Rob! A bank!” It is amazing what an incorrect pause can do.
May 16th, 2009
Today the cast performs two shows, so my official rehearsal call is only two hours and takes place while the matinee is being performed. Kara and I take over a small portion of the wardrobe room at the theatre. She has me run the numbers in real time just as they are being performed mere yards away, but teaches me the choreography for “Ragdoll” during the few moments between songs. So, my rehearsal is sporadic and disjointed and provides great exercise for my brain.
Kara says I am doing the steps much better now, but that we need to work on my style. Sergio, the choreographer, places big emphasis on the way each character moves, not just what moves he executes. I wonder if this is good? Shouldn’t my style just be, well, mine? I guess he is trying to make the movements of each character represent who they are on the inside. I’m sure I will grow to appreciate this, but for now it is just more specifics to work on.
I spend the rest of the day listening to my harmonies while having an Italian dinner, watching the second show from the audience, and rehearsing alone back in my hotel room. Now, in bed, I miss home a lot more than usual. The last show of the season for Saturday Night Live is on television right now, and Cara will be attending the wrap party after it is over. I wanted to go to that party with her. Oh, well. Maybe next year.
May 17th, 2009
Another two-show day for the cast means another short rehearsal for me. If I rehearsed only as much as they slot for me to, I would never learn it all!
I am set up in the wardrobe room again. It’s funny in there—I have a stage that is marked out by costume racks and three dressing mirrors set up to watch myself. But the costume racks sometimes need to be accessed by the dressers (who chuckle at me), and the mirrors are warped, reflecting only a funhouse version of my sweet, sweet moves.
During my official two-hour call, Kara teaches me the curtain call choreography and helps put some finishing touches on the few gestures I do in my first song, “Silhouettes.”
“Dan, I want to tweak your opening number.”
“Ok. Cool. What should I do?”
“It is more like what you should not do. I want you to move less. You look cooler if you move less.” This cannot possibly be a good thing.
I have now been taught everything in the show, except for three quick bits I have to do with the fight captain. I know my track in Jersey Boys. I don’t do it well yet, but I officially know everything and that feels pretty good.
Before I go to clean my sweat off and watch the company’s two shows, I visit Joseph Siravo in his dressing room. Joseph plays Gyp DeCarlo in the show, and has since the tour was first launched a couple years ago. Joseph is the resident Italian expert (he used to be on The Sopranos—what other credentials does he need?) and has offered to go over some pronunciations with me. He is a very nice, very giving man, and boy can he talk! He not only teaches me how to pronounce the Italian words I say in the show, but also about the dialect Tommy’s family would have used when speaking Italian, the history of some of the slurred consonant sounds, and the “proper” vowel sounds to watch out for and keep from creeping in. He then promises to email me a five-page document he prepared on the three lines of Italian dialogue in the show. Five pages. For three lines. This guy is very complete.
I watch the first performance of the day standing at the back of the auditorium because every one of those twenty-five hundred seats was sold. For the second show of the day I take control of the wardrobe room, setting up simulations of every prop, guitar, and suit jacket that I will need to run my track in its entirety.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your half-hour call. Half-hour until places.”
I put on fresh rehearsal clothes and drink some water. I act as if I am going to perform tonight. I want to test myself.
“Ladies and gentlemen, places please. This is your places call.”
When the real show begins, I begin too. There is a monitor in the wardrobe room so I can hear every word spoken onstage, but I try to get to the lines a few seconds before Matt Bailey does so I am not relying on him to help me remember. I dance the numbers in real time, speak the words as a few-second preview, and make it through the whole show without a major mistake.
You know what is the greatest thing about this real-time rehearsal? Even though I know the show is fast and furious and I have been sweating through it every day, I realize today that there is some breathing room. I will have moments (if only brief) backstage to grab a drink of water and cool off before launching into the next number. I can do this without passing out. I think.
I decide to go to a party the cast is having tonight. It’s a fiesta party, celebrating Cinco de Mayo a couple weeks late. A few of the guys are living in a rented house down the street from the theatre and have decorated it with all kinds of hysterical, Mexican-themed items. Piñatas, giant bowls of nachos, tons of Coronas, and a bathtub made to look like the border between Mexico and the United States (complete with green army men on the US side, and a Barbie doll trying to swim across from the Mexican side). I have a great time, and feel pulled in as a family member once again.
I leave the party pretty early to go back to the hotel and begin my usual routine of working on the show and catching my wife up on the events of the day. When I walk out to the street though, there is a police officer getting ready to ticket every car on the block. The parking regulations on this street are confusing enough that everyone made the same mistake, prompting a neighbor to complain.
“Officer, the owners of these cars are all inside. We’re from out of town. We’re with Jersey Boys down the street.” I think this might impress him.
“You’re from New Jersey?”
“No. We’re with Jersey Boys.”
“Well wherever you’re from, I’m going to ticket these cars if they are not gone in five minutes.”
I guess I have encountered the only person in America who has not heard of Jersey Boys. But I become a little bit of a party hero when I run back inside and get everybody to move their cars. A cop ruining a great party, it’s like college all over again. (Ok, I didn’t really go to the type of parties that cops broke up when I was in college, but you get the idea.)
May 18th, 2009
Today is my first wedding anniversary. I celebrate this morning by sleeping in and doing nothing but watching CNN until 2:00 p.m. As much as I love Anderson Cooper, he is not who I would choose to spend my first anniversary with. My first choice is beside me, sort of. You see, last night I had the brilliantly modern idea of leaving the webcam active while Cara and I fell asleep. This meant that, even at 4:00 a.m., I could roll over and see her asleep next to me. Perfect. (Ok, it’s also a little freaky. And I snore sometimes, so she probably turned her sound off.)
After much CNN, I rehearse in my room, and all the shuffling back and forth starts wreaking havoc on my left knee (a recurring problem I’ve had since injuring it in The Music Man in college). To help that knee, I decide it is best for the show if I spend an hour soaking in the hotel’s hot tub. Yes. I sacrifice my precious time to soak in a hot tub for the sake of the show.
I grab dinner alone at a pub over in Downtown Disney, the families there reminding me a bit too much of the one I have hanging out back in New York. I’m lucky, but lonely. Happy anniversary, honey.
May 19th, 2009
Eric calls a full understudy rehearsal today, so I am able to interact with other actors for the first time. I have worked on this show for two weeks, and never have I spoken the words directly to another human being. Until today.
We begin steadily. Opening speeches. First few songs. Because much of the first section is a direct address to the audience, there is not much difference yet in having the other actors around me. The show moves briskly, the other guys hand my guitars to me at the appropriate times, and the short sections of choreography look pretty cool with all of us doing it together. Then, when we reach the section of “Cry For Me” where The Four Seasons start singing together for the first time, my heart stops. Four guys and four distinct voices. Close harmony. This is the sound of Jersey Boys, and there is nothing like this sound.
I am blown away and feel ready to burst from pure excitement. With the mood this song puts me in, the rest of the first act is a blast. “Sherry” has a great harmony that explodes from the first word of the song. “Big Girls Don’t Cry” looks great because my movements match up with many of Nick’s. “Walk Like A Man” is overpowering as it ends with strong gestures and all of us singing at the top of our lungs.
The Sit-Down scene in Act Two shows Tommy getting kicked out of the group. All the emotions and personalities of the four guys come crashing together. The scene is all about being in the moment and, for my character, really feeling like there is little left to do but kick and scream. It’s an intense scene, and it feels absolutely brilliant being able to do it with guys who are equally committed to playing it with full emotion.
During the evening’s performance, I run through the show on my own in my cubbyhole in the wardrobe room. It seems to be the standard that a replacement actor spends most of his time rehearsing alone. While a newly mounted show has the luxury of full-length rehearsal days, a show that is already running can only afford to give up its actors a handful of hours each week to rehearse with somebody new. Why? First, performing is exhausting and obviously takes priority. Second, overtime charges kick in pretty early and can run up a large bill for the producer. Thus, I am left to fend for myself.
I poke my head into the hair room on my way out tonight. Because of Cara’s work, I have always felt comfortable in hair rooms. It is nice to talk to the three women in there because it makes me feel just a little closer to home.
May 20th, 2009
The understudies join me in the stilt-walker’s rehearsal studio again. I feel like I am getting to know these guys, both on and off stage, and we’ve actually started to build character relationships. Nobody, including myself, is doing anything halfheartedly. But every time I think of how well the interactions are going, I have to remind myself that these are not the actors I will be doing the show with, and that things will be different in just a couple of weeks. Even though Jersey Boys is directed within an inch of its life, there are general character relationships that are figured out based on the people actually doing the roles. I have to bully Frankie, for example, but I’m going to bully a small, young Frankie in a very different way than I’m going to bully a slightly taller, solid Frankie. Same thing with Nick. The Tommy-Nick relationship in the show can be more subtle or more combative, depending on who plays each part. Some figuring out needs to be done when I get to Toronto.
I also have a phone meeting with the Jersey Boys marketing department today. They want me to approve my press release. Oh, man. I’m going to have a press release.
May 21st, 2009
Another two-show day for the cast and no rehearsal for me. I’m on my own again. Usually their two-show days mean two hours of rehearsal for me, but maybe Eric doesn’t want to overwork Kara today. I seem to be a second full-time job for her lately.
Kara’s regular dance captain duties include: learning all the choreography and musical staging for every part of the show, watching the show a few times each week to give actors notes on adjustments that need to be made to keep up the choreographer’s original intent, leading brush-up rehearsals when necessary, and teaching (sometimes even auditioning) new performers. And on top of this, she is a swing and must be ready to perform any of the three female roles at a moment’s notice. So having a day off from me gives her time to check up on everyone else.
My wife finally figures out travel plans for her and the kids today. All in all, the plans make me happy as she and Rachel will be in Toronto with me for much of the summer. Mark will be working at a summer camp this year, so he will only be in Toronto for a little bit, but at least he’ll be able to see the show.
Here’s how it is shaking down: Cara and Rachel will come up for my opening night, stay a few days, and return to New York. A few days later, when school is over, they will return to Toronto with Mark, who will stay for four days. Then Mark will go to work at the camp, and Cara and Rachel will stay for another two weeks. Cara and Rachel will return to New York for a few days for a previously-planned visit from Rachel’s Dad, and then come back to Toronto for the rest of the summer. Such is our hectic life.
May 22nd, 2009
Eric calls my biggest rehearsal yet—seven actors and a full backstage team to give me an onstage run-through of the entire show with all the props and set pieces. I manage to get through the choreography with some sense of style and my lines came to me without -um-er-um-stumbling. I hit all my marks, even though the stage is absolutely littered with colored spike-tape and I have often had a hard time figuring out which marks are the ones I am supposed to be hitting. Pushing the Penthouse Scene bench (we call it the “whore bench” because of the characters that sit on it, not because the bench itself is frisky) and moving the Car Scene seat onto their correct marks will take more practice.
I go to dinner with some of the guys afterwards as a kind of personal celebration. The theatre business, while global and full of newly-graduated faces every year, often feels like a small world. I get to know John Gardiner, the actor who plays Knuckles (and is in the midst of learning to understudy Tommy), and discover a few amazing coincidences that prove to me that we should be friends:
This kind of thing always happens. It is impossible to do a show where you have no connection to at least a few of the people in it. The theatre world may be large, but the pool of people actually working in it is quite small. How small? According to the latest analysis by Actors’ Equity Association, only 41.4% of its members worked in the theatre business last year. (That’s about 17,000 actors and stage managers out of a membership of about 42,000.) But here’s the kicker: those working professionals only found an average of 17 weeks of employment for the whole year. And the median yearly income earned by these workers from theatre jobs was $7,475. The Jersey Boys family is not only lucky to be in a great show, but lucky just to have a job.
For the cast’s performance this evening, I opt to trail Matt Bailey backstage as he performs his Tommy. I know there is a lot of backstage traffic, and I finally feel ready to learn it. I learn that there are a couple quick-changes. The first quick-change is going into “I’m In The Mood For Love” and has two dressers going to town on Tommy, literally ripping his clothes off down to his underwear and holding up new clothes to dive into. There is no modesty here. The second quick-change is going into “Sherry,” and it is then that Velcro shirts come in handy. Tommy has to rip off his first shirt so a dresser can help him into his new one (with a tie). But the new shirt and tie are set up with Velcro, so the dresser just closes it all up, holds out the snazzy red suit jacket, and pushes Tommy towards his waiting guitar. Slick.
I also learn how busy the ensemble is backstage during the show. I’ve already written about how most of the vocal lines are doubled to create the signature Four Seasons sound, but what I didn’t know until tonight is that the cast members doing the doubling are often in the middle of their own quick-changes while singing. (And that much of the Frankie Valli doubling is done by women. What does that say about the range of his voice?!) There is never a break for this ensemble, and no one has time to go back to their dressing rooms to change clothes; all of the costume changes are done in the wings.
Intermission is a different story. During intermission, the actors have about fifteen minutes of free time, and it is spent in a few interesting ways. There are a couple guys who go right for the stereotype and are making their way through The Sopranos on DVD. There are a couple who disappear into an upstairs room to work on tap routines (wisely, they rehearse), there are a couple who always seem to have a newly-purchased guitar to play with (wisely, they fine-tune their skills), and there are a few who sit alone in their dressing rooms with music playing (wisely, they steer clear of human contact in an attempt to avoid getting sick of seeing the same people every day).
May 23rd, 2009
I was too tired and talked to Cara for too long to run the show last night, so my morning here in Orlando begins with a full run-through in my room; taking breaks only to sip on coffee.
I drive downtown for the last time to join the company for their final two shows of the week. During the first show, Kara watches me do a wardrobe room run in real time. She has a page or so of notes, but they are all very specific things; there is nothing like, “Hey, you just suck at this number and we need to change everything for you.” Actually, she says she can’t believe how much better I am doing, but this just makes me wonder how low I set the bar on my first day.
During dinner break, I compose a nice note for the cast thanking them for their help. If it weren’t for me being here, many of these folks would have had a lot more free time to explore Orlando. (They could have gone to the Holy Land Experience right down the road and had their picture taken with Jesus.) They worked overtime hours for two weeks just because some guy is joining the Toronto cast, and none of them ever complained. There is a supportive atmosphere here and I love being a part of it. I am very grateful for these people. However, this was a lonely time, and I am very happy to be leaving for New York tomorrow.
Before the next show begins, I join some of the boys in the parking lot behind the theatre to toss a football around. I am not good at tossing a football, but I really want to feel like a part of the group, so I jump in…and promptly throw the ball high into a tree. I leave the game (shamefacedly) to say goodbye to everyone individually before the show begins.
“Dan, I really wish you were staying.”
“Dan, I can’t wait to see you in the role and it would be cool to have you stick around here longer.”
“Dan, stop taking jobs from the Canadians.”
The comments are nice to hear, and I hope to have made as positive an impression on them as they have made on me. I really like being a part of this global family.
I decide to do something very different and watch this last show from the front row. The volume and intensity of being that close makes me feel giddy all over again. The excitement I feel rehearsing for the show comes and goes in waves, for sometimes it just feels like a whole lot of work. But when some of the work is behind me, like tonight, then the thrill kicks in and I can’t wait to perform this thing myself.
After returning to the hotel, packing my things up, and rearranging the room back to its original state, I am ready for dinner. It is 1:30 a.m. I walk a few blocks to Downtown Disney looking for a place to eat, but nothing appears to be open at this hour. I am getting hungrier and hungrier and would be happy eating just chips from a gas station if I could find one. But I can’t find one! So after an hour of wandering I come back to the hotel…and discover fresh, hot pizza being served in the lobby.