End Of Week One

As the title suggests, we are at the end of the first week. Lots has happened, with lots to come. The exciting thing so far is this incredible energy put forth by everybody in the room. Today was spent almost entirely on review of what we'd done so far this week, much of it dancing and singing the finale or what leads up to it. There's something magical and more than a bit contagious in the music that gives me the energy to keep going. I know I've touched on this already, but it bears repeating again and again. Or at least it bears the discussion again and again, because I often feel that I'm just repeating the same thought, or re-circulating around the same idea.

The finale consists of the reprised version of two songs and the introduction of a third song, all of which are familiar to the audience, whether you've seen the show or not. The first song is the title song, MAMMA MIA. Sung with such energy and verve by these young, nubile men and women it's impossible not to be filled with a certain joy just watching them. Then they move into a reprise of DANCING QUEEN, and let's be honest (without trying to sound ironic here), who wouldn't be filled with joy watching this song? And finally, the secret weapon - the final song. I'm not gonna say what it is, cause I don't want to spoil the fun for those who haven't seen it yet. And if you've seen the movie, forget it, you still know nothing. But the end of the show is fantastic! Not only an homage to ABBA (of course) but one of the funniest reveals you might ever see on a Broadway stage. And as I was about to enter the scene in our final moments of rehearsal for the finale today, I thought to myself - "And I get paid to do this?" I mean honestly, to quote the late, great Jerry Orbach, "We must get paid for the waiting around (or in our case, the auditioning and waiting to get the next job), for surely we would do the acting for free!" Oh My God, how true that is. It was simply a blast. It's why we do what we do, I know, but it's so much more than that. It's also, and I suppose some of this comes with an awareness of age in the business, the joy that you know it gives an audience.

The discussion came up more than a few times this first week about the fact that when MM! opened in New York it was October 2001, only a month after 9-11. People were still reeling from the events of that day. I was in the second day of rehearsal for the Broadway production of HEDDA GABLER starring Kate Burton when the planes struck, and when we opened only a few weeks later, I thought (as dark as the play was) "Who's gonna want to see a show about a woman who shoots herself in the head? There's a real upper!" But then I thought, "Well if I thought that was bad, who in their right mind would want to go see a light and frothy "...giant singing Hostess cupcake..." of a musical?", as Ben Brantley of the New York Times called it. (It's true, I remember that review!) Apparently a LOT of people did. It was the salve for people's wounds. It was the calm for peoples storms. It was a wave of release and a chance, if only for a few hours, to forget the outside world and get lost in remembering a past that might actually have never existed. (Okay, that last bit? I'm sort of paraphrasing the Times there, but it's a great image and appropriate to the story.)

So of course over the years, and through the many friends I've had who've been in the show, I had heard about how much fun it was, and indeed I experienced it first hand on the night that I saw the show. But I can only imagine what joy that kind of a connection is with an audience 8 times a week. Even today, with the memory of 911 growing more and more distant, I none-the-less look forward to that experience and that connection more than I can say.

Our final 2 hours of rehearsal were spent on the intricate and lengthy scene between Bill and Rosie in the second act, when they finally come to a "meeting of the minds". Again, to avoid any spoilers for those who haven't seen it, I won't give away too much. But for those who have, we'll call it "the chase in the church". You know what I mean. The best part about this rehearsal was, again, this feeling of excitement and acceptance in the room and the idea that anything is game, anything is new and refreshing, nothing we try is "wrong" or "inappropriate." It's not just this scene but the whole show that is being re-done and the constant reminder of that goal makes this gig so cool and exciting! Anything goes and so we, my Rosie and I, tried it all. We were falling all over each other and the floor, literally, trying to find (always) the truth in this situation, in this scene between these two very real people who discover, through the course of the scene and the song, how desperate they are for each other - sexually, emotionally, spiritually. It's an amazing joy to work with Allison, my "Rosie" who's willing to try just about anything, and Martha and Janet, our director and dance captain, who are there to support it. We're still not all the way through the scene, but we found a great path to follow, so the rest should fall into place easily. And for the sake of my son and daughter, just so no one's shocked when they see it, "Yes, Daddy does kiss another woman." But it's okay, it's just work. ;)

The coming day off is much welcome, but I have to admit I'm a bit timid and nervous about the following days rehearsal. Tuesday I start the scene between Bill and Sophie where he first discovers that he's her father, or so he thinks. They sing the duet "Name Of The Game", and Alyse, our new Sophie, has such a haunting and yearn in her voice, I fear (in a good way) what that might do to me or bring out in me. Part of the job description, I know, but that doesn't mean I'm not aware of it or fearful/excited to see what comes up.

Yet another example of why I do what I do, I guess...

Sad Heart

I have a sad heart today as my dear, sweet brother in law Brad passed away after a short but valiant fight with pancreatic and liver cancer. He was diagnosed only a month ago and it was so late in the game that he barely had a fighting chance. He was a very young 59 years old and will be remembered as such a "nice guy" and a gentle soul. The world is diminished today without his good natured spirit to inspire us. May God bless him and may his loving and gentle soul finally rest in peace.

It's hard to really talk much about the days events. We spent a good part of rehearsal discussing the change in the character of Bill from an Australian, which is the way he's always been played, to an American of unknown origin. The idea of a renegade, boisterous, somewhat cocky, certainly self-assured character keeps popping up. We keep coming back to the idea that he's the American version of Crocodile Dundee, a cross between Indiana Jones and maybe Jack Colton (Michael Douglas' character from "Romancing the Stone".) Cowboy boots came into the discussion as a way of possibly grounding him, giving him an immediate "gravitas", as cowboy boots can do. But nothing is definite. And like all works of art and collaboration, it's a work in progress.

The second part of the day was spent with Janet and Andy, our dance supervisor and her assistant. We learned the movement, for it's really not "choreography", for two new numbers. "Under Attack" opens the second act and presents as a nightmare that Sophie lives through regarding her upcoming marriage. It's a very sultry and sexual number, at least for the Dad's. "I Do" is the joyous celebration at the end of the show and the only real choreography for me, so far. It's straightforward and quite easy, which is good, since I gave up my "Dancers Union of America" card years ago.

I will say there's something strange and a bit intangible about the experience to this point. I know that we're creating a "new version" of MM!, but I still (and this is my insecurity creeping in) feel like I'm trying to fit into a show that exists. Like I'm still "auditioning for the job" and somewhere in the back of my head trying to compare myself to others who have played the role before me. Am I like them, I wonder? Am I different? And the killer of all - am I better? That's a question that has to be left alone or it can fester away, destroying the very fabric of creativity. But I'd be lying to you and myself if I didn't acknowledge it's existence in the back of my mind. It's there.

Tomorrow will be the end of our first week. We're already at that point where I'm panicking, knowing we have plenty of time still to rehearse and yet wondering "How are we gonna get it all in?" and "God I hope I don't look like an idiot out there!"

Such is showbiz.

Surviving Spandex

Today's rehearsal was a bit longer than yesterday, mostly music. Our fabulously talented music director Wendy and I did a short review session, then I started singing with some of the other people in the show. It started with our new "Rosie" (Allison). She walked in the door, we greeted each other with a little small talk ("How are you?...it was great to meet your kids yesterday...they're so adorable..."), then we got down to work. The song we sing together, "Take A Chance On Me", is a duet, but she has the lions share of the material, so we reviewed my small parts first (which come late in the song), then we started at the top. Suddenly she opened her mouth to sing and I knew I was gonna have to raise the bar on my game - a lot. When I say this woman has pipes, I mean PIPES. She sounded terrific and she blew the roof off the place. She belted out the song with such confidence and power, I was amazed - and thrilled. I really felt like "Wow, I'm in good hands with this actress. She knows what she's doing and how to do it." We had a great session and a great connection and we sounded very good together, our voices blending well.

Next was my "daughter Sophie", played by Alyse. Again, she has the lions share of the duet we sing together, "The Name Of The Game", but I was a willing and involved participant. And again when this young girl (I call her a girl but she's really a young woman in her 20's) opened her mouth I was stunned. Maybe I'm just easily stunned, but she was terrific. So much so that she started the song, singing directly to me, using lyrics like "...tell me please, cause I have to know, I'm a curious child, beginning to grow..." with a desperation and a longing in her eyes, and a voice that had such control and yearning that my own eyes began to well up. There's something about the clarity of the voice and connection between two people - as Rilke says in his LETTERS TO A YOUNG POET, "...things aren't all so tangible and sayable as people usually have us believe; most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered... those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life." In that moment, in that rehearsal, I wanted to help my "daughter" figure out who her father was. And if I'm it. And that, my friends, is how the seed is sown. The first connection of how a relationship onstage begins, in a rehearsal room, singing a song directly to each other, just saying the words on pitch. Simple, clean - amazing.

The final rehearsal was a trio - it should be a quad but we're still missing our "Sam" (my friend John Dosset) who's out in San Diego - so it was just Alyse ("Sophie"), David ("Harry") and me singing "Thank You For The Music". This is a great song which comes early in the show about connecting to each other and old times. It's sung with ease and we had a great time with it. Again, our voices blend well together and it's easy to see that the ride is going to be a pleasant one.

And now what you've all been waiting for...

The final part of the day, which was not a rehearsal at all, but another costume fitting. Again, a subway ride down to Barbara Matera's. Again the wrought iron elevator ride to the 5Th floor. Again, Angie greeting me at the door.
"Hi, come on in. Did you wear tighty-whities by any chance?" (Referring, of course, to my choice of underwear and wasting no time in getting down to business.)
"No, I'm a boxer-briefs kinda guy."
"No worries. You'll be wearing a dance belt during the show anyway (which is basically a jockstrap without the cup), but for today the boxer-briefs will do. So if you can just slip into this and pull it up to your waist, don't worry about zipping it up. We'll do that in a minute."
All I can say is thank God I've lost 40 pounds in the last few months! (Special shout out of thanks to my friend Jack Cummings for that. He knows why!) This was one of the tightest pieces of fabric I've ever had the pleasure of sliding over my body. I began at the feet and slid up, first one leg then the other, cinching and tugging as I went. Once I got it past my waist (I just couldn't stop, it felt so good), it was over the shoulder with one side, then the other. At first I wondered about the lack of fabric in the middle, across the chest. Are they missing some? Did they not measure correctly? Oh, wait, no. This is Mamma Mia. Disco, Abba, the 70's - they're not missing a thing! The tailor then came into the room and spent the next 45 minutes cinching and pulling the already tight fabric even TIGHTER, with our assistant costume designer Scott looking on with approval and disapproval as every inch of my thigh and midsection and chest was scrutinized.
"This could be tighter here... it's pulling a bit there... can this be pulled in here?"
Oh but we're not done. Now that my body from the shoulders to the knees was hermetically sealed in spandex, we still had the legs to deal with.
"Here come the 4" platform shoes. Now don't worry, these might be a little tight, but they're just for fitting purposes. The real ones will be at the theater when you get there."
Oh good - I wouldn't want to be stuck with the bad ones. I mean really, what will people say?

I'll tell you this much, Freddie Mercury would've been proud. I took it like a man as I stood there for another 20 minutes, pained by the platform shoes that were a size too small, and had the hem on the bottom of the pants fit to size. And finally, there I was, in all my glory. Red spandex and sparkling codpiece and silver platform shoes. I sent a text with a picture to my wife and the following message,
"Need I say more?"

I love my job!

Business and Pleasure

Summer's not quite over, and since we're missing a few key cast members (our "Sam" is still in San Diego and our "Tanya" is still on Broadway), this is a fairly light week for rehearsal. So when I was told that I only had a 1 1/2 hour rehearsal today, I figured I could combine my time at work with some late summer play time with my kids. I took them on an adventure they've longed for but I've neglected for some time: the top of the Empire State Building! My kids have been "jones-ing" to see it for a while now, and I haven't been there for years, so we took advantage of a late summer day and went to the top. It was beautiful, to say the least. But the last time I went, I felt like I just walked in, paid for a ticket, and rode the elevator to the top. Now it's like going to Disney! You wait behind stanchion ropes in this line, then you wait behind more stanchion ropes in that line, then you take everything off (practically) as if you're going through airport security, then you wait in some more lines behind some more stanchion ropes. It took nearly 45 minutes from the minute we walked in the door on 5Th Ave to walk out onto the rooftop deck. But on a gorgeous day like today, it was worth it. And hey, I got to spend some quality time with my kids, so I can't beat that. 4 postcards (for my daughter) and 1 Empire State Lego Building project (for my son) totalling nearly $40 later, we were outta there and on our way to MM! We stopped off for a quick slice - my kids get hungry so it was more like 2 slices each - and we buckled down into my mid-afternoon rehearsal.

Over the years, and with the help of my wife who really knows how to care for kids, I've learned the trick of diversion and distraction. If left to my own devices, I would've merely told my kids to sit down and wait for me. For an hour and a half? Never gonna happen. But I've learned - gotta keep 'em busy. So I was like Santa on Christmas morning when we arrived at the studio. (It also helped that our babysitter Sarah met us in the lobby to hang with them.) I opened my bag and there were treats and drinks and handheld video games and the piece de resistance - a portable DVD player and 2 movies to choose from: Bedtime Stories with Adam Sandler and the Tim Burton directed Coraline. They opted for Bedtime Stories and were on their way.

In the meantime, I ducked into my rehearsal and spend a wonderful nearly 2 hours with my director Martha and my "Rosie" Allison mulling over more script and story and trying to decipher which character knew which when. If that sounds confusing, that's the point. The wonderful thing about MM!, for those who've yet to see it, is (beyond the obvious ABBA music) the mystery that lay within the story - a young girl getting married, not knowing who her father really is. Regardless of your feelings about a grown woman who would put herself in that kind of a position (getting pregnant at the age of twenty-something having been promiscuous with many men and not knowing the father of her child), I think MM is a very refreshing story about their search. The mother's search for her true love and the father of her grown child, the daughters search for her father and her destiny and, coincidentally, each of the other's characters search for themselves. In the case of my character Bill, it's almost a search to find some stability after a lifetime of living out of a back pack and being the adventurer. Or is he? Perhaps he talks the big talk but in the end has always been a bit of a homebody, almost trying to live up to an expectation that was inadvertently placed on him by others. Or, even more difficult, by himself. Fascinating and rich material.

Anyway, I'm getting a bit carried away with the intricacies of the role and the possibilities, but these are the kinds of discussions we are having right now in rehearsal and I find them fascinating. In fact I find theater, and acting in particular, to be not only about the show, but more importantly, about the human condition and the human psyche. I always felt that if there was no such thing as acting and no career path to follow I would have ended up being a psychiatrist. I love delving into the personal motivation behind why people do what they do. This is going to sound a bit controversial, I know, but I was asked at a dinner party many years ago (as if I go to a lot of dinner parties!) if I could meet anyone living or dead (the old "living or dead" game), who would it be? While others mentioned names like "Jesus" or "Gandhi", my first thought was "Hitler". I mean why not? Who wouldn't want to know what went through the mind of a guy like that! I wouldn't want to be his friend, and I sure wouldn't want to be his enemy, but I would be very interested to know what was going on in his psyche, to understand what drove him to be the man he was.
Bet you didn't count on that kind of a post from a blog on Mamma Mia, huh? Well neither did I, to be honest. I just write what comes to mind.

In any event, the more time we spend delving into the story and the relationships (and the inevitable and idle theater chatter that goes with any rehearsal - "I remember when I played the ringmaster in the Ringling Circus..." true story, but we'll get to that in another post), the more enjoyable this process becomes.

Tomorrow, more singing, more dancing and another costume fitting. I've got one word - and I fear to say it - SPANDEX.

Dancin' & Singin' to Swedish Pop Songs

Singin' and dancin' - that's what it's all about.

Today started with another music rehearsal, this time going through every song, or part of a song, that I sing. I actually don't sing any major solos, but I sing an awful lot of "bits" in smaller songs. The real fun of it is the music itself. It's infectious. I know that we all know ABBA music and we may have our varying opinions about it, but when you listen to it, and especially when you start singing it, it really is hard not to just feel good. It's infectious. Oh, I just said that. Well, for lack of a better word, it is infectious. (By the way, I never promised deeply insightful blogs on EVERY outing, did I?)

So first I sang - Thank You For The Music, Mamma Mia, Voulez Vous, Waterloo - then, I danced.

We learned the finale today, and I gotta tell you, trying to put dance steps together with music and lyrics - it ain't easy! It's the old "rub the tummy and pat the head at the same time" trick. First of all I'm still trying to remember lyrics to the songs, but when you add in the idea of having to do specific movements with specific lyrics (that you don't even know yet!) timed to a specific point in the music, it becomes very confusing. I'll admit, I'm a pretty good athlete and I'm fairly well coordinated, but dancing is like speaking Swahili to me. It's a whole different language. I admire and applaud the real dancers (not only because they have "smoking hot bodies" (the men and the women!)), but because what they do requires a discipline and a focus far beyond what most people are capable of. It's remarkable!

So I just struggle through, trying not to look too foolish, and hoping, like the kid at the back of the class, that no one will notice when I constantly screw up! But in all honesty, it's a blast to do and I think, for the first day, I did okay.

Thank God I took notes, now I just have to study them...

That First Step Is A Doozy

I don't want to sound cliche, but my head is spinning right now. Day one and the information feels overwhelming! Not so much rehearsal, which was fine, but the paperwork: unbelievable!

Let me elaborate: to begin with, rehearsal was great. We started with the meet and greet (it seems like a terrific group of people) and then there was a long discussion about the history of the show. Also, a lot was said about the unique challenges of replacing a character in a long running production. But what makes this unique is that, unlike the "cookie cutter" replacements, where an actor simply does the same thing at the same time in the same place as his or her predecessor, we are being asked - encouraged, actually - to think outside that box and create the role anew. To find new answers to the questions that this script and this story holds. This is not only refreshing, it's invigorating! It's great, once again, to be thought of and respected as an individual and have your unique talents and gifts appreciated and encouraged. Yes, this is gonna be fun!

After this discussion, we had three hours of music rehearsal where we worked on four of the group numbers from the show, including "Waterloo" and "Voulez Vous". There's an awful lot of falsetto singing, so my upper register is gonna get a helluva nice workout.

Following a short lunch, David (the actor playing Harry) and myself spent an hour doing "table work" with our director Martha, discussing in depth the nature of the relationships between the "fathers" in the show and the daughter, Sophie. Good scripts, like the one for Mamma Mia, provide clues about the nature of relationships, but at the same time leave "space" to interpret these relationships and discover their meaning. And as they (the Mamma Mia production team over the years) have discovered (and we will discover anew), with each cast change comes an entirely fresh interpretation of the story. Thereby keeping it updated and fresh for each new audience that sees it. The goal is to tell this joyful story as best we can and share it, as a gift, anew with the audience. Our gift to them. A wonderful thought.

So the overwhelming part of the process so far is not the rehearsal, which is delightful, but the paperwork, which is abundant. Pages of W-2's and I-9's and 401K's and Direct Deposits and Emergency contacts and sexual harassment agreement's (15 pages of sexual harassment agreements - not to agree to sexually harass, but to understand and agree not to sexually harass) and contracts. Contracts, contracts, contracts. You don't just sign one, but you sign the same one over and over and over. One for you, one for the producer, one for Actors Equity, one for your agent, one for... Everybody gets a piece of the pie, so everybody gets a copy of the contract. No tree saving here. But it's certainly necessary.

And that's it for day one. Tomorrow, more singing and we begin dancing. Now THAT'S gonna be interesting...

Less Than 24

Less than 24 hours now before rehearsals begin and I seem to spend more time writing about the experience than experiencing the experience. But that's about to change and I can't wait.
I got an email from my Stage Manager Andy over the weekend confirming our first rehearsal date and time and location and the availability of our scripts at the Winter Garden Theater. I was planning to try and pick up the script this afternoon at the theater, but when I finally spoke with Andy, I was informed that scripts had already been delivered to the rehearsal space. I guess I won't see it until tomorrow.
In the meantime, I did take advantage of my last morning as a "free man" - another one of those delusional anecdotes, otherwise known as "unemployed actor" - and played hockey. I play ice hockey a couple times a week and I must say, it is beyond therapeutic. It is cathartic. It is one of the most enjoyable moments of my week!
I play "Open Hockey" which means anyone with skates and a stick can join us, but it's usually the same group of 10-12 guys - Doug, our GM (general manager, because he tries to loosely organise the session), Scotty, our seasoned pro, Nick, Terry, Joe, Brian, Stan - your basic group of hockey crazed, middle aged men. And everyone's got a nickname - "Gigantor", "The Snow Ape", "The Ice Manatee", "Fuzzball", "Johnny Cakes". I'm lucky enough to have two nicknames - "Minut", after Minut Bol, the famous basketball player from the 1980's, and "The OC", short for "The Orange Cone". One day I was playing particularly slow and Scotty was critiquing my performance, saying that he was "skating around me like an orange cone on the ice." The name stuck.
I played hockey as a youth, until I was about 12 years old, but then I stopped, using the excuse that I had "bad knees". I hadn't played for nearly 30 years, taking it up again at the age of 40. My wife encouraged me. I think she regrets that encouragement now.
I love hockey because, like acting, it is an escape. An escape from the real world, an escape from life. But I've also discovered that it's a form of male camaraderie that I don't find anywhere else. It's a competitive camaraderie with a language all it's own. We curse at each other. We yell at each other. We use language that would make a truck driver blush and a nun run for the cloisters. But, and if any of them read this they're gonna call me more names than I can imagine, we love each other too, in a strange way. We support each other. We encourage each other. We respect each other. We don't really know much about each other, aside from the time we spend together on the ice, but these are friendships and times together that I cherish deeply and hope never end. My wife once suggested we have a "party" and invite my hockey buddies over, so she could meet some of the guys like "Studley" and "The Professor" and "The Weatherman." Now I love a good party, so I gave it some thought for a moment, and then said, quite vehemently, "No way! I don't want these guys knowing where I live!"
But more importantly, I don't want to break this sacred bond, this male bastion of communication and friendship. These are hockey buddies and what happens on the ice, stays on the ice.
But now I leave all that behind, at least for a short time, and I prepare for the show that lies ahead. I have no idea what to expect.
Well, I have a little idea, actually. Tomorrow we'll have what's commonly referred to as the "Meet and Greet", which is the first meeting of all involved. Everyone will probably go around the room and introduce themselves and what their function is with the show, be it actor, director, stage manager. Then we'll start musical rehearsals, where (even though we might think we know the music) we'll actually learn the music, including things like harmonies, of which I'm guessing there are plenty. We might also do some "table work", where we literally sit around the table and discuss the story of MAMMA MIA! and how each of our characters fits into the story and what each character wants, what it is that motivates them. This is always a great place to start, not only as an understanding of the story, but also as an introduction of the people, all of whom will be working together for the foreseeable future. By the end of the day there may be some staging or dancing, but that remains to be seen.
That's what I expect to happen, in any event.
And so, as my father would have said, "We're off in a cloud of dry turtle dust."

1 Week To Go

My new routine is to get up at 6:30, AM, and go for an early run, before anyone else in my house gets up. It's a very suburban thing to do, but I know when I start rehearsal, I won't have time for this kind of luxury, so I'm trying to take advantage of the opportunity now. I live in New Jersey and it's amazing to go down by the Hudson River that early in the morning and look out over New York City. It's an endless array of shapes, changing everyday as the sun muscles its way through the spires of concrete and glass.

One week to go before I start rehearsal. Actually a week and a day, since my Stage Manager Andy called me yesterday and confirmed my start time, next Tuesday, August 25 at 11am. People ask me if I've started to learn my lines. Learn my lines? Hell, I keep wondering if I'm gonna see a script before I start rehearsal. Probably not. Which is fine, because unlike a "straight play" where you spend a lot of time going over the script with a fine tooth comb, culling the nuances of a character and developing a through-line, in a musical it's mostly about getting up on your feet and moving as soon as possible. There's a lot of dance, or "movement for actors", in this show, so I'm sure we'll be on our feet early and often. There's also a fair amount of music to be learned, not that I don't know most of it already. It's ABBA, remember?

A note about the movement and my running. I run to stay in shape and, when I need to, lose weight. I've actually lost nearly 40 pounds in the last 3 months. It's the fourth time in my life that I've lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. People are always astounded that I lose that much weight. "How do you do it?", they ask.  The first time it happened a friend cautiously asked me if I had Aids. I did not.  But my answer is always the same, "It's simple, but it's not easy." I eat the same things that I've always eaten (pizza, peanut butter and jelly, spaghetti) only less of it, I snack a LOT healthier (frozen grapes and granola and yogurt instead of Costco chocolate chip cookies, milk and chocolate milkshakes) and I work out (run, swim, play hockey). Those three on a regular basis seem to work for me, but everybody is different and I wouldn't profess to be a diet guru, so don't ask me.
But I also run to be ready for a show like MM! No one is gonna stand by my side and hold my hand and tell me I should stay in shape in case a show comes along. I, as a professional, have to be ready for the possibility of what's out there. Of what could come next. I expect this show, as fun as it will be, to be grueling too. Eight shows a week can be tiresome and exhausting and it's my job to be ready for the rigors. And so I run. Or swim. Or play hockey. Not that there's much hockey in MM! But hey, they're Swede's, so you never know.

The Emperor's New Suit

Here's the difference between a lucrative, well established long running hit on Broadway - and everything else:


In everything else, for example, you meet the Costume Designer in the basement lobby of the shitty theater on 46Th street (because there's no proper fitting or dressing room with a mirror in which to meet) during a five minute break from rehearsal (when you might get a chance to take a bite from a PowerBar and have a sip of water), where she asks you if you have any clothes that might be appropriate to use as costumes for the new play you've just been cast in (as the emergency replacement because they've decided that the guy they originally hired {who wasn't really an actor, but rather a model who wanted to try acting and was an old student of the director and so she thought she'd give him a chance} doesn't have the "chops" to play the role and now you've been cast and you've got about 4 days to learn it before previews start) because:


A: she has no budget;

B: she's working on a show at the Midtown International Theater Festival and the New York International Fringe Festival , and is about to start working on a show at the New York Musical Theater Festival (none of which she is being paid for, of course) and has absolutely no time to go out and look for a costume for you;

C: she has no budget;

D: you're 6'4" and it's gonna be impossible to find a 1930's costume (the show takes place in 1936) that is going to be close to your size and even if she did find one she doesn't have the time or money to have it altered to fit you;

E: she has no budget;

F: and do you also possibly have a 1930's Fedora hat that matches the as-yet unfound costume because you also have a really big head (7 5/8) and if you think it's gonna be hard to find a three piece 1930's suit that can be altered to fit you, wait until you try and find a 1930's Fedora hat that is 7 5/8 and matches the as-yet unfound suit;

G: she has no budget... shall I go on?

Now, on "The Broadway", as we like to refer to it, things work a little differently. On "The Broadway" you get a leisurely call from Angie the Assistant Costume Designer from MAMMA MIA! wondering if you have time next week to come in to Barbara Matera's (one of the leading Broadway Costume production houses in New York City) to meet her so she can take measurements for the custom made costumes that they will be building for you. Checking your schedule, you reply, "Sure, how's next Wednesday or Thursday sound?", to which she, being the busy professional that she is, checks her schedule and responds, "Thursday at 12noon sounds good."

Next Thursday you arrive at Matera's on Broadway and 19Th St and take the stunningly old fashioned wrought ironed framed elevator (one of the few left in New York with an actual gentleman sitting on a stool, operating the handle that navigates the elevator up and down) to the 5Th floor, where you exit, only to be greeted at the front door with, "Hello, Mr. Boll, I'm Jonathan. Please come right in. Unfortunately Angie couldn't be here, she was called away to Mexico City for an emergency "put in" (a phrase which here means a cast change) in the Mexico City company, but I'll just be taking your measurements today, so it shouldn't take long. Can I get you something to drink?"

You politely decline and your measurements proceed without incident.

Two weeks later, you again receive a call from Angie, apologizing for her absence at your measurement session two weeks prior due to an emergency "put in" in the Mexico City company, but would you be free next week to come back in to Matera's for a fitting?

"Absolutely, name the time", you delightfully reply, enjoying the pleasant and respectful manner in which you're being treated.

"Let's say 12noon?"

"I'll be there."

At the appointed 12noon time, you again arrive at Broadway and 19Th Street, again take the graciously appointed elevator to the 5Th floor, and again are greeted at the door with "Hello Mr. Boll" - only this time a team has been assembled. The players, all of whom seem to have been eagerly awaiting your arrival, include, once again, Jonathan ("Good to see you again, Mr. Boll") as well as the aforementioned Angie ("Hi I'm Angie, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm so sorry I couldn't be here for your measurement session."), Scott ("Hi, I'm Scott, the Associate Costume Designer, it's a pleasure to meet you and welcome to the company."), various other wardrobe and production house assistants and your newest best friend and personal tailor, Arturo. ("Bon giorno. I am Arturo. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Boll.")

For the next hour and a half you are treated like a king, as assistants gently drape a newly minted tan and brown-checked linen suit ("ooh, I'm so sorry, careful of the pins...") across your body ("This is for the wedding scene, where Rosie chases you all over the set. There is a lot of gesturing and movement, so feel free to move about now and make sure nothing hampers you...") and Arturo carefully checks in with Scott about the placement of the lapels and buttons. ("I think, Scott, that the lapels might come down a half inch, no? And the buttons, the buttons can come in, yes?" In hushed tones all around, the answer comes "Oh yes, yes, very nice.") The perfectly manicured shoulder placement and arms-eye are carefully unfastened as Arturo, like a frickin artist with a canvas, gently slides a seam ripper between the layers, breaks the stitch and lowers the lapel, or opens the arm, or spreads the shoulders - anything to create the "perfect look" they so eagerly crave.

On another costume, a freshly created suit with the look of a court jester ("for the nightmare scene at the end of Act 1") of black and white diamonds and circles gives you the trim and tight figure of an Olympic swimmer you never knew you had. Tommy Tune's got nothing on you, as your height is accentuated even further by the high waist and long, elegant black lines of this ridiculously opulent suit.

"Oop...can I...sorry about this...just be care -" comes the gentle voice of the female assistant who has graciously, and carefully, reached down between your legs, right to the middle of your crotch and removed a dangerously loose straight pin.

"In case you want to have children again", she jokes.

"Two's enough", you reply, realizing the ridiculousness of the life you lead and the job you have and how lucky you are. What other job in life allows a woman to reach between your legs and pull down ANYTHING without getting a married man in trouble.


It is a common joke among people in our business that if the same rules applied to us as applies to "corporate" America with regards to sexual harassment, we'd all be out of jobs and most likely in jail. Innuendo and flirting is a big part of "the biz". It's how I met my wife years ago in Williamstown. It's how countless others have met over the years. It's not good, it's not bad, it just is. For actors, theater is a medium of emotion and feeling, and the core of that medium is sex. Sometimes the opposite sex, sometimes the same sex, but if you can't deal with sex, you're gonna have a hard time surviving this biz. It's what makes it fun. It's what makes it mysterious. It's what keeps people coming back again and again. Of course we don't corner the market on flirting in the workplace, but flirting, and the language that goes along with it, is what keeps it interesting.

As your fitting comes to an end, Angie remembers the boots. The custom made, six inch high, platform boots that you will be wearing at the end of the show. You know what she's talking about, but you feign ignorance.
"Boots? What boots?", you ask with a slight smile on your face.
"Oh, don't you worry. You'll be spending plenty of time in the boots. But I need you to go to the boot makers shop to get measured. Do you have time today?"

And suddenly you are whisked away to see Gino at T.O. Dey's up on Madison Avenue where he will carefully measure your foot and thigh in sixteen different directions in order to get the fit just right. As with the nice folks at Barbara Matera's, Gino graciously offers you a beverage - a glass of water perhaps, but you politely decline. He is quick with his work, precise and knowing, for he doesn't wish to waste your valuable time.

And as you leave T.O.'s, ready for lunch and an afternoon of commercial auditions following your exhaustive morning of fittings, you are once again reminded, as Mel Brooks so adequately stated, that yes, "It's good to be da' King!"

There's Broadway - and there's everything else.

Walking Dogs and Fielding Offers

I have two Labrador retrievers, Morgan and Limo. Morgan is nine years old and black. She is a sweet old dog. Her main purpose in life is to stare at you with her droopy black eyes, forcing you into a defenseless submission at which point you find yourself giving in to her every whim. She was an old dog when we got her, having spent her prime as a breeder. By the time she arrived on our doorstep, she had already bred about a dozen times, so even though she was fairly young, she had been through the ringer. In fact, she had some extra weight on her which we gladly helped her work off, giving her a stable home and lots of love along the way. As she began to lose weight, people would notice that her stomach was somewhat distended, hanging low as it did. I would then mention, a bit defensively on her behalf, that if you gave birth to 50 children, your uterus would be hanging to the ground too, so back off! It seemed to do the trick.

Limo is Morgan's two year old son. (Yes, it's a mother and child reunion.) Limo is the exact opposite of Morgan. Where Morgan is black and docile, Limo is brown and full of more energy than an attention deficit child on cocaine. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, slows this dog down! I suppose that's what labs are supposed to be - boundless balls of energy. And for the most part, he's an amazing addition to our family. Except when you don't want an animal with that much energy. But we love them both and have a relatively peaceful coexistence.

The greatest challenge of any day is the morning walk, and this morning is no exception. Calling dogs to the front door, getting their assemblage of chains and leashes on, the routine of "Sit. Stay", while I open the door and go out first, making them follow dutifully behind (Cesar Milan would be very proud!) - it all works quite well, until Limo spots another dog, or a squirrel, or an empty bag floating down the street. Then all bets are off and it's "tear after it like a bat outta' hell!" But since I'm still bigger, I often win the battle and keep him in line (dislocating my shoulder in the process). But the walk proceeds nicely on this crisp summer morning until we reach the 3/4 mark of our stroll, when my cell phone rings. As my wife can attest, I don't often pick up my phone, letting it fall to voicemail instead, and this time would be no different. Only this time, I see that it is my agent calling, and my heart stops short a bit.

It's actually stopped short a few times in the last few weeks. Ever since my callback, I've been receiving periodic updates from Michael, all encouraging but nothing definite:
"So Patrick, it's Michael. I got a call from Eric over at Tara Rubin's office. He wanted you to know that he thinks you gave a wonderful audition and you're definitely in the mix for Mamma Mia. No decisions have been made yet, but they really liked you so... you're definitely in the mix."

A few weeks later:
"Patrick, it's Michael. Just want to keep you in the loop. I heard from Eric over at Tara Rubin's office. No decisions have been made yet, but he just wants you to know that we should hear something very soon, and they are definitely interested in you and... you're definitely in the mix."

And still a few weeks later:
"Hello, it's Micheal. Just want you to know I spoke with Eric at Tara's office. They just want you to know that the role of Bill will definitely be opening up in the Broadway company of Mamma Mia and, even though they haven't made any official decisions, they really liked you and... you're definitely in the mix."

To me, all of this is code to mean... I'm definitely in the mix. Nothing more. It's a good sign, to be sure, but I've also been around the block enough times to know that this is also code for... absolutely nothing. Until I see my name on the dotted line, I take nothing for granted. So though I've been glad to get these periodic and encouraging updates along the way, I'm still wary of being overly optimistic. I'm optimistic, just not overly optimistic.

So when I see that it's my agent calling, I decide to let the voicemail take it. This way, if it's an audition, which it often is cause I have the greatest agents in the world who work tirelessly to field offers and get me work (it's true!), they can leave all the pertinent information on my voicemail about the time, place and nature of the audition. Maybe it's a film audition, maybe its another Broadway show, maybe it's a TV pilot - in this biz, you never know.

The message icon pops up, so I hit my voicemail button on the phone - and suddenly, my life for the next year is about to change, drastically.

"Patrick, this is Michael, can you give me a call please, so we can discuss your offer to join the Broadway company of Mamma Mia!? Congrats, my friend, talk to you soon."

There are a lot of "ifs" in this business. "If" I get the audition. "If" they like me. "If" I get the job. "If", "if", "if"... I try not to concern myself too much with the "ifs" anymore, I just try and focus on the "now's" and the "what I can do's". Suddenly, I find myself on the other side of "if". I'm on the side of "now" and "what can I do". "Now", I just got an offer to play a leading role in a long running, hit Broadway musical. "What can I do?" I can refuse the offer, I can entertain the offer, or I can accept the offer. There are very few moments in an actors life where he can just sit and ruminate over these possibilities. Much time is spent pursuing this moment (auditioning) and much time is spent looking back on this moment ("I remember back when I got the offer to do...") But very little time is spent living "in" this moment, so I want to cherish that. I'm not sure how to cherish it, but I don't want to lose the opportunity of being able to cherish it.

The dogs must find it strange that I choose, in the middle of the walk, to simply sit down on a neighbors brick wall and stare. That's how I choose to live in this moment - stare. No jumping for joy, no screaming or hollering, just passively sitting and taking in what I just heard - "...can you give me a call please, so we can discuss your offer to join the Broadway company of Mamma Mia!?" I've been in five Broadway shows, but this will be the first show that I don't have to understudy another actor. This will be just me, playing a role. A great role. After all these years, after all this time, I just don't know how to react. Joy? Elation? Gratitude? A combination of all that? Now I can be cynical and say "Yes, it's just a job", but life is too short to think that way, and in my heart of hearts, I just can't. It's too great an opportunity and too rare an event to belittle it that way. Besides, in many ways it's more than "just a job". It's the culmination of everything I have been working for for years. It is, as all jobs are, a justification of what I do.

No, I didn't win a Tony Award for Christ's sake, but I was just offered a lead role in a long running, hit Broadway musical. Wow! That is frickin' COOL!

The rest of the walk home feels a bit numb, floating, as I go, to a destiny I know nothing about.

But my dogs seem happy.

Day 2 - The Callback

There's a feeling you get - well, it's a feeling I get - when I have a callback. On some level this feeling goes to the core of every actor's need to be accepted. On the first audition I can walk out of the room and, no matter how prepared I am, no matter how good I feel and no matter how well I think I've done, there's still that feeling of, "I hope they like me. I hope I did the right thing. I hope I didn't screw up!" Beginning actors have it, mid-career actors like myself have it, international movie stars have it. Every actor has it, and if they tell you they don't, (because they're either too "cool" or too "good" or too "important") they're frickin' lying through their teeth. I guarantee it. Because every actor, on some level, wants to be accepted. It's why we do what we do. It's what keeps us doing it and striving to do it better every time. I just saw "Julie & Julia" and Meryl Streep (who I honestly can't stand because she is just so good) is ALWAYS striving to do better and be accepted - and she usually succeeds.

So the fact that I even have a callback means, on some small level, that I have been accepted. That I have been validated. That my work counts and matters and means something to someone. Having mentioned in an earlier blog that the casting of a show or a role can depend on criteria as varying as "your ability to cull the nuance of a character" to "the length of your eyebrow hairs", I know full well the absurdity of this "acceptance". I don't need it in order to succeed. I don't need it in order to be an actor. But I do need it to feel worthy. I do need it to know, in some weird way, that I matter. It's more of a "life" need than an "acting" need, I suppose, but it's a need all the same. Recognizing it does little to diminish it's power over me or any other actor. But the bottom line is, I've got the callback, and that's a great accomplishment. One that I'm certainly proud of, but nothing to rest my laurels on.

My preparation for the callback is basically the same as for my initial audition: familiarize myself as best I can with the material, listen to the song that "Bill" sings instead of "Sam" ("The Name Of The Game") and RELAX!

Now I'm prepped. Now I'm ready.

The callback itself runs pretty much the same course as the initial audition, only there's even less connection with the "team". By connection I mean less time spent in the actual audition room, fraternizing, as it were, with the auditioners. I realize it's not their job to be my "friend", it's their job to cast this show, so I have nothing but respect for what they're trying to accomplish. I wait in the hallway and run into my friend Christianne Tisdale who's also here for an audition. Years before, I was a "reader" (the person who reads the other roles when an actor comes in for an audition) for the Broadway production of BEAUTY AND THE BEAST when Christianne came in. She gave a terrific audition and got the role. Since then she's always credited me with being her good luck charm. I don't know if it's true, but it's very generous of her to say so. She's a good friend and a good person. While we were standing in the hall together making small talk, she introduces me to another friend of hers and one of the actors that I end up reading with named Graham Rowat. (As most actors do with modern technology, I Google Graham's name that night, only to realize that I should have been much more nervous than I was, considering the kind of credits he has to his name. No matter how much work I've done, I'm still always amazed and awed to be working with the incredibly high quality of people I find myself working with, even if it's only in the audition situation.)

Christianne and a few other women are called into the room, do their audition, then it's only myself and Graham standing in the hall. Wondering if perhaps we are waiting on a third actor to play the triumvirate scene, I'm surprised to hear Eric step out in the hall and ask us to come in.

"Gentleman, thank you so much for coming back. We really appreciate it. So, Graham, you'll be reading "Harry", Patrick, you'll read "Bill" and I'll read "Sam"."

We enter the room, again greeted warmly by the team with some small talk about our height (Graham, like myself, is tall, possibly 6'4""), and then we read through the scene. No singing this time, as the casting hinges (and I'm only guessing here) on which actors "fit" with other actors. Interestingly enough, that's the other thing about callbacks. When they bring you back, you've more than likely proven that you can already play the role. What they need to see is how each actor fits together to create the bigger picture. Which is the best way to "tell the story onstage". It is often a very ethereal and esoteric criteria, but it goes to the core of every show. It's also a skill that takes years to understand and comprehend as an actor, helping to quiet the "I just want to be accepted" voices, but never fully silencing them.


"Thanks, that's all we need for now."

And just like that, it's over. No hoopla. No "You were amazing!" No "You've got the job." ( That comes later.) Just a pleasant "Thanks" and you are on your way. Wondering, always wondering...

Stepping Up To The Plate

I've been acting for many years.
How many, you ask? Well, I started when Reagan was mid term, if that helps. And I've gone on so many THOUSANDS of auditions - my favorite was when, about 2 years ago, my friend Manny asked me how much I get paid for each audition I go on.
"I don't get paid", I told him.
"You don't get paid? You mean you do all those auditions for FREE?"
He was astounded to learn that I didn't get paid to audition. But yes, it's true, for those of you out there who may be wondering how it works. Actors do not get paid to audition. Do you get paid to go on an interview?

As I was saying, I've gone on so many thousands of auditions that when my agent Michael called and said I had an audition for MAMMA MIA! (the exclamation point is theirs, by the way, not mine) I thought, "Oh boy, knocking on that door again". (Okay, props where props are due. That phrase comes from my buddy Kurt Zischke. He coined it, but I loved it so I stole it. As my college professor Kevin Kuhlke once said, "Good artists borrow, great artists STEAL!" Thanks, Kurt.)

I had auditioned for this show many times over the years, including Broadway, the national tour - even Vegas! Came close a few times. Actually came close every time, always getting a callback or two but never getting the offer. About a year ago I ran into Devin Keudell, one of the general managers of MAMMA MIA (herein after referred to as MM!), a nice guy and someone I had worked with years before on the ill-fated Broadway production of THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER. He asked me what I was up to and if I had ever auditioned for one of the Dad's in MM! I told him my tale of woe (always the bridesmaid, never the bride), and he suggested I audition again because I was "really the right age now." Suddenly a little light went off in my head and I thought, "Oh, of course, that's why I never got it. I was always too young." (All the Dad's are supposed to be in their mid-40's after all.) Of course I may have also not gotten it because my auditions sucked, but I like to think that ALL my auditions are fantastic and that it was merely my young AGE that had kept me from the job. (That's a little trick that I've taught myself to accept over the years. There's really very little I can do about getting or not getting the job. It's often about how long or short my hair is or what color my eyebrows are or that I remind the director of someone they hate or whatever! It's not my problem. So I just decide that my auditions are always SUPERB! That delusion I can always tell myself!) In the meantime I tucked Devin's little tidbit of advice away for extraction at a later date.

Fast forward to Michael's call. Somehow, it seemed to me I should take this audition more seriously than I had the one's in the past. The first thing I had to do was to actually see the show. Yes, it's true, I had never seen it! Un-American though it may be, I was a MM! virgin. So a few days before the audition I marched up to the box office, bought myself an obstructed view seat (I couldn't afford to pay top dollar), and I proceeded to fall in love with it like every other person over the last eight years! It's cheesy, it's schmaltzy, it's corny - it's 2 1/2 hours of Swedish pop songs, for Christ's sake! But it's also, for people of a certain age group, our youth. I grew up listening to these songs. And loving these songs. And to be honest, having just wrapped a production of HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL at Papermill Playhouse playing Coach Bolton a few months earlier, I found the MM! adults to be more integral, and less peripheral, to the story, and that was a pleasant surprise.

SO here I was, about to audition once again for this delightful musical. I was told to prepare the sides for Sam, the architect and the song he sings, "Knowing Me, Knowing You." Somehow, this time felt different from the others. Maybe it was my age. Maybe it was what Devin said. (I know, hindsight is 20/20, but still...) Whatever the impetus, I thought I better do everything I can to have a good audition, so I called my friend and coach Christine Riley and asked her to help me prep the material. I knew the song from the past auditions, but I thought a refresher might not hurt. She really helped me to focus not only on the story of the song but also the technical elements of emphasising certain parts and not pushing in others. She thought I sounded good, I thought I sounded good - I was ready.

The day of my audition I actually arrived early, which is not like me. With 2 children, 2 dogs, a house, a life, a career and everything else to juggle, getting to an audition (getting ANYWHERE) on time is a rarity. But somehow, I got there early. Too early. Eric Woodall, the casting director from Tara Rubin's office, was very gracious as he met me at the elevator.
"I think I'm early"' I told him, recognizing this might be the case since I was surrounded only by middle aged actress' obviously auditioning for the roles of Donna, Judy or Rosie.
"Yes, you are," was his reply. "We don't start with the men for a little while. Why don't you go out, relax, have a cup of coffee and come back in a half an hour."
"Well, I don't drink coffee, but I'll be back", I said as I removed myself.

A word about these middle aged actress', by the way. Some of them I know - as one tends to when you've stuck it out in this business as long as we have - like the un-Godly talented Michelle Ragusa, and some I'd never seen before. But all of them, I trusted, were the best in our business. And that makes me proud. To know that when I'm at an audition like this, I'm putting myself in the company of the best actors and actress' New York and Broadway has to offer, and that's pretty damn good. New York doesn't suffer fools, and if you want to make it here - whether it's on Broadway, in film, on TV - you've got to be at the top of your game. It's very unforgiving that way. You can't relax for a minute in this business, cause there are 20 people right behind you waiting to take that job. It's not mean spirited or vicious - quite the opposite, actually. The amount of support and encouragement is unprecedented, I believe. But no one gives anyone a break. It's the same spirit of competitiveness that this country and a free economy was founded on, and I'm proud to be a part of it every single time I go to work. Whether I'm on a Broadway stage or auditioning for a "Viagra" commercial at Beth Melsky's office - a job is a job and I'm a professional and if I don't do my best and raise my game to the highest level, I may as well get out. Cause everybody else will.

All right, enough preaching - although that's what a blog is for, no? So I can spew my thoughts out about life, liberty and the pursuit of all things MAMMA MIA!

After my re-arrival, I ended up waiting to actually "audition" for a few minutes as other men were also arriving. At most auditions you are invited into the room one at a time to read and/or sing. But for MM! they have a different system. They have each actor (or actress) come in and sing, then ask them to wait outside. After three actors have sung individually, they bring them in together to do a group scene. For the men, it's always the first scene in the show, when the three "possible Dad's arrive on the dock."

I entered the room for the musical portion of my audition and, as I approached the auditioners behind the table, was struck by the fact that I knew half of them. There was Janet Rothermel, the dance supervisor with whom, though we had never met, I share a babysitter, since we live in the same small New Jersey hamlet. And next to her was Martha Banta, the resident director, whom I hadn't seen in years but who's brother John once shared the stage with me as a spear carrier in THE LEGEND OF OEDIPUS at Williamstown Theater Festival. And there was the director Phyllida Lloyd whom I had met a few times over the years at my other, less successful auditions. There were others as well, including a musical supervisor who prompted me to sing from the show. I did as asked, all seemed to go well, and I waited my turn in the hallway. When the time was right, I was then asked to audition with two other terrific actors, neither of whom I knew before hand. As I read "Sam", the American, another actor read "Harry", the uptight banker from England, and a third actor, who really was English, read "Bill", the Australian. The scene zipped along just fine, at which point they asked us to step out in the hall and wait. Moments later, Eric came out and asked us to read different roles, so the "Harry" read "Sam", the "Bill" read "Harry", and I (the "Sam") read "Bill". Are you keeping up with this? Doesn't matter, the important part is what came next.

"Oh, Patrick, we're thinking of making Bill American, so when you get to the part in the scene when he says he's Australian, just say somewhere in America." So that's what I did.

"Are you from Greece?"

"Oh, no, I'm from... Kalamazoo!" It was the first, and most American, place I could think of. They seemed to enjoy it.

Four hours later, as I'm standing at a junior high school art show with my daughter, my cell phone starts ringing off the hook.

"Patrick, this is Michael. They loved you and they want to see you tomorrow for a callback for MM! for the role of Bill. I'm emailing you all the info. Call me as soon as you get this."

"Patrick, hi, this is Eric Woodall. We'd like to bring you back tomorrow for a callback for the role of Bill. I spoke with Michael and he's going to email you all the material."

"Patrick, hi, this is Dale, I'm Eric's assistant from Tara Rubin's office. Eric would like to bring you back tomorrow for a callback..."

It seemed endless. And fascinating. When they want you - they WANT you!

I left the art show, daughter in tow, feeling pretty good about what I had accomplished that day. But day 2, the callback, lay ahead. And the preparation started all over again.

Away We Go!

I was recently cast as a replacement for the role of Bill Austin in the hit Broadway show MAMMA MIA!


People are already asking me, "How's it going?", "How are rehearsals?", "Are you having fun?", and I haven't even started yet.

Then I thought, "Well, the best way to keep everyone abreast of the situation would be to start a blog about my experience".

This way I can start at the beginning and update people as I go. And who knows, maybe there'll be some surprises along the way! So this is my first blog, elementary though it may sound.

It all started long ago, way back when I was a young lad...