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.