Feelin' It!

I've been challenged to more posting, less words. Let's try it this week and see how it goes.

Biggest problem starting this weeks performance schedule is the MASSIVE sinus headache that woke me up at 4am. My head was pounding and I was feelin' it. I spent the day trying to rest, worrying how I would feel by tonight's curtain. Happy to report by the end of the day I was still tired and feeling the effects of stuffed sinus' (sini?) but the show went great. I'm starting to feel solid in the gig now - solid enough to know that if I screw up - a line, a move, whatever (which I do often!) - I can quickly correct it and get back on track. Besides, the show is just way too much fun to fret over mistakes.

It was great to see my agents Michael & Christina there tonight. He's had a "Dad" in the show since it opened 8 years ago, so it was nice of him to come. He had an interesting opinion, observing that this was the "Meisner" version of MM!, meaning that it was more "real" and a little less "out there" and "musical theater-y". I took it as a compliment, as we're trying to tell this story from a more organic, less "schtick-y" place. The challenge will be to continue that performance.

Tomorrow, another shoe fitting at T.O.Dey, master shoe maker, and photo call!

1 Down, 51 To Go (Weeks, That Is...)

Okay, I'm not gonna lie. I spent nearly two hours yesterday writing what I thought was a very good posting. I had been saving it along the way, was all set to publish it when - BAM! - I hit the back button or something and erased it ALL! I was not happy, to say the least. In fact, I basically gave up on writing for the day and spent the rest of the time - including the final show of my first week - complaining to anyone who would listen. There, now that I've got that off my chest, I'm done. Thank you to everyone who listened to me complain yesterday - you know who you are - and I love you for it!

That said - What a ride! This has been, and continues to be, an absolutely amazing journey, and it's only just begun!

Last Tuesday's debacle-ous beginning was followed by one day of budding joy after another. I say "budding" because it took time for it to evolve, obviously. Each show, each performance, grows and deepens and becomes not only cleaner in my understanding of it, but more fun to perform each time. It's very hard, neé impossible, to describe the kind of joy that is MM! I know that sounds a bit Pollyanna-ish, but it's true beyond anything I can remember.

Wednesday started with a note session, just going over how the first show felt (like purgatory survived) and what can be done to improve on it (plenty). I continued to refine my "Voulez Vous" dance steps, and I must say, to my overwhelming relief and eventual happiness, I suddenly knew I had nailed it! In fact I have quickly found that what I most dread has become what I most anticipate! It is a whirlwind of energy and buoyancy and once the steps become second nature, which they quickly have with repetition, it's like a roller coaster - buckle down and get ready for the ride of your life. Eight times a week! How quickly the tide turns, considering not more than a week ago I nearly broke down in tears at the thought of VV. I admit that I wear my heart on my sleeve - or as Allison our show astrologist notes, I have "water" in me - maybe a bit of Pisces. Whatever it is, what was once tragic is now the opposite: De-tragic? Un-tragic? Non-tragic? Whatever - I call it a kick!

Thursday was the first time I considered the idea of a long running show and what it might take to sustain the energy for that. But I was still in the "What am I doing next?" mode, constantly on edge for fear of missing an entrance, so there was little time to linger on that thought..

Friday, however, was a theatrical enlightenment on many levels. (It was also the beginning of the long, 6 show weekend with Friday night, Sat matinee and night, Sunday matinee and night, and Monday night still ahead of us. It's a grueling schedule and for those who have asked me if I actually do all the shows? The answer is yes. Everyone in the cast does every show - eight per week. There are understudies and covers in case someone gets injured or sick, but short of that malady, we do every show. And even though I'm in good shape, I can already feel the effects of the raked stage on my knees. But I digress...)

Friday brought many discoveries that I suppose, if I had thought hard enough, I knew might come, but were a surprise none-the-less.

Creating a performance is a bit like the old "peeling an onion" comparison, only in reverse. In the beginning I find that I spend so much time worrying about where I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to do and when I'm supposed to talk that I rarely see beyond the tip of my nose. Typical actor, I know, but it's all part of my process. It's not a conscious choice, but rather a survival mechanism to stay afloat. It's also, I daresay, at the core of every actors character. An actor has to know these basic elements, without which he or she will be adrift onstage. Friday night was the first performance that I realized "Oh, I am, in fact, NOT the only one on stage. Interesting..."

The second stage of this creation involves getting past the tip of my nose and relaxing enough and allowing myself the freedom, really, to "see" the other things onstage like props ("Oh, I never noticed that guitar onstage. Has that always been here?"), lights ("Oh, there's the light? No wonder I'm in darkness over here."), sets ("Damn that wall is big. Has it always been that big?") and even other actors ("Wait, are you in this scene? Have you always been in this scene?"). Funny as that may sound, Friday night was my watershed moment, when I started to take in all these elements of MM!, and not see them as mere props in my own one person show.

The final layer of the "onion" is acknowledging and embracing our unspoken and, until last Tuesday unseen, scene partner - the audience. Doing that first show on Tuesday night in front of that first audience, as I have said, was literally like being shot out of a cannon, and Wednesday wasn't much easier. There's little to prepare you for the experience of standing in front of 1500+ people, you just have to suck it up and hope for the best. But by Friday I was able to, again, allow myself the freedom to explore new elements of the show, one of them (and in some ways the most important) being the audience. Now I'm of two minds here. On the one hand, the audience is the unspoken scene partner, sitting on the other side of this large, cavernous space (which, as you're saying words that someone else has written and breaking out into [Swedish Pop] songs, you have to admit is a very strange thing!), voyeuristically observing your every move and vocal intonation and emotional nuance, hoping to glean some bit of understanding or entertainment or emotional response themselves. They are the eyes that peer through the window, watching the proceedings from afar, and thus are to be revered at best and simply ignored, at worst. But they are never to be acknowledged, never to be looked at beyond the "4th wall" as someone else in the room. That's one school of thought.

The other, and in my mind more realistic, is that they are part of this community that has come together to share in this one time only experience. Every show is different, every performance is different, so what they see tonight will never happen in their lives, or mine, again, and that can change someone forever. They are not just sitting, waiting to get their drivers license renewed or to see the dentist - they have come to the theater in anticipation of what? Something. An experience, an event, or maybe just an evening of entertainment. Whatever it is, it is a vital connection with me and my fellow actors on stage and requires not only my fully focused effort but an openess and willingness to fully participate, too. I take that obligation seriously, as do my fellow castmates, and I have to say it's electric!

There are two observations I have made along the way that I find very interesting and singularly MM!:
#1 - Every night, as I enter the stage for my first scene with my other Dad's, John and David, I look into the audience and see the same thing - the women or wives or girlfriends sitting up eagerly in anticipation of the next moment, excited to be there. And next to them are the men and the husbands and the boyfriends, "putting up" with being there, heads in hands, dutifully watching our proceedings, wondering what the score of the game is or when they're gonna get the chance to finish that work or whatever. Every show I see this. But...
Two hours later, as our curtain call commences and "Mamma Mia" turns into "Dancing Queen" turns into "Waterloo", they are on their feet, singing and dancing and having a blast. They didn't know why they came - now they know. Every time! Amazing!
And #2 - MM! opened on October 18, 2001, nearly eight years ago, and yet every night, just before I make that entrance with John and David, I take a peek around the corner of the curtain - and spy nearly 1531 seats full, with more people standing in the back. What a thrill!

My other big thrill came over the weekend when my family finally got to see the show. A perfect day to spend in the theater as the rains came down outside, the following are reviews:
My son - "My favorite part was when we came home after the show". He was a bit grumpy.
My daughter - "Dad, after seeing you in that red spandex, I think I'm damaged for life".
My wife - "Nice codpiece..."

Saturday night we said goodbye to Rina Saltzman, our company manager who's been with the show since the beginning. She's off to CM BILLY ELLIOT in Chicago and I wish her nothing but the best. We talked of MM! and it's success and what it means and she shared this wonderful thought: (I'm paraphrasing a bit)

"From the very beginning Judy (Craymer, our producer) and Nina (Lanan, our general manager) and everyone involved knew what this show was about. It's not brain surgery. We're not reinventing the wheel. It's a show full of love and joy, and that's our gift to the audience. Joy. Is there anything wrong with that?"

If It's Tuesday, This Must Be "Opening"!

Tuesday was a day I wanted to end as soon as it began. Have you ever woken up, lying in bed, wishing that the day was already over? That was Tuesday for me. Let's start with he fact that I only got about 3 hours of sleep. (Can you say nerves, anyone? How long have I been in this business? How many shows have I done?) And when I wasn't sleeping soundly (HA!) I was lying in bed, sweating and panting, sure that my MM! debut was about to be revoked due to the untimely heart-failure DEATH of Bill!

Alas, I made it through the night and began the day in the usual way which involves getting kids up and dressed and ready and off to school - nothing to write home (or a blog) about there. Knowing it was to be a full day, I was foolish enough to add to it by thinking that a quick swim would help settle me. Off I ran to the Stevens Institute pool in Hoboken for a quick dip. I'm thinking 8:45, in the pool for a bit, then get to the theater by 1 with plenty of rest between.

NOT!

As I'm driving to the pool, of course my fabulous commercial agent Tracy calls me from Abrams Artists to implore me to make it to a 10:15 audition for "Humira", a pharmaceutical product of unknown origin. It's a "National Network" commercial, which mean if it's shot and if it airs and if it runs, it can make an actor a lot of money. A lot of ifs, but worth the risk. So when the pharmaceuticals call, actors must answer.

Thus my luxurious swim is cut short and turned into a sprint to swim a few dozen laps before I dash home and shower and shave and dress and do all those actor-y things that actors do to get ready for an audition.

By the time I got there, nearly 30 minutes late at 10:40, they were well into the session, but I know the casting director (Martine) and she's genuinely happy to see me there, so my tardiness is quickly forgiven, thank God! (Note to self and others - it's not recommended, being late; but if you are, try the cute and gregarious method of sucking up the the casting director as I do. It'll probably get you nowhere, but at least you'll feel you tried your best.)

And of course an audition (even one of the commercial nature) never goes nearly as fast as you'd like it, with the various hallway greetings and errant chit chat. By the time I get out, it's just after 12noon - time enough to grab a sandwich (my favorite Italian BMT at Subway) and get to the theater.

Thank God for my new best friend Beth Leavel! My new BF because, as I walk in the door, lamenting the day and wishing, in that strange "I-love-what-I-do-but-I-want-all-the-hype-and-pressure-to-go-away" way, the day to be over, she agrees and we share the desperation of the moment together. We just want to work. To be actors and do the job we're hired to do. She knew exactly what I meant and understood why three hours sleep is not enough!

I can't lie and say that it wasn't a thrilling day, because it was. From beginning to end. To finally get on the set, everyone, returning cast and newbies, in full costume, full out production mode, was breathless. I'm actually writing this three days later and I'm only now beginning to catch my breath. So you can imagine what Tuesday was like.

We got through the run thru fine and everyone seemed to hit their marks well, with no major pitfalls. Obviously with this many newbies in the show there were bound to be f--- ups, but that's to be expected. Following the run we did have a note session in the house. I think the most remarkable thing about the note session was the swift kick I got from Allison when I was given a note but was caught sleeping in the aisle - I told you I only had three hours sleep. But I can tell you the note had something to do with my work in the "Gimme, Gimme" song. I just can't remember what it was.

After notes and a quick break for dinner (where I suddenly received dozens of texts and phone messages of well wishes from my family and friends [thank you all]), it was showtime! And it all seemed to go in a blur. But let me tell you, the foundation of my fears were right, because I've played in rather large houses before and I've performed in front of a lot of people, but 1500 screaming and supportive people, on top of not really being completely sure of what you're doing yet, can be a daunting task. As evidenced by my first entrance:

(How it should sound)
Harry: I'm glad to get off that boat.
Bill: That was nothing. You should try a kayak in the Okavango swamps.
(How it did sound.)
Harry: I'm glad to get off that boat.
Bill:...(silence)(headshaking)...pppfftt...yeh- (pause)(more headshaking)....ahhh... that was....that's boat...you - ... that's (exaggerated headshaking)... - try a kayak in the Okavango Swamps!

Brilliant!

Somewhere in the scene I'm quite sure I took a breath. Or two. And was able to finish. But I'm not sure. Really. About any of it. Even now...

Oh, but there's more.

Forging our way through the show, riding about six inches off the floor (at least it felt that way), I made it through. And though I can't say I nailed it, the big Voulez Vous dance number went fine. I felt only slightly accomplished at the thought that at least I didn't hurt anybody else. We then arrived at my big final scene, Take A Chance with my "Rosie", Allison. To say this woman, in theatrical terms, is a Saint, is giving her the credit she is justifiably due.

(How it should sound)
Bill:...I'm a writer. I made up my mind a long time ago. I walk a lone path.
(The cue which begins a series of intricately woven light and set and sound and music cues, all dependant on the line (MY line!) "I walk a lone path."
(How it did sound)
Bill:... I'm a writer. I made up my mind a long time ago. ... ... (pause)... (long pause)... (silence)... (silence and pause long enough for the audience to go back to their hotel, take a shower, return to the theater and still not miss anything.)

Finally, blessed saint and superior actress that she is, my dear Allison realizes that my Alzheimer's has suddenly taken root and I have nothing more to say and so SHE lights the candle, gives the cue and saves the day.

Well, at least I was consistent, bookending my performance with faux paux's at both ends. But believe it or not, they loved us. Apparently the rest of the show seemed to go well enough, including the astonishing performances of Beth and John and Alyse and everyone else, that the audience chose to show their appreciation with applause, and lots of it. It's all a blur at this moment, but I know the ringing in my ears was real.

After the show, we were treated yet once more, this time to the attendance of our producer, the original woman behind MM!, all the way from London, Ms. Judy Craymer. Here's the quick on her:

Judy was a stage manager in London, doing a concert version of Benny and Bjorn's musical CHESS. She spent 10 years trying to convince them to do a stage show using the pre-existing songs from ABBA. They finally relent and she mortgages her London apartment to pay for the first workshop of Mamma Mia in 1999. She procures enough money, presents the show in London, and the rest is history. And here's the final tally:

The Queen (of all): The wealthiest woman in England.

J.K. Rowling (of Harry Potter): The second wealthiest woman in England.

Judy Craymer (of Mamma Mia!): Number 3!

NUMBER frickin' 3!

And I'll bet you don't walk around humming songs from the Queen, do you?!

The after party was a real treat, a chance for everyone to let down their hair, literally, and breathe a big sigh of relief. My wife made the trek into the city just to join me in the celebration, even though she's not seeing the show till Sunday, with my children. (Please don't be scared of Daddy in Spandex!)

Thank God the show is done - now we can just get down to the task at hand and tell this wonderful and uplifting story. That's all I ever wanted, from the moment I woke up (after 3 hours of sleep) Tuesday morning.

A Little Respect, Please!

I'm trying to stay to task, writing only about my MM! experience, and listen, I'm not complaining. I'm a working actor and nothing could make me happier. I'm about to open - tomorrow night! - in a hit Broadway show - Mamma Mia! There are hordes of actors out there who would give their right arm to be in my position, and I know that! I have nothing but deep gratitude for the opportunity before me and I look forward to relishing every minute of it.

HOWEVER...

You would think, or at least I did as I watched the Emmy's last night, that at least ONE of the men that I have had the pleasure of understudying over the years would give me a little SHOUT OUT! A little thank you! A little "I'd be nowhere if it weren't for the support of Patrick Boll who understudied me in (insert Broadway show title here.)" You would think...

But Nooooo....

First it was Alec Baldwin. Alec and I spent four months together in TWENTIETH CENTURY at the Roundabout Theater where I played the pivotal role of Detective Barnes as well as understudying the secondary, not so pivotal, yet lead role of Oscar Jaffe. Alec is a great guy and a wonderful man to work with. Last night he won the Emmy, for the second time, for Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Comedy for 30 ROCK, which, if you've ever seen it, is hilarious! He gave a wonderful and heartfelt acceptance speech, except for the fact that he neglected to mention ME. Obviously a simple oversight.

Then it was my friend Michael Emerson who also won the Emmy for his performance in LOST. Michael is an amazing actor and it's a privilege to count him among my friends. Michael and I did HEDDA GABLER on Broadway during one of the most trying times our country has ever experienced - September, 2001. Our second rehearsal was to be held Tuesday, September 11. I, as most others, remember the day vividly. Though we struggled to make sense of a world seemingly gone haywire, we trudged forth, doing what we know best. Michael played the role of Tesman, husband to the ill-fated Hedda. When he was called upon to present the first of what has turned out to be many Emmy Awards over the years, I stepped into the role that I had been understudying for months. I was overjoyed to get the chance to go on and for my first time on Broadway it was an amazing experience. I'm thrilled that he won the Emmy. (I really am!) He also gave a wonderful and heartfelt acceptance speech, except for the fact that he also neglected to mention ME. Obviously, another simple oversight. Hmm..

In any event, less than 24 hours to go. Tomorrow we have a full dress rehearsal in the afternoon which includes the entire cast in full costume along with full lights, sets, props - everything but a full audience. The two days off have been good - to an extent. After the "high" of doing the run on Friday and the "letdown" of going back to the rehearsal space for notes on Saturday - in which I learned that Mick Jagger was right and "You Can't Always Get What You Want" since we came to the conclusion that no part of my costume will be changed, at this point - I think the break has given rise to two alternating feelings: 1) excitement about the experience to come, and 2) dread about the same thing!

In the end it's a moot point. At 8PM tomorrow night, the show WILL go on! There's no business like show business...

Benny, Bjorn & a Dance Belt

Well yesterday was simply unbelievable! One of the coolest days I ever had in the theater - I mean ANY theater! As soon as I entered the stage door on 7th Ave there was a buzz of excitement in the hallways. I signed in at the call board, a requirement, especially in a large theater with a big cast, and proceeded up the four labyrinthine flights of stairs to my dressing room. A bit of an odd moment as I entered and realized that until next week, when I "officially" start, it is still someones else's dressing room. A dressing room, especially for an actor who's been in a show for a long run, is not just a dressing room: it is also an office and a sanctuary. It's a place to go to center one's self, prepare for the show ahead or cool down from the show just finished. It's usually filled with trinkets and mementos not only of the show but of family and faith and sustenance. So you'll understand what I mean when I say it felt a bit like walking in on someone in the bathroom - I was invading personal space, and it felt odd.

But the show must go on, as they say, so on we go'd. The first 1/2 hour was spent sorting out which costumes I wore in what scene. As much as we have gone through the costume fittings, having the actual costumes in the actual space can be very disorienting. Shirts and pants and hats and gloves and sunglasses - the one joy that I quickly gleaned from all this was I would not be alone. I will be sharing my dressing room with the immensely talented and wonderfully kind David MacDonald who will be playing Harry, so the two of us spent these first moments just sorting through our goods with our dresser Jim. Across the hall sat our Sam, my buddy John Dosset. He seemed a bit more settled, but since he had done the show a few years ago, he was already familiar with the inner workings of the Winter Garden and MM!

Once our first entrance costumes were settled on, we all headed to the house - the theater - for a quick meeting where we learned the events of the day, which included a sound check with the band for certain songs and a full run thru (with costumes, for the "newbies") followed by some notes from the director. The sound check started with sweet Alyse singing her opening anthem "I Have A Dream" and I must say, it was stunning. She has a beautiful voice, made all the better by one of the most amazing sound systems I've ever heard. Clear, precise - this is not your average "theater" sound system, this is a sound system made for a rock concert! I couldn't wait to hear more. As we went through the various songs I was thrilled to learn that one of mine, Take A Chance, was on the list. What a blast it was to stand on the stage, just Alison and I, singing through a bit of the song with a full orchestra, or in this case a 9 piece rock band. Awesome!

Then we got started on the run. I was eager to sit in the audience for bit and watch the first few scenes before I had to make my entrance. I sat house right in an aisle seat, soaking up the glorious sound and the vision of my fellow actors plodding their way through the first few moments of the show, abundant with lights and sets, when I suddenly heard a small commotion in the aisle behind me. I thought little of it since there was work being done with sound checks and various theater personnel running around. With a smile on my face I looked up to find a bespectacled, white bearded man look down at me and say, "I bet you're our Bill".

"Yes I am. My name is Patrick, actually, and I know who you are. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm Bjorn", came his response. And standing directly behind "Bjorn" was "Benny".

Can you say ABBA?! It was Bjorn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson (Benny's on the left above, Bjorn on the right), the writers of our show and the founders of ABBA! I was shocked. We only spoke briefly, but what a thrill it was to have them there. Andy our Stage Manager stopped the run thru at that moment and called everyone to the stage. As whispers grew - "Why is he stopping the show? Did someone get hurt? What happened?" - he shocked everyone by introducing them to the rest of the cast. I'm not sure which was funnier, seeing Benny and Bjorn in the theater or seeing the look on some of the cast members faces when they found out they were there. I think one of the ensemble women almost fainted! In any event, they were very gracious and talked about how excited they were to see the show growing and changing again and they wished us all the best of luck. It felt as though a certain blessing from a certain God had suddenly been bestowed upon us. Now we could go forth and preach the Gospel according to ABBA. Hallelujah!

The show proceeded with gusto after that, everyone agog at their visit and excited with the possibilities. For my part, I found myself in a quandary nearly every time I stepped on stage. In my first scene, as the three possibles Dad's arrive, I walk on first and head directly down towards the edge of the stage without looking at my fellow actors. When we're all assembled, I turn to see, I mean really see, David and John for the first time in full costume and full lights, on the set, looking not like David and John but like "Harry" and "Sam". I felt like I was in another play, wondering who these men were, and what my next line was, and if they made the jacket that John was wearing (because I had never seen it before) in my size? Oh, wait, I'm in a play, I forgot?! And this kind of thing, this train of thought, this stream of consciousness continued throughout the performance. Different scene, different costume, different lights - same ecstatic, floating sensation. "Oh, there's the lovely Alison. I mean "Rosie". That's a nice looking outfit. What? Oh shit, she's talking to me and I'm supposed to say something back!? What? I have no idea. And who's that person with the sexy halter top? Singing? What singing?! Oh, it's a musical, I forgot." It's amazing that no one got hurt, that's all I can say.

No one, that is, except a bit of my ego. As the final moments of the show drew near, and my final exit from the wedding was over, I ran to the stage left dressing room where John and I don our "magic" spandex and the "real" show begins. As I stripped to the waist and then to my skivvies, prepping to slide into my skin tight spandex, Jim my dresser held up a rather skimpy piece of fabric.

"No, no. You have to lose the underpants and wear the belt".

The Belt?! What the hell was he talking about? And what he was holding up looked nothing like a belt.

"That's not a bel..." And it hit me! I remembered a discussion from long ago in a costume fitting far, far away (at Barbara Matera's) when the words "Dance Belt" were uttered. I had heard of the lore known as a "Dance Belt" (notice I pay it reverence by capitalizing each word) and thought it might be a quaint idea for a professional dancer, but certainly nothing I would have to worry myself about. Wrong. The show must go on, eh? I guess, so too, must the dance belt.

In the picture on the left you'll notice the"stylishly discreet" coverage of the frontal area. In the picture on the right you'll notice "floss". This is, without a doubt, the most uncomfortable, and nearly most painful, thing I have ever worn! I don't mind the snug fit up front, needed to cover any "religion" that might show through the spandex, but the dental floss in the back - come on, is that really necessary?! There's got to be a better way!

Apparently not, however, as I hiked up my dance belt - 45 years old, spent most of my adult life doing theater, (half of it "musical" theater) and I've never worn a frickin dance belt! - and slipped on the spandex. A lot had been added to the spandex since my first fitting, with solid glass sparkles and dangles and gussets and neckbands and wrist gauntlets adding at least 10 pounds to the costume. But I was a trooper, as they say, and I "worked it"!

The final piece of my "costume oeuvre" was the now famous, four inch heeled, custom made silver platform shoes. Inching these on proved easy, at first, as I slid my toes in, zipped up and prepared to stand. As my weight adjusted itself, however, I suddenly felt the tiny Asian concubine, feet bound, ready for service. I could barely walk, I was in so much pain! And I still had the final dance and song, "Waterloo" to get through. Does the show really have to go on? I guess so, I thought, as I traipsed out of the room, across the stage, and stormed the front, all the while singing as loud as I could to simply cover the yelps of pain I was feeling inside. Damn, the things we do for art!

Ecstasy is not the first word that comes to mind when describing this event, but it would be the most accurate. In spite of the shock of Benny and Bjorn showing up unexpectedly, the indignity of losing my Dance Belt virginity, the pain of my first official foot binding, this day was exquisite. This was the kind of day we live for in the theater. Action and excitement and thrill and self consciousness and insecurity, insecurity, INSECURITY! It's still and always why we do what we do, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

Janet's World

Henry Ford once said "Never complain, never explain". Henry Ford never danced in Mamma Mia! Is there such a thing as complaining too much? I can't believe it's true, but yes, it is. And I'm now going to break Henry Ford's golden rule by complaining. Too much. And it all comes down to one word - VoulezVous! (Well, okay, two words, but still...)

Today was dance day on the set. Again, there was quite a bit of excitement in the air as we get closer to the "big day" (Tuesday, our Opening!). We combined the "newbies", those of us who are still trying to figure out what the hell we're doing, with the veterans, those "other" people who know exactly what they're doing. Most of "us" are over 40 and slow, most of "them" are under 30 and fast. Fast dancers, fast learners - fast at everything! (And I hate them!) Although with the addition of some new choreography, even they have to be on their toes. But most of them are professionals. I keep trying to convince them that this is my first show, but none of them are buying it.

Truth be told, I had a little talk with myself before we started the rehearsal and told myself that I wasn't gonna be freaked out by the dancing, no matter what happened. And I must admit, it helped. I know for a fact that I didn't hit all my marks and I certainly got a few of the steps wrong (more than once), but as they say, practice makes perfect (or in my case at least a modicum of improvement) so all was not lost. In fact I almost, ALMOST enjoyed the last moment in the dance. But I've got a long way to go, so I'm not getting my hopes up. Yet.

We started the rehearsal with a little timeline/pep talk from Andy our Stage Manager reminding us of how the schedule was going to run for the next few days until we open on Tuesday. Then we dove into a long five hour day of dancing and transitions; transitions meaning from one scene into another with all the attendant scenery changes and movement. It really is a fascinating process and it's amazing that more people aren't hurt on a daily, even hourly, basis!

For example, when Alyse and I sing Name Of The Game near the end of act one, we stand alone at the front of the stage on the "Jetty". The walls of the "house" are in and facing front. When, in the middle of my line "All right, I'll do it", Andy calls "go", an elaborate system is put into motion where the 20 foot long "Jetty" begins a quick descent 4 feet down to even out with the rest of the stage while, at the same time, the 15 foot high walls begin an enormous rotation upstage, which (when the Jetty has landed and I am safely off) I grab onto and "ride" like a carnival carousel. In the mean time, some of my fellow actors, along with members of the crew, are running onstage, between and behind the walls, setting up for the next scene, which happens to be Voulez Vous. Chairs and tables are positioned, liquor bottles and shot glasses are set, actors and actresses are entering from all corners of the stage (all of them singing, don't forget) and no one, astonishingly, gets hurt. Now anyone who has crossed a street in New York City knows the sensation of having fifty people coming at you at once, ducking and dodging each other to cross to the other side - imagine doing that with chairs and tables in your hands, singing at the top of your lungs, trying to remember lyrics and which bottle you're supposed to grab and where to set the glasses down. You get the picture. But somehow, very much like a finely tuned and choreographed dance, it all happens without a hitch. It doesn't happen at once, of course, as each moved is layered in on top of the other over the course of rehearsal, but when it's all put together - that's the magic that you see in the audience. Pretty cool huh?

Progressing through the show, we somehow, in those five hours, managed to get through the whole thing and rehearse each dance and transition and movement. Some still need fine tuning and more work, but the outline is there. Our final kudos went to our amazingly talented Dance captain (and traffic coordinator!) Janet Rothermal. To her credit, the precision and smoothness with which this all took place was, again, astonishing. I'm privileged to be working alongside such talent.

Our final, and in some ways most interesting, hour was spent in a required Physical therapy class. The show, as I've mentioned, takes place on a rake, and the repetition of the work combined with the physical demands can take an enormous toll on the body. The physical therapist was there to give us some tips on how to prevent a lot of the ailments that can accompany working on a rake. Stretches and alignments and a battery of movements - all meant to help prevent future injuries. The most interesting admonishment came to the end of the hour, and not from the PT (as we call him). It came from our current (and a "former", which is what made his comment all the more poignant) Sam, John Dossett. John told us that all this work was very important because, even though we might feel fine now, it's the "cumulative effect of working on the rake that will take it's toll on the body". He should know, he injured himself the last time he did the show. Words to heed, I think.

Tomorrow, we hit the boards full force - costumes, full staging, sets, more equipment. Usually, you might get a little more time if you were "teching" (going through technical rehearsals) a big show like this, but being a new cast in a show that's been running for this long, we're not afforded that luxury. So tomorrow is it - do or die, so to speak. The most interesting aspect will be to get on the stage with the costumes - clothes change everything about the perception of character and show.

Can't wait!

Keep On Running

Well, the train keeps running and you can either get on and enjoy the ride or stand still and watch it pass you by. I consciously chose to get on board today after a much needed, though not very effective, "day off". With a house and two kids and two dogs and career in the balance, there's never a day off. There's barely an hour off. But in my life, there is little time to ponder the details.

I say "not very effective" because as days off go, I was up and going at 6am and didn't stop till midnight. I'm not gonna go through the grocery list of things - dropping kids, school chores, picking up kids, working out - but suffice to say it would make any suburban housewife proud. And I did it all with a smile on my face. Yeah, right!

But it did provide me with a bit of perspective on this coming weeks events and I realized, with the limited time we would have on the actual set, that I should make good use of it. I was determined to get to rehearsal a bit early so I could go over my material, refreshing my memory with lines, intentions and so forth. We started off the morning with a crisp look at some of my individual scenes, first with Alyse on the "Jetty" singing Name Of The Game, then the "wedding scene" where Allison and I sing Take a Chance. Both required rather large adjustments in terms of the physical and technical elements. The stage is much larger than the rehearsal hall, and though I've spent many years working in theater, there's still that excitement that comes with actually being on the set. It made me realize that I'm gonna have to "ramp up" my performance if I'm gonna reach the back of the house, and that's to be expected. But just being on the set, walking around, getting a feel for the size and scope of the theater continued to be an eye opener.

I also realized that the more intimate work we did in the rehearsal room, though it might have felt "small" on the big stage, was actually a great place to start. It's like the seedling that needs the tiny patch of dirt and sunshine to start its growth before it takes root and flourishes. If the seedling is buried deep in the ground, flooded with water and given no light and no nurturing, there's little chance for growth. If we had simply gone right to the stage, without any chance to let the scenes "grow" organically and find their footing in the truth of the moments, the performances would be two dimensional, at best, with a lot of loud and fast singing and talking, but no real connection between actors, between the "people" in the scenes. And that's really what theater is all about, no? That connection? So it was a good thing to begin those rehearsals (what seems like eons ago) in that tiny little rehearsal room, connecting with the material and the other actors in the most intimate of ways. And now we all have a base from which to move, from which, like the seed, we can grow.

Most of the day was spent with patchwork rehearsal, putting together the scenes and spending that much needed, precious time on the set, readjusting spacing and all the while deepening our connections to each other and the material. As Allison and I ran around the set, working on Take A Chance, we laughed at how much more of an aerobic workout this was proving to be in the real space, with a rake (don't forget!) that pitches us forward over 3 degrees. That might not sound like much, but when you're jumping over furniture and running up and down stairs, it adds up! We were sweating like crazy by the time we were done, realizing the workout we would be getting every night. Who needs a gym?!

We finished the day with a quick look at one last scene, the arrival on the beach. It's a short scene-let, really, in which Rosie and Bill share an awkward and sexually tension filled moment together. It didn't take long or much to find what seemed to be a good outline, and that was it. Released for the day.

Tomorrow we move to the next level, adding more elements with full props, scenery moving (there's a lot of it) and costume parts for the "newbies". It will move very fast in the next few days, feeling (I'm guessing) like the clown feels as he's shot from the Ringling Brothers cannon - a bit dazed and extremely confused, but absolutely thrilling. Come to think of it, that's what every day in this business feels like.

Lessons Learned

I've been very fortunate over the last few years to teach a Master Class at Western Michigan University. I basically spend a lot of time talking to the acting students about my life and what it takes to be a "working actor", and I must say the experience is as beneficial and educational for me as it is (I hope!) for the students. I'm always delightfully surprised at the kind of questions the students come up with. This past spring, on my last visit, a student asked me, "What's the most important lesson you've learned in all your years as an actor?" I thought it was fantastic because, honestly, I'd never considered it. My gut response was that "even though I spend hours preparing for an audition, studying my lines and going over the beats (and in the case of a musical audition, learning music and singing the song and trying to understand the "gist" of the scene), and once I've walked in that door and done my best, when I exit, I try to leave it all (the prep, the anxiety, the hard work, the questioning "Did I do this right?" or "Did I do that right?") behind. I try to just walk away and move on to the next one, because otherwise I'd drive myself crazy. It's not easy to do and it's taken me many years to learn how to cope with this kind of situation, but it's probably the single most important lesson I've learned over the years. Did I mention it wasn't easy to do...?

With that in mind, I have to say that I was so frustrated with yesterday's rehearsal - and my work in it - that I couldn't even post. I had been looking forward to it, knowing full well that it would include a lot of notes from the previous day's run thru as well as review work. I knew we would run things again and again and again, not the least of which would be the infamous "Voulez-Vous" number, and I was not disappointed. What I was disappointed in was my lackluster ability, after trying somewhat strenuously to master a particular combination of the dance, to even perform it at the most elementary level. Now this kind of viewpoint is always subjective, as many of the people around me, including Janet and our Dance Captain assistant Ryan, said I was doing fine, learning in small but successful increments. But I was frustrated. I had practiced the routine over and over by myself, trying to understand the moves and get it "into my body" and felt fairly good about it. But when the moment came, repeatedly, I missed the opportunity and seemed to misstep one part or another. As my frustration level increased, so did my self-doubt, and that didn't help. Finally, we agreed to let it go for the day, but in my mind, the damage was done. We finished the day with further review of the rest of the show, but my psyche was stuck on "Voulez - Vous" and it was a tough night's sleep. Obviously I haven't mastered the art of practicing what I preach. I let my frustration of the day carry into my night - not a healthy thing to do.

As I said before, it's not easy, whether it's an audition or the work itself, to leave it at the door.

But what a difference 24 hours can make. Today was spent on the stage at the Winter Garden, and this time I was ready. I knew we were to begin with the "Dad's" arrival scene, and it was great to actually get on the stage and move around in the real space. As nice and comfortable as it feels in a rehearsal space, standing on a Broadway stage, with the width and breadth and depth of the surroundings, it fills the entire scene in a different way. I also made my own small adjustment by wearing my own cowboy boots and my own "Indiana" hat and believe it or not, something as small as that can make all the difference in the world. We ran the scene a few times, adjusting some of the spacing we had developed in rehearsal, and we got to sing more fully on the stage, which also helps to "fill out" the character. In the end it was a very successful morning, having run all the way through Beth's (Donna's) entrance singing the title song, "Mamma Mia". The end of the song is particularly fun for us three Dad's as we get to "rock out", singing about our surprise at Donna's general condition ("She's still got it!") and really letting loose for a few bars. It's a great moment!

After lunch, though, the real fun began as the entire, and this time I mean ENTIRE company got together (over 30 in all!) to sing through the show. And talk about exciting! Wow, what a thrill to hear all these young ensemble members sing the backups and harmonies. I've said it before and I'll say it again, you can have your Patty Lupone's and your Bernadette Peter's and your Betty Buckley's and any other Broadway diva you can name - I'll take the chorus, the ensemble, the hardest working, most dedicated group of people working in the theater. They were amazing! Fantastic! They sounded terrific, and made all the rest of us principal actors sound terrific, too. We sang through the entire show, beginning to end, stopping and starting here and there to "clean up" a bit when harmonies were off or entrances and exits to songs were not clear, but the main point of the session was simply to hear each other for the first time. And it did not disappoint, let me tell you!

For the last few hours we began to review, again, some dance steps. I was fully prepared (and ready to rehearse again) my favorite "Voulez - Vous", but we ran out of time before we got to the most difficult part of the dance, so it'll have to wait for another day.

Tuesday, strangely, is our day off this week, so there will be nothing to post tomorrow. But Wednesday we start in fresh on the stage, where we'll be all week until we "Open", next Tuesday. Odd to say we "Open", since the show has been running for eight years, but for us it will be an "Opening", and I can tell you we're all looking forward to it with great anticipation.

The Bear Hunt

One of my favorite children's books is by Michael Rosen. It's called "We're Going On A Bear Hunt". It's a terrific story of family adventure, traipsing through the woods and the rain and the snow and the mud looking for a bear. I used to read this story to my kids every night (and still do, on occasion, cause it's just so much fun). My favorite part of the story is repeated each time they encounter an obstacle, whether it's the swamp or the wind or any of the other aforementioned encumbrances. Each time they encounter the obstacle they repeat this simple refrain: "Uh oh. We can't go over it. We can't go under it. We have to go THROUGH it." It's a wonderful metaphor for life, really. Sometimes you just come up against an issue that you can't go under and you can't go over, you just have to go through it. Today was the first stumbling run thru of "our" production of Mamma Mia. We couldn't go over it. We couldn't go under it. We had no choice but to go right through it. No one ever said it was gonna be easy.

We actually started the day with a quick review of all the dance numbers - thank God! The dancing for "Voulez-Vous", though short, continues to be the bane of my existence. I'm getting closer with each rehearsal, but it's still fairly complicated, especially for a guy with two left feet like me. Plus, I went to my FANTASTIC guru of a Chiropractor yesterday, Dr. Shire, who diagnosed what I was afraid I had - shin splints! It's a painful strain in the shin (in my case on the left side), so every time I had to spin in the dance, which is often, I felt a sharp pull on my left shin. I kept trying to stretch and massage it, but it still bothered me most of the day. My "Rosie" ("nurse" Alison) was kind enough to offer me a Ben-Gay patch which helped to alleviate some of the pain, but for the most part I struggled through. (I love being in my 40's, except when I HATE being in my 40's!) In any event, the "VV" dance review was extremely helpful, as was the review for "Gimme,Gimme,Gimme" and "Under Attack", the opening of the second act.

Finally, we were ready for the run. As our director Martha pointed out, it really is one of the few (and last) times we will ever get to see the show ourselves since, once it's up and running, we're too busy paying attention to our own roles and putting on and taking off costumes and attending to things backstage to actually "see" it, so enjoy it while we can. Well, I have to say I took her advice to heart and it was wonderful. Even with the amalgam of newbies and veteran Mamma Mia cast members, the show had that rawness and that newness that comes with a first time run thru and it was magic. Things I never saw in the script were suddenly illuminated, performances (we shouldn't call them that since we're still in "rehearsal", but that's what they are) seemed to be growing before my eyes and the room was filled with a kind of awe and wonder. Alyse ("Sophie") and her friends ("Ali and Lisa") were an explosion of energy that started the show and filled the room. My fellow "Dad's" David and John were just fantastic, at turns funny and moving and altogether full of power and nuance. Alison and Judy and Eric and Michael ("Rosie, Tanya, Sky, Pepper") were all just great, and Beth ("Donna") - my God Beth was fantastic. I had the good (or bad, depending on how you look at it) fortune of sitting a mere ten feet from Beth and Alyse as "Sophie" walks in the room with her wedding dress (there were limited props, by the way, so most of this action was mimed) and confronts her mother "Donna" about her marriage and together they sing "Slipping Through My Fingers", a paean to a youth lost and the torch of one woman's strength and independence being passed to her daughter. I'd be lying to you now if I didn't fess up to the tears streaming down my face while Beth poured out her heart to her daughter. It was raw and real and gut-wrenching and, as we all know in this biz, it will probably never be that good again. But that's the beauty of live theater. It may never be that good, but that doesn't mean we won't continue to pursue that excellence in every performance. Of course there were mistakes. In fact, I made most of them. My favorite was during "Name Of The Game" (which, as I've mentioned in previous posts, is so beautiful as Alyse sings this song of desperate yearning and longing right to my face!), when, having listened to her pour out her heart, I just stared at her, completely forgetting MY lyric and recovering only after she prompted me. Nice work, Boll!

By the end, we were all on our feet (literally). The previous posting account of the bows; silent, dancing, singing - they all went off without a hitch and we ended the day, and the run, with the ever delightful "Waterloo", sans Spandex. But it's coming, just you wait.

Tomorrow we brush up a bit, then Monday we start in full time at the theater. We're getting down to the wire, people, and the "mess" is quickly starting to congeal into something resembling the hit show. Let's hope that my dancing doesn't hold us back.

"Uh oh. We can't go over it. We can't go under it. We have to go THROUGH it!"

On Broadway

So today was my first day on the stage and I cannot tell a lie - it was frickin' AWESOME! I know, I should probably try and make it sound like it was no big deal and play it cool since I've worked on a Broadway stage before, but let's be honest, it's every actor"s dream to be on Broadway, and I'm livin' it!
As usual, however, there was very little, if any, fanfare. I entered through the stage door and met the doormen, whose names escape me at the moment, and headed right out to the house (theater) to drop my bag and get my bearings. There is a sense of "been there, done that" about this entire project, mostly because, except for us "newbies", they have all "been there and done that"! But that still doesn't take away from the fact that we're doing a Broadway show. And a highly successful one at that.
Even though I'm actually a day late getting to the stage (we started yesterday but I wasn't called), it was still exciting to be standing out there, on the set, looking at a 1400 seat house, knowing that in less than 2 weeks, it's gonna be full (or nearly) and I'm gonna be singing Swedish pop songs. There goes the pinch again.
We basically did a very rough run through of the show, skipping large sections of dialogue and songs, merely to get a lay of the technical land, as it were. One of the biggest surprises for me was the "Name Of The Game" scene, which is played on the "jetty". The "jetty" is a large, slatted platform that thrusts out toward the audience, and at the beginning of the scene it hydraulically lifts about four feet off the stage. We had talked about this moment in the rehearsal space, but I was surprised at how smooth and how high the lift was. Four feet high from the audience looks much higher when you're standing on it. We (Alyse and I) worked through that scene quickly and safely and as a company got the end in a swift fashion, saving much of the work for next week, when we will have more time on the set.
It was an auspicious beginning, but I think I'll feel quite at home here at the Winter Garden Theater.
I also got a quick haircut from the hair department, which, since they are responsible for maintaining the look of my hair, was a good thing. I haven't had a haircut in months so I was starting to look a bit ratty, although that is very "Bill". We actually decided that it would be best to keep the hair long, but groomed. That way we still give Bill that adventurous look without looking like a yeti.
Tomorrow we're back at the rehearsal space. But those days are numbered, now that we've had a taste of "the Broadway"!

The Nitty-Gritty

It's so weird, or maybe not so weird, that after nearly 25 years in the theater, I know exactly where we are in the process and it never gets any easier. We're now more than two weeks into rehearsal and even though it's a wonderful company, today the "newness" seemed to drop like a rock and the confusion and insecurities that accompany this moment set in. When I say "this moment", I mean this moment in the process, because it's inevitable, like water from a raincloud, like an Elvis Wedding in a Vegas Chapel, that half way through the process all the proceedings become muddled and awash in vagaries. But it's okay, because these, being the "times that try men's souls", will inevitably lead to more clarity and a more specific performance. Right now, however, it sucks!

We spent the first part of the day rehearsing the bows. Now here's an interesting point. One would think that the "bows" for a show, when, as a performer, I am allowed to take some small measure of appreciation from the audience, basking (even for a brief moment) in the glow of an audiences acknowledgement of the work I've done and, possibly (hopefully) the enjoyment I've given them, are organic, and that "taking your bow" might be a spontaneous act, a moment when, at the end of a show, the actor or actors take a moment to step forward and get their just rewards (or boos, if so deserved). This is what one would think of the bows. But not in the world of musical theater. And definitely not in the world of MM! Let me give you a quick rundown:

The closing moment, Sky and Sophie, gazing into each others eyes, love conquering all; slowly, longingly, they walk off into the blaze of a rising moon. Show's over, audience (hopefully, again) applauds. The End, right? Wrong. Only just the start.

First we run on and take what we call the "silent bows", "silent" because we don't make any noise, but the audience (hopefully) does, filling the theater with thunderous applause. Then we rush off.

Next we start the "musical bows". That begins, strangely enough, with our leading lady Beth. Strange because usually the leading lady gets the final bow, but since the show began in London, maybe they do things differently over there. In any event, after her come her two female cohorts, Tanya and Rosie: then the three Dad's including myself, then Sophie and Sky. At this point it's just the "principals", the actors and actress' who have speaking parts, taking their bows, all while singing a reprise of "Does Your Mother Know". Then we rush off.

Next comes the "Mamma Mia" bows, when the ensemble (the absolute hardest working people on the stage every single NIGHT!) sing a reprise of MM and take their bows, all while performing choreography. (Think we've had enough bows yet? We're only halfway there.) Then they rush off.

Next is the "Dynamo's bow", the "Dynamo's" being Donna and Tanya and Rosie. A virtual rock concert ensues, complete with rising platform and smoke and strobe lights, as they sing a reprise of "Dancing Queen", all while singing and dancing and wearing spandex that leaves little to the imagination. Then, you guessed it, they rush off.

Finally, the piece de resistance, "Waterloo". Arguably ABBA's most famous song, certainly their first big hit. By now the audience A: is on their feet applauding and singing along; B: is sitting passively enjoying the end (if it ever comes); or C: has begun the process of insulin injections to counteract the effects of the saccharine overload. In any event, when "Waterloo" begins, Spandex is the word of the day.

Finally, FINALLY, the show is over, the bows are done and someone (the audience, the actors, the crew, the dressers, the custodian, the box office worker!) can go home. Then we start it all over again the next show.

So if you were under the assumption that when you go to the theater and see the performers bowing that it all just "happens", think again. It is very well thought out and usually very well choreographed. And in the case of MM!, it is very well accompanied, getting the most out of ABBA's best.

Following this part of rehearsal, we got down to the nitty-gritty of really working and re-working a few of the scenes. First was the "Take A Chance" scene between Rosie and me, clarifying a lot of moments that were "muddy " and making strong choices about where we were going, both physically and emotionally. It's at this point in rehearsal when things can get a little bogged down and technical, but you have to go through this to reach the other side.

The same held true for the "Name Of The Game" rehearsal which came next. Again, technical and not very glamorous, but we really began to solidify some choices which, up until now, were simply "meanderings" and "possibilities" ("We could do this? Or we could do this?") Today we said "We WILL do this." Once the structure or outline is set, it's much easier to explore the perimeters.

Thursday was strangely a day off for me, but Friday we begin anew, this time on the stage of the Winter Garden Theater for the first time! Broadway, here we come!

"Indi"-pendence

There are some days, today being one of them, when I really have no idea where to start or what to say. I suppose when that happens I should take the hint from my conscience and just leave it. But I think there's value in starting "no where" and seeing where it takes me.

Today's work was short, but informative. We touched on the only scene left in the show that hadn't been rehearsed, partly because, up until last week, we didn't have our "Tanya". But we made up for lost time in that department as she spent most of the day in rehearsal. My time with her was short, however, because she and I rarely share the stage together. We have one small scene when, after returning from a "fishing trip", my "Rosie" and I encounter her on the beach for a quick and awkward verbal exchange. Then we're gone. The scene itself is merely an introduction to the much bigger song "Does Your Mother Know", so we did our part and skedaddled. Because the scene, in the larger scheme of things, takes place on a busy stage (lots of people and props moving around and lots of different events vying for the audience's attention), it's hard to do much more in rehearsal than lay down the basics upon which, once we're in the theater, we can build.

At this point things got a bit interesting. I had yet another costume fitting, again with Angie our Assistant Costume Designer. Only this time, rather than heading down to Matera's costume shop, she brought the clothes to the rehearsal space. We tried on some simple khaki-colored cargo pants and a pocketed, khaki-colored, long-sleeve cotton shirt, fitting for the character as he's been written originally and played thus far in the run. But this is where the questioning began. Simply put, until now the character of Bill has been Australian, complete with Akubra, the real name for the Australian bush hat. And with the multi-pocketed cargo pants, the pocketed shirt, the second pair of pants (though without the cargo pockets), the khaki, cargo-pocketed shorts - the theme to me seemed overwhelmingly Australian. The problem is we're trying to change the character from being Australian to being American. It's becoming more and more clear to me that you can't simply "drop" the accent and make the character American. I'm thinking that he really needs to have his own "look". There have already been line changes in the script to reflect this difference, too. Where Bill was once referred to as "Dundee" (as in Crocodile), he's now called "Indiana" (as in Jones). Where he once replied to the query of his origin as "Australian", he now replies, "I'm from the US." So if the change in the character has been made in the words he says and the things that are said about him, it becomes increasingly difficult to think that the clothes he wears would be the same as an Australians. He would be an American wearing American clothes. Cowboy boots, perhaps, and blue jeans. And of course some sort of Indian Jones Fedora hat. If they have established the original "Bill" as the iconic Australian, it seems only fair that the American "Bill" be afforded the same distinction. Obviously more than just my opinion comes into play here. There is the consideration of the costume designer, first and foremost, and what he is trying to establish. There is also the "palette" of the show, the blending of the costumes and sets and lights and how they all look together. Much has to be taken into account before changes can be made, but in the end the strength of the show lies in the strength of it's characters.

This idea of "costume as character" really hit home when, after the fitting with Angie at the rehearsal space, I walked the 15 blocks north to the Winter Garden Theater and met Ron, the Wardrobe Supervisor on the show, for a shoe fitting. At first I was presented three different sandal options for the end of the first act, when the trio of songs "Gimme, Gimme, Gimme", "Name Of The Game", and "Voulez Vous" are sung. This is the bulk of my dancing so I want to make sure that the sandals I wear are not only appropriate looking but comfortable enough to wear 8 times a week. (I joked a couple of times today with my fellow "older actors" that when we were all in our 20's we threw ourselves around the stage with abandon, caring not for the consequences. Now all we think about is, "Can I really do that 8 times a week?) We settled not on the traditional Birkenstocks that other actors before me have worn, but on a closed-toe sandal designed for comfort and durability, but still within the style of the show.

Then came the boots for my first entrance, and suddenly my dilemma became palpable. I don't want to be known as a difficult actor, and in reality I'm not, but I am very particular about my footwear. For me, the shoes I wear say a lot about, and really inform, the character I play. These boots were large and clunky and certainly do not fit the image or idea I have of an American "Bill". I was offered two colors, dark (almost chocolate) brown, and a lighter, butterscotch-y brown. I commented that if I wore my pants halfway down my ass with the latter, I'd be a home-boy in the Bronx! I walked around for awhile in both pair. Neither held much appeal. In the end, and after much discussion with Ron about my options, I agreed to the butterscotch pair. But this decision came with the caveat that I would be discussing more the idea of boot alternatives, including Cowboy boots, with Martha our director and Angie and the other powers that be.

This is a difficult position to be in, not only for me but for all involved. If this were a brand new show, for example, the idea of character choices and clothing would be a direct discussion between actor and director and designer. But in this unique situation, where you have a very successful, long running show that is trying to "tweak" the characters and change things up a bit, it's a lot harder to make a change, fearing (justifiably) that you might alter some well-working chemistry and topple the "house of cards" that is the show. But the great thing about this situation, I feel, is that all parties are open to discussion and the possibility that something will change. Therein lies the key to success.

One last thing. (This is a lot from a guy who didn't know what he was gonna say in the beginning!) I never tire of walking into a Broadway theater, and this one is no different. It's very cool! There's a palpable feeling to walking backstage in a long running, successful show. It's exciting. As Ron led me up the 4 flights of stairs to the wardrobe room, we passed by what will be my dressing room. I'll be sharing it with David ("Harry") and it's beautiful! We have a large space with a big coach and, best of all, a beautiful view of Times Square. We look right out on to 50th St. It's breath taking and I can't wait to A:move in and B: show my kids. They're gonna think Dad's job is pretty cool! At least I hope so. And the best part is, the theater is right next door to my daughters favorite restaurant, "Ellen's Stardust Diner", complete with singing waiters!

Now if can just figure out what to do about the Indian Jones hat...

Ache-y Break-y Bones

When I was in High School we had a football coach named Russ Hepner. Russ was a muscular man who wore his short sleeve shirts very tight to show off his well developed physique, and his short legged shorts pulled very high in the crotch to apparently show off the other well developed parts of his body. Though no one seemed to take notice of the latter, his "costume" provided hours of "behind the back" ridicule, as only teenagers can do.
Russ had favorite sayings - "...that's hell's bell's fellas..." and "...horse feathers..." were among his most frequent. He was a task master on the field and a feared teacher in the classroom. But he was also, and ultimately, a well respected and liked man.

Two of my older brothers, first Pete and then Dave, were star players on Russ' football teams. As a young man I always enjoyed watching my brothers play, often in fullback or halfback positions, which allowed them the opportunity to score touchdowns and carry the moniker of "star" football player.
I never liked football. I liked watching football, but I never liked playing football. When I was in 7th grade I had exactly one experience with organized football and I still have a clear memory of how much I disliked it. The coach was a non-descript tough guy, the kind who probably played high school ball himself but ended up driving a forklift six days a week: midnight shift.
"So listen young fella, on this play, you're gonna hold your ground and when the offensive end comes at you, you're gonna hit him right in the ear hole!
"The ear hole?"
"Yeah, just hard like this", thwack! (You can take the tough guy out of the game, but you can't take the game out of the tough guy.) "Right in the ear hole."
I remember thinking how much that hurt.
"Don't I get to carry the ball? And run for a touchdown?"
"Nah, nah. That's for the backs. Now get out there and hit!
"But..."
"But nothing. Don't worry about it, you're gonna love it. Hit! Hit! HIT!"
Thus began and ended my career with the Grosse Pointe Lions.

But apparently news of my retirement had not reached Russ's ears, for every year in late July or early August, I received the same phone call:
“Hey Pat, Coach Hepner here, listen, I hope you're havin' a good summer. I wanna talk to you about the football program."
"Football?"
"Sure. We start 2-a-day practices next week. Now I hope you're gonna play football like your older brothers, aren't you?"
"Football? Uh, to be honest Mr. Hepner, I don't really like football."
"Don't like it? Why not?"
"Well, I just, it's just... I don't know, I just don't like it." I didn't have the heart, or the guts, to say that I thought it was a bit stupid, that it seemed like a bunch of organized idiots running around the field, hitting each other in the "ear hole" for 60 minutes while they chased a dead pig.
"Aw, now, let me tell you something, Pat. That's just... well, hells bells fellas, that's just horse feathers. Now, your brothers, Pete and Dave, now they were great young football players. And they really benefited from the program. And I gotta tell ya, I think you’d be a great young football player and I think you’d really benefit from the program as well."
Right. Here's the thing. I didn't want to benefit from the program. I didn't like the program. And although I had a lot of friends in the program, I just didn't think it was the right thing for me.

But I digress. My point here is that in High School the "program" was probably a good thing. Young kids, mostly boys, exercised and stayed in shape. They worked out. They lifted weights. They were agile and limber and after a week of "2-a-days" they went home and ate their mothers' out of house and home and never gained weight.
That's great when you're 16. Or 17. Or 18, or 19, or 22 or even 25. But when you're a man (or woman) of a certain (mid to late 40's) age, the body is not meant for that kind of continual physical abuse.

Unless you're in Mamma Mia 8 times a week. At which point, apparently, all bets are off and constant pain is the word of the day!
Again, and I don't want to sound like a wimp here, or redundant, but we spent 8 hours today rehearsing mostly the dance and movement sequences - "Gimme, Gimme, Gimme", Voulez-Vous", the "Wedding and Finale" - and I am so absolutely fricking exhausted it's hilarious! I'm dyin' here! I'm walking around my house like a 90 year old man! Where's the walker? I think I need that stair chair thing that takes you from one flight to the next! And don't even talk to me about my back. Oy vey!

I should have known I was in trouble when I walked into rehearsal and saw John AND David, both of my other fellow Dad's, wearing protective braces on both of their knees, and we hadn't even started. Did they know something I didn't know? Had they gotten a memo that I missed? Apparently. Though I believe their pain was assuaged no less than mine even with the aid of their apparatus. At least I toughed it out without medicaid assistance!

But in the end, as seems to happen after every rehearsal, we laughed and joked and I secretly pinched myself, quietly asking "I'm still getting paid to have this much fun, right?" Somehow, it just doesn't seem right.

I also have to say that it felt, after all that had gone on over the last few days with the wake and funeral and attendant family issues, very good to be able to throw myself right back into work. There was a speaker at the wake who made a point of saying that a big part of who we are, of what defines us, is the work we do. I believe that's true, and I believe, I know, that I'm very lucky to make my living doing my work, doing what I love to do more than anything else in the world. And no value can be placed on that.

In Memoriam

I just want to take a moment and touch base with you all. I feel a bit odd, taking time away from this show that I have, so far, LOVED doing, for personal reasons. It's like I'm cheating on a lover that I've promised to be faithful to. The creative and management team of MM! have been wonderful and very accommodating and of course the reason for the time off, the death of my Brother in law, is certainly valid and has warranted all my attention. But now, in a complete reversal, I am to return to rehearsal tomorrow feeling a bit like I did around the time of 911, when I went to work thinking "What's the point of all this? Why am I doing this?" I know in my mind that I am loving this experience and I will certainly move forward, as the human spirit does, and prevail. But my heart hurts right now for the loss of our Brad and I try to make sense of it.

I wrote this to a friend tonight and I repeat it here:

And now, I guess, in that strange way that always happens - life goes on. Every one's life has value and, as much as Brad seemed like "just another obligation" in our lives, I know I will miss him and his sweet and gentle presence. God rest his soul.
So...

Like a First Rehearsal - Only NOT.

Wow! What a day. It was short, as we only did a read through of the show, but amazing! Really - this is gonna be a helluva production!

We started a few minutes late as we were waiting for the cast to fully assemble - minus the ensemble. The first thing I noticed, even though, as I said yesterday, we've been in rehearsal already for a week and a half, was the "first read-thru" feeling in the room. Everyone was giddy and excited to be here and for those new to the room there were a lot of introductions. Once we finally sat and began, we were still missing our Tanya (Judy) as she was running late, so we started without her. She showed up moments later and we were whole. As the first act seemed to flow along, I was taken aback at how quick some of the transitions from scene to scene really are. I was especially shocked to realize that after my first scene on stage, when the Dads enter, I don't come on again till the middle of a song called "Gimme Gimme", where the girls are desperate to dance with the guys. But immediately following this raucous number comes the much more intimate, as I've said before, and touching "Name Of The Game." The quick emotional transition between the two, from happy, giddy writer out for an adventure to shocked and confused (there's that word again) possible father, caught me totally off guard. I was still enjoying the euphoria of the first world when I was suddenly slapped in the face with the reality of the second. And the slap was helped along by the truly intense and focused read of Alyse as "Sophie". She's got such an intelligent quality and a quiet intensity about her that even with her diminutive size she really commands a room. It's remarkable to see and be a part of. We finished what was left of the first act and took a break for the intermission. I introduced myself to those I had yet to meet, including Judy, and grabbed a quick bite to eat. It's amazing the amount of food actors eat, considering we were sitting in chairs for an hour. But that just shows how much work and effort goes into a production, even at the read-thru stage.

If the first act was filled with a nervous energy, the second act became much more refined, a taught string across which these characters had to traverse their emotional lives. And when John and Beth, our "Sam" and "Donna", belted out "S.O.S.", the room was rocking! Boy are they a couple of powerhouses! I just sat there taking this all in, pinching myself, as I have often along the way, thinking, "I get to work with these people 8 times a week. On Broadway!" Cool, huh? But if I thought that was good, I was in for a real treat when Beth rewarded us all with her (very early in the stage) rendition of the true 11 O'clock number, "Winner Takes It All". Holy S--t! Talk about "rocking the house", about "quiet intensity", about "keepin' it real" - she was phenomenal! This woman has such power and depth behind her voice, it's remarkable. Even she couldn't take it sitting down, forcing her, as the song did, to get to her feet and sing this ode to loneliness, to self-acceptance, to retribution and revenge with a grace and hunger that explores an interpretation never before seen. John sat there, his "Sam" dutifully taking what was due him. This is gonna be a fascinating and exciting scene.

For my own part, it was like going backward in time, and frustrating too, to be sitting there reading "Take A Chance" after having really fleshed out the characters and the scene only days before. I was ready to get up and move, as was Allison, my "Rosie", but we played the scene with all the intentions intact, only from a seated position.

When we finally finished the read, a rousing applause arose from the room, not only from the cast and creative team assembled, but company and stage management as well. It seemed the success we had hoped it might be was coming to pass. As we arose from our seats, I did have to spend some time walking around, checking in with my fellow actors and stage managers and even Martha and Janet, our director and Dance Captain, discussing the reading. The thing that really stuck out to me, and I expressed it many times in the coming moments to all assembled, was how "real" it seemed. It was grounded and whole. It didn't feel "put on" as so often musicals can. But I attributed that purely to the performers themselves. John and Beth and Alyse and Eric, our new "Sky", these are all actors of the highest caliber and their work shows. These are people who work under the same ethic as I do - the reality comes first. Playing a scene for a joke or a "bit" or a laugh is only effective for a short time, then it loses it's luster and becomes old soon. But when something is real and grounded and comes from the gut - that's something an audience can hold onto and "take home with them". It's a real connection and an audience can feel it. I was sitting in the room with these great people and I felt it! I can't wait to continue that journey.

On a personal note (although what in a blog isn't personal), I won't be writing for a few days. I have no rehearsal tomorrow or Saturday due to the funeral arrangements for my dear brother-in-law Brad who passed away last Saturday. Please remember him in your prayers. He was a sweet and gentle man and will be missed by many. He's in God's hands now.

Change In The Air

There was such a change in the air and a boost of energy added today with the arrival of my buddy, and our new "Sam", John Dossett. John and I are old friends, having performed in the Broadway cast of "The Adventures Of Tom Sawyer" many years ago, so we had a history. And if there's anything in this business that means anything, it's the histories that we share together. Our team is nearly complete now, with only the addition tomorrow of our Tanya, who is the only remaining principal from the Broadway company, Judy McLane. We will finally have our first "read through" of the show, although we've been rehearsing now for nearly a week and a half. That's how showbiz goes.

But what a treat it was to have John join us today and to be working, for the first time, with the full compliment of "Dad's". And a treat it was - from our first moment in the room there was nothing but joking and jockeying for position, all in the name of good fun. Poor Alyse, our "Sophie", didn't know what hit her, as this influx of testosterone simply took over the room. As opposed to the past few days, where we would discuss a scene first and then read through it, we decided today to do just the opposite and we dove right in. From the very first read it was clear that this was going to be, although I have nothing to compare it to but the image in my mind of what it should sound like, a very different scene. There was tension and fun and most of all bite. Yes, there was a bite to the scene which I had no idea existed. It was fresh and invigorating and it felt like three guys, new to the island, vying for position, vying for attention, vying for top dog position. That's what it was - a pissing contest of three dogs saying, "I was here first and this is my territory." And it was a blast. We laughed and joked a lot, mostly about the nature of these three men and why each was here. I, of course with my new found discovery of Bill's motives, continued in my belief that Bill basically came to the Island for a good time and an adventure and ends up utterly confused at every turn. But in this, the first scene, he's yet to encounter that confusion, so for him, it's a time to discover his surroundings and meet, for the first time, this young girl. Little does he know what's in store for him, but his first curve ball is the discovery that Donna, his old fling and Sophie's mom, didn't invite him here at all, as he was lead to believe. It was Sophie who invited the three men and it was her secret to keep. But before that secret can be tested, there's a lovely song (Thank You For The Music) that's testament to the power of a melody and how it may have affected each of their lives. Each of us, including Sophie, lends our voice to the song and it's a great introduction to the charm that awaits.

It's not long before that charm, and Sophie's secret, are tested as Donna makes her first entrance and discovers the men, the three possible fathers of her baby. And this is where rehearsal got really interesting. Our new Donna is the Tony Award winning Beth Leavel and when I say she is funny, I can't begin to describe funny. She has quirks and ticks and laughs and voices and impulses that come out of her at such a rate it's hard to keep up - but it's damn fun to try! She is hilarious and was no less so today. It was hard to keep a straight face, even for a first read thru of this scene, between Beth and John and David and myself, especially when the three men seemed so confused that we jokingly referred to the new headlines - "Never before in the history of Broadway have three actors so quickly closed a successful, long running Broadway show. Their lack of performance surely goes down in history and one of the strongest showings of inability to act ever seen on a Broadway stage" - and so forth. We wandered aimlessly, myself in the fore, desperately trying to make connections with each other and sense of the scene. In the end, as with any other "first go'round" of a scene, it went quite well and we all learned a lot. The next time we approach this scene we will certainly have a better understanding of what each of us means to each other and to Donna. And in the end, that's really the crux of this story. We laid it to rest, confident in the knowledge that with a bevy of talented actors, a scene like this will find it's own rhythm and it's own life and we needn't worry. I only hope now that between the four of us, and the rest of the cast, we don't have too much fun and forget the story we're here to tell. It's been known to happen...

In the meantime, tomorrow, as I've said, brings our first real read thru. This process seems so backwards, I know, but sometimes, because of actors schedules and all of the people it takes to collaborate on a successful project like this, things get put together in such a mumbo jumbo way it seems as if it's never gonna happen. But surprisingly, and amazingly, it does. And I have no less confidence in this project.

Twists and Turns

After an abbreviated morning run (I'm a working actor, after all, I don't have time to spend all day just exercising!), I got to rehearsal a few minutes early to go over the days material. I knew that the "Bill - Sophie" scene was on the docket, and I always like to look look over a scene before I go into rehearsal (I know that should be a no brainer, but you'd be surprised).
I walked in the door and it was everything I had hoped and feared it would be. We spent the first hour just discussing, again, the nature of the relationship between Bill and Sophie - how he knows her, what he knows about her, her past, her mothers past, and whether or not, ultimately, he is or might be her father. Wanna know my personal opinion? I think he's the actual father. Shy of a paternity test, the evidence points most favorably, or in his case, a bit shockingly unfavorably, in his direction. But it was some wonderful investigation and opened even more the mysteries of the script. (I can't believe I'm using those two phrases in the same sentence - Mamma Mia and "mysteries of the script", but when you get down to it, it's true. The play is really a mystery of, as we like to joke, "Who's your Daddy?")

When we finally read through it the first time, with sweet Alyse and I just sitting there, looking at each other and reading through the scene simply, unencumbered with any direction or props or sets or anything more than a basic understanding of what the scene is about, it was everything I could do not to fall apart! She started singing this song (Name Of The Game) of yearning, of hope, of desperation, looking to me for the answers, demanding to know them, and, since the song provides only so many lyrics and most of them belong to her, I could do nothing but reply non verbally, which is not easy to do. I wanted to help her. I wanted to give her the answer she so longed to hear, but I could only communicate through silence, which might actually say more than words. It was simple and beautiful and intimate, and in the end we decided that the actual playing of the scene, once we get to a stage with lights and sets and props, will probably play very similar to this. That is as an intimate, simple, beautiful scene about possible father and yearning daughter struggling to connect. We left it there for the day, knowing the next time we visit the scene, there will be more knowledge to bring to the table.

Next up was Allison and I - more Rosie and Bill work, and we had another blast. We continued with the pre-wedding scene and I discovered, in a great way, that Bill comes to this Island with a fairly banal idea of what's to come. He's merely a writer and an interested "third party", though, having had a "biblical" relationship with the leading lady Donna many years ago, he's not completely without interest. But what happens to him throughout his stay here leaves him in a constant state of befuddlement and confusion. He seems to enter each scene with a certain knowledge about something, only to have that knowledge, what he thinks he knows, turned upside down, leaving him in a constant state of confusion. Knowing that, and discovering that, was like a small light bulb going off for me. As an actor I find the constant battle of trying to stay "on course" or sticking to my "objective, as they say, and battling the things or obstacles that get in my way, to be the most fun. Fighting the adversity, looking for a different tack, walking around in a perpetual state of confusion, though it's tricky to play, can be the most fun. And it's a fine line playing it, cause if you're not careful you can fall into either A: a very muddled performance that confuses not only you, the actor, but the audience as well, or B: it just comes off as comical and two dimensional. The one thing I like to pride myself on as an actor is "keeping it real". I try and keep the character, no matter how crazy the situation may be, grounded and real. It's what often makes, I feel, for better theater. We ended this session, literally, on the floor in what may be the most physically demanding part of the show - for Allison and I.

And speaking of physical - OMG!, as my teenage daughter would say. Men and women over 40 were never meant to move this way! I'm dying over here! I am absolutely exhausted (of course, it doesn't help that I ran 5 miles before rehearsal) because the rest of the day - nearly 4 hours of it - were spent learning the dance to "Voulez-Vous"! I understand that the best way to learn the dance, especially considering we were missing actors and dancers and we're piecing it together, is to do it in sections, but this made it all the more confusing. (See, more confusion, what did I tell you!) So we start the movement a third of the way through the song and (God Bless the patience and understanding of our dance captain Janet and her assistants Ryan and Tony) I was completely lost. I put on a good face and made it look like I knew what I was doing, but that was all a front. (As I said in a past post, I revoked my "Dancers Union of America" card long ago) Twists and turns and stomp steps and arms flailing and more twists and turns on gyrations and counting. Counting, counting, COUNTING! I can't be expected to sing (Oh yeah, did I mention, we SING while we're counting and dancing!) - I can't be expected to sing AND dance AND count AND act! For God's sake, I'm only one man! And let me tell you, it was painful! I can run 5-8 miles in a day, no problem, but ask me to dance for 10 minutes - I'm a frickin basket case! And I wasn't alone. I won't name names (Beth, Allison, David, basically any of us over 40) but there were others who struggled as well. Twisting and turning - all I can say is anyone out there over 40, or even near 40 (or under 40 but can appreciate 40!) who comes to see the show better get on your feet and give us a damn standing ovation at the end of this number! Did I mention the twisting? And the Turning? And the jumping? I know I sound like an old man, but I left that rehearsal aching in places I didn't know I could ache. I walked down my street after and saw my friends Manny and Elsie who asked how I was doing.
(Nearly out of breathe) "...Exhausted from dancing..."
Loving and kind neighbors that I have, that laughed in my face so loud I could hardly react. they seemed to think my pain and anguish was merely provided for their enjoyment. (I have to say, it was pretty funny.)

In spite of all the hard work, did I fail to mention how much fun it was!? I don't want to leave you with the impression that I don't enjoy this, because I do, deeply. At the end of the day, I wouldn't give it up for anything - except, maybe, some vicodin.

Tomorrow my friend John arrives and our cast is nearly complete. I'm looking forward to that. And I don't think I have to dance, but, like a boy scout, I'm always prepared...