Places, Please!: Becoming a Jersey Boy (14 page)

When we are finished, he closes his book and says, “Well, you know all your parts.” Note that he does not say, “Well, you sound great.”

“Yeah, I guess I pretty much know them all,” I reply.

“Yes, you do.”

The subtext here is that
Jersey Boys
cast members have been fired outright for not singing up to the company’s standards. This is a fact. I may know all my parts, but if I don’t do them well then I will be fired. That is how this world works. I wanted the musical director to say I sounded great. But he did not.

May 14th, 2009

Rehearsal is scheduled back in the stilt-walker’s studio from 2:00-5:00 p.m. today, but at 1:08 I get a call from Kara, the dance captain. “Where are you? Rehearsal was supposed to start at 1:00.” Great. Luckily, I am already on my way to the studio, having thought I would arrive a half-hour early. It seems that the rehearsal time changed, and that the change was posted on the callboard at the theatre. But I didn’t think to check the callboard at the theatre because I am not in that show! Eric insists he told me about the change, and that may be so. But Eric, I don’t deal well with change…

So, my day begins with a negative impression cast upon me, and unfortunately it continues throughout the day. I ask Kara to clarify some of the moves in “Beggin,” because I noticed last night at the show that the guys did it slightly different than I do in my room. We check my notes and it turns out that I wrote down the choreography incorrectly. And I practiced a lot. So now I am an expert at the wrong choreography.

We work on “Who Loves You” next. This is a very fun song to do. The number begins with the four guys walking onstage one at a time, building the song verse by verse. As they enter, they look to each other as a way to check in and re-connect. I discover today that every one of these looks is choreographed. Every single one. Walk, walk, snap, snap, look left, step-touch, look right, pivot, snap, snap, look further left. Why do choreographers stage things like walking and looking? Leave that to the individual actor, I say. Of course I haven’t staged multiple productions of a Tony Award-winning musical, so I should probably keep my opinions to myself. (Or publish them in a book.) (Hee-hee.)

May 15th, 2009

I have choreography rehearsal onstage for the first time today. This is another expensive rehearsal for the producers, for not only do I have my usual cadre of multiple stage managers, the props master, the dance captain, and the associate musical director, but they need to hire in two local stagehands to move the scenery. Very intimidating.

“You the new guy?” one of the stagehands asks.

“Yeah, I am. I’m Dan; nice to meet you.”

“Well thanks, Dan.”

“Thanks for what?” I ask.

“The overtime.” Then he chuckles.

The work goes well, but I am hesitant to perform full-out in this big, empty space. As these days go by, I am less embarrassed to do a performance full-out and more nervous of getting into habits and choices that don’t work. There is still a lot of character-forming to do, and I don’t want to get used to doing something any one particular way. Some guys can jump right into a full performance, but I have to step into it gradually. I am forever marking things.

Next, I have a one-hour rehearsal with Ron Melrose, the music supervisor of the show. This is the only hour I will have with him, as he is just in town for a couple days to check in on the tour. This is also the first day I am in front of someone with the power to fire me.

Ron asks whether I have any questions and I say no, why don’t we just do it. We sing through the first three songs without stopping, after which he gives me some great notes:

• He says he likes my “bad boy that you want to go home with” quality, that it is similar to Jeremy Kushnier and will be a good swap.
  
• He says I should accent the consonants in the first song I sing, for it is reassuring for the audience to hear a simple song in English after they have been taken for a ride through the opening number, which is in French.
  
• He suggests I use a glottal attack every time I say the word, “I” in my first two songs. He says this will accentuate the fact that Tommy is focused on himself.
  
• He clarifies which speeches are timed out to the underscoring, and emphasizes that I have to finish talking or the song will go on without me.
  
• And he says there are some songs he would like to hear on my guitar, and others he has deemed too difficult to play smoothly (this is the same conclusion I have drawn). So, while I will play everything live, my guitar amplification will only be turned on during certain songs where I am not moving much and thus can play cleanly. He emails me the guitar charts to work on at my convenience (in other words, every night for the next month).
  

Ron does not fire me. I love him for that. But he does tell me a great story of an actor who never made it past his callback. In one of the early scenes, the character Hank Majewski gets angry with Tommy, telling him, “Stick to what you know. Rob a bank.” This is always a big laugh line. Apparently, an actor auditioning for the role was given this scene to read and thought it was a pretty easy little bit. With frustration, and at the top of his voice, the actor exclaimed, “Stick to what you know, Rob! A bank!” It is amazing what an incorrect pause can do.

May 16th, 2009

Today the cast performs two shows, so my official rehearsal call is only two hours and takes place while the matinee is being performed. Kara and I take over a small portion of the wardrobe room at the theatre. She has me run the numbers in real time just as they are being performed mere yards away, but teaches me the choreography for “Ragdoll” during the few moments between songs. So, my rehearsal is sporadic and disjointed and provides great exercise for my brain.

Kara says I am doing the steps much better now, but that we need to work on my style. Sergio, the choreographer, places big emphasis on the way each character moves, not just what moves he executes. I wonder if this is good? Shouldn’t my style just be, well, mine? I guess he is trying to make the movements of each character represent who they are on the inside. I’m sure I will grow to appreciate this, but for now it is just more specifics to work on.

I spend the rest of the day listening to my harmonies while having an Italian dinner, watching the second show from the audience, and rehearsing alone back in my hotel room. Now, in bed, I miss home a lot more than usual. The last show of the season for
Saturday Night Live
is on television right now, and Cara will be attending the wrap party after it is over. I wanted to go to that party with her. Oh, well. Maybe next year.

May 17th, 2009

Another two-show day for the cast means another short rehearsal for me. If I rehearsed only as much as they slot for me to, I would never learn it all!

I am set up in the wardrobe room again. It’s funny in there—I have a stage that is marked out by costume racks and three dressing mirrors set up to watch myself. But the costume racks sometimes need to be accessed by the dressers (who chuckle at me), and the mirrors are warped, reflecting only a funhouse version of my sweet, sweet moves.

During my official two-hour call, Kara teaches me the curtain call choreography and helps put some finishing touches on the few gestures I do in my first song, “Silhouettes.”

“Dan, I want to tweak your opening number.”

“Ok. Cool. What should I do?”

“It is more like what you should not do. I want you to move less. You look cooler if you move less.” This cannot possibly be a good thing.

I have now been taught everything in the show, except for three quick bits I have to do with the fight captain. I know my track in
Jersey Boys
. I don’t do it well yet, but I officially know everything and that feels pretty good.

Before I go to clean my sweat off and watch the company’s two shows, I visit Joseph Siravo in his dressing room. Joseph plays Gyp DeCarlo in the show, and has since the tour was first launched a couple years ago. Joseph is the resident Italian expert (he used to be on
The Sopranos
—what other credentials does he need?) and has offered to go over some pronunciations with me. He is a very nice, very giving man, and boy can he talk! He not only teaches me how to pronounce the Italian words I say in the show, but also about the dialect Tommy’s family would have used when speaking Italian, the history of some of the slurred consonant sounds, and the “proper” vowel sounds to watch out for and keep from creeping in. He then promises to email me a five-page document he prepared on the three lines of Italian dialogue in the show. Five pages. For three lines. This guy is very complete.

I watch the first performance of the day standing at the back of the auditorium because every one of those twenty-five hundred seats was sold. For the second show of the day I take control of the wardrobe room, setting up simulations of every prop, guitar, and suit jacket that I will need to run my track in its entirety.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your half-hour call. Half-hour until places.”

I put on fresh rehearsal clothes and drink some water. I act as if I am going to perform tonight. I want to test myself.

“Ladies and gentlemen, places please. This is your places call.”

When the real show begins, I begin too. There is a monitor in the wardrobe room so I can hear every word spoken onstage, but I try to get to the lines a few seconds before Matt Bailey does so I am not relying on him to help me remember. I dance the numbers in real time, speak the words as a few-second preview, and make it through the whole show without a major mistake.

You know what is the greatest thing about this real-time rehearsal? Even though I know the show is fast and furious and I have been sweating through it every day, I realize today that there is some breathing room. I will have moments (if only brief) backstage to grab a drink of water and cool off before launching into the next number. I can do this without passing out. I think.

I decide to go to a party the cast is having tonight. It’s a fiesta party, celebrating Cinco de Mayo a couple weeks late. A few of the guys are living in a rented house down the street from the theatre and have decorated it with all kinds of hysterical, Mexican-themed items. Piñatas, giant bowls of nachos, tons of Coronas, and a bathtub made to look like the border between Mexico and the United States (complete with green army men on the US side, and a Barbie doll trying to swim across from the Mexican side). I have a great time, and feel pulled in as a family member once again.

I leave the party pretty early to go back to the hotel and begin my usual routine of working on the show and catching my wife up on the events of the day. When I walk out to the street though, there is a police officer getting ready to ticket every car on the block. The parking regulations on this street are confusing enough that everyone made the same mistake, prompting a neighbor to complain.

“Officer, the owners of these cars are all inside. We’re from out of town. We’re with
Jersey Boys
down the street.” I think this might impress him.

“You’re from New Jersey?”

“No. We’re with
Jersey Boys
.”

“Well wherever you’re from, I’m going to ticket these cars if they are not gone in five minutes.”

I guess I have encountered the only person in America who has not heard of
Jersey Boys
. But I become a little bit of a party hero when I run back inside and get everybody to move their cars. A cop ruining a great party, it’s like college all over again. (Ok, I didn’t really go to the type of parties that cops broke up when I was in college, but you get the idea.)

May 18th, 2009

Today is my first wedding anniversary. I celebrate this morning by sleeping in and doing nothing but watching CNN until 2:00 p.m. As much as I love Anderson Cooper, he is not who I would choose to spend my first anniversary with. My first choice is beside me, sort of. You see, last night I had the brilliantly modern idea of leaving the webcam active while Cara and I fell asleep. This meant that, even at 4:00 a.m., I could roll over and see her asleep next to me. Perfect. (Ok, it’s also a little freaky. And I snore sometimes, so she probably turned her sound off.)

After much CNN, I rehearse in my room, and all the shuffling back and forth starts wreaking havoc on my left knee (a recurring problem I’ve had since injuring it in
The Music Man
in college). To help that knee, I decide it is best for the show if I spend an hour soaking in the hotel’s hot tub. Yes. I sacrifice my precious time to soak in a hot tub for the sake of the show.

I grab dinner alone at a pub over in Downtown Disney, the families there reminding me a bit too much of the one I have hanging out back in New York. I’m lucky, but lonely. Happy anniversary, honey.

May 19th, 2009

Eric calls a full understudy rehearsal today, so I am able to interact with other actors for the first time. I have worked on this show for two weeks, and never have I spoken the words directly to another human being. Until today.

We begin steadily. Opening speeches. First few songs. Because much of the first section is a direct address to the audience, there is not much difference yet in having the other actors around me. The show moves briskly, the other guys hand my guitars to me at the appropriate times, and the short sections of choreography look pretty cool with all of us doing it together. Then, when we reach the section of “Cry For Me” where The Four Seasons start singing together for the first time, my heart stops. Four guys and four distinct voices. Close harmony. This is the sound of
Jersey Boys
, and there is nothing like this sound.

I am blown away and feel ready to burst from pure excitement. With the mood this song puts me in, the rest of the first act is a blast. “Sherry” has a great harmony that explodes from the first word of the song. “Big Girls Don’t Cry” looks great because my movements match up with many of Nick’s. “Walk Like A Man” is overpowering as it ends with strong gestures and all of us singing at the top of our lungs.