Places, Please!: Becoming a Jersey Boy (17 page)

And then it is time to pack. Packing is difficult because not only am I packing for a long, long time, but I will be carrying everything myself through the airports and need a manageable system. I end up with a carry-on bag filled with shirts, a duffel bag with pants and shoes, a backpack with my vocal score, scripts, dramaturgy, and day planner, and a guitar case stuffed full of underwear. Yes. I have to fill the extra space in my guitar case with underwear because there is no room for it anywhere else. (And what am I going to wear while rehearsing by myself if I don’t have lots of underwear?)

Ready to go. I guess. This dream job is much less exciting when all my bags are packed.

REHEARSING IN TORONTO (AGAIN)

SUBWAY CARDS, QUICK-CHANGES, & NINE-IRONS

May 31st, 2009

The morning starts with a sweaty walk to Penn Station, carrying the means to work and live for the next year on my back. I take the New Jersey Transit train out to Newark International Airport. Riding the train on this route, I pass through Belleville, New Jersey, boyhood home of Tommy DeVito and site of the Four Seasons’ beginnings. I pass the famous industrial New Jersey skyline that features as a backdrop on the
Jersey Boys
set. And I pass the long Goethals Bridge that is supposed to be conjured by the metal trusses on the set. I am on my way.

The airline I take departs from a small terminal. Porter Airlines is a Toronto-based company and they share the terminal with El Al Airlines, which offers non-stop flights to Tel Aviv. Frankly, Canada and Israel feel equally far away today. And the terminal is so tiny that they warn me there is no coffee beyond the security checkpoint. Do I really look that tired?

Upon arriving in Toronto, I take a cab to my temporary lodgings. I am staying about a half-hour south of the theatre (too far) and about a fifteen-minute walk from the subway station (also too far). Oh, well. It is only temporary, and the apartment is extremely large. The building feels like a retirement complex and, come to think of it, probably is a retirement complex. (There are VHS tapes in the lobby that residents can borrow. ’Nuf said.) The large common room has a pond in it that is filled with gigantic goldfish. Rachel will dig that when she gets here.

I want to settle in to my new city before the craziness of the next couple weeks, so I unpack and go for a long run in the surrounding neighborhoods. This part of Toronto is very residential. It’s nice enough, but not particularly exciting. I run along many streets with houses, one with apartment buildings, over some train tracks, through a cemetery, past the supermarket…and I could have been in any town anywhere in North America. Nothing distinctive here. Rock music, standing ovations, and my name in lights are a half-hour north.

I am not nervous about the show, really, but I am anxious about this new life away from home. I get lonely. Really lonely. I am glad to have a wife who doesn’t mind a million short phone calls a day. But even some of those phone calls end up being hard.

“Daniel, I’m home now and your clothes are gone.” Cara is feeling alone now that she arrived back in New York.

“Not all of them, hon.”

“No, just the ones you actually wear.” I can’t argue there.

So I ask, “How’s Mark?”

“He’s fine. But he’s not talking to me.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t talking to me much either.”

“I guess he’s just processing the changes we are making around here.”

I get defensive. “We’re not making any changes, Cara, I’m just doing a new job for a while. It’s not forever. And you’ll be up here before you know it.”

“No, I’ll be here and you’ll be there. Don’t get me wrong; I’m still happy and I know this is the best thing for you, but I can’t tell you it’s not killing me to not have anyone to eat with right now.” Note that Cara isn’t complaining about not having someone to talk with, walk with, or sleep with. Just eat with.

It is 11:00 p.m. We often eat nachos at 11:00 p.m. This neighborhood in Toronto seems to have nowhere to eat at night except one gross little dive bar.

That’s not going to be good for my routine.

June 1st, 2009

Today sucks. Only two places here allow you to buy a monthly subway pass with a credit card, and one of those places is sold out of the passes today. I literally spend an hour trying to buy a card. How can you have a city with a public transit system that doesn’t let me give it money? I want to buy a (very expensive) monthly subway card, you send me all over the place to do it, and then you are sold out of them? How is that even possible? When I finally get to the place that sells cards and has them in stock, there are only two credit card machines and one of them is broken. The line at the only working machine is thirty people deep. I ask you, what is the purpose of a public transit system? To let people get around the city more efficiently, right? So how is it efficient if it takes me an hour to get a monthly pass? This is the most ludicrous thing I have ever experienced.

And Verizon’s service in this country gets me angry, too. I pay a lot of money now for a Family Plan that includes coverage in both the United States and Canada. But guess what? First, the coverage here in northern Toronto is lousy. Second, searching for coverage drains the battery on my phone incredibly fast and I can’t go a full day without charging it. Third, my phone doesn’t ring in this country! I’m sure this last one is a problem that can be fixed, but ever since I crossed the border my phone will show someone is calling, but refuses to ring or vibrate. So I’m missing calls from Cara all the time. And it kills me.

I go for a run to clear my head of the subway pass situation, then for a three-hour walk in the evening to explore downtown Toronto. (I’m really committing to this exercise, huh? The
Jersey Boys
workout regime! Oh wait, is this effecting my suit size?) Downtown Toronto seems cool enough. The blocks are long, and streetcars carry people east-west while the major subway line travels north-south. The subway seems much less frequent than I am used to in New York, but I guess this is because most people still seem to drive here. (It’s been a long time since I have driven with any consistency.)

Toronto seems much, much dirtier than New York, but there is a reason for this: the city is in the midst of a sanitation workers strike and the raw garbage is piling up everywhere. Welcome to my new home! Every public trashcan has a pile of garbage built around it, and some public parks are being used as temporary garbage-collection stations. Trash bags are dumped in these parks until they reach twenty feet high. And there are rats. I know this is not the normal state of being for this ordinarily beautiful city on the lakefront, but I find it hard not to have a really awful first impression. I am looking forward to starting work again tomorrow, just so I can be inside all day.

June 2nd, 2009

I get to try on some of my costumes this morning, but those suits that didn’t fit last time are suspiciously absent from the fitting. The wardrobe department at the theatre (ten people in all) seems to be full of terrific personalities. These are people who have worked together for a long time; they do puzzles during intermission and take turns baking desserts to share. Their large room, the largest wardrobe room I have ever seen actually, is lit with Christmas and Halloween lights. (It’s June.)

Upon trying on some blue pants, the head of wardrobe tells me, “Dan, you look great in these!” I think she likes the fresh, unwashed color in the fabric. (I think. But it is quite possible she was looking directly at my butt when she delivered the compliment. My butt does look quite good in the blue pants.)

“Yeah, they’re terrific,” I say, “but I bet I will never see them on me again.” I wear the costumes too quickly in the show to ever get a chance to look in a mirror.

I have a spacing rehearsal during the day with two people I will be getting a lot of notes from in the next month: the production stage manager, Cindy Toushan, and the dance captain, Victoria Lamond. Both are very clearly on my side today. Even though the rehearsal is an easy one, just working through any differences between what I was taught and what actually occurs in the Toronto production, they are both full of compliments. I know where I am supposed to be, and I do a smash-up job walking casually through the show.

I visit the hair room for a haircut. I have been growing my hair since I was offered this role, and it is getting quite out of control. They cut it short on the sides, help me figure out an appropriate (greasy) style, and dye it almost black! I’m supposed to look more Italian now, but still I say there are blond Italians, right? And Tommy DeVito himself didn’t have hair that was very dark. Oh, well. It does make for a striking look. My eyebrows are still very blond, though. Black hair. Pasty blond eyebrows. There’s a joke in there somewhere.

I had my hair cut today because there is a scheduled photo call. With a new lead actor in the show, the company prints all new brochures, advertisements, lobby photos, and even a giant billboard outside. These pictures are all being done today, so the cast begins arriving for them in the early evening, greeting me in less dramatic fashion than last time I was in town. The photo call itself has many people doting on me. And those lights! My first time standing under full light on the stage and I find it absolutely blinding. I am not exaggerating when I say that I can’t see two feet in front of me. I can’t even see the two feet attached to me.

I watch the show this evening from a box on the side of the theatre and am struck again by the power
Jersey Boys
has. The audiences in New York and Florida were loud and fun right from the first moments of the show, but the Toronto audience has a different flavor, one that proves the show’s worth. This Toronto audience starts off far more reserved than the other two types I have observed. Perhaps because of the influence of the Stratford and Shaw Festivals (theatre organizations with more of a classical influence), this audience seems hesitant to clap or laugh too loudly. While they enjoy themselves from the first moments of the show, they do not vocalize their enjoyment as much as I have seen in the other cities. But here’s the thing: I can actually hear them get louder with each successive scene; and by the time the big numbers in the second act come along they are screaming and jumping to their feet. It is like the show has lifted them up, one song at a time, until they can no longer stay in their seats. They go on such a ride that they seem to absolutely burst with excitement during the finale. It is amazing to watch. This Toronto audience is not an easy sell, but they are always sold by the end of the evening.

I finish my night with a long subway ride to my temporary neighborhood, a solitary dinner at the only place that still serves food at this time of night, a long walk up to my apartment, and a too-short conversation with Cara as she falls asleep. It is easy to feel lonely here.

June 3rd, 2009

There are two shows for the cast today, and I am given the choice of how to spend my time. I have not run through the show in real time since Orlando, so I ask if there is a place I can set up and run the show while listening to it over the monitors. Not only is there a place, but it is an infinitely better place than my wardrobe room setup down in Florida. They let me take over an entire small theatre, one that adjoins the larger auditorium where
Jersey Boys
resides. An electrician rigs the small stage monitor so it will play through a larger speaker in my personal theatre, and he installs a television that is cabled through to the adjoining building so I can see the live performance as well. Unbelievable.

They give me a few guitars to use, some basic props, and even a swing. That’s right. One of the swings not performing this afternoon runs through the show with me, playing all the other parts himself. Grant Tilly covers six roles in the show, and knows all the nuances of each actor. He is even able to give me a whole lot of information about my own track, because he has already performed it about twenty times.

Grant helps a lot; he finds the perfect balance of respecting my own differences and helping me with what the other actors are used to. It’s quite tricky to do. I’m sure he notices a bunch of things that I do differently, or even wrong, but he is very careful about what he says and how he says it so that he isn’t telling me what to do. I like him right away, and am in awe of his knowledge about the subtler points of doing this role. He teaches me which pocket to keep my prop car keys in, when to transfer the deck of cards from my jacket pocket to my pants pocket, where to keep water bottles backstage, and a million necessary tidbits like that.

During my dinner break, I opt to stay at the theatre and work on some of the guitar parts. I play the songs decently now, but am still figuring out which ones I trust my playing enough to have the guitar turned on for. Playing guitar while dancing is like writing a letter while walking. You can do it, but it comes out messy. (To make an even more accurate comparison, try writing the letter while running, dodging taxicabs, and holding a cup of coffee; that’s what it’s like playing guitar while dancing in
Jersey Boys
.)

June 4th, 2009

Oh, What a Day! The entire cast is called into the rehearsal studio with me today so we can work through the show together for the first time. It is hard on my brain, but absolutely thrillingly and breathtakingly fun.

With long studio mirrors in front of us, we all take our places for the top of the show. We have just a piano for accompaniment, and no costumes or microphones, but every other element was brought into the rehearsal room and is waiting for me: my real guitars, props, microphone stands set to my height, tables, and chairs. And the cast seems excited.

My opening position is hanging on a fence, but of course there is no fence in the rehearsal room, so I mime holding a fence during the first number. Then, my entrance music begins and the rest of the show barrels on like the freight train it is.