Places, Please!: Becoming a Jersey Boy (7 page)

When Des read the outline, filled with these amazing band anecdotes that no one had really heard before, he promptly said... “No, thank you.”

Apparently, Des would only work on this show if it was absolutely true and absolutely non-traditional. He wanted a biographical musical that placed the songs in real places: clubs, concerts, studio recordings. He wanted it told from each band member’s slightly different point of view, and he wanted it done soon so he could run it at his theatre in eight months. As usual, Des got everything he wanted.

Jersey Boys
opened at La Jolla on October 17th, 2004. It sold out every night. It transferred to Broadway, opening there on November 6th, 2005. It sold out every night there too. It opened a touring company on December 10th, 2006. It has since sold out every night. The rest is history. And I am hoping beyond hope that I become part of that history.

*         *         *

Over a year has gone by now since my first audition (one year, seven days, twelve hours, and fourteen minutes...not that I’m counting) and I am actually still feeling positive. I have been lucky finding work at small theatres in shows I care about, and have even been cast four times in one particularly wonderful play.
Almost
,
Maine
is a beautiful piece of work written by a guy who I now feel privileged to call a friend, John Cariani. His play has become a prominent feature in my life in the past year, as I have spent many months working on it in New Jersey, Connecticut, and upstate New York. I commute to these theatres by train, and spend much of the daily rides reviewing
Jersey Boys
material or listening to the cast album.

In a very minor way, I feel like I’ve hit my stride. I am teaching and lecturing a lot to make money, performing in many small theatres, booking a few voiceover spots, and going on many good auditions. I have a great apartment, an amazing family, and the potential for great things. I even have two upcoming shows lined up back-to-back with no downtime in between, something that has never happened to me before in my life. Two shows back-to-back, both with decent paychecks, means that I am able to pass on the Teaching Artist work for a while and live as a full-time actor. The next six months look great, and it all makes me feel quite fulfilled.

But this is 2008 in New York City, time of the housing crisis and the banking crisis and the unemployment crisis and all sorts of other crises that make small, non-profit theatres suffer. Within two days, I get two calls:

“Dan, that new musical you were supposed to play the lead in at Queens Theatre in the Park has been postponed indefinitely.”

Then, “Dan, the new production of
Almost
,
Maine
you were supposed to start rehearsals for tomorrow at Stamford Theatre Works has been cancelled because the theatre went bankrupt.”

And in one fell swoop, I have nothing on the calendar for six months and no source of income.

*         *         *

Having too much free time on my hands is not something I am used to or enjoy. The gestation period of becoming (trying to become) a Jersey Boy is coming within sight of the gestation period an African elephant (about twenty-three months).

Too much time passes. Work is scarce. Once again, the call comes in from Merri Sugarman’s office that Des is coming to town the day after tomorrow and a job is available this time. And look how these things work out; I am free to attend now that I have absolutely nothing to do that day. I am told the first requirement of the audition day will be a new feature in the
Jersey Boys
casting roller coaster—a harmony audition. I am being sent some sheet music (which, if you recall, I can’t really read) with four different harmony lines on it and an mp3 of those lines (thank goodness). So before appearing in front of Des with my Tommy material, I will be appearing in front of Ron Melrose and be asked to sing each of these four lines of music. And so, once again, my next two days are filled with learning new material. It’s music for “Let’s Hang On,” a song in the show that Tommy doesn’t even sing.

But, I rehearse the four bits over and over and over again until I know them and each one feels like its own song. Humming along to each of them a hundred times is the only way I know how to learn.

The day arrives and we are called in groups for the harmony audition. I know the parts well, but this proves to be a stressful audition. Ron assigns parts to sing at random, listens to each of us sing them, and then quickly changes the part assignments and listens to us sing the new ones in ever-changing groups of four. This continues for fifteen minutes, and the singers are either mastering it or really embarrassing themselves. Preparation counts in this kind of thing, and I have a feeling that is part of what Ron is looking for. But he also just needs to know that an actor can hold on to a tight harmony line. Some of the guys can barely hang on to their first part, never mind switch to a different one without a break in between.

I survive because of my preparation. Only once do I begin singing the wrong part. Ron notices right away (his ear is ridiculously aware), corrects me, and I am ok from then on. If this group is graded “pass” or “fail,” I think about three-fourths of us pass and the rest, very clearly, fail. A couple of them fail big time.

Later in the day, I appear before Des again. There is always a team of people behind the table at these auditions, maybe fourteen people total, but Des takes the focus. He is a presence in every room. He dresses cool, has wild and unkempt hair, and a very distinctive voice. With his presence bearing down on me, I blast through all of my standard material: Elvis song, Tommy songs, and Tommy scenes. I am not in the calmest state-of-mind, as I now hope to book this show not just as the realization of a dream, but simply as a way to pay my rent. When I am through, Des has no notes or advice, but guilelessly thanks me for coming in and sends me on my way. This is not a good sign.

Sure enough, the next day I get a call from my agent, “Dan, this is not an offer yet, but they want to know if you would be at all interested in an ensemble role. They are not offering the role of Tommy.” And to top it all off, my agent also tells me that
The Lion King
people have asked that I come in for a third callback for an ensemble role on the tour. Funny how things happen. Two years ago I would have jumped out of my pants (yes, my pants) at a call like this. An ensemble role in a worldwide smash-hit musical? Hell, yeah!

Now, I am a practical guy who is obsessed with budgeting and schedules. But I also have a gambling streak in me. And here my gambling streak shows its face. My agent and I decide that we should take the risk in turning down the two possibilities with the hope that something bigger will come along soon. We tell
The Lion King
people, “No, thank you,” and the
Jersey Boys
people, “We are now only interested in the role of Tommy.” A few days later, the stellar Michael Cunio is announced as the new Tommy in the Chicago Company of
Jersey Boys
, while I stand in line at 7:00 a.m. waiting to sign up for another general audition.

*         *         *

The life of a small-time actor requires an ever-present positive attitude. I am pretty sure my attitude towards auditioning, whether I book the job or not, must be showing through in these pages. I have a generally hopeful outlook; I wouldn’t survive without one. The only reason I am not routinely damaged by being judged and passed over is that I am constantly looking forward to the next opportunity. I persistently remind myself that the person I am auditioning for today has no idea what I did in my audition for that other job yesterday.

Around this time I get close to being very lucky. I have a regular audition, one of many that week, that results in a callback. A callback is when I really kick things into gear, for that’s when I know that I at least look like I could fit the role. The show is
The Story of My Life
. It is a very real, very touching musical that premiered in Canada and is coming to Broadway in a few months. It has only two actors, and they are looking to cast an understudy to cover both of them. (This would later change as they would end up casting two understudies, but at this point they want to find a guy who can do it all.)

Preparing for the callback, I get very familiar with the show and, of course, learn three songs and about twenty pages of the script. This musical floors me. It is amazing. (I think everything is amazing. People tell me that all the time. But this show really is.) I attend the callback and receive a second callback. I attend the second callback and am asked to come in for a work session with Richard Maltby, Jr., the director. I work very hard and spend many, many hours preparing for these callbacks and the final work session (I even have a bad cold, my first time being sick in two years), but in the end I do not book the job. The letdown with this kind of news, though I am very used to it, still stings. That night, I sit alone in my apartment and write the following journal entry as a sort of catharsis:

Nobody said it was going to be easy
,
but nobody said it was going to be this hard either
.

We are talking about people who pursue a dream that probably began when they were ten years old
,
and who continue to pursue that dream for twenty
,
thirty
,
even forty years
.
Everything they do tailors to that pursuit
.

Why are there so many actor
/
waiters
?
Because waiting tables is an evening job with flexibility and decent pay
.
Not because the actors can’t do anything else
,
but because they are sacrificing money
,
a nice apartment
,
vacations
,
and going out to restaurants themselves
,
all in the pursuit of their one overarching dream
.
And it is a dream of theatre
;
a love of performing that drives them
.
They are not hoping for fame
.
They are hoping to be a nameless dancer in the ensemble
.
If they wanted fame
,
New York is certainly not the place to find it
;
there are too many people and too few opportunities here
.
They are not hoping for money
.
Ensemble roles on Broadway pay
$
1700 per week
,
and that is only for as long as the show runs
.
Remember that most shows close in months
,
and even steadily
-
working actors usually find themselves with a year between shows
.
These jobs do not create affluent actors
.
Nor do these jobs create recognizable actors
.
And yet thousands
,
yes
,
thousands of actors in this city dream about it when they sleep at night
.

Here’s a typical situation
:
an actor finds out that he has an audition next week for a small part on Broadway
.
He spends every night memorizing and rehearsing the nineteen pages of lines for the audition
.
He spends
$
40 to have someone play him the three new songs he needs to learn
,
and then
$
150 to meet with a vocal coach who will help him sing them well
.
He takes the night before the audition off from any kind of work
,
and has to leave the entire next day free as well
.
He goes to bed early
,
then wakes up early because
,
physically speaking
,
the voice needs a few hours to warm up to peak performance
.
He auditions
,
then waits for a phone call
.
It comes
,
and he is asked to come back two days later for a callback
.
He then takes that day off work and repeats the routine
.
Excellent
,
another callback
.
He takes that day off work as well
,
and again repeats the routine
.
He waits for the call
.
By this time
,
it is so close he can taste it
.
He waits an hour
.
A few hours
.
An evening
.
A day
.
Finally
,
a call from his agent
:
they loved him
;
but he was too young
.
Or too old
.
Or not quite a good enough dancer
.
Or they wanted more of a tenor
.
Or anything
.
It doesn’t matter because now he is sad
.
He’ll get back that drive again
,
but remember that he has now dropped
$
190
,
three days of lost work
,
and countless rehearsal hours in pursuit of this possible job
.

Alone
,
with nothing to do today
,
I nearly tear up
.
It felt so close
.
I may come this close again
,
sure
.
But it will be at least a year
.
And I tell myself that I am one of the lucky ones
!
I have an agent looking for these opportunities for me
.
Not all actors have that
;
in fact
,
most don’t
.
I remember being onstage for the first time in fifth grade
.
I want to thank the teacher who put me there
…
but what would I thank her for
?
That I struggle to find work now
?
That she instilled in me an
“
unrealistic
”
dream
?
It doesn’t matter if it’s unrealistic
,
it won’t go away
!
Why won’t it go away
?
I could be a lot happier on a day
-
to
-
day basis if I had a steady job somewhere
,
with a nice house and health insurance
.
I could have those things
.
It is not that I am not smart
.
Or capable
.
I have a wonderful day job at a theatre company that treats me with respect and challenges me every day
.
But it is not what I have dreamed of since I put on the red tin soldier costume that Aunt Jill made me and proclaimed
, “
I’m Colonel Cuddly
,
at your service
,
dolls
!”
It is not the dream I had when I started crying with happiness
(
and I’ve never told anyone this until now
)
when I was cast in my first high school play as a freshman
.
So what if the part was small
?
It is not the dream I had when I got my first lead role in a real theatre that actually paid me money
.
That role went to my head
.
It was a lesson
.
I thought everything would get easier after that role
.
It never got easier
.