Places, Please!: Becoming a Jersey Boy (8 page)

Every decision I’ve ever made has been influenced by this dream
.
Yes
,
every decision
:
wife
,
then ex
-
wife
,
cities
,
then new wife
,
kids
.
I missed my grandfather getting re
-
married because of a performance
,
and missed his funeral because of one as well
.
I carry the funeral card around with me because I feel so guilty
,
but really
,
would I have done anything different
?
I have been asked
, “
When are you going to give up
?”
I have been asked
, “
Do you think you’ll ever get a real job
?”
But I have also been told
, “
I believe in you
,”
and those are the words that get me up in the morning
.

Today was a hard day
.
I trust tomorrow will be better
.

*         *         *

I struggle to put together a full schedule of Teaching Artist work to fill my time, and I audition full-tilt, as usual. After a couple months looking for acting work, I am lucky to book two gigs back-to-back again. And they both look like they could be the most joyous gigs of my career. First, I will be in yet another production of
Almost
,
Maine
, but this time under the direction of the author, and my friend, John Cariani. This marks the first time he will direct his own play, and it should be quite special. Next, I will be spending the summer (along with my family) near my parents in Rhode Island, playing the lead in one of Theatre-By-The-Sea’s summer musicals. The theatre’s new producers are friends of mine, and I grew up working as an usher at that place. It feels like I am coming full-circle, and aunts, uncles, and cousins are already looking for their tickets.

I am content. It is a happy Thursday evening and I am having a burger in Midtown Manhattan with my friend from Theatre-By-The-Sea. An hour later I will meet up with John Cariani to see a play he invited me along to. During dinner, I receive a call from my agent. This is unusual; since it is past normal business hours, I figure it is just updated information about a small audition coming up. Being in the middle of dinner, I let the call go to voicemail. When the bill is paid, but before leaving the restaurant, I listen to the voicemail and my jaw drops.

“Dan, they are looking for a replacement for the role of Tommy in the Toronto production of
Jersey Boys
and they need to see you for a work session first thing tomorrow morning.”

The long-running shows in Toronto are like the Broadway of Canada. Toronto is only an hour plane ride away; this could work. This is happening tomorrow morning. But it means I would have to quit the two jobs I now have booked; two jobs that not only mean a lot to me, but that were given to me by the very people I am hanging out with tonight. Oh boy.

After a couple of very understanding conversations, my friends assure me that there will be no hard feelings if I do have to quit these jobs, for who could say no to
Jersey Boys
? This is calming to hear, but really I can’t even believe I am having these conversations in the first place.

I go home, review the scenes and songs, and prepare for the next day’s routine.

*         *         *

The work session is stressful. It is just Merri Sugarman, Richard Hester, and me alone in the Dodger’s rehearsal space. Dodger Properties is the producing organization behind
Jersey Boys
, and countless other hit shows. Their offices take up part of a floor near 8th Avenue and 43rd Street in Manhattan, and their private rehearsal space takes up the rest of the floor. It is a beautiful space with pictures of current and older shows on the walls. I am dressed well, warmed up, and ready to go, when Richard begins the session by asking me, “So, do you know what happened last time?”

Um. Nope.

“Dan, for whatever reason, the last time you were here you just did too much. You were wound up, putting on too much of a fake voice, and just not the Tommy we first saw.” Ouch.

So we work for an hour dissecting each scene and go through exactly what Des is looking for. Richard is good at this. He opens my eyes to things and directs me as if I already have the role and am preparing to perform. He smoothes down my Tommy into a calmer character. He amps up the jokes by telling me it is ok to find a little enjoyment in intimidating the other characters. He tells me it is good for Tommy to make fun of himself in the final monologue, for Tommy knows that he looks a bit pathetic from the outside. But also that I must defend myself in the last couple sentences, convincing everyone that things are not really as pathetic as they appear. If I knew a year ago all the things Richard is telling me today, I would be doing the show already. Damn it! He psyches me up, and makes me think I can get this.

Richard and Merri tell me to come back on Sunday. They tell me that Frankie Valli and Bob Gaudio will be there, so as not to let it surprise me. They have a debate about whether I should wear the suit I have worn all along, or a more casual outfit. They settle on the suit. They are trying to show me off.

The next day is a blur of final at-home rehearsals. On Sunday morning, I begin my pre-audition routine again, interrupting it only because I am inspired to start writing things down. And that’s where this book really begins…

*         *         *

April 26th, 2009

It is a Sunday morning. I am sitting at my kitchen counter in Manhattan and I’ve just decided that the stuff I am feeling right now could make a good book. The journey I start later this afternoon might be of interest to a lot of people: actors, students, dreamers. Today is my final audition for the leading role of Tommy DeVito in
Jersey Boys
:
The Story of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons
. I have been a struggling professional actor for all of my adult life, and this job (God, I hope I get it) will be the only high profile one I have ever had.
Jersey Boys
is a worldwide phenomenon, and this will not only be my big break, but the fulfillment of a dream I have had since Mrs. King cast me in my first musical in the fifth grade.

My hands are trembling. I inherited this nervous trait from my mother, although today the trembling is compounded by the vast amount of coffee I drank while running over my lines one last time. It’s been almost two years since my first audition for
Jersey Boys
. The one today will be lucky number thirteen.

THE FINAL AUDITION

CLASSIC LAS VEGAS, MEDICINAL BANANAS, & DES McANUFF’S COLOGNE

April 26th, 2009

The audition is once again at the Dodger’s rehearsal studio, that beautifully sunlit room on 43rd Street. This feels right. I am able to go in already focused and ready to do exactly as I rehearsed the other day. Of course, on Friday there were only two other people in the room; today there are almost a thousand.

Michael David is here. He is the famous producer in charge of Dodger Properties. An iconic theatre personality, he is instantly recognizable by his long, full beard. This beard is the first thing I see when I walk in the room. It is a fuzzy beacon of power.

Frankie Valli is here. He really is a small man, in size and attitude. For a guy who has influenced the world of music (and theatre) so much over the past fifty years, I must admit that I expected a stronger presence. But he is humble. He is soft-spoken. He comes out of the room ten minutes before my audition and asks where to find the bathroom. He wears all black, and sports a gold watch and earring. He looks like classic Las Vegas. And his hair is the same as it has always been—big and round.

Bob Gaudio is here …or so I’m told. I can’t see him. Knowing the way the show portrays Bob (quietly in control, out of the spotlight), I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he becomes lost in the sea of faces. He does not introduce himself, nor does anyone else introduce him. I suppose he just watches from the back of the room, exerting his control later, in private.

Merri is here. Richard is here. Tara Rubin (Merri’s boss) is here. Many interns are here. And all of these people feel like my cheering section. I feel like they are on my side, like they are rooting for me. I have never felt this kind of energy in a casting session before in my life. And Des is here. Of course. He asks me to play guitar and I bust out my trusty, “That’s All Right, Mama.” Richard told me that Des prefers his guitar players to look up at the audience when accompanying themselves, instead of looking down at the fret board. Des plays guitar well, so he should know how hard this is to do! But I practiced, and I commit.

“That’s good, Dan. Now can you do the first scene?”

The reader the casting office brought is someone I have never seen at a
Jersey Boys
audition before. But I know him! We performed together once before and he was also a reader on the last job I booked. He is good, really committing to the material. He isn’t as off-book for the scenes as I have become accustomed to, but I consider this a good sign; it shows me that he hasn’t been doing these same scenes all day long. I am unique. Hopefully I am the only Tommy being seen today. All signs look good.

I perform the first Tommy-Frankie scene, the one that establishes their big brother-little brother relationship. There is a set of keys used in this scene, and for the first time I actually bring a set to pull out of my pocket. This was a great debate for me, whether to bring real keys or not. See, an actor traditionally doesn’t want to bring props with him to an audition. It isn’t necessary, and can sometimes make him look a bit crazy. (I won’t get into the story of my audition for
Avenue Q
—the audition for which I purchased two $100 puppets, thinking it might make me stand out. Oh, I stood out all right. And I was never called in for
Avenue Q
again.) I decide, though, that the keys are a small enough prop, and the scene is sufficiently grounded in reality, that adding them will actually help me.

Genetics could ruin this though, for holding out the keys to Frankie might reveal my little inherited quirk of trembling hands. In preparation for this, I ate three bananas. I read somewhere that bananas are calming to the nervous system. (If anyone knows otherwise, please don’t tell me. They work for me today [even if only psychologically], and I plan on using this technique again!)

The scene goes well, and I am asked to perform the next one. The next scene in the packet is more of a bullying scene, for it involves Tommy exerting his control over Joe Pesci. (Yeah, that Joe Pesci.) After we are finished, Des rises from his throne and comes over to talk to me privately. This is presented as a very special, very fatherly moment. Des puts his arm around me like a football coach about to whisper to his player. It is manly, but intimate. His cologne is very strong. He guides me to the back of the room. Respectfully, everyone else pretends to busy themselves. But guess what? The studio is very small and they are all right there on the other side of the table hearing every word that is spoken. Des tells me a bunch of stuff—brilliant stuff—which I have to filter into something I can actually show him in five seconds. My edited version of what he says: “smile more.” So I do. And he laughs.

After that, I do the infamous hit-on-the-reporter scene with Merri. Since I began the audition process, casting performers for this show seems to have become Merri’s full-time job. Thus, she is now very much off-book.

I perform the final monologue, and it is received with what appears to be quiet contentment. I receive absolutely no more notes, so either Des loves what I am doing and is convinced I can do the part, or he’s given up.

I leave the room offering much appreciation, and as I am putting my guitar back into its case, another guy is called in to read for Tommy. He is the last actor auditioning this day. Often, being the last actor seen is a sign that you are preferred. I hope he is not preferred.

I leave the studio, call my wife to tell her how it went, and begin walking home in the first 90° day of the year. I am wearing my dark suit and black shirt, and am carrying my heavy guitar case and a backpack full of music and hair products. I am so worked up, because of the day, the heat, and my baggage, that I have to stop in a little park to calm myself down. (Ok, “park” is an exaggeration. I am in front of Macy’s on a bench with a two-foot by four-foot patch of brown grass behind me.)

When I finally arrive home, I go through one last audition routine, a routine that I carry out after each round of
Jersey Boys
calls. I put away my large book of audition music in our bedside drawer, stick the audition scenes into their manila envelope in my backpack, put my guitar strap back on the electric guitar where it usually lives, hang my Ovation back on the wall, place my guitar tuner and picks back in their place next to the television, and carry the guitar case down to our basement storage cage (stuffing it in with all my might because we really have too much stuff in that storage cage). I am done, for now.

I go to the small gym in our building. No one’s there (it’s the middle of the day, and most people are working), so I have my phone out and the ringer on high. I am not sure when I will receive a call, and I don’t want to miss it. After a quick workout, I take a long walk, leaving the phone in my hand and the ringer on high. I do some paperwork for an upcoming workshop I am teaching, and leave the phone next to my computer with the ringer on high. Cara comes home and we have a bit of drama with Mark and some teenage shenanigans that occurred on a recent Boy Scout trip, but I leave my phone out while we talk to him (yup, ringer on high). We have a family dinner out at Blockhead’s, a terrific Mexican restaurant with cheap and delicious margaritas, and I leave the phone next to the salsa with the ringer still very much on high.