LA, NY or Chicago?

The midwest, including Chicago, my former stomping grounds, has been staggered by this relentless weather as of late. I really didn't enjoy Chicago as a city. Not at all. I lived there for ten years. Before that I lived in NYC for about fifteen years, give or take. I say 'give or take' because easily half of that time I spent 'on the road.' Out doing theatre gigs, that is. And yet, I have nothing but fond memories of NY. Chicago is quite a different story. I simply don't understand why Chicagoans are so fiercely defensive of their city. It's a miserable place to live, geographically. Now, true, it is a very pretty city when the weather is nice. The Loop, the downtown area of the city, is quite diverse, I suppose. And I do agree there are a lot of places to eat in the city. But the weather is nice there very briefly over the course of a year and does one really want to live in a city simply because it has a few nice restaurants? I would hope not.

Artistically, Chicago holds some adventurous venues, theatrically speaking. But unless one works on a continual basis at, say, Steppenwolf or The Goodman, it's nearly impossible to make a living as an actor there. It is, instead, the largest community theatre town in the world. Thousands of actors working for free in small, storefront venues. Yes, some of the work is stellar, but pursuit of a career there eventually means driving a cab or waiting tables or being a secretary and then giving up all your free time to do theatre at night in a fifty-seat house that is usually less than half full. I don't really consider that a career.

Now, of course, one can run into the same professional problems in NY or LA. But those cities offer the one thing Chicago does not: the carrot on the proverbial artistic stick. There is always the chance, even the opportunity, to land the 'break out' role, the big money, the brass ring, the pot of gold barely hidden at the end of the rainbow. Chicago, realistically speaking, doesn't offer this.

One of the things I noticed in my decade in Chicago is that a lot of young actors, fresh out of academia, coddle an ill-advised plan to 'train' in Chicago and then move to NY or LA. Theoretically, I suppose that's not a bad idea. Realistically, it's stupid. If an actor has reached the age of 22 or 23 or whatever and is still thinking with a little more experience he or she might be ready for some 'big gigs,' well, chances are that actor will never be ready. Unless the actor is suffering under a relievable 'crisis of confidence' this approach to a career rarely works.

The major problem is the simple fact that no one sees your work in Chicago. No one of importance, that is.

LA is king of the 99-seat venue. Hundreds of them. Even more than Chicago and NY combined, I'd venture to say. Now, one of my pet peeves here on the west coast is the 99-seat theatre that charges 'dues' for membership. It's a scam. It's a necessary scam sometimes, but a scam nonetheless. Young actors (and even older, more experienced actors) pay around $75 a month to 'be in plays.' I know of one place in NoHo out here that has some sixty dues-paying 'members.' And every now and then they do a play, some one-acts or something trite like that, and just rake in the cash. They don't offer classes for the 'dues,' they don't offer training of any sort, they just take the money and put the actor's headshot up in the lobby as a 'member' of the troupe. Eventually, of course, the actors, most of them anyway, wise up and pull out of the 'troupe.' The company then posts an ad on Actors Access and drags in a whole new gullible gaggle of actors happy to give them $75 to be in the 'troupe.' This scenario repeats itself endlessly year after year after year because sadly there is no shortage of hopeful young actors in Los Angeles.

This practice is not limited to LA but I have to say, I see it more often here than in NY or Chicago. I find it irresponsible, deplorable, and most bothersome, simply cruel. Alas, life is not fair and my kvetching about it doesn't make it so.

Steppenwolf, of course, was the exception to the rule in Chicago. But even the wonderful actors that came out of that institution didn't thrive until they had peddled their wares, via the company, in New York.

In the final analysis, Chicago is the city actors fly over to get to other cities. But I want to be clear: some of the finest actors I've ever met in 35 years in this business are in Chicago. Geography has absolutely nothing to do with talent. But they are, literally and figuratively, spinning their wheels there.

There for awhile a lot of filming was taking place in Chicago. Nowadays whenever I see a film that was shot there (The Fugitive, Blues Brothers, Dillinger) I see a bunch of people I know from that community. They have a line here, a line there. Small roles, one liners, cameos. People I know to be terrific actors. People I've seen do just awesome work on stage in front of about 12 people. And their claim to fame is saying, "He went thataway" in a big money hollywood movie.

After all is said and done, Chicago has become a 'friends and family' city, theatrically speaking. While living there I realized that the audience usually consisted of other actors and family members coming to see little Timmy act. To be fair, a lot of times this is also true of the 99-seat 'pay to act' venues in Los Angeles. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but is that really why any of us do this? I don't think so. Being a serious actor in Chicago eventually becomes a parody of the business itself. "You should have seen my Biff Loman at 'Grandpa's Strasberg Institute of Serious Acting' down on Addison Street. It was incredible!"

There are pitfalls everywhere in this business. I'm sort of picking on Chicago right now, but that city is certainly not alone when it comes to living a life of the mind in theatre. The bottom line is, if you're not sure you're 'ready' for NY or LA so you go to Chicago to 'get ready,' well, it's a cop out. Either you're good or you're not. A few years of storefront theatre is not going to make a difference.

See you tomorrow.

The Art of 'Sucking Up.'

Many years ago in NYC a much older and constantly working actor friend of mine said something to me I didn't believe. He said, "Working Broadway and Hollywood is just like your college theatre department. Jobs are gotten the same way on every level: who you know, who likes you, who you make laugh, who you suck up to, who's seen your work." I thought at the time it was a preposterous statement. Of course, now I realize it's true.

I'm sure I'm not alone when I say there have been hundreds of times in my life when I would be watching a film or TV show and thought to myself, 'How on earth did that guy (or girl) get hired. He (or she) is TERRIBLE!" Well, as cynical and disheartening as it sounds, they knew someone. They were friends with someone.

There was a guy I went to school with. No names for obvious reasons. He was a stunningly bad actor. But terribly funny and charming off stage. He gladhanded everybody. One would always see or hear him in the halls laughing uproarously at something a faculty member had just said, or slapping them on the back and complimenting them on whatever they happened to be wearing. To me it was all too transparent, this unapologetic sucking up. And yet he probably did more mainstage roles than anyone I knew in school at that point. And every single time he was just embarrassingly bad. I don't know what ever became of him, but I suspect his appalling lack of talent finally caught up to him and he stopped working and moved into another line of work.

Since that time I've run across countless actors that do the same thing. But now that I'm older it no longer surprises me. After all, it's the same with everything in life, really, not just the acting business. It's how things work. Certainly it's how things work in my business.

Now this sort of thing doesn't work at the very highest level of film producing. I mean, Tom Cruise may not be the greatest actor that ever lived but he's certainly not a bad actor by any stretch of the imagination. Eventually there's so much money involved in the film industry that gladhanding and sucking up can only get one so far.

The same is true of Broadway. The money involved is just too important to hand a role over to someone who's greatest asset is their ability to kiss ass.

Although I can't say it doesn't happen in TV and regional theatre. I see it all the time. Friendship trumps talent.

Now, I'm not writing from a standpoint of sour grapes. I haven't been in LA long enough to do that yet. I mean, I hardly know anyone, so I can't very well be resentful yet. Nonetheless I see it. It doesn't piss me off (although someday soon, I suspect it might), it just makes me smile knowingly.

My close buds John and Brad did a small budget movie a few years ago. It's just awful. But, John and Brad being talented, they are good IN it. Yet in one of the leading roles is an actor so bad as to be almost unwatchable. I asked them about it. The answer didn't surprise me at all. He knows everyone, they said. He's friends with everyone. He is, off camera, one of the most personable, complimentary people on earth, they said. He's been hanging around the peripheries of the film business for twenty years, apparently.

Now, at this stage of my involvement in the film business out here, I don't even know WHO to suck up to. It's not like I run in the same circles as Spielberg or Scorcese or Anderson or Cameron. In fact, the only circles I run in are Franny and Zooey and they, unfortunately, aren't in the position to offer me a job (Franny and Zooey are my dogs, by the way.)

Even Angie has told me stories like this. She was, for many years, a casting person out here in LaLa Land. Often times we'll be watching something or other and she'll say, "He's a really nice guy, too." To her credit, most of the time she says this, the guy is pretty talented to boot.

But my point is that the entertainment industry, for the most part, is the same as any other line of work. The squeeky wheel gets the most oil. Casting folk are no different than anyone else; all things being equal they'd rather cast someone that blows smoke up their ass than someone they hardly know. It is, alas, the way of the world.

Again, I'm honestly not bitter about any of this, particularly since I'm really most definitely in the fledgeling portion of my Hollywood career. I mean, I would have no compulsions about sucking up to someone if I knew who to suck up to.

It's important for the young actor to see this, embrace this, accept this. It can smooth over a lot of pain and rejection simply by knowing it.

Back at the grind today. Go over the whole script to Adding Machine. Sing the songs out loud a couple of times. Get my head back in the game after a few days off. This is one of those shows that will never exactly be 'fun' to do. It's too severe. But sometimes I do experience a mild catharsis by doing it, which is good. And I do like everyone involved which is a good thing, too.

See you tomorrow.

My Secret Obsession.

I have it within me, I think, to leave the earthly trappings of this world and completely submerge myself in the virtual world of gaming. I have to be ever-vigilant about this aspect of my personality. I only have a few games these days...Madden Football, a wild west game called GUN and my beloved swords and sorcery game, DIABLO. This is on purpose. These games are like crack to me. I just can't play one for an hour or so. Once I start, I'm off to the races. Life ceases. I live in my head. I begin to experience a whole new and fresh litany of crippling personality disorders that I've spent years battling in real life: resentment, anger, hostility, revenge, apathy, entitlement, egomania, inferiority complexes. And yet, like mood-altering drugs, I gleefully throw myself into it all knowing full well the consequences and dangerous escapist mind-set these games instill in me.

It all began in the summer of 1977. I was 16 years old. My buddy Pat Collins, unbeknownst to me, had an older brother. He was much older, in fact, and that's why I didn't even know he existed. One day Pat said to me, let's go by and say hi to my brother Jesse. Who? My brother Jesse. He lives down the street from us. You've never met him. Oh. Okay.

So we went to visit Pat's brother Jesse Collins. When we got there Jesse said you can come in but you have to stay standing against the wall. You can't move. Why? Because I'm chasing the Bismarck. Excuse me?

Jesse was a wargamer. And in that moment my life changed.

Jesse had moved all of the furniture out of the front room and was playing an incredibly complex miniature warship game called Dreadnought. And yes, he was indeed re-creating the hunt for the Bismarck off the coast of France in the spring of 1941. He had dozens of miniature (two inch, extremely precise models of WWII warships) battleships spread about the front room. The carpet was a dull grey and looked eerily like a real miniature ocean. He had transparent rulers and and a metal compass near him. He had dozens of many-sided die spread here and there. Four-sided die, the standard six-sided die, eight-sided die, ten-sided die, twelve-sided die and twenty-sided die. On the table behind him in the next room sat a thick, ominous player's manual. And there before me, on the carpet, looking like the wild and windy grey ocean, was the Hood, the King George V and of course, the Bismarck. I was transfixed.

Jesse could see in my eyes immediately that he'd found a soul-mate. You like history? I said yes. Let me explain what I'm doing.

And he began to draw me into the world of wargaming. And I have never fully recovered.

I began visiting Jesse (he was much older than I was and worked as a social worker at the local state hospital - but that was not his life - his life was wargaming.) every weekend for the next two years. Jesse was a serious collector of games. Now, you have to realize, these were not games like Risk or Clue. No, these were unimaginably complex games issued from companies with names like Strategy and Tactics and Avalon Hill.

Over the next few years we played dozens of games. Eventually a few others joined us. My friends Dave Gibson and Bob Steinrauf (who later attended West Point and is now a officer in the United States Army) and a few others. We refought dozens of Civil War battles; Gettysburg, Shiloh, The Wilderness, Antietam, Chancellorsville, Sharpsburg, Fredicksburg. We played one game (my favorite, in fact) called Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. This game took approximately 72 straight hours to play. We would start it on Friday afternoon, only take time out to sleep and eat a bit, and would try and finish it by Sunday night. It started in the fall of 1939 and ended when it ended. I remember one marathon session in which the war lasted until 1951 (on paper, anyway). Each player would handle one of the major nations involved: The United States (which couldn't enter the war until the end of 1941 in order to keep the game as historically accurate as possible), Germany, Italy, The Soviet Union, France and Britain. We refought ancient battles in China and Japan, the War of 1812, the battle of Waterloo, WWI and even Custer's Last Stand.

Of course it didn't occur to me at the time, but I was getting an extraordinary education in the process. I had, through hardly any effort of my own, become a history geek. A virtual encyclopedia of historical events.

This was also about the time a new game was just coming about. It was called Dungeons and Dragons. Jesse got the first three books and hundreds of miniatures and we gave it a shot. Instant obsession. We played D and D off and on for the next couple of years, magically transporting ourselves into the realm of our fervent imaginations on a weekly basis.

I continued playing wargames (remember, this was before video games and computers) throughout college and later when I moved to NYC. I found a group that played in the back room of a hobby store in Chicago when I moved there.

And now I play solo via computer and Playstation in Los Angeles. One of the collateral benefits to all this was the fact that I now have a freaky knowledge of historical battles and war. Comes in handy during Trival Pursuit.

Unlike others, however, wargaming has not completely overwhelmed my life. I do it now and again these days. But when I start a new adventure in DIABLO or I roll the die to start yet another re-creation of the battle of Shiloh, I am at my absolute happiest. My imagination soars. My troubles evaporate. My highly advanced sense of empathy kicks in (probably the sole reason I became an actor and playwright). And, most importantly, I am really, really happy.

To her credit, Angie completely understands this aspect of my personality. She finds it amusing, yes, but she understands it. She has said to me, in all the years I've known you, this was the one secret you kept completely to yourself. You are a geek.

And she's right. This part of my life has always been compartmentalized from other aspects of my life. It has always belonged only to me. I have never shared it. Some of my very closest friends, people I've known for thirty years, are surprised to learn of it.

These days I don't 'game' often. Now and then. But when I do, the day is gone. I sit alone at my computer or isolated in my office at the big TV hooked up to Playstation and I enter another world. And I experience all the triggers and trips and rage and joy and unbridled passion that I often keep at bay in my 'real' life. And when I'm done I re-enter my life of wife and career and puppies and bills and art and writing and acting and love and disappointment and exist instead in the cautionary obstacle course of 'one day at a time.' And I wouldn't change one second of it for anything in the world. It is my living tea kettle. The built up steam and pressures in my life are whistled out. When people, places and things start to tear at me, I slip into this world and emerge hours later with the tried and true and healthy idea of 'this, too, shall pass.' I highly recommend it.

See you tomorrow.

The Wild Bunch...Sam Peckinpah's masterpiece.

The other night I came home from the play and began to wind down from the evening. I skipped around on the TV. Couldn't find anything I wanted to watch. At first I started watching Viva, Zapata, an old Brando/Kazan film I hadn't seen in years. Twenty minutes into it I'd had enough. So dated. Not even Brando's usual genius could save it. Angie had gone to bed. Skipped around some more on the tube and came across, just as it was starting, The Wild Bunch. Well, I thought to myself, I really don't like this movie much, but maybe I'll get sleepy while it's on. So I sat back and began the viewing.

Within a few minutes I realized I'd made a terrible mistake. Somehow in my head I had confused The Wild Bunch with a silly little movie made around the same time called The Magnificent Seven. I'd never seen The Wild Bunch, at least not all of it. It is considered by some to be the best Western ever made. Many consider it to be Sam Peckinpah's masterpiece. I believe it is. As a mild cinamaphile, I'm a little ashamed to admit I'd never seen it.

The film is decades ahead of its time. As I watched I kept wondering how Peckinpah got these actors (William Holden, Robert Ryan, Ernest Borgnine) to do it given the anti-heroic, ambiguous, existential script. But he did. And all three give amazing performances. It is unquestionably the best thing William Holden ever did. I never really cared for Holden as an actor. I thought he was okay in Network but abysmal in his early stuff like Picnic or Sunset Boulevard. He's very much a 'spit the words out and never slow down' kind of fifties actor that always made me roll my eyes. Not so in The Wild Bunch. It's a fascinating performance: faltering, gruff, pathetic and vulnerable. Borgnine is even good.

But mostly this is a director's picture. Peckinpah is at his bleakest. No one in the film is all good or all bad. He tightropes a fine line of storytelling morality from beginning to end. These are not nice people. Although at times they are admirable people. And the two bookending sequences of extended violence are masterfully shot. Ballet-like composites of gory violence. Kids, women, pets, everybody gets unapologetically gunned down. Peckinpah famously slows his camera down for slow-mo killing effects. Even though I've seen clips from it and read about the sequences for years, I was still not prepared for it. Just mesmerizing film-making.

This was the director's cut, too. Twenty minutes longer than the theatrical release in 1969 with a lot of the flashbacks edited into the film. Needless to say, I watched the whole thing and didn't get to bed until around four in the morning and then couldn't sleep because I couldn't get it out of my mind. I'm astounded that I'd never gotten around to seeing this movie before.

We know now that Peckinpah and Holden led very sad lives off-camera. Both were severe alcoholics and eventually died from it, both directly and indirectly. And booze figures into the picture as prominantly as it does in Eastwood's masterpiece, Unforgiven. Not sure that 'severe alcoholic' isn't redundant, but you catch my meaning.

As in most great pieces of writing, there's a line in the film that personifies the film itself. Holden, at one point, defensively yells at Borgnine, "I gave my word!" Borgnine responds, "It ain't our word that counts, it's who we give it to!" Not a bad lesson for life, that.

Another beautiful day in Southern California. I understand from the weather channel that my home state of Missouri is getting pounded by a blizzard. My condolences.

See you tomorrow.

Adding Machine - The Musical

A couple of the reviews are out. Backstage and LA Weekly.

http://www.laweekly.com/2011-01-27/stage/padraic-duffy-s-puzzler-and-joshua-schmidt-and-jason-loewith-s-adding-machine-a-musical/

http://www.backstage.com/bso/content_display/reviews/la-theatre-reviews/e3ieac0be2e21d77772bab17b7986a48879

I'm pleased. Not because the reviews are so astounding, they're not. They're good, and I think fair, but because a week ago today I was certain we were going to be eviscerated in print. And I was sad, because I'd worked so terribly hard on this show. I had given up some other gigs, high paying ones, and I was thinking I'd made a dreadful mistake. Just being honest here, not blaming, just saying how I felt. In this particular case it feels really great to be wrong. It turned out to be the right choice, after all.

My co-stars fared well, too. Kelly and Rob and Christine all received nice mentions. That pleases me very much. Kelly and Rob both exhibit some vocal pyrotechnics in this piece that simply can't be ignored and Christine has, to be perfectly honest, one of the purest, simplest, most haunting voices I've ever heard. In addition, they all happen to be very fine actors, too. Our ensemble - Travis, Greta, Nick and Mandy are so letter perfect as to be sort of stunning. They got a nice mention, too. So in those regards, I'm really happy so far.

Still waiting for the big one - The LA Times. That, I think, should be out today. Aside from that, a bunch of smaller publications, local ones. But, as I've said before, all theatre, like politics, is local.

Speaking of the ensemble, apparently one of them (Mandy) has seriously hurt her foot and I'm going in a bit early today to make the necessary adjustments in blocking. Live theatre.

Reviews are a funny thing. Some actors don't read them. I went through a period where I didn't, in fact. As goes the old adage, 'if you believe the good ones, you have to believe the bad ones.' My teacher of note, the tremendous actor, Michael Moriarty, once told me he hadn't read a review in twenty years. He's also the first person to recount the old line to me, "Critics are like eunochs at an orgy, they can watch but they can't join in."

Personally, I've been very lucky throughout my career with regards to critics. I've only gotten a few sticky ones. And frankly, I didn't even mind those. The ones that have bothered me are the ones that treat my work with indifference. You know the ones...'Also in the cast...'

One of the above notices referenced Carrol O'Connor (Archie Bunker from All in the Family). I can see that, I suppose. Actually, if truth be known, my initial image for Mr. Zero in Adding Machine was James Gandolfini with his intense yet odd, nasal readings. Of course, that was merely a starting point. It quickly morphed into something else. I'm not really a very good impressionist (although I do a pretty good Brando) so usually I'm in no danger of being accused of copying anyone.

One of the three Camelots I've done (King Arthur) was cited once in print. I decided to play the role as if Peter O'Toole were doing it - pigeon-toed, eccentric vocal choices, unexpected volatility, etc. So I was amused when one of the reviewers wrote, "Mr. Morts as Arthur appears to have channelled Peter O'Toole in his portrayal." Hm.

Early in my career I did the role of Clifford Anderson four seperate times in the play, Deathtrap. The fourth time I did it, I was, quite frankly, getting a little bored with the character. So I decided to give him a slight stutter. I thought it would liven things up a bit for me. When the show opened one of the notices said, "If Mr. Morts had bothered to learn his lines..." Clearly they had mistook my intentional stutter for unintentional line faltering. That one amused me more than bothered me, though.

Some years back I was in Toronto doing a play, a Eugene O'Neill piece, and the critic had written something to the effect of, "if the whole play could be recast with better actors, keeping only Mr. Morts..." It hurt a lot of feelings. One night a few weeks into the run, I encountered that critic in a bar. I'd had a few by then. He came up to me and said, rather smugly, "Did you like what I wrote about you?" I said, "Listen, you gob of spit, you have the right to voice your opinion because that's your job, but you don't have the right to be cruel, so fuck off." Back in the days that I spent time in bars I often said things like that. I regret them now. But at the time it seemed like a good idea.

A buddy of mine, a very good actor on the East Coast, was once doing a play with me at Arena in DC. He got a lousy notice for the new play we were doing. He, too, encountered that critic in a bar (in fact, I was there, too, just not at the same table). He became so enraged he took his wallet out and threw it at the critic. We've laughed about that for years now. Who throws a wallet at someone? He said, "I was between beers and didn't have a bottle in front of me, the lucky son of a bitch."

In any event, for better or worse, the notices are trickling in for The Adding Machine. I hope they help because The Odyssey spent a bunch of money on this show.

Back on the horse today. Another run at this extraordinary material. I'll probably never get it exactly right, but I'm having oh, so good of a time trying.

See you tomorrow.

Misconceptions of 'method' acting.

I was once again impressed with the eloquence of our President last night as I listened to his State of the Union address. Now, I realize it is entirely due to his speech writers, but nonetheless, he appears to have better writers than W. ever did. Of course, Bush's writers were working under a handicap in that they were apparently instructed not to use big words or complicated ideas.

I'm the first to admit I'm not only idealistic when it comes to politics but naive to boot. I tend to reference The West Wing a lot, I blush to confess. I remember one episode (I've seen them all many times - I consider it to be the finest network television show in the history of broadcasting) in which the staff spent the entire show arguing over a word in the SOTU address and whether it was too 'elitist' for the public. It was finally decided quickly at the end of the episode when the president simply said, "They can look it up if they don't know what it means." I liked that.

Which brings me to my point today. Never pander. It's the basis for my approach to the craft of acting. Naked Face, I call it. Actually, I don't call it that, Michael Moriarty and John Gielgud did. I stole the phrase from them. Anyway...

I discovered early in the rehearsal period for Adding Machine that my personal take on acting didn't fit with this piece. I had to adjust. I had to find something that did work. Naked Face work is predicated on the idea that the audience does most of the work in any given performance, be it onstage or on camera. It discards what I like to call 'parallel storytelling.' That is to say, the actor indicating through his work what the playwright has already said. For example (and I'm purposely being simplistic here), if the line is, "My cat died today" the grief or joy or shock or whatever is inherent in the line itself and there is no need for the actor to emphasize it by ACTING the grief or joy or shock or whatever on top of the line. The audience is being cheated out of the experience because the actor is up there emotionally flailing away at what is self-evident. It's 'lowest common denominator' acting. In other words it is always more interesting to watch an actor try NOT to cry than it is to watch him cry. And yet, this is exactly what 'method' work espouses.

There have been a few times in my career, however, that this (Naked Face)approach simply doesn't hold water. This play is one of those times. Others have been some Shakesperean stuff (not all) and once when I played a severely retarded man in a play called 'Boys Next Door.' In that play, I realized there was no 'editing' process for the actor. No subtext. The lines were exactly what they were...the lines.

The same is true, for the most part, in this piece I'm doing now. It's highly stylized work (although I don't remember that word ever being used in the rehearsal process). It's slightly beyond hightened realism. It didn't take me long to realize that 'indication' was not only acceptable in this play, it was almost demanded. And I also realized that it wasn't a form of 'pandering' to the audience, but rather an integral part of the flow of the play. It is, after all, still a musical theatre piece regardless of its sophistication in terms of composition. To be honest, it's exhausting, much more difficult than Naked Face work. That's a huge misconception about acting, in my opinion: actors think it has to be 'difficult' to be 'good.' It doesn't. One doesn't have to work up a sweat to be doing the best they can do. Although in this piece I most certainly do work up a sweat and that is due, in part, to the fact that I AM working my ass off in it.

This is one reason I don't trust acting teachers who are not themselves actors. Also why I rarely trust directors who don't themselves act. Their direction becomes theoretical. They don't understand the importance of GETTING from A to B. They only know they want to somehow GET to B.

In thirty five years of doing this professionally, I've only met one director that didn't act himself that was worth a tinker's damn. And he's out of the business now and raising a family in Colorado. Pity.

The problem seems to be that most young actors look upon the craft of acting, especially in their formative years in academia, as a 'right' and 'wrong' pursuit. It is not. Never has been. Never will be. It is not math. There are no clear and true answers. There are guidelines, yes. But solutions? Rarely. What works for one actor will not necessarily work for another. The young actor's inability to grasp the ambiguity of the craft is mostly to blame. Like anything else, as one gains experience, one becomes more proficient at something. Yet that's not always true, either. Some actors, sadly, hang onto the dictums and rules of a small bunch of egocentric American acting pioneers from the 30's - Strasberg, Lewis, Adler, even Kazan - who, though well-intentioned, completely misinterpreted the common-sensical approach to the craft as outlined by the oft-misunderstood Constantine Stanislavski. Even today, sixty-some years later, it is widely unknown that these 'pioneers' took Stanislavki's first book and used it as a basis for an entire revolution in acting. The uncomfortable truth is that he wrote THREE books on the subject, all available today but not then. The second two books had yet to be translated into English and thus were not taught. This single event crippled and thwarted countless thousands of otherwise very talented actors, the ramifications still readily apparent even today.

Of that bunch of misguided teachers from that era, perhaps Stella Adler was the only one to adjust to the idea that there are no obvious answers to many applied acting problems. She is the only one on record as saying, "Talent is talent and learning the 'method' doesn't make a bit of difference." Brando, of course, is the prime example of this. He hated being catagorized as a 'method' actor. He wasn't. Yes, he used what he could from that school of thought, but he also discarded as much as he used. In fact, Adler said of him, "I taught Brando nothing. He was a brilliant actor long before I met him. I simply nudged him in the right direction."

The truth is the 'method' is a system of REHEARSAL, not performance. The two are as widely disparate as singing scales are from performing the lead in an opera. And yet some actors stubbornly hang on to the teachings of 'method' well into their sixties or seventies. They resolutely cling, like struggling swimmers holding onto a bouy, to antiquated ideas like 'motivation' and 'intentions' and 'clarity of action.' No real human being in the history of the world acts or behaves with unquestioning motivation or intention. The fascinating thing about human behavior is decidely contradictory to this train of thought, in fact. The interesting thing about human beings is that half the time we have NO IDEA why we do what we do. Ambiguity. Indecision. While it might be comforting for an actor to go through his or her script and paranthetically reduce every single utterance and action to these lowest common denominators, I contend that it is, in the final analysis, simply not very exciting. And I've always thought the only real sin in acting is being boring.

I am well aware that many, many, MANY very fine actors completely disagree with me. So be it. As Johnny Cochran once said, 'If it doesn't fit, you must acquit.'

So...going back to the script and the music to ADDING MACHINE today. Best not to let this stuff get too far out of my head before I tackle it again this weekend.

Rumor has it the L.A. Weekly review of the show is coming out today. And furthermore, rumor has it that it is a good one. I hope so.

I've barely spoken for the past two days because my voice needed rest desperately. It feels much better today. By Thursday night I suspect it will be back to a hundred percent, which is good because it's been months since I've performed this stuff with a healthy voice. I've been doing a lot of compensating onstage because of it.

This Friday is a 'pay what you can' night at the theater. Hopefully this will bring in some patrons who otherwise would not be able to see it. I hope so. Theater, by its very definition, should never, ever be too expensive to enjoy.

See you tomorrow.

Another Good Day. They're All Good Days, These Days.

Well, the Oscar nominees are in. Can't say I care for this 'ten best picture nominee' thing. Hollywood only makes about 12 pictures a year these days, so it's become a thinly veiled marketing thing. Boo to that.

Very pleased, however, to see John Hawkes from 'Winter's Bone' nominated. Unquestionably the best piece of film acting I've seen this year. Incidentally, (name dropping here) Beth Domann, our friend from Missouri, was in that film and did a fine job in a small role. Although Beth lives in Missouri (actually she's the artistic director of 'Landers Theatre' there) and it won't help her much in Springfield, if she were in LA she could ride that kudo for several months. At the very least she'd get a few invitations to some cool parties awash in pretty girls.

Also glad to see 'True Grit' nominated. Thought the Coen brothers did a top-flight job with that remake.

I'm always a little amused to see kids nominated for Best Something, however, like what's-her-name from 'True Grit.' I once worked with the eighty year old, amazing Chicago actress Marji Bank who once lost a 'Jeff' award for Best Actress to a seven year old. At the ceremony I happened to be sitting with Marji. She turned to me and said after the announcement, "What do I say to her? Nice choices?" Funny lady and someone I miss a great deal.

I have been resting my voice since Sunday night. No talking (well, not much) and certainly no singing. That part wasn't hard because I rarely break into song around the house anyway. When I do it's usually to the tune of 'Hello, Dolly!' to one of my dogs and I sing quite loudly, 'Hello, Franny! Well, Hello, Franny! It's so nice to see you back where you belong!!!' much to his confusion.

I also sing to the tune of 'Nobody Knows the Trouble I've seen...' to Zooey...'Zoeberry knows the trouble I've seen...' Another is to the tune from 'Flipper' - 'They call him FRANNY, FRANNY, king of the ocean, king of the sea...' Or from The Brady Bunch: 'Tis the story of a puppy named Franny!' Angie's favorite is an old jazz standard I adapt called 'Joey.' I sing, 'Zooey. Zooey, Zooey. It's been TOO long since you BEEN gone...'

Anyway.

I felt good about Sunday's performance of ADDING MACHINE. At the risk of sounding a little hoity-toity, I felt very much 'in the moment' that night. I had some friends in the audience and of course that always tends to notch my energy up a bit because I'm a show-off. But honestly, in retrospect, I rather enjoyed myself that night.

The composer of the piece, Josh Schmidt, is flying in to see the play this weekend. A couple of weeks ago when we found this out, my co-star, Kelly Lester, turned to me and asked what I wanted to say to him. I said, "Well, first, I wanna slap him and scream, 'WHAT WERE YOU THINKING! WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS, DAMN YOU!'

Actually, I want to tell him that, in my opinion, he's crossed the oh, so nebulous line of 'good work' into 'genius.' I've done about sixty musicals or so in my career, all professional, all Equity productions, and only once before have I been so stunned by the composition - Sunday in the Park with George. Mr. Schmidt is in good company.

I think my wife has been energized by the recent passing of Jack Lalanne. She's nearly physically dragging me out for long 'hikes' now with the puppies into Griffith Park. Personally, I never understood the difference between a 'hike' and a 'walk.' I guess maybe it's the outfit. For a 'hike' we tend to don a more safari-influenced ensemble; boots, khaki vests, lots of cotton, a rifle flung over our shoulders, binoculars, pith helmuts. For a 'walk' we generally just go as we are.

I was talking to a buddy of mine, a very successful actor out here in LA, yesterday. He said, "Try as I might, I can't get that damn show out of my head. (referring to ADDING MACHINE) I've been thinking about your performance and the music all day. It's kind of annoying, really." Hearing that I could only smile and think, well, we did our job, I guess.

Our musical director, the freakishly good Alan Patrick Kinney, wants to bring me in for some 'cleaning' today or tomorrow. He's a perfectionist (which is one of the reasons he's so good) and is not quite satisfied with some of the liberties I take within some of my songs. Actually, calling them 'liberties' is my way of being in denial about the fact that I can't seem to count to four in front of a crowd. In any event, I'm all for it. I have never understood (see posts about PRAYING SMALL earlier last year) why a show is abandoned simply because it opens. I'm completely in favor of continuing to demand the best of ourselves even if it means a rehearsal on closing night. So...I'm going in to work on it some more.

Angie and I finally relaxed a bit yesterday after about three weeks of high stress because of the play. I played Madden (my new, great addiction) all day and she went shopping (her lifelong addiction). Later she made me a dinner fit for The Ponderosa: Pan seared sirloin with sauteed onions, fresh Italian bread, spinach with balsamic and roasted, new potatoes. Just incredibly good. She is, and I say this with complete sincerity, the best chef I've ever known or seen.

I have to go in soon for more blood tests related to my 'silent killer' of a disease, stage two diabetes. Not looking forward to that. I'm comforted, however, in the knowledge that the last time I went in for my check-up, my 'numbers' were all well within the manageable zone. Considering the 'numbers' were all so high when I was first diagnosed, it is not as frightening as it once was. I'll remember my doctor saying to me upon that first visit, "It's a wonder you're not dead" for the rest of my life.

Good news, I think: a major casting director was in the crowd Saturday night and gave his card to Ron Sossi (our director) and asked that I call him today. He's a TV casting director (has three network shows within his auspices at the moment). He told Ron, "I can get this guy tons of work." We'll see. I am learning that Hollywood is not always as truthful as one would like.

That's about it. Off for our 'hike.' Just waiting for the aborigines to show up that we hired to 'beat the bushes' for slinking, feline predators. Yes, their calypso-inspired singing as they form a great, long line in front of us, clothed only in dusty, but revealing loin cloths, is a bit unnerving for our neighbors, but I find it somehow soothing.

See you tomorrow.

Adding Machine - The Musical is now open and ready for business.

Well, we opened this behemoth of a show, Adding Machine, this past Saturday. For good or ill, it's on the books now. Los Angeles has now seen and heard Adding Machine - the musical.

I haven't weighed in here on the blog for awhile...in fact, I think this may be my longest extended absence since I started. Several reasons for that, the most obvious being that I've been simply overwhelmed with the final couple of weeks of mounting this thing. Another, not quite so tangible reason, was that I was sort of struggling for something good to say. I wanted very much to keep in a positive state of mind for this show because, well, because I cared so much about it. Like nearly every play I've ever done, this one got to be a bit nerve-wracking as opening night loomed. The tech wasn't coming together. The director was making choices that concerned me. And most notably, one of the actors was seriously trying my patience.

I'm pleased, and I suppose, not terribly surprised, however, to say all has ended reasonably well. This silly business has a way of doing that. Like the line in 'Shakespeare in Love,' it is a mystery. Not to say it simply 'came together.' It did not. In fact, some of it is still not 'together.' However, we did make it through the play without anyone losing an eye, which is saying something, I guess.

The piece is polarizing, to say the least. I didn't go out and make chatty with the opening night crowd (one of the above mentioned problems was still terrorizing me and frankly, I was in a bit of a snit) but I did go out to the lobby last night and hear some opinions. This music is either loved or hated. I loved it upon hearing it. Others, clearly, don't. My agent, for example, didn't care for it all. Yet he really enjoyed the performances. It's that kind of stuff.

So...for the first time in about 18 days...I can relax. And I have every intention of doing so. I'm taking my dogs for a long walk, I'm reading and resting my voice, I'm watching a Netflix...all the things I haven't had time for or cared to do lately.

And I'll begin blogging again after a conspicous absence. I have been rather shocked at the response I've gotten from people about it. In fact, even last night a gentleman (no idea who he was) came up to me in the lobby and instead of saying 'Good show' or something to that effect, said, 'Love your blog.' Hm.

Now we wait for the reviews. Honestly, I have no idea whatsoever which way they'll go. It's quite possible we will get our asses handed to us on a platter. Or they might be really glorious. I really don't know. One of my closest friends came last night and said he thought the piece 'brilliant.' But, he offered as a disclaimer, 'I like weird shit.' So there you have it.

It's good to work in a real theatre again, I have to say. The last one, over in NoHo, was really more like a Judy and Mickey movie...'Hey, I got a barn! Let's put on a show!'

No, I've enjoyed The Odyssey Theatre Ensemble very much. It comes as no surprise to any LA actors out there that the reputation is somewhat lofty and, at the same time, daunting. Ron Sossi, the artistic director of that institution for some 41 years, either strikes fear in one's heart (I've heard from others) or bolsters one's confidence. Personally, I've had a really warm and constructive relationship with him.

I'm sure Angie is pleased this long and emotionally bumpy ride has ended. She, as usual, has been the picture of patience itself. There was a moment awhile back, last week, in fact, that even she thought perhaps I was into a project that was possibly doomed. The technical aspects were overwhelming her (she sat in on the first invited dress and was, um, mortified). Plus she had to contend with the fact that I was coming home nightly in various states of despair.

And, as I alluded to earlier, rather than write negative things about the piece, I chose instead not to blog for awhile. Probably for the best.

In any event, we're up and running. For better or worse. The only thing to do now is to see what the press has to say about it all and that, like so many other things in my life, is out of my hands. All I can continue to do is my best.

See you tomorrow.

Step Up to the Plate...

George S. Kauffman once said, "Every human being has four basic needs in life: the need for clothing, the need for shelter, the need to procreate and the need to rewrite someone else's play." I was thinking of that last night as I we were all collaborating to make every single moment work in this play.

More Q2Q last night. I know Q2Qs are considered intensely boring (but needed) by most actors, and I suppose they are in some ways, but it's also very exciting to see what's shaping up. Our director, Ron Sossi, is a 'detail guy' when it comes to tech. The lighting especially. Personally, when I direct, it's the one time I sort of relinquish control for a bit. This is because I'm color blind. Really color blind, I mean. So I have no choice but to completely trust the lighting designer when it comes to that.

So we continue today with our Q2Q rehearsals.

There is also a very detailed make up design for the show. I haven't had a chance to meet yet with the make up artist but I've seen what she's doing with some of the other actors. Very gothic, very pronounced. Almost Sweeny Toddish in it's concept.

More solidification on the lines today. I've been working like a house-a-fire these past few days on them. And yesterday, as Angie and I trudged through them all yet again, lo and behold, they began to stick. A lovely moment. But I must fight the temptation to get too confident about them so we're attacking them again all day long.

I've turned down a lot of other projects in order to do this play and finally, I'm beginning to remember why I've done so. In short, it's starting to look, feel and sound like the masterpiece I initially perceived it to be. Very exciting shit, folks.

My co-star, Kelly Lester, just received word she's doing a role in the new Clint Eastwood/Ron Howard film. Very excited for her and I'm not just a little envious. Mr. Eastwood is getting up there and who knows if this will be his last movie. One of my dreams when I was young was to work with Clint Eastwood.

My friend and mentor, Michael Moriarty, did 'Pale Rider' with him way back in 1987. He has nothing but kudos for Eastwood as a director and person. And Michael is one of those actors who, to put it mildly, does not suffer fools gladly.

Watching Eastwood's career arc is fascinating. From episodic TV to Spaghetti Westerns to existential westerns in this country to bold, simple, powerful films ranging from UNFORGIVEN to MILLION DOLLAR BABY to LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA. He has become an iconic film maker over the years, with a unique eye toward telling stories that erupt in the color grey rather than easily identifiable good and evil stories. Along with Scorcese he may be our finest, long-term film maker.

Angie and I have been invited to see a new play this afternoon at The Falcon Theatre in Burbank. I don't think we can make it, unfortunately. The Falcon is Gary Marshall's theater and our dear friend and former college chum, Sherry Santiliano, is the managing director over there. Actually, I say 'over there,' but it's really only about five minutes from our house. We saw Matt Walker's critically acclaimed organization, The Troubadour Theater Company, at that theater last year. One of the best things I've seen in LA to date, in fact. It's a beautiful 99-seat theatre where lots of Marshall's TV and film actor/friends have worked.

There was a moment last night when I looked around at the gigantic stage pieces, the highly dramatic lighting, with the impossibly eloquent music playing, and I thought to myself, "Good Lord, we're actually doing this." As an old buddy of mine used to say, "It's time to either step up to the plate or get the hell out of the way."

This is such a high calibre cast doing this thing, that sometimes our schedules have made it nigh impossible for everyone to be at the same rehearsal at the same time. Last night, for the first time since early November, we had everyone there. Sometimes it's like central casting in rehearsal with nearly everyone in the cast fielding 'industry' phone calls during the breaks. Of course, the material itself is the reason for this. My agent told me early on that nearly every actor in Los Angeles who could carry a tune wanted in on this thing. At the time I considered his comment a little daft. Now, though, I understand what he was talking about. I can say, without any hesitation, this is truly brilliant stuff and honestly, I feel blessed to be a part of it.

So. Back at the lines. Say 'em. Say 'em again. And again. And again. As I look around in rehearsal and see the scores of people working on the execution of this thing, the sound people, the lighting people, the backstage crew, the designers, the make up people, the musicians, the staff, the administrative people, the publicity people, the artistic honchos...I can hardly allow mayself to let up now. So. Lines. Say 'em. Say 'em again. And again. And again. Say 'em.

See you tomorrow.

The Nature of the Beast...

As is par for the course, I was the only one still carrying the book in our final run-thru before we began the difficult Q2Q process this past weekend. In my defense it is a rather large role. Nonetheless, after some serious and highly concentrated work all day yesterday I think I'm now book-free. And today is all about solidifying that. Angie, as usual, has been the portrait of patience during this.

This is shaping up to be a huge production. The sets are massive, the lighting impossibly complicated, the costumes detailed and slyly period, the orchestration (although still not in the mix yet) unbelievably powerful. It's turning into quite a to-do.

I slept very little last night after stuffing the lines into my head ad nauseum all day. Just couldn't turn it all off. That's par for the course, too. The most dreaded time of rehearsal for me, the time when the book is not within reach and the lines are in my head, but self-doubt is constantly rearing its ugly head. It's a time for performance modulation. After 100 plays, give or take, on the professional stage, I've long learned to trust my instincts at this juncture.

As is often the case when one is doing a 'big' one, the focus now is centered primarily on 'transitions.' That is to say, getting from one scene to the next with as much fluidity as is possible. The book doesn't make this terribly easy: it goes from a bedroom to an office to a prison to heaven itself in a matter of minutes. The design team is pulling twenty four hour shifts in an effort to make it all work.

As is the recurring theme in the film 'Shakespeare in Love' somehow it all works. Usually. There was one time it didn't work in time. Some years back I played Horace in a very large production of 'Hello, Dolly!' and the opening night actually was delayed an hour to put the finishing touches on the tech aspect of the show. Only time that's ever happened to me, in fact. Oddly, the audience is usually very appreciative and forgiving in moments like that. They certainly were that night.

Now, I don't foresee that happening with this show, but nonetheless, it is painfully apparent that the focus is now very much on the transitions. I was talking to a buddy of mine, an actor that's been in many, many musicals, in fact carrying some of them on Broadway, and he said, oddly, that he LIKED Q2Qs. Said he found them calming. I asked why. He said, 'Because for just a few hours, the pressure is off me.' Hm.

I remember talking to Nathan Lane, an actor who's done a few musicals in his time, about Q2Qs once. He said he always takes a silent vow beforehand to not say a single word during this time unless spoken to. He said he just turns his mind off and allows himself to be a puppet for about two or three days. He told me the Q2Q for 'Guys and Dolls,' which he did on tour and on Broadway in the early nineties was a particularly long Q2Q for him and it was then that he realized how important it was for the actors to stay placid and let the designers do their thing. Tension was running high in that one, he said.

I hate it when tension is running high. I hate the feeling it creates. Understandably, everyone is jostling for his or her own specific piece of the puzzle. The poor director is in the middle trying to stay true to a vision and yet at the same time manipulating the staging like a crazed traffic cop. Tried and true business is sometimes casually tossed aside in favor of necessity. It's simply the nature of the beast.

Having said all that, however, ours is going quite smoothly, albeit somewhat slowly. Again, just the nature of the beast.

This play opens with a long 'interior monologue' featuring myself and the wonderful Christine Horn, playing the role of my long-suffering, never-fully-realized mistress. The lines are written in such a way that often they make no sense in a linear way of thinking. Those are the lines that trip me up the most often. And it's absolutely crucial that they are all said. They kept me up last night. I finally just got out of bed in the middle of the night and opened the script again and started working. Oy.

The rest of today is set aside for more repitition. The nature of the beast. Can't be helped. Must be done.

There are some stunning moments in this play, simply stunning. Musically and otherwise. At the risk of cliche' I really do simply buckle up at the first chord of music and simply hold on. Do the next action in front of me. Don't think ahead. Stay in the moment. Serve the text. Yada yada yada. It's the best I can do.

See you tomorrow.