Behind the Facade

Considering Piracy.

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 11:18:20 -0700

Inigo Montoya had a dream. Of which he was so impassioned, so determined he dedicated his life for it from the time he was a boy. For twenty years he trained and prepared in a maniacal way that would put Rocky Balboa to shame. All for that inevitable moment when he would come face to face with his destiny.

And with a flick of the wrist, it was over. He had accomplished his task. The six-fingered man laid on the cold hard floor of the dining room with a gaping and bloody hole in his stomach. A few moments later, Inigo reflected on his past and on his now uncertain future. “Now that I’ve been in the revenge business for so long, I don’t know what to do with the rest of my life.”

Auditions were in June of this year. June! That was like 43 months ago! Not really, but when you consider that most shows audition then begin rehearsals two weeks later, and Jekyll was more like audition and then six weeks later begin rehearsals, not to mention that the rehearsal schedule was two weeks longer than normal as well, time adds up. And it’s fair to say I have never been involved with a show that has spread itself sometimes like a warm, fuzzy blanket, sometimes like a cancer over such a long period of my life.

And now that it’s over, I’m at a bit of a loss.

Actually, not really. I’m fine and this is why: when this all began, I knew there’d be a price (yes, a line from a song I don’t sing.) This show, in many ways, was an experiment. An opportunity to see what I was capable of as well as to discover what the commitment of the show would do to the rest of my life. If there were more to come of this sort of thing, it would be nice to know what the lifestyle and commitment would be. So I gave it everything I had. And I came away with more than I could ever imagine.

It’s like Charlie Brown going to pick out a Christmas tree and I’m the tree. Here I am, standing in a virtual tree lot with all kinds of larger, prettier, more contemporary and certainly more popular styles of trees. Trees with lots of branches for big ornaments, plenty of space around the trunk for maximum gift storage, and wonderful winterfresh scents of evergreen wafting from every aisle. And then there’s me. Some raggedy looking thing that’s been hanging around the lot for far too long, hoping to be picked by some loving family so I can, once in my life, shine. For years, the hope of strung lights and shiny bulbs and dare I dream a star on my crown kept me standing as tall and straight as I could. But as each season passed and the families passed me by, my confidence, as I have recorded here, waned.

And then, all of a sudden, without me really realizing it, the season came around again, and this time, there was a new kind of ornament. A kind that I had heard about, a kind that had been hung on other trees from other lots, but not here. And oh, how wonderful did I think it would be, to have that ornament hanging off of whatever branches I had left...but really? Could I think so grand as to be chosen this year of all years?

So I stand up straight and tall, give what I could to my branches and needles. And lo and behold, Charlie Brown and Linus follow the search lights to the tree lot and say, “Gee, do they still make wooden Christmas trees?”

“This little green one here seem to need a home.”
“I don’t know Charlie Brown.”
“I’ll decorate it, and it will be just right for our play.”

I could be wrong, but I can only imagine that there were those for and against me on the selection committee. I was very inexperienced and virtually unknown, but someone must have seen something natural and real in my audition that drew them to select me. Just needs some decoration, they may have thought, and he’ll be just right.

Well, I’m sure there were times where they wondered whether or not I would work. I wondered myself, what I had gotten myself into, and whether or not I could pull it off. Like the first time I sang Confrontation, that was pretty much like Charlie Brown putting on a red ornament and the tree just bending straight over.

But with the help of the entire peanuts gang - my cast - and taking some ornaments and decor from a true professional, namely Anthony Warlow and Dean Kaelin, I became a tree of the season that was beyond even my own vivid and detailed imagination.

It’s been a fascinating and incredible experience. I have learned so much about myself, what I am capable of, I have certainly reached a new level of talent, both vocally and dramatically. And seeing progress is just so much fun. What is even more fun is seeing paying customers completely satisfied with how they spent their money. After the first week, we were sold out every performance, including the 7 extended shows that took less than a week to sell. We received standing ovations every night. People saw the show multiple times within the run and we had sometime 50 people standing by, hoping to get a seat. They loved it.

And that’s why I’m fine with it being over. I think we accomplished everything we could with it. I gave my best every night. I was exhausted physically and emotionally after each show. My voice, except for the spicy rib night, was clear and clean. I did everything I could for my part to make it a great show. I held nothing back. I fought the good fight. I kept the faith.

Of course, I will miss the great folks in the cast. They were exceptional in every way. Great talent, sure. But no divas. No arrogance. No jealousy. We worked together for the same goal and it was achieved and then some. I hope they know how I feel about them and their greatness. I hope they will remember me as much as I expect to remember them.

So now it’s on to other things. I’m already waist deep into other projects, no, none of them theater. I’m taking a break from the lights for a while. A long while. I’m working on the book primarily, which should be out late fall of 2009. And after experiencing achievement in perhaps the most difficult role ever brought to musical theater, anything else seems like a veritable walk in the park.

Even piracy.

The Night the Wife Came

Wed, 29 Oct 2008 14:45:16 -0700

As I have mentioned several times throughout this journey, my wife really is my inspiration and the difference in everything. She waited until last Saturday, the 25th to see the show and I must admit that I was both very excited and a bit nervous for her to see it. This was a new thing for me, remember, and no one inside my familial circle knew really what to expect. But Hope had heard me rehearse, heard the stories, from rehearsal, had to listen as I questioned myself and wondered what the crap I was doing. She was also the one who had to take care of a newborn by herself each night while I went to rehearsal and I couldn’t help but wonder whether she was going to think it was all worth it.

And of course, I was a little anxious about the kisses.

But I didn’t want to make the same mistake as I did when the rest of the fam came two weeks earlier. I was tense, I tried too hard at the beginning of the show and it took me a few minutes to calm down. My voice wasn’t great and while it turned out to be a pretty good performance, it wasn’t what I wanted it to be for them. And I for sure didn’t want that same issue for my wife.

So I sat in my chair in the dressing room before the show started and took a deep breath and loosened up. Just like that. But, as it often does, the universe once again had other plans. I couldn’t find my shirt. We were out of one of the chemicals I use to mix Formula HJ-7. And, for the first time, I had to use the rest room after getting mic’d and dressed and 5 minutes before I’m supposed to be sitting at my desk singing, “I Need to Know.” And you know what? No worries. I found my shirt, got new chemicals, and they weren’t going to start the show without me. I stayed relaxed and by doing so, raised another level of maturity. It felt great.

I came out swinging. The entire show went without really a hitch. I sounded great, maybe better than I ever had. I recall botching a couple of lines in “This is the Moment” but other than that, I was pretty on point. Except for one other moment. I got really nervous at “Take Me as I Am.” I expect the thought of seeing your spouse kissing someone else, even if it’s because the script told him to is not exactly inspiring. So I lost all train of thought, came in too early with my song, had to wheel and deal until I could get back into it.

But I nailed the three moments, I felt better about the Confrontation that I ever have. And Hope was thrilled with the performance, calling it, “incredibly awesome.” She thought I was great, but she was impressed with the entire production. Especially John Utterson, Jekyll’s best friend. She just kept going on and on about him. I don’t know what magic spell he cast that night, but when the lead’s wife can’t keep her eyes off his character, something’s up.

So that night I felt more like an ace pitcher coming to the mound during the World Series and pitching a no hitter. One fouled deep to left, but I got back on track, struck the bum out and went on to win the game handily.

I love baseball.

Down by two, two outs, bottom of the ninth

Mon, 27 Oct 2008 11:40:29 -0700

Standing ovations are nice. And, in case you were wondering, they never get old. Never. We’ve been subject to them every night since opening, and they are just as overwhelming as the first one. The run, thus far, has been far more than I could have asked. It’s quite astonishing. There have been adventures with wigs and pants that are four sizes too big. No pen to write with in the journal. Literally blood, sweat and tears left on stage. Lost socks and mascara. And let me tell you this. I have have a far greater appreciation for the nightly laborious process women go through now that I have to wash makeup off my face. It’s insane!

Many friends and loved ones have come to see the show. Not as many as I had hoped (never are) but still, it is one of the great joys of theater to see people you know walk out with a giant smile on their faces that says both, “That was enjoyable” and “I had no idea!” My family, brothers and their wives, aunt and uncle, the folks, came and saw the show on the 11th. Not just my family, but Hope’s family as well. I wanted the show to be so incredible for them, as most of them had never seen me in such a role. Danny sings? That’s pretty much the gist of their reaction when I told them I was in a musical.

And, of course, as I wanted the show to be great, the universe had other plans. First, I went out to lunch that day with Hope’s brother and wife, to a great steakhouse nearby. I got the ribs. A short rack. Nothing that would bloat me up or make me feel heavy. Except as fate would have it, the ribs were slathered in a delicious, spicy barbecue sauce that apparently stripped my vocal chords raw for the rest of the day! When I warmed up at 5pm they were raw. When I did mic checks at 6:45pm they were raw. I drank water. Lots of water, trying to moisten and soothe them, but nothing was working. Of all nights! All I could do at this point was to pray to the heavens with fervency of soul that I could get through the show with a voice and clarity worthy of the audience’s cost of a ticket.

The whole night felt like a baseball game. Every time I came onstage I was up to bat. The first song seemed to take 6 or 7 swings, but by the time “I Need to Know” was over, I was on base. A single, maybe, but it gets the inning going. I fouled off “Lost in the Darkness” which was fine. No real harm no real good. Just a foul.

It wasn’t until Board of Governors that I had my first exciting hit and the first runs of the game. Thanks to the group of governors, we performed well and got the game really started. I felt hopeful. The vocal chords were as raw as ever, but at least I was clear and strong when I had to be.

Three “Jekyll/Hyde” moments in the show are more critical than any others, in my opinion. The moments that the audience will remember more than anything else. The first is actually 9 minutes of moments when I’m on stage pretty much all by myself where I sing this is the moment, prepare and drink the formula and the first transformation. If I can’t bring the audience along with me during that time, then all is lost. So far, it’s worked well. And did this night as well. It was great. Felt good during “Moment” and worked it during the transition. If I had to call it, I’d say a triple. And just like in a real baseball game, as long as the hits keep coming, the crowd stays interested.

The second moment, I wasn’t so lucky. It’s the end of the first act when Hyde confronts the Bishop and decides the Bishop is done living. Hyde then sings “Alive” and hits a high A at the end of it. Leading up to the A, I was feeling cautious, feeling the vocal chords, they were a little raw. A voice said, don’t try it. Go to the safety note. I responded by saying, Screw it, my family’s here. I’m going for it. Well, I swung for the fences, swung waaaay too hard. I made contact, but that high A popped right up in the left field. Crack city. I tried to cover it by moving into a growl/howl/sinister laugh, but when my dad asked me about it afterword, I knew it was an out.

I was disconnected for pretty much the second half. I still performed. Even got on base a couple of times. But I also felt like it was getting down to the ninth inning and there wasn’t a clear winner. All I could think about was, “I have one more at bat. I have got to nail it out of the park. “ Lucy’s death and the confrontation. If I could smack it home, then we were free. The death was reasonable, but I did some silly stuff, that wasn’t the norm and took me out of it a bit. It was deep, but just left of the foul line, you know?

And then came the confrontation. The battle between Jekyll & Hyde all at once. The iconic image of the show and perhaps the lasting impression. I felt like Roy Hobbs. The vocal chords were my bleeding insides. I was sweating up a storm. The only thing missing was the umpire asking me, “Are you alright, fella?” It was time to play ball. We were down two. Two men on. Bottom of the ninth. Here’s the wind up. The pitch!

I have said before that the performance is all in the attitude. Hitting a baseball is the same way. You try to hard, you tense up, you hold your breath, you’ll miss it every time. If you relax, have fun, and clear everything else from your mind except the trajectory and speed of the pitch, chances are, you’re going to make contact. When I forgot about my family’s presence, when I forgot about the score, when I forgot about the audience altogether and simply battled between Jekyll & Hyde, I took the ball deep. Out of the ball park. Better than ever before.

So, no matter how the rest of that game went, when it mattered most, I nailed it. That’s the glory and curse of theater. If it were reversed and I had the best show ever, if I had botched the Confrontation, that’s what people would have remembered. But I didn’t. And they don’t. Instead, as I came off stage at the end of the show, my cast was there to cheer me and pat me on the back. Again, the only thing missing was the sparks from the lights showering down upon us. Such a great group.

My family loved the show. And except for a snide remark from my brother about where he was sitting (dead center, but row J. No appreciation) they were all very complimentary. Hope’s family especially. They knew less about me in this realm than my own family and they were completely blown away.

Nothing so satisfying as seeing people you know walk out with a giant smile on their faces that says both, “That was enjoyable” and “I had no idea!”

But Hope wasn’t there. She stayed home with the boy. She would come later. Two weeks later. And it was a completely different experience...

The night before, the night of, and the night after.

Mon, 06 Oct 2008 15:19:45 -0700

Back in high school, I was an athlete. I reckon I still am, but without an authorized authority recognizing me, I suppose I’m more of a hobbyist. When I compete in athletic events, there’s no real glory to winning except to say you won against a bunch of other hobbyists who also go unrecognized and really, no one’s going to be writing about that in the sports section. But I still remember what it felt like before a football game, wrestling match, track meet...a small lead ball made itself at home in that space between my chest and my stomach and stayed there for 20 hours. It was fierce. I knew that what lie ahead was a battle. A competition between me and sometimes one sometimes 11 different people who all wanted to prove they were better than me. And I them. I couldn’t eat it away, sleep it away, or even the reliable walk-it-off. The only thing that sent the lead ball packing was getting on the field/mat. Sometimes it would take a few minutes to get the feel of things. But I always knew I had to kick it into gear at some point, and it usually happened somewhere within the first period. That was the worst thing for me about competitive sports.

I still remember how that feels because I felt exactly that Friday night and all of Saturday. And it hung there like a millstone. All day long I felt leashed to something unseen. I was nervous. More nervous than I had ever been for a stage performance, which was strange. I have never really been a victim of stage fright for live performances, public speaking, you name it. But for opening night, I felt like was stepping onto a competitive playing field, which was stupid because there was no opponent. You could make the case that audience was on the other side of the battle, but it doesn’t hold much water. Typically, unless you have a roomful of critics, audiences are cheering you on. They want you to be as wonderful as you want yourself to be. They paid good money and expect a good show. That could be part of it, knowing people paid money to see you perform.

Even now, two days later I’m unsure as to the real reason. All I could think of was, “I just need to get out on stage. That’s where I know what to do.” What I didn’t know was whether or not it would take me the first couple of scenes before things felt good, natural. So I did what any confident, determined, independent showman would do.

I prayed. I’m a strong believer in calling upon the heavens in times of potential humiliation.

I got to the theater an hour earlier than most of the others. I set my props. I lined up my costumes. I went through the blocking of the first scene. I thought about the wig. The wig. Has anyone seen my wig?! It was gone. No problem. The wig dresser has it. She’s making adjustments. I’m sure of it. 5:30 became 6. 6 became 6:30 and still no wig. 6:30 became 6:45 and now, I’m wondering if I could steal someone else’s wig.

Finally, she came in and had the wig ready to go. At least as good as it could be. You see, my head apparently detests wigs. Because it keeps trying to throw them off.

For the last couple of rehearsals I had the wig to work with, and it was a disaster each time. I just sweat too much, move around to much, too rough, something that makes it virtually impossible for a long, black wig to stay on my giant freak-head using the same methods everyone else is using. So opening, we used glue.

So with glue and wig, with a cane and a coat, I was now ready to move.

We started late.

Ten minutes late by my estimation, which is not a rare occurrence at this theater, evidently. As they like to say, folks here are on Davis County time. But finally, the house went dark, the music started, and I took my seat at Jekyll’s desk, waiting for the reveal.

Immediately, the lead ball took its leave and I was light. My throat was open and strong. And I became Dr. Henry Jekyll. As good as moments that week had been, this one has the makings of beating them all.

Audiences can do that for you. They have an energy unto themselves that can either raise your performances or make you feel like your fighting your way through a pea-soup fog of apathy. But since this was the first real audience we faced, it was all about the raising energy. Everyone in the cast was on-point. Performances, set changes, timing, you name it it was nailed. Everything but the wig.

If it wasn’t for Lisa, Mary Ann and Cheryl, I don’t know what I would have done. But the wig actually came off my head midway through the second act. Seriously. I still had the Confrontation to manage and that was the most wig-heavy scene. I had to pull back the intensity, I admit, to make sure the freakin’ thing stayed on my dome. It’s incredibly distracting.

Apparently, I was the only one who knew this because after the Confrontation, the audience went crazy. And with that, confidence found a place in my mind and has yet to leave. In fact, I wanted the final scene to look so good, by the end, I had blood trailing down my forehead. That’s what you call dedication (in reality, there was, in fact, real blood streaming down my forehead, but had no idea how it got there. But the fact that I had 40 metal rods jabbing my head, keeping the wig on had something to do with it, I think.)

It was over. And all that was left was the bows. Since late May, Jekyll & Hyde has been a huge part of my life. And just like all works of art, the first grueling months are nothing but preparation and criticism, breaking down and building up until you come to that opening day. You perform and finally, when you come out to welcome your audience as the artist, not the character, you learn just what kind of connection you’ve made together. I wasn’t expecting anything mostly, because I didn’t know what to expect. I knew I had worked hard. The applause through the show were appreciative and honest. But how they would feel once it was all over, I didn’t know.

At the appointed time, I walked out on stage, gave my cast a gracious look (this cast is phenomenal, by the way. They are dedicated, they are talented, and they are gracious. A cast this size that has fully supported me and everyone else is just incredible. I can’t say enough about them. I’m afraid I am now and forever spoiled because of them. Fine by me) and walked down stage. The audience was on their feet. Their cheers were overwhelming and I literally had to catch my breath and force back the tears that were the result of emotional & physical exhaustion and humility for the audience’s appreciation. We did it.

It’s a night I won’t soon forget. If it was a competition, and whoever my unseen opponent was, I can be confident that we kicked the ever-loving budongadong out of them.

Hope to see you at the next one!

Notes. Let me tell you about Notes.

Tue, 30 Sep 2008 11:25:00 -0700

Once time breaks the 1-week to go barrier, it becomes an emotional whirlygig. I’m tired of notes. I’m tired of technical issues. I’m tried of crappy wigs. I’m tired of not doing the show. I want to play! I want to perform! I know, I’ll get my chance, and it’ll come sooner than it feels, but still. Tonight is the last rehearsal before previews. Second to last for notes. Let me tell you about notes. Notes suck.

The reason why they suck is because it’s usually 30-40 minutes of what you did wrong during rehearsal. Yeah, you have your positive notes sprinkled in here and there, but you don’t hear those. You hear how bad your interpretation of a single line was, or that you weren’t in the right place during the opening song, or how your notes are “floating” at the end of them, and by the time notes are over you either want to climb a tree and not come down for a week or burn the theater down.

Maybe it’s just me. Some folks in the show never get notes. I’m not one of them. I have 80 notes a night. I feel like they’re breaking me down so they can build me back up again the way they want me - bigger and better than ever. Only problem is, I’m starting to feel like time is running out, and if they do, in fact, have plans to build me back up, they better start soon because the audience is coming and I’m gonna need a modicum of confidence if I’m not going to climb that tree or light a match.

I do not deny it is all ego. Perhaps not all, but at least 80%. 20% is just the need for positive reinforcement for actions I have not attempted for more than three years. Performance is all about confidence. The reason why people make fun of the “You like me! You really like me!” moment is because it’s ridiculously true. Actors, night after night, stand up on countless stages in front of countless audiences and ask the question with energy and passion, “What do you think of me?” Some ask it arrogantly, some ask it indirectly, but no one wants a mediocre response. Performers want to know that the audience enjoyed the story, felt it was time and money well spent. And whether they admit to it or not, they want to know that they are good at what they do. Particularly by those we respect and acknowledge as knowing more about it than we do. The worst response I ever got as an actor was this: “Ripoff.” Youch.

So notes are often a downer. But it balances out with other moments, like this one:

Before rehearsal, which I watched, the other cast performed, we worked on bows. More on bows later. But without doing a single thing. Without being in costume. I come out, as choreographed, to take my bow. My cast is already on stage. And they start cheering for me. Applauding spontaneously. They didn’t do that with anyone else. The other cast, who rehearsed it earlier, they didn’t do that either. But my cast applauded for me. Whether they did it because they wanted to, because they were just having fun, or they were mocking me, I don’t know for certain, but it made me feel great. Those that I had worked closest with cheered me. I was a new man.

When it comes down to it, Saturday night is up to me. Either I choose to follow the notes or I don’t. I have to have confidence that the production staff knows what they’re doing because they chose me as the centerpiece of their creation. Thinking about it that way helps me. What doesn’t help me is wondering whether or not the confidence they first had in me has increased or climbed the tree itself. What helps even more and what will no doubt carry me through the show will be the confidence and support of the TThS cast. You guys are, in the literal sense, awesome. I am proud and humbled all at once.

Thanks.

Wardrobe Malfunction!

Fri, 26 Sep 2008 14:09:32 -0700

If you don’t understand the purpose and relevancy of Joe vs. The Volcano, then chances are, I don’t understand you. It could be, and I know that six dozen critics are about to “Pffff” me out of validity, but I think it could be the most underrated movie I’ve ever seen.

Joe Banks (Tom Hanks) finds out, due to his insistence of so many tests and examinations, that he has a rare disease called a “Brain Cloud” and it’s fatal. Four or five months of perfect health and then, Boom. Dead. A rich maker of super-conductors, who needs a rare element only found on the island of Waponi-wu, convinces Joe to jump into a volcano and appease the “gods” as part of a trade with the natives. The rich man gives him an AmEx gold card and says, “Live like a king, die like a man.”

By the way, Lloyd Bridges may have the 3 most impactful minutes on a movie about jumping into a volcano in history. “Not a nice place you have here, Joe.” You have to see this movie.

Anyway, Joe hires a limo and a driver and makes plans to go into the City (NYC). That’s about it. He’s a simple man, working as an advertising librarian for a pharmaceutical company that makes petroleum jelly and prosthetic, um, body parts, before he knows he’s toast in wating. The driver asks him,”Where do you want to go?”

“I thought I might do some shopping.”
“Okay. Where would you like to go shopping?”
“I don’t really know.”
“Alright.”
“Where would you go shopping?”

And then Marshall, the driver, stops the car And this is the part that’s relevant to the blog:

“Why’d you stop?” Joe asks.
“ I'm just hired to drive the car, mister. I'm not here to tell you who you are.”
“I didn’t ask you to tell me who I am.”
“You were hinting around about clothes. It happens that clothes are very important to me, Mister...”
“Banks.”
“Banks. Clothes make the man. I believe that. You say to me you wanna go shopping, you wanna buy clothes, but you don't know what kind. You leave that hanging in the air, like I'm going to fill in the blank, that to me is like asking me who you are, and I don't know who you are, I don't wanna know. It's taken me my whole life to find out who I am and I'm tired now,” you hear what I'm say in'?”

Yeah, that’s why a costumer’s job is so freakin’ critical. Because, just like in life, clothes make the man, the woman, the psychopathic killer with zero inhibitions and an interest in silver canes. And as much as it’s fun to wear “pretty” clothes, it has nothing to do with dressing a cast. In fact, the only thing that should matter is, “does the costume portray the character?” If it does, whether the actor likes it or not, it stays. If it doesn’t, back to the drawing board.

Take a recent real world experience. My son received his vaccinations today. A brand new doctor, never been to him before, mostly because we didn’t like the previous doctor. And it wasn’t for this reason alone, but part of it was, that a couple of employees smelled of nicotine and tobacco and wore a couple of tattoos. I have nothing against tattoos or people that wear them. However, when I think of a doctor’s office, I think of clean, health, problem solving. When I think of tobacco and tattoos, I think of hacking, coughing and death in a few years, maybe sterile needles and a mess of ink that will never, ever wash off, no matter how hard you scrub with soap and water. See the problem?

I know nothing of the person that smells of cancer and wears a massive winged devil on her forearm, except that she smokes and has a massive winged devil on her forearm. I’m not judging her personally, I’m judging my ability to relate to her while interacting in a doctor’s office, which is none at all.

If she were an advertising librarian or owned a company that dominated the world’s market for super-conductors, no problem. Just can’t do it when a needle and my 9 week old son is involved. Sorry.

So if the show opened, and Dr. Henry Jekyll sat at his desk, wearing a red t-shirt, a leather bomber jacket hanging on the coatrack, and a NY Mets cap slung on the lazy-boy, you would immediately realize something had gone horribly wrong, and somehow Footloose and Jekyll & Hyde collided into some unnatural horrific mesh. But if he stood to sing, “I Need to Know” in a white, high-collard buttoned shirt, a single-breasted vest, and a frock coat hanging on the coat rack and a top hat placed neatly atop his long hair tied nicely into a pony tail, you would know exactly the type of character Henry Jekyll was. It is our first impression. And if they aren’t right, there will be something pushing our mental balance to one side until we either figure it out or it gets fixed. This usually happens when contemporary church shirts are attempting to be passed off as 19th century.

Clothes make the man. Or at the very least, clothes make the part.

For most of the rehearsal, costumes are an idea. A hope that what’s in the designers/director’s mind not only works, but is available. Everyone, especially the actors, pray things come together in enough time to get comfortable with the new look and build the character around it so it doesn’t feel like Tom Sawyer in a top hat. It isn’t about looking “pretty”. It’s about looking right. Last night, cast members were parading around in costumes, getting the feel for them, deciding how easy/difficult it would be to make their character work with them. Some of them looked fantastic. Elegant ladies, distinguished gentlemen, while others simply looked like we borrowed the cast from a recent production of Carousel.

Of course, not all of them fit very well, either, which, for most of us is a wonderful chance to relieve some stress. At perhaps the most intense part of the play, one of the ladies, who could wear a paper bag and still portray elegance, strength and confidence, is gettting choked by Hyde. And as Hyde lifted her up, her skirt came down. I'm not lying. Fortunately, her petticoat saved the day or at least what was left of her pride for the evening, and she finished the dramatic ending in said petticoat with dignity and skill. I'm telling you, if someone had a video camera, they'd be the lucky new owners of ten thousand dollars.

There’s something about seeing your costume for the first time. Something even more knowing you'll be dressed as an English gentleman. At least for me. This, in my opinion, was the pinnacle of fashion for men. Coats and ties and top hats. Sophisticated, yet masculine (usually). I was looking forward to the last piece of my character to make him whole. And, after all the anticipation, all the nervousness, all the talk, last night Ifinally came face to face of who I will be for the next month.

A gray overcoat?

Honestly, that was my first impression. Doctor Jekyll isn’t gray. He is anything but gray. He is black, he is deep burgundy, he could even be a solid blue, but he isn’t a mixture of two colors that comes out a podgy bland no-conviction whatsoever gray. The rest of the costume just seemed to be a collection of Dickens’ rejects. My heart sank. I didn’t know what to think, what to feel, didn’t know what course of action was available to me. All I could think of was how hard we had all worked just to be waylaid by a proverbial Mets cap and bomber jacket.

I can talk like this, because the theater has since come through spectacularly.

I wasn’t the only one who felt my concern. Alane, who has never been anything but on the side of the actors, who knows and remembers what actors think and feel and worry about, felt the same things. So in less than 12 hours, everything changed. I’m going to look awesome.

Clothes bring confidence. If you look good, you feel good. You feel good, you act good. You act good, the audience rises in applause because you transported them back to a time they can only imagine through a story with no Collier pennies. One less thing to worry about. One step closer to a great opening night, just a week a way.

“You’re coming into focus, kid.”

Panic!

Wed, 24 Sep 2008 10:58:15 -0700

After running the show for the first time on the real stage last night -- which is not unlike moving into a new house. Sure, You still use the stove the same way, hang your clothes the same way, use the toilet the same way, but you’re just a little bit cautious for the first few times, right? Anyway, after running the show for the first time on stage last night, the director, Alane described it as a “deer in the headlights” performance. Perfectly understandable what with the new surroundings, knowing it will be stopped for scene changes and blocking updates, and learning that the sound system is not nearly as helpful as one would like to believe. We’ll come back from it and the show will be better than ever. But it’s the other thing that happened that raised my eyebrows.

I panicked.

Seriously, Alane said something to the effect of that she really enjoyed this cast, and how well we handled all of the challenges live theater brings and she just had a blast, which sounded to me like a “thank you for everything, good luck” type of speech and I just wigged out. It brought into sharp focus just how soon we open.

“I’m not ready,” I said with a whisper.
“I’m not ready,” I said in a way you would talk to your neighbor on the church pew.
“I’m not ready,” I said as though I was talking to myself.
“I’M NOT READY!” I think that’s the one that everyone turned and wondered whether or not I was joking.

I wasn’t. Seriously, my chest was tight, I couldn’t breathe normally, and I swear the room shrunk to the size which a hobbit would be comfortable if he were small for his age. It is a fascinating reaction, performance anxiety. It isn’t the performance that makes me anxious, it’s the anticipation that gets me. When I’m up on stage, I really have no problem once I’m up there, doing what I do, but I can easily see now why Jimmy is sitting on the bathroom floor in the stall right before the Wonders go on the Hollywood Television Showcase.

I don’t expect to vomit. This is the first time in my limited stage career that I feel the way I do right now. I do expect that is because this is the biggest role anyone could have, you know, ever. Multiple solos, two characters, the hair, on stage 75% of the time all adds up to a good a mount of pressure. These are the things I think about when I’m short sighted and inside myself.

What I think about when I’m not is my cast. What a great cast. While I am on stage 75% of the time, I’m not alone all that time. And with the support of the team, with their energy and confidence, I have no need to worry. This show is going to be incredible. The amount of talent, preparation, and just plain joy these folks get out of performing is a huge boost. I’m a lucky man.

There will probably be more “deer in headlights” moments between now and opening. Even another moment or two of sheer panic. But when the show opens Saturday the 4th (for me) we’ll be ready, and our biggest challenge will be keeping the energy in check.

A thousand hours and fainting children

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 14:06:22 -0700

We’re getting to the point where life gets busy. Really busy. In fact, the time you thought you had or would have you now realize was nothing more than a far-off fantasy and you begin to wonder if you will ever have even 30 minutes to just do nothing at all. Of course, that’s what you get for starting rehearsal and fatherhood all on the same day.

Rehearsals are getting more intense as well. I am going to try and keep you up to date on a daily basis from here on in (two weeks to go. Surely I can blog every day for two weeks, right? Right?!) Saturday was the first time we ran the entire show from beginning to end, and I have to tell you, I’m not sure I’m going to make it out of this run alive.

It’s wicked tough.

Even though rehearsals are 3-6 times a week (six, more recently) it isn’t enough for me to really nail the music. And while it’s 3-4 hours of rehearsal, I only get to sing once per song, and that really isn’t enough. Not even close. So I sing at home, to the chagrin, I suspect, of my neighbors.

Even my family is effected. Hope has been wonderful. Her ear is much, much better than mine and can catch a rogue note faster than I can hide it.

“Nope.”
“What?!”
“You were sharp on that. About a half a step.”
“Where, on the beginning?” “The beginning, the middle...the end if I hadn’t stopped you.”
“Well, I was going for sharp.”

I sang “The Confrontation” the other day in my living room and my 9-week old son fainted. One second he was hanging out, blowing bubbles with his mouth, the next second, nothing.

Apparently, babies have a defense mechanism that when they are over stimulated they just shut down. That’s why they can sleep through commotion, loud goings-on, and their dad’s practice.

Obviously the part of Jekyll/Hyde was a massive part of the show, but ska-dang. Murder is tiring work. And sweaty. This is the part I’m most concerned with, by the way. If I’m sweating as much as I am now, without the lights, without the 19th century London costumes, without the wig of long hair, without the adrenaline that comes from performing in front of a live audience, I deeply feel for both Emma and Lucy who will have to dodge sweat bombs to get near my face.

No, it shouldn’t be that bad. Maybe at the end, but that’s all. I’m seriously considering an ice vest to try and keep my core cooler during performances. Heck, if it works for race car drivers... What I am happy about is where we are with two weeks to go. With Another Story to Tell, we didn’t run the entire show until the day before the performance. The show ran great, but we didn’t get to work on a lot of the nuances I had hoped for.

This show will be nuanced.

Nuanced up the yu-danga-dang. I mean, we’re talking about members of the ensemble being able to give background on characters they created themselves and help ground the entire show with a stronger theme. Remember to watch carefully the hospital scenes at the beginning of the show. There’s some pretty remarkable stuff going on there.

Tonight we take the stage for the first time. Before tonight, we’ve worked in the rehearsal hall, a space about 30% smaller than the actual stage. It sounds like a step forward, and it is, eventually, but as Willy Wonka didn’t say, “You have to go back to move forward.” We learn all the blocking again, re-space ourselves to fill the stage and learn where the levels are. Two steps exist on set where before there were none and we’ll have to learn to navigate them in three days. Fortunately, I’m not in the busy, fast-paced, choreography, at least not until the very end, so the bulk of the concern is with folks who I have far greater confidence in, who is pretty much everyone else.

Saturday, I felt like I was going to sleep for 30 hours straight after running the entire show for the first time. Sunday, I felt like if I were asked to sit in an overstuffed chair on a stage and sing “Inchworm” I’d probably pass out. Today, I feel better. And despite my physical fatigue, my throat feels fantastic. It’s amazing what doesn’t hurt when you learn to do it right. This is my first real experience as a lead in a musical, and, just so you know, it’s much more difficult than a straight play. Every solo, every song, takes so much more energy out of you than any given monologue. At least with this show. The passion and energy it takes to turn into Hyde, the emotion that must be emitted during “Take Me as I Am” and the commitment to the story...I’m telling you, if I don’t make it, you will now know why...

The Art of Chemistry

Wed, 27 Aug 2008 13:37:42 -0700

When people think of chemistry, they normally think of a boy and a girl together that somehow just seem to match. There are those in the audience that say it about two actors. "Great chemistry." But what does that mean, "great chemistry"? They work well together, sure, but why? Why do some actors seem to just match on stage and others just, you know, don't?

I really didn't know until last night's rehearsal, where Alane, the director, decided she wanted to work on it. Chemistry. So she switched up the casts, and I started with the "other Emma" and vice versa. She put us to work and we did our best and it was really good. She then switched us back, and it was even better. And I still didn't really know why.

But then she said something about it. She said, "this works because you were listening and responding to what you hear, not about what you think you have to do next."

And with that, she defined chemistry. Not just for the stage. But for every interaction we have with another human being ever.

If I think of the most successful couples, whether on stage or not, they all have one thing in common - they listen to each other. I mean really listen. Not just to the words, but to the tone of voice, the look in her eyes, the rhythm and speed of her speech to know the subtext of the conversation. That subtext creates depth and layers. By being in the moment like that, actors are able to keep the same lines in the same scenes in the same show fresh and interesting, not just for the audience but for each other.

In fact, here's an example of no chemistry. I saw Les Mis at Tuacahn last weekend, which was an interesting event, but my favorite role in the show, generally, is Enjolras, the charismatic and powerful leader of the revolution. Normally, it's cast with a singer with a deep, powerhouse baritone that shakes the legs of your seat when he sings "Red and Black." In this performance, he was a tenor, which would have been fine if it wasn't for the fact that every other male lead was also a tenor. But to make matters worse, and I don't know if this was the norm or the exception, he was completely disinterested in what was going on in the story. He was running through his lines and his music like it was a bother. His demeanor was lethargic, the look on his face was...I don't know, somewhere other than the French Revolution. I don't know what happened earlier in the day, very possible that it was completely understandable why he performed without performing. All I'm saying is he was not in the moment with the rest of his cast.

So, not only did I learn the blocking, the lines, the music, and queues, I learned why it is that my wife and I have "matched" for so long, we've mastered the art of chemistry without even trying. If I can use that half as well in the show, well, the audience is in for a heck of a treat!

Henry Jekyll, Sittin' in a Tree...

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 09:22:16 -0700

It’s a long and glorious tradition. I’ve never seen a musical that didn’t include it (except for Cats. And Joseph. Suessical?) It seems that belting voices and love stories just go hand in hand. And what’s a love story without a kiss? Perfectly fine, says my wife, who already despises romantic comedies. And who isn’t crazy about being married to a guy who’s playing a part with not one but two romantic interests (that’s what you get when you play two different characters.) I don’t blame her. In fact, I’d be a little concerned if she thought it was a great idea. In reality, who actually desires to see their spouse kissing another someone that doesn’t even come close to having their last name? That’s right. No one in their right mind. Still, I’m attempting here to explain why, though it looks convincing, a stage kiss is about the least romantic event, you know, ever.

First of all, have you ever tried to kiss on demand? On someone else’s demand, someone you probably don’t know more than a few hours? And kissing someone you probably know even less than that? In front of at least a half-dozen people, three of whom are critiquing every move you make? It’s no good. It’s why I didn’t like the kiss at the end of “Anger Management” (although that also might be because I couldn’t get through the entire movie and only caught the end on cable a couple of weeks ago. But I’m pretty sure I still wouldn’t like it.) An entire baseball stadium watching on the big screen? And having been told that the kiss has to last a certain time frame? No thank you to that.

Anyway, that’s what a stage kiss is like. About as real as stabbing someone with a sword on that very same stage. You wouldn’t call me a murderer just because it looks like I bash someone’s head in with a cane (which is a good thing, because that happens a lot in this show). You can’t call me “in love” with an actress because it looks like I’m kissing her.

The entire thing is choreographed. By someone else. Nine things are going through my mind while the actual kiss is taking place:

Is there anything hanging from my nose?
Are we on pace with the music?
Are we hanging on too long?
Where are my hands?
Am I positioned in the right place on stage?
What about my nose? Is there anything hanging from my nose?
Wonder how my breath is doing right about now?
What’s my next line?
Is that a drip of sweat coming off my nose or something else?

At least that many and probably more. Now, I understand that those of you reading this who will come see the show will be completely taken out of the moment now that you know it’s all a facade. But I am an actor. And if I and the other actors on stage do their jobs, then you will be so caught up in the story you will not think about the above list or that it’s anyone other than Dr. Jekyll kissing anyone other than his fiancée.

But I’m not dumb. I know that it causes issues. I am completely aware that those are my lips touching her lips and there is no other way around it. I do not and never will make the excuse, “it’s not even me up there. It’s another character completely. They are not my actions.” That’s stupid. Actors choose which roles to take, and which actions to perform. The problem comes with what role they choose to perform off stage.

I admit, on-stage relationships for those who are in real-life, committed ones can be a dangerous game. Dangerous in the same way rock-climbing is dangerous. In younger years there was nothing I loved more than climbing. And in my experience, I never saw a single person get hurt, in trouble, or die because they were using the proper gear at the proper place and following the rules. Dummies die. The same goes with on-stage relationships. I’ve never seen a marriage in trouble or get in trouble because of a theatrical role when the rules are followed. Only dummies die.

There are three kinds of actors: those that love the stage, those that love the camaraderie and those that want to escape whatever it is they’re real life is about. Those that love the stage are all about the applause, the exhilaration of telling a great story through spoken word and music. They have a much broader vision of the experience because they are looking at it as a whole. These are great actors. Generous, easy chemistry, and really help the entire production be better than it would be without them. They are the Deron Williams of theater. I have never seen this type of actor get into trouble. Ever. Their focus can’t allow it.

The “community lifers” love the like-mindedness and culture surrounding theater. They love people and if you’ve known a fellow cast member a minute you’ve known them for years. That’s really what it is. These people usually hook up with others like them, and share this passion together or are rarely committed to someone on the “outside” for much longer than a couple of years (hey, I know, plenty of exceptions, but in general, I’m calling it how I see it.) They are great to work with, but it’s very easy to get comfortable in this world if you’re not grounded in reality. And that’s also dangerous.

But not as dangerous as, “the escapee,” who looks very much inward on the experience and it becomes, in their mind, a part of their reality. Parts of it do. Something about their life, about their real relationships that don’t measure up to what they’re original hopes were, they see this wonderfully scripted romance and think, heck yes, this is what I’ve been searching for. This is real. Couple of problems, Miss Desmond:

Not your lines.
Not your actions.

I’ve yet to see someone tell people they sell band instruments after playing Harold Hill, but I have seen guys who will stalk the actress playing Marion simply because they adopted the chemistry on stage for reality. These are the people who want so badly their lives to be the lives of their stage counterpart. Who long for that staged romance. So much so, they choose not to separate fact from fiction if it goes on long enough. As an actor, you don’t have any say who is cast, but if you have one of these in your cast, particularly playing opposite you, make like the Wonders and bow, unplug, and you run, run offstage!

Here’s how to tell when you’ve got someone looking to bolt the bonds of reality:

Body language doesn’t change from on-stage to offstage
Has no respect for personal space
Insists that you call them, “Professor Higgins”
Keeps singing to you songs he/she can’t sing very well
And of course the classic,
“We better rehearse that scene again. At my place.”

Run, run offstage!

Fortunately, this show brought out the real pros. Not only are all the leading women extremely talented (almost intimidatingly so) they are also wonderfully classy. Three out of the four are married or are in serious, committed relationships, and they all have a firm grasp on reality. It’s a fortunate thing to work with such professionals as they know the difference between fantasy and reality, where the important boundaries lie and aren’t about to cross them.

It’s just like anything else. You cross the borders, you’re in dangerous territory. It may just be the effect of recent events, but frankly, I’m much more concerned with the effect of performing Hyde every night. Twice now I haven’t slept well after working on the character. That’s how Ledger started, you know? So I’m keeping an eye on that to see if it becomes a pattern. And if it does, my lips will be the least of anyone’s problems...

Lecter vs. Whiplash

Tue, 12 Aug 2008 10:50:56 -0700

Being evil is hard. Really hard. (I am hoping) You cannot imagine just how soul-ripping difficult it is. Just ask Richard Roxburgh. What is hard about it is this: realizing there is a fine line between Snidely Whiplash and Hannibal Lecter. If a laugh is a little too loud or a little too long, if a scowl is a little off, if the way you hold your weapon looks more like soda jerk brandishing a dispenser, you are toast. Burnt toast. Without the jam.

So far, I’m a cartoon. A big, loud, angry cartoon. All I’m missing is the handlebar mustache. The top hat’s waiting for me in wardrobe. And it ticks me off. It’s like I have this thick, juicy tri-tip and I’m frying it on the stove. Sure, it’s a tri-tip, but come on. The stove?! I’m in the process of discovering Hyde. And sure, it’s only August, but it isn’t like we work on Hyde’s scenes everyday. The script, at least to my inexperienced eyes, doesn’t leave much to interpretation. The music is written to sing a certain way, the lines and actions imply - almost demand - a certain demeanor. In other words, the show’s creators are virtually telling the performers, “Hyde is a big, loud, angry cartoon. Make it work.”

Thanks, guys.

Problem is, unless you’re out for revenge, evil isn’t inherently angry. In fact, and the point of the show is, evil is freedom in it’s truest sense. And freedom is well, freeing. Liberating. Now, the other point of the show is that if all that guided us was the passions of our hearts, then mass hysteria would ensue. We’d be wild animals. Fine if you’re a lion, but the lambs are way out of luck. Even if they can convert water into a clean burning fuel.

So Hyde isn’t angry for the sake of being angry. Menacing? Only because he isn’t bound by the laws of man. Unpredictable? Absolutely. Charming? I’m working on it. Seductive? Not if my wife has anything to say about it. But evil is seductive to many people. Hence the abundant evil in the world. Hyde even admits he’s “full of evil” and doesn’t care, because he feels “truly alive.”

So instead of being a big, loud, angry cartoon I’m trying to make Hyde a big, loud, hysterical about freedom human being with penchant for beating the crap out of hypocrites. And hopefully that will be enough. Otherwise, you might become nostalgic for Rocky and Bullwinkle or an egg cream.

My Eleanor

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 10:11:00 -0700

This is a perfect example of how a piece of entertainment has entered into pop culture without actually being very good. “Gone in 60 Seconds” is a very forgettable movie except for one element: Eleanor.

In the movie, Nicholas Cage is a car thief and his entire career he’s tried to steal a 67 Shelby but for one reason or another, can’t quite get it right. It’s always hard, it’s always ridiculous. He nicknames the car “Eleanor”. And it is now a reference used by fans of Mr. Cage and otherwise.

Including me. And in every show I’ve ever been in, I have had an Eleanor. Sometimes it’s a song, sometimes, it’s a particular piece of dialog, sometimes it’s even another actor. In Joseph it was the Hoedown scene. In “Another Story” it was the whole last scene. And in “Jekyll & Hyde” it is “Alive.”

I’m guessing I’m not giving anything away here when I say that Jekyll creates a formula he thinks will separate good from evil, which it does, but it allows his darker side to take over, which it does, and goes on a rampage. Edward Hyde is the name his dark side gives himself, (does anyone know why?) and asks the question in a euphoria that can only come from complete freedom, “What is this feeling of power and drive I’ve never known? Feeling like this, feeling alive!” It’s a fast-paced, high-intensity, introducing the most volatile character in all of musical theater. And I’m blowing it!

It drives me crazy, too. Two verses, a chorus, and I can’t get the lyrics right to save my mother’s life. In my mind I think, it’s because of the new blocking and the intensity, and you’re trying to be perfect at it too early. It’s only early August. Then my other mind thinks, Loser. You’ve worked on this since June and you still can’t get it? Talk about your primitive duality of man.

It’s my Eleanor. I expect that I’ll get it right. If I don’t, I have a contingency plan. Hyde is so amazed at his transformation that he keeps looking at his hands in astonishment. Well, if I can’t get these lyrics, I’ve got two long forearms that make great crib sheets (don’t ask me how I know this.)

The Music for the First Day

Thu, 24 Jul 2008 11:58:22 -0700

When I walk into a room for the first time, which has a group of individuals brought together for a unified purpose, I often daydream. My mind races to usually one of two scenes: the famous astronaut walk from “The Right Stuff” or Batman’s Entrance to the Art Museum just before Vicki Vale gets a face full of acid from the Joker. Neither of them happen, of course, but up to the very second before entering I think that it probably will. Is that typical to think that? It is for me. Rehearsal, first day of school, new church congregation – doesn’t matter. The grand entrance is the expectation. Anything but is the reality.

It’s the score for the grand entrance that makes all the difference. A twenty foot walk can be one of triumph or shame with a seemingly simple choice of strings or brass for the melody. I expected Saturday’s walk into the first day to be drums, trumpets blasting out a few announcing notes followed by an John Williams Olympic style theme that ended in four quick succession beats -- dun dun Dun DUN - just as I found my seat at the crimson gold throne.

Kidding about the throne.

Or it could have been something a little more subtle, something from Howard Shore, maybe, that portrays an aura of mystery and mischief, of curiosity and potential. The kind of music that tells the audience, “I don’t know who this guy is, but I’m interested in finding out just how he’s going to change everything.”

Of course, the music that would have fit perfectly with what actually happened was the kind of music that no one really pays attention to. Elevator music. Doctor’s office music. Halftime shows. It’s a big event for those playing in the band, but to everyone else, they’re more interested in the reason the band is playing (the game) than the band itself. That was me. I was the band. The rest of the cast was already rehearsing when I got there, working on an ensemble song that includes everyone in the show but Jekyll. A few polite smiles when they saw me, but nothing out of the ordinary.

It was perfect. I may be Dr. Jekyll/Edward Hyde, but I am just another member of the cast. I had been feeling a lot of pressure the more I realized just how big a role, how challenging a role this duality of a character truly was. To walk into that rehearsal and be treated like everyone else was very reassuring, I have to say.

Of course, the RockStar in me still wonders how it would have felt to have the Boston Pops lining the halls and playing a fanfare, but alas, the grand entrance was reserved for another young performer who would make his appearance a little later in the day...

My new son.

He was born in grand fashion just a few hours later to which a John Williams Soundtrack would have fit perfectly. And actually deserves its own album, to which the playlist looks something like this:

Track 1 - Labor Pains - Main Theme - Jaws
Track 2 - The Ride to the hospital - The Land Race - Far and Away
Track 3 - Hospital admittance and Hard Labor - Devil’s Snare & Flying Keys - Harry Potter (Stone)
Track 4 - The Epidural - Cantina - Star Wars Episode IV
Track 5 - Push, Baby, Push - Wild Signals - Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind
Track 6 - The Arrival - Main Theme - Jurassic Park
Track 7 - Meet your son - The Reunion - A.I.

It was a more glorious entrance than I ever could have envisioned and deserved the fanfare of the most celebrated composers of our time. My wife is perhaps the most incredible individual I have ever met. She handled everything and everything like a seasoned veteran. She is my hero. And my son carries the show. It’s the making of a great cast for a powerful lifelong performance.

Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 13:17:48 -0700

You know how when you're out of town and you want to go see a movie and there are two movie theaters each playing the show you want to see, but you don't know anything about the theaters themselves - whether they have surround sound, the seats are comfortable, or if you can hear the freakin' projector over the sound of the movie (this is unacceptable. If you walk into a movie theater and you can actually HEAR the projector, stand up, walk out, get your money back, and if legal in your area, burn the place down. It's absurd.) So you roll the dice and pick one of the theaters and hope you have the best experience.

This is what double casts are like. You put together a group of performers who obviously succeeded on their own, and you hope that you put the right people together on the right nights and it's not just that the chemsitry is good, it's the best possible. And there's just no way of knowing for sure until you have everyone working together for a while and you find out who is right and who is dead. Or soon will be.

I will perform Tuesday, Thursday, & Saturday. I am also now aware that ticket sales for the show have been very strong, even this far out. So if you do plan on attending and you want a specific day or spot in the theater, best to consider a quick purchase.

And I have to assume that if you're reading this, you're interested in seeing me perform...a bold assumption, yes, but one I'm willing to make. The theater has a very generous exchange policy, so if it turns out I will not be peforming on a particular T, Th, or S, I will post it here with enough time to make the switch.

And by the way, everyone cast seems to just be fantastic. I'm really looking forward to the experience of working with everyone. For the next month, I'll be working on memorizing and vocals before rehearsals officially begin. And trust me, this preparation is worth a few entries. So stay tuned...

Click here for ticket information...

The Official Performance Dates

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 16:13:07 -0700

What does it mean by Gothic Musical? I don't know. According to Wikipedia "Goths" were East Germanic tribes who, in the 3rd and 4th centuries, harried the Roman Empire and later adopted Arianism (an early form of unitarian Christianity). And, unless I'm WAY off on my interpretations, this show happens in London (England, not London Germany) takes place in the late 19th century and while the Bishop of Basingstoke represents "the Church", I'm pretty sure it isn't the Arians, Unitarians, or Christians for that matter (he's a very naughty Bishop.) I suppose "Gothic" could refer to the late 20th century subculture, but bleached faces and schrapnel hanging from artifical holes in the face - and I'm assuming here - will be left for another show.

It may be why they removed this subtitle from later promotional material. Whatever. I like the way it sounds.

I have no idea when they'll start selling tickets, if you can get tickets now (likely) or how quickly they will sell out. I know for a fact they have a disproportionate amount of season ticket holders who, of course, get first pick of refusing the worst seats. So if you are interested (and seriously, thanks for those who have commented and emailed about their excitement. It means a lot) you may want to call and ask them how good friends of Danny Lasko can best get tickets for the show (just don't be surprised if, when you mention my name, they respond with a clear and succinct, "Who?")

One other caveat. Two casts. Every other night. I don't know what nights I'm performing, but will keep you posted as I learn. Probably not until sometime in July.

Now, for those of you whose only relationship with this musical includes the former Michael Knight, you can be confident this show won't be anything like that, mostly because he's not in it. Everyone will act, Jekyll will have a British accent (or no one will) and Darth Vader will make an unexpected appearance.

Well, it WAS unexpected.

Kidding. However, what I have been able to squeak out of the information vault is that we will be using a script that has never been preformed here in the valley (see "Darth Vader".) it combines the best of all versions, which must have been a considerable task seeing as there is about 367 different scripts to go through. So, whatever version you're familiar with and you are NOT a member of the Fullerton Light Opera, then chances are, something will strike a note of surprise within you. Even if it's just the Sith Lord's rendition of "Once Upon a Dream". Simply moving.