Identity Crisis

Politics is kind of running around in circles today, so instead of complaining about that, I will complain about something else in my life that's running around in circles.

You may recall that I do a little acting now and then. My latest gig is a murder mystery, with two performances pending in the far-flung town of Glendora, over an hour's drive from my hovel. I basically got in without an audition, because they were having trouble casting the guy who gets killed and one of the other actors had worked with me before. So for the past several weeks I've been learning my lines and developing a dislikable attitude. Hell, if the AUDIENCE doesn't want to kill this guy in the first ten minutes, I'm not doing my job.

Monday I got this call from the producer. We go on in two weeks and the guy who's playing the detective (and romantic lead) was sidelined with a back injury, and he had no choice; he was going to play my part, and I was going to play the detective. So I went through the script and highlighted all the detective's lines, and was terrified to discover that he had 3 times as many. The nice thing about being killed in the first act is, you don't have to learn the 2nd and 3rd acts! But I went along with it 'cause the show must go on. I shaved off my beard, put together an outfit that a Texas Ranger in training might wear, and showed up for rehearsal Monday night.

This morning, the producer calls back. He decided he can't act AND produce, and he found another guy to play the detective, so I'm back as the victim. I have a week and a half to cultivate my beard.

(If you're within reach of the Glendora area, check out the VILLAGE BOOK SHOP on Glendora Ave for details.)

The Hunchback Of Cirque Du Soleil

Los Angeles is a place where at any time, someone you know may be appearing in a theatrical production; and you, as a friend, are obligated to be there to show your support. It was thus that Mrs K and I lit out for North Hollywood Friday to see the oddest production of The Hunchback Of Notre Dame that has ever been presented.

A theatrical company called Vox Lumiere (which includes my wife's voice teacher, who was excellent) has been formed using the gimmick of building shows around silent movies. So you get the silent movie with a soundtrack, but there are also dancers and singers, and soloists playing the characters on the screen. They don't look like the characters but they represent their inner lives.

As interesting an idea as this is on paper (or probably on word processor) it's pretty annoying in real life. Oddly too. I liked the music. I liked the performers, who were all energetic and precise, the way you have to be when you're syncing to another source. I even liked the set design and faux cirque-du-soleil costuming. What it amounts to though is a a movie and a stage show fighting with each other for my attention.

It was a lot like watching CNN, only the crawl at the bottom keeps expanding until it covers up Larry King completely, and you tuned in for Larry King. Or you love the crawl but that damn Larry King keeps trying to interview the crazy love-triangle astronaut while you're trying to read it.

Much of the time the screen is obscured by the white smoky spotlight on the Esmeralda singer so you can't see the original silent Esmeralda. And the silent screen has to be visible at all times because the show relies on it for the narrative thrust. The musical numbers are commentaries on the movie, which you can't see, or you're not looking at, and before you know it Quasimodo has kidnapped Esmeralda and you don't know when it happened or why the twisted little guy is on trial. On stage, by the way, he was played by a 300-pounds-of-muscle bouncer with extensive tattoos. Scary dude! Nice touch.

I suppose I should also add that the choreography was 90% emotionless calisthenics and 10% storytelling, but that's just my opinion and I don't know from dancin'.

Concept aside, can we now say that the Hunchback of Notre Dame is maybe not a terrific source for musical comedy? One Victor Hugo musical takes off and suddenly everybody thinks they can do it. Apologies if you have a dynamite score for THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK, but maybe you should just shelve it and move on. You'll thank me.

Dying is NOT Easy

This weekend the play I'm in had another two performances. Saturday's was poorly attended but we got big laughs, and Sundays we had lots of people (including my in-laws, god help me) but the audience was... quietly appreciative. Especially during the first act. The second act went well because a lot of the plot dominoes that are set up in the first act start falling, but that first hour was deadly.

And I learned a lot. Not about show biz, or audiences. I learned how handy I can be with a metaphor.

During intermission my costar Scott, who has all kinds of acting experience except comedy on stage, was worried that we were doing a bad show. I said, you know what? It's like we are a tango dancer and the audience is our partner. We are actually doing as good a dance as always - but our partner is stiff and doesn't know the steps. We just have to keep dancing as best we can and hope she catches up.

And like I say, she did. I don't know that much about stage plays, but those years of improv taught me that you can be funny even if the audience is made of stone, or some bonded-carbon substance which is as hard as stone, but easier to carve into useful shapes.

Poor Scott though. I'm sure he was thinking of the old quote "Dying is easy - comedy is hard." Having spent a whole first act dying, he's probably re-thinking that position statement.

How The Play Is Going

Pretty good actually.

As you know, I am appearing in a mistaken identity farce for the next few weekends called HERE LIES JEREMY TROY. This is notable because I haven't been on a stage in about 10 years (karaoke doesn't count) and I haven't been in a show where I had to memorize lines in about 20 years. I don't like memorizing lines. It's anxiety-producing. If you get something wrong, or god forbid skip a line, you can not only throw yourself off but also the poor bastard who has to pick up cues from you. I don't mind if the other actors miss their lines because I have so much improv under my belt (oh, THAT'S what that is!) that I welcome the excuse to cover for 'em.

So after 3 months of rehearsal we finally opened this last weekend, doing two matinees to houses which were small and kind, like Mother Teresa. I should explain that we are sharing the space with a show that only plays evenings, another mistaken identity farce called WHO'S WIVES ARE THEY ANYWAY? It only makes sense because the sets are close to identical. The most important thing is to make sure there are plenty of doors to walk in and out of; the rest is gravy.

Who are my fellow actors? Well, the male lead is played by Scott, a very good-looking guy (too good-looking if you ask me, but that's just sour grapes) who up until now had no stage experience. Scott has been amazing. He started out making all the classic mistakes (not playing big enough, acting with his back to the audience... basically just being too realistic) and over the course of rehearsals he's become a farce machine. He's big, he can handle a broad take, he's even acquired comic timing.

Kim, who plays his wife, has plenty of experience - she's even written a show and had it produced there. It seems pretty effortless to Kim. She also has an infectious and uncontrollable laugh, which she kept succumbing to in rehearsal but somehow has completely wrestled to the ground now that we're playing to audiences. Kim knows what she's doing.

Rachel, who plays daffy artist's model Tina Winslow, also has all kinds of acting experience. Tina is further proof that women are perfectly capable of being funny. It annoys me that the high point of the show is a scene with Rachel and Kim that I'm not even in! Damn them! Rachel and I are also sharing our first stage make-out scene. I've seen pictures and it's surprisingly convincing. I gotta admit, it's awful difficult to get your bearings after a kissing scene - it really short-circuits a lot of connections in my brain, especially since she's so damn sexy. Rachel is a squeaky-clean person in real life, so she shapes up as the most ironic casting decision of the show.

Finally Don, who is the Boss Who Comes To Dinner. Don has acted for 20 years. He could do the show in his sleep but chooses not to. More than any one, Don knows how to play the audience like a harp. There is a speech he does toward the end of the show with a punchline that is so bone-crunchingly obvious that I would never believe it could be anything more than a sad anti-climax. Don makes it work. It got laughs at both shows this weekend. Hearty laughs. Don is a tremendous fan of classic comedy, i.e. the Marx Brothers, Abbot And Costello, W.C. Fields. Possibly he would be even funnier in black and white, but it would just be impractical.

And me? I have no idea how I come off. I know I'm responsible for a lot of the show and I haven't noticed dead silence during my scenes, so I'm probably holding up my end. I can't decide whether I mug too much or if I should be mugging more. At least I had the instincts to insert that most reliable of laugh-generators, a spit take, into act one. I'm proud of that. Unfortunately the stage manager (Jeannine, who is ruthlessly efficient and smart as a whip) has chosen Coca-Cola to stand in for coffee. I'd have gone with diet coke. I fear we are making the floorboards pretty sticky.

Finally a word about our director, Marc Del Monte. He's great. The man knows comic timing in a big way. He's very good to actors (this is his first directing job; he acts regularly and even has a regular gig playing a comical rabbi at bar mitzvahs and weddings. La Chaim!) and skilled at saying just enough to draw us out without saying too much. At the first rehearsal he gave us each a dollar, so we could say we are being paid to act in a show. I am a paid actor.

As much fun as I'm having, my next show should be a musical, and my next part should be something small and scene-stealing. Maximum benefit, less lines to memorize, wouldn't have to attend all the rehearsals. At my core I'm a very lazy man. I hear they're going to be doing THE SOUND OF MUSIC... maybe I'll try out for Max, the cynical talent agent. Failing that, perhaps I can be a nun. C'mon - if I shave, how could you tell?