I'm blowing off an audition because...

Maybe career-wise I'm shooting myself in the foot, but I'm blowing off an audition at a very well-known and connected casting agency this afternoon because...because...oh God, there are so many reasons, but first the simple one stupid reason I agreed to the audition is this:

I am flat broke and if cast I'd make $500 on the day of the shoot. File that under, I Was Young And Stupid And Needed The Money.

I have been cast in I think two industrials in my entire life. I used to go on auditions all the time and would get occasional callbacks, but rarely a job. This one was for a computer company (I'm always getting called in for white-guy office workers, in other words, a white guy in either a suit or business casual.) I don't even own a suit. I know it's acting, but just once can they call me in for something that's a bit more my type??

And I was looking at myself in the mirror today and yes, full confession here: I'm feeling old (well, I'm feeling maybe not old, but my age: it's not easy being in an environment where 99.9% of the people are over half your age and  you're constantly reminded of your age, just like I imagine people of color are constantly reminded of the color of their skin. It's an interesting, eye-opening experience for me in our society.) And I just wasn't up to standing in this crowded hallway (yes, auditions are so glamorous; you're jammed cheek by jowl with actors in a hallway) with all these glamorous people. Yes, most are glamorous and so much better looking than me.

Maybe I'm better off just sticking to the theater and the stage, where I feel so much more comfortable. 

So, looks were a big thing. I'm just not feeling too good about the way I look lately. Because of school I haven't been in the gym in months, I've been eating crap food just to stay alive so I'm out of shape and have put on weight, and reread the above paragraph about age if you want some more reasons.

And I was rehearsing the script this morning and I couldn't memorize it exactly, which is scary because for an actor if you can't remember your lines, well, that's a problem.

But it was so badly written. It was so badly written it was stupid and do you know how many times I've sat with corporate types who don't know the first thing about writing, who are schooled in writing or script-writing from what they've seen on television, or worse bad cinema? And every nerve in my body is screaming, this is stupid, I'm making an ass out of myself, we're all making asses out of ourselves, doesn't anyone care?

And you know what: the answer to that last question is either a) they really aren't aware they're making an ass out of themselves; or b) they don't care. What is the deal that self-respect is the first thing that goes out the window when it comes to money?

I have three plays I'm currently working on. All three are good writing. Do you know how I know it's good writing? Because I'm a good writer, and I'm so good at it that I can spot it a mile away. I have three plays that are in various stages of completion that need my undivided attention and for me to blow off a good portion of the day to do something I don't want to do and makes me feel like shit is just plain stupid.

Thanks for listening.

To be an actor, in the words of Zooey Glass

From a book that had an incredible impact on me and my thoughts and values. So when I look mad or intense or I simply don't want to talk to you in the Green Room or at rehearsal or even when I don't want to go out for drinks, or for God's sake, Karaoke, understand this is where I'm coming from.


"Oh, what the hell's the difference where I am? Pierre, South Dakota, for God's sake. Listen to me, Franny--I'm sorry, don't get riled. But listen to me. I have just one or two very small things more, and then I'll quit, I promise you that. But did you know, just by the way, that Buddy and I drove up to see you in stock last summer? Did you know we saw you in 'Playboy of the Western World' one night? One god-awful hot night, I can tell you that. But did you know we were there?"

An answer seemed to be called for. Franny stood up, then immediately sat down. She placed the ashtray slightly away from her, as if it were very much in her way. "No, I didn't," she said. "Nobody said one single--No, I didn't."

"Well, we were. We were. And I'll tell you, buddy. You were good. And when I say good, I mean good. You held that goddam mess up. Even all those sunburned lobsters in the audience knew it. And now I hear you're finished with the theatre forever--I hear things, I hear things. And I remember the spiel you came back with when the season was over. Oh, you irritate me, Franny! I'm sorry, you do. You've made the great startling goddam discovery that the acting profession's loaded with mercenaries and butchers. As I remember, you even looked like somebody who'd just been shattered because all the ushers hadn't been geniuses. What's the master with you, buddy? Where are your brains? If you've had a freakish education, at least use it, use it. You can say the Jesus Prayer from now till doomsday, but if you don't realize that the only thing that counts in the religious life is detachment, I don't see how you'll ever even move an inch. Detachment, buddy, and only detachment. Desirelessness. 'Cessation from all hankerings.' It's this business of desiring, if you want to know the goddam truth, that makes an actor in the first place. Why're you making me tell you things you already know? Somewhere along the line--in one damn incarnation or another, if you like--you not only had a hankering to be an actor or an actress but to be a good one. You're stuck with it now. You can't just walk out on the results of your own hankerings. Cause and effect, buddy, cause and effect. The only thing you can do now, the only religious thing you can do, is act. Act for God, if you want to-- be God's actress, if you want to. What could be prettier? You can at least try to, if you want to --there's nothing wrong in trying." There was a slight pause. "You'd better get busy, though, buddy. The goddam sands run out on you every time you turn around. I know what I'm talking about. You're lucky if you get time to sneeze in this goddam phenomenal world." There was another, slighter pause. "I used to worry about that. I don't worry about it very much any more. At least I'm still in love with Yorick's skull. At least I always have time enough to stay in love with Yorick's skull. I want an honorable goddam skull when I'm dead, buddy. I hanker after an honorable goddam skull like Yorick's. And so do you, Franny Glass. So do you, so do you. . . . Ah, God, what's the use of talking? You had the exact same goddam freakish upbringing I did, and if you don't know by this time what kind of skull you want when you're dead, and what you have to do to earn it--I mean if you don't at least know by this time that if you're an actress you're supposed to act, then what's the use of talking?"

Franny was now sitting with the flat of her free hand pressed against the side of her face, like someone with an excruciating toothache.

"One other thing. And that's all. I promise you. But the thing is, you raved and you bitched when you came home about the stupidity of audiences. The goddam 'unskilled laughter' coming from the fifth row. And that's right, that's right--God knows it's depressing. I'm not saying it isn't. But that's none of your business, really. That's none of your business, Franny. An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else's. You have no right to think about those things, I swear to you. Not in any real sense, anyway. You know what I mean?"

Paul Kahn, playwright

I heard the other day that Paul Kahn passed on on New Year's of respiratory failure. Paul was a Boston-area playwright, plus I'm sure other things--he was quite the remarkable human being. But he came into my life as a playwright, and that's the only way I knew him.

I met him when I was asked to perform in a play he wrote. I'm embarrassed to say that I can't remember the name of it, or the name of the character I played--a Holocaust survivor who won an award for a book the character wrote. John Tierney, another fine community theater actor played my agent/publisher, and Kate Blair played my wife. Michelle Aguillon, who was the one who asked me to take the role and president of The Hovey Players, a community theater in Waltham, Mass., directed, and we performed the piece at the Acme Theater in Maynard at a festival of ten-minute plays David Sheppard was putting on. David still runs that theater today.

Enough of circling around the details.

It was a sweet piece, with a lot of emotion and a nice story line that carried the characters up to the climax and set us back down hard on the other side. We all loved the play, and we were rehearsing the hell out of it one night in the upstairs room at the Abbott Theater where the Hovey Players live when Paul stopped by to see the rehearsal. At that point not even Michelle had met him.

It was a shock to meet him. Not that Paul noticed or probably could have cared less. Paul rode in a wheelchair that was like a Sherman tank. It had to be big, not that Paul was that big, but because I guess it had to carry all his shit. Batteries to drive the thing, and his oxygen and all that. And the thing was, that night it was pouring buckets, so Paul and the whole apparatus was covered in this big poncho or tarp or something with just Paul's head sticking out of this hole in the center of the tarp. I mean, it was just kind of like this head floating around. It appeared to be a struggle for Paul to talk. The words came out slow and his head jerked around when he talked, and his eyes bugged out of his head when he formed words. But with all that coming into the room, also came his personality, his wit, his intelligence, his charm, his insight, his energy, his peace, his passion, and his determination.

We worked that freakin' play that night, with Paul's help, and when he was leaving he told us a true story, that he had recently been to a Halloween party where he went as--are you ready for this?--the head of St. John the Baptist. God, that man could make me laugh.

I worked with Paul one time after that, when I did a staged reading of a poem he wrote. I'd go over to his house, where I met Ruth, his wife. We'd chat a bit, then Paul and I would go off and rehearse. There was a gentle calmness that pervaded their home. I'll always remember that.

He was such a talent, but I think what struck me most about him was his inspirational quality, which I suspect he might take as an insult. But, you see, about the time I met him, I was going through some pretty dark times emotionally, and suddenly it seemed to me I was working with Paul and another beautiful artist who, coincidentally was a quadruple amputee. I'm not the kind of person who believes people "are put into your life for a reason." I don't believe in some grand puppetmaster. But I remember observing these two as they worked, and thinking to myself, they had to overcome some immense physical obstacles. The way they look on the outside is the way I look on the inside. I have to do emotionally what they did physically.

That's what Paul did for me and he never knew it.

He'll be missed by a lot of people. I wish I could have worked with him more. Because, man that guy could make me laugh.

Why I Act

I'd like to share part of an email I received from someone I know from a past life. He and I worked at a software company together. He lives in England and he's talking about his feelings about a community theater production he's helping with:

Though I have been chaperoning my little 9 year old boy whilst he and my daughter (17) perform in a musical "Blitz".

My God! Attending the relentless rehearsals, and then running around backstage supporting the costume changes and ensuring they are ready for their cue is harder than I thought. But that is nothing compared to the conceptualising, project management, coordination, team work and sheer bloody-mindedness needed to actually produce, direct, and give the performance. This is just amateur, and its 'Total-War' the way the WWII countries fought. What you go through must be crazy, and yet...

The excitement, even in the wings before the curtain rises, and the camaraderie is tremendous. That plus the mental, physical, and social development for the kids has made it more than worth it. Though I have little idea whether they will do sign-up when they are next asked.

It's all that, and more. People who aren't in the theater (though this particular man has performed) find it all so exciting and stimulating.

The costumes, the scenery, the makeup, the props
The audience that lifts you when you're down

Yes, it's all there, and it will continue entice and thrill and delight. But I've found that if the theater is going to mean anything at all to you, eventually all the glamor (ha!) and excitement and camaraderie gives way to other things. Because guess what? It's not always thrilling and exciting. Some day you find yourself working with a director with whom you simply can't connect, for whom anything you do is wrong, no matter how hard you try. You'll work with people who don't share your creative vision--or have no vision at all. You'll work with actors who are self-centered and egotistical (the theater seems draw this particular personality) who, in character, you have to show love and concern for on the stage but in the dressing room you want to hit between the eyes with a 2x4.

But strangely, masochistically, you continue to work in the theater. For through it all, hopefully, you're growing as a person and an artist.

But there is something you can do to increase your chances of doing good work and having an enjoyable experience, and that's simply find the people who bring out the best in you and work with them as much as you can. I know for me, that means working with actors who are open, and if you don't know what that means, it's a level of intimacy that only certain people are capable of reaching. I'm not interested in actors who prescribe to the "remember your lines and don't bump into the furniture" method of acting. Who reduce acting to "just telling a story." Actors who are afraid to risk showing who they are on the stage, who hide behind the character, instead of actively living inside the character and within the character's world.

I first got an inkling of this way back when a director by the name of Jim Barton cast me as Freddy in a production of Picasso at the Lapin Agile at The Vokes Theatre in Wayland. He told the night of the read through that we all have been cast because of who we were. Interesting, no? Subsequent rehearsals left me floundering until one night I mentioned to Jim that I was struggling with character. What does he sound like? I anguished. How does he walk? Jim just smiled and said he talks like me. Walks like me. Me. I was Freddy. And I'm the Reverend Muncie in Looking for Normal and tonight I'm Victor in The Wonderful World of Dissocia. Acting is being. Acting is living truthfully in an imaginary world.

In a director I need one who has a strong vision for the script and the production, but also is a collaborator, one who looks to the actors for their contribution in terms of developing the characters and understanding the script. The word that best fits this kind of director--and the actors, too--is organic. Not wedded to their own specific preconceived ideas, open to exploration and discovery in the rehearsal process, more interested in internal motivations than outside gestures, inflections, or line readings.

As for the environment, I need one that actors call "safe." One where you feel free to explore and take risks. To put it in simpler words, an environment where you won't feel you're making a fool out of yourself if you try something. A place where the creative process is understood to mean that every idea is valid, every participant is respected for their talent, and together they have the power and potential to break new ground.

The excitement of an opening night, the allure of the makeup and costumes, will continue to attract people to acting. But it is the process and the promise for creative growth that keeps me.

Lookin' on the bright side

I've been hugely remiss in keeping up on this blog. It's one of those things that are in the back of my mind all the time...write on the blog, but obviously it's not something that I really want to do because, well, I'd do it.

For any and all who care, I've been very busy and life is good, for the most part. The busy part is probably the biggest reason why I haven't updated Action Bob Markle. There are just too many other projects calling for my attention, too many ways to better spend your time and life than updating a blog.

But...

I have two plays moving forward. Minot Light is opening in SlamBoston on November 2nd and 3rd. There's an interesting story about the creative process behind this, that I'll share at some point.

Red Dog has been cast and I'm so excited about the two actors who will be doing the reading. I saw Melissa Barker for the first time in NXR's Shhh! and I was so impressed by her work. And Victor Shopov will be reading the part of Him Two. I haven't had a chance to tell him yet, so maybe he'll read it here, that halfway through the writing of Red Dog I started thinking about him for that part. You can only imagine how thrilled I was when I learned he accepted the project.

The Wonderful World of Dissaocia is offering up its own special blend of challenges that are taking up an enormous amount of energy. As an artist, right now I'm frustrated. But I have absolute trust in the people I'm working with on the stage. That trust, and a belief in my own talent should pull it through. Enough said on that subject.

Life continues to muddle along. Our apartment is still in a state of flux, even though the contractors left a week ago. Our home life has been in an upheaval since June--yes! I said June--and it's gone past the point of being just wearing. I'm not saying our landlord is taking advantage of Sue's and my good nature, but...well, I guess that's exactly what I'm saying. I'm definitely a live and let live kind of guy, and I think one of my faults is I cut many people a wide margin of slack when they really should be slapped upside the head because they are so clueless. But again, my Libra nature almost compels me to want peace at any cost, and also be liked.

I've always looked at my home as a sanctuary from the Big Bad World. Typical Libra that I am I love my creature comforts, as simple as mine are, lately I've needed an extra dose of calming.

Despite one or two thorny issues in my life right now--as indicated by a troubling dream I had the other night. (Note: I believe dreams are some of the best indicators of the state of the soul.) I am loved, and I love. I don't ask for much, but get heaps in return. I have some work with some really cool people on some really exceptionally cool projects (self-imposed non-disclosure keeps me from revealing what they are.) I am probably as healthy as I've been in a long while (knock on wood) and there are so many good things on the horizon.

It's just the way I look at things, I guess.

SLAMBoston Auditions Saturday, Oct. 3

I've acted in the Slam maybe four times now. Every time a great time. Great, crazy audience. Judges that judge you Olympic-style--9.5; 9.8; 9.3...I've won the Slam once (a great thrill, because the Slam really is ten minutes of getting shot out of a canon) and yes, one of my plays, Minot Light is entered in the upcoming Slam.

So, get out there and audition.

Here's the scoop:

Holland Productions Audition Announcement

SLAMBoston: Diverse Voices in Theatre (trademark of Another Country Productions)

Holland Productions is seeking actors for the November production of SLAMBoston: Diverse Voices in Theatre (a trademark of Another Country Productions) to be held at The Factory Theatre

Casting Breakdown

CHRISTMAS VISITS by, Charles Watson Malcolm: 19 M; African-American; Lorine: 48 F; African-American; Malcolm's mother

ZOOLOGY by Emily Dendinger Maggie: 29 F; working woman Luke: 30 M; Maggie's husband

A FAG'S LIFE by Kyle Walker 5M Ellis: Early 30s, African-American, someone effeminate visual artist Buff: 40s, Caucasian, publisher of a gay men's style magazine; an Australian accent that may or may not be real Todd: 20s, Caucasian, trick, "gangsta" wannabe Rick: 20s, Caucasian, character in Ellis's comic Tyler: 20s, African-American, character in Ellis's comic

ABSOLUTION by Thom Dunn 2M Donnelly: 50s/60s; a clergyman Simon: mid-20s

MINOT LIGHT by John Greiner-Ferris 3W Stephanie: 20s-30s; a lesbian Andrea: 30s/40s; a lesbian Susan: 20s/30s

HER DYING WISH by Philana Gnatowski 2W Jess: Mid-20s Jillian: Early-30s; Jess's sister

ORI AND ADDISON by James Ferguson 2M Ori: 30s; nervous new father Addison: Slightly younger than Ori

Audition Dates: Sat. October 3rd
Audition Times 12-5
Audition Location: The Factory Theatre, 791 Tremont St., Boston
Aud Requirements: 1 minute monologue
Rehearsal Start Date: October
Production Start Date: Monday November 2nd & Tuesday Nov 3rd
Audition Contact Name Victor
Contact Email hollandproductions@gmail.com
Please email Hollandproductions@gmail.com to request a slot between 12-5 pm.
All performers including those of color, seniors, women and performers with disabilities are encouraged to audition and will be given full consideration.

A Cantabridgian moment

I was waiting for the elevator at the Holyoke Center in Harvard Square to take me up to the Passim marketing meeting. A woman approached the elevator and we smiled at each other.

Don't I know you? she asked.

I don't think we've met, I said.

You look familiar. I've seen you somewhere.

By this time the elevator had arrived and we got in.

I"m certain I've seen you. Are you an actor?

Uh, yes I am.

Then I've seen you in something. What have you been in?

Lately I've been doing small shows in the South End.

Not the ART.

No.

Then I've seen someone who looks like you, she said, stepping out. Then, over her shoulder she said, He was very good looking.

The Halfway House Club closes...Paul has left the building

The Halfway House Club closed last night. We ran three nights; the fourth--Friday night--was canceled because of the snow. Ah, the snow. We still have a major storm raging out there. Snow, now turning to ice. Gotta love this New England weather. (We canceled, but that left time for us to head out in the blizzard to Club Passim to hear Lori Mckenna's solo set.)

THHC was a good run. An interesting story. My kind of story and play. As an actor, I'm being even more choosy than ever. Looking for just the right parts. Looking for plays that resonate with my viewpoint of life and the world. I don't care about the old chestnuts anymore, if I ever did. They have their place, and God love the theaters and the actors and directors who keep them alive. I'm looking for the plays that have meaning today; not the ones written in the 1950s who people excuse with, "but they have just as much relevance today as they did fifty years ago." Well, maybe. But they've been beaten to death, and I'm looking for new ground to break.

I always have a favorite line or lines in a play that just dig right down to the core for me. I have to. I always look for those lines, and in The Halfway House Club, these were the lines, spoken by Ann to Paul, my character, a philanderer who said he never hit a woman in his life:

"Maybe no physically. But emotionally you've hit them. You've hit them harder than you ever could possibly with your own hands. Being cheated on. Having your heart broken. It's as if you're being stabbed. Slowly. And painfully. Without remorse."

It's true. As a society, we've yet to recognize that people who harm people emotionally are just as much thugs as people who physically harm people. Maybe even more so, because people who hurt others emotionally tend to do it consistently because that's just what they've learned to do; that's how they've learned to get what they want. If I hit someone, I can be hauled off to jail, and for good reason. But the person who seriously hurts someone emotionally is allowed to continue their behavior. If I were run over by a bus, no one in their right mind would say, just shake it off. But someone can run over me with a bus emotionally, and what's the first thing out of most people's mouths? Just shake it off. Forget about it. Move on. It's not right. As a society we should recognize that these emotional batterers are just as nasty as anyone else who hurts someone. And as a species, we should realize that there is a part of us that, even though we can't see it, can still be hurt in the same way as a physical part of us. As Ann says, the pain is the same. That should tell us something.

It's a good play, and Philana Gnatowski, the playwright who also played Samantha, is well on her way to having a really great play. The setting is a halfway house for people with broken hearts. My character, Paul, cheated on every woman he's ever been with. What brought him to the halfway house was he finally cheated on the one woman he loved. With a little imagination, we set up a world where, because Paul's father left him when he was ten, he became frightened whenever he found himself in a real relationship. The ensuing battles between all the characters, to paraphrase Paul, raises some good issues about the way men and women interact. And finally, on closing night, I, as Paul, was able to look across the stage at Philana who was playing Samantha, and see the character as just a younger Paul, and hating myself, or what I had become, and not wanting her to follow my path, I was able to cross the stage and stop her from hating me, and thereby I stopped hating myself. A nice bit of theater.

The Boys of Winter Playbill

Playbill gave a nice writeup about The Boys of Winter.

It's a good story--one that needs to be told--and I'm very proud as an actor and an artist to be part of this project.

There are people in this world who need a voice. The Creator gave me a voice. I mean one I can really use. And this is the sort of thing I always want to do.

I mean, does the world really need another production of Little Shop of Horror or Fiddler on the Roof??

The Boys of Winter

Whenever I take on a major role in a play, there almost always is one line that resonates within me, one that calls to me.

Sometimes it's someone else's line, as with, "He's my heart," Irma's line in Looking for Normal when she's speaking of her husband, Roy, who she loves so much she'd do anything for. If you've ever loved someone with your heart and soul, that line needs no explaining. And Kate delivered it to me with so much heartfelt meaning that it just about broke my heart each night.

Most of the time, though, I'm drawn to one of my own character's lines, as in, "I don't do well in town," so said Tilden in Buried Child. That pretty much sums up me in society in general, and it was one of the easiest lines I've ever delivered on the stage.

And in The Boys of Winter, the line jumps out early and hard for me. The Narrator (me) says, "And when the school year's up they'll either go to college (long beat) or to fucking 'Nam. That's the choice we had in 1966, 'cause we weren't rich and we didn't know shit about the world and there was a fucking draft."

Okay, that's more than one line, but you get the picture.

And the reason that line grabs me by the throat and won't let go is because that pretty much describes me in 1973, when I turned 18 and there was a war on and we still had a draft. That long beat the playwright inserts in there is, I think, to give the slower members of the audience time to realize there really wasn't a choice at all. These kids weren't going to go to college, and neither was I. (I didn't go to college full-time until I was 21. I worked and traveled and got my head screwed on straight first.)

So if I had been drafted I would have gone, because I wasn't rich and didn't know anyone, especially anyone in Canada. That was the kind of family I was raised in: you did what you were told, whether it was the nuns giving the orders or the federal government.

And because I never served in Vietnam or even in the military, I don't know anything about this story except what I've heard and read. But from reading the script I can see that it's a story that needs telling. And I'm honored (and scared out of my mind) that the director and producers chose me to help tell it.

I've gone through things in my life that other people just don't understand. There are a lot of things in life that we go through, and unless you actually go through them yourself, other people just don't get it. And there are a lot of people who just don't even try to understand how something affected someone. Or don't believe the other person.

Vietnam was a long time ago, and there are plenty of people who say, just like they say about the Holocaust or other terrible things that have happened to people, "That was a long time ago. For God's sake, get over it. Grow up. Shake it off. Time heals all wounds."

Guess what? Time does not heal all wounds. There are some wounds that never completely heal. Don't you think that they could "shake it off" they would? Do you honestly think people like suffering?

So they go through life, quietly, not talking about it because all they want is a little understanding. But they don't get it so they just shut up about it, but it all still comes out. They put away the fatigues and don't talk about what happened. The ones who really saw what happened, don't still wear their uniform or still talk army talk (0400 this and 1730 hours that) or show off or try to recapture the fun times they had in the military, because they didn't have a fun time. They served and they gave it up for their country. I met a guy out in the Utah desert who was in the 1st Army (the Big Red One) who went into Baghdad this second time around and, as they say, went over there a boy but came back a man. He didn't cut and run, he did what he signed up to do. He didn't want to talk about his time over there (not that I wanted to talk about but he didn't say--almost whispered--a few things) he just wanted to forget it--though he couldn't--and make a new life.

And that's what my character is trying to do. Trying, because I get the feeling not too many people can do it. Mainly because, as I said, one thing I've learned in this life is that time doesn't heal all.

Beanywood

Well, I can't say I care much for the name, Beanywood (I'm comin', Beany-boy!) but the two proposed movie studios on the South Shore are a great idea. One in Weymouth (SouthField Studios on an old naval air base and --gulp--maybe a Superfund site) and Plymouth Rock Studios in, well, Plymouth are great ideas.

Big-time movies are being shot in and around Boston since the commonwealth gave a bunch of tax incentives to movie-makers. Just in the past couple of weeks there's been Shutter Island, Mall Cop, Bride Wars, Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, This Side of the Truth, and The Proposal.

All this info and more comes from a guy named Chuck Slavin. He's kind of a cheerleader/social chairman for all these studio initiatives. He's an actor and, while I've never met him, from the amount of email I get from him, he's seems kind of a dynamo.

But why shouldn't movies be shot around here? And why shouldn't the state give tax credits to the movie industry? In a state that thinks casinos and adding toll booths on the Mass Pike are the way to bring in revenue, the movie industry is giving us another option.

It means work for hard-working actor types, plus real jobs...for everyone from casting directors and actors to production and technical people to caterers and photographers and electricians and carpenters. And you can't buy the kind of promotion a movie gives to an area. Think of the tourists coming to Southie to see where Gone Baby Gone was shot. Or was it Roslindale? They're going to have to repaint the Freedom Trail when this really kicks in.

It's gorgeous around here, there are the local haunts in and around Boston no matter if you're shooting a movie full of glamour pusses or rough and tough wise guys, there's the ocean, the mountains not too far off, and lots of actors and talent. As a matter of fact, it's getting to the point where you can't spit off the Hancock Tower without hitting a few actors before it hits pavement.

How to act

Spencer Tracey said, just remember your lines and don't bump into the furniture...

yeah, sorta...if it were that easy then everyone would be doing it, even though it does seem everyone is doing it...

but here's the real secret right here...so simple...but that's what makes it hard:

Going primal (again)

Started Meisner classes again last night. This time for auditioning and monologues. Open yourself up, break down those barriers, and make yourself vulnerable.

Not worried a bit about getting hurt. But I did raise my hand during the contract session where we as a class agree to what we want and don't want to have happen, and said I don't want to hurt anyone. During the last classes I took in Meisner, the people I was most afraid of were the people I knew I could annihilate. And I don't want to hurt anyone. Never again, for any reason, especially for something as silly as acting.

Starting out, I have so many prejudices and opinions. Another roomful of actors, some of whom I know, and they're all flitting about like so many birds. Me, me, me, me...look at me. So desperately in need of attention. Why? I have no idea. I've never understood this part of acting, of actors. To me, it's like a trade, like plumbing. And it's such a wonderful way to explore the world, this reality we call life, and myself.

And my first time up, paired with the prettiest actress in the class--and I knew it; why did I know that was going to happen?--I didn't pull the trigger. I wanted to, I was looking right at her, I was staring into her eyes, I was watching her face move, her face change, I was watching her try all the feminine moves that I have seen and heard so many times from women who are pretty and know it and use that piece of meat between their legs so well and I was so disappointed and at one point she said, you wanted to say something, and yeah, I did, but what would have been the point of saying, you're disappointing me, you're empty, you've got nothing, give me something new?

And I hate myself for that. Hate it. Because she is a person, sure, and like all people just trying the best she can, doing the best she can given who she is, meaning the sum total of all her experiences, and I've a good idea where all this is going to lead: I'm going to suddenly break down and be kind (that was one of the things she said--you look kind, and I wanted to say, you've got to be joking; I've heard that one before and I have no call, no reason, no ability to be kind) but I'll be kind and I'll get nailed for it.

Calling all George Clooney look-a-likes

I'm an actor, and it can be kind of weird business. Not all, but a lot of the business is just pure surface.

Anyway, today I got an email today from a local casting agency looking for a gorgeous, George Clooney-esque man to be in a movie with Sandra Bullock. Now, as you can see from the pic at the left, I'm not a George Clooney look-a-like. I'm definitely not one of those guys who turns heads when he walks in a room. As a matter of fact, I've been known to repel a few people. Mothers would clutch their children to their breasts. Conversation halted when I entered a room, but not because of my looks.

And I know this about myself and actually kind of get a kick out of it. I mean, I'm not going to hurt anyone, but it's funny to see people keep an eye on me. It's all part of being an actor and knowing how you present to the world. It is a choice I make how I present myself, but the choice is based on who I am, and how I feel most comfortable. I'm not a pretty boy or a glamor pus, and never wanted to be.

But what if you don't. What if you see something like this ad, and go, hell, I'm a good-lookin' guy. I think I'll go for it. I've known lots of people who are totally clueless about how they look, what they're like.

Man, that's gotta be a mean wakeup call.

SlamBoston

Josh and I performed Tuesday night at the BCA. We did it, and what a process. We went a bit over our allotted time, as did a lot of the plays. Lau, the director, said she didn't account for laughs when she timed us during rehearsal. Given that we rehearsed three times, and one of those times was at 7:00 the morning of the production we did pretty well. SlamBoston is held like a poetry slam (hence the name) and after each production a panel of judges hold of cards like at a diving or skating contest. We took a lot of risks out there, and I already knew that people would either love us or hate us. We got as low as 4.5 and we were one of two plays that another judge gave a perfect 10.0.

And that was the whole point of me working like that. It was the whole process I was interested in, from the audition through rehearsal and into the one-night production. I want to work more organically, on characters and in productions that push the limits of reality and believability. I don't want to go back to straight plays, with linear narratives and all the old, tired messages, metaphors, and analogies. I want to break down the barriers I have as an actor, and learn to push what's inside me to deliver new and fresh interpretations. I don't want to go back to the rehearsal process of just memorizing lines and blocking and just running the show over and over and over until you're in one deep, boring rut. Every show is different every night, but I want to push that concept to its limits, for my sake and the audience's. It makes for an amazing theater experience for both the actors and the audience members, and in my mind that's what it's all about. Forget people pay for the ticket, sit down, and are entertained. For me, there is an implicit contract between the actor and each audience member. We're in this together, people. The actors and the audience are interacting in an implicit way just as the actors are on stage. And for my theater life to continue, I need a whole lot more of that.

The dramatic weight loss progam

Acting is the most unhealthy profession going. The hours are long and late...you're never eating or sleeping right...grabbing food here, sleeping when you can.

Measuring Matthew is only a ten-minute play, we've had only four rehearsals and now tech week, but I'm definitely loosing weight, which I usually do during a show anyway. Thank God it's not a full-length play.

When I was in The Philadelphia Story, I lost so much weight each week that the costume designer got tired of bringing in the waist my pants every whip stitch, so she finally gave me suspenders and I wore my pants like a barrel.

Love and death in the theater

At one time or another, everyone in the theater asks themselves this question: Ok, remind me again: Why do I do this?

I am so tired. For a ten-minute play. We open tonight and I didn't get home from tech until around 11:30 last night. (I slept late today for the day job; the alarm didn't go off until 6:00. Man, those birds are loud.) I was so tired last night that I garbled a line. Just incomprehensible. God, be on my side tonight, please?

We do this because we care so much about it (even though I don't know why I care so much about it) that we'd rather be acting or designing sets or lights or stage-managing than doing our day jobs that actually are supposed to have meaning but don't, even though most of the time theater doesn't pay, or it doesn't pay enough to cover even our parking tickets, even though it takes so much time away from my kids and Sue that I feel so guilty and I say I'll take a break and then when I actually do take a break I miss it so much and then I start feeling selfish.

The Dragonfly Festival: Measuring Matthew

It feels a little strange and also so normal to be going to a theater again after taking a year off. We open tomorrow night, and because it's a ten-minute festival and we didn't go through the intense rehearsal period that normally would have taken place for a full-length play. I don't feel 100 percent ready. For that reason I know I'll be a bit nervous tomorrow. Plus it's a new theater where I've never acted before...just trying to get comfortable in a new environment.

It's been a long road, and a year ago I didn't know if I ever wanted to step foot on a stage again. Community theater got to be too spotty, too incestuous (not that regional theater or Boston theater won't be; I just don't know the peeps yet.) But the standards in community theater just weren't there anymore. The director of the production of Buried Child I was in right before I quit went to see the Nora Theater's production, and he emailed me to say that he thought that I and a couple of the other actors in the production I was in were more interesting. I wrote back to him and said that I didn't think we were that good, and that the experience wasn't pleasant for me at all, and that because of that I was getting down on myself even more than what's normal for me...to the point where I had one mega-destructive night where I hurt myself and a lot of other people. But, I said, I'm glad he liked it.

That experience taught me that I do know what I'm talking about in the theater, and God love the beasts and children who think they're doing good work...that's really up to them, and my only beef with them is that, as long as they don't know what's good, or if they're not 100 percent honest with themselves and accept compromises, they contribute greatly to the downfall of theater.

Oh, you're asking: what's good, my arrogant friend?

The real trouble with community theater in the Boston area is that it's basically a bunch of relatively talented people putting on shows for themselves. The majority of the audience on any given night in your local community theater is composed of friends of the actors. Or worse, "theater people." And of course they're going to like it, or if they don't they're not going to tell you, or they'll cut you a wide margin of slack. And that makes for some really lazy actors. If all you're hearing is how good you are, well...that's pretty good for the ego.

I'm not saying I'm perfect. I'm not even saying I'm any good. (God, why did you think I didn't act for a year? I didn't want to be guilty of subjecting audiences to the same drivel I'd been dishing out for so long.) I'm saying that I'm making an honest effort to grow as an actor and complete the bargain an actor makes with the audience every time he or she is on stage, and that's to live truthfully under imaginary circumstances.

Enter stage left: A year later

Exactly one year ago yesterday was the last time I was on stage. I did a little bit of work in the summer, and went on one or two auditions, more because I didn't have anything else to do that day, but I pretty much wanted to rethink acting. I wasn't even sure if I ever wanted to do it again; wasn't sure I was good enough.

Tonight I have my first real audition for work that I wouldn't mind doing. Given the date, this, gentle reader, is called irony.

There are parts of me that are patched up. Some that will never, I'm afraid, be fixed again. Broken forever. Some are just plain missing. Gone. But Saturday I was on stage in class, and I cut loose, and it felt so good. I can still act, it seems. I actually feel more comfortable on stage than I do in real life.

Actors suck

Talking to an acquaintance this morning on the train platform, she told me she had been invited to see a play and, wrinkling her nose, she said she declined. Surprised, because I know she is, shall we say, a patron of the arts, I asked her what she didn’t like about the theater. You people, she said, laughing and jabbing me on the shoulder.

Yes, I admit, a lot of theater people suck. And I told her that. I also told her that there are a lot of hard-working people in the theater who feel the same way she does. Actors in particular, can always be “on.” As a matter of fact, it is actors we’re talking about here. The techies are some of the most serious, talented people in the theater. I’ve always said that the real talent lies in the tech and the direction. So yes, some actors can be extraordinarily selfish, self-indulgent, and desperately crying to be noticed and it is more than annoying and pathetic, it can get in the way of a good work.

But here’s the thing: it’s been my experience that it’s the bad actors, the ones with the least amount of talent, who act that way. The hard-working actors, who take their craft seriously, are too busy working and honing their talent to act like jerks. They’re the ones who are busy exploring life, and bringing what they learn in life to the stage.

Acting is truth. And to get to the truth, you have to suppress the ego. That takes a very brave and talented person. You have to be both, and all that flamboyant posing is simply a waste of time.

Right now I’m working with an actress from my Meisner class. We meet a couple of times a week plus class. She’s the mother of two teenagers, about the same age as my two girls, and I have yet to see a moment of this theater crap. She has a laser eye for the truth and an incredible desire to get to it. She doesn’t, nor do I, have time any for nonsense. We’re too busy trying to get better.