An Actor

The play that I appeared in closed last Sunday.  We performed Larry Shue's The Foreigner.  Before a few weeks ago, I'd never acted before.  Well....I guess that's not entirely true.  I've certainly been performing for years.  As I wrote in The Funny Guy, I've long employed humor to get a laugh, ease tension, be mean spirited, be the center of attention, make clean phrases sound dirty, amuse children, get jobs, get free stuff - and food, and of course charm women (though now just one.  Yes, my wife.).   But never before had I appeared, so to speak, on the stage.  So to leap into a full-length play was perhaps a bit audacious.  Even for me.

A few months ago I saw an ad in the paper for open auditions at the Bradley Playhouse in nearby Putnam, CT.  There have been a few times in the course of my life when I've pondered acting (always briefly).  I felt the occasional pang of regret for not having been in a high school play.  Looking back, I realize now that despite my inclination to make jokes, I was a lot more self-conscious than I let on.  A classic case of my laugh-getting antics masking what is probably a normal in adolescent insecurity.  After all, when I told jokes, walked silly, or answered every question asked of me with, "Bend over and I'll show you," I was the star of my own show.  There were no lines to forget or cues to miss.  There was no scene to blow because everything was improvisational. I possessed (still?) a mind that was quick enough to be witty on the go and a predilection to be funny.  More than that, I processed almost everything I saw, heard, read or thought so that it was funny - and thankfully I could present it as such to my audience.  My audience was my family, friends, co-workers, and students.  Sometimes I gave toasts at weddings or was an emcee for large meetings.  I'd been up in front of several hundred people with their undivided attention before.  I had prepared and given speeches.  With my own material, and my own style of delivery, I said funny things and made silly faces.  But a play?  A play is a different thing altogether.

So after a lifetime of hearing people tell me how funny I am and asking me if I'd ever considered acting,  here was an opportunity perfect for me (as was the role).  An open audition at a community theater.  Why not?  A few days before the audition, before I'd even committed myself to going, I stopped into the theater to pick up the readings for the script.  The theater manager greeted me, introduced me to the roles, and asked about my experience.  I humbly told her that I had none.  No matter she said, the theater actively encourages first timers to audition.  She added that sometimes not that many people audition.  In other words, I had a shot at being cast.  Long story short:  I was cast and I was cast in the title role of the play.  I had only read snippets of the script, knew nothing of the character and how many lines I had, to say nothing of the fact that many of them were in a completely made up language!

I reflected in By Heart how the whole concept of learning lines was a skill I'd employed little of in recent years.  Memorization.  It's work.  When rehearsals began (three times a week) we had only 7 weeks or so until the play opened. At first we rehearsed upstairs in the function room at Victoria Station and later on a mostly empty stage while our set was being built.  Some of my fellow actors had years of experience in theater - acting, directing, stage managing, doing technical work behind the scenes.  I was the only one who had zero formal experience.  As the weeks progressed, I casually read my script and  also read from it during rehearsal.  The experienced actors had soon memorized many scenes, only needing to call for a line from time to time.  With less than two weeks before opening night, I was just getting a handle on some of my lines.  Frighteningly to me, I wasn't the only one.  At this point, I didn't leave the house, much less the room, without my script.  I tested myself and I had everyone in my vicinity read lines with me - my wife, mother, mother-in-law, friends, gas station attendants, pharmacists, and supermarket cashiers.  

A week before the show opened, the scenes were rough.  Some of us still didn't know our lines - well we did, but not exactly when to say them.  I left that rehearsal certain that the show would be a disaster.  I imagined a silent audience.  Perhaps a few polite chuckles at first -  then nothing.  Folded arms, people slowly and quietly leaving and then rotten tomatoes.  Remember I hadn't done this before.

Slowly at first, but at an increasing rate our timing and recall improved.  We got through scenes with less hiccups.  As we learned our lines, we learned our roles and were now freer to be the character instead of just speak the lines.  I might even hazard to say that I began to act.  Two nights before we opened our director had us do a 'speed through.'  We basically performed the play at double speed.  To our collective amazement we ran through the whole play barely missing a beat, cue, or lines.  It was, at least by our measure, crisp.  We, at least, knew our lines.  I finally gained the confidence to know that come opening night, we'd be able to get through the show,  perhaps even put on a half-way decent one.

The Bradley Theater was built in 1901 and has close to 400 seats.  (For a history of theater, click here and look for history tab.  Find out about the ghosts here)  It's a charming old building which though it shows its age, retains the warmth of its literally storied past.  Below the stage is a narrow hallway and a row of small dressing rooms.  Across from the dressing rooms is a low-ceilinged storage and mechanical area known affectionately and aptly as "The Dungeon."  When below stage, you can hear the floor boards creak above and the sound of voices, though muffled, is clear.  It's there, below stage that we gather before the play starts.  At regular intervals before the show, the stage manager alerts us of how much time we have.  "Doors are open."  "30 minutes."  "15 minutes."  "5 minutes."  Finally, "Places."

I stand on the stairs behind a closed door that opens onto the stage.  After the director makes some theater announcements the house lights go down.  When they next go up, I'll follow "Froggy" on stage.  Froggy begins the play's opening dialogue.  Except that it's really a monologue as my character - Charlie - is so despondent that he only stares forlornly into space.  As I cross the stage and sit on the couch, I feel my heart pounding.  My first line is "I shouldn't have come" and that's all I can think about.  I listen to Froggy for my cue and once I hear it, it's like I am shot out of a cannon.  Soon after the play begins, it's revealed that my character must pretend not to speak or understand English, though he most certainly can.  For much of the first act I have few lines, but must make faces which express what Charlie is either thinking or what he wants others to think.  By act two, I get very comfortable with "my pretending not to speak English" and have a lot of fun doing so.  

At the end of the first show, after everyone else comes out for their bows, I come front and center and lead our cast in a group bow.  I am not Japanese, nor ruled by royalty.  I haven't had much occasion to bow.  I found it an odd feeling.  Though I've long been shameless in seeking praise, laughter and attention, I never took a bow for it.  It was, initially, as if I was thanking them for letting me grace them with my presence.  Twenty plus years out of adolescence, I felt awkward all over again.  After thinking about it a bit, I think that I felt weird because for the first time I was, we all were, admitting that we were not who we were portraying.  It wasn't Charlie Baker taking a bow - as I actually did in the play, but it was Dave Ring taking a bow and that felt showy to me.   At first.

During the run of the play, six shows over two weekends, I got more comfortable - with everything.  I relaxed more before the show, I fell more easily into character, and we as a cast played better off of one another.  By the end of the show, going on stage and taking a bow no longer felt odd to me - it actually was just part of the show.  The play was a success.  We got lots of laughs, especially in the second act when the pace and action quicken.  We got standing ovations.  In the lobby after the show, many people (and not just the ones related to me) made a point to tell me that I did a great job and that they really enjoyed the play.  Many people (perhaps you, too) have wondered and asked if I am going to do another show.

The answer is probably.  Since it was my first time and everything about it was new it took a lot out of me.  Not just in the time spent rehearsing, studying lines, helping to put the set together, etc.  When you're acting - as we actors know - your senses are dramatically heightened.  You have to be hyper aware, engaged, energetic, and attentive.  Having run a marathon, I can attest that when on stage you are no less attuned to your body and mind.  It is the proverbial rush.  I am attracted to acting, but as with running, my body requires rest afterward.  So for now, I'll recuperate and consider future efforts when I can wrap my head and body around it again.

There were many laughs and for me, no surprise, that's the hook.  And not just the laughs we got on stage.  I also liked the laughs in rehearsal and after the shows.  We missed lines here and there and there were occasional snafus.  The cast and crew enjoyed the good natured ribbing that comes along with camaraderie.  We also laughed at technical difficulties and the audience itself.  One night it was raining so hard outside the roof began to leak onstage.  The play's first act is set in a rainstorm, so 'Owen' worked it into his entrance.  Another night, the explosion we were to hear didn't play and 'David' just yelled "BOOM" instead.  From the stage we could hear an elderly person's hearing aid beeping above the din of the show.  I saw a very large couple in the front row, splayed out and fast asleep for much of the entire play.  There were the requisite ill-placed baby cries, the strikingly loud 'guffawer,' and people who couldn't help but audibly repeat our punch lines or say things like, "Oh, so he's the one doing it!"

It's only been four days since our last show and I am sure many of these reflections will season with time, but as it stands now, fresh in my mind, I can't help but feel a great sense of pride in having done it. I took a risk and with risk there is reward.  To be sure it was a calculated risk, but frankly, it's good to try new things and it's good to push your comfort zone.  May this inspire you to try something you've always wanted to do.  And if it's not your style, it doesn't have to be in front of a live audience

Thank you and good night.