The Woman in Row 3

Acting is a tough racket.

I'm not 100% sure I can adequately describe the absurdity of this pursuit within the confines of this blog- it may more appropriately take a full book to clue you in on what happens here in Hollywood.  But please, take my word for it: this industry is FUBAR.

Allow me to elaborate:

-This is the only industry I know in which talent and hard work matter but don't count.

- I once assisted a casting director on a project for a network television show.  We saw 10 girls.  One girl blew everyone in the room away.  And yet one of the soulless shmucks running the audition said her hair color reminded him of an ex-girlfriend so she wouldn't do.

- One cannot get union work if one is not in the union.  And one cannot get into the union unless one has had union work.  If you figure this out, let me know.

- Acting in commercials is good money.  Auditioning for commercials is quite possibly the most frustrating, humiliating and sometimes embarrassing experiences one can encounter.  And driving to these auditions can quite often bring one to edge of insanity.

These are just a few of the many many many many batshit experiences an actor encounters day-in and day-out.  We actors are often poor and mostly out-of-work (even the successful ones).  Many of us work our asses off (and spend money on degrees and classes) to become good at our craft only to watch the airbrushed, undisciplined and spoiled stars of the Disney channel sign onto major motion pictures and television shows worth millions of dollars only to have them give us uninteresting, safe and stale performances.

There are, undoubtedly, times when I stop and think: what the HELL am I doing?

A few years ago, I was hired to replace an actor in a production of West Side Story. The role was "Riff"- the Mercutio of this legendary adaptation- and it was a role I had wanted to play since I was a kid.  I was hired in the audition and the conversation went something like this:

Director: "You're hired."

Me: "Amazing!"

Director: "See you at rehearsal tomorrow!"

Me: "Great! (As I begin to leave the room) By the by, when does the show open?"

Director: "Next Friday."

...

Excuse me? NEXT Friday? As in 13 days from now?

Yup.

I have no way of knowing how many of you out there in the internet world are familiar with West Side Story (WSS), but it is a HUGE show.  Specifically the role of Riff requires learning intense choreography, 2 solos, a number of group songs, staging and fight choreography.  Not to mention, I have always viewed Riff as a guy whose only measure of importance in this world comes from the gang he leads... nothing else matters.  This makes Riff a bit of a wild card- cool under pressure but also fiercely protective of what is his.  He's a real person and I think Riff tends to get played as a caricature too often.  So, in addition to everything else I needed to learn in 13 days, I also had to turn this character into a real person.  It was going to be tough...

but it was what we as actors live for: the challenge of doing what we do to the best of our ability in even the most hectic circumstances.  How dramatic!

By opening night, I was exhausted.  Thrilled but exhausted.  Opening weekend came and went- and we were a hit.

But it was in weekend 3 of the 6 week run that the biggest reward came.  WSS tells the story of two young kids who fall in love despite their ties to fiercely rival gangs (the Jets and the Sharks) in New York City.  Now, in my 2 experiences with WSS I've found that a natural rivalry also ensues backstage between the actors in most productions.  Practical jokes are pulled, cliques are formed, romances develop within said cliques.  In our production, it came down to this:

"America" was the show stopper.  The amazing music, high-energy dancing and magnetic quality of the actresses (specifically the wonderful Janet Krupin who played Anita).  As you can imagine, that pissed us Jets off something awful!  Especially me.  I was enamored with the song "Cool"- which in the stage production immediately follows "America" and almost comes across as a response to its predecessor.  "Cool", to me, is everything a musical number should be: an honest, raw, explosion of feelings.  "Cool" is the Jets' attempt at dealing with this chaotic world around them, at coping with their anger at the cards they've been dealt and trying to gather strength to hold onto what little they've got.  And as Riff- the one who leads the gang in this catharsis- it was my responsibility to make "Cool" the show-stopper I knew it to be.

By no means was "Cool" a dud.  We definitely did our job and did it well- and I knew every night that our audiences were with us.  However, I didn't believe that we had reached them on quite the level "America" had yet.  So, one night- after "America"'s 18,000th standing ovation... I turned to my boys (and girls) backstage and said:

"You hear that shit?  That pisses me off."

The lights changed and we went on.

I'm not going to say I was responsible for what happened next, but I do think I had extra motivation in the scene leading up to "Cool" and perhaps that motivation was what we all needed to get to where we needed to be.  Before "Cool" even began, we all felt it.  The lyrics came out of my mouth with extra poignancy, our snaps were crisper, our eye contact was more direct. One of the most brilliant things about Leonard Bernstein's song is that it builds and builds and builds and the SONG tells the story.  It tells you what the Jets are going through- it makes you feel the eruption that is coming.

And erupt it does.  When "Cool" works, it works.

Being downstage of everyone else, I couldn't see anyone behind me during the number. But I could feel it.  We were ON.  And we were being real.  And it was showing.  The song crescendoed into a moment where we all meet in the center of the stage and right as the music pops we charge the audience and burst out into one group movement, the music pulsing along with us.

And there she was... I could see a woman in Row 3.  Plain as the nose on my face despite the lights in my eyes and my mind being elsewhere: she was groovin'.  This woman was INTO IT.  She had a mouthful of white teeth pulled back in a big ol' grin and her head was moving side to side, fingers snappin' along with us...

and I knew we had her.  We HAD her.

For the rest of that number, I was telling HER a story.  I was performing for her.  I wanted her to feel everything we were doing.  The denouement of the song began and the number ended...

and we got it.  We got our standing ovation.  And it wasn't just an obligatory "we-stood-up-for-America-let's-stand-up-for-these-guys-too" ovation... it was real. And it was intense.  These people understood what we wanted them to understand.  We had made them feel why "Cool" was so important to us.

And THAT is why I do what I do.  That is why I am an actor.  Not for the recognition, not for the promise of riches or some measure of fame (although riches would certainly be accepted), but because I believe in telling stories- and I believe in helping people to love the experience of them.  I go through everything I go through because of The Woman in Row 3.  I know that for every crappy experience I have, there is someone out there who is being changed- even if for a fleeting moment- because of the stories I tell.

In this world, especially today, I think escapism is important. But it's more than that.  Watching or reading about people trying as hard as they can to overcome their issues is a way of telling ourselves that our own problems are not insurmountable.  That we, too, can fight like the Jets are fighting on-stage.  Sure, I sometimes work for productions that don't really have a lesson to teach... but that makes the moments that I have that opportunity all the more important and special.

So to everyone out there, I hope one day I can tell you a story that makes you groove in the audience too.  I hope you enjoy it every bit as much as The Woman In Row 3 did.