March 26, 2005
This week has been been special for many reasons. Earlier I mentioned that I wasn't looking forward to spending my wedding anniversary on my own. But my wife surprised me completely by having packages of muffins, crumpets and coffee cake delivered to studio 6A. I was thrilled, especially since she'd sent enough to share with the company. Now everyone knows Sasha rules. That night I attended a preview of a Broadway production of "The Pillowman", a British dark comedy starring Jeff Goldblum and Billy Cruddup. Very weird and very black, but very funny.
I also had friends from home in town. My old bandmate Karl and his wife Liz, whom I've known for over two decades, were in Manhattan on business and we hooked up for consecutive nights on the town. I took them to Greenwich Village to see a band fronted by Rona, one of my fellow understudies. I'm finding out that there are dozens of New York actors who have bands on the side. Not all of them rock, but Rona's did. The most enigmatic and reserved of the cast, she springs to life on the rock stage like Gwen Stefani meets Alanis Morrisette in the Philipines. The next night we went out for the quintessential East Village experience with the reliable Chris Maguire. As always, the wine flowed and the guitars came down off the wall.
Karl and Liz came to town at a perfect time, when cast and company were allowed to invite a couple of guests each to come by and watch a rehearsal. So on Friday they came up to the sixth floor and joined about fifty or sixty people, including Yoko Ono, to see a dry run of both acts. Everyone walked away totally mesmerized. Keep in mind that at this stage the show is still naked. No costumes (except a handful of mock-up jackets), no lighting, a few makeshift props, and no set except some unpainted platforms and benches. The presentation relied entirely on the performances of the ensemble, the pianist and the drummer (oh yeah, and me on guitar for one number). And even in such a primative state, the small audience was riveted. I was in that audience, studying Will, Terrence and Chad while making more notes, and I too was caught up in the constant barrage of emotional thrills. Everything worked. The laughs came in the right places, particularly for Michael's hilarious appearance as a hooded klansman and Mandy's dead-on impression of the bearded Maharishi. The versatile Terrence bounced effortlessly from cartoon clown to talk show host to heavyhearted crooner, enough to make me wonder how the hell I'm gonna cover him. Marcy and the girls' explosive rendition of "Woman Is The Nigger Of The World" proved itself to be the guaranteed show-stopper we all knew it would be. Expectedly, many people were grabbing tissues after Chuck and Julie finished their bits at the end, but the curtain call, which had been worked up only hours before, had spirits soaring again as intended. Yoko couldn't help hugging each member of the cast during the long standing ovation. All of us wondered how it must've felt for her to see her and her husband's story played out before her eyes. For Don it was equally strange, having Ms Ono sitting behind him while watching the fruit of his six-year-old labor beginning to sprout. A former Broadway star himself, Don's not much of a spotlight guy these days but I hope he's prepared. In four months he's going to be the toast of the town.
Saturday was another run, slightly altered after suggestions from Yoko, but the crowd response was identical. After a quick company photo and some of Julia's apple pie, we wrapped up our six-week residency at the New 42nd St Studios. Hard to believe it's already the end of boot camp. The first week seemed to take forever, now all of them seem to have flown by rather quickly. While they have, I've picked up several new wrinkles in the brain and muscle tone like I've never had. I'd like to think I've helped shape things around here in my own way, but not nearly as much as they've shaped me.