My boots were made for walkin.' Power walkin', that is. No matter what I'm wearing—boots or sneakers—I'm always headed somewhere and burning rubber while I'm at it. If you thought that after I retired my character shoes last month my power walking—and sometimes power running—days were over, you'd be wrong. All that's changed is the scenery.
Now, instead of my former mission of making it to the job on time, I'm walking feverishly to University Hall for two-and-a-half-hour lectures like it's my job. Rather than dodging starry-eyed tourists armed with oversized cameras in Times Square, I'm dodging hazy-eyed college kids armed with backpacks so heavy they could probably squish my toes on my way to the theater building. Oh, and there are trees and dining halls with meal plans, instead of skyscrapers and overpriced delis. It's nice and normal but not exactly a change of pace. After all, being out of work isn't an excuse to be comatose with your eyes open. When your job is over, you just have to shift gears—or in my case, change shoes—and move toward a new set of adventures.
No. 1: to survive my course load, which has become a surefire fun-sucker. I write about two papers a week, and I'm always skimming the pages of some textbook. For my philosophy class, I've had to read so many Bible verses you'd swear I was an apostle. No. 2: to continue my training. I now take piano, ballet, and jazz twice a week, and surprisingly I've started going to the gym. Luckily, I live right next to it, because I probably wouldn't be so gung-ho otherwise. I've also enrolled myself in acting technique classes and have started studying dialect, my dream since I saw "Mary Poppins" in first grade.
No. 3: to keep New York in my life. Going in for auditions tricks my mind into believing that I never left, that I'm just taking a little sabbatical. No. 4: to keep up with the latest Oscar fare like "Crazy Heart" while retaining guilty pleasures like the Disney Channel. No. 5: to stay connected with friends, new and old. Returning after a semester on Broadway to a single room in a nontheater dorm might suit an Emily Dickinson but not a social butterfly like me. So I have my fill of dinner dates on campus and in the city, and it keeps me happy and surrounded instead of sad and solitary. Why not just kick back and put my feet up? Most will probably call it overachieving, but it's just a bad case of restless leg syndrome—so for now I'll just keep power walking, thank you, and change into my old house slippers somewhere down the road.
Derek Lui, Los Angeles
Reconnect and revisit. This pretty much sums up my February. Last year, I spent eight months working on a monologue show named "Sex, Relationships, and Sometimes Love." It was definitely a challenge for me. I had not been involved in theater productions lasting almost a year in the past. To be honest with you, I had my ups and downs during my eight-month performance. I tried my best to keep each performance fresh and organic, but knowing my character too well became a challenge for me. I tried so many methods, like changing the routine of my preparation work, making new choices, and exploring other possibilities. I have to say this show was really a valuable acting lesson for me.
After three months of hiatus, director Joelle Arqueros invited me to return to the show for its February run. The show has been running for over six years in New York and Los Angeles, and I am glad to revisit the show because I have found something new to help with my performance again.
My character is a Japanese man who has just ended a relationship with a much older American woman and is feeling nostalgic about his first, more innocent love in Japan. When I was home for Christmas, I accidentally came across an object my real-life first love left in my room. Part curious, part in the name of research, I invited my first love, whom I haven't seen for 11 years, to dinner. That's probably not a usual way to prepare for your role, but this casual catch-up dinner helped me understand the monologue in a whole new light. When I performed this same piece again, I felt more alive, vibrant, and different. This rediscovery process is amazing.
Besides this little chapter of reunion, my reconnection with a friend also brought me a pleasant surprise. One day, I was home re-watching a DVD of a film I was in, and it reminded me that I hadn't written to one of my co-actors, whose work I truly appreciate, for quite a while. Call me old-fashioned; I am the kind of guy who still occasionally writes to friends just to catch up. I got a reply from her the following day, telling me that my email reminded her that a friend of hers was auditioning Chinese speakers for a McDonald's radio commercial. She then referred me to the audition, and I ended up booking the voiceover job. Two weeks later, she invited me to another audition for a Web series she is producing. These all started from a friendly email.
Human connection works in some miraculous way. Sometimes a trip to the past could bring a new light to your future. I am revisiting my demo reel as we speak. With another year of experience earned, I decided to re-edit a new demo reel to improve the inadequacies from the past, hoping to shape a better future.
Nick Martorelli, Philadelphia
Whenever I have an audition, friends who are not in the acting business ask me, "How was it?" I usually have no idea what to tell them. Sure, I could tell them all acting things about preparation and whatnot, but they wouldn't understand that. To them, art is as simple as sports. Score the touchdown, win the game. Go to the audition, come home with the part. People not in the business will never understand why great auditions still don't get you cast. And, truthfully, some actors don't understand either. It can occasionally be a hit-or-miss process with no logic to it. But in early February I was lucky to have an audition that gave me something very solid to point to and say, "Do it this way from now on."
The audition was for "516" with Philadelphia Theatre Workshop, the final show of its 2010 season. When I went in for the first general audition, I did so with a very clear intention: to have fun and play around. I had read the provided audition scene when it was sent to me, looked it over, and then let it sit on my desk for a while. I intentionally avoided making any big choices ahead of time, instead relying on my instincts and impulses when I was in the room. Hand in hand with this idea, however, came the commitment to fully honor those impulses and to really go nuts with any idea that hit, even if it wasn't 100 percent appropriate. And so, armed with that game plan, I faced my audition, read the role, and then left with my head held high.
Then, halfway through the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl, I got the call that I had earned a callback for the role, which was to occur on the following night. This time, they sent the complete script in addition to the sides we were to prepare. I sat down in the afternoon and literally devoured the script. By the time I was done, I had dedicated myself to getting this part, so I went into the callback fully prepared. When I got there, I met Katie, the actor reading opposite me. When we auditioned for the director, he worked with us, letting us explore different options and work through the scenes multiple times. I began working as if I had already won the role and this was our first rehearsal. I would try ideas, see if they worked, and then filter the good stuff along and see what else I could throw into the mix. Katie and I worked very well with each other, and I was proud of the work that I did.
I will now ruin the suspense to tell you that I did not get the part. I was disappointed when I found that out, but I remembered my early goal going into this process. I knew that I had given a solid audition performance. I did everything that I possibly could have, and the final decision came down to some other "intangible" that is out of my control. But that's just something that you have to accept in this business: realizing that we will never have something as clear as scoring a touchdown to signal success. But this time, I scored myself at 100 percent, and I can work toward this in every subsequent audition and every potential job. Even if my friends still won't understand.
Octavia Spencer, Los Angeles
As I record the travails of this past month, I've decided to focus on positive people rather than ruminate on the negative experiences. To traverse the depths of darkness one only needs to surf the Internet, which since its advent has seen the proliferation of blogs designed to shock and awe with scandal and character assassination. That's not my style. As I write this I'm reminded of Shakespeare: "The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones." So, before my bones are interred, I'm taking the time to praise the good.
I've often been asked who's my favorite actor I've ever worked with. Honestly, it's hard to pin me down to just one of anything. On stage, nothing compares to working with my "Trailer Trash" cast mates: Beth Grant, Dale Dickey, David Steen, Joe Pat Ward, and Debby Holliday. On screen: Allison Janney, Will Smith, Drew Barrymore, Tichina Arnold, Jordan Black, Mary Steenburgen, Ted Danson and the entire cast of "Becker," Mark Paul Gosselaar and the cast of "Raising the Bar."
Why? If you've ever had the good fortune of meeting any one of them, you'd know immediately. It's not that they are all exquisitely talented; that goes without saying. It's not that they each inspire me to strive for excellence in my craft, because they do. It's not their tireless work ethic, because it shows in their professional achievements. It's the simplicity of who they are: genuine and kind people.
All embody that Everyman spirit and are the type of people I'd like to sit and have a beer with (if I drank) after work. Each treated me with the utmost respect when I visited their sets and were emotionally and personally accessible to me both on and off screen. For those of you lucky enough to headline a project, know that your set is your home away from home. Your guest cast should be treated as such.
In mid-February, Jada Pinkett-Smith and the cast of "Hawthorne" welcomed me with open arms to their home, their set. I'd like to add them my list of favorites. I'll never forget stepping off the elevator of a defunct hospital (where the show shoots) and being greeted by the hair-and-makeup team, as my first day of work would be the very next day. Introductions were made, and the department heads decided on our plan of action. Down the hall to my right was video village and executive producer–lead actor Jada Pinkett-Smith. She walked over, gave me a hug, and again welcomed me to the show. From that moment forward, things went from splendid to even more splendid. The cast and crew were overwhelmingly supportive and graceful. I applaud Jada first and foremost because her name is at the top of the call sheet, thus she sets the example. Michael Vartan, Suleka Mathew, James Morrison, Collins Curtis Pennie, Adam Rayner, and Christina Moore, thanks for being you: wonderful actors but good and kind human beings.
Richard Rella Jr., New York City
I just came back from another stint on the national tour of "Tony n' Tina's Wedding." We performed at the historic Proctors Theatre in Schenectady, N.Y. Originally built as a vaudeville house in 1925, Proctors has seen its stage graced by such legendary performers as comedians Red Skelton, George Burns, and Gracie Allen; magicians Harry Blackstone Sr. and Jr.; and bandleaders Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, and Glenn Miller. In recent years, it has hosted entertainers Tony Bennett, Carol Channing, and Robert Goulet. This 2,100-seat theater is also a major stop for most national touring companies. In fact, my wife performed here years ago on the national tour of "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying." I love theater history, so having the opportunity to sing 22 songs on these historic and meaningful boards is a unique experience for me.
The best aspect of touring, though, is the ability that I have to create my daily routine. Like clockwork, I am up by 7 a.m. I have a relaxing breakfast by myself, answer emails, and check in at home. I'm working out by 10 a.m. and reviewing any notes from the previous day until lunch at noon. I'll get to the theater by 2 p.m. and immediately get to work stretching and vocalizing. When the sound engineer arrives at 4 p.m., we will work together for the next few hours, tightening cues. I'll get to makeup and wardrobe by 6 p.m. and curtain by 7:30 p.m. I never allow anything to get in the way of this routine, and I know that I definitely reap the rewards for sticking to this schedule.
When I get back to Staten Island, however, I am promptly greeted with a dirty diaper. I have a 22-month-old daughter who, thanks to Skype, I have at least been able to see for the past few weeks. Before we even leave the train station, my wife gives me a laundry list of tasks and myriad problems to solve. Getting back to my home life is the most difficult transition for me. When I'm on the road, I can truly focus on acting, singing, working out—me. When I'm home, my focus is pulled in all different directions. Don't get me wrong, I love my home life. This is just part of the challenge as well as the allure of this career. I had a "real job," and I got bored, complacent. I felt myself and my gifts dying a little bit every day, until that glorious morning when I decided, much to my mother's chagrin, to decline my contract at Monmouth University. As frightening as it was to lose that job stability, I was only 25 years old, and I needed to pursue my career as a performer.
The interesting, exciting, and ever-changing dichotomy of my touring life versus my home life will energize me for weeks and months to come. I'll try, often in vain, to stick to a schedule while home. I'll squeeze in workouts while my daughter naps, vocal lessons between family visits, auditions between background work, acting classes between auditions, and I'll rejoin the Off-Broadway cast of "Tony n' Tina's Wedding." As much as I like being on the road, it's good to be home.