Driven to Succeed?

Hey, I got a part! I guess I'll be wearing a blue-green coat and driving off-road to all my auditions from now on. The role is Dogberry. I'll admit I'm not too familiar with the play, but from that noble surname I'm guessing he's the dashing young hero who saves the day and wins the fair lady.

On the Edge

"Hi, it's a pleasure to meet you; my name's Keith," I said, confidently extending my hand and flashing a big, friendly grin, while my car idled two feet behind me, with its front bumper hanging over a precipice and its rear wheel a foot off the ground. OK, let me do something I couldn't do then and back up a bit. I was feeling pretty confident as I drove to my audition on Topanga Canyon Blvd., a twisting road through wooded hills that seem hundreds of miles from L.A. I had a secret weapon to set me apart from the crowd: a blue-green sport coat I picked up for $5 at a thrift store. He won't forget the guy in the blue-green sport coat, I thought. I found the address, saw a sign that said something about parking, turned into what looked like a driveway, and suddenly found myself staring down into a ravine and experiencing a serious loss of traction. I shifted into park, set the hand brake and jumped out, not bothering to take my keys with me. The wide-eyed director arrived on the scene looking more shaken than I felt, and I cheerfully introduced myself. I'm sure I made an impression, and not with my wardrobe. After that, things went pretty smoothly. I showed my AAA card to a towtruck driver who was finishing up with some other poor sap across the street, and a CHP officer diverted traffic for a few minutes while we got the car back on solid ground. So I did a couple of monologues and a cold reading, and what I want to know is, why did my heart start racing and my mouth dry up when I stepped on stage for the umpteenth time but nearly driving into oblivion scarcely phased me?

Thumbs Up!

My parents were at last night show, along with a couple of Holidaze cast members and a few people from the improv workshop, and they didn't run away in horror. In fact, they stuck around after the show talking, smiling, and laughing. I'd call that a smashing success! In fact, we got some huge laughs, and a couple of them were intentional. I have to say this isn't quite the thought-provoking, heart-rending kind of drama I had envisioned doing when I began this actor's journey. I certainly didn't envision the costume. But this kind of whacky, knockabout comedy is a lot of fun to perform, and, when things work like they're supposed to, to watch. And the bruises barely show.

You Are Where You Are

It's a truism that wherever you go, there you are. But where you are also in part shapes you who are by determining the people you will meet, the things you will see, and the opportunities and obstacles you will encounter. This is not idle philosophical rambling. Well it sort of is, but it's prompted by the fact that my rent's about to go up over 100 percent, so I've got to find a new home. Now, I'm probably not going to go more than 30 miles from my current location. My roots are pretty deep, I've got friends and family here, and I need to be close by when Spielberg calls. ("Mr. Bush, we're looking for some one to play Loser No. 3." "Count me in, Stevarino!" "Never call me Stevarino again.") But 30 miles encompasses a lot of territory in L.A., and I need to think seriously about what it is I'm doing with my life and how much I want to keep doing whatever it is. I hate thinking seriously.

Head Games

I haven't gone on as many auditions as usual in the past few weeks, partly because of my schedule but also because my headshots don't reflect my current hirsute appearance. Anyone who called me in expecting clean-cut, conservative guy would be disappointed. So, just for the heck of it, I submitted to two or three CDs with an outlandish picture of myself that a fellow cast member took at a recent rehearsal. It's pretty much everything a headshot isn't supposed to be. Yet, within an hour, someone called me to set up an audition. That's a higher success rate than the ones I paid specialists hundreds of dollars for! Maybe I had discovered a secret tool for success. So, after a two-hour drive and a two-minute audition, the director says, "That was great, but the client may be looking for someone more conservative-looking." So, I ask you: What is a headshot for, anyway?

Let's Get Hitched

Come see me shine in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I'm not saying I'll be good, just shiny. Second Stage Theatre, 431 N. Brookhurst, Anaheim, (714) 502-2249, Fridays at 8, January 20 to February 10. Click for directions.

Mild and Crazy Guy

OK, for the last four Friday's I've been this shockingly over-the-top, in-your-face party guy on stage. So why am I the one at the cast party standing there like a stiff in the background? Oh, well, I had a great time, really. I just internalized it. This Friday I get to try to be even loonier than last week in a brand-new production. I hope there are witnesses. Click on the link to get a sneak preview, right after the cast party pictures. (If you're reading this in the archives, the link may no longer work as advertised.)

Final Daze

Tomorrow night is the last chance to see me (and some other people) in Holidaze, the show that made the critics say, "A hell of a lot better than A Christmas Carol" (my father) and "Where did we go wrong?" (my mother). Really. Friday night, 8 p.m., 431 N. Brookhurst, a measly $10.

Spirit of Christmas Pants

(From an actual Christmas Eve conversation.) MOM: I've never been one to pry. ME: I've always appreciated that. MOM: But I couldn't help notice you have a pair of shiny silver pants in the back seat of your car. ME: They're for a show. MOM: Oh. (beat) What kind of show? ME: It's a kind of science-fiction/comedy thing. MOM: (skeptically) I see. ME: Look, don't judge the pants without seeing the rest of the outfit, OK? MOM: You aren't going to wear them on the street, are you? ME: They're for a show!

Take a Trip With Me

A friend kindly pointed out that if I want people to attend my current performance, I should provide some information about it. The show is called Holidaze, and I appear as a larger-than-life character in a wild and crazy sketch called "The Day Tripper." It's whacky, zany stuff that the opening-night audience ate up with a spoon.

Fridays at 8 p.m. through Jan. 13
Second Stage
431 N. Brookhurst
Suite 140
Anaheim, CA
(714) 502-2249
http://tinyurl.com/4o7c6

Not So Tiny, Now

A Christmas Carol closed just in time. Tiny Tim, who was pregnant, got harder to carry every week. But I'll sure miss it. It was a great cast and an exciting production to be part of, and although I wasn't the star I got to exercise my chops in a lot of ways: broad comedy, high drama, heavy exposition, even a little singing and dancing. (Although I'm no threat to... uh, you know, that famous singing, dancing, acting guy.) The best show was probably the one we did for a theater full of sixth-graders. I wasn't sure they'd appreciate our faithful telling of this old story, but they laughed without inhibition at the humor and were utterly silent during the dramatic scenes, except for the sniffles. I'd like to think we touched a few of them, but it is cold and flu season. We also had a large group of high-school students (and high-school students do seem larger than ever). I think they were there for extra credit, but even they were very attentive. Maybe there was going to be a quiz afterward, but I like to think we reached them--us and that Dickens guy.

Unorthodox Christmas

I've just taken a role in another holiday show. Holidaze will open Dec. 23, a scant week after Carol closes, and continue well after even Orthodox Christmas is over. Oh, well, if my father can leave the artificial tree up all year, I guess I can do this. Keep the badnjak burning!

Two Little Words

In case you're still wondering, this is a blog of me, by me, and for me. I am my own principal author, chief topic, and target audience. But just to prove I'm not entirely self-centered, I will devote a large chunk of this entry to the opinions of someone else, namely, Press-Telegram theater critic John Farrell: "Keith Bush is a warmly believable Bob Cratchit." OK, so "warmly believable" isn't exactly "stunningly brilliant," but it was nice to see it in print this morning, nonetheless. I didn't know if he'd mention me, or what he'd write if he did. Of all the words he might have chosen, those weren't bad. The first thing the director told me about the character was that warmth was the key to making it work. And Cratchit is so different from me and the range of emotion so great, believability was a big concern of mine. Oh, John also wrote several hundred words that didn't directly concern me. Some highlights: "The sheer complexity of the production is worth the admission price. Nine actors fill the piece's 38 roles.... [Bart Shattuck] has the presence and range to make Scrooge believable, whether he is being penurious, frightened half to death by the ghosts that visit him or gleefully happy when he finally discovers Christmas.... The rest of the cast proves its versatility in quick scene changes, faster costume changes and the ability to use the limited space of the Black Box to full effect. Brando Cutts is perhaps the king of the fast change in this production. He goes from the white ghost of Marley to a storybook genie to three other roles, including the Ghost of Christmas Present, in what seems like less time than it takes to tell about the changes.... Zavanna DeLaRoca is delightful as Tiny Tim.... a homey (and professional) telling of a great story, much of it in the author's rich language. If Christmas is a time for simple pleasures (and it is, despite all the advertising to the contrary), this is exactly the kind of show that brings those pleasures home. Nothing spectacular, nothing too fancy, just a rich and pleasant eveninng for family and those who love Dickens."

Shirley Says, "Float"

Yesterday evening, Shirley MacLaine told me that when she first came to California, she was more interested in the fashions and the climate than in becoming a serious actress. I didn't buy it. Surely someone doesn't make that many films, win that many awards and reach that level of fame without relentless struggle. She explained "The Law of Inverse Effort" to me. If you're at sea and you thrash around in a panic, you drown. If you relax and float, you survive. Then, she caught me off guard by asking me about my goals. I shyly talked a little about how I felt about acting and how I denied it to myself for years and only pursued it recently because I'm "beyond humiliation." She congratulated me and said it takes some people a lot longer to reach that point. The truth is, I still get self-conscious, embarrassed, mortified even, but I don't let it stop me from doing what I want to do. After all, life has thrown much worse things at me, with far less of a payoff. So I'll stretch myself, take risks, sing a little song, do a little dance, even wear a funny wig, and just maybe I'll help somebody think about things a little differently or forget their troubles for a while. If nothing else, maybe they'll feel better about themselves because they aren't signing the song, dancing the dance, wearing the wig, and I guess that's OK too. Let them take from it what they will, what they can, what they need. I'm just floating with the currents and feeling fine.

Why Haven't You Called?

I had fun. I thought you did too. Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said? Were you only pretending to like me? Did you want to see how far I would go? Was it just some kind of game to you? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like that. It’s just, I think we could have had something really special. We still can, if you’ll pick up the phone and call. OK, maybe it’s too soon. Maybe you’ll call in a couple of days. But why not now? I mean, if you want me, why do we have to play around like that? Don’t you want me? What’s wrong with me? If you let me know, I’ll fix it. I know I came on sort of strong, but I just wanted it so badly. I’ll take it at your pace, be whatever you want me to be. Or did you decide to go with someone younger? Better-looking? How can you be so shallow? If you give me a chance, you’ll see how happy I can make you. I know I’ll never hear from you again. You forgot all about me as soon as that other one walked in the room. Don’t think I didn’t notice. So that’s your type? Whatever. You’re all the same. No, I didn’t mean it. Maybe you don’t realize how much I care. Maybe I should call you, just to say thanks and wish you the best. What am I thinking? That would probably creep you out and I’d lose whatever chance I have. Do I have a chance? Why don’t you call? I don’t need you anyway. I’ll find someone else who wants me. Someone who'll give me something deeper and more meaningful than cheap thrills and good times. You’ll see. Are you going to call or not? (Yeah, the audition is fun, but the next day sucks!)

I Like Auditions!

An audition is just a compressed, accelerated little performance--a chance to connect with an audience (albeit a small, critical one), and maybe make someone laugh or even move them a little. If that doesn't work, hopefully I've learned something, or at least had a chance to hone my skills. So I've auditioned thrice in the past eight days, even though my current play has a few weeks left to run. A stitch in time, idle hands, yadda yadda. Each time, I've felt that same rush of adrenaline that comes from actually doing a show. Kim beamed with joy and told me I was amazing. Kelly laughed out loud at all the right places and thanked me profusely. Neither one of them gave me a role. (Talk's cheap, Kim and Kelly! Actions speak louder than words! Don't make me hurl more cliches at you!) Tonight I auditioned for a part I wasn't even sure I wanted in a production that sounded a little sketchy, but once I got started I gave it 100 percent. By the end I was in love with the character and the project, and I think the director felt pretty good about me. I certainly projected, emoted and took possession of the stage, which I think is what was called for--no subtle introspection here. People who know me as the quiet guy who spends the whole party standing in a corner nursing a beer and holding a plate full of those little quiches would not have recognized me. So I was feeling pretty good until the director asked me to dance -- just a couple of steps, she said. But then she added more, and more, and more.... No one told me I'd be dancing. I never said I could dance. And in the end, I'm not sure you could call what I did dancing. But I took a risk and did something entirely new and different and unexpected and had fun, and that's kind of what this acting thing is about.

In My Head/In the Dark

"My, isn't the sewing coming along nicely?" (Why are they sewing an overcoat? They were never sewing an overcoat during rehearsals. Does the audience see that it's an overcoat? Does it matter? Whoops, I'm worrying about the audience; that's bad. Now I'm judging myself for worrying about the audience; that's worse. Get back in the moment, now! Back!) "Such nimble fingers." (Why did the lights just go out? Is this some kind of comment on my performance, like getting the hook? Maybe they decided to trim the scene and forgot to tell me? Why would they do that? Should I wait for them to go back on? What if they don't go back on?) "I've just been to the place where Tim will rest. I wish you all could have seen it." (I wish we could see something. Or at least be seen.) "We'll visit every Sunday." (Oh, great, here come the lights just in time for my unconvincing emotional breakdown.) "My little child!" (Is that... a cell phone? Yes, yes, it's a cell phone. In 1843!) I left the stage feeling like a complete fraud but, amazingly, another member of the cast congratulated me afterward for not missing a beat and audience members said (before I had a chance to prompt them!) they scene moved them to tears. I'm pretty sure Dickens deserved the credit for that, but since I was there and he wasn't, I took a share of it.

Being Bob

Last night at 8 p.m. I stood on a dark stage, wondering if it was too late to slip away unnoticed. Surely someone else would remember my lines well enough to cover for my absence. All I knew was that the stage doors had magically sucked every bit of dialogue out of my head. But before I knew it, the lights went up, and the last note of the requiem (how appropriate) faded. I put on my derby, faced the audience and started talking. Words came out of my mouth as if they were my own, not some text I was struggling to remember. I don't know if I'll ever get used to that sensation or fully understand the phenomenon, but I'm sure glad for it. Once the play started rolling there was no more time to be nervous as I bounced around from Narrator to Cratchit to Schoolmaster to Fezziwig to Miner to Topper to Businessman and back again. (The rest of the cast plays multiple roles too, so as much activity as there is onstage there's even more off, with continual lightning-fast costume changes.) Topper is the most fun role for me, as he's all about having a good time. As Fezziwig I was nearly swallowed whole by the wig from hell, but I survived. But Bob Cratchit is the most challenging and the most rewarding part for me by far. Although the dialogue isn't extensive, he's called upon to show a wide range of emotions and create meaningful connections with several other characters. To be honest, it's not the role I wanted or expected. I had my eye on a couple larger-than-life characters who deliver important messages in grand, flowery language, not a simple, down-to-earth clerk, husband and father. Now of course I can't imagine not being Cratchit. I could write more, but it's time to get ready for tonight's show.

Passing Shadow

The Anaheim 2005 cast of Tales From the Shadow Zone has taken its final bows, and I've put away the bow tie and Ben Nye stage blood. It was definitely time to move on. Doing a Halloween show on Nov. 5 was pushing it, even if we did beat The Simpsons by 24 hours. But ending the show was bittersweet. As much as I look forward to new challenges and opportunities, I'll miss getting together with the rest of the cast next weekend—another little family formed and dissolved in a matter of weeks. But our paths may cross again soon. When I showed up at the theater last night, I met a guy from Pan who was there to work on another show, in which he'd just got the lead. Also last night, I learned that in Hollywood even the homeless have notes. A street person came in from the cold (he must have been comped) and stayed to critique some of the actors, but not me. Either he was pleased with my performance or thought it unworthy of comment. IMHO, The Woods Beast didn't sizzle quite like last week, but The Girlz reached new heights of... something.

Take that, Martians!

Last night was a real hoot! As an actor I generally have to respect the fourth wall, which means I don't get to watch the audience reactions, other than peripherally. As a narrator, however, it was appropriate for me to tell the story directly to them, and to watch them, keenly and closely. It was fun to see them hang on my every word (OK, they were really H.G. Wells' words, but they were mine for an hour or so.) I think it really helped create a connection. But it was also nerve-wracking sitting up there the whole time, never retreating backstage or even upstage, and having to convey mood and emotion without making any huge gestures, running around, or knocking things or people about (which I'm sure is exactly what Stanislawski had in mind). And I couldn't get away with the mental trick of pretending the audience didn't exist. Fortunately I was far from alone up there, sharing the stage with five fine actors, one of whom is going to play Scrooge in A Christmas Carol and was also responsible for the bulk of last night's sound effects, in addition to a star turn as a survivalist.