Pistol-Whipping and Other Fun

I had a good audition Friday. I mean, I don't know how it looked to the director, but it felt natural, and I was confident, energetic, and fully present, and for once I didn't stress out thinking about it afterward. I'd like to say that's because I've matured as an actor, but it's probably just because I was too busy stressing about my MC gig that night, hosting a 3 1/2-hour pseudo-Elizabethan variety show. It turned out to be a lot of fun, and I learned a few things that could come in handy the next time I'm asked to host a 3 1/2-hour pseudo-Elizabethan variety show. Saturday I worked on an independent film in which I got to be smug and condescending—at least until the pistol-whipping started. Today was another rehearsal for Much Ado—three weeks until the long-awaited opening!

Monkey-Shining

I went to the Second Stage last night to see a show called “The Monkey Shiners,” featuring some Hitchhiker's alums (Davian and Andrew, among others.) Before I knew what was going on, they had me up on stage playing games with them. I ended up creating three characters: Clueless-Panicky Guy, Overacting Guy, and Sexually Frustrated Guy. Really, where do I come up with this stuff? My favorite line of the evening (not spoken by my): “Quakers! I see Quakers!” I guess you had to be there. I enjoyed watching the show, but I enjoyed being in it even more. Thanks, guys!

Action!

I've just started work on a short film. My character is described in the script as “sarcastic,” so people who know me know what a stretch it is for me. He's a director, which means I got to shout “action” and “cut” a lot. The real filmmaker is alarmingly young, but he's already got one credit to his name on IMDb, so I've got reason to believe an actual film will result from the experience.

Bushlander vs. the Bard

I'm to go toe-to-toe with Big Willie Shakespeare in the next couple of months. First, there's the Bard's Bawdy Birthday Bash, April 21 at the Knightsbridge Theatre (1944 Riverside Dr., Los Angeles.) My stage partner, Nic Anthony, and I will be committing sketch comedy, improvisation, and perhaps some song-and-dance throughout the evening. The lineup also includes swordfighters, musicians, and other sundry entertainers. Admission is $15 at the door or a meagre $10 if you make reservations by April 17 (E-mail BardBashGuestList@yahoo.com) and includes the show, hor d'ouvres, and a raffle ticket. Beverages and additional food will be available for a pittance.

The Los Angeles Shakespeare Company's much-anticipated Much Ado About Nothing, with yours truly as Dogberry and Nic as Verges, is now on track to open at another location on May 13 and continue through June 18, Saturdays and Sundays at 1 p.m., excluding Memorial Day weekend. More details will be forthcoming.

Happy Birthday to Thee....

It looks like I will be performing at the Bard's Bawdy Birthday Bash. More as the story develops!

Ridi pagliacco

I am a sad clown. After weeks of long, tiring, but satisfying rehearsals with a terrific cast and director, the excitement building as opening day grew closer, everything's come to a halt. The streets of Messina are empty, Dogberry is speechless, and there's no ado about anything. The permit still hasn't been issued, and instead of coming together for our third performance this Saturday, we'll be be assembling for what could be our last cast meeting. With all the anxiety that precedes an opening you'd think there'd be a corresponding sense of relief when it's canceled, but it doesn't work that way. There's disappointment, of course, but it's more than that - loss, regret, disorientation. On the other hand, we could find a way to put on a show after all and salvage some of the run. A lot of good, talented people put effort and resources into making this a great show, some much more than I, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Maybe we'll find another space, or get an 11th-hour reprieve or something. We just want to make people laugh. Is that so wrong?

Much Ado About... Nothing?

In the fine tradition of Elizabethan theatre, the Los Angeles County Master of Revels has banned this weekend's performance on account of lewdness or the plague or something. OK, actually it has to do with a conditional use permit that wasn't processed correctly, I think. I'll keep you all posted. In the meantime, here's my chin with a couple of friends, Meegs and Wendibus, whom I met long ago at the Second City Immersion Workshop. Meegs is now in the conservatory program in Chicago, improv capital of the universe (with apologies to the fine improvisators of Alpha Centauri), and was visiting li'l ol' L.A. for the weekend.

Much Ado About Dogberry

Truly, I've been much adoing and not much blogging lately. Last week I was in two student films, one of which answered the question, "What would Jesus smoke?" I played a cigarrete-puffing, sunglasses-wearing Messiah in a film that dealt with the Second Coming, and the director asked me what brand I wanted. Naturally, I chose Camels. (Kids: Jesus probably wouldn't want you to smoke.) But mostly I've been thinking about my upcoming role in Much Ado About Nothing. Now, I tend to view myself as the princely or at least lordly type, but for some reason the director seemed to see me as the clown, so who am I to disagree? Besides, I really wanted to be in this production, so I agreed even though I had reservations about the part. One of the first people I told about this said, "You lucky bastard! That's one of Shakespeare's best roles!" I might still choose Hamlet, Macbeth, Iago, or a number of others, if anyone were offering, but I've come to respect the Dog a bit more than I did. Early on, Verges and I were running lines and drinking Margaritas at Abuelita's when a guy at another table started speaking my part. I asked him when he had played the master constable and he said he hadn't but he'd always wanted to. Instead, he had played Benedick—the male romantic lead. One friend, whom I told that I hadn't pictured myself as this character before, said I'd make a great Dogberry (uh... thanks?), although I could never top Michael Keaton (thanks again). Where would we be without our friends? But I have to try not to think about M.K., or William Kemp or any of the thousands upon thousands of other Dogberrys before me, and just go out there and be my own ass—the biggest, baddest, loudest ass I can be. Yes, the director encouraged me to go over the top, so I've been pushing a little further with each rehearsal, expecting him eventually to ask me to tone it down a notch. Hasn't happened yet.

"Do not forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass."

Time: Saturday & Sunday @ 1 p.m.
Place: Los Angeles Shakespeare Co., 1909 Topanga Cyn Blvd., Topanga, Calif.

Something About My Ass

In Friday's improv show, we did a game called "Late for Work," in which I played an employee trying to explain to my boss why I was late. The catch was that I was the only person in the theater who didn't know the reason, which was based on suggestions from the audience. Fortunately, I had two helpful coworkers standing behind the boss, acting it out. I figured out fairly early on that my anal region was involved somehow, but for some reason it took me a few dozen wild guesses to figure out that I had stopped off for an enema. (Again, these suggestions come from the audience, so don't blame me.) Backstage, I commented that I didn't think I had ever said the word "ass" in front of my parents before, and I had just said it 50 times in the space of two minutes. My director then told me it was my mother who suggested that the bag had burst. Coincidentally, I will also say "ass" several times in "Much Ado About Nothing," but that's different because it's Shakespeare.

Phoning It In

Last night I had my first audition by phone. I was up for a brief voice-over in a short film. The director was supposed to call me and listen to me read the sides, but somehow I never got the sides, so he explained the scenario to me and asked me to improv something, which I did. There was a moment of silence, during which I thought, well, that's that; I'll never hear from him again. Then he said something to the effect o, that was almost exactly what he had in mind when he wrote it. Then he asked me to try another part, and I did, and he said that was maybe even better than what he wrote. So he called me back later that night and offered me an on-camera role. On a related note, tomorrow night at 8 I perform improv with the Berubians at The Second Stage, 431 N. Brookhurst, Anaheim, Calif. What's a Berubian? Come learn the terrifying answer for only $10.

Comedy Is Easy

Life is hard.

Feeblebrox

As an actor who takes responsibility seriously, I would never show up on the night of a performance under the influence of opiates, at least without letting my director and fellow cast members know. At the start of last Wednesday's improv workshop, the leader told us not to be afraid to leave the stage for a moment and come back when it served the scene. I eagerly volunteered for the first exercise and soon put his advice into action, only to discover that someone, whom I will call F.N. Idiot, had placed a 2x2x2-foot wooden cube directly behind the blackout curtain at the exit I had chosen. I'll just lie here in agony for a few minutes and go back out when I'm ready, I thought to myself, but soon I heard someon calling my character's name, so I gamely and lamely staggered back on stage and sat down. I could hear people talking to me, but couldn't understand what they were saying. As a master of improv, I covered by saying, "I can hear you talking to me, but I can't understand what you're saying." After the scene, I limped off stage, feeling a sense of accomplishment for having completed the exercise. Fearless Leader then stood up in front of the assembly and said, "That was horrible!", stretching the third word out for about five seconds and making a face as if he had just mistaken a cat turd for Almond Roca. At that moment, I learned that harsh criticism, even from a mentor, is not the most painful thing in the world. Compared to a knee injury, it hardly rates. Wounded yet somehow less vulnerable than before, I made my way through another exercise that night. Some people thought the limp was an affectation, but the more observant were beginning to suspect something was seriously wrong. I was still in denial myself, and got up again for the final exercise of the day, but my body had other ideas. While our leader was explaining the rules of the game, I begin to feel cold sweat running down my face, and a queasiness in my stomach, and I quietly left the stage. After the workshop broke up, a couple of people offered to drive me home or to the hospital, but I was kind of shrugging it off until I realized I was too dizzy to drive myself. So about four hours later, after getting X-rays, a tetanus shot and a parting dose of morphine, I rode back to the theater with my friend Mike, a funny guy and a real mensch. I spent the night there and drove to work Thursday morning, from where I called the director of "Hitchhiker's" and told him that I was still willing to do the show, but didn't think I could do all the leaps and falls that I had been doing. I also said I would understand if he decided to step into the role (as writer and the director, he knew the lines). He assured me that was not going to happen. So I e-mailed the cast to warn them that my performance might be very different because of the injury and the painkillers. They were very understanding and adapted their own performances marvelously. They also tell me I said and did some very funny and surprising things. I'll have to take their word for it until I see the video. I do think that not being able to rely so much on the wild flailing and crashing about may have inspired me to dig deeper and find comedic opportunities I had missed before, so injuring myself my have actually helped my performance. I wouldn't recommend it, though.

Never Say Never Again

OK, I confess, I've been going to a weekly improv workshop, and on February 24, 2006, I will be performing as part of an improv ensemble at the Second Stage (431 N. Brookhurst, Anaheim; admission is a paltry $10). Now, loyal and attentive readers might remember when I wrote that I wasn't interested in that sort of thing, and at the time it was true. But I sort of stumbled across this workshop while doing another show at the theater, and I liked the low-key, informal vibe almost as much as the fact that I wasn't being charged anything for the privilege. I decided to attend on a drop-in basis, and ended up dropping in every week until I dropped right into a show. It could be a one-night-stand or a long-term relationship, depending on how that first date goes.

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.)