Playing around...

“There are no small parts, only small actors.”

Konstantin Stanislavski – Russian director

Teacher of the Stanislavski Method

The call from Judi came out of the blue. She is the director for an upcoming musical production of The Fantastiks. Auditions for the show had just finished the previous week. I sit on the theatre company board and thought she needed something taken care of. I was in for a surprise.

Last year, I was in the production of Our Town. It was the second play I had done in my life (separated by four decades), it was both exciting and terrifying.

The show went well, and with a wipe of the brow, I completed a life experience that frankly had not been on my bucket list. In the end, it was great fun and memorable.

“Ted,” Judi said. “The auditions for the Fantastiks were good. We cast everyone, but the character of Henry Albertson. Would you consider auditioning?"

"Wait," I replied. "The Fantastiks is a musical, and I am not a singer."

"It's not a singing part," she replied. Not missing a beat, she continued, "I can give you a video of the show, and you can get the script from Marty.”

A little background…

The Fantastiks is the longest-running musical in American history. The first production took place in the Sullivan Street Playhouse in 1960, where it played for forty-two years. It was it was quickly revived at the Jerry Orbach Theater and is still running (it will finally close in June of 2019). Actors such as Elliot Gould, Kristen Chenoweth, Glen Close, Jerry Orbach, and Liza Minnelli have played principal characters.

Before going to Vietnam, I lived for a few months in the West Village of Manhattan, just south of Houston Street on Sullivan. It was the summer of 1968, and I shared a one-room efficiency apartment in a second-floor walk-up with a Salvation Army Captain.

The ‘Army' had a coffee house called ‘The Answer’ on MacDougal street acting as a shelter for runaway kids. Lots of them coming to ‘Gotham’ discovered it was not what they imagined and just wanted to go home. For the lucky ones that were found, ‘The Answer’ acted as a conduit to get them back to their families. While I never saw the show, I walked by the Sullivan Street Playhouse every day.

Continuing...

Surprised and feeling a little trepidation, I said, "I guess I could do that. Are you sure you want me to audition? I guess I can take a look at the script."

"Great," she replied. "I'll leave a copy of the DVD in my mailbox. Why don't you come by the house at 2:30 tomorrow and we'll do a read.”

With that, she was off the phone, and my head was spinning. What had just happened? I picked up the video and script and headed home to watch the show and to see what Henry Albertson was all about. The only thing I knew was that Henry did not sing. 

I soon discovered that Monsieur Albertson was a geriatric, long over the hill, Shakespearean actor, trying desperately to find any work he could. With his trusty acting partner of forty-years, Mortimer, he becomes part of a phony kidnapping scheme intended to give the young male lead the opportunity to save his darling damsel in distress.

Albertson and Mortimer are buffoons – comic relief in the show. Two more clumsy and ill-prepared characters could not have been engaged for this charade. The kidnapping is orchestrated by a knave named El Gallo, hired by the boy and girl's parents to fake the kidnapping. Mortimer's claim to fame is his ability to die in theatrical productions, which he does in the course of the play. As Albertson says to him, “Remember Mortimer, there are no small actors, only small parts.”

With this backdrop and some hesitance, I rang Judi’s doorbell the next day. 

After some small talk and a glass of water, she said. "Well, let's do it. Do you want to stand or sit?"

“Stand,” I replied.

Trying to imitate the character from the video, I hopped around the living room and collapsed to the floor as I read. It seemed like it was over before it started. Getting up, I sat on the couch. "Perfect," she exclaimed. "Just perfect! You've got the part."

Wait! What just happened?  “Are you sure you want me to do this?” I said.

“Yes, I am,” she replied. “This is exactly what I was hoping for.”

“This character is supposed to be funny, a buffoon," I protested. "And I'm really not funny."

“Of course, it will take some effort, but trust me, I'll work with you, and you'll be great. Now, I have some things to do. You will need a Libretto (the script with music). First read through is Sunday evening at 6:30. See you there.”

That was it. I was out the door and on my way. "Perfect…" for the part of a buffoon? Hmmmm… Clearly, she knew something I didn't!

Another adventure…

This week I had the opportunity to sit in on the first music rehearsal for the show. The singers were amazing. All of them had long histories in musical theater – strong, crystal clear voices. They were energetic and excited to be a part of the production.

The great news is that I am going to have the opportunity to see how a musical is built from the ground up. There will be a lot to learn beyond my character.

Even though I only have a couple of dozen lines in two scenes, I have been keeping in mind Henry Albertson’s comment to Mortimer, “There are no small actors, only small parts.”

In truth, there are no "small parts..."

- ted