Seth's Broadway Diary, Volume 1: Part 1 (15 page)

The beginning of
The Ritz
is the one scene that's not in a bathhouse. It's an Italian deathbed scene, and Joe Mantello put me in it as one of the mourners. I play the hunky Italian Stallion in a pair of tight jeans. Oh, I'm sorry, I mean I play an Italian
grandmother
in a shapeless black dress and veil! That's right. I'm debuting on Broadway in old lady drag. And my religious Jewish mother will be so proud to hear me say my first lines on Broadway: "Hail Mary, full of Grace..." Just in time for Rosh Hashanah.

One of the reasons we had to tech it for so long is getting me on and off stage in my
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
wheelchair. I think I've now been relegated to a walker. I want the kind that Jackie Hoffman talks about in her hilarious comedy act: "One day," she admits, "I accepted a delivery for my elderly neighbor because she was out and about. It was a walker attached to a commode. I was mind boggled. If this lady needs a walker attached to a commode, how was she able to be 'out and about'?"

The sound cues by our celebrated sound designer Tony Meola are so cool! Every cue is a delicious ‘70s classic: "Love to Love Ya, Baby," "Macho Man" and my favorite, "Mama Told Me Not To Come," where the amazing Scott Pask bathhouse set is revealed and all the guys flock on. I feel like I'm in a musical whenever we run it, it's so fun! I'm wearing an amazing ‘70s pantsuit with a belt, and when I walked by Joe Mantello, he greeted me with "Hey, Sally Jesse." Then, I had to get into my next costume. I saw what looked like a hand towel, and suddenly realized that the white swatch of fabric was the towel I was supposed to wear around my waist! The other boys in the cast have waists that begin with a "2" (28, 29, etc.). I haven't been in the 20s since I was in my teens. I was horrified, but finally decided to bite the bullet and put it on. Though skimpy, it got around my middle. David Turner is in the cast, and we spend the whole time backstage gabbing and laughing. I showed him my "costume" and asked him, "Do you think I can get away with this? With my fatness?" He said that that was a horribly phrased question, because if he says yes, he's essentially saying that my fatness is sufficiently masked, and if he says no, it means that my fatness does not allow me to "get away with it." True 'dat. My dresser turned me around and assured me that I looked good, and then Brooks Ashmanskas walked by and complimented my upper body. Hmm, I thought… maybe all that working out paid off! I felt a surge of confidence as I came onstage and walked around the bathhouse strewn with Adonises in skimpy towels: Why was I so scared? I still got it!

I arrived the next day, and my dresser told me that it's "been requested" that I wear a bathrobe. I guess I do still got it: and by "it," I mean a slew of love handles. Whatever! I have the "character" track. I decided to own the bathrobe and "make it my own." I tucked one side of the bathrobe in my belt, which gives me an amazing slit down the side. I showed it to William Ivey Long, and we both decided it looks like the dress Lucille Ball wore when she made a special appearance at the Oscars. Anybody?

Speaking of David Turner, he had a five-minute break to go to the bathroom, which was ruined by Ryan Idol walking in and using the next urinal. Suddenly, David's bodily function was unable to function. Suffice it to say, his bladder was suddenly more shy than Carol Burnett was during
Once Upon a Mattress
.

By the way, with all my complaining about my two lines, I've literally said both wrong in rehearsal. Instead of "Careful, Googie," I said, "Watch it, Googie," and instead of "We're busy," I said, "We're resting." Maybe I need to downsize to one line.

This week my friend Jack Plotnick is visiting me. He's here to do an East Coast version of his amazing acting workshops. First of all, if you can ever attend one of his classes, hie thee! Secondly, if you have an audition coming up, get to his website (
jackplotnick.com
) and read his section about affirmations. All you have to do is release your need — like "I release my need to impress" or "I release my need to be funny." It sounds kinda stupid and new age-y, but it really works! I released my need to have six-pack abs, and now look at me! They're nowhere to be seen.

This week I interviewed Broadway's hottest couple, Jenny Powers and Matt Cavenaugh. Jenny is playing Rizzo in
Grease
, a role she first played in high school. Wouldn't it be great if we could all play our high school roles on Broadway? I'm still waiting for the next revival of
Fiddler on the Roof
, so I can show the world my Rabbi. Anyhoo, she fessed up that she was a pageant girl on the advice of Kate Shindle (Miss America '98 and currently in
Legally Blonde
). I kept dishing that line that pageant girls give: "It's not a beauty pageant, it's a scholarship contest." Really? I didn't have to sign up for my student loan in a bikini. Regardless, Jenny's pageant wins did actually wind up paying for her last two years at Northwestern. When she moved to NYC, she was asked to audition for the oldest sister in
Little Women
, but she didn't want to be pigeon-holed as the pretty soprano ingénue, so she said no. They then offered her the part. It was like a live-action version of the "God why don't you love me, oh you do, I'll see you later Blues." Essentially, "We'll deign to give you an audition. Wait, you don't want the part? Then it's yours!"

She said Maureen McGovern, who played Marmee, was wonderful. Maureen would fly to different places in the world to do concerts on her day off, come back to the show on three hours sleep and still sound
amazing
. Maureen has had a lot of ups and downs in her career. After her first big single ("There's Got to Be a Morning After") won the Oscar, she couldn't get work and had to work as a secretary! Can you imagine? When I interviewed her, I asked, jokingly, if she disguised herself as "Maureen Schwartz." She said I was right! She knew she couldn’t say her real name because it would be too weird so she would answer the phone with "Glenda Schwartz, can I help you?" Turns out, I’m psychic! But only about things that can’t possibly help me.

Matt talked about doing
Urban Cowboy
and told me that even though he doesn't read reviews, he knew what they said because the day after it opened, he would walk in a room, and suddenly people would make a distinctive lack of eye contact. The show was going to close right after it opened, and at the last performance, the cast came onstage because they were going to end with some songs that were cut out of town. Suddenly, the producer came onstage and announced that she was gonna keep it open! Ah! Whose blood pressure can take such ups and downs? The show wound up staying open another month giving many audiences the chance to see Matt’s complete lack of body fat.

Okay, kids. Friday is the first
Ritz
preview! Can't wait! And Happy (Jewish) New Year!

Broadway Nights
and Days

September 17, 2007

I just made my Broadway debut, and yet I feel strangely empty. Just kidding, it was
amazing
!

Okay, here's what led up to it. Remember how I said we were in "10 out of 12" rehearsals? Where you keep 12 hours free, and you're in rehearsals for 10 of those hours? Well, the only thing that was getting me through those rehearsals was knowing that there were only going to be two of them. Guess what? We had five of them!! We added those extra hours because the woman who played Kevin Chamberlin’s wife was replaced at the last minute. Even though it was hard on the cast to find one of our company members gone, Brooks Ashmanskas cheered us up when he told us about the phone call he got from Martin Short, who was in a vacation house with Marc Shaiman and Scott Whitman. Martin left Brooks a message saying, "We heard that one of the female cast members was being replaced, and we're all worried
sick
about you." Hilarious.

Let me just say that tech rehearsals are
brutal
. Now, I know it's obnoxious to be complaining about being in a Broadway show. It's like when I was single, and couples would lament to me that "it takes so much work to be in a relationship." Zip it! You have a boyfriend. Keep your trap shut. So, even though I know I'm annoying, allow me to tell you what a tech is like. You start a scene, full of adrenaline — the first word of the first line is uttered, and you immediately hear the stage manager say, "Hold, please." Then, you sit for ten minutes onstage while something is adjusted. Lights? Sound? Who knows? You're just told not to move.

Or you finish a scene, excited to take a break (and to get out of your old lady drag, in my case), and as you're leaving, you hear "Okay, we're going back, people." Over and over. And over. It's like Sartre's
No Exit
with an Equity break every hour and a half. The only fun part is chatting onstage while the lights/sound/whatever is being adjusted. Ashlie Atkinson, who plays Vivian, told us about a fellow student who went with her to acting school. During the final showcase, he was supposed to chop up a chicken during his scene. On the day of his performance, he decided to use a
cleaver.
I pretty much knew where the story was going once I heard that key word. So, yes, you guessed it, in the middle of the scene he literally cut off the tops of two fingers…
and
tried to keep going!! Thankfully, he finally stopped the scene, fled to a hospital and got them sewn back on. Then, Jeffrey Thomas and I started obsessing about that reality show where women audition to become
The Starlet
. Faye Dunaway was the head judge, and we couldn't remember what her tag line was when she kicked off a contestant. We knew it had the line reading of "You're fired" but with a theatrical bent. All I thought of was "You are
not
off book" or "‘Places’ has
not
been called," but Jeffrey finally Googled it and told me it was "Don't call us, we'll call you." Why is that any better?

While we were teching, I was still doing other stuff in my "free" time. I did my Sirius radio show every day and had Andréa Burns (who just finished recording her first CD,
A Deeper Shade of Red
) come in and co-host with me. She's the standby for Rosie Perez, and the timing of
The Ritz
schedule is perfect because, in the spring, she starts
In the Heights
on Broadway. Andréa and I were reminiscing about the failed auditions I coached her for. She went in for the Tommy Tune production of
Grease
way back when, and I suggested she sing that old pop tune "See You in September." I helped her come up with some moves and told her that at the end of the song, she should give a sad, little wave. Well, she sang it for Tommy Tune, hit the last note and gave a tiny, forlorn wave. Tommy looked at her… and gave the exact same wave back. How brilliant/devastating to dismiss someone by stealing their choreography!

Remember how last week I did a stage cross in a towel during Act One and was told to wear a bathrobe ASAP? Well, this week we were staging the very last moment of the show, and our sassy director Joe Mantello told me to exit my room in a towel and walk stage left. "Aha!" I thought. "I'll be robed for Act One, but the Act Two audience will finally see all the work I've been doing in the gym. I still got it!" We started the scene, I crossed in my towel, and as I approached the wings, I heard the frantic running of feet. The
second
I walked off the stage, a panting costume assistant informed me that William Ivey Long wanted to remind me to always wear a robe. OK, already, I get it!

So, finally tech was over, and it was time for the first preview. Let me give you a list of the debacles that ensued — essentially all caused by me. First, I want to explain that it's difficult to do a show where you're offstage for long periods and then have to randomly enter the stage. I like the kinda show where you come on and stay on. That being said, during the first preview, I did my first scene as the old Italian Grandmother, then I did the first cross where I enter the bathhouse in my amazing ‘70s outfit, and then I retired to my dressing room to wait for my first act scene where I actually have a little dialogue. While I was downstairs staring in my dressing room mirror, I heard a line onstage that sounded familiar and realized it sounded familiar because I usually hear it from the stage! That's right. I flat out missed one of my entrances. The good news is, no one noticed. Actually, the
bad
news is no one noticed. Ouch. Does the song "Mr. Cellophane" mean anything to you?

Secondly, I complained to my dresser because my dance belt was way too tight. All of our clothes are washed between shows, and I told him that someone must have shrunk it. Well, I'm devastated to admit this in print, but I will; after 15 minutes of complaining, I realized that I put it on
backwards
. Do you know what a dance belt looks like? The back has a single, thin strap. A thin, cutting strap. That strap was literally over my front and, let me just say, I'm not surprised that it hurt. Or that I can no longer have children.