REAL actors

How can you tell the really good actors from the mediocre ones or former models?

Watch what they’re doing when they’re not talking.

Generally your attention is on whoever is speaking and ping pongs around the room to whoever has the next line.

But the real test is what they’re doing while others are speaking.

This came home to me again while watching my play. I go every night. How often do I have a play in production? Plus, I’ve gotten the chance to meet a lot of you who've come to see it. And since you stopped to introduce yourselves instead of running to your cars I suspect you didn’t hate it.

It’s fun for me because I love my cast and thoroughly enjoy just seeing them perform (okay, and hearing laughs). Jules Willcox and Jason Dechert both do an extraordinary job and must carry the entire play on their backs. I wanted to land a helicopter on stage like in MISS SAIGON but it turns out the Falcon Theatre’s helicopter had been loaned out. So I had to just go with two actors and lots of dialogue.

For a little variety I try to watch in different locations. My favorite spot is down low, close to the action (isn’t everybody’s?). Having the actors only a few feet away I was able to really observe and appreciate all the little things they do… when no one is supposedly looking.

They’re always in the moment, relating to each other, listening to what each other is saying and reacting appropriately. They never break character. They never rush through things. They never lose focus.

Directing and producing numerous sitcom episodes in a multi-camera format, in the editing bay I see all the coverage. There are usually cameras on the actors not talking at the moment. We show their reactions and the cameras are in place for when they do speak. I can’t tell you how many times I’ll have a nice close up of an actor and by his facial expression it’s clear he’s just waiting for the speaker to finish so he can say his next line. Sometimes they’re not even looking at the other actor.

Comparatively, actors who are classically trained know better. Their dedication to their craft, their desire to find the truth in a character or moment, and their skill to pull it off really separates the men from the rubes who board buses to Hollywood to become major movie stars in two weeks.

For the serious actor, a national commercial means subsidizing all the theater work that pays crap. For the wannabe celebs a national commercial is the endgame.

I could never be an actor. Just the auditioning and rejections alone would kill me. And then the time, effort, and thankless hours that are required to really get good are way more of a sacrifice than I’m willing to make. And if I can’t become a good actor then what’s the point?

So if you should go to the Falcon Theatre to see my play and you’re close enough – forget about my words. Watch what’s going on “between the lines.” Boy, I got lucky with Jules & Jason.  They're real actors. 

By the way, only a few more performances are left.  If you're interested, reserve your tickets now.  Thanks. 

What happens when your new show is in trouble

We’re at the time of year when networks are beginning to cancel new shows. No matter how successful you are, at one time or another you will find yourself in this position. My heart goes out to all of you showrunners currently going through this.

I don't mean to discourage anybody, and when new shows go well then life is golden.  But for people going through a struggling newcomer, or anyone who wants a look behind the curtain of how high-stakes television really works, here’s what it’s like:

Everything was so great at the start. You flew to New York for the upfronts. Lavish parties, the network president lauding your show as the next huge hit. Drinks with your stars. A total lovefest.

Then you went to work. That network that praised you to the heavens now questions every decision you make. Story notions are thrown out. Outlines are rejected. First drafts are met with voluminous notes. One of the stars you had drinks with you now have to fire because she didn’t test to the network’s liking.

Production begins and the notes increase. Network approval now extends to all casting and editing decisions.

You start falling behind. You realize you wasted several weeks of pre-production preparing an outline that ultimately got rejected. You wasted more time just waiting to hear back on stories and scripts you sent them.

But everybody on the cast and crew is still relatively happy. Everyone likes everyone else. It’s exciting. Hope burns eternal that indeed this will become the next big thing. And everyone has steady employment (at least for the moment). On-air promos have begun. Ads appear in magazines. One of your cast members goes on Conan. It’s all good.

Then the reviews come out. You focus on the good ones, but the cast focuses on the bad ones. You now have shaky actors you have to talk off the ledge.

Meanwhile, the network gets instantly nervous and decides the direction of the show is the problem. So they begin rejecting scripts that had already been approved. Now you’re really scrambling – trying to make a midcourse correction based on a consensus of executives.

The show premiers. The ratings are disappointing. You look for any positive sign. It finished in only 3rd place in Houston. The DVR numbers will surely propel you to the top 10. But those numbers are underwhelming too. The cast is understandably panicked. You spend a lot of time on the stage putting out fires. But it’s time you can ill afford because you’re practically starting from scratch on scripts. All lead time has evaporated – most of it spent futilely on scripts that are scrapped. You’re working around the clock, seven days a week. You haven’t had a day off since August. You haven’t eaten a decent meal since July. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since June.

But it's only the first week.  Things could still turn around.  Maybe... possibly. 

Week two – the numbers are worse. They even slipped in Houston.  Still, the good news is you’re starting to have a handle on the show. Trouble is, there are six episodes in the can before these new better shows can air. IF they air.

You seek desperately for any positive. A tweet someone wrote, a compliment from your mother’s second cousin. Originally, in reviews you were hoping they’d say “brilliant” and now you’d gladly settle for “promising.”

For weeks you couldn’t wait for your show to actually begin airing. Now you dread it. Each new episode could be a lethal punch to your gut.

You are trapped in a nightmare. And it becomes clear your show has no future. But you still have to make them. You still have to write till 4 a.m. You still have to reassure the cast. You still have to recast that sales clerk because the network rejected her. A director you had signed for next month wants out because he got a chance to do a show that got decent ratings. The network insists you reshoot a scene. Your star was slated to co-host a holiday parade on your network but they just dropped her. She won’t come out of her trailer. The table reading for the next show tanks. The cast hates the new direction. You have to do a page one rewrite for an episode you know will never air.

And then – finally – the CALL (or today, maybe the text). You’ve been cancelled. How do I describe the sensation? It’s like you’re skydiving, hurtling towards the earth, and then suddenly your parachute opens. Whooooosh!  Ahhhhhhh!  You float. You’re at peace.

All script work just ends. You may have to finish filming the episode on the stage (and that’s a treat, lemme tell you as someone who has directed several “last” episodes). But basically it’s done. No more scripts in the pipeline to write. No more pipeline. Yes, you’re sad but there will be time to grieve later and second-guess decisions that led to this, but for now your sole emotion is just RELIEF. What’s your next career move? Where do you go from here? You don’t care. Not at that moment. All you know if that you no longer have to do THIS.

Fond goodbyes and hugs. You feel bad for everyone in the crew. They’ll now have to get other jobs. But they will. And so will you. But not before you sleep for a month.

Again, I feel bad for anyone going through this. We’ve all done it. Just be proud that you created a show that got on a major broadcast network. Very few people can ever say that. And your next one will be better because of the experience. You will be a much better showrunner. You’ll have a better sense of how to solve problems. And you’ll figure out what went wrong and avoid those mistakes the next time around.

For now, take a nap.

I can't explain it

There is a joke in the first act of my play, A OR B? that always gets a laugh. Makes no difference the size of the audience or age range, it always gets a laugh.

Except… one night. All of a sudden – crickets. Not a muted laugh or a few scattered chuckles. Silence.

The next night and all subsequent nights, the joke got its hearty laugh. (No, I’m not telling you the joke. First of all, it won’t work out of context and I don’t want to spoil it for future audiences.  Come see the play and I'll tell you at intermission.)

Ask anyone who’s toiled in the theater for any length of time (like a week) and they’ll tell you that jokes getting different reactions on different nights is to be fully expected.

And I know that intellectually. But it’s WEIRD. Why should 100 strangers collectively find something funny to the point where they laugh out loud and the next 100 people independently all find the same joke a yawn?  

There are so many factors that determine whether an audience will laugh -- How tired they are. The demographic. The temperature. The temperament. Acoustics. The size. Anticipation. Comfort. Familiarity with the subject matter. Alcohol content. Sensitivity. Hunger. Sight lines. Day of the week. Reviews. Word-of-mouth.  Bathroom need. 

Add to that variables like the actors’ delivery, people sneezing, and the inevitable cellphone with the Dirty Diana ringtone, and you can see why reactions vary.

But that’s the beauty of live theater. Every night it is different. There is a real dynamic between the audience and the performers.

Of course that doesn't stop me from feeling I let the actors down every time a joke doesn't get a laugh, even if it got a big laugh the night before.   

Television audiences for multi-camera sitcoms do not have the same dynamic. First off, there’s a warm up guy to whip them into a frenzy. TV studio audiences are told to laugh. There are microphones over their heads and often they’ll laugh hoping to hear themselves on TV. Also, unless it’s a pilot of a new show that has yet to air, the audience is already familiar with the characters and situation. In many cases they already love the cast. In fact, they’re so thrilled to see them in person they’ll laugh at anything they say. I have to admit that the last few years of CHEERS we really didn’t have to earn laughs. Straight lines were getting guffaws because the audience was seeing their beloved television friends.

I also have to admit there have been times when a sitcom episode I’ve been involved with absolutely kills in front of the studio audience. I could almost smell “Emmy.” And then I go to editing, see it on film, and say, “What the hell were they laughing at? This is awful.” Likewise, episodes that played meh to an audience just rock on film.

Meanwhile, I’m having a blast, going to the theater and watching my play every night, feeding off the audiences’ energy, and enjoying their laughter – at whatever they decide that night is funny (although, seriously, how could that one joke miss? Even once?)

Happy Birthday, Matt

Matt Levine and his other Popi

My oldest young'in, Matt, turns… another year over the drinking age today. I talk more about my other kid, Annie, because she’s now in the business. But today allow me to crow about my boy. Matt is a senior engineer at Apple Computers. If he didn’t look like me I’d want a DNA test because I have no idea how anyone even remotely related to me can be so computer savvy. CTL-ALT is too technical a concept for me to grasp. But for ten years Matt has been involved in such products as the new iMac, Apple TV, the Time Machine, and various whiz-bang wireless routers.

Matt Levine has always been a great kid, not to mention good luck charm. How much of a good luck charm? Matt was the first CHEERS baby born. The evening he came into the world I arrived home to find a message on my voicemail. It was from James Burrows. CHEERS was in its first season and doing horribly in the ratings. Cancellation was a real possibility. But the message from Jimmy was, “Congratulations. Announcing the birth of nine more episodes. We just got picked up today.” The rest is history.

More important than his many accomplishments (he’s also very funny, a terrific photographer, and a good athlete (again, not getting that gene passed down from me), is the fact that he’s such an awesome person. Great to his mom, great to his sister, his beautiful wife, his friends (many of whom flew from all over the country to be at his wedding), and he tolerates me.

Happy Birthday, Matt. You make me proud every day to be your dad. I love you, always will, and cherish the time we spend together. Sorry there’s no Red Sox parade like last year for your birthday, but at least with the time change you get an extra hour to celebrate. Have a great day and thanks for arranging the CHEERS pick up.

Here are some photographs Matt took.   Not with his iPhone however.  

First look at A OR B?

Here's 1:20 of the 90 minutes, but you get the idea.  If you're in the area, swing by.

Talk about a cliffhanger...

Whewww! That was a close one.

For six years I’ve been a regular listener of RichBroRadio.com, an internet station featuring oldies from the ‘50s through the early ‘70s. It features a great mix of music, lots of “forgotten oldies”, and classic radio jingles from the era. Yes, if you’re not a baby boomer you’re probably yawning. But for those of us who did grow up during those years, this music is meaningful and significant. (Just wait until your kids roll their eyes when you still play your Miley Cyrus mix tape.)

There are a lot of internet stations out there, and most are amateur and God awful. Rich Brother Robbin, who pilots the station, is a longtime radio veteran and has put tons of thought into his programming. Songs are placed in categories and air in different rotations. It’s not just a bunch of tunes in a library playing in a random shuffle. You won’t hear two ballads back-to-back, you won’t hear two instrumentals in a row, you won’t hear six Beatles records one hour and none for the next four days. You won’t hear “Surfin’ Bird” ever.

And there are no commercials. Which is great except there are expenses.  License fees, server fees, maintaining the computer, etc.  It’s radio in the red.

After six years, Rich had decided to discontinue the station. The final day was slated for yesterday.

Personally, I was very bummed. I certainly understood his reasoning. I don’t make a dime on this blog but at least I don’t lose thousands of dollars. But like I said, his station had become part of my life. And symbolically, this was just one more outlet, which was abandoning the music that meant so much to me and my generation. Terrestrial radio had already dropped ‘60s music. Our demographic is no longer relevant. We now have to go to satellite radio (paying for it), creating our own playlists through Pandora and the like (but at the mercy of their libraries), or seeking one of these internet stations (most operating out of mothers’ basements). Forget Joe DiMaggio – where have you gone, Simon & Garfunkel?

So it was with great joy and relief that at the eleventh hour Rich decided to keep the station going. Grateful listeners like me were all-too-happy to contribute to its upkeep. At the end of the day, Rich just couldn’t abandon his pet project. It’s hard to walk away from your first love.

Thanks, Rich -- for the entertainment, keeping the flame alive, and Roy Orbison records besides “Pretty Woman.”

You can listen to RichBroRadio here.

First the Hamburger Hamlet returns and now RBR.COM. Dare I hold out hope for Howard Johnson’s Wednesday All-You-Can-Eat Fried Clambake?