He's Back

Aaaand.... I dropped off the face of the planet for six months- again. However, I made a vow to attempt bettering communication here and I am going to begin trying once more and I feel the best way to summarize the gap is in photographs, so:

THE LAST SIX MONTHS LOOKED LIKE THIS:

October saw the premiere of a comedy film I did called Fun Size, starring late-night's Chelsea Handler (pictured, center) and MTV's resident Jackass, Johnny Knoxville. In the film, I was mostly Knoxville's stand-in... though for this particular scene I played the "Justin Timberlake" half of two guys at Handler's Halloween party who come dressed as a Timberlake/Samberg skit from SNL. I chose this moment because it is the only photograph where I am not doing something vulgar. And yes, the facial hair is real. (Though, the blonde locks are a very itchy wig from the SNL prop room.) It was completely embarrassing to watch, but with any luck- I will never have to see the film again.

By the end of the week, I had gotten a call back to audition for one of the four leads in a film adaptation of the Broadway musical "Jersey Boys", which chronicles the rise and fall of 'The Four Seasons' and would be produced by Les Miserables GK Productions and directed by Iron Man's John Favereau... so I shipped up to NYC just before Halloween eve and spent the night reading up on my audition materials and finding some 50's-era audition wares on the vintage floor at one of my favorite "stores" in America: the Ralph Lauren mansion on the Upper East Side.

 Quickly, however- it became clear that things would probably not go as smoothly as I'd hoped. Hours into my evening, people all began asking me if I'd been on "the last flight in before they closed the airport, huh?". I had no clue what they meant ...until I was told that Hurricane Sandy had mixed with a tropical storm and was rolling into town in no time. I'd been so occupied by audition prep I'd forgotten completely to check the weather: I was totally oblivious. It did seem windy... I suppose- and the streets really were very much deserted for NYC but, it was warm and there was no rainfall, so until about midnight I wasn't really buying it.

Then this happened:

After the waves rolled in and the downtown transformer blew every light from the Battery to the Empire State Building, I took my things and got out on foot. It looks worse than it really was in that first photograph- and I managed to get out on a dry side of the street and hustle north at a clip just faster than the rising tide where I finally found home with my friend Becca in the very dry and very well lit southwest section of Harlem. I survived the night fine with grilled cheese and beer in a bar across the street- but it was eerie when the NY Emergency Alert system sent auto text warnings to everyone in the bar that night and all of "Harlem Public" was illuminated with dings and rings and then silence as everyone inside realized we were all getting the same "be afraid" message at once. Part Orwell novel, part J.J. Abrams disaster movie- totally weird. By day two- it was spitting rain and we were shut into her shoe box apartment waiting out the Hurricane. The lights remained off in the city creating an eerie scene and some roving wolfpacks of theives and swindler cab drivers using cash-only upfront policies to squeeze every penny from New York's many car-less travelers locked out of the flooded subway tunnels, but Columbia University stepped in and provided a studio for the auditions and despite some serious displacement and a near $3,000 dollar week of over-priced everything and gas-crisis turmoil, I got my auditions in, a few good meals, and I even found a ride home to the airport despite almost every cab company shutting down or refusing to cross the bridge. This was thanks to rapper Pit Bull, who was stuck out of town, and whose driver Carlos had a full tank of gas and nothing better to do than help a stranger find his way to LGA. It was a wild week- but I can't say I'm not glad I got to go. PLUS- who wouldn't take the opportunity to sing in the venerable, architecturally significant, and usually University-only rehearsal studio Columbia provides. Talk about a great backdrop:

I got back just in time to slip into some political shoes and help win the contest in a highly undecided Ohio precinct to get out the vote for my man POTUS, (whilst donning my authenticated historic FDR first-term campaign pin I won in an intense estate sale bidding war last year, much to the chagrin of an elderly history teacher who wanted it almost as much as I. Everyone kept telling me I had the wrong election.) 

By Mid-November I'd heard that the "Jersey Boys" film was in turnaround. This isn't quite the deep freeze of a "shelved" (or dead) project- but it can be just as damning and has proven so. Essentially, the producer signed a contract with another distributor who didn't want to bring any of his current projects along in the deal- so he puts it up "for sale" to any other distributor who can find a producer for the rights to the film- but after a month, the industry starts to see it getting cold and most of the things that have already been done, such as casting, have to be redone... making it a less desirable option and basically ending my bid for a role. One of the casting people did contact me and let me know that I would have been very close had it gone on- somewhere within the top ten (auditions started with an open call in August that saw 9,000 guys) for one of the 4 principal roles being cast. So, its a double edged sword really- a break out role I miss getting to play, but a confirmation that I don't totally suck.

November proved warmer than most in Ohio and gave me a great chance to do some travel in the tri-state: A short while later before the great snows of the holidays, one of those trips lead me up to one of my favorite places in the Midwest (which is a very, VERY short list): an audition for a short film in Ann Arbor, Michigan where I was greeted with a good omen:

That omen turned into an incredible sandwich at the WORLD FAMOUS Zingerman's Delicatessen and a 2-day return trip for a little night shooting and movie magic:

Beyond this came the holidays- which I conveniently forgot to photograph thanks to a number of personal Christmas season habits including gaining ten pounds, not shaving, giving up exercising for watching all the SAG nominated films in preparation for award season, and drinking pretty much everything alcoholic in sight. Yet, one boozy evening a visiting friend did manage to catch a moment of me donning my new "writer specs"

To which I will respond to him with an equally drunk photograph he sent along of his current escapades in Argentina playing trumpet for cruise ships: Suck on that Maxwell.

Post Christmas always brings a few things: First a panic that it is now pilot season (television show casting madness until April), an immediate need to eat and drink nothing but wheatgrass and yogurt and water for months, and a great sense of relief in the passing of yet another holiday season and my survival of this occasion, which- at present- is probably among my least favorite times of year, mostly due to the loss of most of my money from the previous year's gigs and a constant sense of "performing" for a number of passers by who (not unwarrentedly) don't exactly understand my somewhat... nomadic... style of getting along in the past few years of pursuing this career. But often times it can also present a new opportunity to drive off into the snow and go looking for a quick little showcase to boost up the system. Mine happened on a 300-mile drive during the worst weekend Nor'easter in history, and after Hurricane Sandy- nothing really seemed like it was going to be all that challenging. In fact, the drive home was sort of calming:

 As these snows melted, however- so did my well worn and age old Jeep Cherokee- so after 3 years of faithful (and loud) service from my aptly nicknamed "shitbox" The poor old gas guzzling, rusty, oil dripping mess took one final breath of carbon in this world and died. In a way, the rough and tumble nature of this automobile and the hill-folk credibility it lent me will be missed:  but it will be missed at 90 turbocharged miles per hour, as I have finally found myself slipping into something I'd always admired of the many architecturally minded classical musicians and artists at C.I.M. who had one: a Saab. Correction: MY SAAB.

AND SO: With my Swedish steering wheel in hand, I take on the next mile. Another spring, another nearly 75 mailers and packets out to every possible casting director, project, television show, musical or film I can see myself finding that one great starting place with- I can't say these last six months have exactly gone according to plan- but then that would pretty much follow the trend of the last three years of my life. There are moments when it really seems like it would be relaxing to just settle into some small town like Providence or New Haven for a few years and start over- this time looking for the enjoyable and simplified ambiguity of an academic institution filled with ambitiously quiet people; pursuing the education and marriage and median-paying D.C. political job I was probably always destined for as the kid who could never shut up... but then, I get an email: a moment- a candid photograph of someone who looks like a real actor sitting off to the side of set, reciting lines to himself- that reminds me I may not have totally lost the race- not just yet.

 

 So for now I suppose, the addiction, or the delusion, or the journey... will have to continue from here.

 We'll talk again soon,

-S.D.A, tbd, esq.