Tony and Tina's Wedding

THEATER 61
-fall 2001
At the Naples Dinner Theater, Michael caught my interest with a show that was having long runs everywhere, an improvised wedding and reception between two Italian families. I was at first leery, thinking it might be like other trite, shallow audience-participation shows, but it wasn't. It was almost pure improv, with the focus on creating real characters. No murders to solve, just the comedy that arises in a marriage between two outspoken families with a decades-old love/hate relationship. There was a cast of thirty or so, and the audience were "invited" members of the wedding. Fans of the show came more than once, because it was never the same twice and there was far too much to take in at one sitting. The action roamed throughout the building, including the halls and bathrooms. I played Michael Just, the ex-boyfriend of the bride who gets out of jail/rehab, and crashes the wedding. A sprawling, incredible experience. For the first time in these memoirs, i barely know where to begin. I'd done little improv before this, and was thrilled at the challenge. The ceremony itself was scripted, as were other interchanges, but i performed for the better part of three hours with maybe seven scripted lines. The show began outside, with the arrival of the wedding party and audience. I stumble in during the ceremony, and the only reason i don't make a greater disturbance is because i'm coked to the gills and strung out from driving thirty hours straight. I'm shown to a seat, where i nod out. My appearance causes a minor stir: boots, jeans, leather vest, and bandanna which soon slips off.  To the audience's dismay/delight, i have a mohawk. The cut was done by my CHARLOTTE's buddy T.J., who played Vinnie Black, shmoozer-extraordinaire hall owner. I spend the evening in and out of a chemical haze, partly due to the best man, Barry Wheeler, played by Andy Goldenberg. To keep me peaceful, he gives me a stream of marijuana and other chemicals. Large amounts of alcohol too - the audience loved to give me drinks (real) when i came to their tables, so i had to become deft at making a sip look like a slug. I became an audience favorite, telling sob stories about Tina's not waiting for me when i was in jail/rehab (depending on the night or moment, it could be either). I would tell of all the crazy things she and i used to do. Dawn Lebrecht, so wonderfully brassy and sassy, played Tina. I would make up stories like how she had once gotten me to make love to her on top of the Empire State Building in a chicken suit. The audience then relayed these stories to Tina and other cast members, which then came back to me during the performance. I was constantly inventing new stories, partly for the cast's entertainment. Audience members would try to convince them that Tina should give me another chance (for an incoherent convict, i was kinda adorable). My first breakthrough came during a rehearsal exercise. We were supposed to bring in a wallet or purse, filled with the "life" of our character. When it came my turn to share, i assumed a stoned demeanor, took one or two objects out of my pockets, looked at them hazily, and said "I don't think these are my pants". If you can make a room full of actors really laugh, you've done something. Ray DeJohn played Tony, and i continued to enjoy his sweet company. Andy loved messing with me, he had a little pocket light he would "bug me out" with. He became my closest cast friend. The wonderful Jim Corsica played Father Mark. Chris George played Tina's barely-closeted brother Joey, and his performance was a thing of beauty.  His scripture reading, and leading of the bridesmaids in a rendition of "It's Raining Men"…absolutely hysterical. He doted on me (me, not Michael, he hated Michael). Vince Pinto, from the Chicago cast, played Uncle Louie - understated and priceless, he was wonderful to be around. Anthony Santucci played the dopey, sweet Johnny. It was his first show, and type-casting served him well. He occasionally tried to bend the rule about not "picking up" audience members, for which i chastized him. I finally had a chance to work with Dick Westlake, who played Tony's father, Nunzio. Dick was head of the Edison College theater department, and i'd borrowed scripts (and actors) from him for the Orpheus. A sweet man. One of the highlights was his ever-evolving riff on what the bride's mother's nickname was in school. Betty Whitmore and Deb Iamorino played bridesmaids, and it was an honor to work with and know them. The fantastic Cheryl Guiliano, who had toured with the show nationally, played the brassy Aunt Rose. She said i should go to a big city, where i would have little trouble getting full-time work as Michael. It would be hard to overstate the amount of audience sympathy i attracted. The actors joked about it backstage, a few of them even half-seriously annoyed. I thought of dampening my act, but everything i was doing was true to character. Weaving in and out of the hall in a semblance of unpredictability, i tried to "play" each table (there were maybe sixty) by the end of the night. The audience's love for me, and reactions to the show in general, sometimes went off the charts. A lot of them made up their own Tony/Tina backgrounds, on the spot. When the newspaper review came out without a single mention of my work, it was the only time in my life i've almost-seriously suspected some kind of reviewer-tampering...i imagined our director arranging for my non-mention, to assuage the feelings of any who resented the attention i was getting (i suspected my character had never generated such buzz in previous productions). I didn't really mind, though a part of me had been preparing for one of the greatest reviews of my life. My only truly disappointing moment came during rehearsal. Julie Bishop played Maddie, a stripper from Nunzio's club. In one scene, her character is told she's too flamboyant. Sulking, she grabs me to dance. Exploring the moment, i tried to make Tina jealous by making our clumsy dance sexual, with some mauling and groping. The second rehearsal we tried this, Joe interrupted to say that i wasn't to touch her below the waist. Joe played groomsman Dom, and was dating Julie in real life. I let it drop, the energy disappeared, and we abandoned the dance altogether. A potentially funny moment lost to unprofessionalism. The only time i ever heard of actors obviously breaking character was with Joe and Julie, when they let their personal life spill into the performance. The 9/11 attack came during our run, and one of producer Barry Marcus's relatives was killed. We canceled that night's performance. I had a wonderful time with the reception band, particularly Tommy Organiscak, an amazing singer, and Lee Blackston, the cockney guitarist. The band were the only actors whose first scene came later than mine, so we had some fun dressing room time together. The wonderfully funny Scott Kilgore, Zuckerman from CHARLOTTE’S, played Sal the photographer. Jane Kahn was frighteningly sweet as Grandma Nunzio. The irrepressible Nicky Savitt played Tina's mother (though she may have been younger than Dawn). Janina Birtolo played Loretta, T.J.'s wife, and she and i had a great moment where she distracts me from badgering the barmaid by getting me to hokey-pokey. I would cut in line repeatedly during the "dollar dance with the bride" segment, then always collapse onto Dawn's shoulder. Unsolicitedly, sometimes audience members pushed dollar bills into my hand, to get me back into the line. Dawn's height was played up - in heels, she was taller than both Ray and i. For the couple minutes we danced, she allowed herself her one show break. The entire affair took well over three hours, which could be exhausting because there were no scene breaks. When she and i danced, sometimes she would stay in character for a minute and bust my chops repeating my stories that the audience had told her. Oh lawsy, could she make me laugh. I was so grateful that my face was buried in her shoulder, because there were a few times she just broke me down into helpless laughter. Chris would often dance by, expressing his concern, and Dawn would exclaim "I'm not humpin' the man, vegan!" (he was a vegan in real life). On most nights though, Dawn would whisper to me as herself while we danced, and hers was such a fantastic performance, i was honored to be her one respite. I was escorted out of the building several times during the evening, and always came back. The wait staff got a kick out of how we actors stayed in character, and they would try to get us to break when no audience was around. During the conga line, Andy would always drag me around on his back. He would sing "a-doot-doot-doot-doobee-doobee-doot", and it was so funny that i again broke character sometimes, concealing my crack-up in the crook of my arm. My last big moment came when i stumbled to the bandstand, grabbed the mic from Tommy, and screamed out a strident rock love song. I tear my vest open, revealing a huge tattoo "TINA DIE" (i tried henna, but it quickly faded, so i penciled it in nightly). I'm then dragged out for the final time. Stone-unconscious, Andy deposits me by the street in front of the theater.  Halfway through the run, we struck on the idea of handcuffing me to a bench. I remained passed out for the rest of the night, well after the show "ends" inside. While the festivities were coming to a close, i had about fifteen minutes of unconsciousness during which i was occasionally visited by patrons coming out for fresh air or a smoke. Their reactions at seeing me were priceless. Ray and Andy come out once more, with Ray furious over Tina's drunken behavior. Seeing me enrages him even further, and he always came right down to my face to yell at me. When there were no audience members around, the two of them would try to get me to laugh, especially the final week (we had 56 performances total)…and those bastard pig-fuckers succeeded once or twice. A few minutes later, the audience started leaving. Thinking the show over, they'd burst out laughing when they saw me. For another twenty minutes, i stayed passed out until they'd all driven away. It was such an amazing experience as an actor, to lie there. I was there but i wasn't, so i got to hear all of their unself-conscious commentary (which put me in the position of hearing what an audience thinks much more openly and directly than most actors will ever know...lying there, i wished every actor in the world could live what i was experiencing for just one moment). Many would talk to me. Some of them got quite serious, whispering the most humbling praise. A lot of them tried to wake me up, or took photos with my head in their laps. One put a real joint in my mouth. Another undid my fly. One of my proudest moments as an actor came when two laughing teenage girls became absolutely determined to get me to break character as i lay there. They teased and played with me for a while, to no effect, and then raspberried my stomach and chest, two mouths at once. I didn't crack. They finally left, but not before writing their phone numbers on my chest...tempted though i was to avail myself of the opportunity, i restricted myself to leaving them a funny phone message in character (in those long-ago days of no caller ID). I also got a place to live because of my lying there. I wasn't crazy about the twenty-five mile drive back and forth from Ft. Myers Beach. Some waitresses were playing with me unconsciously one night, and one of them, Kelly, was so impressed with how sweet my breath was, she invited me to stay with her until the end of the run. A weekly poker game was held at T.J. and Ray's. A hard-core virus went through the cast. It, or possibly food poisoning, hit me at the start of one performance. An hour later, i was dripping sweat and reduced to repeatedly stumbling into the server's hall and collapsing, gathering my energy for the next moment i needed to be onstage. I had to deal with sick breath for a few perfomances (And inexplicably, when i got better my breath didn't. For the next couple years, i fumbled with regular bad breath for the first time in my life). The final performance, i had a surprise for Ray and Andy. After being handcuffed to that bench for the last time, i dropped my pants to my ankles, then lay down with my ass in the air. When they came outside, Ray had to disappear around the side of the building to recover from his laughter. Determined to not be outdone, he came back berating me in character, saying i'd better get used to that position, as i was heading to jail. He yanked my boxers all the way down to my ankles, yelling, "That's what it's gonna be like, you convict!!" But i was in the zone - i didn't flinch. They enjoyed the moment, then went back inside. Alone again, i pulled my boxers up (but left the pants down). During that final night, there was a viscerally sweet and poignant energy that carried us all. It's hard to have unified chemistry with a group that large, but the love we shared, between us and with our audiences, was one of the more wonderful things i've ever known. It was during this show that i received the most memorable compliment any actor ever gave me, when i was told i reminded other actors what an actor is supposed to be. I was open to playing Michael again one day, which i wouldn't have thought likely when the show began.