Broadway Magic

I recently saw my first Broadway show in years. Two, actually—Mamma Mia! and Chess. With Mamma Mia!, my family and I got the star treatment from Christine Sherrill, who is currently playing Donna. My daughter got to have her photo taken with the star of the show on stage, AND we had a visit and chat with her in her dressing room. It was so lovely … and illuminating. I headed back to Chicago with a newfound perspective on what it takes to do eight shows a week on Broadway. 

I am a total Chicago HOMER. Born and somewhat raised here, I bleed Cubbie Blue, won’t put ketchup on a hot dog (although I can’t eat a burger without it), will definitely have Lou Malnati’s as an appetizer for my last meal, and have John Hughes movies to thank for creating the core of my comedic fabric as an actor. 

I’ve also had an extensive career doing musicals in Chicago. Although it’s been a few years now and I’m not in the mix as much as I used to be, I've been in the trenches and I know the community. And when I open a program at the Marriott, Drury Lane or Paramount, I always ask the question: “Why are they casting New York actors in these shows, when I could give you 10 Chicago-based actors who could play the role just as well?” Why do we put New York on such a pedestal? 

Well … casting is a whole other “insight” I could write about for days. (Remember that show that was only seeking Jewish-identifying actors and then didn’t cast any? Or theaters in town that ask for you to basically put the entire role on tape, only to not call you back? Good times.) 

But I digress. And I actually do want to give it up to NYC. There’s something about the level of commitment that comes from being in a Broadway show that just sets it apart from Chicago. It’s for sure a damn job that consumes your life, and I think part of the reason for that is the stakes. 

In talking with Christine, I could tell the sheer commitment of playing a lead role on Broadway was clearly leaving her exhausted. To be able to do what she does on that stage eight times a week, under the pressure of everything that comes with it—it's no wonder.

When my wife, daughter and I were being ushered to our seats at Chess last week, we felt the urgency of everything that was happening in the Imperial Theatre. We were moved quickly through the lines and asked for our tickets as if we needed to get in our seats immediately—and if we didn’t, we might not get to see the show. I’ve never experienced anything like it. The urgency of the front-of-house staff mirrored that of the cast and orchestra (led by the amazing Ian Weinberger). I told my wife that I’d associate the show with the word “dangerous.” The actors were truly leaving everything they had out on that stage. 

Which brings me back to the stakes. 

I can't speak to the current state of musical theatre in Chicago. And by that, I mean I haven’t worked at Marriott, Drury Lane, and Paramount regularly. But there’s a certain level of ease that comes with living and working in Chicago. It's easy to get around. The cost of living is manageable. Chicago doesn't seem to beat you down in the way that New York can. With NYC, you have to be prepared to take whatever the city will throw at you. And with that comes a level of resilience that you need to have in order to make it. The stakes are just higher. And you can feel it when you’re in the theater watching a Broadway show. 

There’s also a thing that someone told me about years ago: “Broadway magic.” There’s something truly magical about being in a Broadway theater and seeing a show there. When the moon rose during Mamma Mia!, or when the lighted square cube came down on the cast during the penultimate moment of Chess, I felt that Broadway magic. I got chills. I was transported. And I could feel the entire staff of the theater—front and back-of-house, merch, orchestra, stage crew and cast—busting their asses for a common goal: to deliver that magic. And they did.

So even though my heart and soul is always with Chicago, I do hope to join that NYC club someday. It’s a gift. Congrats to my fellow artists who have already—and thank you for your work. Always.