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jbaileyfansite · 3 months ago

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Interview with Backstage (2024)

Jonathan Bailey is still marinating in his thoughts, andthey taste pretty sweet. Top notes of red wine, he says.

These are busy times for the witty British heartthrob. He’s speaking over Zoom from Malta, where he’s filming the next “Jurassic World” installment. And two days prior, he received his first Emmy nomination for his supporting turn on Showtime’s “Fellow Travelers.”

What’s lingering in Bailey’s mind after reaching such a huge milestone? “The nature of the story, and how that story’s come to be told,” he says of Ron Nyswaner’s limited series, a decades-spanning gay drama that’s chock-full of steamy sex scenes. For him, the Emmy nod is “an acknowledgment of [the show] meaning something much bigger.”

The 36-year-old actor radiates humility and surges with pride for his collaborators; “Fellow Travelers” also picked up nominations for lead actor Matt Bomer and for Nyswaner’s writing. Bailey believes the fact that executive producer Robbie Rogers was able to get the project on television at all is a “brilliant signifier” of changing times. He feels lucky to have been the right person for the job. And after a couple of decades in the industry, the actor’s star is about to go supernova.

Childhood stage work and gigs on 2000s teen TV shows led to roles on acclaimed series like ITV’s “Broadchurch” and Channel 4’s “Crashing.” He nabbed an Olivier in 2019 for his performance in Marianne Elliott’s West End revival of “Company.” Households on the other side of the Atlantic learned his name in 2020 when he courted lockdown audiences as Anthony, the strident head of the titular family on Netflix’s period-romance smash “Bridgerton.”

Then came the game-changing “Fellow Travelers.” Bailey plays the idealistic Tim Laughlin, a closeted congressional staffer who pursues a clandestine relationship with another man amid the witch hunts of McCarthy-era Washington. The actor is keeping up that momentum in the coming months with part one of Jon M. Chu’s highly anticipated film adaptation of the Broadway musical “Wicked” (out Nov. 22), followed by the fourth “Jurassic World” in 2025.

“Fellow Travelers” is a fitting inflection point for Bailey, considering it reflects aspects of his own gay identity. Tim’s story also illuminates a thread connecting the actor’s work, both in and out of character: always embracing the truth, shame be damned.

Born in Wallingford, England, Bailey made a beeline for the arts as a kid when he began studying music and ballet. After getting a taste of performing at a young age, he secured an agent when he was a teenager. Even now, he feels the sense of joy and wonder he discovered in those early days.

He chose not to attend drama school, instead throwing himself into professional theater, where he encountered the performance process in its most essential form. “You start with your own instincts, and then you share with others in the room in real time,” Bailey says. “You academically approach text, then you emotionally explore it. Then, you physically put it on its feet.”

Theater taught him to be observant. In rehearsals, he witnessed actors being brilliant and bold, but also making crucial mistakes. Weeks of rehearsing helped him learn how to spend time with a character as he watched his castmates play against type and expand themselves through performance. Those lessons both tested and encouraged him, and they’ve carried him throughout his career.

Since then, Bailey has gotten the chance to see plenty of giants at work. He reverently discusses performing Stephen Sondheim’s music alongside Patti LuPone in “Company” and reciting Shakespeare opposite Ian McKellen in the Chichester Festival Theatre’s 2017 production of “King Lear.”

His contemporaries also made for great teachers. He worked with Phoebe Waller-Bridge on “Crashing” and Michaela Coel on “Chewing Gum”—two certified television geniuses whose creative successes Bailey likens to the magnesium flame of a meteor. It’s an apt comparison—Waller-Bridge called him “a meteorite of fun” in a 2022 interview with GQ. (“I think I’ve always been quite naughty,” he says playfully.)

“There’s so much you take on via natural osmosis,” Bailey explains. “It’s what you watch and how you interpret things.”

For example, he thinks that every actor should see Sandy Dennis’ Oscar-winning turn as Honey in Mike Nichols’ 1966 film “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” Her performance whet his curiosity about the craft: “She is so fluid. I mean, that might be the most exposing answer I’ve given about what my inner world is like.”

Bailey’s technique is rooted in music. He plays piano and clarinet, and he approaches acting like an instrument, too. When reading a script for the first time, he experiences his character’s arc as the phrases in a song. “The way my brain works is that I see the images of what they’re doing,” he says. “When I say ‘phrasing,’ it’s like, how you get from that image to this image.”

When he was playing the bottled-up Anthony on “Bridgerton,” Bailey found inspiration in songs by Echo and the Bunnymen and Nirvana. While filming “Fellow Travelers” in Toronto, he went on long walks while listening to expansive pop music to help him explore Tim, a character whose energy radiates outward.

Considering Bailey’s process plays like a song, connoisseurs of his work might notice a motif. Sam from “Crashing,” a party boy Bailey calls “a wild, untamed animal in a tiny little cage,” aggressively maintains a facade of heterosexuality while pining for his male housemate Fred (Amit Shah). On Season 2 of “Bridgerton,” Anthony locked himself into a prison of duty and a loveless engagement to avoid acknowledging his desire for the fiery Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley).

Tim of “Fellow Travelers” is the latest in a series of sharply drawn characters confronting the tension between their assigned roles and their personal truths. Viewers first meet a straitlaced rule-follower whose Catholic piety is only matched by his loyalty to the infamous Senator Joseph McCarthy. All that changes when he crosses paths with Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller (Bomer), a crystal-eyed, debonair State Department official. Their respective closets combust on contact, and they enter into a forbidden love affair just as McCarthy’s Lavender Scare has begun purging queer people from the halls of government.

Bailey’s interior work tends to be more emotional than cerebral, but he’s a generous conversation partner who’s always game to riff on the deep stuff. Whether it’s yearning, going against expectations, or facing high stakes, the phrasing is what draws him in.

He finds a lot of gorgeous notes to play across the eight episodes of “Fellow Travelers” as the action moves from the 1950s to the ’80s, making pit stops along the way. While Hawk settles for a life of straight domesticity, Tim hurtles through a sexual and political awakening: The Beltway boy becomes an activist priest who refuses to diminish himself, especially when the AIDS crisis begins to rip his community apart.

Bailey loved being inside Tim’s head; in fact, the actor thinks of him as a hero. After experiencing the isolation of his secret relationship with Hawk, he opens himself up to the world: He comes out, moves to San Francisco, cobbles together a found family, and builds a life as his true self.

“Ron Nyswaner has spoiled Matt and me for the operatic detail that existed between [our characters],” Bailey says, “and also with Tim’s political fervor: the truth and the honesty that he demands of himself and the world around him, and the grappling with anything that is an obstacle to his own and other’s happiness.”

You can’t talk about “Fellow Travelers” without discussing its rapturous sex scenes—and not only for titillation’s sake, though the kinky encounters between Tim and Hawk certainly call for smelling salts. These sequences gave Bailey the opportunity to commit authentic queer intimacy to the screen, which members of the LGBTQ+ community rarely come across as they search for ways to understand their identities.

The trust between Bailey and Bomer informed everything they did onscreen. Before filming those scenes, the two actors talked through their approach at a café (Goldstruck Coffee on Cumberland Street in Toronto—a ribald little detail that still makes Bailey laugh). The filming itself was incredibly technical, and the actors worked with an intimacy coordinator on set. “We sort of hit the ground running, knowing exactly what was going to be required but also how to communicate throughout it,” Bailey says. “It felt immediately quite safe.”

He sensed an exciting opportunity to tell a story about transformative love amid the “wild, oppressive moment” of the Lavender Scare, dismissing any reservations about the explicit nature of the material. “Honestly, this is exactly why this show is going to be brilliant,” he remembers thinking.

The series’ milestone dramatic moments, with buttons still done up and no skin showing, carried that same sense of significance. No matter how much Tim grew over the course of his arc, Bailey says that his bond with Hawk remained an “extraordinary, material thing.”

This summer, the actor made a very Tim move when he founded the Shameless Fund, a charity that supports LGBTQ+ causes under the tagline: “Raising cash. Erasing shame.” The initiative grew directly out of his acting work—first inspired by the platform afforded to him by “Bridgerton” and further influenced by his experience on “Fellow Travelers.”

Playing Tim—or, as Bailey puts it, spending “five months doing a dissertation on queer oppression and liberation”—catalyzed his thoughts about the people who created a world where such a show could even exist. “I think in ‘Fellow Travelers,’ it’s so clear what Tim wants,” he says. “But as the world around him develops, you realize there’s so much that he can’t have, but that he can help change.”

Bailey sees that progress playing out in the next generation. He has a small role on the upcoming third season of Netflix’s queer YA hit “Heartstopper” as a dreamy academic who’s the celebrity crush of the series’ protagonist, Charlie (Joe Locke). Based on creator Alice Oseman’s graphic novel series, the show has found a passionate following of young LGBTQ+ fans.

When he watched “Heartstopper” for the first time, Bailey remembers wondering what it would have been like to see such representation on television when he was growing up. “I was so celebratory of it,” he says. “But it was obviously kind of a melancholic watch for people above a certain age, because it allowed them to grieve what they didn’t have.”

Having conquered the Regency and Cold War periods on the small screen, Bailey’s blockbuster era is imminent. He’s playing dashing love interest Fiyero in the “Wicked” films (based on Gregory Maguire’s 1995 novel), singing and dancing alongside Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande. It’s a perfect fit for the actor’s particular lens: “Musically and theatrically, I understand it massively.”

Since “Wicked” came with its own well-known songs to study, Bailey spent a lot of time with composer-lyricist Stephen Schwartz’s music in his ears rather than Kurt Cobain’s. He explored Fiyero’s interiority through the musical theater form itself: What does the act of singing express for him?

And for a character whose signature number is called “Dancing Through Life,” what metaphorical direction are his steps leading him in?

Bailey sees Fiyero as part of the same club as Tim, Anthony, and Sam, as the heightened world of Oz sends him on a journey of radical transformation. “I think about where he starts and where he ends up; he’s literally a changed person,” the actor says. “I savored the arc over two films.”

Next year, Bailey will become an action star in Gareth Edwards’ next installment of “Jurassic World” opposite Scarlett Johansson. Though details have yet to be announced, including the movie’s title, production is well underway; Bailey just finished filming in Thailand before shooting moved to Malta. A few days before we spoke, he was interacting with a fake blue-screen dinosaur (which is only a spoiler if you thought Hollywood has actually been cloning big reptiles this whole time).

But Bailey is still keeping his theater muscles toned. Next year, he’s starring as the titular monarch in Nicholas Hytner’s production of Shakespeare’s “Richard II” at London’s Bridge Theatre. “I have to go and sharpen up,” he says of returning to the stage. “You feel so sharp and dexterous at the end of a theater run—but also, you know, without a soul. Carcass levels of absolute exhaustion.”

Bailey lights up at the prospect of getting back onstage and experiencing the kinetic energy between the actors, crew, and director. He believes that the emotional and intellectual rigor of theater leads to a tight, specific piece of work. It’s an art form that requires continuous creation night after night.

This stamina comes in handy in front of a camera, too. “When you’re exhausted, you have to rely on technique,” he explains. “Technique does get you over the finish line, and you can deliver a performance that is honest and tell the story effectively and truthfully.”

Until then—and until he’s back on set with those fake dinosaurs—he’s going to soak up that Emmy-nomination afterglow for a little while longer.

“I’m actually going to go and have another glass of wine to celebrate,” he says.

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#jonathan bailey #jonny bailey #fellow travelers #wicked #wicked movie #theatre #backstage #backstage interview #interviews #interviews:2024 #NEW!

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jgroffdaily · 6 months ago

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The New Yorker Interview

Jonathan Groff Rolls Merrily Back

The actor reflects on his journey in reverse: from his latest Tony nomination to his arrival in New York, waiting tables and dreaming of Broadway.

By Michael Schulman, Photograph by Thea Traff

June 2, 2024

Excerpts:

One of the problems with “Merrily” is its protagonist, Franklin Shepard, whom we first meet as a slick, philandering forty-year-old Hollywood producer. It takes two acts to arrive at the charismatic musician he once was, with a lot of mistakes in between. Putting effect before cause gives each scene a painful irony—but how do you get an audience to care about a guy who’s off-putting for so long? “Merrily” is back on Broadway, in a production directed by Maria Friedman, and it’s finally a hit. One big reason is its Frank, played by Jonathan Groff, whose natural warmth shines through even in the character’s older, sleazier incarnation. When this revival opened Off Broadway, in 2022, The New Yorker’s Helen Shaw wrote, “Groff’s silky tenor and angelic face elevate a part that can sometimes be contemptible—for the first time, I could see Frank as both the dreamer who believes in greatness and the glib charmer who believes every lie he tells.”

Groff, thirty-nine, is now nominated for a Tony Award, alongside Friedman and his co-stars Daniel Radcliffe and Lindsay Mendez. He was previously nominated in 2016, for “Hamilton,” in the scene-stealing part of King George III, and in 2007, for the indie-rock musical “Spring Awakening,” as the rebellious schoolboy Melchior Gabor—his breakout role, opposite Lea Michele. Groff had come to New York three years earlier, as a stagestruck, closeted nineteen-year-old from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where he grew up among Mennonites and was obsessed with the original cast recording of “Annie Get Your Gun.” “Merrily,” with its themes of aging, idealism, and the vicissitudes of show business, has had Groff thinking about his own path toward stardom. “Doing this show on Broadway at this time, moving to New York twenty years ago, I’ve now lived the time frame of the show,” he told me recently.

We were talking at a bakery north of Washington Square Park. Groff had glided in on a bicycle. As we spoke, he frequently welled up with tears—he’s a crier—but regained his composure by focussing on a pair of googly eyes affixed to the wall behind me. For our conversation, which has been edited and condensed, I had an experiment in mind.

Let’s start with the extremely recent past. Three days ago, you went to the Met Gala. How was your night?

The big headline for me was Lea Michele was pregnant, and I sat next to her at the table, holding her giant train thing while she peed. She took it off, and I was holding that and her purse. I saw Zac Posen, who was at our table, help Kim Kardashian up the little tiny stairs, and I said to him, “Wow, that was such a sweet moment of the gay helping the diva.” I was relating to him, like with me and Lea. It’s a zoo of famous people. I was going to go to the after-parties, but my body was just, like, “No.” I hit a wall from the shows and the epicness of the week, with the Tony nominations. So I was home by eleven-forty-five, and in bed by midnight.

The Broadway production of “Merrily” opened last fall. You told Jimmy Fallon that Meryl Streep came to your dressing room, where you have a bar named BARbra, and she took a video of you and sent it to Barbra Streisand. Who else has been there?

The first thing that comes to me is sitting in BARbra in October or November, drinking whiskey with Sutton Foster. I came to New York as a teen-ager and saw her six times in “Thoroughly Modern Millie”—now she’s in BARbra, dropping in for, like, an hour and a half after the show, and it’s so full circle. Who else? Patti LuPone was there—another big one for me. Phoebe Waller-Bridge and Martin McDonagh. Glenn Close sent back a bottle of champagne to be chilled in BARbra, which we drank together.

This show, like every Sondheim show, is very dense. Over the course of three hundred-plus performances, are there certain moments that have suddenly hit you a different way, or that you realize have a double meaning?

Double, triple, quadruple, infinity. I’m still having revelations, which really makes me believe that it’s a true work of art. Maria [Friedman] talks about how, with Sondheim’s writing, he “leaves space,” which is why it’s always new. He always needed to work with a collaborator, and she talked about the actor being an essential collaborator. She said the lyric he wrote in “Sunday in the Park with George”—“Anything you do, / let it come from you, / then it will be new”—is Sondheim’s directive to the actor.

The Tuesday after the Tony nominations, I got to the theatre, screamed with Lindsay [Mendez], screamed with Dan [Radcliffe]. [He chokes up.] Then I was singing “Growing Up”—“So old friends, don’t you see we can have it all?”—which has meant so many different things to me in the run of the show. At yesterday’s matinée, Dan and I were sitting on the roof singing “Our Time”: “Up to us, pal, to show ’em.” We’ve done it a million times. We look at each other, and Dan just fucking loses it crying. He had to look away from me. We talked about it afterward, like, “What the fuck was that?” I don’t know. Something just happened.

When you started the show, in 2022, at New York Theatre Workshop, were there kinks in your performance that you’ve since figured out?

I remember feeling shocked at being disliked for so long in the first half of the first act. It was very clear from the energy of the audience that they loved Mary in the opening scene—immediately, they’re on her side. I’m out here as a gay guy, playing this straight, two-timing Hollywood producer who’s cheating on his wife. I’m already having to feel confident in a way that I don’t in my everyday life, this sort of swagger. And the audience hates me. I remember feeling scared and self-conscious. Maria, in that preview process, really helped with that, because she talked about the value of when it’s real, and you’re not playing ugly just to be ugly. The one line that I really struggled with was “I’m just acting like it all matters so people can’t see how much I hate my life and how much I wish the whole goddam thing was over.” That is a really confronting thing to say.

People might say that this is one of the fundamental flaws of “Merrily We Roll Along”—that you’re confronted with this cynical, smarmy Frank in the first act, and you don’t really understand him until the show’s over. I can imagine going into this not knowing if that’s a solvable problem, because it hadn’t been for decades.

Well, Maria wanted us to find the truth. She really believed that these characters weren’t archetypes, that there’s humanity in the writing from beginning to end. I found it after that first week or two of previews, not being so afraid. The line that made me want to do the show was “I’ve made only one mistake in my life, but I’ve made it over and over and over. That was saying yes when I meant no.” I’ve done that a lot in my life, and there was something that felt like the closeted version of myself. George Furth and Stephen Sondheim—I can only imagine being gay at the time that they were gay. Even though Frank is straight, there’s so much repression that feels very familiar to me.

Except that you felt it at the beginning of your life and not the middle, as Frank does.

Yes and no. I still feel it. I’m still trying every day not to go back. I’m obviously out of the closet, so that’s a huge relief, but I’m always going to be reckoning with the Republican upbringing that I had. I’m always negotiating whatever homophobia I’ve got. It’s all in there, still. What we see as ugliness in the top of the show, to stand and say, “I want to fucking kill myself, I hate my life,” and not overdramatize it but try to find it in the most pure, truthful place—it’s still, every night, a meditation to go there.

Let’s wind back. In 2021, you played Agent Smith in “The Matrix Resurrections.” Any good stories about Keanu Reeves?

Getting to play Agent Smith really unlocked rage inside of me that I didn’t know was there. That’s helped me so much with “Merrily,” particularly in the first act. Learning the kung fu was, like, months of fight training. They called me the Savage, because I was so into it. We were shooting a big fight sequence with Keanu, and, after the first few takes, I remember Lana [Wachowski] at the monitor, like, “Jonathan, come over here. Who is that?” I was, like, “I don’t know.” And she was, like, “And what is that?” I said, “Gay rage?”

I’d never shot a gun before. I shot Keanu and thought I had peed my pants, because I had this hot feeling. You know when you pee yourself and it’s warm? It lasted about ten minutes and then it went away. I sat next to Keanu and said, “Keanu, I just had extreme heat from my groin for, like, ten minutes.” And he was, like, “You opened up your root chakra.”

You turned thirty that year [Hamilton]? How was that?

I remember it vividly. We were at the Public Theatre. There was a fire in the East Village, and the show was cancelled that night. I got a cupcake at the deli around the corner from my apartment, on Sixteenth Street, and ate it by myself. I can be a bit of a loner, so that was a happy birthday for me.

(On Looking being cancelled)

But, in 2015, Michael Lombardo was our executive at HBO, and I was crying into my salad at some restaurant in West Hollywood, trying to convince him to keep the show going, right before getting on the plane to come do “Hamilton” Off Broadway.

I loved Ra��l Castillo, who played your love interest Richie on the show. I interviewed him around then, and he told me that, since he’s straight, you all had to teach him some of the mechanics of what gay people do.

Oh, yeah! God, I love him so much. I officiated his wedding in July.

Let’s go back to 2013, when “Frozen” came out. You voiced the iceman Kristoff and the reindeer Sven. How did that film change your life?

It’s funny—I remember recording some of “Frozen” in San Francisco. I would be teaching Raúl, like, how to lick my asshole while jerking me off—not teaching him, but sharing the ins and outs of gay intimacy—and then going into the recording studio on a Saturday and being Kristoff and Sven in a Disney movie.

When they showed me “Let It Go” for the first time, I was, like, Oh, my God, this will help millions of people come out of the closet. This is the gayest thing I’ve seen in my life! That was the thing about “Frozen”: I don’t think anyone who worked on it thought it was going to be a juggernaut. It’s so weird to think of this now, but when it came out it felt quite alternative, because there was no villain, really, and the love was between two women. Now there are, like, tissues with Elsa on it.

Now we’re moving backward to “Spring Awakening.” By the time it moved to Broadway, in 2006, you were the twenty-one-year-old lead of the coolest musical in town. What was your actual life like?

I was so not cool. The show was cool, and the music was cool. I had people dropping me off joints at the theatre. And I remember fully understanding the stark difference between who I was playing onstage and who I was in real life, which was an extreme theatre nerd who wanted to be in the ensemble of “Thoroughly Modern Millie” and never would have imagined playing Melchior. It’s his gravitas. And trying to tap into that side of myself, which was a side I’d never experienced before.

Tell me about your audition.

I went to the open call and knew who Michael Mayer was, because he had directed “Thoroughly Modern Millie.” But it was “Spring Awakening” and I was, like, There’s a beating scene? This is so intense! They called me in for Melchior, then had me sing “Hey Jude” in a falsetto, and Michael was, like, “That was your falsetto?” And I laughed at him sort of making fun of me. Tom Hulce, who was our producer, told me years later that he moved my head shot from the “No” pile into the “Yes” pile because I had laughed at Michael in the audition, and he thought, This kid has the ability to let Michael roll off his back. We should bring him back in the next month or two.

It was, like, ten people up for Melchior. They brought me in first, because they thought they would just see me and cut me. But I had worked so hard on the audition material. I remember calling my dad the night before the final callback and saying to him, “I know I can’t be this character all the way yet, but I—”[He tears up again.] I really got to get my shit together! Why does this keep happening to me?

Because we’ve gone on an emotional journey.

I guess so, in reverse! Fuck me. [Pauses.] I knew that I had it inside, if they would just give me the chance. That’s all I was trying to say, but I guess I can’t stop crying while I’m saying it.

In 2005, you made your Broadway début, as an understudy in “In My Life.” Now, this was the weirdest musical I’ve ever seen. As I recall, there were dancing skeletons in a song about how everyone has a skeleton in their closet, a giant lemon that came from the sky at the end, and a girl on a scooter who turns out to be a ghost. And it was written by the guy who wrote “You Light Up My Life,” who then came to a dark end.

And his son!

Yes, his son killed his girlfriend. What the hell was going on with that show? Did you ever go on?

I went on for the ensemble members. I was so excited! I was in my first Broadway show, at the Music Box Theatre, walking in where it says “Stage Door.” And you couldn’t give away tickets to see the show. People were coming to laugh at the show from the audience.

Like “Springtime for Hitler”?

Exactly. And the cast had to do the show, even though people were laughing at them, which is devastating for the actors. But we formed a little family. It’s the plight of the actor. You’re just out there, like Sally Bowles in “Cabaret.” I was twenty years old, so I was lit.

Had you been waiting tables?

Yeah. The whole year before that, I was at the Chelsea Grill, in Hell’s Kitchen. The day I got to New York—October 21, 2004—I moved to Fifty-first Street and Ninth Avenue, before it was super gay, and I walked down Ninth and got a job waiting tables. A week later, I waited on Tom Viola, who runs the charity Broadway Cares, and became a bucket collector. I’d watch the second act of shows and then collect the money at the end. I went to hundreds of auditions, trying to get my Equity card. That, to me, was “Opening Doors,” from “Merrily”—that moment of sheer will and ambition and ignorance.

We’ve now reached our finale, which is 2004. Can you tell me about the decision to move to New York?

My mom was a gym teacher and my dad is a horse trainer, and they didn’t really understand anything about the performing world. But my dad grew up on a dairy farm, and he was supposed to take over and become a Mennonite preacher, which is what my grandfather was. My dad didn’t like cows—he liked horse racing, so he sort of rebelled and did his own thing. My mom always says that nurse, secretary, or teacher were the options for women in a small town at that time, but her passion was sports, so she ended up being a coach.

So they understood the power of fanning the flame of passion. When I was a kid and into acting, they drove me to play practice. They drove me to community theatre. My senior year of high school, my mom drove me to New York to audition for this bus-and-truck tour of “The Sound of Music.” I got that tour, and deferred my admission to Carnegie Mellon. I made ten thousand dollars after a year on the road, and I learned so much from getting to act every day. I wanted to take my ten thousand and move to New York, and my parents were super supportive: “If you feel like you need to go to college, you can always go to college. But take a gamble and move to the city.” I’d worked at this theatre in Lancaster called the Fulton Opera House, where I’d met this girl who wanted to move to New York, so she became my roommate.

To me, “Merrily We Roll Along” is about how difficult it is to stay in touch with the person you were as adulthood knocks you sideways and forward. When you think about nineteen-year-old Jonathan coming to New York, do you feel like you’re the same person? What’s changed?

[He bursts into tears.] I can’t tell why I cry! When we were about to start rehearsal for “Merrily,” I would listen to “Our Time,” and I couldn’t sing it without crying. And, when I think about that version of myself—I think it’s because that person who brings you here does diminish. Maybe it’s the grief for that person. The whole reason that I’m here now is because of that person, but that person no longer exists.

But that person is still in there, somewhere. That voice is so quiet now, but it’s still driving my choices. You have to make choices. You get older, that pure inspiration dies, but it doesn’t have to go all the way away. I think that’s the whole point of the show, why it goes backward. Maria says that Sondheim put all of his regret into it, so that we could have less regret for ourselves. And perhaps the reason it ends with these people, with these versions of ourselves that we remember when we see it, is that it’s an invitation to remember and honor that person.

Why does that make me cry? Is it grief? Is it joy? I don’t know, but I’m so grateful for that purity and that optimism. The first month that I was here, feeling so lost and confused, I pulled the Bible that my Mennonite grandmother gave me off the bookshelf. She gave me that Bible before I left town. I was alone in the apartment thinking, What the fuck am I doing in New York? Or not even “what the fuck”—I didn’t swear until “Spring Awakening,” and when I would sing “Totally Fucked” I would get beet red. And I remember putting the Bible down and thinking, This is not the answer. This is not making me feel good. And then running to Central Park and standing in front of the Bethesda Fountain. I was nineteen, and I was, like, This feels better—but, like, What? Who am I? What am I doing here? I know I want to act, but I’m so scared. And gay. But it was something—some voice, some passion, some inspiration. Some something brought me here.

#jonathan groff #merrily we roll along #interview #Lancaster #in my life #spring awakening #Hamilton

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mrs-stans · 2 months ago

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Sebastian Stan’s Crash Course in Becoming Trump

After a long tour of duty in the Marvel universe, the Romanian-born actor is conquering the festival circuit, with starring roles in “The Apprentice” and “A Different Man.”

Illustration by João Fazenda

By Alex Barasch

The actor Sebastian Stan glanced approvingly at the neon signage and old-school menus at the Pearl Diner, in the financial district, the other day. He’s lived in and near New York since he was twelve—around the time Donald Trump swapped his first wife, Ivana, for Marla Maples—and has watched the city evolve. “It’s funny. It’s changed, but it’s also the same buildings,” he said. “And then you’re, like, ‘The buildings are there, but you are not the same.’ ”

Stan took off a white ball cap and ordered coffee with cream; he was jet-lagged, fresh from the Deauville American Film Festival, where he’d received the Hollywood Rising-Star Award. “Rising” is a stretch for the forty-two-year-old, who’s appeared in a dozen Marvel projects, but Stan has lately reached a different echelon. In May, he went to Cannes for “The Apprentice,” in which he plays seventies-era Trump. In Berlin, he’d won the Silver Bear, an award whose previous recipients include Denzel Washington and Paul Newman. “Everyone was, like, ‘Oh, the Silver Bear!’ ” Stan said. “Then you go back and you’re, like, ‘Do we know what the Silver Bear is in America?’ ”

The prize was for his role in “A Different Man,” Aaron Schimberg’s surreal black comedy, which nods to “Cyrano de Bergerac.” Stan stars as a man whose lifelong disfigurement is miraculously reversed; the shoot included a grisly three-and-a-half-hour session spent peeling off chunks of his face.

“The Apprentice” demanded a transformation of a different sort. At the diner, Stan pulled out his phone and swiped through an album labelled “DT physicality”—a hundred and thirty videos of Trump, which capture his tiniest gestures and his over-all mien. Marinating in Trump content was, Stan said cheerfully, “a psychotic experience.” He watched the clips so many times that when the director, Ali Abbasi, asked him to improvise in a scene about marketing Trump Tower, he could rattle off the stats: sixty-eight stories of marble in a peachy hue chosen by Ivana, because, as the real Trump put it in a promo, “people feel they look better in the pink.” (It turned out that he’d also memorized Trump’s lie: the tower is actually fifty-eight floors.)

Growing up in Communist Romania, Stan had just an hour of TV news each night; New Year’s Eve was an event because it meant twelve hours of programming. His instinct for mimicry—he had a habit of imitating family members and neighbors—was the earliest tell that he might be an actor. After he and his mother fled to Vienna, in 1989, Stan got his first credit, in a Michael Haneke film—an experience that nearly put him off show business. “I stood in line with, like, a thousand kids, for I don’t know how many hours—which I hated,” he said. “If I could fucking meet Haneke now, it would be amazing!”

When the family moved again, to America, he experienced pop-culture shock. He binged every movie he’d missed—from “Back to the Future” to “Ace Ventura”—in a pal’s basement. Another friend roped him into the school play. “My high school was really, really small, so I didn’t have a lot of competition,” Stan said. “They were, like, ‘Please be in the play!’ ” Soon he was playing Cyrano himself.

After stints on Broadway, and on “Gossip Girl,” Stan was scooped up by Marvel. “I’ve been lucky to play a character for fifteen years,” he said. The blockbuster paychecks freed him up to explore edgier material. “I, Tonya,” in which he played the ice-skater Tonya Harding’s dirtbag husband, was a turning point. “It allowed me to see that a good director will bring out more in you than you can,” Stan said. It was also his first time portraying a real person—a feat that he repeated in “Pam & Tommy,” as the Mötley Crüe drummer Tommy Lee, and now in “The Apprentice.”

“It’s like learning a piece of music,” Stan said, of nailing an impression. “You’ve got to start out slow—it requires practice. Suddenly, you’re getting it more. You’re still making mistakes—but you’re playing the music. You’re playing the music every day until you can do it in your sleep. That’s when the fun starts.” He sliced the air for emphasis, then caught himself and grinned. “And sometimes it’s months later at a diner, and you’re, like, ‘Why am I doing that with my hands?’ ”

#Sebastian Stan #The New Yorker #Interview #The Apprentice #Ali Abbasi #A Different Man #Aaron Schimberg #mrs-stans

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hotvintagepoll · 9 months ago

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Propaganda

Anita Page (Our Dancing Daughters, The Broadway Melody, Our Modern Maidens)— She's as stunning as you'd expect someone once dubbed "The Girl With The Most Beautiful Face In Hollywood" to be, but what makes her stand out for me is the sweetness of her features. She comes across as very genuine.

Jean Arthur (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Easy Living, The Talk of the Town)—Always found the best facial expression and the perfect line delivery, so nailed the transition from silent film to talkies (her voice is CRAZY btw- high and overly sweet but also so gravelly she's like a breakfast parfait), then went on to dominate roles in multiple genres well into her 50s. Such a great personality both onscreen and off, and to our end pulls off 'gorgeous,' 'sexy,' and 'cute' all at once (in a word: hot!)

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Anita Page:

Linked gif: https://www.tumblr.com/mtonino/705233953976713216/sidewalks-of-new-york-1931-zion-myers-jules?source=share

Linked gif 2: https://www.tumblr.com/mydailyvintagephotos/691699343097511936/remembering-anita-page-on-her-birthday?source=share

Jean Arthur:

i had to submit every movie of hers ive seen so far because 1) shes GORGEOUS. 2) extremely gifted with comic timing and delivery and whats better than a confident beautiful woman that makes you laugh. and 3) seems to effortlessly blend wit emotion and logic in her performances in a way that sometimes is just so... it tells you as much about the other characters shes interacting with as it does her own (see this clip from mr smith)

youtube

Adorable and sultry with a voice that went from urban smartass to sounding, as director Frank Capra described it, more like tinkling bells than a voice has a right to sound

jean arthur wearing bucksin trousers and a little hat in the plainsman was fully my queer awakening. i love that woman so much. she has defined calamity jane for me. also she is adorable and heartbreaking and SMOKING HOT in deeds like everyone needs to experience her, she's everything to me

She's a chameleon, rocking any hair colour and any style, any mood and any genre. And she's got such a fine, captivating smile!

Truly amazing talking voice, like eating pop candy. Played wise cracking gals with hearts of gold. Once got arrested for trespassing because she went to console a dog that was being mistreated. Angel. Star. Baby. Winner!

#jean arthur #anita page #hotvintagepoll #ladies 1 #fuck that old woman #Youtube

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musical-theatre-encyclopedia · 2 years ago

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Watch "Larry Kert--Maria, West Side Story, 1982 TV" on YouTube

youtube

❤💛💚💙💜😍😘😻💖💕Valentine's Day Playlist😽💝🌹😙💋💌💓💞💘😚

#Maria #west side story #stephen sondheim #Larry kert #Broadway Plays Washington #Kennedy center #valentine's day 2023 #Youtube

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psycheetamore · 6 days ago

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DNA SEXIEST MEN alive // AUSTIN BUTLER (Aug 2024)

Transcipt below

This Oscar-nominated actor (for Elvis) knows the impact he has on anyone who looks into his eyes. They emit a primal flirtatiousness that weakens the knees. You can see it when he crosses a red carpet to talk to a young journalist, or in the behind- the-scenes footage of his Interview magazine shoot in which he seductively opens a tin of cat food. He brings a you-want-me-and- I-may-want-you vibe. But beneath that deep, well-wielded sexiness is an ambitious actor who wants to be taken seriously. What has helped Austin graduate professionally is that he's stopped trading entirely on his looks, which, ironically, has only enhanced his sexiness.

First cast at 14 as Zippy Brewster in Nickelodeon's Ned's Declassified School Survival Guide, Austin spent the early years of his career batting his eyelashes, purring, flirting and smirking in The Carrie Diaries, and lounging naked in a bathtub in The Shannara Chronicles. [PeA - bathtub??? Naked??? I need to see this]

In 2018, he dyed his hair black and appeared on Broadway opposite Denzel Washington in Eugene O'Neill's bleak, five-hour masterpiece The Iceman Cometh. The New Yorker's Hilton Als review said, "Although there are many performers in The Iceman Cometh, there is only one actor, and his name is Austin Butler." That's probably a bit of a reach considering the cast, but Hilton Als is only human.

Since then, Austin has appeared in Tarantino's Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (blond), played Elvis (black), is in Masters Of The Air (blond again), the second instalment of Dire (no hair at all) and The Bikeriders (dirty blond), through which he swaggers, mumbles, and broods with the confidence of a sex symbol and a proper actor. - By Matt Phillp.

Link to DNA magazine

#dna magazine #austin butler #amazing actor #sexiest man alive

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justforbooks · 2 months ago

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James Earl Jones

American actor hailed for his many classical roles whose voice became known to millions as that of Darth Vader in Star Wars

During the run of the 2011 revival of Alfred Uhry’s Driving Miss Daisy in London, with Vanessa Redgrave, the actor James Earl Jones, who has died aged 93, was presented with an honorary Oscar by Ben Kingsley, with a link from the Wyndham’s theatre to the awards ceremony in Hollywood.

Glenn Close in Los Angeles said that Jones represented the “essence of truly great acting” and Kingsley spoke of his imposing physical presence, his 1,000-kilowatt smile, his basso profundo voice and his great stillness. Jones’s voice was known to millions as that of Darth Vader in the original Star Wars film trilogy and Mufasa in the 1994 Disney animation The Lion King, as well as being the signature sound of US TV news (“This is CNN”) for many years.

His status as the leading black actor of his generation was established with the Tony award he won in 1969 for his performance as the boxer Jack Jefferson (a fictional version of Jack Johnson) in Howard Sackler’s The Great White Hope on Broadway, a role he repeated in Martin Ritt’s 1970 film, and which earned him an Oscar nomination.

On screen, Jones – as the fictional Douglass Dilman – played the first African-American president, in Joseph Sargent’s 1972 movie The Man, based on an Irving Wallace novel. His stage career was notable for encompassing great roles in the classical repertoire, such as King Lear, Othello, Hickey in Eugene O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh and Big Daddy in Tennessee Williams’s Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.

He was born in Arkabutla, Mississippi, the son of Robert Earl Jones, a minor actor, boxer, butler and chauffeur, and his wife Ruth (nee Connolly), a teacher, and was proud of claiming African and Irish ancestry. His father left home soon after he was born, and he was raised on a farm in Jackson, Michigan, by his maternal grandparents, John and Maggie Connolly. He spoke with a stutter, a problem he dealt with at Brown’s school in Brethren, Michigan, by reading poetry aloud.

On graduating from the University of Michigan, he served as a US Army Ranger in the Korean war. He began working as an actor and stage manager at the Ramsdell theatre in Manistee, Michigan, where he played his first Othello in 1955, an indication perhaps of his early power and presence.

The family had moved from the deep south to Michigan to find work, and now Jones went to New York to join his father in the theatre and to study at the American Theatre Wing with Lee Strasberg. He made his Broadway debut at the Cort theatre in 1958 in Dory Schary’s Sunrise at Campobello, a play about Franklin D Roosevelt.

He was soon a cornerstone of Joseph Papp’s New York Shakespeare festival in Central Park, playing Caliban in The Tempest, Macduff in Macbeth and another Othello in the 1964 season. He also established a foothold in films, as Lt Lothar Zogg in Stanley Kubrick’s Dr Strangelove (1963), a cold war satire in which Peter Sellers shone with brilliance in three separate roles.

The Great White Hope came to the Alvin theatre in New York from the Arena Stage in Washington, where Jones first unleashed his shattering, shaven-headed performance – he was described as chuckling like thunder, beating his chest and rolling his eyes – in a production by Edwin Sherin that exposed racism in the fight game at the very time of Muhammad Ali’s suspension from the ring on the grounds of his refusal to sign up for military service in the Vietnam war.

Lorraine Hansberry’s Les Blancs (1970) was a response to Jean Genet’s The Blacks, in which Jones, who remained much more of an off-Broadway fixture than a Broadway star in this period, despite his eminence, played a westernised urban African man returning to his village for his father’s funeral. With Papp’s Public theatre, he featured in an all-black version of The Cherry Orchard in 1972, following with John Steinbeck’s Lennie in Of Mice and Men on Broadway and returning to Central Park as a stately King Lear in 1974.

When he played Paul Robeson on Broadway in the 1977-78 season, there was a kerfuffle over alleged misrepresentations in Robeson’s life, but Jones was supported in a letter to the newspapers signed by Edward Albee, Stephen Sondheim, Arthur Miller, Lillian Hellman and Richard Rodgers. He played his final Othello on Broadway in 1982, partnered by Christopher Plummer as Iago, and appeared in the same year in Master Harold and the Boys by Athol Fugard, a white South African playwright he often championed in New York.

In August Wilson’s Fences (1987), part of that writer’s cycle of the century “black experience” plays, he was described as an erupting volcano as a Pittsburgh garbage collector who had lost his dreams of a football career and was too old to play once the major leagues admitted black players. His character, Troy Maxson, is a classic of the modern repertoire, confined in a world of 1950s racism, and has since been played by Denzel Washington and Lenny Henry.

Jones’s film career was solid if not spectacular. Playing Sheikh Abdul, he joined a roll call of British comedy stars – Terry-Thomas, Irene Handl, Roy Kinnear, Spike Milligan and Peter Ustinov – in Marty Feldman’s The Last Remake of Beau Geste (1977), in stark contrast to his (at first uncredited) Malcolm X in Ali’s own biopic, The Greatest (1977), with a screenplay by Ring Lardner. He also appeared in Peter Masterson’s Convicts (1991), a civil war drama; Jon Amiel’s Sommersby (1993), with Richard Gere and Jodie Foster; and Darrell Roodt’s Cry, the Beloved Country (1995), scripted by Ronald Harwood, in which he played a black South African pastor in conflict with his white landowning neighbour in the 40s.

In all these performances, Jones quietly carried his nation’s history on his shoulders. On stage, this sense could irradiate a performance such as that in his partnership with Leslie Uggams in the 2005 Broadway revival at the Cort of Ernest Thompson’s elegiac On Golden Pond; he and Uggams reinvented the film performances of Henry Fonda and Katharine Hepburn as an old couple in a Maine summer house.

He brought his Broadway Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof to London in 2009, playing an electrifying scene with Adrian Lester as his broken sports star son, Brick, at the Novello theatre. The coarse, cancer-ridden big plantation owner was transformed into a rumbling, bear-like figure with a totally unexpected streak of benignity perhaps not entirely suited to the character. But that old voice still rolled through the stalls like a mellow mist, rich as molasses.

That benign streak paid off handsomely, though, in the London reprise of a deeply sentimental Broadway comedy (and Hollywood movie), Driving Miss Daisy, in which his partnership as a chauffeur to Redgrave (unlikely casting as a wealthy southern US Jewish widow, though she got the scantiness down to a tee) was a delightful two-step around the evolving issues of racial tension between 1948 and 1973.

So deep was this bond with Redgrave that he returned to London for a third time in 2013 to play Benedick to her Beatrice in Mark Rylance’s controversial Old Vic production of Much Ado About Nothing, the middle-aged banter of the romantically at-odds couple transformed into wistful, nostalgia for seniors.

His last appearance on Broadway was in a 2015 revival of DL Coburn’s The Gin Game, opposite Cicely Tyson. He was given a lifetime achievement Tony award in 2017, and the Cort theatre was renamed the James Earl Jones theatre in 2022.

Jones’s first marriage, to Julienne Marie (1968-72), ended in divorce. In 1982 he married Cecilia Hart with whom he had a son, Flynn. She died in 2016. He is survived by Flynn, also an actor, and a brother, Matthew.

🔔 James Earl Jones, actor, born 17 January 1931; died 9 September 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #James Earl Jones #in memoriam

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desmon1995 · 13 days ago

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Lin-Manuel Miranda: How His Work Mirrors Where We Are as a Society (and Where He's Been as an Artist)

So, Lin-Manuel Miranda . The man hardly needs an introduction at this point—he’s the face of musical theater for so many people, especially outside of typical Broadway circles. His work, from In the Heights to Hamilton to The Warriors, has this uncanny ability to reflect the times we live in, both as a society and, often, as a deeply personal commentary on his own evolution as an artist. And like clockwork, his big releases have often dropped right before critical U.S. elections—almost as if he’s intentionally or unintentionally influencing the conversation ( Hamilton technically came out an entire year before the 2016 election, can you get the idea)

To really get into this, let’s start at the beginning with In the Heights. It wasn’t just another musical—it was Miranda’s response to the toxic cultural and political climate of the early 2000s, a time when the Bush administration and mainstream media were all too comfortable promoting xenophobic narratives about Latinx communities. Latinos were often portrayed as lazy or as criminals—a threat to the so-called “real” America.

In the Heights tore down that facade by giving us Washington Heights: a vibrant community where people were simply living, dreaming, and struggling with universal, relatable problems—chiefly, the looming threat of gentrification by the very people who claimed to be disgusted by them. Miranda was saying, “Here we are, unapologetically existing, and our stories deserve to be seen.” It was a powerful counter to the era’s narratives and marked the beginning of his rise as a “Broadway guy.”

Then came Hamilton, and it changed the game. The musical theater scene in the 2010s was still mostly white, with producers often playing it safe to avoid “rocking the boat.” Miranda blew that boat right out of the water, putting a majority POC cast in colonial garb and re-imagining the founding fathers through hip-hop and R&B. Suddenly, the nation’s founders were embodied by people who looked like the folks kept on the sidelines of Broadway. Hamilton didn’t just break down doors—it crushed them, and LMM took his cast with him into the limelight. People were forced to acknowledge the contributions of POC not only to theater but to the founding of the country itself.

But as Miranda’s fame exploded, so did the critiques. On platforms like Tumblr and Twitter, people started questioning aspects of Hamilton, pointing out the musical’s liberal optimism and the sometimes one-dimensional portrayal of its female characters. Miranda’s status as a model minority was both a blessing and a curse—he was the guy, but he was the guy, always expected to carry everyone’s expectations of diversity and inclusivity. Even in marginalized spaces, there was some annoyance that he was often the first (and only) one called on for high-profile projects when so many other talents from his community remained overlooked.

Fast forward to The Warriors, a concept album that dropped right before the critical 2024 election, and we see a very different Miranda. This time, he partnered with the leftist creator Eisa Davis, and together, they crafted something that feels much more raw and socially aware.

One of the biggest differences between Hamilton and The Warriors is in how they handle female representation. The critiques about Hamilton’s female characters—especially the sidelining of complex women like the Schuyler sisters—seem to have influenced The Warriors, which features an entirely female cast with a range of personalities, appearances, and backgrounds. Each character is given the space to be fully realized and nuanced. There’s Cleon, a large, fierce woman who’s both the matriarch and leader of the Warriors. She’s tough yet compassionate, the glue holding this group of wildly different women together. Then there’s Swan, Cleon’s co-leader, who’s aloof and stoic on the outside but deeply vulnerable and loyal beneath her hardened shell.

Two especially interesting characters are Cowgirl and Ajax. Cowgirl is easygoing, unabashedly lustful, and fully herself. Her sexuality isn’t seen as a flaw; it’s just part of who she is. Ajax, on the other hand, is cantankerous and boasts a nonconformist, aggressive edge that would typically cast her as the “antagonist” or rival. But here, she’s just allowed to exist—her roughness doesn’t make her less part of the family; in fact, it makes her stronger.

And then there’s Mercy, who’s had to sleep around to survive and is initially met with hesitation by the Warriors. But here’s the kicker: it’s not about slut-shaming. They’re wary because Mercy is an outsider, not because of what she’s done to survive. Mercy becomes a reversal of Hamilton’s Maria Reynolds, with a more compassionate look at the complexity of ordeals that women have to endure to survive.

The evolution of Miranda’s work goes deeper, though. Where Hamilton had a clear enemy in the figure of King George (and the absurdity of colonialism as a backdrop), The Warriors confronts something grittier and closer to home. The villains are more sinister, more reflective of today’s issues. We have Luther, a dangerously angry man who weaponizes his societal privilege to sow chaos—a character who hits close to home in 2024’s social climate. Then there’s the police, depicted as ruthless enforcers of an oppressive state, mercilessly cracking down on anyone they perceive as a threat. Finally, the American government itself is hinted at as the ultimate, faceless villain—represented by the boroughs and conditions that force these women into a life of struggle and resistance.

It’s also impossible to ignore Eisa Davis’s impact here. Her influence helped push Miranda into a more conscious, radical space, and it’s clear in every beat of The Warriors. This isn’t just a musical; it’s a raw, unfiltered reflection of an America where, for many, the dream has shattered. The system has failed the Warriors, and they know it. Unlike in Hamilton, there’s no bright-eyed optimism or “let’s make it work” mentality. This is survival in a system that’s fundamentally broken.

It’s funny, though. The Warriors was written years ago, yet it feels like it was tailor-made for 2024. It’s proof that, yes, you can teach an old dog new tricks—and that even the most famous names can still evolve with the times if they’re willing to listen, to change, to get uncomfortable.

Maybe that’s the lesson here. It’s easy to pigeonhole Miranda as the Latinx, non-white face of Broadway and expect him to always cater to everyone’s expectations. But Miranda’s story shows us that growth happens when artists are allowed to wrestle with their critiques, collaborate with new voices, and dive deeper into the messiness of reality. And maybe that’s something we can all take away—to challenge ourselves, to learn, and to evolve with the times.

#lin manuel miranda #warriors musical #broadway #eisa davis #hamilton musical #election 2024

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