Talk Back: Through a Glass Darkly

As I zigzag across the country on this wonderful journey called the Roundabout Theatre Company national tour of Twelve Angry Men, I often think of how I am the least angry of anybody in the cast. It is as simple as this: I am lucky to be alive.

Like many people, I was trapped in the world of alcohol and drug addiction. I remember sleeping off my morning buzz behind a Dumpster at a ramshackle bar in Connecticut, only to dust myself off and stagger back to my barstool in time for happy hour, dirt still in my ears. I would finish off the night with a desperate monologue that was drowned out by the jukebox.

"Good one, Mikey," someone would say. "See you on Broadway."

Like relatively few, I escaped that nightmare. And every day on this tour, I think of how fortunate I am. By the time we finish, we will have performed more than 500 times and visited nearly 40 cities.

A few weeks ago, we learned that we were invited back to Toronto. When I think of the city, I remember the beautiful Princess of Wales Theatre, where the standing ovations thundered throughout the hall. I think of the stately Old City Hall or the CN Tower or the Hockey Hall of Fame. But my most indelible memories are of the 12-step meetings I went to in Toronto and the people that I met there.

There was a great meeting on St. Clair where I met Sean and Mort, who would be my mentors while I was in town. Then there was the Tuesday meditation meeting where I was able to appreciate the virtue of stillness. And the Saturday-morning meeting on East Bloor where I was asked to share my story, and I carried on well past the 15-minute time limit, nearly forcing one of those Oscar moments when the music starts playing to cut off a long-winded speaker.

For a guy who lives one day at a time, specific dates stand out. I was hired for the tour on Sept. 5, 2006, as an understudy. No one at Roundabout knew me then. And if they had any idea of the doubts that were in my head, chances are they would have passed on me completely. But a positive reference from a director who knew I had cleaned up my act got me in the door and bolstered my confidence. And I was thrilled when I was hired as an understudy.

On Jan. 14, 2007, I got my first crack at performing in this show, when Juror No. 10, played by Julian Gamble, stepped aside that Sunday afternoon in Louisville, Ky. I had watched him assiduously over the first four months and learned a great deal about stagecraft from a true pro. "You're ready," he told me. That show went well, and I celebrated with a steak and an iced tea. Less than three months later, on April 1, I celebrated five years sober at a Sunday-morning meeting in Hollywood, then raced off to the Ahmanson Theatre for a matinee.

On June 1, 2007, when we were retooling for the second season of the tour, I got the call that I had been cast full time as Juror No. 1. And now, having just celebrated my sixth anniversary, I have more than 175 performances under my belt and about another 60 to go. Like most actors, I can't help but think about what's next, but I know that that will somehow spoil the fun. So I resolve to take in the sights, inhale the smells, and keep drinking the Maxwell House at the meetings in the church basements along the way. The distance from the Dumpster to the stage is a long one; the distance back is considerably shorter.

I try not to spend too much time wondering why I've been so fortunate. I just thank whoever is listening up there and I vow to do my best. The star of our show, Richard Thomas, has a habit of saying before a performance, "Have a great night in the American theatre."

Indeed.   

-- Mike Boland

Comments

[MK Piatkowski]

I just wanted to say that this is a beautiful and honest piece, and to let you know that we're looking forward to having you all back at the POW to finish the tour.