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After the Lights Fade A few months back, I was fortunate enough to be cast in a production of “Last of the Boys” at a small Equity theatre downtown. One of the most wonderful perks you have as a working actor is a feeling of community. Most actors love and support their fellow actors because they know it’s a business that can wear down the most talented actor, even those with “successful” careers. The rule rather than the exception is that they don’t work for months at a time. They audition time and time again and often are not hired. The competition is fierce but, as an old friend of mine once told me, “Jack, even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.” You get lucky. I’ve been a professional actor most of my adult life and nothing beats performing in front of a live audience. Film is ultimately a director’s medium. Television is the writer’s craft, (just witness the pablum networks are pushing as the writers strike drags on). Ahhh, but the stage. The stage is where the true actor shines. With no special effects to distract you, reshoots or post-editing to cover your mistakes, the actor stands naked (sometimes literally) in front of an audience, where hopefully your talent, intelligence and humor will create a three-dimensional, living, breathing character. You are Dr. Frankenstein and Frankenstein alike. When a show works and all pistons are firing, it’s the ultimate rush. The response from the audience is electric, immediate, and on a good night, if the stars align and the actor, director, and playwright breath as one, something special is created. It’s allusive at best. It’s hard work, but at the end of the day what you are trying to do is make art. And so you begin. Acting. Spencer Tracy is credited with saying, “Know your lines, don’t bump into the furniture.” Sage advice and not a bad place to start. Know your lines inside out, backward, forward. Be prepared. Do Stanislavsky proud. Do justice to the written word, respect the playwright’s intentions, collaborate with the director, give and take the scene with your fellow actors. Acting is reacting, listening, communicating, making choices, thinking on your feet and then trying to forget it all and just be. Cardinal rule number one: “Never let them see you acting.” It’s a slippery slope yet one we go back to time and time again. It’s in our blood. It’s got to be! Why would we do it otherwise? It’s long hours, mediocre money and sometimes less than adoring critics. My wife reminded me of a quote the from Irish playwright Brendon Behan: “Theatre critics are like eunuchs in a harem, they see it every day but never participate themselves.” But I digress. In Stephen Dietz’s “Last of the Boys,” two veterans’ friendship has stood the test of time since they served together in Vietnam, and through unpredictable circumstances the past is beginning to catch up to them. The play is a fascinating character study that speaks to America’s situation in the Middle East by revealing the lessons still to be learned in Vietnam. Or so it would seem. Both men are dealing in their own way with the aftereffects of heinous war crimes committed thirty years ago when these men, now in their fifties, were children in their teens. Both characters now show signs of posttraumatic stress syndrome. The play deals with loss of innocence and how each character chooses to deal with or ignore his personal demons. In the late sixties, early seventies, it was erroneously known as shell shock. Today we know better. Or do we? I can’t help but think this fictitious character I portrayed then are the soldiers I see now every night on the six o’clock news half way around the world. Will they be the walking wounded in 2035? When will we ever learn? During the final week of the show, a group of fifty Vietnam vets were invited to a Wednesday evening performance. That week coincided with Veterans Day. There was a brief question and answer with the actors and a Readjustment Counselor from the Philadelphia Veterans Center to follow immediately after. The actors would field a few questions about their take on the show, discuss the directors choices, why the author chose this topic, etc., etc. When the inevitable comparison of Vietnam and Iraq was suggested, many of the Vets took exception. Iraq was most implicitly not part of their equation. Vietnam was their war. They owned it, they wore it like a tattoo, they still wanted their stories told and don’t you dare compare them with the troops in Iraq cause “Brother, you were not there.” As each of those soldiers filed out of the theatre, every one of them stopped and thanked me for my performance. I was grateful. I was humbled. I was up on stage trying to get it right for these guys. But after the curtain call and the lights fade, I meet up with friends for a bite and a drink. I go home. I forget about it. Until the next night. There will be other parts for me to play and soon these monologues, these painful words, will fade from my memory like a childhood poem. Not these guys. They will never have that luxury. They’re still living it, I’m just playing it. Peace be with you. Jack Hoffman
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