Brunette Ambition (6 page)

PATIENCE

In
Fiddler
, besides playing the part of Daughter #4, I was the understudy to the much larger role of Daughter #3 (the first three daughters had the lion’s share of lines, while Daughter #4 and Daughter #5 said very little). As an understudy, you have to be prepared to go on every night, though going on rarely comes to pass. And that’s hard, because you want to play that role all the time but have to hang out in the wings and watch someone else do it instead. I really loved and respected Tricia Paoluccio, the girl for whom I understudied, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t challenging to not be in the spotlight—opposite Alfred Molina, no less—every night. As was my luck, Tricia
never
called in sick. The one time I got to go on was when she was on vacation. I was so incredibly nervous that I doused myself in lavender oil to calm my nerves; while I was sitting on the side of the stage prepping myself to go on, I heard someone exclaim, “What the hell is that smell?” I turned to them and apologized, and they said, “You smell like a tea bag!”

AS AN UNDERSTUDY, YOU HAVE TO BE PREPARED TO GO ON EVERY NIGHT, THOUGH GOING ON RARELY COMES TO PASS. AND THAT’S HARD, BECAUSE YOU WANT TO PLAY THAT ROLE ALL THE TIME BUT HAVE TO HANG OUT IN THE WINGS AND WATCH SOMEONE ELSE DO IT INSTEAD.

Ultimately, I left
Fiddler
because as nice as it was to collect a paycheck, I wasn’t getting enough out of the experience creatively—I needed to grow and stretch my muscles a bit more. The character of Daughter #4 didn’t have much of an arc, and as an actor, it started to feel a little dull—I was anxious to take on more.

The Broadway revival cast of
Fiddler on the Roof
.

Me in my Shprintze, aka Daughter #4, costume.

SPRING AWAKENING (2000–2008)

LESSONS LEARNED: CONVICTION AND EMOTIONAL HARDINESS

CONVICTION

Immediately after
Ragtime
, I auditioned for a role in a workshop for a new play called
Spring Awakening
. A workshop is pretty much exactly that: Before a play can get the investors it needs to make it to Broadway, the creators put up a production to massage out all the play’s kinks. The script morphs, the actors come and go, and the play ultimately (and hopefully) finds its footing. We did four workshops for
Spring Awakening
over the span of five years (from age fourteen to nineteen for me), until it finally landed an off-Broadway run in New York City in 2005.

That was a big moment, since we’d all invested a huge amount of time and energy into seeing the show get off the ground. At that point, it was
already
a profound part of my life. When I got the call that we had made it to off Broadway I was in the hospital with my mother, who was recovering from surgery for uterine cancer. Needless to say, it was a very emotional day.

And it was emotional, too, because I believed wholeheartedly in the show. I always had a feeling about
Spring Awakening
. It was such a unique and powerful piece, and the character I got to play was so strong and unusual.
Spring Awakening
is about children exploring their sexuality in Germany in the late nineteenth century. My role changed considerably from when I did the workshops at age fourteen (kissing and innuendo) to when I was nineteen (full-on simulated sex), to the point that I eventually got a Post-it in my dressing room that simply stated, “We should see your breasts,” from the director, Michael Mayer. I was excited to do this, quite honestly, because I loved challenging the people in the audience who found it uncomfortable. I did have a clause in my contract, though, that I never had to do it when my dad was in the audience.

Besides the subject matter, the music was
incredible
. Duncan Sheik wrote it (I still have the CD of him singing all the songs, which was delivered along with the original script), and it sounded like a cross between Radiohead and the Beatles. While
Rent
had broken some ground, this really was a completely new sound for Broadway. Funnily, at my audition, they asked me to sing a pop song, but I was a musical-theater kid—the only song I knew was Jessica Simpson’s “I Think I’m in Love with You,” which I had heard on the radio. Thanks to my years on
Glee
, I know a lot more pop songs now!

We opened in 2005 to great reviews, which wasn’t surprising since we had a cast of really talented kids: Jonathan Groff, Jon Gallagher, Lauren Pritchard … the list goes on and on. And like with
Glee
, which we’ll talk about in a later chapter, the show rode entirely on the backs of those kids. One day, when we were in tech rehearsal, which is when you run through the play again and again and again to set the lighting, I was sitting up in the balcony of the Eugene O’Neill Theatre with Lauren Pritchard watching the goings on. She turned to me and said, “Lea, what are we going to do if this show doesn’t make it?” and then was promptly called to the stage to do one of her songs, which was a really beautiful number called “Blue Wind.” I sat up there and I watched her, and I got chills. When she came back up to the balcony after, I looked at her and I said, “Lauren, if you do that every night, we’re going to be just fine.”

And we were more than fine. While we opened the show in a tiny church in Chelsea, we were soon on Broadway and eventually found ourselves the stars of one of the season’s biggest success stories. In many ways, it was the perfect training ground for
Glee
, though on a much smaller scale, and like with
Glee
, those kids in the cast became my best friends and, essentially, my family. It wasn’t just a showmance—our bonds were very real.

EMOTIONAL HARDINESS

If you haven’t seen it,
Spring Awakening
is a very intense play to both watch and perform. What we went through on that stage was very, very hard and emotional, and it called on all of us to dig deep eight shows a week. Spoiler alert, but the character I played, Wendla, is young, precocious, and strong, and over the course of the show she goes through a lot. There’s a very intense beating scene, there’s a very intense sex scene, and ultimately Wendla dies from a botched abortion at the end of the play. It wasn’t easy stuff. There were days when I really didn’t want to go there emotionally; drawing upon those feelings every night so I could make Wendla come alive was truly exhausting. But doing that show again and again gave me stamina, and it taught me how to really access my emotions. I was going through a lot of personal stuff at the time—I was in a relationship that had its ups and downs—and so to do the show, I had to put that aside. That was an important lesson: No matter what, the show must go on. There are 1,100 people who have paid to see you perform, and you have to do your best. If the turmoil in my daily life wasn’t something that I could harness and use on the stage, then I left everything that was going on in the dressing room. I could never afford to let it affect the show in a negative way.

IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT,
SPRING AWAKENING
IS A VERY INTENSE PLAY TO BOTH WATCH AND PERFORM. WHAT WE WENT THROUGH ON THAT STAGE WAS VERY, VERY HARD AND EMOTIONAL, AND IT CALLED ON ALL OF US TO DIG DEEP EIGHT SHOWS A WEEK.

IN SHORT …

Spring Awakening
won eight Tony Awards and a Grammy, which was pretty amazing validation for the work we were doing. And it was perfect prep for what came next. We’ll talk more about
Glee
, but it’s safe to say that I never would have landed that role without all the work of the years before—both onstage and off—which really taught me the skills I needed to succeed in the business. And quite frankly, probably in any business. In
Les Misérables
, I learned the basics of having and holding a job; in
Ragtime
, I learned a ton about acting, as well as teamwork and being accountable for doing my part well; in
Fiddler
, I learned that you don’t always get what you want and sometimes must be patient; and in
Spring Awakening
, I learned how to balance my personal and professional lives and really dig deep to access my emotions. I know that I don’t have the typical day job, but I hope—and think—that these are skills that are pretty easy to apply to
any
type of career. Ultimately, it’s about being part of a team, learning on the job, and always trying to do your best.

OWNING YOUR ACCOMPLISHMENTS

We live in a world of self-deprecation, and while it’s healthy to make fun of ourselves from time to time, it bothers me when I see women of all ages belittling their accomplishments because they don’t want to appear boastful or overconfident. You don’t see a lot of guys out there underplaying their strengths or making light of what they’re good at, so why should women? While I get that there’s a fine line between owning your accomplishments and reciting every line of your résumé, there is absolutely no shame in being proud of what you’ve managed to achieve! Own it!

The Other Things I’ve Learned Along the Way …

FAKE IT ’TIL YOU MAKE IT

When my dad is asked if he can do something, his standard response is, “Sure I can do it—of course I can do it!” regardless of what the “it” might be. As I mentioned, my dad
hustles
. Like father, like daughter, because I’ve done the same thing my entire life—sometimes to my detriment. I auditioned for the musical
Brigadoon
and after I sang for Rob Ashford, the director, he stopped me as I was leaving the room and asked, “Lea, how’s your extension?” I had no clue what he meant, so just responded, “It’s great!” He then asked me if I could do the splits, to which I replied, “Of course!” I couldn’t do the splits, but I wasn’t going to shoot myself in the foot unnecessarily. I figured I’d just muddle my way through. A few weeks later, I had a dance callback for the show, and I couldn’t do any of it: I thoroughly embarrassed myself in this room full of ballerinas who
did
have incredible extension. They were leaping across the room in perfect arcs, while I looked like a skit straight out of
Saturday Night Live
. It was hilarious but still worthwhile: I just don’t believe in admitting preemptive defeat, particularly if there’s any chance to learn on the job. Inevitably, I wasn’t cast in the show, but at least I didn’t limit myself. I always think it’s better to scramble to learn a new skill than to sell yourself short.

FREQUENTLY ASKED FAN QUESTIONS

Your burning questions about the business, answered!

Q
HOW DO YOU DEAL WITH AUDITION NERVES?

A
I prepare for auditions probably as much as everyone else prepares for a job interview. Ultimately, so long as I do my best in the room, the decision about whether I get the job or not really isn’t up to me, so to ease my nerves (I still get very, very nervous prior to auditions), I try to control as much about the experience as possible. By that I mean that I’ve researched the role, read the script, gone to see the show (if the show already exists), picked my music, practiced my music, practiced my lines, printed my music out, and figured out where the audition is and exactly how long it’s going to take me to get there. I leave nothing to chance. Ultimately, the more I know what I’m going to do when I get into that room, the less nervous I tend to be. That way, when audition day rolls around, I can stay calm and focused, knowing in the back of my mind that I’ve done everything humanly possible to prepare.

Because I’ve crossed all my
T
s and dotted all my
I
s, on the day of the actual audition I keep things calm and light. I get up, get ready, and go. And I try to keep things calm and light in the room, too, so that if something does go wrong, it’s easier to laugh it off and move forward. I’ve had auditions where I’ve completely forgotten my lines—it happens to everyone. The best thing to do is to make something out of it and make them laugh: They’ll certainly remember you! And if you don’t get the role, don’t despair. There will
always
be opportunities, and there will always be more auditions.