WE DON’T NEED ANOTHER HERO A Journey through London Below by Richard Mayhew Understudy Bryan Bellomo.
Forgotten? Oh right… Should I meet you there then?
You’re already fifteen minutes late for meeting me at your flat.
Thus begins Richard Mayhew’s tale, the epic journey of a well-intentioned-albeit-running-late-to-the-party hero thrust into circumstances beyond his incapable reach. And due to circumstances beyond my incapable reach, thus also began mine, performing as Richard for the opening weekend of NEVERWHERE.
I, too, arrived late to the party. In truth, I hadn’t even intended to audition for NEVERWHERE. I was directing a reading at the time and producing a web series, and didn’t have a moment to even open the script until the first round of auditions were wrapping up. Given the community’s excitement about the show and their to-the-death feelings for Mr. Gaiman, I should have known better. Like Richard, I simply had no idea.
Kauzlaric’s adaptation stoked every whimsical childhood fire in me. There was adventure and love and heroism. And puppets. And there was Richard—hapless, hopeless, hopeful Richard—at the center of it all. So yeah, I’ll admit it. I did a little begging to get in. I wanted to audition for the Rat Speaker. I wanted Gary and Tooley. I wanted to play in the world. I didn’t imagine myself as Richard. Not at all, really.
Ummm, you’re calling me back for Richard? Richard. Richard… Mayhew? Really?!
And you are… Richard Mayhew? You’re the one who rescued our poor wounded Door?
Six weeks later I was still directing, still producing, yet now I was cast as Richard’s Understudy. The shock hadn’t worn off. I’d attended a small handful of run-throughs to make certain I wasn’t completely behind the 8-ball, or, you know, fired. Still, my script often slept near my bed, unopened. I wondered when I would be able to settle down and dig in to the behemoth. I was about to find out.
My telephone rang at noon on a Monday. It was our director, Scott Leggett. “Heyyyyyyyyy. Soooo. Listennnnn…” He sounded more than a touch stoned. Granted, it had been a long tech weekend for him, but still, I feared for his well being. Then he shared a very odd tale with me, and I began to fear for mine.
Scott wasn’t stoned. He was terrified.
Turns out, our beloved Richard (the sturdy and impressive Michael Holmes) had just booked a commercial—in London Above, the actual London, the real one, in Britain—and would be flying there for a week to film, and would be missing the first weekend of the show, and that as his Understudy I would be arriving in London Below in his place, and so, yeah, and what did I think?
And yes, this was communicated in one sentence. One long, sober sentence. And yes, this was one week before opening.
Hang on a sec. Back up. Mmmmm... this Ordeal of yours. How much of an Ordeal is it?
If you haven’t seen it (and you should), NEVERWHERE is two-hours and forty minutes on a freight train carrying 70 year-old TNT over a giant chasm heading towards a darkened tunnel inside a man-drilled mountain. It’s a thrilling, unstable ride, and Richard’s heroics are not only emotionally demanding but physically taxing. It’s a classic coming-of-age story and Richard is our central conduit for the audience experience. We see, feel, and experience London Above and Below through him. Or, as was dawning on me quickly, through me.
Now you have to understand something about Michael Holmes. Michael is a true leader in every sense of the word. His shoulders are broad, his shoes irreplaceable. His performance is wonderful, alive, and moving. Not only has he carried the show from moment one with creativity and empathy, but he is also kind, generous, giving, and works his ass off both onstage and for the production as a whole. He’s rather obnoxious, actually.
So throw out your SHOWGIRLS understudy fantasies, this is not the guy you’re going to club in the back of the leg to get on the stage. You’re going to elevate him, because he elevates everyone else. This is his role, and his show. He calls the plays. He sets the tone. So, what else could I do? I immediately called him.
I was very torn. Turns out, so was he. We shared an odd, genuine and supportive conversation, and it became clear we were both in for a thrilling journey. Two Richards, two continents, seven days, and one opening weekend. Michael was on his way to London Above and I was quickly speeding towards disaster in London Below.
Have you ever been marched to the gallows as they’re going to behead you with a guillotine? No? Well, neither have I. Yet at the theater that night everyone else around me seemed to understand this very well. Suddenly I was Sir Thomas Moore. Castmates placed reassuring hands on my shoulders, and with furrowed brows, thin voices and watery eyes, asked, “Is there anything I can do?” I looked at Michael. I could only think to respond, “Friend, be not afraid of your office. You send me to God.”
The work began. And by work, I mean for the next four days, morning, noon and night was NEVERWHERE. My day job was London Above, and all else was London Below. At the time I was familiar with about 30% of the show. My iPhone became Door, and Jessica, and Carabas, and Croup, and Vandemar, and Islington. I read the entire show into its microphone app then acted out all of the parts, eager to absorb every nuance of the characters and the tale. I didn’t just want to not fail, as was the expectation of those around me for me, I wanted my work to matter and Richard’s story to come alive.
If you’re not an actor, storytelling looks like magic. If you are, you understand that it is a yeoman’s profession, born out of sweat, guts and tears. It takes time, patience and fortitude. To accomplish something simple that you do in life, like picking up a newspaper, is incredibly complex to recreate truthfully on the stage. Yet the creative process can be highly pleasurable, even under duress. There is nothing more intimate than wrestling with a creative problem and arriving at a new, personal solution. Suddenly, your priorities are straight. Suddenly, you have an opportunity to make art.
And the more I invested in that work, the more my Richard began to reveal himself to me. He was funny, he was kind and protective, he was in way over his head, his heart was in the right place for the right reasons. He wanted something to be important, not just for himself, but for everyone he met along the journey. He wanted to be their hero.
Art was continuing to imitate life.
Now would be a very bad time to discover that one was bad with heights, wouldn’t it?
It arrived, as we all feared it would. Michael’s last day with us and my first day. It was exactly one week before opening. It was a long, laborious day at my job, and traffic was awful, and I was late. I was done for, really. So I smiled, I breathed. I took it all in. What else was there to do? Panic?
Here are some of the conversations I had in the preceding moments before the run:
Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?
It was a bizarre mix that seemed to work, overwhelm and gratitude. Like chocolate and bacon, it sounds gross but you just have to experience it. My Scottish accent in tow, in full costume and full makeup, we ran the entire damn beast without stopping. I stumbled, I kicked, I felt the sweat pouring off me. It was a blur mostly, a stimulus-induced bumper car ride, but I made it.
And I never called for my lines once. A victory.
Sure, I passed out shortly thereafter, and was immovably sore the next day. But I had twice as much respect for Michael after that run, and hatred, because only jerks make marathons look easy. And the next milestone had been reached. Scott affirmed it, when he flatly added, “At least we know Bryan isn’t going to suck.” Everyone knew he was right.
More importantly, the cast and crew relaxed from that night on. They respected that while I could never become Michael’s Richard, I could grow into Bryan’s Richard. It’s a testament to Scott’s leadership that he assembled an ensemble of artists so generous, open and devoid of ego, that even under the most unlikely of circumstances, no one flinched. What a group of pros.
Let’s face it. This circumstance, whatever it was and whatever it would be, had nothing to do with me. Or Michael, for that matter. Call it fate. Or The Universe. Or a hellishly bad joke. Whatever man. Michael leaves for London, to shoot a commercial over the opening week/weekend of a show that takes place in London, and ultimately stays at a place within walking distance of his character? While I’m living a real-life tale of a man displaced, turned around, and pulled from one life into another without much consent, forced to undergo a trial of epic proportions? If you wrote that in a play people would walk out.
Synchronously, that series of absurd events leading me to the stage helped us all transcend the moment. My ego left the building. It wasn’t about me at all. Where I would normally feel pressure, I felt liberation. When I might previously be so nervous as to break out in hives, I felt growing excitement to deliver. It could have been disastrous and instead developed into one of the great weeks of my life. Richard’s story was playing out as my own, not simply, not without trial, but quite perfectly because of its raw imperfection. We all triumphed over adversity, together.
With each run, I grew more comfortable, at ease, and confident. My Richard breathed. Acting instincts took over. Relationships deepened on stage, and more creative choices continued to reveal themselves. The brilliant cast transformed and embraced me through the final phase, and we began to play. Theater was fun again. The heart and the guts and the spirit returned and the show crackled.
And just in time to march towards the beast below, Opening Night of NEVERWHERE.
Go ahead and do your… thing.
You can assume the rest. Last Friday night we opened to a sold-out crowd. Then played again Saturday to a sold-out crowd. Sunday sure felt like a sold-out crowd, too. It felt like we all rose to the occasion. I did my best, stayed present, and enjoyed every second. And then it was done, and I released the show, back to Michael, back to Scott and the beautiful cast, back to Neil Gaiman and our ever-growing audience.
By all external accounts, the show was awesome. I don’t know. I remember that I trusted my fellow actors with my heart and received theirs back. It was hilarious and moving to me, which is a good sign. I went on a journey and learned of myself. And the accolades appeared genuine and meaningful. As Noel Coward says, “Everyone needs sugar.” So I’ll swallow mine.
That’s not what I will remember. Here’s what I will remember:
2. The rest of the cast did their work.
3. The director did his work.
4. The crew did their work.
1. When your attention is on giving of yourself and sharing in an experience, you know you’re on the right path.
2. Don’t ever meet someone else’s expectations. Exceed your own.
3. Make art this day, and be grateful that you still can. Have a blast making it.
4. Never deny the existence of forces that you will never understand.
I’ve taken up so much space here I won’t burden you much further. Go see the show already! Except I will share a personal story about my own dear Richard Mayhew, a man I’ve come to know intimately and love a great deal…
In the opening moments of the play, a dirty woman on a train steps up to him and says, “Give me your hand. I want to tell you your fortune.” I looked to Cassandra, the beautiful actress playing the archetype of the disheveled and forgotten, and wiped my hand quickly on my jacket before presenting it to her. The gesture, and the intention, is all in. It says, “Fuck it. Why not? Let’s do this.”
I loved that choice. It revealed to me the tenderness of Richard’s heart, and his willingness despite appearances to show up and play. Richard and I were whisked on a strange journey from that moment, one I will always remember. And now the next phase of that journey is Michael’s again. As of the time of this writing, he hasn’t officially opened his show yet. I cannot wait to see London Below through his eyes, the eyes of a new man informed by a whirlwind journey of his own through London Above these past weeks. I know that the space apart from the show will have deepened and crystallized his work in ways he may not yet even know.
Go get ‘em, Michael. Make us proud. And thank you, truly, for allowing me an epic hero’s journey. I hope I lived up.
