The Glass is Always at Least Half Full

I recently had an audition, which has become an event for me because I so seldom seem to get auditions. I don’t what it is, exactly, that seems to be holding me in this suspended forgotten state as a performer. Call it strange karma, a cyclical dip in my career, or just plain bad luck… but for someone who defines himself as an Artist, specifically as an Actor, this professional lull is sometimes hard to cope with.

So I had this audition for a television thing, and I went to the casting agency about a quarter of an hour ahead of my appointment. And, of course, the agency was running over an hour behind schedule… so I waited.

I was acquainted with a couple of the actors in the reception area. They were very nice men, with remarkably successful careers, who chatted breezily about being busy. One of them said, without boastful intent, that he was so booked with acting work that he was afraid of becoming jaded. He was now being more selective with what auditions he went to, and told us that he occasionally just drops off the grid for a week at a time, to re-charge his batteries, remind himself why he’s an actor, and re-align his goals. The other actor I knew is an especially kind man, who was being very entertaining and charming as he welcomed a newly arrived actor from the Southern States. He introduced this woman around the room, spoke glowingly of Montreal, and assured her that she’d thrive in her new city.

I chatted a little. I smiled the whole while. But with every long minute that crept by, with every optimistic word that passed anyone’s lips, with every reference to the variety of projects they were all involved in, I felt myself melt away, like something inside of me was being diminished. I felt a wave of panic wash over me. I couldn’t stop my mind from racing with doubts. I wanted to leave, but I also desperately wanted to let this agency know that the man they’ve long overlooked is a real actor, a good actor. -But if that was the case, why was my reality so different from the other men in the room, I wondered.

Finally, it was my turn to audition, and all I felt was dread. The lines that I knew quite perfectly before coming to the agency were now only sketchy, and I delivered them poorly. The casting associate running the session was kind enough to give me another take, remarking that I seemed distracted. So I tried to infuse the few lines with more energy and authority, and she was kind enough to notice the difference. But she asked me if I was sad. Of course, I denied the hot stew of feelings and thoughts that were, indeed, distracting and making me sad. No, I'm fine, really, I lied… and I apologized for being less than perfectly prepared for the audition. Again, kindly, the casting associate assured me that I’d done well.

For the remainder of the day, I resigned myself to my deep funk. Sometimes you just can’t or shouldn’t bother to fight sadness, as long as you do not allow it to completely overtake your heart and mind. Depression seems to smother the soul, so experience has taught me that it’s best to work on something fulfilling after one’s wallowed in a sulk for awhile. And, of course, it’s so important to count one’s blessings. With a little bit of perspective on any given circumstances, one can usually see that the glass of life is at least half-full. Mine certainly is.

I’ve had a remarkable career, albeit almost exclusively in the world of Musical Theatre. I’ve travelled the country and a good part of the world in some magnificent productions, often in leading roles. I have bowed before thousands of people at a time, and signed innumerable autographs… I’ve been on Mount Olympus more than once, optimistically hoping that I could hold on to some rocky patch of the sunny summit. But I’m just not so lucky, so I tumble down the side of that mythic mountain, pick myself up, dust myself off, and try to plan my next climb.

Back in the late 90s when Daniel Boulerice and I were working on our musical “AutoPortrait”, I imagined that I was moving into a new phase of my career. At that time, people still spoke of my role as Marius in “Les Miserables”, and while I was always flattered, I wanted them to know that there was much more to me than that one wonderful show. I imagined that I would be re-defined as the book-writer and lyricist of a beautiful new Canadian Musical. And so, funded in part by American patron-of-the-Arts Mr. Andrew Burroughs, the National Arts Centre of Canada commissioned our show. “AutoPortrait” (about the loves and art of Deco painter Tamara de Lempicka) was given a wonderful workshop treatment, featuring some of this country’s very finest Musical Theatre performers. I dare say I think we came close to being produced, but it was not meant to be. After several years of working on “AutoPortrait”, the disappointment of so near a miss, and the subsequent frustration of not finding a new producer for our work left me less-than-enthusiastic about endeavouring to write another mainstream, adult show for quite some time.

I didn’t stop writing, though. I was fortunate to write several children’s shows for the Turtle Island Theatre Company in Kahnawake, Quebec. And while my lines were seldom delivered as written by the young actors on stage, I was being produced, and that is a wonderful feeling. That basic validation is why any playwright puts pen to paper.

Then, I met Blair Thomson. He was musical directing a workshop of a new musical I was hired to be in, in which I played a German demolitions expert during World War II. One day, after being given a written note by the lyricist on how to properly pronounce “River Seine” (which he was attempting to couple with “grand design”), in mock exasperation I said that the man should look for a better rhyme rather than critique an actor for trying to make his poor lyric work. Blair laughed out loud and declared, then and there, that he would, one day, write a show with me. The rest, you might say, is history.

So now we have “The Virgin Courtesan”, and I wonder if this is going to be a turn in the road for me. After I rise up out of the cloud of feared failure and self-doubt, my absolute dread of mediocrity, I then take stock of who I am.

I’m Frayne McCarthy, who had a lousy audition, but who is a good actor in spite of it, a good singer, and part of the writing team creating another exciting new Canadian Musical. I’m surrounded by wonderfully gifted Creative Team members, and we’ve got a great cast to bring our work to life.

My past credits, my days spent on Mount Olympus as an actor, are fine accomplishments, but they are in my past. My present, though, is actually pretty great because it involves this exciting phase of shared creativity. And a work of Art survives the Artist. I hope I will become known as Frayne McCarthy who co-wrote beautiful musicals. My glass is overflowing.