by Mario Lopez
• • •
There are times when you have to be choosy in life and be careful not to overextend yourself. In show business if you do too much, you can also run the risk of becoming overexposed. But when I turned thirty, I resolved to start saying yes to opportunities from all quarters. Saying yes becomes a magnet for more opportunities, as long as you work hard and pace yourself. So the first thing that came along was The Bold and the Beautiful.
What did I say? “Yes!”
Doing soap operas is hard. You’re given a great deal of dialogue to memorize every day and then entire scenes are shot in one take, maybe two. And it’s all happening at a lightning pace. It’s like doing theater but with an abnormal amount of dialogue, no rehearsal, and at a really fast tempo. There are some great actors who work in soaps, who hone their craft daily by making all those soapy plotlines feel both real and emotional. Just what the doctor ordered for me at the time. Unfortunately, I had only a one-year deal because they didn’t know what to do with my character at the end of my contract, so they just didn’t bring him back. He simply disappeared. I was bummed. Fortunately, I’d gotten an opportunity to do another show on the heels of that soap ending: Nip/Tuck with Ryan Murphy.
“Yes!” I was stoked. A brilliant writer, director, and producer, Ryan Murphy has done Glee, American Horror Story, and big feature films like Eat Pray Love with Julia Roberts. Shortly after my year on the soap, he offered me a really cool role on Nip/Tuck that a lot of people had auditioned for: Dr. Mike Hamoui. My character was supposed to make one of the lead doctors on the show jealous, because the guy I was playing was younger and smarter, not to mention slick, and in better shape. It was the first time I would be naked on film. And in a shower scene with another man in a locker room setting, no less. We were standing there completely naked. Real naked. No loincloth or sock to cover our privates. No banana leaf. Nada.
During production, it wasn’t a quick flash of nudity either. We shot for almost eight hours. I was wet for that long too, because we were in the shower. I’m surprised I didn’t catch pneumonia.
The other guy was Julian McMahon, and you get to know a guy pretty well when you stand next to him naked for eight hours. We were oblivious to our state of undress after an hour or so. Kind of like in a real locker room. My character turned into a recurring role, through a few seasons, which gave me an opportunity to do some work that was really cool, edgy, and hip—and to be associated with a phenomenal show.
My dating life didn’t suffer, but I was trying to say “Yes!” slightly less often to complicated relationships while putting down the pedal on work, my boxing regimen, and the ideas of developing myself as a brand, as Dick Clark had encouraged me to do. If that sounds like I was becoming a monk, I’d better correct the record. It’s just that I accepted that there were advantages to being unattached.
During one visit to Las Vegas in these years, when I happened to be in town just blowing off some steam, I unexpectedly crossed paths with a certain mega pop star—who shall remain nameless. The surprise and spontaneity of meeting was strangely not what normally happens in Hollywood. Basically, we had friends in common in Vegas, and I, in party mode, found myself talking to her, enjoying getting to know her as a person. Soon we started with a few drinks, and then, well, both of us being single, there were more drinks, and a lot of laughing and then dancing and more dancing before we threw caution to the wind. As they say, one thing definitely led to another.
That was the night when I was reminded of the advice my cousins used to give about not drinking too much if there was the potential for being amorous on a given night. Unfortunately, I remembered this wisdom too late. And, damn. My cousins were right. From then on I preached the gospel: when out with the ladies, don’t drink too much because you never know when you’ll be called to duty. Ultimately, in this scenario, I can report that I prevailed, faculties restored—so to speak—even if I wasn’t at my best or exactly up to my own standards. But I mean, what are the odds that the one time my cousins’ advice turned out to be right happened to be the same night I had my chance with a most desirable pop star? All in all, though, we had a fine time and she was completely awesome. And better yet, she and I retained a friendship that made us both feel good whenever our paths crossed again after that.
What is it about dancing that is so powerful? Well, judging by the next series of unanticipated opportunities, I’d say it’s not one thing—it’s everything.
• • •
In the spirit of saying “Yes!” in 2006—right after I started my four-year run as a recurring guest star on Nip/Tuck—I did not say no to the ABC casting folks who had been after me to do Dancing with the Stars. This was now the third time that they had approached me. I had always turned them down for a number of reasons. For one, I didn’t like the clothes the contestants were wearing—they seemed a little over-the-top and cheesy even. For another, ballroom was not necessarily in my wheelhouse. Sure, I had a little bit of rhythm and had been known to pick up choreography quickly, so I was confident in my skills, but I still wasn’t feeling it.
A concern, as I discussed with my agent and manager, was that if I was trying to develop my bona fides as a host, it might blur the lines to be seen as a contestant. That was me trying to think with my brand-conscious hat on.
But when they asked me this third time, my mother, a devoted fan after watching Dancing for its first two seasons, decided to play the mom card. She loved the show that much.
“Mijo,” she said, “listen. They asked you again—please do it. You’ve got to do it.”
Again, my agent and manager were less confident and didn’t think it was the right time. But the timing was right in the sense that my other gigs weren’t in high gear. And as I thought about it, my instincts kept countering with, “Why not?” Plus, mothers do know best.
On Dancing, audiences get to see you as a person as well as a TV personality. Instead of working against my brand, I realized that this was a most advantageous platform for letting audiences get to know another side of me—including that competitive former wrestler turned amateur boxer. Could I move? Sí! Could I dance? Sí! Could I even win? We were about to find out.
Industry hubbub claimed celebs did the show for one of two reasons: to reveal their charisma and distinct personality or to whip out their best dance moves. My feeling is that the first reason is risky. No matter how lovable your personality, if you can’t dance, viewers would criticize you anyway. Nor is the contest about athleticism; it’s about the dancing—and, of course, being in shape enough to do the moves. So fitness is a plus, but the keys are rhythm, passion, and technique. Certainly, I had the rhythm and passion in my DNA. On technique, I could hope to remember the fundamentals—enough not to embarrass myself.
After much ado, I told my mother that, yes, I was doing the show for her. Once again her positive instincts prevailed, as only the next weeks would reveal.
In the show the celebrity contestants are paired with seasoned ballroom dance professionals. The producers chose to pair me with a charming Russian girl from Ukraine by the name of Karina Smirnoff, like the vodka. This was her first season on the show and, very much like any contestant, she didn’t quite know what she was getting into. An incredibly talented dancer, she was new to the pressure of TV, an entirely new animal for her. Karina embraced the philosophy of “Fake it till you make it” and soon thrived on the show, thanks to who she is—smart, worldly, well traveled, and very funny.
We got along right off the bat and we made a great pair, as viewers seemed to agree. When I first met Karina, I was stopped in my tracks by her dark features and exotic beauty. We had instant chemistry when we danced. We learned our routines with ease and came out of the gates killing it. As the judges said on the show, we were one of the strongest dance couples they had seen to date. After our cha-cha, judge Bruno Tonioli said to me, “I’ve never seen hips move like that. It’s like you’ve got a b
attery pack in your pants.”
Karina and I had the highest scores every single week. All of a sudden, I was deluged with massive public attention like I had never experienced. What? Before long, my face was on the cover of all these magazines and I was making the rounds of the leading talk shows. I couldn’t believe how many Americans were fans of the show. It was awesome and sometimes overwhelming.
Truly, though, my run on Dancing with the Stars allowed me to bring all sides of myself to the fore, as a performer and as just me. Being myself on camera and showing millions of viewers what I’m about was liberating. Yep, I could now admit, I was a mama’s boy, which was why I was doing the show—for my mother and for the family values I cared about. Up until this time, all of that history of being straight outta Chula had been obscured. Now it was part of my public image. Viewers responded with appreciation that I also had nothing but the utmost respect for my partner. I think anytime you have an opportunity to be in front of thirty million people, you’re going to make an impression on them. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad, but you can’t help but leave a lasting impression if all those people are staring at you week after week. Fortunately, for me, it was a positive imprint.
Karina and I continued to lead in the scoring all the way to the end of the competition. I was working my butt off, training really hard to be the best dancer on that show. The finale came down to two pairs, my team versus Team Emmitt Smith. A football icon, Emmitt Smith was not only the NFL’s all-time leading rusher, but he had also played for America’s team, the Dallas Cowboys. Emmitt’s partner, Cheryl Burke, had started to pull out the stops as we came down to the wire.
This was not a smoker, nothing like getting punched in the face in the ring. It wasn’t like boxing at all, nor was it like being out on the one-yard line with Emmitt Smith. If it was like anything, it was akin to having a final audition in front of thirty million viewers and knowing that the winners would be determined by popularity more than any measure of their dancing skills.
Ultimately, the majority of voters gave the win to Emmitt and he was awarded the coveted mirror ball trophy—and more important, the glory. There is no way to sugarcoat the disappointment. A funny thing happens when you go all in, especially with the competitive drive in me and after the intensity of the training and the love we were shown by voters all along. At the same time, coming in second was nothing to apologize for. Regardless, the show completely changed my life from that point on. Later, after the first hundred episodes of Dancing with the Stars, the fans and judges voted on who was the top dancer of all time: I got number one!
I would forever be indebted, as if I weren’t already, to my mother. If it hadn’t been for her, I would never have done the show and none of us could have predicted the ripple effect that it would have on my career. This was a new day and a new dawn in programming after all, and no other platform at the time could have given me a viewership of that scope. The floodgates opened. First there was a savory network development deal, then a movie of the week for ABC Family that became the highest-rated holiday movie ever and still plays every Christmas season, Holiday in Handcuffs. I also got a pilot for CBS, which didn’t get picked up but was a chance to work with the great Sean Hayes (of Will & Grace fame, and so on) and the talented Todd Milliner, writer, producer, and actor. After Dancing with the Stars, I also received offers for spokesperson jobs and sponsorships, and continual appearance requests.
Along with a big thank-you to my mother, I also have to really thank my partner, Karina, because she was part of the magic. Oh, and the dance didn’t stop after the music ended. Once the show was over, Karina and I dated casually for the better part of two years. We were probably too much alike in some ways—two passionate, artistic types—and that could sometimes make for a volatile relationship. But we also had so much fun together, which was why we were together for so long. Ultimately, we were too combustible together to last and—contrary to rumors flying around toward the end—the truth is we both knew our cha-cha had taken us as far as we were meant to go.
The timing was also such that, at age thirty-five, I was about to receive yet another wild opportunity that came my way straight out of left field.
• • •
In early 2008, my manager, Mark Schulman, left me a message to call him back right away. When I did, the connection wasn’t great and all I could hear was “. . . Broadway.”
Mark Schulman, who bears an eerie resemblance to a cross between a young Billy Crystal and a young Jon Cryer—even though he’s convinced that he looks just like Mark Wahlberg—had for the last several years helped to organize my career. Mark usually gives it to me straight, but this time I had to make sure I was hearing him clearly. Had I just heard him say that I was up for a role on Broadway?
Mark paused and then matter-of-factly said, “That’s right.”
And not just any role—it was the part of Zach, the director, in one of the most iconic musicals in Broadway history: A Chorus Line. I was reminded of every dance recital and every school production and live theater piece I’d ever done. Being on Broadway was like that dream you didn’t dare acknowledge, because it’s like saying, “One day I’m going to climb Mount Everest.” “One day I’m going to be on Broadway” was now a dream within my reach.
You know the adage about good news traveling fast? Well, as soon as I accepted the offer to do a six-month run of the show, I was off and running, feeling both excited and nervous, and . . . moving to NYC.
Let’s start with the excitement. New York City! If you’ve got money in your pocket and a decent job, the city is your oyster. And as I was newly single, I was ready for a city that’s dating heaven. You can’t help meeting new people every day; the streets and restaurants are crowded with people everywhere you go. The city pulses with energy that’s like another world compared to my laid-back life back in LA.
I love the lack of artifice in New York. Everybody keeps it real. There are just characters everywhere. Besides their colorful swagger, New Yorkers are also passionate consumers of entertainment and culture. I saw that firsthand when the production put me up in a killer apartment smack in the middle of Times Square. The Schoenfeld Theatre was on Forty-fifth Street, only a couple of blocks from my condo.
Why was I nervous? Because this was like nothing I’d ever attempted before and everyone in the theater world knew it. The hit revival had been going strong since 2006 and the decision to bring me in to play Zach (as a replacement) was being called a fluke. It turned out that Bob Avian, the show’s director, had been talking to my agent about another actor who wasn’t available. So my name sort of came up as an offhand possibility. Bob Avian had seen me on Dancing with the Stars and followed his gut instinct that, as an actor, I could pull off the intense Zach. From what he had seen, he thought I could hold my own as a dancer and he knew from my earlier career that I had decent singing skills. Avian reported to all the entertainment press that he was so sure I was right for the part, he didn’t even audition me. True. But everyone in the Broadway community, supposedly unbeknownst to me, was holding their breath. Was I going to be worth the risk? I had to deliver and I made a promise to myself that I would.
From the minute I arrived at the Schoenfeld and saw all the backstage sights and smelled the accumulated atmosphere of almost a hundred years of theatrical productions, I felt at home. Everyone in the cast was a star. They were incredibly talented; everyone was a triple threat who could sing, dance, and act with a level of skill that was humbling. The same was true of the touring company of the show that was in rehearsal—which allowed me to get up to speed with them before I debuted as Zach. What a privilege and an honor to be among these pros as part of the Chorus Line family. They not only helped me raise my game but also validated me as a multifaceted performer, letting me know, “You got this, Mario,” and that I was up to par enough to hang with them. As we readied for the date when I would debut, the cast was supportive and compli
mentary.
But it was not a walk in the park. Those first few days learning the choreography I had flashbacks to Kids Incorporated when the choreographer barked at me for not getting it. However, Bob Avian and the rest of the production team had complete faith in me and never once showed concern, except that only made me more nervous. And that made me work even harder. The show had a grueling schedule. The play itself is intensely physical. You’re singing, you’re dancing, and you’re acting nonstop, and there are no intermissions. On top of all that, A Chorus Line ran eight shows a week with only one day dark. This was the big league and the demands definitely kicked my butt.
When the reviews came out after my April 15 Broadway debut, they were almost all raves. Even the snarkier theater reviewers gave me begrudging props, saying besides my performance being quite good that my energy was a welcome addition to the show. Of course there was tremendous excitement from everyone who had banked on me pulling this off. There were so many highs to come from this experience, but I have to say that when some of the cast and I went for drinks at Joe Allen’s to wrap up my first week with the show, I felt that I’d made the rite of passage—I belonged.
• • •
As you probably know about me and how I was raised, I would never shirk from hard work or from the reality that one should always strike while the iron is hot. So whenever hosting opportunities came up that I could do while I was in New York, I would make the time, no questions asked. Besides, most of the media centers were within walking distance of the Theater District. And then, to complicate my life further, about halfway through my run on Broadway, I landed a great hosting gig on the new MTV show America’s Best Dance Crew, which the fans called ABDC. It was a hot show, very popular on MTV, and a great opportunity to keep my hosting career pumping. To make it all happen, I had to take a red-eye once a week back to LA. I would land in LA, do the show, and turn around and come back to New York on another red-eye. The timing was orchestrated so that I would land and head right into my first show—we had two shows on that day of the week, as it happened. So I was living on virtually no sleep. Whoever knew whomever at the production levels, they managed to arrange a police escort to get me to the condo or the airport because time was so tight. I don’t know how they worked out the presidential treatment, but without it I wouldn’t have been able to juggle it all. Back at my condo, I would lie down for an hour, get up, do a matinee, go back to my place, try to take another little nap, and have to perform the show again that night. Just as I was catching my breath, the week would fly by and I’d do it all over again. This went on for weeks.