Theater Geek

by Mickey Rapkin

  The exercises were so hokey. I didn’t get in to many of his advanced acting classes. I was too young. But I went to one. You had to close your eyes and walk around this crystal paradise, and you had to be very careful. It was out of A Chorus Line. I felt nothing.

  You were in the Our Time Cabaret. What do you remember about playing the hotels?

  I remember that there were a lot of old people in the audience. Some were barely paying attention. You know at the end of a musical number when you have to freeze, and you’re struggling to remain frozen, but you want the audience to see how out of breath you are? I was down center, close to the lip of the stage. This woman leaned over and said, “You’re doing a wonderful job.”

  Were you much of a singer?

  Kids would teach me the harmony, but I’d go back to the melody. I couldn’t be bothered remembering the harmony. Michael [Larsen, a Stagedoor director] would scream at us. I wanted to be like, “I’m twelve! Melody is my thing!”

  What sort of lessons did you take with you?

  Really, what I learned was there was this loving community. It was culture shock to go back to the public school system. There was constant hugging and snuggling and affirmation at Stagedoor. There was none of that in the world I was used to. I really found this home in the theater community and fell in love with the community through Stagedoor. It was utopia. It was a place you could go and just be creative and be loved and perform—which is all the kids who go there want to do.

  You directed Natalie Portman—another Stagedoor alum—in Garden State. Did it surprise you that she’d been a Stagedoor camper? I mean, she’d already been working in Hollywood by the time she came to Stagedoor.

  I did tease her. I got a laugh that she’d already done The Professional when she went to Stagedoor. She wanted to become a better actor at that young age.

  You dated Mandy Moore. You’d both gone to Stagedoor—but not at the same time. Did you discuss your individual experiences? Were they similar?

  We were ten years apart. But both of us had such fond memories of camp.

  You went to the camp’s thirtieth anniversary together. What do you remember about that weekend?

  Mandy and I played shuffleboard. I remember making fun of Sandy Gaberman for checking out of Kutsher’s, because his wife refused to stay there because it was too disgusting.

  You met your first manager while you were a camper. That must have been thrilling.

  I was introduced to Jean Fox, who was a manager. She had a company, Kids and Company, and they would come up to Stagedoor to scout kids. I sang “Corner of the Sky” for her, which is the most over-sung song in the history of theater camps. And she signed me. There was no paperwork. But when I was back in New Jersey she started sending me out on auditions. My first audition was for Big with Penny Marshall. I auditioned for Oliver Stone for Born on the Fourth of July.

  Is it possible to pick a favorite Stagedoor memory?

  I played Judas in Godspell. I was, like, twelve. They dressed me in leather chaps with studs down the side. It was an all-leather outfit. The director’s vision was that I’d be covered with colorful bandanas tied around my legs. Little by little I’d lose a bandana here and there. At the very end of the show, when Judas comes to get Jesus, I entered from the back of the house. It was in the Barn and I slammed the door and the whole theater turned to me. And I remember taking my time—in silence—as I walked through the aisle up to the stage.

  It really was a powerful feeling. I’d made people laugh before. But that feeling of having earned the audience’s silence? I will never forget that as long as I live.

  I should probably ask: How did you do with the ladies at camp?

  I had my first kiss at Stagedoor—with the hot girl of the time—on a bench in front of the main building. She jammed her tongue in my mouth. It was scary, but in a good way. I was naϊve, in terms of sexuality. I’d hear stories of kids losing their virginity onstage at the Barn. I wasn’t old enough to get it.

  I hear that you suffered a great loss one summer: your hamster died.

  His name was Mr. Mistoffelees.

  Wait. You named your pet hamster after a character from the musical Cats?

  Yes, from Cats. Konnie [the camp’s associate producer] had to tell me that he died. My mom left his cage in a hot room in the summer in New Jersey and Mr. Mistoffelees was cooked. Konnie told me that my hamster had gone to hamster heaven.

  Is it possible to speculate about where you’d be if you’d never gone to Stagedoor?

  I’m not sure I’d be in entertainment. I guess I would have found my way into it. But Stagedoor brought me to Jean Fox, who introduced me to Manhattan. People ask me to talk to their kids about acting. I tell them, If you’re serious about it, go to Stagedoor. I wish they had an adult program. It’s so much fun to go away for six weeks. It’s not about fame or celebrity or money. It’s about loving to perform.

  6.

  Name: Bijou Phillips

  How you know her: Had a memorable role as one of the Band-Aids in Almost Famous with Kate Hudson; is the daughter of the late John Phillips of the Mamas & the Papas.

  Summers at Stagedoor Manor: 1991-95

  Memorable role: Potiphar’s wife in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

  You went to Stagedoor for—

  Stagedoor is heaven. It’s my favorite. It’s my favorite thing I’ve ever done.

  Apparently! How did you first hear of the camp?

  My dad found it. I went for five summers, for all three sessions.

  You must have been in something like fifteen shows, then.

  I was in every show. I did A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I did Murder Takes the Veil. I did Annie. I did Joseph. . . with Jon Foster.

  Yes, Jon Foster, the actor from that Jenna Elfman sitcom, Accidentally On Purpose. His brother, Ben Foster (so good in 3:10 to Yuma), also went to Stagedoor.

  Jon Foster and Ben Foster were so cute. Ben is such a weird, dark, amazing character. He was the same way then. He’d chase me around the pool with crazy eyes. He was so funny. Everybody went to that camp.

  What was your go-to audition song?

  I’d spend the entire winter trying to figure out what song I was going to sing.

  Really?

  That’s all I would think about! There was nothing else to think about. There was just camp. I auditioned with “Broadway Baby.” Or with Debbie Gibson’s “Lost in Your Eyes.” Or a Paula Abdul song. “Straight Up Now Tell Me . ..” I’d try to stay away from show tunes. Michael [Larsen, then the head of the casting committee] would be annoyed. But every kid did the same songs from Les Mis!

  Were you in the Our Time Cabaret, the camp’s elite troupe, which performed at hotels like Kutsher’s and the Raleigh? You must have been.

  I was. I sang the “Broadway Baby” solo. Performing at the hotels was pretty intense. You know, you’re ten or eleven and you’re so nervous. You get to the hotel and you think you’re going to crumble and die.

  And then?

  You stand up and you start singing—and half the people in the audience are falling asleep, in wheelchairs, or not even looking at you. You get a fire: I’m gonna make these old people love this. I’m gonna sing my heart out. You’re trying so hard to get these old people to look up from their Jell-O. We’d get back to camp at one in the morning. You’d pass out. And then you’d wake up early the next morning for rehearsal. Camp was exhausting. You’d need a massage!

  A friend of yours from that era told me that—to this day—you like to sing the songs from the Our Time Cabaret. True?

  Every time I see Drew [Elliott, a former camper] we meet up, I get drunk, and we literally perform Cabaret. We know all the dance moves. We know the songs. We do the entire show.

  You were very close with the camp’s original owners, Carl and Elsie Samuelson.

  I’d call them all the time.

  You’d call them during the winter. What might you call them for?

  I was going throu
gh a rough time at home. My dad had a liver transplant when I was nine. He was sick. He had cancer. I’d go and stay at Stagedoor for the whole summer. Being at home wasn’t great. Being at home was not fun. My dad was in and out of the hospital. When I was at home, I didn’t have an outlet where I could be in a play. At home, I spent the majority of my time getting ready for Stagedoor. What clothes am I gonna bring. Talking to my friends. “Let’s make sure we stay in the same room together.” It was just all-encompassing. I hope it never closes down.

  The funny thing is: You had such a close relationship with Carl and Elsie, but when push came to shove, they kicked you out of camp, didn’t they?

  My second to last summer I was really into boys. That was the year I was a little bad. I’d been bad at school, getting in trouble with my parents. I went back to Stagedoor for my fifth year. And that summer I robbed the canteen.

  What?

  I stuck my hand through the hole and gave candy to everybody. I got in trouble. This kid Evan acted as my lawyer to Carl and Elsie. I got off the hook.

  That’s it?

  I was experimenting with girls. I made out with this girl, and then she told everybody that I was gay. So I took her teddy bears off her bed and burned them with a lighter. She was really upset.

  I can imagine.

  The final straw was this: we were on the bus headed to the Orange County Fair, and I flashed the Camelotians.

  The who?

  The Camelotians. The youngest girls at camp. They lived in a building called Camelot at the time. I also threw a soda can out the window. All those things combined and so I got kicked out of Stagedoor. This was second session of my fifth year.

  You must have been disappointed.

  I was devastated. My dad’s friend came to pick me up. It was really sad. The beginning of the end in my life! Then I tried to go back to Stage-door the next year. They wouldn’t let me. They wouldn’t let me visit. They were so mean to me. I was really sad. I haven’t gone back since.

  That’s a shame. Can you quantify the Stagedoor experience? And what it did for you? It was clearly a formative time.

  I’m really lucky that I had that experience. Stagedoor opened me up. I’ve been acting and putting on plays since I was nine years old. Stagedoor isn’t like your school play. We had real sets, and real costumes, and everyone was really serious about what they were doing. They were hypertalented. You’re in this situation where you’re having to really do it, where most kids don’t get that opportunity in such a concentrated way. I’ve done low-budget films where you’re really hustling. But none of it will ever be as hard as Stagedoor. There isn’t a movie I could do that will ever tax me as much as a three-week session at Stagedoor.

  7.

  Name: Bryce Dallas Howard

  How you know her: Made her name in the New York theater scene by starring in As You Like It at the Public Theater; made her name in Hollywood starring in M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village, and later stepped into the role of Victoria in Twilight: Eclipse.

  Summers at Stagedoor: 1995-96

  Memorable roles: Helena in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, opposite Natalie Portman; Catherine in Pippin

  What do you remember about the first day at Stagedoor Manor?

  I grew up in Connecticut. I drove with my parents. And I remember distinctly: when I showed up, there were people tap-dancing and stretching in the halls. I’d been to academic camp at Vassar for two summers—

  Wait, what’s academic camp?

  It’s an institute for the gifted. It’s where nerds convene! It was a bizarre transition. I went from this group of nerds at academic camp to these extroverted performers. Everybody at Stagedoor looked so put together! They had their personalities already defined. And they were preparing their songs for the auditions. I didn’t know what to audition with. I’d done Little Shop of Horrors at school.

  Were you the star?

  No, I was the homeless lady in that play, and I’d had a one-second solo. I was like, “I’ll sing that!”

  What was your first Stagedoor show?

  I played Helena in A Midsummer Night’s Dream with Natalie.

  Natalie Portman, yes?

  She was brilliant. Side note: it’s a long play and she was completely off book within one week of rehearsals.

  There’s a great photo of the two of you from that show, dressed in costume.

  I remember taking that photo. When I look at it now, we were so young. But we felt so old! That’s the thing about Stagedoor: you grow up very quickly because you’re with kids who are extremely savvy. I joked about their personalities being defined, but they kind of are.

  Why is that?

  I think it’s because the people who go there are a little left of center, and they need to define their personality to feel grounded in the world. They didn’t quite fit in at their schools, for whatever reason. It’s like a camp of little grown-ups terrorizing one another. And it was fantastic. It’s funny: At the time, there were two pay phones in the lobby, and the entire camp had to wait in line to talk on the phone. Now, the impression I got from these kids was that they were worldly. They knew what they were passionate about. They were jaded about things in life. But I’d see them waiting to call their parents. And they’d cry when they didn’t reach them. I thought, “Oh! We are all kids!”

  Well, sort of. Theater kids. Stagedoor had an indoor pool. Did you ever use it?

  Once.

  Your father, Ron Howard, came to Stagedoor to see you perform. Were people handing him their head shots? Was there any of that stage mom mentality?

  There was some of that. I was very innocent and a bit naϊve. I remember there were mothers on the first day. They said, “Become friends with her, her dad will put you in a movie.” That’s been everywhere. But it was more heightened at Stagedoor. That energy is always weird. My instinct has been to retreat. Natalie was very protective of me. She told me, “Hang with this group. This group is very real. They’re not going to try to use you.”

  Natalie was already working in film at that point. Did the kids make a big deal out of that?

  This is one of the great things about Natalie. I found her to be very private about her career. Not in a secretive way. One time she had to go into the city to meet a director who wanted her for a project. We talked about it. I said, “How was it?” She explained it to me. But she didn’t make it seem overly precious. She was at camp. She was acting professionally, and going to a performing arts summer camp. Which seems counterintuitive. But she enjoyed it!

  I love that. You played Catherine in Pippin at camp. What was that like?

  I lost my voice!

  Really?

  We had to perform at Kutsher’s—a hotel near camp. This is a seminal moment for me. I have a tendency to be a perfectionist. I was the girl who always had the script with me. I can go deeper! I can do more! But I got sick and completely lost my voice. Within twenty-four hours, I had nothing. I went to the director and I was weeping. I said, “I don’t know what to do!” He said, “Honey, you have to act it. That’s all you have.” It was terrifying. And it took a lot of courage. And it’s the first time I can remember needing to tap into something real. Because I didn’t have my instrument. I couldn’t obsess about the quality of my voice, or my vibrato. I had to feel something. Before that, I’d memorize my lines perfectly and say, “It works.” But I’d never connected deeply with a moment of feeling or character.

  Wow. Had you been a theater geek? Did you have a lot of cast albums?

  I wasn’t. But Stagedoor Manor turned me. From that point on, I had Playbills up on the wall. Most teenagers in high school would sneak out at night. But I was going into the city to see Corpus Christi by myself.

  The Terrence McNally passion play? Where Jesus and the Apostles are gay?

  I’d go to the city to see plays by myself. That’s what I was into!

  You seem very down-to-earth for a Hollywood starlet. What did you make of the accommodations at Staged
oor? What did you make of the facilities?

  It’s funny. There’s so much pompousness in Hollywood, a place where, aesthetically, everything is pleasing. But there’s no content. It’s the opposite at Stagedoor, where there’s an abundance of content and no pretension. But the aesthetics . . .

  Funny. Your first summer at Stagedoor, you were rejected from the Our Time Cabaret, the camp’s touring troupe of talented kids. Were you upset?

  No, because I didn’t have any expectations.

  Really?

  That’s not unique to this experience. My dad is always stunned.

  Whenever I’m in a movie that bombs, I’m like, “It was a wonderful experience!” He’s like, “How are you not miserable?” But the competition and talent level at Stagedoor was high. I went in wanting to have a good time and make some good friends. And I did.

  8.

  Name: Mandy Moore

  How you know her: Has had a successful career in Hollywood, starring in studio films like Because I Said So (opposite Diane Keaton) and indies like Saved!; has sold more than 10 million albums worldwide as a singer-songwriter.

  Summers at Stagedoor Manor: 1996-97

  Memorable role: One of the brothers in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

  You grew up in Florida. How did you first hear about Stagedoor?

  I was a big theater nerd in Orlando. I’d heard whisperings at a community theater. It felt like an urban myth: there’s this camp in upstate New York for kids who love musicals. Stagedoor was this fantasy. I did my research.

  There weren’t many theater geeks in Orlando, I gather. What did you make of the first day at Stagedoor?

  The first day was chaos. I’d never been to camp before. You audition right away. It’s nerve-racking! Suddenly you are a small fish in a big pond.

  What did you audition with?

  I probably sang “Happily Ever After” from Once Upon a Mattress. That was my go-to song.

  What was your first show?

  The Utter Glory of Morrissey Hall.

  That’s a Stagedoor staple, but I’d never heard of it before I started working on this book.

  I think it played one performance on Broadway; they put the closing notice up during intermission. The next summer, I played one of the brothers in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. I sang “Those Canaan Days.” I got more out of it my second year. I was older. I was in the Cabaret troupe.