![[Welcome Basket]](../Graphics/HnlBaskt.jpg)
The Welcome Basket
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The Welcome Basket |
Certainly the biggest Day One to date. It could be day one of five, culminating in the shooting of the pilot next Thursday, and after a sip or two of champagne, that's all the world ever hears of the Hanleys, a nice little show that never made it onto television.
Of course, it could be day one of six episodes, if a small order is made for the show, possibly as a mid-season replacement, giving the show at least a small window of opportunity and letting the world catch a fleeting glimpse of the short-lived Hanleys.
Then again, it could be day one of thirteen episodes, if they like the show and give it a shot, but when it doesn't pull in the numbers they want or, in fact, need, it suffers the fate of many a show that had its moment in the sun but not enough time to get a decent tan.
And still, it could be day one of a full season of work, 22 episodes, an honest-to-goodness shot at making it, but just not enough steam to merit coming back for a second season, not enough momentum, not enough of that indescribable something that gives a show the promise of being a hit.
And let's not forget that there is a chance, a very outside one to be sure, just because history tells you it's so, but a chance nonetheless, that it is day one of many. Many shows, many seasons, many years. Could you imagine? That day one could have been today. I could have just lived through that very day one.
The other end of the spectrum? It could have been day one of one. My last day working as a Hanley could have been today. Extreme, yes, but in the world of pilots, not as far-fetched as one might think. I went to work this morning nursing a sore throat and battling laryngitis. I sat in the seat marked for "Rick" and all the ABC executives and Brillstein-Grey executives moved into position, the seats and bleachers facing the brand-new Hanleys cast. And I sucked on a cough drop and I sipped tea with honey and I tried to visualize my first line coming out sounding grand and eloquent and yet the vision kept morphing into gasps of air barely escaping my mouth as my eyes filled with fear and my expression to panic. Small beads of sweat form on my brow as I try to gain composure, swallowing hard, clearing my throat, desperate for some noise that vaguely resembles the human voice, and yet all my vocal cords can do is wave in the breeze that wafts from my now-constricting lungs. I collapse head-first in shame and embarrassment and just lie motionless as they recast Rick right there on the spot, only after which do they call in an ambulance to remove my lifeless body so they can proceed with their little table read and date with destiny. I shall be carried off to the nearest medical school training facility where my rigid corpse will be dissected by the very medical students that I could have studied with if only I had chosen a different path lo these many years ago. My fate would now be forever sealed as the scalpel cuts into the pale, cold flesh.
I tried not to think about it.
About thirty viewers gathered 'round to watch us sit and read through the new script. They each had a copy of it to read along, which I find annoying and detrimental to the whole process. Yes, we are sitting down reading, but we are also acting it out. They're reaction to the material would be much more natural if they just took it in directly from us. But you know, no one consulted me on this, so they all kept their scripts. My vocal fears were not realized to any severe degree. My voice cracked on a few lines and I could feel myself rushing other lines. In retrospect, I would imagine my reading today would not have gotten me the job, but I don't think it will be responsible for me losing the job either. Let's hope.
Still possible is the reduction of lines for Rick. I have experienced the benefits of re-writes during Encore! and the changing size of roles. I may have to suffer the disadvantages of a constantly evolving script during the following week. But that is not the same tragedy here. With Encore!, my role was confined to the pilot and thus its presence would be felt but once, depending on how many lines in the actual script were attributed to the Limo Driver. In this case, if the show gets picked up, my role in the pilot does not have to be huge because of the possibilities in future episodes. So, in fact, for the time being, size does not matter. Just gotta keep myself employed through next Thursday night. Of course, if the pilot does not get picked up, it wouldn't matter if the whole thing was just me performing a monologue. No one would see it.
So what else today besides all this craziness? The cast of regulars in great. The father is being played by Barry Corbin, a veteran of TV and movies and quite a spitfire. As his three children, there's me, of course, Jamie Denton as my older brother, and Kathleen McNenny as my older sister. They are both very talented and well-cast. The third generation is a thirteen year-old girl, Alex McKenna, who's fantastic, and two little boys, Trevor Einhorn and Scott Armstrong, who's scenes with the girl are some of the funniest moments in the show.
The premise of the show is that the father is a veterinarian. His oldest son is also one. But while the father has been a hometown vet for the past thirty years, the son immediately went of to Hollywood to become the "Vet to the Stars." They are highly competitive which makes the collapsing of the son's vet business so difficult. He has to admit to Dad that he failed. I live at home and our sister lives next door and takes care of us men. When our brother returns home to ask for money, he decides instead to move back home with his teenage daughter, the instant object of affection of her two male cousins next door. What do I do? Well, nothing really. I speak four languages, play five instruments, have three degrees, and I sit around the house most days just hanging out. And oh yeah, I think the show's really funny. I hope that's enough. We don't have the star power nor the crazy "aliens come to Earth" premise. We're just relying on the jokes here.
Let's see... other stuff... I did have my own parking space right up against the soundstage. That's a first. There was a basket of muffins waiting for me in my dressing room with a note from the writer and producers. Very nice. The doctor's physical went fine. It wasn't very thorough. I passed basically by not having any cold sores. (And my blood pressure was good-n-low: 110 over 60.)
We really didn't do much today after the table-read. Besides the physical and my turkey sandwich on a bagel, the director, Gil Junger gathered us around before dismissing a slew of people. His main thrust was that the powers that be want to see more conflict in the show. It's too easy for Tom to come home. It's too easy to ask for the money. It's too easy to decide to move back in. So those scenes need to be beefed up. As a result, major rewrites need to happen, so no use rehearsing anything today. Gil also warned that because of the Tom/Bud conflict, some of the other characters might suffer. "Rick, for example," he added, pointing to me, "I'm not picking you out, I'm just saying some scenes might be trimmed." Gulp. That was the fear. And I think I just received the warning to pick out a coffin. We'll find out this weekend when the new script arrives.
Everyone seems very nice so far. I spoke mostly with Jamie and a little with Alex's grandmother. My dressing room is very comfy. It's the real thing, dammit. It's hard to get it to soak in. This is the honest-to-goodness big-time job that I have dreamt about. And yes, many other things have to happen for it to pan out into a full-size deal, but I need to focus on how cool this is just for what it is at this level. (Does that make sense?) I think I'm spending so much energy trying to not get my hopes up that I'm not letting myself enjoy this for what it is. So starting Monday, with a new throat, and the old voice, and hopefully a couple of lines remaining, I need to relax and enjoy. This is a damn good thing.