Early on in life, I heard somebody say, "If you want to make God laugh tell him your plans". Those words have reverberated through my mind and being, time and time again, sometimes in joyful bliss and sometimes through tears of agony, but always with the understanding that in life, such as in a great scene between two actors, the great stuff, the truly brilliant stuff--is the stuff we don't plan for. The stuff that happens to us that resonates so deeply, that, if we let it, will change the direction of our lives, or the scene. Such as that fateful day in 1991 when my roommate and I were expelled from the dormitory for, well, no other way to put it: smoking marijuana. Ok, pause. Hold it there. Yes, you read it right. We were expelled for smoking marijuana. And we were in the Jazz Studies program...anybody else see the fundamental problem with this...? But I digress...so here I am, South Texas boy in Boston with an extremely pissed-off dad just salivating at the thought of free-manual-labor-as-punishment for the summer. In Texas. Naturally, I couldn't let that happen. I soon found myself at the gig office looking through the various postings for bar mitzvahs, weddings, etc, for a gig, a job--anything that would help keep me out of Texas for a summer of making little lift-off tape ribbons for typewriters (8-track cassette player, anyone..?). As I turned to leave having made minimal progress, a stocky figure approached me with flyers in hand, "Hey, you a musician?". "Guitarist", I replied. "Sing?", he asked. "If I have to", I said. "I'm Rob", he stated. We shook hands and he handed me a flyer that read: "Actors/Musicians/Singers/Black or Hispanic, 3 weeks, $1,500", and walked away. My immediate thought: "Three out of four ain't bad."
That single event sparked a chain reaction that went on to shape my life in ways that I could have never predicted or even dreamed. Shortly after, with the support and help of stocky Rob, I booked my first acting job in an ABC After-School Special and was Taft-Hartley'd into the union. He also introduced me to Peter Kelley, who became the single biggest direct influence in my development as an actor, as well as my director in many theatre productions with his acting troupe, The Harrison Project. The following years would be filled with great discoveries, both personal and universal.
Like the moment I uncovered my rage. Ahhh. I remember the scene, I remember the exact moment. It was from Danny and the Deep Blue Sea (surprise, I know), when Danny chokes Roberta. It was an incredible release to no longer deny that part of myself, to accept it, and without judgement. And to let it out. Regularly. On the stage, of course...
Or the time I experienced LA for the first time with a commercial producer friend of mine at a Latino independent filmmaking convention held at Universal, where I met my first "working" TV and Film actors. I remember the excitement, the almost painful need to be a part of it all--so much so, that upon returning to Boston, I immediately began plotting my move to LA, which took place less than 30 days later.
Fast-forward a few years....
Ahhh, my first TV co-star on The X-Files as "Crackhead". A HUGE production. 3 blocks in Pomona were meticulously converted into a small town in Mexico--down to the "chamoy" candy that was being displayed in a storefront. Being new and nervous I decided, with the help of some of the most amazing make-up ever put on my face, to just stay in character the whole day. I didn't chat about, as crackheads rarely do. I didn't eat lunch, as crackheads are hardly with apetite. And I didn't take the shuttle back to base camp, which was 3 blocks away from set, because, well--crackheads mainly walk. So there I was, walking through 3 'real' city blocks in full "Crackhead" make-up. What I experienced in the next 10 minutes forever changed me. Before I move on, I want to express that I have always felt a certain level of protection from just being a citizen in this country--that my life matters and that it is of value to the rest of society. That 'feeling' was not only absent during my walk through Pomona, but was replaced by a palpable sense of 'danger' for my life. No one looked me in the eye, as if I didn't exist. I began to wonder if I even did. The only attention I received was from a police officer in his cruiser who very clearly wanted me out of the pretty picture that was Pomona. Luckily for me he kept on driving. I felt as if I could've been pulled into an alley, beaten to death, and nobody would've cared. The sense of being invisible to the world is a feeling that I will never forget. To this day, whether or not I give a homeless person money, I will ALWAYS look them in the eye and address them.
And one more that went deep...
The time on A LONELY PLACE FOR DYING, when I spent three uncomfortable, and even a bit painful hours awkwardly laying on cold concrete stairs of an abandoned prison shooting a scene where I, as Lt. Gilberto Solares have been shot, am dying and know it, and experience, in my final moments, incredible remorse for wrong, easy choices made, all as I say goodbye to a man I call a friend. After we finished shooting the scene, I was alerted that "Bishop", who was our tactical trainer and a beautiful human being; and who, himself, had done covert opps work, had abruptly left during the filming of the scene. About a half an hour later, Bishop approached me, extended his hand, I reached to shake it, he pulled me close to him, hugged the shit out of me, and whispered into my ear, his voice broken, like a dam that has burst and lost its structure, "Thank you. Thank you so much for releasing me." I said nothing, he held the embrace then continued, "A few years ago, I lost a friend in the same--I have not been able to cry for him until today. Thank you for that, Luis." I had nothing to say.
And one more that went deep...
The time on A LONELY PLACE FOR DYING, when I spent three uncomfortable, and even a bit painful hours awkwardly laying on cold concrete stairs of an abandoned prison shooting a scene where I, as Lt. Gilberto Solares have been shot, am dying and know it, and experience, in my final moments, incredible remorse for wrong, easy choices made, all as I say goodbye to a man I call a friend. After we finished shooting the scene, I was alerted that "Bishop", who was our tactical trainer and a beautiful human being; and who, himself, had done covert opps work, had abruptly left during the filming of the scene. About a half an hour later, Bishop approached me, extended his hand, I reached to shake it, he pulled me close to him, hugged the shit out of me, and whispered into my ear, his voice broken, like a dam that has burst and lost its structure, "Thank you. Thank you so much for releasing me." I said nothing, he held the embrace then continued, "A few years ago, I lost a friend in the same--I have not been able to cry for him until today. Thank you for that, Luis." I had nothing to say.
A great reminder of why we do this: to let others know they're truly not alone.
Bottom line...
Every time you play a character, you are walking in his or her shoes and honoring that human being's unique perspective and life experience without judgement. If you do it right, I believe you can't help BUT be changed, if only a little bit, and that a lifetime of these little, quiet, life-changing experiences can't help but produce a person who understands, but above all, accepts that as different as we are, we are one and the same. And that, to me, is a person worth becoming.
That is why I love this craft.
Thanks for taking the time to read this.
-Luis
