As a Mother’s Day gift, I bought tickets for my mom and I to see MJ the Musical in July. We both grew up, in different times and ways, deeply engrained in his music. Putting aside all personal opinions of the man himself, as well the substance of his story and what would or wouldn’t be shared on Broadway, we both knew one thing: the star of the show needed to be fantastic. His dance moves, mannerisms, and voice would need to capture the essence of one of the most distinct performers ever. So when Myles Frost, star of MJ the Musical, won the Tony Award for Best Leading Actor in a Musical just a month before our ticket date, we were just ecstatic. As lifelong theater lovers, there is nothing better than securing early tickets to a show, only to have reviews and awards confirm you’ll be in for a treat.
But when we took our seats at the theater, I noticed the ill-fated slip of paper inside of our Playbill. Understudies. I can’t say I was surprised. These years have been anything but certain. Whether dealing with flights, dinners, or shows, we all now come to expect a bit of what if roulette. I mean, come on, we saw one of the last performances of the Rockettes before they shut the whole operation down. Armed with all my reasonable expectations, though, I still was not prepared to stomach a blow as big as this. The understudy was for Myles Frost. Michael Jackson. MJ. The Musical.
Is this a joke? A nightmare? Bury me under the seats of the Neil Simon, I am dead, I am over it. Fuckkkk matinees! Maybe because spending time with my mom allows me to be my most primitive childish self, or because it was 100 degrees that day and my endocrine system was malfunctioning, I was spiraling via text and mouth. Patrons around us grumbled with disappointment, a common denominator amongst the cast of characters we were.
When I did theater in high school, we didn’t have understudies. We had two casts, presumably to give more teens a shot at hyperlocal stardom, but also in case one crapped out, the other could step up and the whole show wouldn’t be ruined. Still, I never got my turn. Always a lead dancer dressed like a harlot, always a bridesmaid never a bride (except my cameo as Yankee Doodle’s wife in the Celebrate America Revue). I was robbed more than once, my heart shattered with each post of the cast list. If there were lessons to be learned, they were lessons of disappointment, resilience, and putting on your big girl pants and showing up when you’d rather be crying to Dashboard Confessional. All very dramatic but also on brand.
I’ve felt more akin to an understudy in my professional life. You can’t suck to be an understudy—you have to be great, and despite years of glowing reviews in various roles, it never felt like my time was even close to arriving. Achieving an objective level of success without seeing a clear pathway to leadership is a common theme among millennial women. The more seasoned I get, the less faith I have in institutions that cannot show me what that looks like. But alas, I put my head down. I did the job. I waited in the wings for others to see me. To hear what I have to say.
Aramie Payton. That was his name, but by the time he was done with the first song, he was MJ. He wasn’t just the actor in the musical but felt like Michael Jackson himself; every note, every flick of his hand. He was phenomenal. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t stop smiling. He received a crowd-rousing ovation, and I just felt so privileged to see him. I’m convinced he was as good, if not better, than the Tony winner would have been.
In the days to follow, I thought about him a lot. When your time isn’t all the time, when your time might be never, it’s difficult to exist in that space. You’re so close. You’re right there. Doesn’t your hunger just build and build? How can you stay ready without losing your mind?
Because you must. You are so damn close that any moment could be the one before it’s yours. When you get your chance, you perform like you may never get to again; not because it’s true, but because you’ve waited so long you want to show everyone what they’ve been missing. You want to give it everything you have.
It’s painful to exist on the cusp. Your patience will wane at a perpetual yellow light. I feel like I’ve been inching closer to something for years—not on a stage, but in my life. To something I can give my all. Witnessing Aramie succeed reminded me to stay ready and stay inspired, because the moment could be anytime. It could be now.
Always accepting show recommendations in the NYC tristate area! Email me: averagejoelle3@gmail.com.
The little things
I turned 37 last Tuesday and had this very supercharged week, like a regular week but better: dinner in another town, drinks and lunches with girlfriends, many gifts of Sancerre, lots of FaceTimes, and a very special omakase at our sushi spot that’s been takeout-only since the pandemic. I’m feeling incredibly grateful for all the people who went out of their way to make me feel loved.
Our Tiny Rebellions will be on summer holiday until the girls are back to school in September. I’m planning to use the time to be present with them and give my mind some space. I’ll still be writing, though, so if you ever have suggestions for future issues, please don’t hesitate to reach out.
Also
I adapted the last issue of Our Tiny Rebellions into a heartfelt piece for Insider. I really seem to have triggered R0bErt068385 by vaccinating my kids, but hey, you can’t win over everyone.
Check it out!
Your wins
My mom nominated herself for doing a cannonball at the pool solely for her granddaughter’s amusement. WTG, Rah Rah!