Bottrell - WORKING ACTOR: breaking in, making a living, and making a life in the fabulous trenches of show ... business

By early 2009, Id already had my little taste of fame from Boston Legal. It had been fun at first, but after a couple of years of being tapped on the shoulder by fans at the dry cleaners, at the airport, or in the middle of lunch with a friend, it was getting old. There are only so many times you can enjoy being asked, Whats James Spader [or William Shatner or Candice Bergen or Julie Bowen] really like? All you can say is, Theyre great. The real answer probably should have been, I have no idea. Theyre probably just human beings like the rest of us, but honestly, I dont really know. We just shot a few scenes together. We didnt really hang out or anything.

Dont get me wrong. I dont mean to suggest that I didnt genuinely like my coworkers (I did!) or wasnt grateful and flattered that so many people stopped me to say they had appreciated my work. But turning to find an expectant stranger with a burning question about Lincoln Meyer was not as much fun as it had been two years earlier.

So when I turned around in Ralphs Supermarket on Sunset Boulevard that morning in 2009 to find an attractive sixtyish woman squinting suspiciously at me, I braced myself.

Are you an actor? she asked, somewhat pointedly.

Yes, I am.

I know you from somewhere

This wasnt the first time Id encountered this form of I know you from confusion, so I tried to be helpful.

Have you ever seen Boston Legal? I offered.

No, Ive never seen that show. What else have you been on? Her tone suggested that I was trying to trick her or something.

Ugly Betty ? I offered.

No.

Criminal Minds ?

I hate that show.

Castle ?

Nope.

iCarly ?

Never seen it.

Okay, Im sorry, I finally said, fearing that the frozen chicken I was holding was going to defrost before we found the answer. Ive been in a lot of stuff.

Were you in A Midsummer Nights Dream in Buffalo, New York, in 1985?

I almost dropped my chicken. YesI was, I stammered, utterly amazed.

And you were the guy who was in the play, the one they performed for the king! And you had to wear a dress because your character was supposed to be playing some kinda princess, right?

Yes, thats right.

And the dress was way too tight, and you couldnt sit down, but you kept trying to, for like a minute, right? she said, her excitement rising.

Her memory was spot-on. The dress bit was something I had suggested to the costumer, who had constructed a gown for me that was basically impossible to sit down in. Every night I worked that gag for a least a minute or longer, carefully wringing out the single longest continuous laugh Ive ever gotten out of an audience. It was utterly shameless, and also one of the most fun things Ive ever done in my entire career.

Im amazed you remember that!

Her face became strangely serious. I cant tell you how many times over the last twenty-five years I have laughed myself to sleep thinking about that moment.

I shook her hand and thanked her for her very kind words.

What I didnt tell her was that that exchange in the frozen food aisle was the single most profound moment I have to date experienced as an artist.

A lot of us go through our careers wondering if what we do matters. And to whom? And on what level does it matter? Is it just something we do because it feels good? Do we do it for love? Attention? To amuse ourselves? Are we striving for some sense of immortality? And what is the purpose of all this insanity anyway?

Its taken me a while to define what it is I do in this business (and why), but here is what I have come up with: I think I am in the mental health field.

I believe artists are the teachers and mediums of the world. We reflect life back to our audience, so that they can see what it looks like to take a stand, to fight the good fight, to survive a terrible turn of events, to lose gracefully, to surrender control, to hang onto what is worthy, to recognize what ultimately matters, or to laugh fully and deeply at the absurdity of our all-too-brief existence.

That conversation in the frozen food section of Ralphs was a great, great reminder of why our work is important.

If we do our job well, it doesnt really matter where we do it. It doesnt matter if we do it on screen with ten million people watching or in a church basement with four people in attendance. If we bring a little truth into the room, if were courageous, if we give our whole selves to the task and successfully pull off the tale we are telling, someone in that audience will remember it until the day they die. And that is what makes it worth all the effort. That is what makes it beautiful. That is what makes it art.

Most days I think Im pretty good at what I do, but Im not brilliant. I have been successful by my own personal definition of that word, and I have tried hard to never measure my success by fame or huge sums of money. Ive measured it in laughter. My own, and the laughter Ive been able to offer to others: my coworkers, my friends, and, of course, any audience who was willing to watch.