Oct 4, 2021 3 min read

You always hear about great comedians who become great actors, like Robin Williams, Eddie Murphy, and Whoopi Goldberg. I will never be one of those people. I could become a great comedian, but I could never become a decent actor.

I will never win an Academy Award, not for Best Actor or Best Supporting Actor. Heck, I’m probably too old to win an award for Best Boy.

Side note: The Best Boy is a job title. He works with the gaffer (the head electrician and chief lighting technician).

Additional side note: Don’t Google “Best Boy” without adding “film crew” or you’ll end up in a naughty place.

But I digress, like I do. I used to picture myself on stage at the Academy Awards delivering my acceptance speech. I can’t be the only kid who stood in front of a mirror with a hairbrush in hand, thanking my friends, family and all the “little people.”

My awards speech was as pathetic as my acting.

I remember when I was in high school drama class and I recited King Arthur’s soliloquy from “Camelot,” when he learns his wife and best friend are … um … enjoying the lusty month of May. It was perfect. I did it with an English accent. I sounded just like Richard Harris. I even captured his gestures as I moved about the stage (that was the hard part).

Afterward, my teacher, Mrs. K., said, in her best Barbra Streisand imitation, “That’s great. Now try it with your eyes open.”

Yes. I moved about the stage, reciting the lines in an accent with my eyes shut the entire time. I’m lucky I didn’t fall off the stage and die.

The thing is … I couldn’t do it with my eyes open. With my eyes closed I could see the words on the paper; with my eyes open I just saw the world around me. It was a great memory technique but it had no practical application in theater. I could play the blind man in “Young Frankenstein.”

Over the years, I overcorrected. When I have a good hand playing poker, my eyes open wide, like a cartoon skunk who’s just met the black cat with an unfortunate white streak of paint down her back. My friends tend to fold as soon as my eyelids disappear into my head.

A few years ago, I was in a play at the Fringe Festival. I was surrounded by a cast of talented actors. I played a hockey coach who didn’t want a girl on his team. I wore a track suit and had to chomp on a cigar. The small audience (all 17 of them) thought it was great that I chose to portray the sexist coach as a bug-eyed maniac.

Little did they know that all of my characters would have to be portrayed as bug-eyed maniacs. I’m guessing there are not a lot of roles for actors who don’t blink.

The greatest thing I’ve ever done on stage was leave it. Exit stage right.