Steppin’ Out

JUSTIN GILLMAN FORGOES CAMP CLICHE IN FAVOR OF EURIPIDES, KUSHNER — AND HIMSELF

By Curtis M. Wong

A small crowd scurries down a darkened corridor inside Manhattan’s Riverside Church, searching for the light. Their footsteps echo softly into the gloom, past a series of interlocking rooms littered with dusty hymnals and glittery remnants of a Christmas craft fair held earlier that week. They are not parishioners, however, but members of a stage crew occupying the church’s 250-seat theater for the next week. With his usually shaggy, sandy blond locks severely slicked back from his forehead, Justin Gillman is seated on its stage in leather and combat boots, his angular, compact frame bathed in shafts of multicolored light.

After a sustained pause, Gillman jolts to life, and proceeds to creep, sneer, strut and even dance as Eteokles in “Phoenician Women,” the fall 2009 thesis production for Columbia University School of the Arts’ 17-member band of third-year graduate actors planning to confer next spring with their Master of Fine Arts degrees. Written by Greek tragedian Euripides in 480 B.C., “Women” focuses on the mythical conflict between Oedipus’ twin sons: the haughty, power-hungry Eteokles and the benevolent, though estranged, Polyneikes (played by Jon Luke), in their quest to rule the kingdom of Thebes after their self-blinded father has been exiled. As is the case in classical tragedies, neither of the brothers gets his wish and their sole attempt at a resolution erupts into a fiery holocaust.

As Gillman explains, the role of Eteokles demands an actor who “is grounded, deeply masculine and deeply righteous …this is a man who wants to fight, who wants to kill.” With that in mind, the casting choice seems bold, even a bit at odds with the sage, yet mischievous, choirboy demeanor Gillman exudes offstage – “It’s a bit like watching an 80-year-old, dying sumo wrestler play Juliet,” quips co-star Meera Kumbhani – which makes him seem more naturally suited for Polyneikes. However, “Phoenician Women” is in line with the Vacaville, California native’s body of performance art, marking a return to classical dramatic form (in which Gillman says he feels most at home) while seeing the actor tackle yet another multifarious lead role. At 25, Gillman’s repertoire includes convincing portrayals of tyrant, victim, hero and villain – extensive, daring work representing that of a modern gay thespian flourishing in a post-Ian McKellen, post-Neil Patrick Harris world, where an actor can competently play straight while simultaneously appropriating queer themes into their art with brass and panache.

Interestingly, the Riverside engagement is neither Gillman’s first time performing on holy grounds nor is it his first kingly role. At Community Presbyterian Church in Vacaville – a mid-sized, industrial city with a population of 96,375 about 45 miles northeast of San Francisco – an eight-year-old Gillman debuted as a star of Kids of the Kingdom, a Christian youth group that staged musicals like “Good Kings Come in Small Packages” directly inside the church’s sanctuary after Sunday services. In that 1992 production, Gillman played a particularly age-appropriate King Josiah, the Biblical ruler of Judea who came into power at age eight. Father David Gillman and mother Keri Mahaffey-Gillman saw their son’s participation as a way to make his studies of the Gospels more engaging, and encouraged his theatrical pursuits. “We’re talking about theater that is interesting for a very white, conservative, Christian audience,” Gillman notes. His involvement in those church-based productions continued through his adolescence, and he eventually ended up as co-leader of Community Presbyterian’s Youth Choir. Later, as a freshman at Vacaville High School, Gillman’s performances became driven mainly by inner feelings of isolation, and his casting took place almost by accident. “I was a loner, very quiet … I basically needed somewhere to stay for lunch, and that just so happened to be the school’s auditorium. One afternoon, the drama club was having rehearsals, so I just stayed and pretended I was supposed to be there.” An impromptu audition led to Gillman’s first role as Sylvius in Shakespeare’s “As You Like It,” and performing provided equal parts artistic expression and a social life: “Drama clubs, especially in high school, are about the bonding together of misfits, really.”

Former classmate Angelina LaBarre, now a San Francisco-based stage actress, met Gillman during her stint with the Community Presbyterian’s Youth Choir, and grew up six houses down from him on Vacaville’s Northwest Street. The two became confidantes, but LaBarre notes that it wasn’t until high school that Gillman made his most lasting impression as an actor, when both were auditioning for the Vacaville High School’s production of Maureen Dallas Watkins’ “Chicago,” a 1926 play which formed the basis for the 1975 Broadway musical of the same name. “He had prepped this extremely serious monologue, and he just played it so convincingly,” recalls LaBarre, who was cast in the role of Roxie Hart opposite Gillman as Jake, a news reporter. She recalls Gillman’s commitment to performance as surpassing that of their co-stars; when the school board announced they lacked funding for the drama club one year, Gillman self-mounted a production of a comedy titled “Murder Can Be Habit Forming,” for which he also served as stage director. But LaBarre says Gillman’s teenage years weren’t nearly as introverted as he suggests: “There was very much an openness and a love about Justin that I instantly connected to . . . he became an inspiration to me during that time, and he was, and still is, closer to me than a brother.”

Unlike other actors, Gillman says his decision to enroll in the acting program at the University of California at Santa Barbara had the backing of his friends and family from the get-go. “I’ve always had strong support when it comes to theater. I think once my family and friends saw me do theater and saw what was happening to me personally, they were behind me 100 percent.” Though creative talents in the Gillman family ran deep, it was the first time anyone had sought a career in the arts. “My family has always made the financial choices, not the artistic choices, and I think they supported me because I wasn’t about to.” Mahaffey-Gillman agrees. “Obviously, acting will not always put food on the table, and that has always been a concern for me [as a mother]. But I had faith he would exceed those expectations.”

The next four years saw Gillman cast in a variety of complex parts, including the distraught, self-deprecating Louis Ironson in Tony Kushner’s revered “Angels in America: Millennium Approaches” for the university’s spring 2007 season. That character’s arc had certain real-life parallels to Gillman’s own time as an undergraduate; by the time graduation time loomed near, he had disclosed his own homosexuality to friends and family, and queer themes began to appear prominently in other realms of his theatrical work. In addition to the part of Louis, he wrote, directed and starred in “homonomore” for his senior thesis project, in which he played a gay man (also named Justin, though not based on himself, he insists) who undergoes an aversive, “Little Mermaid”-like metamorphosis by consuming a magic pill that will grant him heterosexuality, only to find that the very attributes of his own identity he most values gradually vanish along with his homosexual desires.

Gillman recalls the experience of playing Louis, a character who he describes as “guilt-ridden, complicated and insecure,” as one of his most demanding parts and, like Eteokles, another example of him being cast against type: “I went into the audition process saying, ‘I am Prior, I am Prior, I am Prior,” referring to Prior Walter, the male lead who is both openly gay and HIV positive. “I’d prepped [all of my audition materials] completely around that role.” But director Irwin Appel, head of the university’s undergraduate acting program, felt differently, noting Gillman’s difficulty with understanding Louis’ motivation added a dimension not present in other actors’ interpretations of the character. “Louis is someone who isn’t settled in life, and has a lot of conflicting feelings about his relationship and his identity. Justin did an excellent job of portraying that inner conflict. Maybe his struggles with the character made the conflict all the more real on stage.”

Drawing on darker emotions became Gillman’s specialty. In that respect, Justin in “homonomore” allowed the actor to access his then-ongoing experience of coming out to his conservative, devoutly religious family in creating the largely satirical character, who addresses God in one pivotal scene and argues with his mother in another. “Maybe because of all of the things I had to hide over the years . . . I have a lot of bitterness and anger that I enjoy tapping into onstage,” he says. “And [this was a case] that wasn’t so much about putting on a mask.” However, Gillman says his own life heavily inspired the co-starring, if non-descript, role of “B.F.” as opposed to the main character, and despite the inherent discord his identity posed with the religious background of his youth, his family members and friends were mostly supportive. “They realized I still went to church and my belief system didn’t change too much.”

Though Gillman views himself primarily as an actor, acknowledgement of his playwrighting endeavors became particularly critical as he was applying to graduate programs in early 2007. “I said to myself, ‘The first school which comments on my work as a playwright is the place I’ll attend,’” he recalls, noting that members of Columbia University’s admissions board were the only ones to do so. “I knew I didn’t want to go somewhere [like Juilliard] that strives to make you into something. I knew right then I wanted a place that would let me be me.”

Though praising his efforts, mentors stress Gillman’s playwrighting skill as being very much a work-in-progress. “He really has an unusual understanding of theatrical language,” says Appel. “He’s found a raw spark, and it will be exciting to see how he develops that spark as he experiences more of the world.”

***

A peek inside Gillman’s tiny apartment on West 119th Street reveals a more whimsical side to the actor, who has been declaring a war against his onstage brother night after night for the past week. Notebook pages spelling out “Happy Birthday” in colorful bubble letters hang above the dining table, a visible remnant from Gillman’s birthday celebration in September; an autographed photo of Kelly Clarkson, the original “American Idol” champ, is taped up on a closet door opposite a series of old Playbills and theatrical posters. A photograph of the Globe-like stage at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival (in which Gillman has dreamed of starring since childhood) fights for space next to family snapshots, including several of mom Keri and sisters Kelli, 16; Alicia, 18; and Jordan, 20. Gillman is very much a literary Gordian knot: there are Shakespearean plays, bound manuscripts and textbooks on acting technique alongside all four bricklike novels in the phenomenally popular, though critically-panned, “Twilight” series, which Gillman acknowledges as a guilty pleasure: “I’m a trend-waver while at the same time wanting to learn everything I can about classical theater. I’m basically a big nerd.” Not prominently displayed, though mentioned in conversation, are Gillman’s collections of movie ticket stubs, dating all the way back to a 1994 screening of “The Santa Clause,” and Beanie Babies, some of which he is now considering putting onto the eBay auction block. It’s this cozy, if sparsely furnished, space that Gillman shares with his boyfriend Harrison Rivers, an African-American playwright who hails from Manhattan, Kansas.

After being cast in a friend’s on-campus workshop production, Gillman met Rivers, a graduate of the School of the Arts’ playwrighting program, on Easter Sunday of last year, when the latter had been called in to critique the show. The mutual intrigue was instantly palpable: “I said to myself, ‘All of the actors were bad, except for the blond kid in the ponytail,’” recalls Rivers, who recently wrote a 10-minute piece for the “24 Hour Plays on Broadway” festival, produced in November. “It was evident that the play had been written with Justin in mind.” Gillman says he was equally smitten, though not so sure he’d made a good first impression. “I was hung over and in my pajamas, and I scolded the director for inviting a cute guy to our rehearsal without my consent,” he says with a laugh. The pair had their first date several weeks later – a screening of Thomas McCarthy’s romantic comedy “The Visitor,” followed by dinner at Café Contessa, a restaurant that is one of Rivers’ favorites in the West Village. Shortly thereafter, Gillman invited Rivers to spend the night at his apartment. “Anyone who will come home with me and sit through an episode of “American Idol,” especially when he hates it, is worthy of my time.”

A romance between a playwright and an actor (and also aspiring playwright) seems ripe for a clash of artistic egos, a suggestion both men deny. In fact, the couple – who share a breezily flirtatious dynamic – navigated what could have been a prickly sphere earlier this year, when Rivers directed Gillman in an on-campus play called “Take the Parkway North.” “We decided at the beginning that we were going to be totally professional about it,” Gillman says. “Some people in the cast didn’t even realize we were dating.”

Rivers notes the transition from boyfriend to director with that context was a seamless one. “I felt I could always be candid about what he does onstage, without him taking it personally,” Rivers says. Being heavily engrossed in personal projects means Gillman often misses Rivers’ shows and vice versa, so assessments of the other’s work are often limited to the occasional dinner or night out. Regardless, he credits Rivers’ forthright support as being crucial during the preparation process and subsequent run of “Phoenician Women.”

***

Sitting at an Upper West Side coffee shop, a mere hour before he is due to start make-up and vocal warm-ups, Gillman is antsy, forgoing all food or drink. This evening marks the “Phoenician Women” premiere, and while invitations have been sent to some of New York’s foremost casting agents and recruiters, there is no way of knowing who will attend. “I’m trying to be calm, because stressing out never helps,” says Gillman, dressed in a burgundy button-down with matching tie, the semi-formal attire he will don after curtain call for the cast and crew party. “I just want to get into my costume . . . I really don’t care if the audience loves or hates the show, that’s none of my business. My job is simply to get people in the seats.” He acknowledges his co-stars fondly as “a family,” while raving over director Karin Coonrod’s craft in shaping the ancient tale into suitable theater for a contemporary audience.

Though naming other scenes in the show as favorites, Gillman enthusiastically delineates the flamenco dance numbers (performed without musical accompaniment), developed by Coonrod as an eccentric theatrical device by which to construct the play’s numerous battle sequences. Besides lending the otherwise spared-down production an occasional Latin flair and requiring additional rehearsal time to master the choreography, the segments ground the show with an almost musical pulse, in which Gillman’s more kinetic qualities fit perfectly. “I think what Karin saw in me was a very frantic energy. I think she saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself. But I’m glad she did, because I’m having a ball with this character.”

Though the dance numbers lack any semblance of Tin Pan Alley tradition, the conversation shifts to musical theatre and consequently, camp characters, previously seen as an openly gay actor’s most reliable theatrical or cinematic niche. Given his own struggles in breaking away from flamboyant roles, Rupert Everett recently told The Guardian he’d advise gay actors to remain closeted in order to maintain their stage and screen clout. With regard to his own navigation of the “alternative” artist label, Gillman sees Harris – an actor whose ability to play a heterosexual, chauvinistic character on the popular sitcom “How I Met Your Mother” while leading an openly gay life has garnered accolades – as a star whose career he’d like to emulate. “I love actors who, even after their success, can find a way to help out in the industry, and Neil is very much like that,” Gillman says, before naming the Emcee (a character which Harris portrayed in the late 1990s) in “Cabaret” as a dream role. “Being gay myself, I want to make sure that my lifestyle doesn’t always impact what I do onstage.”

As an actor liberated from the stereotypes of yesteryear, Gillman hopes to further pursue classical stage roles, while acknowledging his biggest challenge will be to play a contemporary character, something that – with the exception of perhaps “Angels in America” – he has yet to be offered. “I guess I have a knack for very stylized texts,” he says. “It takes a lot of work to sustain those classical characters, and when you get to more naturalistic, [contemporary] plays, that work is different.”

One thing modern characters require is strength in physical movement. For Gillman, whom co-stars describe as “introspective” and “very internal” in his theatrical methodology, this may be something he needs to improve before he can believably play, say, a 21st century New Yorker. “I think he mostly needs to work on his comfort level, his ease with using both his head and his body,” says Coonrod. “I saw him repeat certain gestures throughout rehearsals . . . he’ll need to loosen up a little.”

***

Fresh from auditions for an off-Broadway production of “Twelfth Night,” which will mark his first off-campus theatrical endeavor following his thesis project, Gillman appears in a sunnier mood about a week later, happily sipping coffee and ordering a cheese and mushroom pie at Campo on the Upper West Side. He talks excitedly about a plethora of pop culture hallmarks, from “American Idol” runner-up Adam Lambert’s upcoming debut album (“He’s amazingly talented, and I like performers who take risks”) to his disappointment in “Harry Potter” star Daniel Radcliffe’s recent Broadway turn in the revival of Peter Schaffer’s “Equus” (“I don’t like plays with big Hollywood stars who are miscast. There are so many riveting, timely dramas out there … so I wondered why this production existed.”) Though opening night of “Phoenician Women” saw the cast playing to a packed house, attendance has dropped off in subsequent performances, and Gillman is more frank now that he no longer has to sell the show. “It’s hard for 21^st century Americans to understand what’s going on in this play,” he notes. “There was plenty of advertising. It would’ve been nice to have had more of an audience, but that’s the problem with staging a show this far uptown.” (Low attendance will turn out to be the least of the cast’s problems. Half the actors, including Gillman, are later struck with a severe flu two nights before the show’s closing).

Gillman approached the “Twelfth Night” audition process without a set role in mind. He soon learns he has been cast as Fabian, a role which will keep him away from his family in Vacaville (including sister Jordan, who is set to deliver her first child, a daughter named Ella Jean, in January) during parts of his holiday break, with rehearsals set to begin in December in time for the show’s March opening. Shakespeare is not the only project in Gillman’s theatrical cauldron for the spring, though delving into the modern role he craves may have to wait, as he will soon be drawing on his classical technique yet again as a teaching assistant for a course on Anton Chekov at Barnard.

Tonight, however, Gillman is simply content to be the kid you’d be happy to share your lunch table with. And you get the sense that a tiny part of him clings to being the bright-eyed, Sunday school thespian of his youth.

“Characters are simple; it’s people who are complicated,” he muses. “And I just have faith in what I do.”