BWW Blog: Josh Grisetti of PETER AND THE STARCATCHER - Finding Prawn Part 1

When the producers of Peter and the Starcatcher called and offered me the role of "Fighting Prawn" in the new off-Broadway company, I had the same reaction that you're having right now. "Who is Fighting Prawn?"

I had seen the show on Broadway, but as a professional actor I am easily distracted (especially at the theatre) and apparently have no long-term memory. Then they said "It's the character in the second act who wears the top hat." Ah! Now I remember. The King of the Island; the one with the funny non-descript European/Island accent. Got it. They went on to say something to the effect of "It's like story-theatre. All of the actors play multiple roles, so in the first act you'll play the mean headmaster of the orphanage, Mr. Grempkin." Fun!

They email me the script. "Grempkin" has like ten lines within the first fifteen or twenty pages and then is retired for the evening. "Fighting Prawn" is a solid supporting role in act two, but there's no real heavy-lifting involved. "This is perfect," I thought. "It's exactly what I need right now. An easy role, I show up every night at 7:30, get into costume, hit the stage at 8:00, by 8:20 I'm sitting in my dressing room reading a book. (And by "reading a book" I mean playing vintage Grand Theft Auto on my iPad.) Intermission. Jump back onstage, play a couple short wacky scenes, watch whoever's playing 'Black Stache' work his ass off, take a curtain call, get home before 11." This was my plan. This was my foolish, naïve plan.

I get to the first day of rehearsal. It was a typical table-reading situation with the creative team. After I flawlessly breeze through my first ten lines, I kick back and prepare to zone out. Then the unthinkable happens. In mid-scene, the action stops and no one is reading the next line. One of the directors (I can't remember if it was Alex or Roger) leans over and says, "Oh, Josh, that's you." Me? What does he mean? All of the sudden, I'm some random bit part called "Sailor Mack"... dammit. Fine, fine. I'm a team player. I'll just read a little bit less backstage, I guess. (And by "read less," I mean play less Temple Run 2). As I frantically begin recalculating my backstage time, the table reading goes from bad to worse. Suddenly there is another pregnant pause, as the actors all look around the room with question marks in their eyes. Again, one of the directors (I can't remember if it was Alex or Roger) leans over: "Josh, this is you, too."

I'm now apparently playing some other character called "Sanchez." I try to make a casual joke about how I'm suddenly playing too many parts, but it's only a poor attempt to mask my real pain. One of the directors (I can't remember if it was Alex or Roger) leans over again and smilingly says, "We call your track 'the work horse' because you have so much to do, especially in the first act."

Oh my God, what have I done?

As the days and weeks pressed on, I realized that he wasn't even referring to all of the side characters I was playing. "Work horse" referred to the shear amount of physical labor inflicted upon my person. I am never offstage for more than a minute. I spend the vast majority of the show lifting trunks, flipping crates, pushing ladders, tying ropes, flinging cats and using a variety of flashlights in bizarre and twisted ways. I haven't read a single page of any book (and by that, I mean I haven't even seen the new Angry Birds seasonal update). It's criminal. And if the creative team of Peter and the Starcatcher didn't think I'd let the flying cat out of bag regarding this cruel and unusual abuse, they should never have given me a 4-week blog post on BroadwayWorld.

On the bright side, I've never been in better shape and I have the pleasure of working with some of the most talented comic actors in the business on one of the most creative, entertaining and critically acclaimed productions in all of New York. I suppose some things in life are worth the extra effort.