Jeffry Denman: Taking a Chance on White Christmas
Performer. Choreographer. Director. We knew Jeffry Denman was a man of many hats. We knew the guy could write, too, thanks to 2002’s A Year with the Producers: One Actor’s Exhausting But Worth It Journey from Cats to Mel Brooks’ Mega-Hit, a delightfully frank memoir about Denman’s manic transition from playing Munkustrap to being Matthew Broderick’s understudy in the role of Leo Bloom. So approaching him to do a First Person essay was a no-brainer. Maybe this star of the just-opened holiday musical hit White Christmas could wax rhapsodic about performing on Broadway during the holidays? Denman had a better idea, and gave us this inspirational tale about putting yourself out there, taking a risk and hitting paydirt.
Playing Phil Davis in Irving Berlin’s White Christmas almost didn’t happen for me.
Back in 2004, I was in a career “pause” read: I wasn’t working. It’s something we all go through it at one point or another. In my case, I’d decided to make the transition from ensemble member to principal, and was turning down any work that didn’t fall into the latter category. Problem was, there weren’t a lot of principal auditions coming my way. OK, let’s be honest—there weren’t any.
Early that spring, I heard through the grapevine that a stage version of the movie White Christmas was in the works. In this case, the grapevine was Jennifer Prescott, wife of Brian d’Arcy James and a good friend. Brian had done a reading earlier in the year and was set to play Bob Wallace the Bing Crosby role at the show’s world premiere in San Francisco. Phil Davis the Danny Kaye role was a part that required a singing-and-dancing leading man who also could throw a punch line around. Knowing my particular love and respect for movie musicals and Fred Astaire, Jennifer thought I should do anything and everything to get seen.
Later that same week, Jay Binder, the casting director for White Christmas, stopped me on the street and told me about the show, and that he wanted me to be seen for it. Jay always appreciated the fact that I was kind of a throwback. It hadn’t ever landed me a job for him, but I was hopeful that was going to change.So after talking with my agent, we made White Christmas a priority. We didn’t know when the auditions were going to be held, but we were certain that I would get seen.
Fast forward a few months to June: I was doing a concert in Washington D.C. an Irving Berlin concert with Marvin Hamlisch, of all things. How portentous, right? My agent called me with concern in his voice. The auditions for White Christmas were going to be held in New York in July—exactly the same time that I was going to be opening a show in Atlanta. The timing couldn’t have been worse. There was no feasible way for me to be able to get to the audition. I couldn’t see how it was going to happen.
While still in D.C., Melissa Mahon, a dear friend who was living in L.A., called me up. She asked for some advice on a show she was going to be auditioning for and thought I would be the guy to consult.
"What’s the show?” I asked.
“White Christmas,” she said.
“You’re coming to New York for that?”
“No, they’re auditioning here on Wednesday.”
That was Saturday afternoon before the Marvin Hamlisch matinee. By the evening’s performance I had a roundtrip ticket on Tuesday to Los Angeles. My agent had called Jay Binder and made sure that it was the right call to go out there. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t care. I was going out there regardless of whether they “wanted” me to go out there. I had little to lose. I had no money and, seemingly, no prospects coupled with the strong belief that I was right for this role. I had to take the chance.
In hindsight, I could say something like “Oh I knew I was going to get it all along,” but I didn’t. Without getting overdramatic about it, I had been pretty beat down over the past two years, mostly by myself. I had been very hard on myself and had lost a lot of my confidence.
When I got to L.A., however, something shifted. It was clear that some of the “gremlins” that were haunting me in New York must have not taken the flight. I felt this weird sense of destiny, which sounds uber-corny, I know. I went to that audition with a sense of drive and passion that I hadn’t had before, not to my memory.
The Wednesday audition went as good as it could have. Jay was happy to see me. I went in and basically kicked as much ass as I possibly could. They called me back on Thursday, so the producing team could get a look, and by about 3:30 that afternoon, Jay had called to tell me they were offering me the role.
Four years later, in addition to that first premiere in San Francisco, I’ve now had the privilege of playing Phil Davis in Los Angeles, St. Paul, Boston and now on Broadway. That roundtrip plane ticket to L.A. has led to the most wonderful experiences.
Your life can change in a moment, not just in show business but in any business. You just have to be ready to jump out a proverbial window or two to make that change happen. You have to risk something, push the envelope. For some people, jumping on a plane like that might not have been a big deal. But it was for me. Now I never shirk a career “risk.” I put that word in quotes because those moments don’t seem like risks to me anymore. They’re opportunities. And they’re always worth it.