Stars on Sondheim: Michael Cerveris Reveals the Worst Sondheim Joke in London

March 22 marks Stephen Sondheim's 90th birthday. It's impossible to state the great contribution and influences this titan of the stage has made to musical theater, but we're taking a stab at it by reaching out to some stars who have appeared in his many shows to share their personal experiences.

Michael Cerveris was 18, with dreams of being an actor, when he saw his first Stephen Sondheim show: it was the original Sweeney Todd, starring Len Cariou and Angela Lansbury. Cerveris, a two-time Tony winner, credits that musical with inspiring him to become a musical theater actor. Fittingly, Cerveris won his first Tony Award for playing John Wilkes Booth in the 2004 Broadway revival of Assassins, Sondheim and John Weidman’s musical about presidential assassinations. Cerveris then starred in the 2006 John Doyle-helmed production of Sweeney Todd on Broadway opposite Patti LuPone—a full circle moment for the actor. But those are not his only Sondheim credits: Cerveris also starred in Passion at the Kennedy Center in 2002, A Little Night Music at Chicago Shakespeare Theater in 2003 and Road Show at off-Broadway's Public Theater in 2008. You could say he’s something of a Sondheim devotee. Here, Cerveris tells us about his first awestruck meeting with the composer.

What was the first Sondheim show you ever saw? What do you remember?
It was a preview of the original [1979] production of Sweeney Todd on Broadway. It was our family's first trip to New York from our home in West Virginia. My dad had gotten us the only tickets we could afford: in the next to the last row in the balcony. So we were a good football field or so from the stage. But the moment that factory whistle shrieked, rattling my soul and jumpstarting my heart, I was riveted to the stage and felt simultaneously overwhelmed by the scale of [director Harold Prince’s] production and connected to every little thing Len Cariou did. You see, up to this point, I never saw myself as having a career in musical theater. As a kid, I'd done community theater and summer stock when my dad would sometimes direct, or musical direct, shows in West Virginia and Eastern Kentucky. Much as I enjoyed seeing them, I didn't find the substance and grit in musicals that I did in straight dramatic plays. I thought my career—if I was lucky enough to have one—would be in classical theater and straight dramatic plays. But here was this dark, funny, terrifying, complex story and intricate, brazen music with a performance of Shakespearian scale from Len Cariou at its center. I was changed forever. If this is what musicals are, I thought, maybe there is a place in them for someone like me. I very honestly would not have the career or life I have, had it not been for Stephen Sondheim. 

Describe your first meeting with Sondheim.
I had two quasi-first meetings, both involving Passion. The first was my audition for the original Broadway production [in 1993]. It was while I was playing Tommy [in The Who’s Tommy] at the St. James Theatre, and I was going in for the role of Giorgio. It was the first time that I'd ever actually had that classic A Chorus Line-type Broadway audition, on the stage of a Broadway theater, singing out into a darkness that contained my heroes Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine. I didn't get the part, and in hindsight, deservedly so. I think it took me some years to acquire both the technical skill and the emotional depth and insight that role requires. As for the meeting, it was mostly a "thank you for coming in" uttered from out there in the darkness. But it was a thrill all the same. The second “first meeting'' was when I was rehearsing Passion as Giorgio opposite Judy Kuhn and Rebecca Luker for the Kennedy Center's Sondheim Celebration [in 2002]. I now hoped I had acquired the skill and insight that was required; I was going to have it put to the test in our first runthrough for the man himself. I'd imagined meeting him so many times—thought about what I'd say, what I'd ask, what witty, perceptive comment I'd make to impress him and convey my deep gratitude for all he'd created. Basically, all the things that would make him (or anyone) awkward and uncomfortable. It was the day of his arrival and we were on a break, waiting for him to get there. I was just lounging on the plywood platform that was the rehearsal “bed” for the first scene, leafing through The New York Times and practicing my, "Hello Mr. Sondheim, what an honor it is to meet you" speech in my head. It was a full five minutes that Steve had already been sitting, a feet away from the foot of the bed, before I happened to look up and see The Great Man. I froze, smiled awkwardly, muttered, "Oh, hi," and before I could say another word, heard our stage manager call, "Places for top of the run." So much for my grand introduction....Then at the end of the run-through, Steve leapt from his chair, tears streaming down his face (I later discovered this was not uncommon), and gathered Judy, Rebecca and myself into a tearful group hug, saying something to the effect of, “Thank you so much for working so diligently to be so faithful to what I wrote. Now it's yours."

What’s the best gift you ever got from Sondheim?
The best gift he ever gave me was inviting me to bring my dad to his house for lunch as a gift on my father's birthday. My dad was the one who instilled in me a lifelong admiration and devotion to Sondheim at a young age, sitting me down in the living room and playing the newly released LP of A Little Night Music for me: explaining all the complexities underneath the beauty and seeming simplicity. That afternoon at Steve's home—watching my father beam as Steve asked him about his work as a teacher and his life in music—was not only an unforgettable day for my dad, but probably the most precious thing Steve ever gave me.

Tell us something about Sondheim that we probably don’t know. 
He can be (and often is) moved to tears by productions of his work being performed for him by performers he admires—whether they're lifelong colleagues or a high school class. That he can be moved by things as an audience, as though he didn't create them, is one of the things I love most about him.

Which Sondheim song would you like to sing to him for his birthday?
“I Remember” [from Evening Primrose].

What’s your favorite personal Sondheim anecdote? 
It's probably the story he tells of himself attending the first rehearsal of the London company of Passion in the West End. By this time, he'd already spent years being lionized as a pillar of the American musical theater, and had experienced untold numbers of people feeling like I did when I first met him: awkward and awestruck. Wanting to relieve everyone of such reverence because it makes him profoundly uncomfortable and gets in the way of what he really wants (which is to get down to work as collaborators), he thought he'd try to dispel all the heavy respect right off the bat this time. Striding into the London rehearsal room for the first meet and greet, he announced, "It's OK everyone, God is here." Apparently this was met, not with the raucous, knowing laughter and relief he'd imagined, but with an icy silence as the Brits tried to work out if he was serious. It was, he says, the last time he ever tried that.