Stephen Lang: The Authentic Heroes of Beyond Glory

About the author:
Long before Stephen Lang wrote and starred in the stirring one-man show Beyond Glory, he had established himself as a peerless interpreter of military men on stage and screen. From the Broadway production of A Few Good Men as Colonel Nathan "You Can't Handle the Truth!" Jessep to movie turns as Generals George Pickett Gettsyburg and Stonewall Jackson Gods and Generals to a stellar stage performance as a Marine base commander in John Patrick's Shanley's Defiance, Lang mastered the art of portraying all kinds of soldiers. Good thing, since he's playing eight Medal of Honor winners in Beyond Glory, now at Roundabout Theater Company's Laura Pels Theatre. How did this Swarthmore grad and one-time Hamlet shape the stories of decorated war veterans and take his show on a round-the-world tour for military audiences before arriving off-Broadway? Lang tells all to Broadway.com.

At the moment, I am peacefully ensconced in my reclining chair in a well-appointed dressing room at the Laura Pels Theatre. I am between matinee and evening performances of Beyond Glory, a solo play in which I embody eight Medal of Honor recipients from World War II, Korea and Vietnam. The good people at the Roundabout asked me if I wanted anything for my dressing room, and I replied, "Well, I'd sure like a recliner so I can, uh, recline." Sitting here in such comfort gives me a chance to reflect on the wonderful and somewhat unconventional odyssey of this project. I've played some strange places, and I'll mention a few, but first a brief history of the play.

In May 2003, I read an advance copy of Beyond Glory: Medal of Honor Heroes in Their Own Words by journalist Larry Smith, a basketball buddy of mine and a helluva journalist to boot. It was a mesmerizing read. The voices of 23 men, living recipients of the Medal of Honor, this nation's highest military award, were so totally unvarnished, so ungussied up, so flat-out authentic. The skill of the writer was such that he urged them on and drew them out without ever intruding. And the stories they told! Passionate, exciting, touching, chilling, funny, sadly moving and, most of all, dramatic. I don't recall the precise moment, but during that first read I became determined to bring these stories to the stage. And I did. Eight of them.

After invaluable readings and workshops at the Flea Theatre and the Actors Studio, Beyond Glory opened in April 2004 at The Theatre at The Women In Military Service Memorial yeah, it's a mouthful, located literally at the gates of Arlington National Cemetery. In a karmic sense, a better venue could not be desired. Practically speaking, it took a while for the Washington theater audience to find us. There were nights early in the run when I played to an audience of three. There's an old myth in the theater that if the cast outnumbers the audience, the show does not necessarily have to go on. Although I am a cast of one, I play eight roles, so this was a decidedly gray area. Finally, as a result of some sterling notices, we began filling a 200-seat theater. What had been slated for a four-week run turned into a 10-week engagement. I give grateful credit to Jane Lang and Paul Sprenger of Tribute Productions for having the confidence or just plain stubbornness to stick with the show.

During the Arlington run, we caught the attention of the National Endowment for the Arts. The Chairman, Dana Gioia, felt that Beyond Glory was synergetic with an literary initiative the NEA was getting under way called Operation Homecoming, which solicited and mentored writing by the troops and families of the troops engaged in the current conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan. Reaching out to the troops had been an aim of mine from the beginning. The upshot was a tour of Beyond Glory to our troops worldwide—a unique collaboration between the NEA and the Department of Defense, underwritten by the Boeing Corporation.

Under the auspices of MWR Morale, Welfare and Recreation, I traveled over a three-month period throughout Europe, the Middle East, Asia and the Caribbean performing at bases, camps and aboard ships. From Pearl Harbor to the Persian Gulf, from Guam to Guantanamo Bay don't even ask, from the DMZ in Korea to the Dome in Kuwait, it was a thoroughly exhausting, sobering and supremely satisfying experience.

Traveling with my stage manager and a footlocker that contained props and costumes, I played everything from conventional theaters to officers clubs, flight decks, mess halls, tents and hospitals. In Germany I played the 5 Pfennig Theatre, which had been local Luftwaffe HQ during World War II, but has been part of a U.S. Army base since war's end. I prepared to perform in front of the fireplace where Hermann Goering warmed his fat posterior. And when we played a converted stable on a base near Nuremberg, I was shown where Der Fuhrer stabled his mount.

In Korea, we played a pair of shows at Camp Red Cloud and Camp Casey at the DMZ, one of the mostly pristinely beautiful places I've ever been—and the spookiest. We played Naval Air Stations in Spain and Sardinia and Sicily where troops and transport on the way to and from combat in the Middle East stop to refresh and refuel. We played a show in Hiroshima, not far from the epicenter of the blast. We played Mildenhall Royal Air Force Base, where the fabled RAF was born. I gave a performance for 500 Marines in Bharain who heckled, cheered and plied me with Wild Turkey during the show. Tough house... and very appreciative.

I performed on the after deck of the U.S.S. Mustin, a destroyer patrolling Iraqi waters. As the sun dropped into the Persian Gulf I did Beyond Glory for half the crew of 600; I think the other half were sailing the ship. And fully half that crew were women, girls really, most younger than my daughters. They brought tears to my eyes. They looked like they belonged in pjs, not uniforms, but what remarkable and powerful young women they are. I did back-to-back shows on the hangar deck of the U.S.S. Carl Vinson, a nuclear aircraft carrier from which F-18 Hornets fly their deadly missions. It was well over 100 degrees, and I lost nine pounds that day. They had built me a stage and flanked it with pair of F-18s, artfully angled downstage center. It dawned on me that I was on the most expensive set in the history of theater. And the entire set was backed by a 40 by 60 American flag, the only time I have allowed a flag onstage; believe me, there is nothing rah-rah or jingo about this show. That night I did a show for "Chiefs Only," salty Chief Petty Officers who understood the show in ways the kids could not. And a raft of other memories— it was quite a tour.

We paused in the middle of the tour to return to Washington to play a performance at the United States Senate. The evening was co-hosted by Senators Frist and Reid, respective majority and minority leaders, in honor of Senator Daniel Inouye's 80th birthday. Inouye is a Medal of Honor recipient and in fact is the final role in the show. To play Inouye for Inouye was a great honor, if somewhat daunting. He wept and told me that he wished his father could have been there.

In the fall of 2005, Beyond Glory had an extended run in Chicago in the Goodman's lovely Owen Theatre. Although the dressing room was nice, I did not have a recliner. But I did come away with something arguably more useful: a director. I replaced myself with Goodman Artistic Director Robert Falls, who graciously came aboard to direct the New York-bound production.

So here I am, reclining on 46th Street, just two blocks north and a few blocks east of the Actors Studio, where my Beyond Glory odyssey began to take shape four years ago. I feel like I'm just getting warmed up, and I'd like to tell you much more—about tail-hooking onto the flight deck of a carrier; about the differences between military and civilian audience response; about the grit of the troops and the vibrant spirit of the wounded; about the lessons in fortitude and humility I've learned from this experience—but Fitz, the stage manager, has just called "Five minutes" and it's time to rouse my bones. Actually, it's no hardship. It's an honor and a joy to portray the men and tell their stories eight times a week. I hope you can come by and see it.