From Cheers to St. Jacobs
George Wendt at home in small town Ontario
ST. JACOBS — When I head to the lobby of the St. Jacobs Country Playhouse after the final curtain of “Death of a Salesman,” I find George Wendt — the American sitcom actor who stars as Willy Loman — perched on a tiny bar stool in the corner.
It’s opening night of his 18-day run in Arthur Miller’s iconic stage play about a middle-aged loser whose distorted vision of the American dream destroys his life.
And as he meets and greets his fans, nursing one beer after another, it’s clear that the amiable schlump who played Norm Peterson on TV’s “Cheers” for 11 seasons is the same guy sitting here now.
“You don’t see that in L.A.,” he notes, amused by the “Coat Check” sign in the corner. “It’s a cold-weather thing.”
Approached by a pair of toothy twin brothers, he affects a heavy Scottish brogue and, as everyone cracks up, breaks into the famous Proclaimers hit: “I would walk 500 miles/ And I would walk 500 more.”
Such low-key affability is not what I expected, frankly, from the six-time Emmy nominee, whose presence in this idyllic Canadian village is the biggest news since the discovery of maple syrup.
But then, celebrities often surprise you when you meet them in person.
Joey Ramone, lovably comic in person, turned out to be a raving egomaniac during a phone interview before a Kitchener gig, lecturing me for 40 minutes about how The Ramones single-handedly invented rock and roll.
Alannah Myles — at the peak of her “Black Velvet” fame — was a control freak who kept telling me, in hissy, determined fashion, what not to write.
And David Cassidy, who I presented with a Mad Magazine likeness of himself when he played Lulu’s Roadhouse, was an ungrateful putz who deserved to have his butt kicked years later on “The Apprentice.”
But Wendt? He really is the guy whose pithy observations on “Cheers” gave him the aura of a benevolent Yoda, whose mere presence incited the enthusiastic greeting that soon became his calling card: “NORM!”
It’s an odd match for his character in “Death of a Salesman,” a derelict life loser whose belief system is a sham and whose mopey existence ends in tragedy.
But this actor, in this role, in this production, has somehow transcended stereotypes to deliver a character as likable as he is doomed.
“It’s hard for me to characterize how audiences are perceiving the show or my erstwhile personae on television,” he allows when I suggest his sitcom background creates instant sympathy with the audience.
“They may be more inclined to root for Willie, maybe, even though he’s pretty horrible to his wife and ... (he pauses, concerned his meaning may be misconstrued) ... I don’t know what you’re fishing for ... (sheepishly) ... don’t make me sound like a jerk.”
This isn’t a guy hung up on stardom or celebrity.
A man of few words, whose comic genius lies in his deadpan delivery and everyman demeanour, the Chicago native seems at home in small town Ontario, revelling in the pre-show announcements about ice cream and raffle tickets, and enjoying his brief sojourn to see fall colours and “lots of rainbows” in the picaresque St. Jacobs countryside.
I talked to him on three separate occasions about this threehour play (including intermission) and his No. 1 concern, every time, was the onerous rehearsals required to master Miller’s trenchant, densely written dialogue.
“You do the best you can,” he told me modestly after a near flawless performance and standing ovation on opening night.
Sheepish grin. “There was probably some paraphrasing and gobbledygook.”
When we touched base by phone midway through his run, he sounded almost relieved.
“I wouldn’t call a three-hour play ‘effortless’ by any means, but it’s way easier than the rehearsal process.
“We rehearsed so hard and so long. It’s sort of like when baseball players put those weights on their back and swing the bat. By the time they take the weight off it’s like effortless.”
And don’t ask him about free beers.
It may happen in L.A., where his boozy barfly from “Cheers” is considered a pop culture punchline, but he’s in St. Jacobs to work.
“I don’t go out that much,” he told me of his two weeks learning lines before opening night, which included his 69th birthday (Oct. 17).
“The rehearsal process has been gruelling and everything’s closed by the time we get out.”
Contented sigh: “I got some free beers from the cast for my birthday.”
As for the laughs generated by his endearing, sometimes whimsical performance, he again takes no credit.
“It’s not written as comedy,” he insists. “But audiences respond to behaviour.
“And there’s a lot of recognizable human behaviour, so laughs are definitely available throughout the play.”
With that he’s off to a recording session: low-key, amiable, happy to embrace an acting job outside his comedic “safe zone” that doesn’t require the planting of his butt on a bar stool.
On the other hand, if someone wants to buy him a free beer, you get the sense he would consider it rude to say no.
“Death of a Salesman” continues at St. Jacobs Country Playhouse through Nov. 4. At press time, all remaining shows, but one, were sold out. www.draytonentertainment.com.
Laughs are definitely available throughout the play. GEORGE WENDT