I took in the moment, as we puffed and caught up. Just two girls ashing their Marlboros into a locker room toilet, trying to beat their nerves and play it cool.
Chapter 5
BEING CLARISSA
In the summer of 1990, my agent, who always booked my jobs, called my momager about having me audition for a new sitcom called Clarissa Explains It All for Viacom’s children’s cable channel, Nickelodeon. Until then, Nick aired mostly kids’ variety programs like Dusty’s Treehouse and Livewire, and game shows like Double Dare, which was loved for its gooey slime pranks. Their Nick at Nite programming included mostly live-action sitcom reruns like The Donna Reed Show, Dennis the Menace, and The Monkees that appealed to adolescents, but there weren’t any non-syndicated sitcoms specifically targeting teens except for Hey Dude, a Western series with a male lead, whose first episode ran in 1989. So when Clarissa was set to debut in March of 1991, it was nicely positioned to make an impact with a new audience. The creators hoped the teen sitcom would appeal to boys and girls by casting a clever, compassionate, and free-thinking female lead. Not only was that a first for Nick, but a groundbreaking concept for network television programs at the time too.
I remember the Clarissa audition process like it was yesterday. All Mom and I knew about the character was that she was a tough-minded teenager, so we decided I should wear my pink T-shirt and faded blue denim short-overalls—sweet and tomboyish. The first audition didn’t feel any different from others I’d been on, but I nailed it nonetheless. Maybe that’s because I’d just finished playing a strong girl in The Valerie of Now and my head was still in a spitfire place. Acting like a willful sassypants was becoming second nature to me.
The producers and casting people called me back for a second go, and I repeated the pink-tee-and-overalls look. Once I chose an outfit for an audition, I always wore it for callbacks, hoping it was a look that the producers liked for the character; seeing me in it again also helped them remember me. The waiting room felt like an intense pressure cooker this time around, and my competitors’ faces were more focused and less friendly than I’d remembered. I made it to a third callback, and while wearing my good-luck outfit yet again, the show’s creator and executive producer, Mitchell Kriegman, sat me down for a talk after I reread my lines to him. He asked me if I liked New Kids on the Block, the newest boy band to hit the radio waves.
“Euuuuch,” I groaned. “I hate them.”
Though I was being honest, I immediately clammed up with regret. This was a popular group, and for all I knew, Mitchell was a huge fan like the rest of America. What if he listened to “The Right Stuff” on his way to the studio? Or had a daughter with New Kids bedsheets and posters of their greasy faces, just like my cousins did? Mitchell paused before asking me what music I did like. I told him I liked They Might Be Giants. I couldn’t get enough. This wasn’t a band that most thirteen-year-olds listened to, but I spent a lot of free time lying next to my tape player singing, “Istanbul was Constantinople/Now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople…” Mitchell smirked and seemed to make a mental note, but all I could think was that I’d blown the audition.
The next day, when Mom and I were on our way to a different audition, my agent paged Mom’s beeper. We ran to the nearest pay phone, on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Nineteenth Street, to ring her and quickly learned that I had been offered the part of Clarissa. We screamed like crazy, jumped up and down, and celebrated with a Chipwich. I did the pilot for Clarissa in the fall of 1990 and by January, we were in production on our first thirteen episodes of the show. We shot at the Nickelodeon studios, a TV studio/attraction at Universal Studios that had opened in Orlando a year earlier. I was going to Hollywoo—er, Florida!
Years later, Mitchell told me it was the one-two punch of my outfit and disdain for popular music that helped him choose me to play Clarissa. That, and the fact that he liked my performance, especially when my overall strap dropped at the exact same part of my monologue during all three auditions—a move he assumed was intentional, but was really the result of how I gestured while reciting my lines. Funny enough, Mitchell had been hard-set on Clarissa being a brunette, since blondes rarely fit his idea of the nonconforming, feisty, smart, and relatable type he wanted to depict on his show. But by being myself, I was able to charm him into admitting that blondes could be all these things too.
* * *
While I was auditioning for Clarissa, I simultaneously tried out three times for the NBC show Blossom, which was about another strong-willed teenager and her family, but I was going back for the role of her ditzy best friend, Six. I thought this character was quirky and silly, but also more naive than Clarissa. If given the choice, which character would I prefer to play? I prayed late into the night, asking for guidance to figure out exactly what I wanted for my future. I was raised Catholic, after all.
In my head, I weighed the pros and cons of being on both channels. As a fan of NBC’s Thursday night lineup, which at the time included The Cosby Show, A Different World, and Cheers, I knew and liked the kind of programming NBC delivered. I also loved Nick, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be on a kids’ network. Would teenagers actually tune in? Would I limit future jobs by endearing myself to such a niche audience? Then again, I knew Clarissa would be my show on Nick, and on NBC, I’d be the sidekick. Well, God answered my prayers like He always does. Clarissa it was. I was catapulted into the world of sitcom TV for the first time, and spent the next four years shooting sixty-five episodes of a very funny show that to this day makes me crazy proud.
Clarissa was about a spunky girl with typical preadolescent conflicts that mostly revolved around family, school, and social situations—driving, first crushes, sibling rivalry, drinking, babysitting, bullies, that kind of thing. She had a best friend named Sam, played by Sean O’Neal, who was an optimistic foil to Clarissa’s get-real attitude. There was no sexual tension between them, which was and still is a rare dynamic when you put a boy and girl on a bedroom set together. Clarissa’s parents trusted her to make a lot of her own decisions, but gave her advice when she needed it. This was a newer way to portray the American family, as well. Clarissa looked up to her mom and dad, but more often than not thought she was smarter than her daffy folks, like most teenagers do. I think teens liked watching that dynamic play out. Others watched to hear the “Na Na” theme song, to identify with Clarissa’s friendships, and a lot of fans thought it was fun that she invented her own video games. I think this last point made her relatable to guy viewers, who tuned in to see a pretty, smart girl who was also into a hobby they were.
Today’s tweens have been weaned on girl-centric shows like That’s So Raven and Gossip Girl, but casting a young female as a sitcom lead was still a risky, innovative move in 1990. Square Pegs and Punky Brewster helped pave the way, but before Clarissa, most teen female sitcom characters played sidekicks, girlfriends, and sisters. Girls on The Cosby Show, Family Ties, and The Facts of Life were smart and sassy, but they didn’t have the energy and attitude that Clarissa did. Mitchell has even said in interviews that he named the character Clarissa because it was so distinct she could also hate it—which is what she says in the series opener. Who couldn’t identify with that? (Her last name, Darling, was inspired by Wendy Darling from Peter Pan.)
The way Clarissa was shot also helped the show find its place in the zeitgeist. The movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off had just broken the fourth wall—that’s when you acknowledge the audience through the camera, which is said to allow the actor to bust through the imaginary boundary between the fictional work and its audience. This was a theatrical technique that, when used on TV, was mostly done on variety shows like Saturday Night Live or In Living Color. But when Ferris did it, it caused a commotion, and our show followed suit. More than anything, though, when Clarissa delivered her lines down the barrel of the camera, it was a way for her to bond with the audience. Mitchell has said that he wanted this to make viewers feel like they were in the room with her. Clarissa’s connecti
on was essential, since both sexes would only watch a female lead if the girl were cool enough that boys liked her and girls wanted to be her.
A lot of fans tuned in to see what Clarissa wore every week. Her clothes were original, playful, and not at all provocative—Keith Haring graphic tees, scarves, peasant tops, and more vests than you could find in Diane Keaton’s closet. Most of her outfits included layers of color and pattern, paired with colorful Doc Martens or Converse sneakers. The stylish ragtag look was a skillful mix of Punky Brewster, Cyndi Lauper, and the sweeter side of urban punk. I think our show’s designer, Lisa Lederer, did for trendy teens what Patricia Field later did for fashionable twenty-somethings who watched Sex and the City. (In fact, I think Lisa did some shopping for the show at Pat’s store.) To this day, people still tell me that Clarissa inspired them to work in the fashion industry or revamp their wardrobe. I could never follow the character’s unpredictable style, so while I loved her clothes, I never duplicated the looks in my own life. I could rock dangling earrings and army boots, but forget the psychedelic leggings and painted jeans. I did keep a lot of custom-made wardrobe pieces like a blue paisley vest, mix-matched pajamas, and any Betsey Johnson piece I could get my hands on. My friend Michele, who worked in wardrobe, made me a great keepsake picture, constructed from many pieces of fabric and material that were used to make some of my clothes. It still hangs in my office at home.
Like Clarissa’s personality, her look was elaborate without being flashy, and liberating without seeming pretentious. I wasn’t made to look like today’s girls on Hannah Montana, Lizzie McGuire, or Wizards of Waverly Place, who wear a full face of makeup, hair extensions, and daring clothes. I’m floored to learn that some of them are younger than I was when I started on Clarissa. In fact, Mom insisted that my character never wear mascara or have tweezed or groomed eyebrows; she hoped to preserve what little-girl charm I had left in my big-girl world. (This is how she earned her nickname, “Dragon Lady,” around the set.)
Because the show was about a preteen’s life, and I was a young teenager, Clarissa’s writers occasionally turned to me for input and help shaping Clarissa’s character—albeit in small, but significant, ways. Right off the bat, Mitchell made They Might Be Giants Clarissa’s favorite band, with their posters on her set wall, even though it wasn’t the most popular group at the time. He’s also said that he wrote in slang I used in real life—like “obee-kaybee,” which some of my girlfriends and I used back home, and now there’s an OBKB.com fan site dedicated to the show. Clarissa also always had a plan—and five backup plans, if those didn’t work out—which is exactly like me, though I’m not sure if that was art imitating life, or vice versa.
When any television show gets the green light for its first season, the showrunner, who’s responsible for day-to-day decisions, typically sits with the actors or sends them a questionnaire to learn about their passions, hobbies, and interests. This way, story lines can benefit from the actor’s real outside pastimes and talents. Because I’d played the flute since fifth grade, our writers penned an episode about Clarissa’s nerve-wracking flute recital. That said, they didn’t always take advantage of my interests. In our third season, I told one writer that I wanted to write an episode about Clarissa babysitting the biggest brat in the Northern Hemisphere, inspired by my little sister Emily’s antics. I helped flesh out the idea in the writer’s room, and then one of the people on the writing staff took over and within a few weeks, my idea became an episode. This was bittersweet for me, though, since I wanted to help develop the episode further and my sister wasn’t cast. I did get to meet the talented and sweet Michelle Trachtenberg, who played the little horror, so that was fun. My ego never got in the way of remembering that the show had writers and producers for a reason.
As such, Mitchell was hugely instrumental in making my time at Clarissa so great. He created a show about a girl who stood up for herself, went after what she wanted, and did things her own way. I’ve always been grateful that he saw enough of that in me to let me play her. He is a brilliant man with a bit of a kooky mind, which is exactly what you need to be a success in his business. He also treated me like a daughter, and I needed that. Mitchell was very protective and very concerned about my money being put away for college and my future. He made sure my guardians and the crew and network were treating me well. Whenever he came to Florida for a taping (after the first season, he mostly worked from New York), Mitchell took me to my favorite restaurant at Universal Studios and let me order anything on the menu—lobster, steak, chocolate ice cream, you name it. It was great to be in mature company, and at a nice establishment for a change, since I ate most meals at the commissary among characters from the Universal theme park. It’s hard to enjoy your burger with Beetlejuice flinging boogers at you.
Nickelodeon was also very conscientious about making sure I didn’t miss out on big moments during my adolescence, and I have to think that a lot of this was Mitchell and my mom’s doing. During the last season, Nickelodeon rearranged our shooting schedule so I could be in New York for my sister Alexandra’s birth, and then again for my boyfriend Mike’s prom since I didn’t have one of my own to attend. The network and crew also gave me a private graduation with a podium, “Nickelodeon High School” diploma, cap and gown, and six-foot cold-cut sub. They invited my family, including my six-week-old sister Alexandra and my boyfriend. Mitchell gave a commencement speech. After being named valedictorian in my class of one and voted “most likely to have her own series,” I gave a talk, too, with funny anecdotes about the cast and crew. I can’t tell you how much it warms my heart to remember the lengths they all went to in order to ensure I had as close to a typical adolescent experience as possible. Years later, on the Melissa & Joey set, I duplicated the graduation idea for my young costar, Taylor Spreitler, who was also homeschooled and didn’t have a proper graduation. She was as moved by the gesture as I was. It’s good to pay it forward.
On set, I also wasn’t oblivious to the fact that adults put me on a pedestal because I was the show’s lead. They laughed at all my jokes and answered every lame question that crossed my mind. They let me be a curious kid and turned my incessant queries into lessons. When the camera wasn’t rolling, my favorite part of being on set was learning the ins and outs of TV production and realizing how many skills went into putting twenty-two minutes of script on air. The crew’s talents were also personally handy. If my earrings broke, props fixed them. If my jeans were too long, wardrobe hemmed them. If I needed pictures hung in my dressing room, the grips helped, and for random needs, hardworking production assistants, or PAs, were on call.
I remember running amok between shots and on rehearsal breaks, too. One time I chased down a crush who worked in promos because he stole my popcorn, but when he made a sudden 180 at the end of the hall, I rammed my nose into his forehead. This gave me my first and only bloody nose, and he swears he still has the tissue; I’m waiting for it to show up on eBay. I also flirted with the lighting guys who taught me how to properly dim an Inky or Tweenie—giant industrial spotlights used on Hollywood sets—and let me lower the baton so they could adjust a lamp. I liked goofing around with the directors and asking them to explain how they knew what camera should be looking at which actor, and when to switch cameras for the edit. They occasionally let me work the cameras and sound booms during rehearsals. I would have loved to help create the replicas of the Enterprise from Star Trek sets, or mix the colors for Double Dare’s slime, but those were a big deal.
Outside the studio, I wasn’t as crazy about the attention I received. Around the start of our second season, I began getting recognized for the first time, and I didn’t like it. Nothing bad ever happened to me, but I felt generally uneasy about being approached by strangers in public. Cable television was still new-ish to some Americans, the paparazzi wasn’t as ubiquitous as it is now, and nobody had cell phones for videotaping celebs or snapping their uncensored pics, so I didn’t have much experience interacting with fans the wa
y teen stars do now. I also hated when people mangled our show’s title to Clarissa Tells It All, which happened all the time and still does.
* * *
As much as I truly loved the work on Clarissa, my shoot and travel schedule made it a real challenge sometimes. I worked seventy-hour weeks with a laser-like focus. I shot in Orlando for three weeks straight, traveled home for two weeks, and then came back for three—until we’d completed ten to fifteen episodes in a season. My workweek began on Saturday night, when I read the latest script, given to me on Friday. Then with the cast, director of the week, writers, and producers, I spent Sundays at the table reading for that week’s episode in our enormous, dark, and damp soundstage. The good lights didn’t go on, and the thermostat wasn’t regulated until we started shooting on Wednesday. I often got strep throat and colds from the stage, and there was never time to heal completely. A few hours after I’d be sent home by the doctor, I’d get called back to rehearse, shoot, or go to school. Sunday table reads were the first time the cast and crew heard the script read aloud, as we noshed on bagels and coffee around a plastic folding table. After our reading, we dove into rehearsals scene by scene, and worked out the blocking (how we moved around the set). If any of the three kid characters were not in a scene, we were sent to the schoolhouse trailer attached to the side of the stage to work on our academics. This was the only time of day we saw sunlight, unless we ventured offstage for our one-hour lunch break.
Melissa Explains It All: Tales from My Abnormally Normal Life Page 5
