How to American

by Jimmy O. Yang

  I usually get pretty nervous when I get on set. I am nervous I’ll botch the lines, I am nervous I haven’t done enough homework on the character and I am nervous people will discover I am an economics major trying to fake his way into being an actor. But something felt very natural about being Jian Yang. It was as if I’d been playing him for years. I felt like I was playing an earlier version of myself.

  For my very first take on Silicon Valley, I sleepily shuffled down the hallway to answer the door at the Hacker House. I opened the door to an angry man who was looking for my roommates, Thomas, Zach and Kumail, who were hiding from him around the corner.

  “Do you know where Pied Piper is?” the angry man asked.

  “This is Pied Piper,” I, Jian Yang, replied, matter-of-factly.

  “This is Pied Piper?”

  “Yes, this, here. Pied Piper.”

  Then Kumail’s character, Dinesh, tripped over a lamp and the gang was busted. The angry man marched in, determined to kick their ass. Zach’s character, Jared, said earlier in the episode: “If you repeatedly scream your name, it forces the assailant to acknowledge you as a human being.” The nervous Richard would repeatedly blurt out his own name while Dinesh would say Gilfoyle’s (Martin’s) name to try to frame him; and Jared would innocently say his real name, Donald. It was a masterfully written bit where three different jokes landed at once, and it perfectly showcased the personalities of each character.

  There wasn’t a particular gag for Jian Yang; I was supposed to just stand there in confusion. I thought to myself, What would Jian Yang do? Which translated to What would I have done when I first came to America? I thought it would make sense for Jian Yang to follow the lead of his American peers, thinking it was an American custom to repeat your name when a guest arrives. It was like what I did in my first day of school in America in eighth grade, when I followed everyone’s lead to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. I had no idea why everyone was doing it, but I followed the lead anyway. So I took a chance in the second take and decided to repeat my name with the rest of the gang: “Jian Yang, Jian Yang, Jian Yang.”

  That was the take that made the cut. It always feels great when an improvised moment makes it on the screen. But it felt even more satisfying to leave a part of my immigrant experience on the screen. I was a lost and confused immigrant like Jian Yang.

  When we wrapped that day, I was sad that this would be the first and last time I got to be Jian Yang and work with these hilarious people. When I packed up my bag and left my trailer, Zach Woods came up to me.

  “Really funny stuff today, man,” Zach said in his always genuine tone.

  “Thanks! It was so fun to get to work with you guys.”

  “Have you seen your other stuff coming up?”

  “What?” I had no idea what he was referring to.

  “Yeah, you have another really funny scene coming up.”

  “Really!?” I almost shrieked. This was amazing news to me.

  It turned out the scene Zach was referring to was the “I Eat the Fish” scene in the following episode. I was stoked that I would work another day at scale for another nine hundred bucks, but more importantly, I got to be Jian Yang again. I was over the moon.

  The “I Eat the Fish” scene would be the first time I worked with T. J. Miller and his character, Erlich Bachman. Something about our difference in size and mannerisms just instantly clicked. There was something naturally funny about the juxtaposition of a small deadpan Jian Yang and a large loudmouthed Erlich. Mike Judge came up to me between takes and gave me one simple note: “Before you say your first line, can you stand still and don’t say anything for a few seconds?” In the next take, I stood still and stared up at TJ for a good five seconds, re-creating the same confused look I gave to the girl in eighth grade who said, “What’s up?” to me. Then I slowly uttered, “Yes, I eat the fish.” The crew cracked up. “I eat the fish” became one of the most popular lines from Jian Yang. People still scream that out to me in public: “Hey! You’re the ‘I eat the fish’ guy!” To which I always respond, “What’s up?”

  JIAN YANG: UBER DRIVER

  I guest starred in a total of three episodes on the first season of Silicon Valley. I was paid a grand total of twenty-seven hundred dollars. I invested the money as a down payment for a used 2006 Prius, so I could drive Uber. As the old saying goes, “Give a man an acting job, you feed him for a day; teach a man to Uber, you feed him for a lifetime.” I was still sleeping in the living room of the one-bedroom apartment with Tarrell occupying the bedroom and Guam quartered in my closet. Not much had changed. We still couldn’t afford to go to Red Lobster. I was hoping Silicon Valley would bring me back for season two, but I surely didn’t count on it. I drove Uber eight hours a day, and went to auditions and acting classes in between customers. I once fired up my Uber Driver app after leaving my acting class and I was matched to pick up one of my classmates. To make matters worse, it was the pretty girl I had a crush on. Then just as I was pulling up, the trip was canceled for some reason. So I rolled down my window and asked:

  “Hey, Jessica, did you call an Uber?”

  “Yeah, but I canceled it. My boyfriend’s coming to pick me up.”

  I wanted to drive my Prius off of a cliff.

  Four months and a hundred Uber trips later, I received an audition email from Wendy O’Brien’s casting office, which had cast me on It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia before. Wendy and her partner, Jeff, are two of the kindest casting directors and have championed me since day one. They believed in me before I believed in myself. This was a callback audition for a new Yahoo series called Sin City Saints. The show was about a fictional expansion basketball team in Las Vegas. It was one of the first original series from Yahoo, an attempt to position itself as a new streaming platform like Netflix. The audition was for a series-regular role on Sin City Saints. This was a big deal. Being a series regular would surely be the big break in my acting career. The difference between a guest star and a series regular is the difference between driving UberX and taking UberBlack. My friend Fred Stoller, a longtime character actor, who guest starred as Raymond’s cousin in Everybody Loves Raymond, said it best: “You know what the difference is between playing Raymond’s cousin and Raymond’s brother on the show? About forty million dollars.” Brad Garrett was the series regular that played Raymond’s brother on the syndicated sitcom. Fred is also the author of the great book Maybe We’ll Have You Back: The Life of a Perennial TV Guest Star. As someone who was also passed around guest starring in different shows like an unwanted foster child, this book resonated with me. I dropped off an Uber customer and drove to Wendy’s casting office with a potential forty million dollars at stake.

  The character was named Byron Summers. Byron was a basketball statistician much like Jonah Hill in Moneyball. The character was written to be African American. I had to go in and change their minds. Two black actors and I waited outside of the audition room at Wendy O’Brien’s office. I thought to myself, Shit. They are definitely looking for a black dude. Doesn’t matter how much BET I’ve watched, I have no chance. But I stayed focused, knowing that getting this role could be the big break of my career, and it’d be a huge win for the Asian community. The pressure was on.

  One by one, we went in the room to read with Wendy, Jeff and the director of the series, Bryan Gordon, who’s best known for directing Curb Your Enthusiasm. I can always tell how well another actor is doing in an audition by how long he has been in the audition room, and my goal is always to outlast that person. When the last guy was in there for a good thirty minutes, I started to panic. This guy must be killing it in there. When he came out, he gave me a smirk and said, “Break a leg.” I should have Tonya Harding’ed him and broken his leg right there. Then it was my turn. Wendy and Jeff gave me the usual warm welcome, but I was flustered to meet Bryan for the first time. I fumbled through the sides on the first take. The pressure of a possible forty million dollars and a billion Asian people came crashing down on
me. Bryan kindly gave me some directions and asked me to do it again. I got more comfortable after every take, until I was rolling off basketball statistics like Marv Albert at the NBA finals. Next thing you know, we were all chatting in the audition room like four friends at a picnic. I looked at my watch; I had been in there for an hour. Byron Summers was about to be Chinese.

  My agent, Jane, called me at eleven in the morning the next day.

  “Congratulations!” she exclaimed, “you got the job! You are going to be a series regular!”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just screamed. She continued, “It shoots for ten weeks in Vegas, they are going to put you up at the Caesars Palace!” I was planning to drive Uber that day, now you’re telling me I get to hang out in Vegas and stay at the Caesars Palace? And get paid for it?! From the Comedy Palace to Caesars Palace. My little head couldn’t even process this gigantic news. I ran around in my pajamas repeatedly screaming, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” My neighbor must have thought I was having the best sex of my life.

  “But there is one thing,” Jane said. “If you do this show, you can’t do Silicon Valley anymore, because Yahoo wants you exclusively on their show.”

  Nothing is ever perfect, is it? I wasn’t sure if I was going to be back on Silicon Valley, but if HBO called me to be back on the second season, I knew it was something I couldn’t pass up. The first season of Silicon Valley was already nominated for the Emmys and Golden Globes; it was on its way to becoming a big hit. It meant everything for my career to book my first series-regular job, but how could I turn down a possible second season of an Emmy-nominated HBO show with Mike Judge? I was torn. I knew I’d make at least twenty times more money as a series regular on Sin City Saints than the union minimum nine hundred dollars guest starring on Silicon Valley. And trust me, I cared about the money. My economics degree told me, Take the series-regular money, go to Caesars Palace. But I ignored that econ degree the same way I did when I left Smith Barney to do stand-up. I followed my gut.

  “Jane, I’d rather be a small part of a great show than a big part of an unknown show.”

  I put my foot down. “I really want to do Sin City Saints, but they need to let me do Silicon Valley.”

  I didn’t know much about the business, but I knew I couldn’t give up on Silicon Valley. Jane’s joyous tone suddenly turned heavy, but she knew I was making the right decision. “Let me call Yahoo. Let me see what I can do.” When she hung up, I started second-guessing everything I’d just said. Was that the right decision? What if I lose out on Sin City Saints and Silicon Valley doesn’t call me back? Am I going to be driving Uber for eternity? My stress level went into overdrive. I didn’t know what to do, so I left my apartment and just started walking in a random direction. Twenty minutes into my stress wandering, Jane finally called back. I picked up on the first ring.

  “Hello!”

  “Jimmy, Yahoo wouldn’t budge on the exclusivity. And they said we have until 1 p.m. to give them an answer, or else they are going to move on with somebody else.”

  I looked down at my watch; it was already noon. It was as if the writer of an action thriller movie wanted to heighten the stakes. There was already a bomb in Times Square, but now we discover it’s a ticking time bomb that’s going to blow up in twenty minutes! Where’s Bruce Willis?! I need Bruce Willis!!!

  “So what should we do?” I asked.

  “Let me call HBO and see if they can match the offer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to see if HBO will make you a series regular on Silicon Valley.”

  I almost had an aneurism. Are you crazy? There’s no way! I’m just a random schmuck who was on three episodes with five lines. We are going to look like idiots asking them to match Yahoo’s series-regular offer. But I trusted Jane’s seemingly outlandish idea. “Okay.” That’s all I said and we hung up. Once again, I waited for her to call me back, with even more on the line this time. All the bad thoughts came crashing in again, ten times harder. What if I burn a bridge with HBO with this crazy ask? What if Mike Judge thinks I’m an idiot? What if they kill off Jian Yang?

  With each minute that passed by, my heart rate went up by ten beats. I was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. I was looking for anything to distract me. I walked by the farmers’ market at the Grove in LA and found myself at the farmers’ market bar. I sat down and ordered a beer. The only people at the farmer’s market bar at noon were alcoholic degenerates who were already drunk. Everyone looked like they had been through at least two divorces and three rehabs. “Hey! Cheers!” A scraggly middle-aged man raised his glass to me. He was wasted. His downward spiral of a life flashed in front of me as if it were my own. Fuck, is this my future self? I pounded my beer as quickly as I could and shuffled out of that grim bar filled with cautionary tales. It was now 12:30 p.m. I wandered into the Grove’s outdoor mall and saw its signature trolley pass by. It was a fancy retro trolley that took you from one side of the mall to the other, a massive waste of space, but a scenic tourist attraction. I had lived in LA for more than ten years and I’d never gone on that trolley. Why not? Anything to get my mind off of Yahoo and HBO. So I took a scenic seat on the top deck, sitting behind a Chinese tourist family with a little boy. I was so preoccupied with the phone calls that I didn’t realize I was still wearing my pajamas. People definitely thought I was the Chinese family’s degenerate elder son. The sun was blasting on the top deck and I was sweating like I was a withdrawing heroin addict. The Chinese dad glanced at me with pitiful disappointment, reminiscent of my own father. As the trolley rolled past the Cheesecake Factory, it was 12:45 p.m. If I don’t get a call in fifteen minutes, my life is over. I might as well go back to the farmers’ market bar and join my peers. Then my phone rang—Jane Schulman. That name looked like Jesus Christ My Lord and Savior to me. Before I could scream hello again, Jane said in a serious tone:

  “Jimmy…”

  She paused. My heart was about to eject out of my asshole.

  “Silicon Valley is going to make you a series regular!”

  Everything I’d ever worked for materialized in that sentence. Every bad audition flashed in front of me and they liquefied themselves and seeped out of my eyes as I sobbed. The weight of everything my dad expected of me lifted off of my shoulders. I sat there quietly for a moment. Then I gathered myself and screamed in the phone:

  “FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!”

  The Chinese family in front of me shielded their kid from me and hustled off of the trolley. I screamed again into the sky:

  “FUCK YEAH!!!!!!”

  I knew my life was about to change.

  I called my dad to share the monumental news.

  “Dad, Silicon Valley is going to make me a series regular!”

  “What is that?”

  “That means I’ll get paid more money, and I’ll be under contract with HBO!”

  “So you have a job?”

  “Yeah! As a series reg—”

  “Good.”

  He had no idea what series regular meant, but he was satisfied that I finally got a job.

  HOW TO JIAN YANG

  Being a series regular meant I didn’t have to drive Uber anymore; it meant I could finally call myself a full-time actor. It also meant that my dad was wrong; pursuing what I loved didn’t make me homeless after all. I was now full-time Jian Yang. I had to get in touch with my former fresh-off-the-boat self. I had to remember how to immigrant again. I listened to Chinese radio for an hour before every scene to get into Jian Yang’s Chinese state of mind. And before the start of every take, I repeated a mantra in Mandarin, “ (Wo Bu Zhi Dao),” which means “I don’t know.” This summed up Jian Yang’s entire being. He always has a general “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. Either he doesn’t want to deal with it, or he genuinely doesn’t know what is going on.

  The great thing about playing Jian Yang is that the worse I looked, the funnier it was. Our costume designer, Christina Mongini, picked out a closetful of terrible-
looking clothes for Jian Yang, and it was perfect. Jian Yang’s wardrobe consisted of ugly sweaters and ill-fitting jeans; it looked like things from a suitcase he brought over from the old country. For the first time in my career, I actually had a wardrobe for my character, instead of just one outfit for the one day of work. This foster child had finally found a home. Jian Yang was here to stay.

  My first scene as a series regular on Silicon Valley was the mansion party scene in season two, where Jian Yang and Erlich Bachman tried to get into the fancy Muir Woods charity party. Christina and I made sure Jian Yang had an ill-fitting tuxedo with a crooked clip-on bowtie. In between takes, a background actor came up and politely tried to fix my bowtie. “It’s supposed to be like that,” I said as I put it back to a forty-five-degree angle. Everything clicked in that scene. TJ and I were having so much fun, we forgot we were even acting. It was more like two friends messing with each other at a party. We discovered the clear and effective game of Erlich belittling Jian Yang only to have Jian Yang completely throw him under the bus. The dynamic of a big buffoon and the little troublemaker just worked.

  There are four geniuses that are the creative motors behind Silicon Valley. The Four Amigos are made up of Mike Judge, Alec Berg, Clay Tarver and Dan O’Keefe. Mike’s creations were the bloodline of modern American satire. He had created Beavis and Butt-Head, King of the Hill, Office Space, Idiocracy, and now Silicon Valley. The man is quietly one of the most genius comedic minds in all of entertainment. Alec and Dan were longtime Seinfeld writers; those two and Clay were all well-decorated Harvard graduate writers with a sharp sense of humor. These Four Amigos were responsible for writing the show and Mike and Alec were also the showrunners who directed most of the episodes. It’s such a luxury to have these guys on set, sitting at video village. They would throw out alts (alternate lines, ideas) in between takes to give us more arsenal than just the original script. The great alts from the Four Amigos, mixed with the improvised lines from the actors, made each scene truly come alive.