Stay Hungry

by Sebastian Maniscalco

  The jerky pace of the shoot took some getting used to. Sometimes, Austen and Greg would come out of the bullpen (where they were watching the camera playback) and give me line changes and gesture modifications, one after the other, like, “Change this, and say that, and move here, and not there.” I’d been terrified of forgetting my lines and had memorized every-thing painstakingly. And now they wanted me to change it?

  I listened and nodded, but I was thinking, Oh, fuck. I couldn’t remember ten notes about two lines of dialogue on the fly. Meanwhile, the audience sat up there, waiting for action. It was way more nerve-wracking than doing standup. In my act, I know what I’m going to say. I’m in control of it. But I wasn’t in control when I was being told what to do, how to say a word, stand, cross the stage, turn left (FYI: you can’t turn your back on the audience, ever). The nuances of shooting a sitcom were infinite, and I had to learn them while we were filming.

  With all that going on, it was impossible for me to judge how the shoot went. I thought we’d done a great job. After we finished, my father came down to the set, full of compliments. He started talking to Tony, offering to help him with his research. Lana and Vanessa were like kindred spirits. My sister and Mom took pictures with Tony and the cast, and were obviously excited to be there. Seeing my family happy about my big night brought me out of my worry and into the moment. It meant a lot to have all of them there—my parents, wife, in-laws, sister, brother-in-law. I don’t love a crowd outside of standup, but this was nice. I felt like everybody was on this journey with me, that we were on the ride together. That feeling of joy will get even more intense when Serafina is older and I can bring her to a sitcom taping.

  Not Sebastian Says, unfortunately.

  Serafina might see the pilot episode one day. No one else ever will.

  A lot goes into the decision about which pilots the network will pick up for each TV season. They look at what’s currently on the air, what’s doing well, and what makes sense to follow a hit TV show. I don’t know every factor they considered or how they made their final cut, but in the end, they did not pick up my show. We were completely shocked and heartbroken. That year, NBC made ten pilots and took three.

  The odds were against us from the beginning, and I knew that. But I believed we’d get through. When we didn’t, it was crushing. You put your blood, sweat, and tears, your whole life story, into this one thing, and then, in an instant, it’s done.

  I could just go back on the road, back to comedy. For me, the TV show would actually have been a pay cut compared to what I made touring. (But it wasn’t about the money, of course.) I felt terrible for the actors. We’d been gearing up for what would be years of an on-stage family. They were banking on the network ordering twelve episodes so they’d have steady work. Now the actors would have to psych themselves up to go through that audition process again, and keep hitting it until they landed on a show with a future.

  How much of the show’s failure was my fault? I tortured myself with this question in the months to follow. Did I, we, do our best? Did we give all we could? Looking back, I think we did, but you always want to go above and beyond. Lana came to the emotional rescue, and said, “The sitcom not working out clears the way for something else that will.” Only time would tell if she was right.

  THE SITCOM’S DEATH wasn’t it for me as an actor. I finally got my big break playing the pivotal role as Johnny the Groundhog in The Nut Job 2: Nutty by Nature. By the time you read this, I’m sure I’ll have received my Oscar. (I brought my six-year-old niece to the red carpet premiere, and she was in heaven.)

  I still wanted to see my face on screen, not just my voice coming through a rodent’s mouth, so I took what is known in Hollywood as “general meetings.” You go in, sit down with producers and directors just to talk and see if they have any projects that might be right for you, now and in the future. It’s like, “Nice to meet you. Keep me in mind.” Early in my career, I would have gone home from one of these meetings and waited with bated breath for the phone to ring and a producer to tell me he was going to cast me in a movie. But having been in the business for a while, and gone up and down the emotional roller coaster, I knew not to get my hopes up, especially having created the pilot and seen the politics of actually getting a role or a show on the air. I learned firsthand how these things are so out of my control. So now I’d walk out of general meetings and go on to the next thing without putting any pressure or expectations on anything. If the stars lined up and we both found that working together was a good creative fit, then it would pan out. I would leave the meeting and say, “If the phone rings, it rings, great. If it doesn’t, at least I have my comedy career to fall back on.” I always feel for actors because, for most of them, that is not the case.

  I was so comfortable with not getting acting roles that when I did get a call about appearing in a movie called Tag with Ed Helms, John Hamm, and Jeremy Renner, I wasn’t all that excited about it. I would play a small part as a minister in a wedding scene, with a few lines and, according to my agent, “some improv.” I don’t like to improv in front of a camera. It’s hard enough to memorize the lines and come in on cue, but now I’d have to wing it? My agent convinced me to do it, saying it would be a good opportunity to be on camera in a big comedy. I couldn’t deny that and agreed to do it.

  In hindsight, maybe I wasn’t so excited about it because I was scared of doing something new. I’d never acted in a big movie before. Could I pull it off? Could I hold my own, doing an improv scene with Ed Helms? Jeremy Renner had been nominated for an Oscar, twice. I’d been Surgeon #1 on General Hospital.

  Along with fears about remembering my lines, I was anxious about how it all worked. My first day, I walked onto the Atlanta set of a movie that had been in production already for three weeks. I was the new guy. I didn’t know anyone. They’d already established their cliques. It was first-day-at-a-new-school-type shit. I had a tight group of friends in junior high, but when we had to move up, all of them went to one high school and I was alone at another one. It had to do with your address. They were all zoned for a different school even though we lived near each other. My first day, I didn’t know anyone and was really shy. In the cafeteria, I ate alone. I watched all the other kids talking and laughing, while I sat there, miserable, believing that it would be like that every day for the next four years. Of course, it didn’t work out that way. But the dread was so gut-wrenching, I never forgot it. Whenever I feel acutely awkward and alone, I get a flashback, which happened on my first day on the set of Tag.

  The scene was in a large park, outside, and they had me in a black suit. I was gushing three different types of sweat: (1) regular sweat that is my everyday norm (I run hot), (2) sweat from wearing a black wool suit in Atlanta in 100 degree heat, and (3) a cold, damp nervous sweat. I was losing so much water, my mouth went dry, and I was smacking my lips to get any moisture in there while going over my lines. I went wet and dry. I didn’t know anyone. I’d never done this before.

  Then a knock on the door, and it was a production assistant who said, “They’re ready for you on set.”

  My heart started beating like crazy, and I thought, This is new. My heart didn’t beat like this when I went in front of eighteen thousand people to do standup. But to film a scene in front of a few people? You would have been able to visually see my heart beating if I removed my shirt. So I followed the PA to the set, and it wasn’t the quaint small scene I’d imagined. There were a hundred extras, plus a whole wedding party. As the minister/pastor/whatever, I was going to officiate the ceremony.

  Much to my great relief, I saw a familiar face. It was the producer whom I’d had a general meeting with. As he walked over to me, I thought, Oh cool, I’ll be able to hang by him and shoot the shit. Here we go. No more awkward feelings as if I don’t know anyone. We can have lunch together, etc. etc. Next thing I know, he said, “I know you from somewhere,” like we hadn’t sat across a table from each other for an hour a few months ago. This played on
my mind, too. It wasn’t a “Don’t you know who I am?” ego moment. It was an anxious “Does anyone know why I’m here?” moment.

  Nearby, I saw Renner, Helms, and Hamm talking to each other. The old me would have gone in a corner and waited for someone to drag me out. But I made myself visible to them by walking over and introducing myself. It was low-key, like, “Hey, I’m Sebastian. What’s going on?” Pleasantries were exchanged, and then they went back to what they’d been talking about before I went over. So now what? I thought. Should I chime in? Pretend I see someone else that I needed to talk to? Make a joke and then peel away? While the three of them talked, I stood there planning my escape route. Usually, in this sort of situation, I try to leave on a laugh. Wait for people to crack up and then do a laughing 180-degree-turn peel-off exit. I was so in my head because I wanted to talk to these guys, but I also needed to run my lines. I didn’t want to be the forty-four-year-old guy who fucked up the scene because he was too busy trying to find someone to play with at recess.

  A few minutes later, I was called onto the set and I met Leslie Bibb, the female lead. She took one look at me and said, “Size two boots! You do a Prince bit, right? I love that! You’re so funny!”

  I thought, Thank God. Someone was familiar with my comedy. It was a moment of validation, one I really needed to feel more at ease on this movie. Sometimes, you need a little external support to give you a boost of confidence, that’s all. Standing in our places, I talked a little bit to Renner. I was feeling more comfortable and ready to deliver my lines.

  Then the director adjusted the lines and added backstory that threw a wrench into my whole plan! He told me to just do what I do, basically saying, “Don’t worry about sticking to the lines.”

  I said, “Okay, no problem!”—but in my head, I was going, Fuck! But I just did it anyway. I learned that sometimes, when the pressure is on and you’re pushed into a situation that’s unexpected, it’s more natural and organic.

  On stage, I can hear people laughing, and that lets me know that what is coming out of my mouth is funny and things are going well. But on a movie set, you do your lines, and it’s completely quiet. I didn’t hear anything. The whole time, I was making up lines, having to rely on my internal comedic radar and to trust that what I was saying was funny. All you can do is prepare for what you know, trust in yourself, and that things will iron themselves out. (FYI: I just got a peek at the edited scene last week. It turned out fantastic!)

  With each take, my confidence grew, and I walked away from the set of Tag determined to do more acting. This experience was the first time I really had the opportunity to sink my teeth into a part and adapt my comedic skills to a new and unfamiliar art form. I’m so glad I did it, and I proved to myself that I could hold my own with some really great actors. Having a comedic movie role, where I had some creative freedom, was a huge step. Now that I have that under my belt, I’m excited for the phone to ring with more opportunities. Now that I know I can do it, I have the confidence to pull it off.

  LAST BITE

  When I do interviews, people always ask, “What’s next for you?”

  I have absolutely no idea.

  It’s best if you don’t know.

  Yes, it’s great to have goals in life and make plans, to have ambitions and big picture ideas. But, looking back, I see that every break I got came totally out of the blue. I was working hard every day to advance my career, but what actually pushed me forward were those chance encounters—like being in the Comedy Store parking lot with Dice or in the stairway at Dublin’s with Vince. The things I plotted—like my sitcom, literally—didn’t turn out like I’d hoped. And other things panned out in unpredictable ways. For instance, if I hadn’t done the film Cruise, I wouldn’t have had tape of my dramatic acting to show to casting directors to get work in the movies.

  Fitting the filming of Cruise into my schedule was nearly impossible. I flew back and forth from New York to Florida four times in one week to make it happen. I was totally stressed out, but something in my gut told me to make it work. At the time, I didn’t know if it was going to be worth it. And now I’ve learned that my scene in it pushed me over the edge to land a part in a movie coming out next year.

  Some people might have ready answers to “What’s next?” off the top of their heads. They have a running list of everything they want to do, like opening a cheese shop in Manhattan, having five kids, winning an Oscar, or earning seven figures. My philosophy is that if you plan too much, you might miss the random, unforeseen opportunities that could turn you around but ultimately take you where you want to go.

  Whatever happens is what happens. What’s next is what’s next. How’s that for a life philosophy? Five years ago, I couldn’t have predicted where I’d end up; I can’t predict where I’ll be five years from now.

  My only plan has always been to make people laugh. I set out to be a standup comedian, that’s it. I never thought that I’d be sitting where I am now, writing this book in Los Angeles with my amazing wife in our beautiful home with our adorable baby sleeping with her arms above her head like a starfish upstairs. The days of gazing out the window at a lunatic humping his couch are long gone. I never imagined that my career in standup comedy would go as well as it has, or that I would find true love. And when I say true love, I mean a girl who monitors my caloric intake, makes me literally run up mountains, and found a nail lady to come to the house who also drops crab apples and passion fruit from her garden in our mailbox on a random Tuesday. I could never have ever planned these things or made this shit up. I just stayed hungry and worked for every-thing that came my way. It’s all I could do, and what I plan on doing in the future.

  In this business, there’s a fine line between reality and negativity. The iron is hot for me now, but it could burn out. Disappointment could be around the corner. I don’t know. And that’s the whole point: No one knows anything.

  Apologies to my wife, who likes to think everything is good and will keep on being that way. I’m more comfortable believing that I could fall off the mountain at any time. Maybe that’s what fuels me to dig in to hang on. I look at guys like the Rock or Kevin Hart, who are always positive, with an attitude like “I’m at the top of the mountain, but I’m going farther. I’m going to the moon!” Looking up at the moon might work for them. But what motivates and fuels me is looking down at my feet, and putting one in front of the other.

  The ever-so-popular ’80s mullet. Thanks, Dad!

  Mom, Dad, Jessica, and me, circa 1981.

  My killer Michael Jackson impression at the fifth grade ice cream social.

  My post-college modeling portfolio. Antonio Sabato, Jr. had nothing on me.

  The highway median wheat/sweater shot. Mom: “So handsome!” All of Hollywood: “Zzzzzzz.”

  At the Four Seasons Beverly Hills in 1999. I was so relieved to get that job. At the time, I had no idea I’d still be working there six years later.

  New Year’s Eve at the Four Seasons, moments before leaving to do a set at the Comedy Store.

  Introducing my sister Jessica, Mom, and Dad to Andrew Dice Clay, when I was opening for him in 2003.

  Hanging out with my Chicago crew at my parents’ house.

  The Wild West Comedy Show comedians (left to right): me, Ahmed Ahmed, Bret Ernst, and John Caparulo, in 2005. Thirty days of nonstop laughter.

  My first Showtime special (2012), What’s Wrong With People? aka “What’s Wrong With My Pants?”

  (PHOTO: DAN DION PHOTOGRAPHY)

  The greatest weekend of my life in 2013 when Lana and I said, “We do.”

  (PHOTO: TORY WILLIAMS)

  My second Showtime special (2014), Aren’t You Embarrassed? My favorite special in terms of comedy. That magenta sweater drove me nuts!

  (PHOTO: ANTHONY TAHLIER)

  Lana and me in 2014 at the American Comedy Awards in NYC. A couple hours later, I was in a headstand on the bed, hiccupping.

  (PHOTO: ANADOLU AGENCY/GETTY IMAGES)

&
nbsp; My third Showtime special (2016), Why Would You Do That? Filmed at the Beacon Theatre in NYC. Note the penguin shirt and matching Justin Timberlake shoes.

  (PHOTO: TODD ROSENBERG)

  At Patsy’s in NYC with “Fucking Tony Danza” and a Frank Sinatra statue in 2016.

  Proud parents.

  (PHOTO: TODD ROSENBERG)

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Believe me when I tell you I had a lot of help putting this book in your hands.

  In anything I do in my career, my wife, Lana, is right by my side. I couldn’t have done this book without her. She really knew how to translate my stories to the page. It was a long and laborious process, but we did it, babe.

  Val Frankel, my cowriter, for getting my voice and breaking her ass to make this book what it is. When I met her in Atlantic City and we worked over the weekend, I knew I was in good hands. Thanks for giving me the confidence to make this book a hit.

  My manager, Judi Marmel, the hardest-working woman in show business, for pushing me to places I never thought possible. Who knew we’d go from lunch at the Islands Cafe to a bestselling book?

  My agent, Anthony Mattero, for being patient with me and allowing me to make this book what I knew it could be.

  The entire team at Simon & Schuster for taking a chance on a first-time writer and giving me an opportunity to tell my story: Jeremie Ruby-Strauss, Brita Lundberg, Jennifer Bergstrom, and Jennifer Robinson.

  My PR team, Ebie McFarland, Debbie Keller, and Nicole Greene, for getting the word to the people that I have a book. Thanks for your tireless dedication and getting me quality press.