GOTTA DANCE. GOTTA SING. GOTTA ACT.
By Anthony Chase
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If you’re an actor portraying “the world’s greatest entertainer”—the legendary Al Jolson—you’d better be a world class entertainer. And a hell of an actor. Otherwise, your performance might be a terrific homage or caricature, but it won’t ring true. The musical numbers might swing, but your audience won’t believe you’re the real deal during the dialogue. Or they’ll buy into your act, but only until your local-class singing.
So who does a Buffalo producer cast to portray Jolson at Daemen Theater? Enter John Fredo. Actor, singer, and dancer.
Fredo doesn’t just play people like Al Jolson and John Adams, he studies them. Reading biographies is one of Fredo’s passions; he’s deeply interested in the people behind the parts. “The great thing biographies give you as an actor is an ability to understand humanity,” he explains. “That’s what was great about doing Jolson. He was all the things that created the legend, but he was also all of the complications of a man of his time, and also of humankind. How many people do you know who have a great benevolent side of themselves, who are generous, wonderful, thoughtful, sensitive—and then there are certain areas where they’re not? I don’t think in the human condition those things contradict each other. They’re part of our ability and our intelligence to be able to encompass more than just a single dimensional view of things.”
From that kind of deep understanding—and through applied talent—Fredo gives his creations life. “When you play any of those people, there’s a moment when you are them, when you’re singing a song and the people are believing and you’re helping to conjure that particular personality.”
During the show, Fredo noticed people in the audience who enjoyed Jolson during World War Two, singing along. “It had an immediate visceral attack on their psyche, on all of their memory. It made them feel like they were looking out of younger eyes again. What do you have if you can’t take your life in stride and look at something and say, ‘I remember that feeling. I remember that moment when I first tried to try to hold her hand. And this was the song.’”
While sentimentality and nostalgia alone may have made quite a nice evening out at the theater, thank you, it’s not sufficient for an actor of Fredo’s capability and sensibilities. He’s an artist who chooses to not show off his talent, but to let it serve his characters. It takes the willingness to woodshed, the intelligence to apply it, and the humility to communicate an open and honest performance. It’s a unique combination that transforms a piece of entertainment into a piece of theater.
“I’ve watched performers who have been able to dance very well but haven’t gotten me to care about it,” says Fredo. “That has to do with them being able to get to a place inside themselves that makes them do that for a reason. You do it with the intent of the song, not just because you know how to turn out your foot and you have the elasticity in your inner thigh. Well, you didn’t make me care. So now I don’t care whether you can kick your face or make a six o’clock arabesque.”
Fredo believes he can portray a wide range of people because, like Lon Chaney, he has “an ambiguous enough face…that’s also specific enough that I can hold onto my identity.” Another reason is his roots as a dancer. He started when he was around sixteen, and while many actors consider dancing their most difficult task, Fredo finds it his easiest. He can “immediately go into not just a dance step but a posture or movement that I recognize is that person. If all I’ve got to do is change my voice a little bit and adopt physical attributes of this person, and understand who this person is, to whatever degree I can, that’s the package.”
Tell Fredo that takes talent and he’ll tell you he doesn’t know what that is. He just goes there in his head and in his heart. He’ll discuss the intent of the scene or the song with his director, then go home, learn the lines, experiment with the physicality, the voice, the sound, the posture, and the movement of the character. He’ll get comfortable with those elements, then he’ll self-edit. He’s his own worst critic in the privacy of his own world while discovering the truth of his character. Then he’ll throw all those thoughts somewhere way back in his head. Because the more conscious or self-conscious he appears doing them, the less effective he is.
There’s a moment, Fredo says, where a performer has to allow the audience to just soak it in for a moment and say, “Okay. I have to accept this physical entity in front of me right now as the representative of Jolson.”
“He has a wide range and he’s credible no matter what he does,” says fellow actor and playwright Manny Fried. “That comes from thinking rather than external acting. He must do a great deal of thinking about the character to have all those colors—arrogance, cruelty, kindness—come across. John’s a professional; he could be doing this in New York.”
He’d like to. “I need to let people know who I am; there’s a possibility of being able to make myself known and work within that frame. I think that’s coming soon. But I’ve got a lot going on here. I have a life here. I have family here. I love doing theater here. I’d like our theatrical community to be a little more supported so people could make a living. People are doing good work in this city. I’ve never seen anything at Studio Arena that I wouldn’t think some of my fellow actors in this town would do equally as well. They’re union members; there’s no reason in the world why they shouldn’t be over there doing jobs.”
What’s Fredo’s next scene? Continuing the Jolson piece, perhaps, along with other properties in development. “I usually get a lot of material. Producers seem to put a lot of stock in what I’m able to accomplish and for the most part support it. You are whatever echelon you create.”
Exit John Fredo. Actor. Singer. Dancer. As Al Jolson always said, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
Bob Davis is a business consultant and entertainer who studied theater in Great Britain.
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