They Swing Into Action When Show Must Go On . . . and Others Can’t

She says: I pop a computer chip in my head and I’m out there. On stage.

He says: I try to make it my own show.

Meet the swings (not what you think), people with the toughest jobs in all of show businesses. Stunt work is a walk compared to what swings do. Ditto for what Gunther Gebel-Williams or Evel Knievel attempt. Without swings, the show doesn’t go on. Swings are theater’s Everyman, capable of being all things to all people.

They are the understudies’ understudies, instantly able to perform every role in such labor-intensive theatrical offerings as “Les Miserables,” “Phantom of the Opera,” or “Jerome Robbins’ Broadway.” Their names are usually listed at the bottom of the credits.

Kerrianne Spellman, a New Yorker, is one of four swings for “Les Miz” at the Pantages. She has a Manhattan look about her. Eyes alert, large, taking it all in, ready to circumnavigate Times Square or Hollywood and Vine. Her mouth moves quickly with each expressed emotion. Her laugh is a roar, a real after-theater explosion.

Daniel Eli Friedman, another “Les Miz” swing, is from North Hollywood. He looks L.A. His eyes are focused, deep, certain, watchful of the promising Pacific wave. His Bruin blue cap, UCLA in proud script, restrains the currents of his hair. His conversation darts rapidly about, a Sunday morning freeway sprint.

They may seem to be two coastal stereotypes but they are as one as they talk about their tough but so little known pursuit.

She says: Now I feel I can do anything. I have that confidence. Learning just one role? No problem!

He says: The more you learn, the more you go on.

If swings worked baseball, they’d be designated hitter-utility fielder-pinch batter all inside one uniform.

In football they’d play 60 minutes. Any position. Then go out and kick the game-winning field goal followed by a Gatorade dousing of the head coach.

Swings are the National Guard of the theater--ready for any call-up.

In politics they’d be vice president, ready to stand in at the drop of a head of state.

Between them, Spellman, Friedman and two other swings are capable of performing as many as 27 different acting, singing or dancing roles in “Les Miz.” He has 15 stored in his memory, she has 12 computer chips ready to be popped. They know every line of every speech, every note of every song, every little movement of the chain gang members, prostitutes, workers, students, revolutionaries, thieves. At a moment’s notice they are ready to lace up their French revolutionary boots and go to the barricades should someone sneeze, break down or take too much sunshine.

They are walking one-person shows.

Yet they rarely know until they walk into the Pantages and study the callboard half an hour before curtain who they will be for that performance, what makeup they will have to put on, what costumes they will have to wear. Or if they go on that night at all.

Hum something from “A Heart Full of Love” and Friedman could become Marius, Spellman could be Cosette. Or Eponine.

She says: It’s most satisfying, this work. You feel so valued, knowing how much they rely on you.

He says: It’s such a great thrill to come back here as a working actor. To me, it’s amazing just to be able to perform.

This is no small thing, this job of swing. Those who do it have extensive training and experience in all phases of acting and the musical theater. William Solo, two years ago the Jean Valjean lead at the Shubert, is listed as a swing in the New York “Les Miserables.” When Michael Crawford became ill earlier this year in “Phantom of the Opera,” he was covered by one of his understudies who is also a swing, Joseph Dellger.

Actors Equity requires a higher minimum salary for swings than for other ensemble members. “It’s harder than being in the ensemble,” says George Ives, the union’s Western regional director. “Ensemble members have their roles. Swings have to know the choreography and roles of so many players and be ready to go on at any time.”

Swings aren’t born, they’re chosen. In the case of Spellman and Friedman, both had gone through general auditions for “Les Miz,” he for the San Francisco company, she in New York. Neither had planned on being a swing until they were offered the jobs, he 17 months ago in Detroit, she 14 months ago in Detroit.

Ironically, being able to hit a high C led to Spellman becoming a swing. “They told me they needed someone in Detroit in five days who could hit high C. Maybe if I didn’t have that range . . . .”

Assuming the talent and the range are there, just how do swings get into their many roles, considering that it’s tough enough for most of us to remember ZIP codes, area codes, Social Security numbers and freeway exits.

The bible helps. That’s the thick notebook the two young actors learned early on to keep. In it are their notes for every role they may be required to cover. Who the person is. The history of the characters. The costumes they wear. The microphone cues required of each, the makeup, the movements on stage, the various pieces of business that make the characters seem real.

When they first joined the company, both swings set out to first learn all of the music while they kept notes on the performers. Both carried tape recorders and commented on what each character did on stage. They memorized the different tracks--the various roles each ensemble member plays. In one scene an actor could be part of a chain gang, then move up to foreman, then a traveler. After performances the tape messages were transcribed and entered into the bible. Spellman used color coding in her notebook: Blue highlights were for exits and entrances, orange for costume changes.

He says: Eventually I could play my roles in my sleep.

She says: It’s like cramming for a test.

Within a week Spellman was on stage, one track seemingly crammed down. Friedman went on on the fifth day. Each week they learned another track while keeping notes on everything. Each week at the four-hour rehearsal when understudies move up to lead roles, the swings would fill in, learning new blocking, new parts, getting new track experiences, learning how to be more than what they are.

She says: They called places and I wasn’t ready. I wanted to scream.

He says: I had my share of pratfalls and run-ins with the scenery.

He says: You can’t get sick. So you stay healthy.

She says: I don’t eat garbage. Rest is important, so is dance class and vitamins. I performed for two weeks with a broken bone in one foot while the other swing was covering for someone else.

Both say it took six months before they felt completely confident in all of their roles. It’s a confidence that says they can handle whatever challenge or role they might be asked to meet.

But there’s the irony in this whole swing business. Catch 22. The horns of their dilemma. The swing gets really proficient. Professional. Confident. Hopeful for a single-character role or a regular understudy track. The swing tells the backstage powers and plans to try out for other roles.

Then the swing hears again how important and valuable he/she is.

Who could be found now?

Who could be trained now as a replacement?

She says: It is a major frustration, not being on every night.

He says: I’d like to originate a Broadway role. But now I just want to keep doing good work and to remain artistically sane.

And then the engagement comes to an end in Los Angeles. Los Angeles becomes Chicago. A new, different stage. Specific movements to plan. New exits and entrances to study. It’s all in the many-colored bible. And in those ready-to-pop mental computer chips.