How the Actor "Jesus" Came to
Christ
Bruce Marchiano's
Story
There's so much to tell...and
at the same time, so little to tell. In so many
ways my upbringing was so typical, and in so many, so
untypical.
I grew up in southern
California, Orange County to be exact. Back then it
was all Orange groves with a scattering of suburban
housing tracts. What
a wonderland it was for me and my buddies - Kevin
Connoly, Joey
Goode...We would disappear into those orange groves
for entire
afternoons, playing all sorts of imaginary games. And
the building sites -
wow! There were all sorts of neat things lying around
that we could use for
clubhouses and all. I remember we even built a puppet
theater in Kevin's
garage with those building scraps. We modeled it
after Disneyland's 'Tiki
Room,' charged admission and everything. I don't
remember what kinds of
reviews or crowds we got, but it was great fun,
that's for sure.
There can be no doubt my love
of acting was birthed in those orange grove
and backyard role-playing games. I remember Superman
was real big back
then. Of course everyone wanted to be Superman. I
don't remember how
often I got that title role, but what I do remember
is that the reason I
loved playing Superman was different from the rest of
the kids. They all
wanted to play him because he was so powerful, but I
wanted to play him
"because he saved people." I remember it distinctly,
and looking back, I
can't help but think that even way back then the Lord
was shaping me for
the future He alone knew what I would step
into.
Interesting thing about my
growing up, I was by no means the cool so-cal
surfer kid. In fact, I didn't like the beach at all
until I was well into my
high school years. You see, I was a real chubby kid -
loved to eat, and the
cultural environment I was raised in was anything but
dietary.
My father is Italian and my
mother is Syrian. The two of them met here in
California, dancing at the Figueroa Ballroom in the
big band swing days.
My father and his buddies were out on a vacation from
New Jersey and
mom was living out here, transplanted from Rhode
Island with her Syrian
family. Dad took one look at Mom and his ship was
sunk. The next thing
he knew he was raising a family on the west
coast.
But given that, all the
relatives I remember, and all the family gatherings,
holidays, and weddings were all steeped in the
Syrian/Arabic culture. I
remember belly dancers at all the weddings, and the
old uncles would grab
their traditional instruments and provide the music,
and we'd do a line
dance called the 'dubke,' and all the Syrian women
would get together for
days in advance, cooking and cooking, and cooking
some more.
But you can imagine the food
I grew up on - dishes considered
exotic/gourmet these days. And the sign of a healthy
kid was the quantity
he ate. I remember stuffing myself with my
grandmother ('Sitto' in Syrian)
standing behind my chair exclaiming in Arabic what a
healthy child I was.
And 'healthy' I was! More,
more! And my mother made this pudding dish
that if you didn't take it away I'd clean out the
entire pan in one sitting.
Wow!
In any event, I was an
overweight kid, and when it came to things like the
beach and the locker room, it wasn't so nice. My only
saving grace is that I
was pretty athletic, so the way my brother puts it,
"You never looked
really fat, you just looked like a big square." Gee
thanks, bro.
But I would struggle with my
weight on and off until my 20's. One
afternoon I stood in a clothing store buying a pair
of pants. The girl behind
the counter was real cute, but she didn't look at me
even once, let alone
twice. I can remember it distinctly - it hit me so
hard I went home that
day determined to get fit. And get fit I did. Praise
God! It was such a big
thing to me, to this day I wonder who that girl was,
and if I'll ever get the
chance to thank her for ignoring
me.
But that weight was a big
thing, I'm convinced that it shaped my
sensitivities for the future. To this day, I find
myself always gravitating
toward the underdog - the guy left out - doing
everything I can to impress
the truth that God has a plan for his or her
life.
In terms of my acting, I was
on stage for the first time at 13, in a high
school production of 'Oliver.' I was in the chorus of
orphan boys and
Fagan's gang and had one big line. Boy, did I
practice it, over and over:
"What next is the question?"
I'll never forget, one
rehearsal the director said to me, "Bruce, I wish all
my actors were like you. You're always in character."
Wow! That validation
meant the world, and I knew from that age on that I
wanted to be an
actor.
Following high school,
university, post-grad, and 2 years in an office job
that I thought would make me go out of my mind, I
finally moved the 60
miles to Los Angeles. I got an apartment on Beachwood
Drive (the street
you drive up to view the Hollywood sign), signed up
for acting classes, and
dove in.
One morning in 1984 my phone
rang and it was the casting director for
'Murder, She Wrote.' He asked me if I could do a
walk-on - 3 lines - for the
show, and I was ecstatic. It was my first
professional gig, and as far as I
was concerned, it was "Kevin Costner, step
aside!"
Well, as wonderful as that
first acting job was, it would only launch me
into several years of struggle. I'd study by night
and pound the streets by
day, doing everything I could to get someone on the
other side of the desk
to take me seriously. There were occasional
opportunities, occasional jobs,
an agent here and an agent there, but the bottom line
was struggle.
The only upside was that
everyone was struggling. We were a whole
community of out-of-work actors, drinking coffee all
day long and 'talking
film.' I made some great friends and had some great
fun. And there's an
interesting thing about struggle - one gets pretty
inventive and creative in
how to have fun. And sometimes that's the best fun of
all.
One of my greatest joys then
(and now) was softball. Saturday was the
entertainment league where different TV shows would
put teams on the
field. It was very competitive, and guys like me who
weren't on a show
were brought in as ringers. I remember one great
player who played for
the Days Of Our Lives team. He was so good that they
actually gave him a
regular walk-on role, just so they could claim him as
an official player.
Sundays were pickup games at
North Hollywood Park. We'd play game
after game, starting around 10 am and going all the
way through 5 or 6. It
was wonderful, out there sweating in the sun all day
long, fielding
grounders and running the
bases.
I remember one player in
particular that used to come out to those games.
He always played the outfield, and his brand new
glove was a dead
giveaway that he wasn't the most experienced guy in
town, but he got
better and better as the weeks went on. He was
quieter than the other
guys, but when he did open his mouth, it was so funny
that the game
would almost stop. He drove an older black Porsche,
and I'll never forget
the day he walked on the field and everyone was
congratulating him for an
appearance on the Tonight Show. Then years later, I
turned on the TV and
there he was in his own sitcom. It was Jerry
Seinfeld.
But movies were my life, and
unfortunately, it was a pretty one-sided
affair. I loved them, but they had yet to love me.
And when I did work, it
was always a character somewhat 'rough around the
edges.' A boxing
manager, an ex-con living in his car, a black market
dealer, . . . It was
undoubtedly my dark looks, and that was just fine
with me, as long as it
got me work.
And then in mid-1987 my head
was spun around by a beautiful young
actress. She was a honey-dripping southern girl, and
no need to say more.
Suddenly it wasn't just movies anymore, it was movies
and this girl. She
and I would go out for the next 2 years, and for me
it was a roller-coaster
of emotional feast or famine, crashing late one hot
July night.
By that time, though I still
wasn't consistently working, my career was
taking on a nice pace. I had latched on to a talent
manager who was
passionately pushing me, and it