When I was nearly 17, I began the slow, difficult journey of realizing that I was gay. I remember one night, sitting with one of my good high school friends (who also happened to be discovering his homosexuality) in the bedroom of his godmother’s townhouse, watching a video of the movie Jeffrey (originally a play), written by Paul Rudnick and directed by Christopher Ashley. I remember how excited my friend and I were to watch this “gay” movie. Looking back, however, it was not just the fact that it was a “gay” movie that excited us. It was a movie about gay men, some of whom were smart, some of whom were not, some of whom were effeminate, some of whom were macho, some of whom were rich, some of whom were poor—but none of whom were predators or murderers or freaks. These men were sometimes intimate with one another, sometimes sexual, sometimes mean, sometimes caring. Basically, they were human beings—and, thanks to Rudnick’s wit, they were incredibly funny human beings. Suddenly the possibilities my friend and I could consider in our lives as gay men were opening up in front of our eyes.

Paul Rudnick, playwright

Flash forward seven years, and—by some twist of fate—that same friend happens to be visiting me in New York, just as I am about to start rehearsing the premiere of Paul Rudnick’s new play, Valhalla, under the direction of Christopher Ashley. And, boy, am I excited!

Apart from my personal admiration of them, Rudnick and Ashley are both highly respected in the theater and film worlds. In addition to Jeffrey, Rudnick is responsible for writing the hugely successful plays I Hate Hamlet and The Most Fabulous Story Ever Told, as well as the hilarious feature films In and Out (starring Juilliard alumnus Kevin Kline) and Addams Family Values. Christopher Ashley is one of the busiest theater directors in the U.S., with his Tony-nominated Broadway revival of The Rocky Horror Picture Show still running at Circle in the Square, as well as his current production of (Juilliard alumnus) David Lindsay-Abaire’s play, The Wonder of the World at the Manhattan Theatre Club. With this production of Valhalla, we are also fortunate enough to be working with one of the best costume designers in American theater, William Ivey Long, whose latest credits include the Broadway shows Thou Shalt Not, The Music Man, Cabaret, and Chicago.

I walked in to my first day of rehearsals a very humble, very frightened man. By this time, my friend had left New York. Before he left, I had tried to describe Valhalla to him and I was a little lost for words. The best I could do was to mutter something about Prince Ludwig II of Bavaria in the 1870s, and James Avery of Dainsville, Tex. in the 1940s, and their common quest for a life of extravagant, operatic beauty. “At any rate,” I told him, “it’s one of the funniest plays I’ve ever read.”

Rehearsals continued, and I was determined to do justice to the vision of this playwright and director whom I admired so much. For Rudnick, the original idea for the play had come from an article about a real case of wartime looting, in which a man from Texas had stolen a precious, jewel-encrusted item from a castle in Europe during World War II and taken it back to Texas. The man kept it hidden his whole life, bringing it out to show the occasional friend or relative. Rudnick was intrigued by the idea of this Texan hiding this one piece of extravagant, baroque beauty in his life—and the character of James Avery of Dainsville was born. Then, to create the palace and therefore the king that this item could have been stolen from, Rudnick looked to an actual historical figure, King Ludwig II of Bavaria. Ludwig—known variously as “The Swan King,” “The Mad King,” or “The King of Hearts”—ruled Bavaria from 1864 to 1886. At a time when the monarchy was becoming increasingly modern and gradually dying out, Ludwig’s ideals were those of the heroic kings of the past. In fact, his obsession with Louis XIV eventually led him to build an exact copy of Versailles, only larger. Ludwig was responsible for the construction of a number of castles in Bavaria, the greatest of which is “Neuschwanstein.” This is the castle that most “fairytale” castles are modeled on (including the Disneyland castle). All of Ludwig’s building eventually rendered Bavaria bankrupt, and he was declared insane and removed from the throne.

Whether Ludwig was actually insane or not is debatable; it is certain that he was eccentric. After seeing a production of Wagner’s Lohengrin, he became obsessed with both the story and the composer. Ludwig would constantly act out parts of the story, and even built himself a boat in the shape of a swan, like the one, according to the legend, that the magical knight Lohengrin travels on. Ludwig went on to commission all of Wagner’s operas, including his masterpiece, the “Ring” Cycle. Rudnick wanted to explore the life of this character he describes as “high-strung, passionate and unable to censor his more hallucinatory urges.”

With all of this to live up to, I was preparing myself to work like I’d never worked before. Early in the rehearsal process I was unhappy with my progress. My acting felt forced, over the top; I was throwing all this energy at the role and it felt tense and awkward. Slowly I began to realize the unnecessary pressure I had placed on myself. I started to think that, as an actor, I needed to be more careless with my work—not to worry constantly about living up to some preconceived ideal. But I was at a loss as to how to achieve this, when I cared so much about the project. And it seemed to me that if I didn’t care about my work, then I wouldn’t even want to be an actor.

At about that time, I was talking to my friend on the phone. He happened to have just left his arts administration job in Sydney, Australia, to travel around Europe. I told him I admired how brave and careless he could be—to take off, without any promise of a new job in Europe. He stopped me, however, to say that, in fact, he wasn’t brave or careless; he was incredibly frightened. But he didn’t want his fear to hold him back. He wasn’t careless, he was full of care. He just didn’t let it hinder him.

And it came to me in a flash: I didn’t want to be careless about my work, or without any care or investment in what I was doing; I wanted to be carefree, or free of the tyranny that caring a lot about my work could hold over my acting. So now, I go into each rehearsal attempting to be more carefree—refusing to let my care hinder me—and some exciting things are happening.

Valhalla runs December 12–16 in the Drama Theater at 8 p.m., with a 2 p.m. show on Saturday, December 15 and a 7 p.m. show on Sunday, December 16. Tickets are extremely limited; please check with the Juilliard box office for availability. For information call (212) 769-7406.

Craig Baldwin is a fourth-year actor who writes about drama for The Juilliard Journal. He plays Ludwig in Juilliard’s production of Valhalla.