A secret center of the musical theater universe lies almost 3,000 miles from Broadway in a modestly grand house in Toluca Lake. On a late summer day, the home’s most striking feature was the figure of a white standard French poodle. Visible through one of the windows flanking the front door, she sat so still that she might have been mistaken for a statue, like the lion-dogs that guard the entrance to a Shinto shrine.
If musical theater had a canine sentinel, it might well be a standard French poodle. But no. When the door opened, the dog, Belle, sniffed politely before trotting deeper into the house, neon-green-painted nails flashing, to pause briefly beside her owner: Eric Vetro, perhaps the leading vocal teacher and trainer of bold-faced names on stage and screen, including several of the leads in the upcoming film adaptation of “Wicked.”
Ariana Grande, who plays Galinda, has spoken often and at length about how long and how rigorously she worked on raising her pitch and honing her voice before auditioning for her dream role — and Vetro is the man who coached her.
Just as he coached Jonathan Bailey for his role as Fieyro. Just as he worked with Jeremy Allen White for his performance as Bruce Springsteen in the upcoming “Deliver Me From Nowhere” and Timothée Chalamet for “Willy Wonka” and the upcoming Bob Dylan biopic, “A Complete Unknown.” And Renée Zellweger for her Oscar-winning performance as Judy Garland in “Judy.” And Lea Michele for “Funny Girl,” Austin Butler for “Elvis,” Josh Gad for “The Book of Mormon” and “Frozen,” Emily Blunt for “Into the Woods” and “Mary Poppins Returns,” Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling for “La La Land” and Halle Bailey and Melissa McCarthy for “The Little Mermaid.”
The list goes on and on and on. It also includes plenty of equally well-known recording artists, such as John Legend, Shawn Mendes, Katy Perry and Pink. Indeed, if a famous actor or singer refers to the work they’ve done with a vocal coach, there’s a very good chance they are talking about Vetro. Invariably in very glowing terms.
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“Even though my range has always been high soprano,” Grande says via email, “Galinda requires a very different technique, and has a very different sound than the one I use to sing my pop music. Her voice is classical and operatic, and I had the honor of working on that every day together with Eric in preparation. [He] would paint Belle’s nails pink and green and put little pink ribbons in her hair to send me off before each audition or callback,” she adds. “Not only is he the best at what he does but he is truly the most thoughtful and kindest man in the world.”
Dressed, on this day, in black Prada jacket and shoes, which match his meticulously groomed short beard and hair, Vetro, 68, is an arresting figure, with a ready and dazzlingly white smile and the slender, expressive hands of a piano player. That’s how he got into music, initially — he’s played piano since he was 5. A voice major at New York University, he worked in cabaret for many years, learning, he says, the valuable lesson of listening, both to what a person’s voice can do, and also to what it should do.
Voice coach Eric Vetro gives a lesson at his home this summer.
(Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times)
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“So many young girls can belt it out and they get known for having a big voice. But that cheats them. You have to listen carefully and adjust, get them to understand that some voices are more beautiful when they’re not bigger.”
His work as a musician, teacher and adviser led him to L.A., where, he says, “I kept meeting people and getting coaching jobs. If you throw yourself into it 100 percent, you’re going to get noticed.”
In the beginning, most of his clients were outside the entertainment industry: nurses, waiters, people who just wanted to sing better. Then he got hired by Craig Zaden and Neil Marin to work on the 1999 remake of “Annie,” which led to “Chicago,” “Hairspray” and “Hairspray Live.” He began working with Bette Midler during her Vegas residency, Hugh Jackman on “Boy From Oz” and Grande, who began working with Vetro when she was 23. “Once you get going,” Vetro says, “it just snowballs. Now I don’t work with ‘regular’ people at all.”
Now he works on movies, theatrical shows, musical tours, brought in by directors, producers and musical directors to work with performers with a variety of experience levels and demands — singers, like Grande, moving into musical acting roles; actors, like Blunt, in their first singing roles; artists on tour, and performers who are looking to grow their voice or achieve a specific sound.
For actors like Butler, White, Zellweger and Chalamet, who need to channel a well-known voice the first step is being aware of the voice they have.
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“We start with voice lessons so they understand their own voice,” Vetro says. “Then we start with the realm of another voice. It might be pronunciation, or where they take their breaths or the accent. We start vocalizing in character — I asked Renee, ‘What would Judy think of this exercise?’”
The goal is to capture the essence of the person, he says. “You don’t want it to be an impersonation.”
Vetro says he has only turned one client away — a well-known model who had been offered a role on Broadway. “He was very good-looking, charming. And then he opened his mouth. I said, ‘If this were a movie, maybe, but for you to sing on Broadway is never going to happen.’ His girlfriend called me later to thank me.”
Thanks to a recently released BBC Maestro series, however, “regular people” can get the Vetro treatment. He is filming it on this particular summer day, on which his home is filled not just with two pianos and multiple keyboards, but also lights, cameras and sound equipment.
For about 30 minutes, he works with longtime students, singer-songwriter Heidi Webster and singer-actor David Burnham. Burnham, who played “Wicked’s” Fiyero on Broadway, started working with Vetro after he was cast in a Universal Studios theme park show. “Eric realigned my voice,” he says. “I have recordings of him doing lessons that I use before every Broadway show.”
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Vetro with students Heidi Webster and David Burnham.
(Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times)
“Lessons” include singing scales with one’s hands in the air, dropping on the high note, or bending forward and being pulled up by the ascension of notes.
“We’re like athletes,” Burnham says. “Runners don’t race without warming up.”
There’s also a lot of breathing exercises — the famous “hee hee heeee,” jaw-dropping, face-wagging, arm-waving and humming through a straw, sometimes into a cup of water.
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“It’s amazing what you can do with a straw,” says Jonathan Bailey via email. “I thought we elevated it two levels when instead of using a cup of water we used champagne flutes, which I just thought was the height of sophistication. He always had a naughty twinkle in his eye and we laughed and laughed and laughed.”
In preparation for “Wicked,” Bailey began working with Vetro, often over Zoom, while still filming “Fellow Travelers.”
“A real challenge for me was that I was filming in Canada and London and going back and forth. With ‘Fellow Travelers,’ I’d do 21-hour days where I’d either have to shout or sometimes I’d have to smoke,” he says. “[Eric] sees you at all different moments of the day and in all different levels of excitability. It’s amazing, you start in your sort of home setting with him and build such a kinship and make such a friendship that he becomes sort of a spiritual guru.”
Vetro’s love of his clients and craft is palpable. The walls of his studio are papered with photographs of his students (and their various awards), and the fondness with which he speaks of them appears to be boundless and utterly sincere; he radiates positive energy. He needs to — being the entertainment industry’s go-to vocal coach is not a 9-to-5 gig. Vetro works pretty much round the clock, often consulting in several time zones. After filming the BBC piece and doing this interview, he will work with one student in Australia at 5 and another, in London, at 11.
Friends tell him he needs to take a vacation once in a while, he says, but he has no interest. There’s always, as they say, another opening, another show.
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“I just love it so much,” he says. “It does not feel like work. I’d rather do this than anything.”
The Tiger Is the Tank. Or rather, the type of German tank that gives the film its international title—just in case anyone might confuse this war story with an adventure movie involving wild animals. The tank itself is the film’s container, much as The Boat was in the legendary 1981 film it openly seeks to emulate in more than one respect, or as the more recent tank was in the Israeli film Lebanon (2009). Yes, much of Dennis Gansel’s movie unfolds inside a tank called Tiger, but what it is ultimately trying to tell goes well beyond its cramped metal walls.
This large-scale Prime Video war production has been described by many as the platform’s answer to Netflix’s success with All Quiet on the Western Front, the highly decorated German film released in 2022. In practice, it is a very different proposition. Despite the fanfare surrounding its release—Amazon even gave it a theatrical run a few months ago, something it rarely does—the film made a far more modest impact. Watching it, the reasons become clear. This is a darker, stranger movie, one that flirts as much with horror as with monotony, and that positions itself less as a traditional war film than as an ethical and philosophical meditation on warfare.
The first section—an intense and technically impressive combat sequence—takes place during what would later be known as the Battle of the Dnieper, which unfolded over several months in 1943 on the Eastern Front, as Soviet forces pushed back the Nazi advance. Der Tiger is the type of tank carrying a compact platoon—played by David Schütter, Laurence Rupp, Leonard Kunz, Sebastian Urzendowsky, and Yoran Leicher—that miraculously survives the aerial destruction of a bridge over the river.
Soon afterward—or so it seems—the group is assigned a mission that, at least in its initial setup, recalls Saving Private Ryan. Lieutenant Gerkens (Schütter) is ordered to rescue Colonel Von Harnenburg, stranded behind enemy lines. From there, the film becomes a journey through an infernal landscape of ruined cities, corpses, forests, and fog—a setting that, thanks to the way it is shot, feels more fantastical than realistic.
That choice is no accident. As the journey begins to echo Apocalypse Now, it becomes clear that the film is less interested in conventional suspense—mines on the road, the threat of ambush—than in the strangeness of its situations and environments. When the tank plunges into the water and briefly operates like a submarine, one may reasonably wonder whether such technology actually existed in the 1940s, or whether the film has deliberately drifted into a more extravagant, symbolic territory.
This is the kind of film whose ending is likely to inspire more frustration than affection. Though heavily foreshadowed, it is the sort of conclusion that tends to irritate audiences: cryptic, somewhat open-ended, and more suggestive than explicit. That makes sense, given that the film is less concerned with depicting the daily mechanics of war than with grappling with its aftermath—ethical, moral, psychological, and physical.
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In its own way, The Tank functions as a kind of mea culpa. The platoon becomes a microcosm of a nation that “followed orders” and committed—or allowed to be committed—horrific acts in its name. The flashbacks scattered throughout the film make this point unmistakably clear. The problem is that, while these ideas may sound compelling when summarized in a few sentences (or in a review), the film never manages to turn them into something fully alive—narratively, visually, or dramatically.
Only in brief moments—largely thanks to Gerkens’s perpetually worried, anguished expression—do those ideas achieve genuine cinematic weight. They are not enough, however, to sustain a two-hour runtime that increasingly feels repetitive and inert. Unlike the films by Steven Spielberg, Wolfgang Petersen, Francis Ford Coppola, and others it so clearly references, The Tank remains closer to a concept than to a drama, more an intriguing reflection than a truly effective film.
Will Smith and his company Treyball Studios Management Inc. are being sued by an electric violinist who is claiming wrongful termination, retaliation and sexual harassment — allegations denied by the actor-rapper-producer in a statement from his attorney.
Brian King Joseph alleges in a lawsuit filed earlier this week that Smith hired him to perform on the 2025 Based on a True Story tour, then fired him before the tour began in earnest in Europe and the U.K.
Joseph, who finished third in Season 13 of “America’s Got Talent,” went onto Instagram in the days before filing his lawsuit and posted a Dec. 27 video saying that he had been hired for “a major, major tour with somebody who is huge in the industry” but “some things happened” that he couldn’t discuss because it was a legal matter.
Electric violinist Brian King Joseph, seen performing at an awards show last October, is suing for wrongful termination, retaliation and sexual harassment.
(Tommaso Boddi / Getty Images for Media Access Awards)
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But, he said, “Getting fired or getting blamed or shamed or threatened or anything like that, simply for reporting sexual misconduct or safety threats at work, is not OK. And I know that there’s a lot of other people out there who have been afraid to speak up, and I understand. If that’s you, I see you. … More updates to come soon.”
In the lawsuit, filed Tuesday in Los Angeles County Superior Court and reviewed by The Times, Joseph alleges that he and Smith struck up a professional relationship in November 2024, after which Joseph performed at two of Smith’s shows in San Diego and was invited to perform on several tracks for Smith’s “Based on a True Story” album, which was released March 28.
After the performances in San Diego, Joseph posted video of a show on Instagram with the caption, “What an honor to share the stage with such legends and a dream team of musicians. From playing in the streets to sharing my music on stages like this, this journey has been nothing short of magic — and this is just the beginning. Grateful beyond words for every single person who made this possible.”
While working on the album, the lawsuit alleges, “Smith and [Joseph] began spending additional time alone, with Smith even telling [Joseph] that ‘You and I have such a special connection, that I don’t have with anyone else,’ and other similar expressions indicating his closeness to [Joseph].”
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Joseph soon joined Smith and crew for a performance in Las Vegas, the lawsuit says — on March 20 at the House of Blues at Mandalay Bay — with Smith’s team booking rooms for everyone involved. Joseph left his bag, which contained his room key, in a van that took performers to rehearsal, and then the bag went missing for a couple of hours after he requested someone get it for him, the suit says.
When Joseph returned to his room late that night, according to the complaint, he found evidence that someone had entered his room without his permission.
“The evidence included a handwritten note addressed to Plaintiff by name, which read ‘Brian, I’ll be back no later [sic] 5:30, just us (drawn heart), Stone F.,’” the document says. “Among the remaining belongings were wipes, a beer bottle, a red backpack, a bottle of HIV medication with another individual’s name, an earring, and hospital discharge paperwork belonging to a person unbeknownst to Plaintiff.”
Joseph worried that “an unknown individual would soon return to his room to engage in sexual acts” with him, the complaint says.
It adds that Joseph, “concerned for his safety and the safety of his fellow performers and crew,” alerted hotel security and representatives for Treyball and Smith, took pictures, requested a new room and reported the incident to police using a non-emergency line. Hotel security found no signs of forced entry, and Joseph flew home the next day.
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Several days later, rather than being called on to join the next part of the tour, a Treyball representative told him the tour was “going in a different direction,” the lawsuit says, and that his services were no longer needed. The representative “redirected the blame for the termination onto [Joseph], replying, ‘I don’t know, you tell me, because everyone is telling me that what happened to you is a lie, nothing happened, and you made the whole thing up. So, tell me, why did you lie and make this up?’ [Joseph], shocked at the accusation, had nothing further to say,” as he believed the reports and evidence from Las Vegas spoke for themselves.
Joseph alleges in the lawsuit that as a result of events in Las Vegas and in the days immediately afterward, he suffered severe emotional distress, economic loss and harm to his reputation. He also alleges that the stress of losing the job caused his health to deteriorate and that he suffered PTSD and other mental illness after the termination.
“The facts strongly suggest that Defendant Willard Carroll Smith II was deliberately grooming and priming Mr. Joseph for further sexual exploitation,” the lawsuit alleges. “The sequence of events, Smith’s prior statements to Plaintiff, and the circumstances of the hotel intrusion all point to a pattern of predatory behavior rather than an isolated incident.”
The Times was unable to reach publicists or a lawyer for Will Smith because of the holiday. However, Smith attorney Allen B. Grodsky told Fox News on Thursday that “Mr. Joseph’s allegations concerning my client are false, baseless and reckless. They are categorically denied, and we will use all legal means available to address these claims and to ensure that the truth is brought to light.”
Joseph’s attorney, Jonathan J. Delshad, recently filed sexual assault civil suits against Tyler Perry on behalf of actors who say they were not hired for future work by the billionaire movie and TV producer after they rejected his alleged advances.
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Joseph is seeking compensatory and punitive damages and payment of attorney fees in an amount to be determined at trial.
The Based on a True Story tour played 26 dates in Europe and the U.K. last summer. Nine of the acts were headlining gigs, while the rest were festivals.
By John E. Finley-Weaver in San DiegoJohn E. Finley-Weaver (SDJW photo)
My wife convinced me to watch a movie about ping pong. And, having acquiesced to her proposal, I dove face-first into a kettle of willful ignorance, knowing only that Some Guy Timothée Chalamet of Dune 1 and Dune 2 and A Complete Unknown (another of her suggestions) was the lead, and that what we were soon to watch might move me. Or, at the very least, that it might entertain me.
The movie did not disappoint.
In fact, Marty Supreme is the absolute best film about table tennis that I have ever seen. And I’ve seen all of one of them so far, although I am aware of and have seen a few clips of Robert Ben Garant’s Balls of Fury.
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But, holy mackerel, Marty Supreme is not just a movie about some lanky goniff whose inner craving for focused dominance in one specific realm compels him to pursue a shiny, sportsball “X” trophy, culminating in a crowd-pleasing, applause roar of triumph . . . a n d . . . cut to the end credits, supplemented by a catchy, happy song . . . . “Honey, let’s get to the restroom, fast!”
Uh-uh. Nay. Marty Supreme is a lived-in world (like the Star Wars universe, but way different and way better) populated by tactile characters, each of whom has their own, inferred history and glob of yearnings. And they have warts. Lots of warts. Warts and all.
Marty Mauser, the Jewish protagonist of Marty Supreme, is a plucky ping pong imp and shoe salesman, in addition to being a nimble and loquacious malarkey artist. He is also a shockingly-gawdawful, verbal bastard person to his mother, played by Fran Drescher, who left her specific, discount Phyllis Diller voice in the dustbin of screen history where it belongs, much to the contentment of my sensitive ears.
Marty Mauser is even more a womanizer and a thief. And he is a delight. And, because boring, nice boys don’t have movies made about them, he does something for his ema that is chutzpahdik, illegal, vandalicious, unhistorical, and tear-inducingly sweet.
And again, dear Reader, I went into this movie knowing most of nothing about it. If you are like me, fear not: I shan’t disclose the plot.
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Marty Mauser’s partners in life and “crime” are the facially-delicious Rachel, played by Odessa A’zion and best bud Wally, performed by Tyler Okonma, each complementarily savvy to Marty’s needs and wants.
The remainder of the film’s actors is a gathering of casting directorial genius: Kevin O’Leary, the that guy from some reality television show that I will never watch; Gwyneth Paltrow; director Abel Ferrara; Sandra Bernhard, my lukewarm, high school “bad girl” crush; Géza Röhrig, whose character is seven year’s fresh from a Nazi death camp and hauntingly beautiful; Koto Kawaguchi, the movie-world champion and legally-deaf Tommy-esque pinball wizard of ping pong and real-world champion of the game; Pico Iyer, Indo-Limey travel writer, meditator, and inveterate outsider; George Gerwin, a very retired basketball player; Ted Williams and his golden voice; Penn Jillette, agrarian and blasty; Isaac Mizrahi, obviously “out” in 1952; and David freaking Mamet.
Gush.
And great googly woogly. They all do their jobs so gosh darn well that I don’t notice them as actors acting.
And then, as I have done since I was a child, for science fiction books, for television, and for movies, I recast, in my mind’s eye, all of the characters and their associated journeys as different people. I made an all-Negro cast of the film. And it worked. No radical changes to the script were necessary. I did the same for a spunky, mid-West farm girl as the lead. That worked. I tried again, using a Colombian lesbian. That worked too.
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I praise the cinematic vision of Director Josh Safdie. I praise the wide accessibility of the script he co-wrote with Ronald Bronstein: Thank you. The expected plot points, the tropes of moviedom, the “inevitable” happenings of standard movies never really happened. Marty Supreme zaggled and Zelig’d when I expected it to zig.
A lesser film would not have surprised me in most of its story structure, its scenes, or its character paths. A lesser film would have had me in my seat, either smugly prognosticating the next events, or non-thinkingly rapt for entire scenes. This film, this masterpiece of storytelling and visual and aural execution outsmarted me. It outsmarted my movie mind, and for that, I am grateful.
Marty Supreme is a very Brooklyn Jewy movie, but it sings from the standard Humanity of us all, to each of us. And that is movie making at its finest.
* Cinema buff John E. Finley-Weaver is a freelance writer based in San Diego.
