David Hornsby and the Lost Art of Making the Impossible Look Easy – Acting Classes & Coaching | Los Angeles
Day Three of our whirlwind SeeTheTonyNominees’26 Tour turned into what can only be described as The David Hornsby Experience.
David, dashingly dashing from cocktail party to cocktail party, somehow found time to usher us into the newly renovated Palace Theatre just before curtain for THE LOST BOYS, the Broadway musical he co-wrote with his longtime writing partner, Chris Hoch.
THE LOST BOYS arrived on Broadway with a mountain of acclaim, and after seeing it, I understand why. It was a phenomenal, mind-blowing, thrilling evening in the theatre.
Mostly. I have just one small complaint.
The first 98 or so percent of the show was so amazingly well-done that I was shocked by the lack of attention paid to the final moments. They felt oddly undercooked by comparison. Afterward, I asked David whether the director simply forgot to direct the final scenes and wandered off for coffee. It was the theatrical equivalent of watching an Olympic skater nail quadruple axel after quadruple axel and then end their program with a couple crossovers.
That said, I may have been the only person bothered by it. The audience’s wild applause and immediate standing ovation suggested that everyone else was having the time of their lives.
THE LOST BOYS is one of the most ambitious pieces of theatrical storytelling I’ve seen in years. The spectacle is extraordinary, but that’s not what stayed with me.
It was the story.
I’ve spent most of my professional life working with actors on acting. Because of that, I think writers often receive less credit than they deserve. We celebrate performances, songs, choreography, costumes, and effects—and we should. But none of those things exist without a script.
No story, no musical.
No story, no characters.
No story, no songs.
No story, no breathtaking moments that leave audiences cheering.
Everything begins with the page. And that’s what makes David’s accomplishment so remarkable. While writing and producing television, acting in multiple series, developing films, raising a family, and somehow maintaining the demeanor of a normal human being, David spent years helping to shepherd THE LOST BOYS from idea to Broadway stage.
Most people know David as an actor — from the likes of IT’S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA, where he created one of television’s most memorable recurring characters and MYTHIC QUEST, among so many other memorable roles. What many people don’t realize is that he’s also been one of the creative forces behind those shows as a writer and producer.
What fewer people know is that the qualities that make David remarkable have very little to do with his résumé. He’s an artist, a husband, a father, a loyal friend, and one of the kindest people I’ve encountered in this business. That’s the part that never appears in biographies or credits.
Years ago, David overheard me talking about sending birthday cards to my actors. I wanted something personal and original, but I can’t draw, and I wasn’t sure what to do. A few days later, an envelope appeared on my desk. Inside was the most extraordinary caricature of me I had ever seen.
David had drawn me wearing a “Dare to Suck!” T-shirt – a phrase my actors have heard me say a thousand times. Pencils stuck out of my hair everywhere because I was forever forgetting they were there. I was barefoot because I hate wearing shoes. I was carrying a bag overflowing with scripts and covered in my actors’ favorite Leslyisms. There were stacks of hilariously retitled acting books, chips scattered across the floor because I am always binging, and a broken computer nearby because my computer is always on the brink of death.
I was astonished.
Not because David could draw. Lots of people can draw.
I was astonished because every detail was true. The pencils. The bare feet. The chips. The broken computer. The ridiculous acting books. The “Dare to Suck” shirt.
None of those things mattered individually. Together they revealed something much rarer. David had been paying attention. Every affectionate, ridiculous, specific detail meant he had taken the time to notice.
Shortly afterward, an entire series of original cards appeared. I used them for years. Eventually, I turned them into posters that still hang on the walls of one of our classrooms.
To this day, I am lucky enough to be literally surrounded by David’s artwork.
We all spend our lives hoping to be understood. The caricature wasn’t a drawing. It was evidence. Evidence that someone had been paying attention.
If I introduced you to David at a party, your first impression would not be that you were meeting one of the most prolific creative talents working in entertainment today. You’d think you were meeting a guy who was inordinately interested in hearing all about you. In fact, after THE LOST BOYS, when we all went to dinner together, David didn’t ask what I thought of the show. He didn’t ask whether I thought it would win awards. He didn’t ask what I thought of his work.
He asked about our trip. Did we like the hotel? Where had we eaten? What other shows had we seen? How were we enjoying New York? He asked about us. That may not sound remarkable, but in an industry filled with people talking about themselves, it is.
David’s funny without trying to be funny. Smart without trying to be smart. Successful without needing you to know how successful he is. Those qualities are rarer than talent.
As for THE LOST BOYS, whether it should have won more Tony Awards is a debate I’ll leave to the people who get to make those decisions. What I do know is that David Hornsby and Chris Hoch created something genuinely original. In an industry increasingly built on familiar formulas, that’s no small achievement.
But when I think about David, I don’t think first about the awards, the Broadway opening, the television shows, or the astonishing list of accomplishments. I think about the caricature. Because while talent is impressive, noticing people is rare. And for that – as an audience member, a colleague, and a friend – I’m grateful.
Thank you, David.
Please don’t stop.
