Night Out: A Night Out With Michael Cera, Star of Broadway Play, ‘This is Our Youth’
Michael Cera outside the Plaza Hotel after appearing in a performance of “This is Our Youth.” He didn’t stick around. Christian Hansen for The New York Times
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Michael Cera visited the Plaza Hotel for the first time last week.
“This smells fantastic. It kind of reminds me of that hotel in the London,” he said, in a reference to Claridge’s. “It’s majestic.”
Mr. Cera was standing in the marble-everything Palm Corridor. He turned to the left, then to the right, and looked up to the stained-glass ceiling. Then he peered into a display case, inside of which was a fur coat with a card underneath that read “212-245-0777.”
“Is that the price or the telephone number?” he asked.
In the play “This Is Our Youth,” Mr. Cera is a New York native in the throes of his misspent youth. After stealing $15,000 from his father, he takes a girl he likes, played by Tavi Gevinson, to the Plaza for a romantic evening, where he loses his virginity.
In reality, Mr. Cera is a nice 26-year-old Canadian guy who recently moved from Los Angeles to New York, had no idea who Eloise was until Ms. Gevinson mentioned her after a preview performance, and had to ask his driver where the hotel was. (“Is it on 59th?”)
Mr. Cera’s first visit may be his last. He climbed a staircase to a bar area, plopped down on a plum-colored velvet sofa, took off his backpack and picked up a menu. “I could get some food,” he said.
But moments later, a waiter materialized and gave him the bad news: “Our kitchen is closed.”
“Give me a minute to think about it,” Mr. Cera said, wrinkling his brow and giving a quizzical look that recalled his character on “Arrested Development.”
Once the waiter was out of earshot, Mr. Cera made his disapproval known.
“Really?” he said. “You can’t get a French onion soup? What is it? 10:30? 11? Even at the Omni, you can get a soup at midnight.”
Mr. Cera thought some more, then made a decision. “Let’s ditch this place,” he said, picking up his backpack. “I know where we can get some sake and food.”
He went downstairs and stepped out onto Central Park South and the smell of horse manure. With his driver gone, Mr. Cera pulled out a MetroCard and headed to the nearby subway. On the platform, he spotted a poster for Beyoncé and Jay Z’s upcoming HBO concert on Sept. 20.
Mr. Cera had met her recently in Los Angeles and found himself with marbles in his mouth. “Any way you look at it, I blew it,” he said as the train pulled into the station and Mr. Cera stepped on board.
Inside the subway car, star-struck straphangers came up to introduce themselves. Mr. Cera engaged them all. Though he has been famous for more than a decade, playing smart, slightly clueless teenagers, he seems to have little ego about it.
One college-age guy approached and said, “You look like the guy from ‘Arrested Development.’ ”
Mr. Cera smiled and said, “I am.”
Another had a hipster look and a Spanish accent. “Where are you from?” Mr. Cera asked.
“Peru,” said the man, who looked surprised when Mr. Cera began talking to him in Spanish.
Around 11:30 p.m., the train pulled into Union Square, and Mr. Cera walked to Decibel, a sake bar on East Ninth Street. “It’s not the Plaza, but it’s charming,” he said.
A hostess led the way past a dark bar toward a table in the back. There, he ordered mussels and a bottle of sake (“Something sweet and mellow, not too cloudy”) and got down to a discussion of “This Is Our Youth.”
One thing he loves about the play is the chance to play a darker character. “Everything is a cry for help or a cry to exist,” he said.
Another is that it has allowed him to meet members of the audience, including people he has long admired.
“I love Elaine May,” Mr. Cera said. “She came to the show last night and I spotted her during the curtain call. I can’t even tell you how much it meant. She’s one of my favorite filmmakers.”
Still, there is one aspect of live performance Mr. Cera hasn’t gotten used to. “For the most part, audiences laugh at the most painful moments,” he said, as the check arrived.
At a nearby table, a couple were locked in an embrace. “I’ve been watching them make out,” Mr. Cera said conspiratorially, going on to construct a pretend narrative for the man, who was wearing a suit.
“Maybe he’s a venture capitalist from Mexico City,” he said.
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