Jimmy Yang - How to American

87.

7/27/2013

Subway

sandwich artist

88.

7/29/2013

NBC Sketch Pilot

Sketch, characters

89.

7/30/2013

Alexander and the Terrible…

2 lines, Young Asian tech boss

90.

8/22/2013

Lenovo

Rock band member

91.

8/22/2013

Wonder Years

Older teen boy

92.

8/27/2013

Agents of SHIELD

Chinese teenager

93.

8/30/2013

Sean Saves the World

2 lines, IT call center, all ethnicity

94.

9/10/2013

NBC Scene Showcase

2 different scenes from comedy shows

95.

9/24/2013

Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Korean Hacker guy, early 20s with British accent

96.

10/15/2013

Coca-Cola

Authentic Asian family. Mom and Dad came too.

Awesome

97.

10/18/2013

Hawaii Five-O

young Asian/Hawaiian Thug

98.

10/18/2013

Mixology

Fun party guy

99.

10/21/2013

Hot in Cleveland

uptight lawyer guy, giving a restraining order

100.

10/22/2013

Mappers

Asian high schooler

101.

10/25/2013

The Rebels

2 lines, High school kid

For my 102nd audition, I got another email from Jeanne McCarthy’s casting office. It was once again for the role of Jian Yang, now spelled with an a in Jin, and the show had changed its name from Deep Tech to Silicon Valley. Silicon Valley was already in production and this Jian Yang character had become a smaller two-line part in episode three. I later learned the original pilot was never shot and the script was completely rewritten. Not booking that first audition had nothing to do with me at all: the original Jin Yang was written out of the pilot in the process. It was like finding out your crush rejected you because she was actually a lesbian. I felt slightly better about myself.

I strolled into the McCarthy/Abellera casting office once again in my same sandals over socks, gray sweatpants and awkward chemistry T-shirt combo.

“This is Pied Piper.”

“Yes, this, here. Pied Piper.”

Two lines, one take, that was it. I read it on tape for Leslie Woo, one of the casting associates at Jeanne’s office who would later become a top casting director. Leslie said, “Thank you” and once again I drove home in my frumpy sweatpants. “On to the next!” I couldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast that day, or what I did after the audition, because I thought it was just another day. There was no callback or screen test after that audition, which is common for a part that small. The casting directors can’t waste their time calling back every little part on the show; usually the producers cast straight off of the audition videotapes.

Two days later, I got a call from Jane. “You got the part! It shoots for one day and it pays scale.” And that’s how I became Jian Yang. I was happy to make another nine hundred bucks, but there was something special about this two-line part. The creator of Silicon Valley was also the creator of Beavis and Butt-Head, my commencement speaker at UCSD, Mike Judge. When I was sitting in the audience as a hungover college student listening to that commencement speech, I had no idea I would become an actor; I was an economics major destined to be a miserable desk jockey. Five years later, I was at a table read, sitting across from the man who inspired me to pursue my dreams.

I EAT THE FISH

The table read took place at an unassuming conference room at the Culver Studios. I sat across from Mike Judge, the other producers, writers and the cast. I knew of Kumail Nanjiani and T. J. Miller from the stand-up world. They were the guys who I’d looked up to, both having been series regulars on other TV shows and had their Comedy Central spots. I’d seen Zach Woods and Martin Starr in The Office and The 40-Year-Old Virgin and it was the first time I’d seen Thomas Middleditch, who played the lead role of Richard Hendricks. Nobody had heard of Silicon Valley yet, but each of them painted such a vivid picture of their distinct characters. There was an undeniable chemistry between the five of them that shone through with every written line and improvisation. They riffed off of each other even at the table read and they never missed a beat. It seemed like they had been doing this show for ten seasons.

Next to me was the late, great Christopher Evan Welch. The man was a master-class actor. I learned so much about comedy just from watching him at the table read. He portrayed the eccentric billionaire investor Peter Gregory. It was the first time I learned how silence could be just as funny as any sharply constructed joke:

“Have any of you…” Christopher pauses for a beat. “… ever eaten at Burger King?”

“Yes, why?” his business associate responds.

“Well…” He takes it in, as we eagerly anticipate his next words. “I was just driving past one. And while I know their market cap is seven-plus billion dollars I realize I am unfamiliar with their offerings.”

“You’ve never eaten at Burger King? Okay, but what does—”

Christopher swiftly cuts him off: “Is it popular among your peer group? Is it…” He stares at his associate for half a beat. “… enjoyed?”

He put pauses in places you wouldn’t expect and he gave every sentence a distinct rhythm. His cadence drew just as much laughs as the lines. Christopher was like a maestro conducting an orchestra of words. It was truly amazing.

I briefly met all the cast and producers after the read. Even though I only had two lines, everybody treated me like I was part of the family. Thinking this was my first and last chance, I went up to Mike Judge and introduced myself.

“Hey, Mike, I’m Jimmy. You were my commencement speaker at UCSD.”

“Really?” Mike was pleasantly surprised. “How was UCSD when you went there?”

“Super fucking boring. I hated it,” I blurted out how I really felt. Luckily, he laughed.

I usually get pretty nervous when I get on set. I am nervous I’ll botch the lines, I am nervous I haven’t done enough homework on the character and I am nervous people will discover I am an economics major trying to fake his way into being an actor. But something felt very natural about being Jian Yang. It was as if I’d been playing him for years. I felt like I was playing an earlier version of myself.

For my very first take on Silicon Valley, I sleepily shuffled down the hallway to answer the door at the Hacker House. I opened the door to an angry man who was looking for my roommates, Thomas, Zach and Kumail, who were hiding from him around the corner.

“Do you know where Pied Piper is?” the angry man asked.

“This is Pied Piper,” I, Jian Yang, replied, matter-of-factly.

“This is Pied Piper?”

“Yes, this, here. Pied Piper.”

Then Kumail’s character, Dinesh, tripped over a lamp and the gang was busted. The angry man marched in, determined to kick their ass. Zach’s character, Jared, said earlier in the episode: “If you repeatedly scream your name, it forces the assailant to acknowledge you as a human being.” The nervous Richard would repeatedly blurt out his own name while Dinesh would say Gilfoyle’s (Martin’s) name to try to frame him; and Jared would innocently say his real name, Donald. It was a masterfully written bit where three different jokes landed at once, and it perfectly showcased the personalities of each character.

There wasn’t a particular gag for Jian Yang; I was supposed to just stand there in confusion. I thought to myself, What would Jian Yang do? Which translated to What would I have done when I first came to America? I thought it would make sense for Jian Yang to follow the lead of his American peers, thinking it was an American custom to repeat your name when a guest arrives. It was like what I did in my first day of school in America in eighth grade, when I followed everyone’s lead to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. I had no idea why everyone was doing it, but I followed the lead anyway. So I took a chance in the second take and decided to repeat my name with the rest of the gang: “Jian Yang, Jian Yang, Jian Yang.”