Robin Daléa film | television | stage

Biography

Robin Daléa Trivia

Biographies are funny. Do you need me to explain my passion for performing (obvious); reiterate my list of credits & training (redundant); or show my work (click here)?

Rather than bore you with details about my childhood in a NYC suburb or my path through The Big Apple to La La Land, why not entertain with some fun facts:

– What I lack in stature (5’2”), I make up for in New York sass.

– My two older brothers taught me how to fake burp by the time I was six.

– I’m terrified of The Nutcracker music and those creepy…nutcrackers.

– My birthday – April 14 – is the day Lincoln was shot and the Titanic hit that darn iceberg.  But it wasn’t until the 15th that Lincoln died and the Titanic sunk, so it’s not as tragic as it could be.

– Far more tragic is the fact that my birthday is often overshadowed by Tax Day.

– Before training in the performing arts, I graduated with a B.A. in Psychology, Cum Laude, and as a member of the Psi Chi National Honor Society, the Periclean Honor Society and Phi Beta Kappa. Yeah, I’m smart. (Not to be confused with smart-ass, though that ain’t exactly off the mark either.)

– People generally address me in whatever their native language is, thinking I speak the same thing.  I’ll pretend I do, even if I don’t.

– I’ve played a man on stage. More than once – I was that good.

– Most awkward performance moment when I wasn’t playing a man: Mexican restaurant in Connecticut. Improv show. Five person cast – I was the only woman. Improv Game – The Four Headed-Expert. We ask for questions from the audience. An elderly man eating burritos in the front row asks, “How many of you f***ed her?”

True celebrity chance encounters:

– At the Arclight Theater in Hollywood, Tim Curry called me ravishing. (Cue heavy sigh.)

– I was once in an elevator with Al Gore. I had a Time magazine with his face on it folded under my arm. It was a perfect autograph opportunity; I did nothing.

– The first year I was in L.A., I approached Scott Valentine in a Coffee Bean. Years before, I had been on a first name basis with his sister, who used to come into the coffee shop where I worked in Saratoga Springs, NY. Hearing I was from his hometown, he was quite friendly, offering to take my headshot for his production company files. In my eagerness to pull one out of my oversized bag, I spilled coffee on his shoes. He graciously took the blame and got the barrister to make me a new latte. That was nice and all, but he never did get me a job.

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