It's been a while since I've posted here.  Part of that is because I've been wrestling with a difficult realization. For the past several years, I've poured an enormous amount of energy into a one man show called Honorable Men. It's a piece that means a great deal to me personally. At its heart, it is an attempt to honor Sara, by examining the human cost of the systems we inherit from the past when we don't learn from history and revel in the belief that Brutus, and others who were hostile to democracy, was an honorable man.  

The play has received readings. Thoughtful people have offered encouragement. Again and again, I've heard that it has potential.  But I've also heard that it needs changes.... and therein lies the problem.

The changes being suggested are often reasonable from a commercial or practical standpoint. Yet the more I consider them, the more I realize they would turn the play into something other than what I set out to write. Every artist eventually encounters this dilemma: the tension between creating the work that speaks honestly to them and creating the work that is most likely to succeed in the marketplace.

Lately, that struggle has left me discouraged.  When you're an artist, it's easy to begin measuring the value of your work by the response it receives.  Solo show or not, I can't put it on without some kind of "team" of people who believe in it like I do and want to help me to put it on... and that failed to happen.   If a project fails to gain momentum, you start wondering whether the years you invested in it were wasted.

That's one reason this blog has been quiet.  But anniversaries have a way of reminding us that not every story ends in disappointment.  This month marks the tenth anniversary of the production of Weeds of Sloth in San Diego.

For those who aren't familiar with it, Weeds of Sloth is a story about love, loss, memory, and the things that remain with us even after they seem to be gone. Its title comes from Alfred Lord Tennyson's In Memoriam, and from a passage that asks us to consider whether a life untouched by love's risks is truly preferable to one that experiences love and grief alike. The play follows a young woman struggling to recover memories that others have tried to protect her from, and a love story whose meaning gradually emerges from the shadows of the past.

The play also contains elements that were inspired by Sara long before I ever imagined I would someday be writing about her in this way. Looking back now, there are moments in the script that carry a significance for me that they didn't when I first wrote them. Time has a way of changing art, not because the words on the page change, but because we do.

For years, I intended to publish the script. More importantly, I intended to dedicate it to Sara.  After her passing, I made a promise to her family that I would do so. I'm pleased to say that Weeds of Sloth is now available in print.  The publication is dedicated to Sara's memory.

What strikes me most, ten years later, is how relevant the play's central theme remains, and how much more powerful it has become. When I wrote it, the questions raised by Tennyson's famous words were largely hypothetical. Today they are not. Like many before me, I have had to confront the reality of loving someone and losing them.  Yet if I could go back and choose again, knowing exactly how the story would end, I would still choose every year I had with Sara.

That realization has given this publication a meaning I never could have anticipated when the play was first produced.  What began as a work partially inspired by the woman I loved has become, over time, an even more passionate tribute to her memory.  If you've seen or read the play, thank you for being part of its journey.  If you've never read it, I hope you'll consider picking up a copy. And if you're a director, producer, theatre company, or fellow artist who thinks the story deserves another life on stage, I'd love to hear from you.

Ten years later, I still believe in it.  Most of all, I'm grateful that I was finally able to keep my promise.

Get your copy today:  ​https://tinyurl.com/3p5rsh2x
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It’s been a while since I’ve posted here, — and part of that silence has been due to something that I couldn’t talk about… until now.
Back in January, I booked a commercial for RAMP, starring Brian Baumgartner  (Kevin from The Office).
The concept?
Ramp’s tagline is: “Ramp multiplies what’s possi
So naturally… they multiplied Brian.
A lot.
That’s where I came in.

Becoming One of “The Brians”

I was cast as one of ten “Brian clones” — a group we jokingly came to call The Brians. The casting was based largely on physical resemblance (which, if you’ve seen the comments on my TikToks, won’t surprise you).
What did surprise me?
Most of the other actors had to wear bald caps to match Brian’s look…
I was the only one who didn’t.
Make of that what you will. 
Even better — in order to match Brian’s body type, they actually had to pad me out. So for once, instead of being told to slim down for camera… I got to bulk up artificially. I’ll take that as a win.

From Set to Super Bowl

We shot the commercial in January…
And then in February, I got to be part of a live Super Bowl event activation tied to the campaign — again as one of The Brians.
Standing there, surrounded by multiple versions of the same guy, representing a national campaign during one of the biggest advertising moments of the year… it hit me:
This is the kind of work I’ve been grinding toward.

Why This One Matters

If you’ve followed this blog, you know it hasn’t been an easy stretch.
Between a slowdown in bookings and the rise of AI voices cutting into voiceover work, there have been a lot of moments where it felt like the industry was moving on without me.
But this job was a reminder of something important:

There are still things real actors bring to the table that can’t be replicated.

Presence. Timing. Collaboration. Humanity.
No AI is showing up on set, adjusting in the moment, and becoming part of a live campaign experience.
That still matters.

What’s Next

The spots are now out in the world (you can find them online — titles like “A Brians Party,” “Casting Call,” and “Bald Caps and Suits”), and I’m proud to have been a small part of something with that kind of reach.
And after a long stretch of feeling stuck, this feels like momentum.

Let’s Multiply Something Together

If you’re a casting director, producer, or creator looking for someone who can bring both professionalism and personality to a project — whether on camera or behind the mic — I’d love to connect.

Voiceover & Acting Work:

https://www.markjohnbowen.com
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Because if this experience taught me anything…
It’s that sometimes all it takes is one opportunity to start multiplying what’s possible.

I’m excited to share a piece of good news in my acting career: I’ve been cast as the Giant in Theatre West’s Storybook Theatre production of Jack and the Beanstalk!  After a long stretch of professional frustration  (especially in my voiceover career stagnating due to loss of SO much of that work to AI) this is "big" and exciting news about putting my "bigness" to use in my career.

For those unfamiliar, Storybook Theatre is a beloved Los Angeles tradition: a long-running series of interactive musicals for children, produced by Theatre West, the city’s oldest continually operating theatre company (and one I’m proud to call my artistic home).

This will be my first professional Equity theatre production, and while it’s a show for kids, the significance isn’t lost on me. After so much time feeling stuck  (sending out auditions, chasing voiceover leads, and watching AI voices take over gigs that used to go to real performers) it’s deeply rewarding to be reminded of what this work is really about: connecting with a live audience, sparking imagination, and bringing stories to life.

The show is double-cast, meaning I’ll be performing as the Giant in alternating performances. That helps accommodate everyone’s unpredictable schedules, since Storybook Theatre often adds special performances for school field trips and birthday parties. So, if you’re thinking of bringing your kids to see Jack and the Beanstalk, definitely check with me first to make sure I’m performing that day!

It’s been a long, stagnant stretch in my acting and voiceover career.

No bookings. No callbacks. Just an uncomfortable silence that’s been hard to shake.

I won’t sugarcoat it—this has taken a toll on my mental health. The depression has been heavy.

But this past week… something shifted, even if only slightly.

I had four self-tape auditions—three of them from my agent, which is huge because these were for projects you can’t just self-submit for. They were real opportunities, the kind that make you feel like you’re still in the game. Will anything come of them? Honestly, I don’t know. But it’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt the door crack open.
It’s not a “big break” yet. It’s not even a “small break.”
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But it’s movement. And for the first time in months, I’m allowing myself to hope that maybe this is the beginning of something turning around.

To my friends, family, and the few followers who’ve stuck with me through this: your encouragement matters more than you realize. Please keep cheering me on—I need it. This path can be brutal, but knowing people believe in me keeps me putting one foot in front of the other.
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Here’s to silver linings, however faint they might seem.

These past few months have been one of the hardest stretches of my acting and voiceover career.  Not so much because of rejection, but because of replacement. Watching my biggest client switch to AI narration overnight has left me wrestling with a lot of doubt about whether the craft I’ve built my life around still has a place in this industry.
It’s easy to spiral when you feel like you’re shouting into the void, sending auditions out into the abyss with nothing coming back. But this week gave me something I didn’t realize I needed: a tiny bit of forward motion.

On Tuesday, I recorded a quick voiceover job I'd booked through Casting Call Club, a platform I’ve barely touched in years. I voiced a delightfully deadpan, sarcastic office worker, grumbling about office romance...  I think it’s for a dating app,  but honestly, who knows? It doesn't really matter.  It wasn’t a big payday. But it was work. Real work.

Then, just last night, I got word that I booked a tiny day player role in a vertical short form project shooting next week. Again: small. Again: the paycheck won’t pay the rent. But for a moment, I remembered what it feels like to work. To collaborate. To get the call that says: you’re the one we want.

Sometimes these little wins are just that... little. But today, they feel like proof that maybe the big wins haven’t given up on me yet.

If you’re a fellow actor or VO artist stuck in the waiting room of your own career, I hope you find your tiny wins this week, too. They won’t fix everything. But they remind you to stay in the game.

Every actor’s career has peaks and plateaus,  and for me, the past couple of months have felt like a plateau. Not a full stop, but a definite stall. So lately, I’ve been doing something I’ve honestly avoided for too long: taking full ownership of the long game.
This week, I’ve started reaching out to potential managers.   Not to replace my agent (who’s doing solid work submitting me), but to find someone who can help build something bigger. Someone who sees more than just what I’m booking now… someone who sees what I could be doing, especially with the right material in hand to create his own opportunities as so many success stories in this business have done.  
The twist is... I already have the material.

Over the last few years, I’ve written two original plays  (both serious pieces with a pulse) that I believe are strong vehicles for me as an actor.  

One of those pieces is Honorable Men, a one-man show that dives into the collapse of American democracy by paralleling it with the fall of the Roman Republic. I play a disillusioned college chancellor who slips into monologues from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, actual historical speeches from the likes of Cicero, and biting commentary on how both scholars and the general public have misunderstood Caesar’s assassination (framing it as a stand against tyranny, when in fact, it was about class warfare) and what that says about the way power works today. Spoiler: Caesar wasn’t the tyrant, and even Shakespeare got it wrong.
The other play, Mr. Sam’s Place, takes a different tone but is just as personal.Set in a Southern café, it revisits an era when political disagreement didn’t mean personal hatred. Sam (a character I may not have planned to write for myself but with whom I have developed an affinity for as an actor as well as a writer) is a man who manages to meet a changing world with decency, not fury.  Despite his discomfort with cultural changes, maintains a quiet dignity and civility that’s hard to find today. Sam doesn’t lash out at a changing world, he tries to understand it. I wrote the role for myself, and I believe the play offers a chance to reflect on how Americans once disagreed without dehumanizing each other.  In today’s landscape, that feels radical.

Together, these two plays represent what I hope is a path forward — not just for my career, but for the kinds of stories I want to tell. I’m in the early stages of submitting to managers whose clients are working consistently in the kinds of shows and roles I see as a natural fit for me. It’s research-heavy, slow-going, and requires a bit of faith — but it’s also energizing.

If you’ve been following my work or just stumbled onto this blog, thanks for reading. I’ll keep sharing updates as things develop... and if you happen to know someone who wants to collaborate, represent, or produce work like this, feel free to reach out.

You can learn more about Honorable Men and Mr. Sam’s Place here.