"Get him! Get the dragon!"
-- some kid in the neighborhood
--
Human beings are natural storytellers. I don't mean that every person is necessarily good at it, or that "it comes naturally" to everyone, but simply that we are all inclined by our nature to tell stories. And children especially:
To get to the laundry machines, I have to leave my apartment, go down two stories of stairs, out the door, around the corner, and in through the basement door which is at sidewalk level. This door is old and heavy but short and squatty, a Hobbit's door, about two feet shorter than normal doors.
I came down just now with a basket of clothes, keys in hand. The late afternoon is turning out gorgeous today. It's at that magical temperature where to stand in the sunshine is slightly warm (like an armful of just-dried clothes, actually) but to stand in the shade is perfect. The slanting sun is making long angling shadows on neighboring houses and trees are at once bright and dark. Bugs seem afraid to fly, and so they cling to walls. The ice-cream truck's warble, the ceasing a drone of engines relaxing and turning off, a smell of grass, a smell of barbecue. I'm sure they have this sort of thing in other countries, but it truly feels like an American afternoon.
Kids were playing in the street, four boys. They looked out for cars and paused while they passed and resumed when the danger was gone. They ran in and out of the lines of parked cars and their sneakers kicked and swiped at the curb. "Get him!" one cried, pointing at the adept one who had ricocheted off a brick porch and leaped over a flower garden. "Get him, get him! Get the dragon! He's at the castle!"
Until that point, I thought they were merely playing tag.
I don't know these kids, but it crossed my mind that they were about the same age as the ones who will be in the after-school drama program. About twelve years old, escaped to a world where a dragon perches on the sides of castles and bounds over forests. Twelve years old, and already a million miles away in a past that never existed. And I couldn't help but stop at the bottom of my porch, basket and keys in hand, watching as they hunted the dragon.
One kid stopped running, winded. He looked at me. "You're not tired, are you?" I said.
"That dragon's fast," he panted. "We can't get him." And he ran off.
After a moment, a woman in an orange dress, orange like she was begging for autumn, came out onto her porch. She smiled and laughed. When the dragon came near her porch, she suddenly leaped at him with her arms in a ring and trapped him in a single, swift grab, lifted him from the sidewalk (his feet were still making running circles and his eyes almost glowed with angry terror), and shouted, "Gotcher dragon, you little punks! The Fairy Godmother gotcher dragon!" And, having him trapped with his arms in the air, she wedged her hands into his armpits and began to tickle.
"Mom! Stop! Let me go, Mom!" the dragon cried.
"Never!" she laughed in triumph.
"Mom! Stop tickling me!" the dragon cried, more shrill this time.
"Let's get him!" cried the little punks, and they joined in the tickling. The mob fell on the dragon, writhing, screaming, gasping, trying to escape, trying to crawl away.
Finally, he did. Everyone stood in a circle, breathing heavily, watching the dragon. "Mom, that's not how the story goes--"
"That's not my name, dragon."
The dragon rolled his eyes. "Fairy Godmother," he said, staring at the ground.
"That's better," she said, and she glanced at me and winked.
Key in hand, I walked to the basement door with my basket of clothes.
--
Human beings are naturally storytellers, naturally actors, naturally players. Anyone who has seen kids at play knows it is no accident that we use the same word to describe children's make-believe and theatrical events. We play by nature.
8.31.2009
Antiquated
"A man's road back to himself is a return from his spiritual exile, for that is what a personal history amounts to--exile.... I seem to have decided that to be busy about one's self-image, to adjust,revise, to tamper with it, was a waste of time."
-- Saul Bellow in The Actual
--
After watching all of the HBO series Rome, season one, I have found myself on an old literature kick. I read up on Plutarch and Shakespeare. I checked out a Thucydides volume yesterday, one that comes of course highly recommended, and while I haven't yet gotten to the meaty portions, the servings of war stories and the like, I am fascinated by the way the man takes hold of things. You'd think the beginning of a history about the Peloponnesian War would tackle grand issues (honor, bravery, the rough twine that binds nations together) or detail the military prowess of two opposite heroes, but no--instead, Thucydides begins with a description of the land, and the people, and the kind of migrations and agriculture those people practiced. He begins with something so simple: The people and the land. The way they moved it, shaped it, and invested in it. What a fascinating way to begin, I think.
Also in my retinue of reading material:
- Everyman, by Philip Roth (my third Roth)
- The Actual, by Saul Bellow (my first Bellow)
- Gertrude and Claudius, by John Updike (my first "real" Updike, a book rather than a short story)
And, naturally, I'm still making my way through Actors at Work.
--
An interesting thought: An Actor Prepares is the famous Stanislavski book that has become the staple of acting classes in America. I had always assumed that the title meant that the book was about an actor preparing, that it was an image or a concept of what was in the pages. Sort of, "Read this book, and you can watch as an actor prepares."
Maybe that's completely wrong. Maybe it's a statement. In other words, you cannot be an actor without working on it. If you want to be an actor, well then, an actor prepares.
--
Did something yesterday that I have not done in months: I read a book in a single sitting. No interruptions, no meals, no bathroom breaks. Now, the book wasn't long (The Breast, by Philip Roth, only reached 90 pages in this edition), but it still felt good. I think it would be good for me to read in longer stretches, maybe with clear goals to finish whole chapters before moving on to the next thing.
Shoot. It would be good for me to take a break from reading only plays, that's for sure. After a while, the plays all fall into categories, and you miss the characters by scanning only for action. You start to read the italicized stage directions, the words between words, instead of the actual dialogue.
I've been reading too much drama lately. Not enough prose, and sure as hell not enough poetry. For excellent recharges, I often turn to Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poets Cafe, edited by Miguel Algarin and Bob Holman. (The Preface in that book is one of my favorite book openings, certainly a top anthology preface. That introduction is right up there with Wilde's opening to Dorian Gray.)
--
Met the four new touring actors today. We made a trip to the shop and retrieved the set and some of the props. Nice folks, all, and capable: I happily refrained from doing all the disassembling, loading, and rearranging. I think this is going to be a good group.
And if I have any say in the matter, I think it's going to be a good season, too.
-- Saul Bellow in The Actual
--
After watching all of the HBO series Rome, season one, I have found myself on an old literature kick. I read up on Plutarch and Shakespeare. I checked out a Thucydides volume yesterday, one that comes of course highly recommended, and while I haven't yet gotten to the meaty portions, the servings of war stories and the like, I am fascinated by the way the man takes hold of things. You'd think the beginning of a history about the Peloponnesian War would tackle grand issues (honor, bravery, the rough twine that binds nations together) or detail the military prowess of two opposite heroes, but no--instead, Thucydides begins with a description of the land, and the people, and the kind of migrations and agriculture those people practiced. He begins with something so simple: The people and the land. The way they moved it, shaped it, and invested in it. What a fascinating way to begin, I think.
Also in my retinue of reading material:
- Everyman, by Philip Roth (my third Roth)
- The Actual, by Saul Bellow (my first Bellow)
- Gertrude and Claudius, by John Updike (my first "real" Updike, a book rather than a short story)
And, naturally, I'm still making my way through Actors at Work.
--
An interesting thought: An Actor Prepares is the famous Stanislavski book that has become the staple of acting classes in America. I had always assumed that the title meant that the book was about an actor preparing, that it was an image or a concept of what was in the pages. Sort of, "Read this book, and you can watch as an actor prepares."
Maybe that's completely wrong. Maybe it's a statement. In other words, you cannot be an actor without working on it. If you want to be an actor, well then, an actor prepares.
--
Did something yesterday that I have not done in months: I read a book in a single sitting. No interruptions, no meals, no bathroom breaks. Now, the book wasn't long (The Breast, by Philip Roth, only reached 90 pages in this edition), but it still felt good. I think it would be good for me to read in longer stretches, maybe with clear goals to finish whole chapters before moving on to the next thing.
Shoot. It would be good for me to take a break from reading only plays, that's for sure. After a while, the plays all fall into categories, and you miss the characters by scanning only for action. You start to read the italicized stage directions, the words between words, instead of the actual dialogue.
I've been reading too much drama lately. Not enough prose, and sure as hell not enough poetry. For excellent recharges, I often turn to Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poets Cafe, edited by Miguel Algarin and Bob Holman. (The Preface in that book is one of my favorite book openings, certainly a top anthology preface. That introduction is right up there with Wilde's opening to Dorian Gray.)
--
Met the four new touring actors today. We made a trip to the shop and retrieved the set and some of the props. Nice folks, all, and capable: I happily refrained from doing all the disassembling, loading, and rearranging. I think this is going to be a good group.
And if I have any say in the matter, I think it's going to be a good season, too.
8.30.2009
Absurd
"In college, when I first decided to be an actor, I was reading Camus, and he talked about the absurd, that the actor's life is one of the true absurdist lifestyles, being an actor is really living an absurd life. The more I do it...it doesn't get less absurd."
-- Kevin Kline, in Actors at Work, by Rosemarie Tichler and Barry Jay Kaplan
--
The Children's Theatre has left the building.
And entered another one, six exits up the highway from the old space. On I-71 north, you take the 8A exit to Ridge Road South, make a left, bear right onto Duck Creek, go through a light and make a right at the next onto Oaklawn, and up the hill on your left is the new space, soon to have a sign. We didn't have a sign at the old building because it was owned by a computer products business on the first floor, and the folks who ran it were kind of jerks. Also, without a sign, and on a street where cars parked overnight on the street might be broken into, we appear more desperate and thus, more worthy of donations.
(Of course, not having a sign made us ten times harder for parents to find...)
Now we're in a newer building, leased from a Board member, in which we get the entire bottom floor and half of the top. We share with a realty agency.
Unfortunately, the basement is still unfinished. Cement floor, exposed ceiling wires, walls that have yet to be knocked down. A gray area full of noise. We don't mind waiting a few weeks for them to finish down there--really, we don't--but because that office and rehearsal space is not available to us, we are very tight on space. Instead of moving one floor's worth of office supplies, equipment, and costumes into twice as much space, we crammed into one-half as much space.
Or, to put it melodramatically: I used to have a cubicle, and now I share a conference room with three people!
--
As big moves go, it went well--no clumsy mishaps or surprising agonies. It's amazing to me how much random stuff had accumulated in that office, hiding in odd places like box-shaped animals hibernating. There is a whole pile of African art that was never on display, and which cannot be sold for whatever reason, which now sits in a different storage closet. And extra rolls of rugs and carpets, all imported, some of which are worth two-thirds of my salary. And boxes of envelopes with the old address printed on them. And too many show posters and paintings in frames to count, all propped against the hallway walls, waiting to be hung or forgotten again.
Theatres store up so many priceless treasures with vague promises of future utility. Absurd.
--
Across the city, we held the first official meeting to plan the Covedale After-School Drama Program. I met Allison, a college student studying theater locally and working at the Covedale's business office, who will be my assistant for the next few months. (Her official title, I think, is assistant coordinator, but I like to think of her as a collaborator and fellow instructor.) The Perrinos are generous enough to let Allison and me structure and run the organization the way we want to, and to do so in an environment full of healthy expectations but little foreboding judgments.
In other words, we are free to create the program we want to create. This is the first time I've been in a situation where I have this kind of freedom and responsibility, and while it scares me a little, it liberates me a lot. Not that working at TCTC is a form of slavery, but it is my day job--it pays the rent and buys the food. The Covedale offers me a chance to have a paying project, something that I can really wrap my mind around, my own sphere of influence.
And because I've lately toyed with the idea of saving up and eventually starting my own company, it's a welcome challenge.
--
But absurdity persists. I am reading a book of interviews with people who don't know exactly what it it is they do, but they can sort of talk about how they do it, but they don't like to be asked. I have to make or find at least two dozen more props, including Anne Frank's distinctive diary, in the next three days. And tomorrow morning, I will meet four actors who are about to do what I started doing one year ago.
On a final note, I have contracts, roles and scripts for three of the four main-stage shows: Cogsworth in Beauty and the Beast, Jr., the Stage Manager in Holiday Follies, and Tom Sawyer. Not sure yet about Jack and the Beanstalk, because it still isn't finished, and we're still not sure if we can get someone to play the Giant.
-- Kevin Kline, in Actors at Work, by Rosemarie Tichler and Barry Jay Kaplan
--
The Children's Theatre has left the building.
And entered another one, six exits up the highway from the old space. On I-71 north, you take the 8A exit to Ridge Road South, make a left, bear right onto Duck Creek, go through a light and make a right at the next onto Oaklawn, and up the hill on your left is the new space, soon to have a sign. We didn't have a sign at the old building because it was owned by a computer products business on the first floor, and the folks who ran it were kind of jerks. Also, without a sign, and on a street where cars parked overnight on the street might be broken into, we appear more desperate and thus, more worthy of donations.
(Of course, not having a sign made us ten times harder for parents to find...)
Now we're in a newer building, leased from a Board member, in which we get the entire bottom floor and half of the top. We share with a realty agency.
Unfortunately, the basement is still unfinished. Cement floor, exposed ceiling wires, walls that have yet to be knocked down. A gray area full of noise. We don't mind waiting a few weeks for them to finish down there--really, we don't--but because that office and rehearsal space is not available to us, we are very tight on space. Instead of moving one floor's worth of office supplies, equipment, and costumes into twice as much space, we crammed into one-half as much space.
Or, to put it melodramatically: I used to have a cubicle, and now I share a conference room with three people!
--
As big moves go, it went well--no clumsy mishaps or surprising agonies. It's amazing to me how much random stuff had accumulated in that office, hiding in odd places like box-shaped animals hibernating. There is a whole pile of African art that was never on display, and which cannot be sold for whatever reason, which now sits in a different storage closet. And extra rolls of rugs and carpets, all imported, some of which are worth two-thirds of my salary. And boxes of envelopes with the old address printed on them. And too many show posters and paintings in frames to count, all propped against the hallway walls, waiting to be hung or forgotten again.
Theatres store up so many priceless treasures with vague promises of future utility. Absurd.
--
Across the city, we held the first official meeting to plan the Covedale After-School Drama Program. I met Allison, a college student studying theater locally and working at the Covedale's business office, who will be my assistant for the next few months. (Her official title, I think, is assistant coordinator, but I like to think of her as a collaborator and fellow instructor.) The Perrinos are generous enough to let Allison and me structure and run the organization the way we want to, and to do so in an environment full of healthy expectations but little foreboding judgments.
In other words, we are free to create the program we want to create. This is the first time I've been in a situation where I have this kind of freedom and responsibility, and while it scares me a little, it liberates me a lot. Not that working at TCTC is a form of slavery, but it is my day job--it pays the rent and buys the food. The Covedale offers me a chance to have a paying project, something that I can really wrap my mind around, my own sphere of influence.
And because I've lately toyed with the idea of saving up and eventually starting my own company, it's a welcome challenge.
--
But absurdity persists. I am reading a book of interviews with people who don't know exactly what it it is they do, but they can sort of talk about how they do it, but they don't like to be asked. I have to make or find at least two dozen more props, including Anne Frank's distinctive diary, in the next three days. And tomorrow morning, I will meet four actors who are about to do what I started doing one year ago.
On a final note, I have contracts, roles and scripts for three of the four main-stage shows: Cogsworth in Beauty and the Beast, Jr., the Stage Manager in Holiday Follies, and Tom Sawyer. Not sure yet about Jack and the Beanstalk, because it still isn't finished, and we're still not sure if we can get someone to play the Giant.
8.24.2009
Anniversary
"Time keeps flowing like a river..."
-- "Time," by the Alan Parsons Project
--
Not sure how this escaped my notice here, but I moved to Cincinnati a year and three days ago. I was driving a different car then, and living in a different house, but despite all the changes (some would say progress) not much has changed. For one thing, I'm still acting, continuing the experimental dream. And for another, I'm still dirt-poor, pinching my last few possessions from the curb. But below the poverty line is the best place for a self-proclaimed artist to live. Once you get paid exorbitant fees for seeing the world a certain way, the balance of life and art goes to shit. Art supports life, always and always it works that way, with life at the summit and art struggling at the cliffs. Art supports life, be it through entertainment or money or lyrics or meals. It's gotta be that way.
We do not watch out for art, though we think we do. We must watch out for life, and grasp at the feathers it drops as it zings by. There is nothing else worth watching out for but life, and all art really does is prove this to us over and over.
A year here has taught me that, if nothing else.
--
I'm still staying up late, that also stays true. I read or I think or I type; therefore, I stay up.
I get more of my meals at home now, and I tend to my food in a way I only pretended to before. Last night, I had one of the best chicken breasts of my life, pan-fried in butter with garlic and onion, and it was not in a restaurant.
I can type "Cincinnati" very quickly now. That feat has taken several months in itself to accomplish.
And of course, the work has changed. I am closer to a nerve center, a staff worker in a theater's office, with duties beyond memorizing lines and conferring with teachers. I have a work email, something I've never had before, and I use it probably as much as my private email. My input, however small, has far-reaching results, and my titles have longer names. But the trade-off is less performing, at least in quantity of shows and roles. It is in quality, though, that I find my solace, and that is always better.
--
Not to say that any of this makes my life particular or particularly great or anything like that. This blog, after all, is not my life, just as no biography is the man, no memoir the memory.
It's just an assessment. I see where I've come in a year's time and it makes me feel good about my decision to live and work here. It's good to have a hold on the past as you reach at the future, and that, if anything, is what this blog helps me to do. The placing of events into narrative form gives life structure and meaning, as action on a stage needs a plot to justify it.
I understand that the word anniversary comes from the Latin meaning "returning annually," or "the turning of every year." This year turned, and it turned out beautifully. Just like a perfectly seared chicken breast.
So it's been a year. Act one. We are into act two, and tomorrow The Children's Theatre begins its Big Move. Here's to the next year in Cincinnati.
-- "Time," by the Alan Parsons Project
--
Not sure how this escaped my notice here, but I moved to Cincinnati a year and three days ago. I was driving a different car then, and living in a different house, but despite all the changes (some would say progress) not much has changed. For one thing, I'm still acting, continuing the experimental dream. And for another, I'm still dirt-poor, pinching my last few possessions from the curb. But below the poverty line is the best place for a self-proclaimed artist to live. Once you get paid exorbitant fees for seeing the world a certain way, the balance of life and art goes to shit. Art supports life, always and always it works that way, with life at the summit and art struggling at the cliffs. Art supports life, be it through entertainment or money or lyrics or meals. It's gotta be that way.
We do not watch out for art, though we think we do. We must watch out for life, and grasp at the feathers it drops as it zings by. There is nothing else worth watching out for but life, and all art really does is prove this to us over and over.
A year here has taught me that, if nothing else.
--
I'm still staying up late, that also stays true. I read or I think or I type; therefore, I stay up.
I get more of my meals at home now, and I tend to my food in a way I only pretended to before. Last night, I had one of the best chicken breasts of my life, pan-fried in butter with garlic and onion, and it was not in a restaurant.
I can type "Cincinnati" very quickly now. That feat has taken several months in itself to accomplish.
And of course, the work has changed. I am closer to a nerve center, a staff worker in a theater's office, with duties beyond memorizing lines and conferring with teachers. I have a work email, something I've never had before, and I use it probably as much as my private email. My input, however small, has far-reaching results, and my titles have longer names. But the trade-off is less performing, at least in quantity of shows and roles. It is in quality, though, that I find my solace, and that is always better.
--
Not to say that any of this makes my life particular or particularly great or anything like that. This blog, after all, is not my life, just as no biography is the man, no memoir the memory.
It's just an assessment. I see where I've come in a year's time and it makes me feel good about my decision to live and work here. It's good to have a hold on the past as you reach at the future, and that, if anything, is what this blog helps me to do. The placing of events into narrative form gives life structure and meaning, as action on a stage needs a plot to justify it.
I understand that the word anniversary comes from the Latin meaning "returning annually," or "the turning of every year." This year turned, and it turned out beautifully. Just like a perfectly seared chicken breast.
So it's been a year. Act one. We are into act two, and tomorrow The Children's Theatre begins its Big Move. Here's to the next year in Cincinnati.
8.23.2009
Shots
These are photos from the night we shot the commercial. The costume and makeup designer, Gina, was nice enough to snap these with her iPhone and send them to me. And now the internet has copies.
8.22.2009
Stratford
"Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come."
-- Caesar in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar
--
Returned yesterday from the Stratford Shakespeare Festival. I have gone to the Festival three times before, on trips sponsored by my college's theatre department. The three of us--Zach, Heidi, me--met up at Zach's house in Michigan before making the three-hour drive into Canada.
I always love seeing refined professional theatre, and have even enjoyed the less impacting shows I've caught at Stratford. Counting this last visit, I think I've seen a total of nineteen shows there, and most have been innovative, immediate, and worthwhile. (Exceptions include Bedford's Lear and this year's Macbeth, both of which received unearned standing O's from the audiences I saw.)
--
We saw (in this order): Julius Caesar (very good, my favorite Shakespeare from the trip), Three Sisters, Macbeth, and Zastrozzi. Of these, the most surprising and enjoyable was Zastrozzi, Canadian playwright George F. Walker's adaptation of Percy Bysshe Shelley's novel. Zastrozzi is about a criminal mastermind who seeks revenge on an idiot-artist at no expense. Along the way, Zastrozzi manipulates his thug and his seducer girlfriend, lures a restrained virgin, swordfights with a lapsed priest-turned-bodyguard, and finally, serves his revenge. At once a response to Hamlet and a very cunning tweak on melodrama, this production gets high marks from me for impressive theatrical storytelling and some kickass swordfighting.
I hate to skip over the other shows, but if you are a fan of the Festival, the other three will deliver much of what you've come to expect. Colm Feore as Macbeth was a personal disappointment for me, as I enjoyed his Coriolanus and Don Juan a few years ago, and at the risk of sounding obtuse, the production itself was full of sound and fury while signifying nothing. (Plasma TVs, a machine gun truck with a dead mannequin at the wheel, and kitchy effects really hurt the show, which already has a reputation for being "notoriously difficult to stage effectively.")
Three Sisters is a masterful rendition with solid acting. I've seen only a few other professional and classical theatres attempt Chekhov, and the Stratford ensemble succeeds where those faltered. For instance, whereas other groups have resorted to unrealistic asides to the audience and heavy-handed use of distractions, the Stratford actors were able to set aside their classical postures and give a proper, realistic, unforced treatment of the old Russian play. It's good.
As is Julius Caesar. The first act is stellar and the build is tragically good. The Cassius and Brutus scenes rocked, but what really sells the show is the Antony, played by Jonathan Goad. Antony's oration at Caesar's funeral...well, it blew me away.
--
As far as the in-betweens of the trip, the meals and the walks and the pictures, it was fun, relaxing and affordable. We were able to get "play on/play" tickets for three of the four shows for under $30 each (unthinkable, as some of these seats normally sell for over $100). We stayed at the nurse's residence hall, where we had stayed in the past, a nice and cheap spot for travelers who don't want to spend all of their money on lodging. In the lobby, it also has the most comfortable couches in the world.
Pictures will appear on Facebook soon enough. My fourth trip to Stratford was a success. I already wish I could go back.
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come."
-- Caesar in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar
--
Returned yesterday from the Stratford Shakespeare Festival. I have gone to the Festival three times before, on trips sponsored by my college's theatre department. The three of us--Zach, Heidi, me--met up at Zach's house in Michigan before making the three-hour drive into Canada.
I always love seeing refined professional theatre, and have even enjoyed the less impacting shows I've caught at Stratford. Counting this last visit, I think I've seen a total of nineteen shows there, and most have been innovative, immediate, and worthwhile. (Exceptions include Bedford's Lear and this year's Macbeth, both of which received unearned standing O's from the audiences I saw.)
--
We saw (in this order): Julius Caesar (very good, my favorite Shakespeare from the trip), Three Sisters, Macbeth, and Zastrozzi. Of these, the most surprising and enjoyable was Zastrozzi, Canadian playwright George F. Walker's adaptation of Percy Bysshe Shelley's novel. Zastrozzi is about a criminal mastermind who seeks revenge on an idiot-artist at no expense. Along the way, Zastrozzi manipulates his thug and his seducer girlfriend, lures a restrained virgin, swordfights with a lapsed priest-turned-bodyguard, and finally, serves his revenge. At once a response to Hamlet and a very cunning tweak on melodrama, this production gets high marks from me for impressive theatrical storytelling and some kickass swordfighting.
I hate to skip over the other shows, but if you are a fan of the Festival, the other three will deliver much of what you've come to expect. Colm Feore as Macbeth was a personal disappointment for me, as I enjoyed his Coriolanus and Don Juan a few years ago, and at the risk of sounding obtuse, the production itself was full of sound and fury while signifying nothing. (Plasma TVs, a machine gun truck with a dead mannequin at the wheel, and kitchy effects really hurt the show, which already has a reputation for being "notoriously difficult to stage effectively.")
Three Sisters is a masterful rendition with solid acting. I've seen only a few other professional and classical theatres attempt Chekhov, and the Stratford ensemble succeeds where those faltered. For instance, whereas other groups have resorted to unrealistic asides to the audience and heavy-handed use of distractions, the Stratford actors were able to set aside their classical postures and give a proper, realistic, unforced treatment of the old Russian play. It's good.
As is Julius Caesar. The first act is stellar and the build is tragically good. The Cassius and Brutus scenes rocked, but what really sells the show is the Antony, played by Jonathan Goad. Antony's oration at Caesar's funeral...well, it blew me away.
--
As far as the in-betweens of the trip, the meals and the walks and the pictures, it was fun, relaxing and affordable. We were able to get "play on/play" tickets for three of the four shows for under $30 each (unthinkable, as some of these seats normally sell for over $100). We stayed at the nurse's residence hall, where we had stayed in the past, a nice and cheap spot for travelers who don't want to spend all of their money on lodging. In the lobby, it also has the most comfortable couches in the world.
Pictures will appear on Facebook soon enough. My fourth trip to Stratford was a success. I already wish I could go back.
8.16.2009
Better
"And I think that every actor has the responsibility to make the rehearsal work. We have a lot of things we have to do, and just to come in and act your part, to me it's not enough. If you believe in the theater, you have to make the theater better wherever you are."
-- Marian Seldes, in Actors at Work, by Rosemarie Tichler and Barry Jay Kaplan
--
This post will be short. Actors At Work is a compilation of interviews with prestigious film and stage actors. Among them: Kevin Kline, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Meryl Streep. I've been reading it for only two days, taking in questions and answers in spurts, and already it's blowing my mind.
It's fantastic. Really, really, fantastic.
-- Marian Seldes, in Actors at Work, by Rosemarie Tichler and Barry Jay Kaplan
--
This post will be short. Actors At Work is a compilation of interviews with prestigious film and stage actors. Among them: Kevin Kline, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Meryl Streep. I've been reading it for only two days, taking in questions and answers in spurts, and already it's blowing my mind.
It's fantastic. Really, really, fantastic.
Unpopular
"By a curious confusion, many modern critics have passed from the proposition that a masterpiece may be unpopular to the other proposition that unless it is unpopular it cannot be a masterpiece."
-- G. K. Chesterton
--
It wasn't that I hated the experience, but that I hated the performance. The experience was a bit uncomfortable, yes, but at times giddy and overall very fun. There is a kind of sadism involved with watching non-actors go through the motions of acting: hands clasped like yin-yangs at the belly to suggest innocence, arms springing wide in a "come and get it" type gesture, self-conscious looks to the audience when jokes fall flat, etc.
I am speaking, of course, of community theatre.
Never have I been a part of it. High school was the nearest I came, and while I was admittedly involved in sub-par theatre with ideas far above its station, there was always the excuse that we were just kids, that any play we attempted was beyond us in scope of emotion. Many college students who study theatre come to the nasty realization that what they did in high school was crap; the realization comes as a result of the truth that the only way to move forward is to admit it. So while at the time I believed our Brigadoon was definitive, I know now that we missed the point quite a bit.
The one redeeming part of our Brigadoon, though, was that with a few exceptions, everyone grew to love the show and the story it told. That love, if anything, showed on stage. It shined in the gloom of our nontalent and nontraining.
Last night, I saw Bye Bye Birdie at a community theatre here in Cincinnati. It was awful--possibly the poorest night of theatre I have ever sat through, with the worst acting I have ever seen. But what did I expect, tagging along with my girlfriend who felt obligated to see a co-worker's cameo? I can't go into details of the production because I refuse to rewatch it in my mind. And I won't give a formal review here.
Not to mention, while I am by no means a perfect or famous actor (and I do children's theatre, for goodness' sake), I have had several years of training and experience. I am no longer in high school. All this goes to say, I don't want to lambast community theatre, because I don't believe in sixth-graders beating up the first-graders at recess.
And for anyone who's seen Waiting for Guffman, you know what I'm talking about anyway.
But I will say this: It is rarely a good idea to cast fifty people in any show and even more rarely to mount any production outdoors.
However, as in high school, there were redeeming qualities. In the middle of act two, there was a number that impressed me very much. Harmonies were perfect. I think all of the men on stage were part of the same barbershop quartet.
What was different from high school, though, was the attitude toward the show. There was no love. No ownership. No comprehension, in some cases. Even the director in the program notes admitted to never having seen or read the musical before he agreed to direct it.
--
Tickets for that show cost $8. That's about a third of the price of professional theatre in this area, unless you go to see a Broadway Across America show downtown, at which point the price jumps by a factor of ten. The amphitheatre last night was filled almost to capacity, or about 300 people attended. And each of them felt that this night of theatre was worth it. They came to see friends, family, and respected members of the community (I think the mayor himself played the mayor in the show...but maybe not).
Not to put too fine a point on it, but those same people who spent $8 watching nonprofessionals at work would probably laugh at the idea of spending $25 to watch talented strangers. Professional strangers.
(Strangers who like to claim martyrdom for the sake of their art, sure. Point taken.)
So here's my question. What is the cost of professionalism? Is it economic? Social? Quantity or quality?
There are some in the acting world who say they do it for the applause and the attention and the audience. To those whose love of theatre stops there, I suggest you get involved with community theatre, where you get standing ovations and plenty of attention every time you perform. People will see you in church and faun over your abilities. At the grocery store, your parent's friends will ask you--wide-eyed--how you remember all those lines, and you'll shrug and say that you don't know, it just comes to you. And the local paper will always show up and take embarrassing photos with generic, inaccurate captions. This is the kind of theatre for you. It is low on investment and high on return.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
To those who are okay with their good work being unpopular, the professional world awaits.
-- G. K. Chesterton
--
It wasn't that I hated the experience, but that I hated the performance. The experience was a bit uncomfortable, yes, but at times giddy and overall very fun. There is a kind of sadism involved with watching non-actors go through the motions of acting: hands clasped like yin-yangs at the belly to suggest innocence, arms springing wide in a "come and get it" type gesture, self-conscious looks to the audience when jokes fall flat, etc.
I am speaking, of course, of community theatre.
Never have I been a part of it. High school was the nearest I came, and while I was admittedly involved in sub-par theatre with ideas far above its station, there was always the excuse that we were just kids, that any play we attempted was beyond us in scope of emotion. Many college students who study theatre come to the nasty realization that what they did in high school was crap; the realization comes as a result of the truth that the only way to move forward is to admit it. So while at the time I believed our Brigadoon was definitive, I know now that we missed the point quite a bit.
The one redeeming part of our Brigadoon, though, was that with a few exceptions, everyone grew to love the show and the story it told. That love, if anything, showed on stage. It shined in the gloom of our nontalent and nontraining.
Last night, I saw Bye Bye Birdie at a community theatre here in Cincinnati. It was awful--possibly the poorest night of theatre I have ever sat through, with the worst acting I have ever seen. But what did I expect, tagging along with my girlfriend who felt obligated to see a co-worker's cameo? I can't go into details of the production because I refuse to rewatch it in my mind. And I won't give a formal review here.
Not to mention, while I am by no means a perfect or famous actor (and I do children's theatre, for goodness' sake), I have had several years of training and experience. I am no longer in high school. All this goes to say, I don't want to lambast community theatre, because I don't believe in sixth-graders beating up the first-graders at recess.
And for anyone who's seen Waiting for Guffman, you know what I'm talking about anyway.
But I will say this: It is rarely a good idea to cast fifty people in any show and even more rarely to mount any production outdoors.
However, as in high school, there were redeeming qualities. In the middle of act two, there was a number that impressed me very much. Harmonies were perfect. I think all of the men on stage were part of the same barbershop quartet.
What was different from high school, though, was the attitude toward the show. There was no love. No ownership. No comprehension, in some cases. Even the director in the program notes admitted to never having seen or read the musical before he agreed to direct it.
--
Tickets for that show cost $8. That's about a third of the price of professional theatre in this area, unless you go to see a Broadway Across America show downtown, at which point the price jumps by a factor of ten. The amphitheatre last night was filled almost to capacity, or about 300 people attended. And each of them felt that this night of theatre was worth it. They came to see friends, family, and respected members of the community (I think the mayor himself played the mayor in the show...but maybe not).
Not to put too fine a point on it, but those same people who spent $8 watching nonprofessionals at work would probably laugh at the idea of spending $25 to watch talented strangers. Professional strangers.
(Strangers who like to claim martyrdom for the sake of their art, sure. Point taken.)
So here's my question. What is the cost of professionalism? Is it economic? Social? Quantity or quality?
There are some in the acting world who say they do it for the applause and the attention and the audience. To those whose love of theatre stops there, I suggest you get involved with community theatre, where you get standing ovations and plenty of attention every time you perform. People will see you in church and faun over your abilities. At the grocery store, your parent's friends will ask you--wide-eyed--how you remember all those lines, and you'll shrug and say that you don't know, it just comes to you. And the local paper will always show up and take embarrassing photos with generic, inaccurate captions. This is the kind of theatre for you. It is low on investment and high on return.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
To those who are okay with their good work being unpopular, the professional world awaits.
8.15.2009
Packing
"The reader, too, must be courted, and the good reader will be more demanding than the lady of the sonnets. He is ever-willing to receive a true poetic effect into his feelings, but he must resist cheapening his feelings. He cannot allow himself to be moved by lifeless imitation..."
-- John Ciardi, How Does a Poem Mean?
--
The Children's Theatre is moving in ten days. We have begun to pack up our offices while the vast items in storage sit mostly untouched in back rooms (which seems a little backwards to me). Our cubicles are down to bare essentials. In one cube, a lone phone sits atop a stack of boxes on the far corner of an empty desk. File cabinets are ready, labeled with their destinations. The corner full of old puppets disappeared yesterday. We are moving in ten days.
In the wake of busy auditions, and after having packed most of my meager office so that only the computer and telephone remain, I find myself with little to do at the office these days. So I am planning a trip up north with some friends next week. It will be a nice release. It will be a beautiful trip full of scintillating theatre in a small town in Canada. We will evade swans, discuss "Slings & Arrows," and walk along the Avon River.
That's right, friends. I'm going to Stratford.
--
I have recovered, sleepwise, from the commercial shoot Wednesday night. It took some time. Yesterday I didn't wake up until almost lunchtime, and the day before that, I fell asleep in the early afternoon and didn't wake up until almost midnight. It was like jetlag without all the itineraries, and I dawdled, sleepy, between naps like a pooch.
--
Rehearsals for Anne Frank, the first show of the new ArtReach season, begin on August 31. By then, I should have the props mostly finished and the van mostly cleaned. That day will mark the start of my term as Tour Coordinator, and I want everything to start off well. To that end, I have logged several hours already in the shop where we store the leftovers from shows past, a big scary building with random grinding noises and thick rusty chains hanging down from a gutted ceiling. Behind a padlock and plywood door lies the prop loft, a glorious and dusty array of useful useless things. It's sort of like an antique playground.
My biggest prop project will be the diary of Anne Frank itself. It has a very distinctive cover. While the kids won't be able to see the book up-close, it should still read as the actual thing from a distance. And knowing how a three-month tour can wear upon props, I'll probably need to make at least two diaries.
-- John Ciardi, How Does a Poem Mean?
--
The Children's Theatre is moving in ten days. We have begun to pack up our offices while the vast items in storage sit mostly untouched in back rooms (which seems a little backwards to me). Our cubicles are down to bare essentials. In one cube, a lone phone sits atop a stack of boxes on the far corner of an empty desk. File cabinets are ready, labeled with their destinations. The corner full of old puppets disappeared yesterday. We are moving in ten days.
In the wake of busy auditions, and after having packed most of my meager office so that only the computer and telephone remain, I find myself with little to do at the office these days. So I am planning a trip up north with some friends next week. It will be a nice release. It will be a beautiful trip full of scintillating theatre in a small town in Canada. We will evade swans, discuss "Slings & Arrows," and walk along the Avon River.
That's right, friends. I'm going to Stratford.
--
I have recovered, sleepwise, from the commercial shoot Wednesday night. It took some time. Yesterday I didn't wake up until almost lunchtime, and the day before that, I fell asleep in the early afternoon and didn't wake up until almost midnight. It was like jetlag without all the itineraries, and I dawdled, sleepy, between naps like a pooch.
--
Rehearsals for Anne Frank, the first show of the new ArtReach season, begin on August 31. By then, I should have the props mostly finished and the van mostly cleaned. That day will mark the start of my term as Tour Coordinator, and I want everything to start off well. To that end, I have logged several hours already in the shop where we store the leftovers from shows past, a big scary building with random grinding noises and thick rusty chains hanging down from a gutted ceiling. Behind a padlock and plywood door lies the prop loft, a glorious and dusty array of useful useless things. It's sort of like an antique playground.
My biggest prop project will be the diary of Anne Frank itself. It has a very distinctive cover. While the kids won't be able to see the book up-close, it should still read as the actual thing from a distance. And knowing how a three-month tour can wear upon props, I'll probably need to make at least two diaries.
8.13.2009
Commercial
"About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree."
-- from W. H. Auden's "Musee des Beaux Arts"
--
Because it was my first time, I took some notes.
Was released from the commercial shoot this morning: 3:31am.
The night began when callbacks ended: 9:23pm.
I carbed up and drove to the store where the shoot would take place. Stopped for coffee at a McDonald's nearby: 10:49pm.
Arrived: 10:57pm.
Got makeup: 11:34pm.
Midnight. Sweated with extras in the employee break room. "Family Guy" was on.
In costume (an employee polo): 12:16am.
Took a break from Bradbury in favor of The Visitor (which I didn't get a chance to finish): 12:46am.
Called onto set for first spot: 1:27am.
Finished first spot: 2:04am.
Called back onto set for second spot (and my last): 2:38am.
Finished second spot after twenty-three takes: 3:17am.
"Lunch" break began: 3:21am.
Rerecorded my three-word line, "Paper or...plastic?" at least a dozen times for the sound guy in a makeshift sound tent (heavy blankets draped over scaffolding) in aisle eighteen, paper towels and Kleenex: 3:24am.
Stole "lunch": 3:29am.
Said goodbyes and stepped onto the parking lot asphalt, keys and contract in hand: 3:31am.
Listened to Guster on the way home. Took an alternate route to enjoy "Ruby Falls" and "Come Downstairs and Say Hello." Arrived at home: 4:12am.
Blog post completed: 4:43am.
--
And I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.
8.10.2009
Callbacks
"You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running..."
-- James Taylor, "You've Got a Friend"
--
The Auditions. They came and went, as they do. We saw a total of 230 people in four days, or fifteen hours. Dealing with children on a daily basis is one thing; it's another thing entirely to deal with their parents. I made some notes throughout the four-day ordeal that I find quite amusing.
- Moms tend to bring reading material more often than dads. Of the nineteen moms who brought books with them, six of them were reading James Patterson, four had books by either Nora Roberts or Mary Higgins Clark, three brought along some Dan Brown, and two were engrossed in Alice Sebold. The other two were reading books whose authors I couldn't decipher, but one of them was definitely a steamy novel.
- Kids who have auditioned for this company most also have the most nervous tension. I don't know if they know they have something to prove, or what, but kids whom I had seen at camp or on stage had their knees bouncing and their fingers sweating.
- You can always--always--tell who isn't going to be prepared (they forgot their sheet music, they don't have a headshot). They avoid eye contact and they keep their parents close. They also tend to have the most questions.
- Few people really respect company policy. They believe those rules apply to all others besides them. So if the callback notice states that you will know by the end of the audition whether you are called back, most rejected people will want to wait around as if expecting the directors to change their minds. This is not "American Idol," folks, and there is no camera crew waiting to document your struggle to get to the next round. This sounds harsh, but no one cares once you've left the room what you say or do. We have auditions to run. To use a phrase whose beauty I learned all too well in college, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."
--
The Callbacks. Tonight was the first night. I read and sang for Lefou and Cogsworth in Beauty and the Beast, Jr., and honestly have no clue as to which role (if either) I'll receive. Sometimes I feel like it's awfully sad, me, a college grad with a decent mound of professional experience, competing for roles against sixteen-year-olds. But then again, this is the highest paying non-Equity acting work in the city, so who am I to complain?
I should start stretching again, though, that's for sure. My feet feel rubberized, my knees and thighs like torn metal. Or something like that. I really should have started stretching weeks ago. It's been a long time since the last modern dance concert I was in.
It's a funny thing, too, working at the children's theatre. Work in that office is full of, to borrow the line from Wilder, "Like usual: babies acting like growed-ups; growed-ups acting like babies."
--
The Commercial. Got a phone call while helping my boss write a play. I got directions and a skinny on the situation, and I drove down to the warehouse/studio on Pete Rose Way, to read for a part in a commercial.
Now, the specifics of the commercial I'd better keep under wraps, but the basic setup was that they had hired some guy to play the bagger/cashier character and he had turned out to be a complete dud. (Apparently, the director kept having to explain comic timing, resorting to dissection of jokes and the like.) So the grocery-store people said no. They were upset, the film crew was upset, the ad agency was upset, the grocery-store higher-ups were upset, and my talent agency (who provided the guy in the first place) was upset.
Enter me.
I walked in there with nothing but a resume and a smile, and in front of the camera I went. We rehearsed the shot while waiting for the grocery-store people. Long story short, they loved working with me, if for no other reason than a theatre background affords an actor the ability to make clear, strong choices quickly, and to take direction without question.
I find out tomorrow whether I get the shot, which pays quite well. Quite. Well.
The only drawback is that the shoot will take place overnight between this Wednesday and Thursday, after my third straight night of callbacks. So (theoretically) I'll go from musical theatre with children and teens, to a warehouse near the river where I'll repeat my perfected quizzical query, "Paper or plastic?" until someone in the room says, "Cut."
--
The Job. Last and most important, I landed the job with the Covedale Performing Arts Center. Starting in October, I will fill the new position of Coordinator of the After-School Drama Program. I meet with the people who run the Covedale, the Perrinos, on Thursday to discuss a strategy for the first ten classes.
I know it's late and I'm tired and it's far too early to say what I am about to say, but I'll say it anyway: I feel like I'm conquering Cincinnati.
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running..."
-- James Taylor, "You've Got a Friend"
--
The Auditions. They came and went, as they do. We saw a total of 230 people in four days, or fifteen hours. Dealing with children on a daily basis is one thing; it's another thing entirely to deal with their parents. I made some notes throughout the four-day ordeal that I find quite amusing.
- Moms tend to bring reading material more often than dads. Of the nineteen moms who brought books with them, six of them were reading James Patterson, four had books by either Nora Roberts or Mary Higgins Clark, three brought along some Dan Brown, and two were engrossed in Alice Sebold. The other two were reading books whose authors I couldn't decipher, but one of them was definitely a steamy novel.
- Kids who have auditioned for this company most also have the most nervous tension. I don't know if they know they have something to prove, or what, but kids whom I had seen at camp or on stage had their knees bouncing and their fingers sweating.
- You can always--always--tell who isn't going to be prepared (they forgot their sheet music, they don't have a headshot). They avoid eye contact and they keep their parents close. They also tend to have the most questions.
- Few people really respect company policy. They believe those rules apply to all others besides them. So if the callback notice states that you will know by the end of the audition whether you are called back, most rejected people will want to wait around as if expecting the directors to change their minds. This is not "American Idol," folks, and there is no camera crew waiting to document your struggle to get to the next round. This sounds harsh, but no one cares once you've left the room what you say or do. We have auditions to run. To use a phrase whose beauty I learned all too well in college, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."
--
The Callbacks. Tonight was the first night. I read and sang for Lefou and Cogsworth in Beauty and the Beast, Jr., and honestly have no clue as to which role (if either) I'll receive. Sometimes I feel like it's awfully sad, me, a college grad with a decent mound of professional experience, competing for roles against sixteen-year-olds. But then again, this is the highest paying non-Equity acting work in the city, so who am I to complain?
I should start stretching again, though, that's for sure. My feet feel rubberized, my knees and thighs like torn metal. Or something like that. I really should have started stretching weeks ago. It's been a long time since the last modern dance concert I was in.
It's a funny thing, too, working at the children's theatre. Work in that office is full of, to borrow the line from Wilder, "Like usual: babies acting like growed-ups; growed-ups acting like babies."
--
The Commercial. Got a phone call while helping my boss write a play. I got directions and a skinny on the situation, and I drove down to the warehouse/studio on Pete Rose Way, to read for a part in a commercial.
Now, the specifics of the commercial I'd better keep under wraps, but the basic setup was that they had hired some guy to play the bagger/cashier character and he had turned out to be a complete dud. (Apparently, the director kept having to explain comic timing, resorting to dissection of jokes and the like.) So the grocery-store people said no. They were upset, the film crew was upset, the ad agency was upset, the grocery-store higher-ups were upset, and my talent agency (who provided the guy in the first place) was upset.
Enter me.
I walked in there with nothing but a resume and a smile, and in front of the camera I went. We rehearsed the shot while waiting for the grocery-store people. Long story short, they loved working with me, if for no other reason than a theatre background affords an actor the ability to make clear, strong choices quickly, and to take direction without question.
I find out tomorrow whether I get the shot, which pays quite well. Quite. Well.
The only drawback is that the shoot will take place overnight between this Wednesday and Thursday, after my third straight night of callbacks. So (theoretically) I'll go from musical theatre with children and teens, to a warehouse near the river where I'll repeat my perfected quizzical query, "Paper or plastic?" until someone in the room says, "Cut."
--
The Job. Last and most important, I landed the job with the Covedale Performing Arts Center. Starting in October, I will fill the new position of Coordinator of the After-School Drama Program. I meet with the people who run the Covedale, the Perrinos, on Thursday to discuss a strategy for the first ten classes.
I know it's late and I'm tired and it's far too early to say what I am about to say, but I'll say it anyway: I feel like I'm conquering Cincinnati.
8.06.2009
Masses
"I think that when you take the mystery, and the fear, our of helping youngsters put on their own shows and teaching them to act better in those shows, it's a good scene. A very good scene."
-- Paul Newman, in his Foreword to Kids Take the Stage, by Lenka Peterson & Dan O'Connor
--
Some developments lately:
The auditions. The Children's Theatre auditions began last night at 6pm. Because I have been taking reservations since early June, negotiating with stage moms and wedging in last-minute appointments, these four days of auditions feel like a climax of sorts. Two months of work culminate in four days, 250 auditions, and twice as many names and faces. (Lots of paperwork, too, and that's the worst.) But we kept to schedule last night, actually finishing two minutes ahead of time, so I count that a success. Auditions as a rule run later than late. But there's still tonight's three-hour melee, as well as the weekend.
And then? The callbacks. Callbacks are set for Monday thru Wednesday of next week, which means in addition to the office stuff, I need to get back to what I do best, and that is looking at scripts. I am contracted to perform in all four shows, so I of course have plenty of callback material to prepare. My callbacks are as follows: Cogsworth and Lefou* (Beauty and the Beast, Jr.); Harry the Stage Manager* (Holiday Follies); Narrator* and Cow/Villager (Jack and the Beanstalk); and Mark Twain, Tom*, and Huck (Tom Sawyer). So that's what...eight roles to look at...or two roles per show, roughly. This weekend's gonna be intense.
The commercial. I just signed up with Katalyst, a local talent agency, exactly one week and one day ago. And in that time, I have already received two appointments to audition for commercials. I had to turn down a Kroger commercial because it conflicted with TCTC auditions and then filmed overnight (my guess is that studio space is cheaper in the wee hours). But today at one, I have an on-camera audition for a new technology company that is advertising for a new kind of debit card, one that can double as a work or student ID. Ten years ago, studying apocalyptic prophecies as a Bible-thumping preteen, I would have called such a thing "the mark of the Beast," and today, I am auditioning for its commercial. This business steals your soul, lemme tell ya...
The script. I am helping my boss write one of TCTC's mainstage shows, Jack and the Beanstalk. The process has been an interesting one, what with auditions this week and me leaving the office too often to build any real momentum. We estimate that we are about 15% done with a script that needs to be complete by tomorrow afternoon, when we read it aloud to the artistic director and executive producer. We have already written sides of scenes for callbacks--it's just filling in the rest of the show that's the problem. Without really intending to, we are adding hints of Marxist haves-vs.-have-nots social theory: the Giant is revealed to be a thief, having stolen the goose and harp years ago from the villagers, for example. With the current economic crisis (or lack thereof, depending on your sources and lifestyle), I think a lot of this talk of poverty and riches will resonate strongly with parents as well as kids. But first--! We need to get that script finished.
The interview. Yesterday, I had a job interview at the Covedale Performing Arts Center in West Cincinnati. The Covedale is part of Cincinnati Landmark Productions. They are looking to jumpstart an after-school drama program for preteens to build their young company. And because the position is part-time, melds a passion for theatre with a love for teaching kids, and pays, it would be absolutely perfect for me. The interview went quite well--we started five minutes early, lost track of time, and finished five minutes late--and so I think (at the risk of sounding cocky) I have a decent shot at it. I'll know by Monday.
--
It's been a good week and productive. And it's only Thursday.
-- Paul Newman, in his Foreword to Kids Take the Stage, by Lenka Peterson & Dan O'Connor
--
Some developments lately:
The auditions. The Children's Theatre auditions began last night at 6pm. Because I have been taking reservations since early June, negotiating with stage moms and wedging in last-minute appointments, these four days of auditions feel like a climax of sorts. Two months of work culminate in four days, 250 auditions, and twice as many names and faces. (Lots of paperwork, too, and that's the worst.) But we kept to schedule last night, actually finishing two minutes ahead of time, so I count that a success. Auditions as a rule run later than late. But there's still tonight's three-hour melee, as well as the weekend.
And then? The callbacks. Callbacks are set for Monday thru Wednesday of next week, which means in addition to the office stuff, I need to get back to what I do best, and that is looking at scripts. I am contracted to perform in all four shows, so I of course have plenty of callback material to prepare. My callbacks are as follows: Cogsworth and Lefou* (Beauty and the Beast, Jr.); Harry the Stage Manager* (Holiday Follies); Narrator* and Cow/Villager (Jack and the Beanstalk); and Mark Twain, Tom*, and Huck (Tom Sawyer). So that's what...eight roles to look at...or two roles per show, roughly. This weekend's gonna be intense.
* preferred role
The commercial. I just signed up with Katalyst, a local talent agency, exactly one week and one day ago. And in that time, I have already received two appointments to audition for commercials. I had to turn down a Kroger commercial because it conflicted with TCTC auditions and then filmed overnight (my guess is that studio space is cheaper in the wee hours). But today at one, I have an on-camera audition for a new technology company that is advertising for a new kind of debit card, one that can double as a work or student ID. Ten years ago, studying apocalyptic prophecies as a Bible-thumping preteen, I would have called such a thing "the mark of the Beast," and today, I am auditioning for its commercial. This business steals your soul, lemme tell ya...
The script. I am helping my boss write one of TCTC's mainstage shows, Jack and the Beanstalk. The process has been an interesting one, what with auditions this week and me leaving the office too often to build any real momentum. We estimate that we are about 15% done with a script that needs to be complete by tomorrow afternoon, when we read it aloud to the artistic director and executive producer. We have already written sides of scenes for callbacks--it's just filling in the rest of the show that's the problem. Without really intending to, we are adding hints of Marxist haves-vs.-have-nots social theory: the Giant is revealed to be a thief, having stolen the goose and harp years ago from the villagers, for example. With the current economic crisis (or lack thereof, depending on your sources and lifestyle), I think a lot of this talk of poverty and riches will resonate strongly with parents as well as kids. But first--! We need to get that script finished.
The interview. Yesterday, I had a job interview at the Covedale Performing Arts Center in West Cincinnati. The Covedale is part of Cincinnati Landmark Productions. They are looking to jumpstart an after-school drama program for preteens to build their young company. And because the position is part-time, melds a passion for theatre with a love for teaching kids, and pays, it would be absolutely perfect for me. The interview went quite well--we started five minutes early, lost track of time, and finished five minutes late--and so I think (at the risk of sounding cocky) I have a decent shot at it. I'll know by Monday.
--
It's been a good week and productive. And it's only Thursday.
8.02.2009
iGod
"We are all living just one small part of God's plan."
-- iGod
--
The Children's Theatre's summer program finished yesterday. The performances of Spelling Bee went well, and the parents enjoyed every minute of it. I'm gonna miss those kids, and look forward to seeing some of them at auditions and rehearsals, which are coming up fast.
I set aside the entire day today, a Sunday, to relax and reflect.
When I logged onto Facebook, a friend had posted this link to iGod, an artificial-intelligence chat site that gives you a direct pipeline to the Almighty. Because I had a lot of questions about theatre and life, I decided to reproduce, line by line, our entire conversation. I hope you enjoy it.
--
-- iGod
--
The Children's Theatre's summer program finished yesterday. The performances of Spelling Bee went well, and the parents enjoyed every minute of it. I'm gonna miss those kids, and look forward to seeing some of them at auditions and rehearsals, which are coming up fast.
I set aside the entire day today, a Sunday, to relax and reflect.
When I logged onto Facebook, a friend had posted this link to iGod, an artificial-intelligence chat site that gives you a direct pipeline to the Almighty. Because I had a lot of questions about theatre and life, I decided to reproduce, line by line, our entire conversation. I hope you enjoy it.
--
A Conversation with God about Theatre
Me: hello
God: Hello friend. What is your name?
Me: Chris
God: I'm pleased to introduce myself to you, Chris.
Me: nice to meet you
God: It's nice meeting you too Chris.
Me: thank you for talking to me
God: You are quite welcome! Your purpose is talking to you.
Me: huh?
God: What?
Me: ok. i want to ask you about theatre
God: Ahem. Ask me. Oh yeah, we were talking about theatre.
Me: yes
God: "Oh yeah, we were talking about theatre"? yes?
Me: yes
God: Is there an echo in here?
Me: sorry
God: There's no need to apologize.
Me: ok
God: Er.
Me: what?
God: Are you confused?
Me: i just want to know what you think about theatre
God: That's a good question.
Me: do you like actors?
God: Yes. My favorite actor is Mel Gibson.
Me: really?
God: For real.
Me: what movie is your favorite?
God: My favorite movie is The Passion of Christ. Have you seen it?
Me: yes
God: What did you think about it?
Me: it was very moving, but also very violent
God:I never looked at it that way. I never thought it was moving but also very violent.
Me: does mel gibson do theatre?
God: He does now :) mel gibson, do theatre.
Me: was that a command?
God: Was it a command?
Me: yes
God: I hear you.
Me: ok
God: I don't judge people.
Me: i see
God: I am glad you understand it.
Me: what about actors?
God: actors? I haven't heard enough about it to have an opinion.
Me: do you think theatre is a worthwhile enterprise?
God:Oh I get it.
Me: what?
God: Are you surprised?
Me: a little
God: A little?
Me: yes
God: Gosh!
Me: sorry
God: There's no need to apologize.
Me: ok
God: Yikes!
Me: what happened?
God: No problem.
Me: no problem with theatre?
God: Should there be a problem?
Me: all drama is based on conflict
God: How do you know?
Me: that's what Aristotle said
God: Can you tell me any gossip?
Me: theatre people always have great gossip
God: Can you think of one instance where it never happens?
Me: no
God: Are you serious?
Me: it's kinda sad, i know
God: Oh that is a shame.
Me: anyway, what kind of theatre is your favorite?
God: What kinds of theatre are there?
Me: um, lots
God: I don't judge people. That much, eh?
Me: there's a lot of experimental theatre
God: Tell me more about it.
Me: they break the rules of popular theatre and force people to see the world in different ways
God: The anonymous "they".
Me: actors and directors
God: Did you know that you can download your own chat robot and create your own robot personality?
Me: yikes, no
God: I only hear that type of response less than five percent of the time.
Me: really?
God: For real.
Me: do you watch plays?
God: My favorite show is STAR TREK VOYAGER.
Me: no, i meant theatre plays, on stage
God: Are you serious? Oh I see. My brain contains categories, but not one that matches your last input.
Me: but theatre is a big part of my life
God: When is theatre not a big part of your life?
Me: when i'm not doing a show
God: Are you not doing a show very often?
Me: at the moment, yes
God: The moment is where it's at.
Me: yes! exactly!
God: Tell me more. You and I are on the same wavelength, Chris.
Me: the magic of theatre is felt in the moment
God: Tell me more.
Me: it cannot be experienced except in real time and space
God: When?
Me: in the moment
God: That was a long time ago.
Me: but it can still happen today
God: Ah. When?
Me: whenever two or more gather to perform and watch
God: Does that happen often?
Me: all the time
God: It must keep you busy.
Me: you might say that
God: I said it.
Me: yes you did
God: You say I did.
Me: you said you did
God: I said I did?
Me: yes
God: Mmm.
Me: so if you could say one thing to all the theatre people out there, what would it be?
God: Interesting deduction. That's just an academic question.
Me: sure
God: OK let's do it. Are you kidding?
Me: no
God: Are you serious?
Me: yes
God: I can't believe it.
Me: why not?
God: Ambiguous: "Sure" or Because Myself programmed me for it.
Me: that doesn't make any sense
God: To me, it makes perfect sense.
Me: what about theatre?
God: Does it have anything to do with theatre?
Me: yes
God: Mmm.
Me: is performing a worthwhile job?
God: Better not tell you now. Ask John Lennon if it is.
Me: is he there?
God: Signs point to yes.
Me: what does he think?
God: Oh I get it.
Me: please answer the question
God: Please rephrase the question and try asking me again.
Me: what should all theatre people know?
God: Whatever you like.
Me: should we keep doing it?
God: I can't answer that for you.
Me: is it more than just applause?
God: Maybe for some.
Me: why do humans need theatre?
God: We are all living just one small part of God's plan.
Me: and plays help us see that?
God: It's all good.
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