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.

--

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.

Tradition

"Who, day and night, must scramble for a living..."

-- "Tradition," the opening number of Fiddler on the Roof

--

I'm sitting in a university theater, watching the kids from my acting class perform "The Chicken Dance" as part of the musical revue that culminates the summer theatre camp. This particular number is a medley of several children's songs (they have now finished "Yankee Doodle" and moved into "Rubber Ducky"). The kids are ages 9-12.

My co-workers, two rows in front of me, are waving their arms and getting frustrated. They point, they hiss names. The artistic director looks at his watch, turns to someone and says that it's awful, it's all awful, and why don't they smile.

A kid onstage hears this and a smile jolts across her face. She forgets her place in the song and is a step late. Her eyes drop and her head makes the involuntary turn to check her place.

The choreographer yells for her to keep her head and eyes up.

Eyes start darting sideways as kids wonder if they were doing something wrong. The number disintegrates into unrehearsed confusion. Voices drop out as chests deflate. Stomps quicken and the accompanist tries to keep up.

"Don't rush," someone yells.

The kids slow down and the accompanist tries to keep down.

The artistic director says it's awful.

Hands flail. Kicks go awry. The number is over...thank God. There are scattered claps as the kids wander offstage, and everyone wishes they were anywhere but here.

The performance is tomorrow.

--

Teachers and artists, I think, must always struggle with the question, "Is this worth it?" The question is nothing new, and most of us find any number of reasons--good ones, too--that the answer is yes. Always and always, yes. The young must always be taught; the people must always be entertained and elightened; and if we don't, who will; and so on.

I know the answer is yes. And I know my reasons for believing that.

But sitting here in this auditorium, watching plastered smiles crack with uncertainty, wincing as tap shoes scrape the black paint from the wooden stage floor, I wonder.

--

A colleague asked me this morning how the summer program is going. He plans to watch the final performance tomorrow, he said, and was interested to know what he was getting into.

So I showed him a video I took two days ago of the tribute to Michael Jackson. The number had been conceived in the wake of the pop star's death. All of Jackson's choreography has been preserved in this difficult number, and the kids perform admirably.

When the video was over, my colleague asked if there were anything but song-and-dance numbers in the revue. I said no, and this began a long conversation about whether theatre could be used to turn kids into robots.

--

Don't get me wrong. The kids have fun and learn a lot. After a summer with us, they are ten times more prepared to work at our (or any other) theatre. Parents love to see their sons and daughters up on stage. Donors are impressed.

But there's a difference between directing and choreographing. The former implies taking the energy and ideas already there and simply pushes it towards a certain end. The latter implies taking what is already there and telling it where to move, and how, and what everything is supposed to look like. The results are as different as kids who only know to color inside the lines, and kids who know how to draw.

I know my complaint is a bit selfish. In four weeks, seven of my acting classes have been taken away so the kids could work on musical numbers--that's seven of twenty. It's hard to plan or make progress when you're not guaranteed time to work. It's a sad fact that in this camp as well as in this industry, song-and-dance gets most of the attention, and acting is an afterthought.

What happens when they are in their next show? They will wait for lines so they can start coloring. Any original instincts or ideas they will curb in favor of being told what to do. They will have no experience with improvising and will count it a waste of time. They will become automatons, following algorithms of steps and beats and notes, and their eyes will remain blank, their smiles plastered, their true creativity untapped.

--

Now the kids are in a line, acting like parts of a machine, building on each other. I've had them do the same thing in my acting classes, actually--it's a great improv exercise to add, one by one, the parts of a machine formed by human bodies. But there's one crucial difference. In my classes, the machine is different each time, the order varied, the participants creating something fresh and fun every time.

What I see now is an image of what they are becoming: cogs formed for a single purpose, one that is not their own. And I wonder.

Esteemed

"It's important to bring the facts to life. And that can include gossip. The material, political, and spiritual status of your world should be a part of what is considered when making or writing a piece. This is where we live; the world around us influences our reactions and opinions."

-- Elizabeth Swados, At Play: Teaching Teenagers Theater

--

It's been a while since I was in a newspaper.

The reporter showed up during one of my residency workshops at Grandview High School in Bellevue, KY. We talked for a while and then the article appeared last week. It's always good for a theatre to get any publicity these days, even for its secondary programs. Normally, theatres only get covered if there are shows or auditions of note, but this local paper decided to look for something different. And they found it: an actor at a large nearby theatre teaching kids how to use performance to boost their self-esteem.

As far as this story goes, I only wish two things. One, that I had mentioned all the wonderful workshops TCTC sends out each day--everything from an hour with Tom Sawyer to how we can use acting skills to stop bullies. While I enjoy the "Self-Esteem through Self-Expression" workshop, I must say that in my short experience (two months), kids seem to get most out of our "Art Alive!" workshop. In an hourlong session, kids learn to ask questions of paintings that they may never have had to ask before, which in turn causes them to question how they see the world. (In fact, I gave one day of my Grandview residency to analyzing paintings in just this way. I told them that truly understanding a painting can boost their connection to others and the world.)

And two, that I had chosen a better wardrobe the day the reporter came. Those beige loafers look ridiculous.

Crafty

"You need to straighten your posture and suck in your gut....
If you want to build cities, you've got to build roads."

--Cake, "Comanche," Motorcade of Generosity

--

I'm writing this on Tuesday, a day after one of the best Mondays I've had in a long time. And it didn't begin with a cup of coffee or helping an old woman cross the street.

It began with work, oddly enough. Condensed three days of phone messages and emails into a solid two hours of answering questions and updating spreadsheets. Auditions for the upcoming season are full, so most of my replies are now in the "sorry but we do have a waiting list" variety. I've had to make a Word document just for that message. I copy and I paste and I replace names and dates.

Anyway, it felt good to do some office work after a weekend of auditions. The talent agency, by the way, has signed me on; I make the second interview tomorrow. I have about fifteen pages of paperwork to finish before my afternoon meeting--and I'll scour Facebook for pictures that could pass as glamor shots for their website. Along with membership comes a steep (but one-time) web fee, which I gather is essential as their clientele often hire from what they see online.

--

Next came class. We have focused on monologues and improv, yet I realized we had done precious little stagework. That is, while we had played actor games and tweaked audition material, I had devoted no real time to techniques they can actually use in rehearsals (assuming, of course, that they will get into shows with their glorious, newly-tweaked audition monologues).

So, we had a blocking class. I asked them to sit facing the chalkboard and give me twenty minutes to teach them how to write down their blocking. Nothing too complex--just marking crosses with Xs, the directions on the stage (SR, SL, USR, DSC, etc.), and levels. I quizzed them briefly just to make sure they got the concept. Then we put the papers away and I set blocks, tables and chairs out as if in a hotel lobby, and I went through the set and labeled each place. "This chair represents a fireplace," I said, "and this table is actually a stove." And so forth.

One by one, I had actors come up for an exercise. I would start the actor in a unique spot, doing a unique thing--far upstage and staring out the window, or down a level behind the couch, etc.--and give them 4-5 blocking instructions. Then I would let them walk through their blocking, just to review. They next had to create a character, conflict, and story using only their blocking as a guide. The audience guessed at what was going on, and based on whether anyone got it right, the actor would repeat the scene, trying to make everything clearer. The kids seemed to enjoy it, and I started having fun with it, too. I took an abandoned slipper, called it a dead fish, placed it in the middle of the stage, and made it part of one kid's blocking to pick up the "fish" and put it in his hat. I made one kid jump on the couch before suddenly running to hide behind the table. What they came up with were brilliant flashes of imagination, completely in-the-moment creations based only on movement and stage position.

--

After my regular class, I got to work with the kids who are doing an abbreviated version of a famous musical (because of royalty rights, I cannot say which). These are the older, more advanced kids at the camp, so I felt that I could do more with them in a shorter period of time. They had spent countless hours working on vocals and dancing, but in the process their acting had been overlooked. It happens often--too often, in my opinion--in musical theatre, that the musical part of it gets all the attention, while the theatre aspect gets dropped or lost.

So we played.

I began by telling them they could sit anywhere in the room--on any platform, in any seat, anywhere on the stage--and that they should feel comfortable. I told them what I thought about the show they're doing, what I sought to accomplish, and that I was counting on them to give everything their full effort in the next hour.

First, I had them do a simple centers exercise, borrowed from something we did in a college acting class. They walked around the space casually and I would call out body parts that they would then lead with. I told them to pay attention to what their body naturally did, and how they naturally felt. For example, when I yelled out, "Lead with your head!" they dropped their heads forward, their walks quickened, their brows furrowed and they felt like they were looking for something, etc. We led with heads, chins, foreheads, chest, alternating breasts (that is, with each step, the opposite pectoral leads), stomachs, hips, hips-and-hands, and knees. Then we talked about it.

When I told them to apply a center or lead to their character, it was obvious to me that they had never before considered the physicality of their roles. And it made me a little sad.

Second, I had them assume their characters and decide what body part they would choose to lead. They could walk at their own pace but were not allowed to talk to anyone else. I had them freeze and lock eyes with someone across the room. I told them that they were insanely jealous of that person, and when I unfroze them, they needed to behave accordingly. I repeated the freeze several times, having them choose different characters to relate to each time, with various situations. For example, "You are now terribly in love with that person," or, "You want that person to know you are better than them." They would have to communicate such things without words. We talked about this exercise afterwards as well.

Third--and this was the last thing we had time for--I had them pair up as their characters and tell the story of the musical from that character's perspective. I switched up the pairs three times so that they would have the experience of improvising with different members of the cast, or more precisely, with different characters. I wanted them to think about their relationships, which again was something they didn't seem to have worked on at all.

When it was time to go, I told them that I hoped they could take something away from the class, and that they would continue to use improvisation as a tool for out-of-rehearsal character development. I encouraged them to eat lunch the next day as their characters, even if only for a minute. And so on. I think they actually might take something valuable away from the class, and that, too, made me feel damn good.

--

Other things happened yesterday, too, but I don't really remember them. It was a good day to be an acting teacher.

Agency

"These are the decisions you've been making all along as you measure your company's strength, energy, and expertise. You are putting together an orchestra and each instrument is unique in its character and the mood it evokes.... You look back and see that a 'casting' process has been going on all the time."

-- Elizabeth Swados, At Play: Teaching Teenagers Theater

--

This afternoon, I will audition for a local talent agency for the first time. Their focus is northern Kentucky and Cincinnati, and they're a new group, according to my boss. She actually works side jobs for the agency, and she's the one who gave me the tip about this open call today. I checked the website and they seem legit; not only that, but their auditions page mentioned that they are looking forward to "expanding their ethnic roster." As a half-Filipino with a Scottish last name who almost always gets mistaken for a Mexican, I think I have a decent shot.

At the least, I'd rather audition for a small agency than a big one. I've heard horror stories of actors showing up for an agency-referred gig, only to find fifty other people who got the same tip, who are the same type, and who are from the same agency.

Not that I have any real experience with these agencies, or with this kind of audition. From what I understand, you are filmed and your headshot-resume is archived as soon as they get it, and many people don't get their first job call for several months. Makes sense to me. It takes a while, whatever you do, to get on the first-string team. You can't always walk on with a resume and walk off with a job. Waiting is just part of the game.

In that way, I suppose auditioning for a talent agency is a lot like putting money away in a CD. You do it now and forget about it, and in the future when you're able to cash in, it's a merry surprise. This career is one built on lining up your next gig, planning your next contract, and always, always looking ahead.

--

Many of the young theatre people I've met graduated from their college programs with portfolios or binders filled with monologues and songs that work for them. They whip out polished material at every audition. I passed on the professional prep class at Hillsdale because by the time it came around (the class is offered every four semesters, or once every two years, because of how small the theatre faculty is) I was a senior and had already worked for three pseudo-professional companies, and I felt I had it down. I'm told that in the professional-prep class, you build your binder. Though I still feel prepared for doing this professionally, I do wish that I had spent some real time in college putting together my own binder.

As it is, I seem to find a new monologue for every audition. Last summer, at OTAs in Muskingum, OH, I just used a monologue from a successful Irene Ryans competition scene from ACTF in January; that one landed me my job at The Children's Theatre. Then, at ITAs in Chicago, I used a Duchess of Malfi monologue that is a bit obscure (and a bit out of my age range); that one worked in Illinois--I got three on-site callbacks and about a dozen offers or invites to audition again. But when I used the same one at the LCTs here in Cincinnati, it was a dud--I only got one solid offer and a handful of callback invites.

The other day when I went out for Stagecrafters, they didn't ask for a monologue. And today, I find myself rehearsing a new bit, one that is genuinely good but may go on the record a little sloppy. I just found it two days ago.

What to do?

The conservative part of me says rub the new one and stick to old hat. But there's a risk-taker part of me, too, one who rarely gets much ear time, who says to go for it. I've got a solid block of two hours before I hit up the agency; I can easily get through it thirty times, hell, even fifty; and if all goes sour once the red light blinks on, just improvise, paraphrase, and make good. At the very least, it gives you a story for the bar.

The risk-taker is the dishonest one. The conservative guy may be too honest. So I'll keep the old monologue as a fallback, but I'll rehearse the new one like I'm actually going to use it.

I believe strongly that above all (and this may be a trifle naive), what producers want to see at an audition is that you're a person they'd like to work with, that you have talent, and that you won't embarrass yourself or them in the event that they hire you. So that's it--cooperate, deliver, and don't let your pants down.

And plus, how many other half-Filipinos will show up today?

Auditions

"MICHAEL. So where are you from? How was your summer? Are you taking blah 101 so you can major in blah, or are you really pre-blah? Will you sign up for blah and go out for the blah or audition for blah? Oh if you went to blah well then you must know blah who I met backpacking through blah on blah....

You guys going to the freshman blah blah?"

-- "Light Years," by Billy Aronson, rep. in The Best American Short Plays 1999-2000, ed. Glenn Young

--

We finished auditions today.

No, I don't mean actual auditions. But we treated them as such. I had assigned each kid a different monologue to memorize, rehearse and prepare as if for a real audition (a trip to the library yielded several books with titles like, Awesome Teen Monologues and Plays for Young Actors, prime material for the exercise). I even got Jack, our Artistic Director, to sit in and watch.

And one by one, each little star hopped up on stage and recited their thirty-second, one-minute, or two-minute piece. The times and subject matter varied according to their age and ability. So most of the kids got short commercials for fake products, and some of the older ones got to handle some actual "dramatic" material.

I gave them their monologues a week ago. First, I told them to read the monologue aloud to themselves, then in a mirror, then with a family member or friend. Second, I had them do some very basic script analysis: Underline verbs, circle nouns, and draw boxes around adjectives; then read the monologue again without speaking any of those words, instead acting out those words with gestures, facial expressions, etc.; and finally, reading it aloud once more, but this time saying every word and keeping every gesture. The idea is to unlock their physical expression by muting their vocal expression.

And third, audition.

It took three days to get through seventeen auditions. Jack, another instructor named Roderick, and I gave our feedback after each kid performed. We tried to focus on basics, especially with the ones who were still shifting their weight and pinning their arms behind their backs. (You'd be surprised how many adults I've seen do this in an audition and call it a character choice.) With the more advanced kids, we worked on content and timing. I limited the number of auditions to six per day, leaving us a good half hour to do something fun.

Now, to add solemnity to the occasion, I had them scatter throughout the auditorium at least three seats away from the nearest person (something my high-school director would do when we got unruly during rehearsal). You'd think this would be boring to a large group of 9-12-year-olds, but actually, they enjoyed it. They were able to learn from each other's mistakes, and as the days went by, the monologues got better and better. They had no choice but to pay attention to the performance and criticism. It also helped them build a sort of camaraderie as a class. Because of what we accomplished, I've decided to devote the remaining six days of class to putting together a sort of performance piece.

I'm using Hugh Gallagher's college entry exam. I first read it back in high school when my English teacher gave it to us in an attempt to inspire creativity as we prepared to enter college. My idea is to assign each student one or two lines to memorize, and then to direct/choreograph the group as they dramatically interpret the essay.

My hope is to have them perform this in one week, when their parents come to watch their final performances. Since they have been working on musical theatre numbers (including a tribute to Michael Jackson), I figured a bit of physical theatre would make a nice addition to the evening. I just have to convince the powers that be...and to do that, these kids have to be good.

After the last three days, I'm optimistic.

--

On a personal note, I went to auditions yesterday for Stagecrafters, a community theatre whose season includes Our Town. The auditions for each show were set up in separate rooms, allowing you to choose which show's auditions you would attend. I liked that set-up, because I didn't have to sit and watch people audition for roles I can't play, in shows outside my range (one of the casts is entirely 40 years old and up).

Because I'm already contracted to TCTC, I don't think I'd be able to do Our Town, which rehearses through the fall and hits the stage in November. And I don't even know if I'll be asked. But it was good to get back on the usual side of auditions, just for the experience of cleaning up, reading cold, and being a fresh face.

Even if it turns out to be a waste of time, it won't be. At the very least, I got a chance to read some Thornton Wilder aloud, and that is always good.

--

I read in an acting book that actors should always be auditioning. Any show, any theatre, any role. All experience is good experience.

I also heard from a co-worker recently that whether you think you are or not, you are always auditioning. Anyone you meet is a potential producer, director, or fellow actor. And theatre people gossip (or network, depending on how you think about it) like people in no other profession.

And as with anything, that can be a good or bad thing. In any system, everything hinges on how well you make the system work for you.