Retellings

"Ever just the same,
ever a surprise,
ever as before,
ever just as sure..."

-- "Beauty and the Beast," from the Disney movie/musical

--

Been watching the four-episode BBC series ShakespeaRe-Told. Four plays (Much Ado About Nothing, Macbeth, A Midsummer Night's Dream, and The Taming of the Shrew) were assigned to different writers, who then updated the settings, but kept true to the story, plot, and even the names of the characters. They adhered to the nuances, as well; for instance, in the Much Ado retelling, the characters are all part of a major British news network, constantly reminded that their social blunders are all painfully (and hilariously) public. Other aspects are genius little tidbits...text messages and photocopied pictures replace the usual conventions of hand-delivered letters and other evidences of love.

Macbeth takes place in an upscale restaurant kitchen in Scotland--in the tradition of Scotland, PA, to be sure--where the restaurateur (Duncan) receives all of the public acclaim while the "real" artists (Joe Macbeth is the head chef) get no mention. When Joe's wife, the head hostess, realizes that her husband will inherit the restaurant in the event of Duncan's untimely death, she seizes the opportunity and urges him to murder the owner.

I learned something new about Macbeth from this adaptation: in a simple way, it's the story of a man who thinks he can run a kingdom but who, in fact, is a soldier at heart--a follower, not a leader. James McAvoy plays Joe, the master head-chef who can't run the kitchen and restaurant all at once. The pressure of being the face of the business is what drives him mad...along with the guilt of killing his boss, of course.

All this goes to say, I found them fascinating and would recommend them to any Shakespeare fans who have been disappointed with other (more popular?) modern renditions of the plays. I just wish they had done more than four.

--

The writing of Jack and the Beanstalk continues. Lately, the issue has been tweaking the roles for the actors in the cast, and since some of the roles are still in dispute, it's even more complicated.

It was one thing when we found out a local celebrity had backed out of playing the Giant, and it was another thing when the name of Jack's cow kept changing. But those alterations were relatively quick and easy. Now that the differences between actors is coming into the mix, we find ourselves debating who should play the characters, rather than what the characters do next and why. We just have to remember that a sucky story (or a story suckily told) will offend audiences more than any ill-cast actor doing their best in a role.

You know, suspension of disbelief...and all that. There's a reason Aristotle placed his "elements of drama" in a certain order. Plot and theme trump character, any day, any play.

--

No rehearsal tonight--the last time I get that singular luxury until the penultimate week of October. (We always have Fridays and Sundays off, barring the actual weeks of production.) Then it's the hectic rearranging of schedules, quick meals, even quicker naps, backstage photos of people hugging people, clearing the wings, costume changes, light changes, scene changes, make-up touch-ups, first entrances, final bows, and so on, until the last set piece lands in the truck, the last door is locked, the last ticket is tallied, the last drinks are taken, and then...a new show, and an evening full of firsts.

It's the same story. Shows follow patterns, just as actors follow blocking.

But there's always a through-line, isn't there? All roads bend toward one. And that's the real pattern, the overarching story, a monument of moments. The retelling goes on.

(Or something like that.)

Sunshine

"You try to reach the sun, you're laughed at
It doesn't mean that we can't try
Waking up to a brand new day
The sun is shining the rain has gone away
Waking up to a brand new day
The night is gone and the sun's come out today
I can see the sun, I can see the moon, I can see the stars and sun."

-- The Sunshine Fix, "Everything is Waking"

--

It's fall and it feels like it.

The storm lasted a week and a half and the worst of it was last night. A series of shattering thunder hits popped open the window above my head when I slept. It's a flat--wide and long, sort of oblong--window, held shut by a simple catch, and in front of it is a small ledge where I keep my baseball glove. When the window popped open (it swings up on top hinges, like a flap) it knocked the glove, wrapped around an old, worn ball to keep the fingers' shape, off the ledge and onto my pillow, and I flinched out of sleep. It was like machinery outside, fearsome, powerful, storm machinery. I looked out the window and felt the pressure, cold humidity blowing into my room, saw the tree outside, and thought it had lost an entire branch. It turns out only the leaves had disappeared, and as my eyes adjusted I could see the black fingers of the tree grabbing at air. I shut the window and went back to sleep. I didn't discover that my baseball glove had fallen until the next day.

The day after a storm, I always have to check the floor under the passenger seat of my car. Water comes in from somewhere and in the worst cases forms a substantial puddle. I have to use my towels to soak it up, just to get the standing water out of there, but the moisture remains in the carpet. It smells for a week and I have to drive with the windows open and run the foot heater and sometimes at night the water evaporates and fogs up my windows.

But today, there was no puddle. The day is awash with the strongest, purest blue and green, usually the one on top of the other. That photo above, the view from the office I share, hardly does it justice, but you get the idea.

--

I'm two weeks ahead of work. Well, I was two weeks ahead about three days ago...making me only about a week and a half ahead of work. It's still good.

My after-school classes at the Covedale begin in exactly one week. We had hoped for upwards of twenty kids, but we only have about a dozen, last I heard. That may be best: smaller groups mean more progress, generally, more individualized attention and more chances to take part. My biggest question at this point is, What kind of show do we plan for?

It's not that I haven't planned already. I have created three calendars to choose from, three ways to steer the class: towards an improv show, towards an evening of scenes, towards a performance of an edited version of an existing (royalty-free) script. It's really a matter of seeing what talent already naturally exists in each child and finding the best avenue for its training and expression. Do we have singers? dancers? actors? acrobats? puppeteers?

Once I know, I can work on a script...or work on finding one...or several... In preparation, I've cleaned out the local library's supply of free plays for children, trying to figure out what works and what doesn't.

--

And did I mention I get paid on Thursday? For both part-time work at TCTC and for acting in Beauty and the Beast (essentially doubling my income, at least for a month)? Yeah.

I can't wait to have money again.

Official

The brand-spanking new and official blog for The Children's Theatre of Cincinnati just went up, with yours truly as the chief blogger...which is a made-up position...

http://thechildrenstheatre.blogspot.com/

That's all.

Distractions

"Live on the second floor now
They're trying to bust the door down
Soon I'll have a new address
So much for liberation
They'll have a celebration...
And as the clouds begin to rumble
So the juggler makes his fumble
And the sun upon my high wall is getting less."

-- Supertramp, "Just Another Nervous Wreck"

--

The unmistakable sounds of electric power drivers whizzing, spinning screws into drywall and wood, and halting with clatter from the torque, the squeak of the metal as it spirals into the tight grain of pine, the pock of wooden blocks on a concrete floor, the scratch of aluminum ladders dragged across a room, the murmur of men downstairs, hammers keeping time and losing it and regaining rhythm,--all of it makes the walls quiver, the floor tremble, the ceiling tiles shift; and my binder slides from its perch atop a printer, my stapler inches towards my laptop, and the pens and highlighters leaning in the cup rearrange themselves.

It's very distracting, and a little stressful.

With the new ArtReach tour starting tomorrow (they have an overnight after their last dress rehearsal), I feel anxious already. Is the van ready to go? Can we get the oil changed today? Got the tank filled this morning, but the actors need petty cash on the road; can we get that check? Call sheets are done, in the binder, but that (along with the van) needs to get to the rehearsal area so they can load it up; when are we going? Are they ready? Are there props that need touching up or replacing? Set pieces ready to go? Hotel reservations? Confirmation faxes? Copies made? Updated calendars printed? Insurance forms updated? Registration card updated? What about the rust on the side of the van that we said needed to be repaired last week?

Are we having that Monday meeting today? Isn't it a quarter after one already? Should I eat my lunch now? When will downstairs be finished?

--

As of last Friday, my workspace has moved once again. Still on the second floor, though--that basement still needs two weeks' worth of work. Now I share with Jay, who until I lugged in my crap had his own office, who has been gracious enough to concede half of his desk to me. With my printer against the wall, my file tray on boxes to my left, and some utensils to my right, I have a cramped but cozy zone, with just enough space for a coffee mug and my chair. Jay's a quiet, cool cat, so we can easily share a single space, but come on. Come on.

What happened to the old space, the conference room? Well, rumor has it that soon it'll be torn down, kaput. The sledgehammers make war on the walls tomorrow, I believe, and that's two doors down the hall. Good.

--

Luckily, with no rehearsal tonight, I am free come three o'clock. My friend Matt McM. is in town this week with his Disney tour, so as soon as I'm gone from here, I'll show him around the area. Kick back, throw back some beers this evening. Would walk Eden Park, but the outdoors are soaked from this weekend's storm, nature's saboteur. Maybe swing by the library, the nice one downtown.

--

Two weeks until the Covedale's after-school program starts up. Gotta plan for it.

Also: The manners workshop on Friday went incredibly well. Used the Beauty and the Beast idea, which worked amazingly despite that half of the kids hadn't seen either the show or movie.

At one point, I had a handful of kiddie thespians come up to enact various scenes from the playground, the dinner table, and the classroom. I had them first play out the scene with a bully using bad manners and the other reacting poorly, then switched their roles and had them play out the same scene. The second time, they had to reach some sort of compromise, with the victim using good manners to overcome the bully's lack of bad manners. Worked like a dream.

And on top of all of that, we talked about audience etiquette, which is perfect because they are taking several field trips to see three of our main stage shows this season.

Score, and score, and score.

Trust

"Tonight I have to leave it."

-- Shout Out Louds, "Tonight I Have To Leave It"

--

For the first time since main stage auditions finished in early August, I have actual, productive, solid work to do at the office. Not that I haven't been doing anything. Far from it: with the move, script writing, and workshops here and there, there has always been something to do. But with the new ArtReach season beginning next week, my priority is to get the tour's call sheets ready.

It's not complicated. Mainly, just a series of phone calls, emails and Word documents--confirming the details is the biggest hassle--that ultimately help others do their jobs better (namely, the actors), not just something that no one else wants to do at the moment. No more lifting or shifting things around, and the creation of random errands is coming to a close, and now I have the end of a conference table as my desk space...and work to do. Glorious, wondrous work.

And with rehearsals in the evenings, there is pressure on daytime work, that extra incentive to make the office time absolutely worthwhile.

In other words, summer is over. The school year, which for a children's theatre is for all intents and purposes the fiscal year, has begun.

--

Made an odd discovery today. In all of our new office building's space, with all of us crammed into offices on the top floor and a barrage of construction in the basement (current noises are of the thump-thump and mechanical groannnnn variety), there is no microwave. I'm told it is still in the moving trailer, sitting silent sentry in the parking lot. The fridge, too. So lunches brought to the office are stored in one of two mini-fridges, and nothing can be heated up. There is a microwave stand in the conference room; however, what sits upon it is not what you'd expect, but rather a small coffee station. I'm surprised that this has never come up as a topic for discussion at the weekly company meetings, which ironically take place in the same room as the microwave stand without a microwave.

All this goes to say, I just ate cold leftover meatloaf.

--

Nights, so far: Rehearsing alongside tweenagers with unchanged voices and adults savvy to the peculiar world of children's theatre, I feel at once unjustly elevated and inconsequentially omitted, a stranger to the space, as if I'm a new in-law or in-between--not quite an older person, not exactly young, unknown to most in the room. It's very strange, to lose one's confidence with immediate speed but without conceivable reasons. To strut in, only to sit timidly down.

And it's not just because I can't read music, either. There's something else.

As a good friend texted me last night, though: You just have to go for it and trust yourself.

Too trite, to trust?

--

Trust. It's a thing not much talked about in terms of how you see yourself (we usually think of it as a relationship thing, an agreement of sorts between people), but there is a difference between self-confidence and self-trust. I think it has something to do with knowing what is going on--that's confidence--and having no clue but believing you will figure it out soon enough--that's trust. It's the difference between seeing the present and waiting on the future.

--

I am confident that the microwave will return. I trust that eating cold leftovers for another week won't kill me.

Cogs

"Cogsworth is stuffy, snobby, uptight, and absolutely hilarious. He does a British accent as well."

-- http://thekidstheaterco.blogspot.com/, from 2/9/2009, announcing auditions for Beauty and the Beast at the Kid's Theater Co., based out of L.A.

--

Script is out. Lines are highlighted.

Rehearsals begin tonight with a read-thru and song-thru. Because the basement remains unfinished, we will be in an abandoned storage room with half-removed carpeting. Right now, the room contains the leftovers from the move: some garment boxes, broken chairs, many large empty tubs. Sad clutter. Rumor has it that our Monday staff meeting will be devoted to the clearing and cleaning of said room of said sad clutter.

Downstairs, the continuing renovations sound like the Tyrannosaurus in Jurassic Park. At least to me.

--

Props for Henny Penny are on my to-do list (or rather, my to-buy list) as well. Among the sought properties are several pieces of large chalk, two varieties of plastic whistles, and a shepherd's crook. The search for the whistles led me to this singular website, which among other things sells a Shofar whistle, which we will not use in the show but may make its way into my everyday life.

--

At TCTC, we are also toying with (and by that I mean, planning to introduce) a program that would allow staff members to teach regular classes. These would be offered to the public in packages (a la workshops) or single sessions (lessons). The hope is threefold, I think:

a) To bring in revenue,
b) To provide alternative training tools at cheaper rates,
and
c) To make better use of the teaching artists in TCTC's employ.

I'm all for it. Especially if that means that at least once a week, I can talk to a small group of people about theatre, improv, character choices, physicality, verse, etc.

And, of course, we'd be paid extra for the classes we teach.

Now, none of this is official yet. But I am really hoping this project will see fruition, because frankly I think it's the kind of thing we should already be doing.

--

Back to Cogsworth.

Card

"The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is about anyway. It's getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That's how we know we're alive: we're wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that--well, lucky you."

-- Philip Roth, in American Pastoral

--

It's been two years since I last had a business card. And with that card, it was in Scotland, and it was only for three weeks, and so it was not, how do you say, a real one? The programs I used at the time overkilled the project, too: InDesign and PhotoShop, whose graphics-tweaking potential is largely wasted on a business card.

But at the behest of a co-worker, I decided it was time for another. And it don't look half-bad, if I say so myself. I used Paint and Microsoft Word to produce this puppy.

(Anyone up for a round of American Psycho-esque card comparing?)


However nice this simple little card makes me feel, though, I got nothing on this guy:



Or this design artist and magician:

Manners

"Decorum doesn't mean the color of the walls."

-- this website from a Catholic school in Hawaii

--

I've just received word that in a little over a week, I am to teach a theatre-based workshop on how and why manners matter. That's why I'm sitting here with the gigantic workshop binder on my lap, poring over three versions of the workshop that have been developed by other teaching artists (it's really just two versions, but there's an extra copy that looks nicer and contains no typos).

It's never too early to prepare for anything, so I'm starting today, and not just because I recently watched Penn & Teller's "Bullshit: Manners" episode.

And also not just because when I was in high school, I asked my parents for $25 so I could attend a manners seminar taught by the local (self-proclaimed) Miss Manners. We learned how to hold a water glass, put a napkin on one's lap, progress through an array of forks, and spoon soup away from you so that any spills land in the bowl...along with a lot of other things that I rarely remember...or need to remember. We were told that obeying these basic rules would help us get better jobs and retain better company. Whatever.

What I really want to avoid with my version of this workshop, frankly, is being snootier-than-thou and nitpicky with the kids.

And so...to the binder.

--

And to the Internet:

I searched for "manners kids games"and found a plethora of snooty websites with snooty manners activities contrived in the minds of snooty snoots.

- A surprising number required the use of a large poster board turned into a sort of game board. Each child is assigned a game piece, and every time they exhibit good manners, their piece advances. (This game can take weeks in a single classroom. Nope.)

- Several groups suggest creating a song or poem to emphasize the goodness of good manners. I just really, really, really don't like that idea. It seems to me like lyrical brainwashing. (Ironically, the binder versions also suggest teaching a song. We'll see.)

- One listserv actually contained this pithy suggestion: "lets look what elmo has to say [sic]."

--

Throughout this whole thing, the main thought in my head has been, Make it your own. If you were a first-thru-third grader sitting through a manners workshop taught by a funny-looking short guy, what kinds of activities would you find fun? What sorts of games would make you think that manners weren't just a load of crap?

And above all: How can I make this a theatre workshop, not a manners lecture?

Interestingly, in the binder there is the description of a game that is a variation on the improv game, "What are you doing?" The main difference is that the conversation between participants is decidedly polite conversation.

Another idea: bring along a pair of hats and props and have two kids act out a scene in which they "play" people with good or bad manners. This could be hilarious and it would also give the kids an opportunity to own the activity. (Not only that, but it would take up a decent chunk of time.)

And the final idea: take the good ol' Honey Walk activity, except that every time you encounter someone, you have to greet them politely. Polite to the extreme.

--

I hate to sound patronizing, especially with a topic like manners, but I really do think that the best way to teach kids a concept is to have as much fun with it as possible. To stop yourself from taking it too seriously. Too often, we as adults think too abstractly about end results and integrity of purpose, and we forget what it's like in the classroom, in the workshop, in front of the kids, when a theoretically sound game in practice falls flat. When you see those eyes roll, or worse, stay blank and confused. When the awkward silence hits and a child cowers with dumbed-down stage fright. When you realize all your snooty brainstorming is coming to nothing.

High and mighty rules will sail right over simple minds. Fun sticks.

I'm still looking for ideas. Please feel free to comment with suggestions!

Finished

"And if you hear vague traces of skipping reels of rhyme
to your tambourine in time
it's just a ragged clown behind
I wouldn't pay it any mind."

-- Bob Dylan, "Mr. Tambourine Man"

--

Props for Anne Frank are finished. I want to say they're "done," because it feels more fulfilling to say something is "done" rather than "finished," but I remember Mrs. Koehl's fourth-grade English class, where if you had reached the end of an assignment and called out that you were "done," she would ignore you or say, "Cakes get done; children get finished," in a kind of bland, cryptic tone as she continued whatever she was doing (usually grading papers and picking at her green mascara'd eyelashes).

So: they're finished.

And because Henny Penny props have been set aside in storage for months, there's not much--propwise, anyway--for me to do. At this point. For work.

I keep looking back a year to when I started working for this company, trying to recall what were my first impressions as we rehearsed in a library's basement. I remember that optimism and a sense of duty made me overlook some things, namely, that the costumer didn't seem to pay attention to any feedback she got from us or the director (she no longer works for us), and that late summer was an awful time to get acquainted with Cincinnati. It seems to me now that all of that happened to someone else, in the same way that the papers I wrote in high school seem to have been written by someone else. None of this is exactly a new revelation, sure--we all change and stay the same simultaneously--but in terms of doing my current job well, I would like to find advice in memory.

All this goes to say: I know I can make things better, I just haven't figured out how.

Yet.

--

Finished Everyman, by Philip Roth, this weekend. No wonder Reist liked it so much. I could just hear him talking about the main character's problem with eroticism:

"Ever seen a Danish babe? Boom-cha-cha, boom-honk-honk! Hey honey, seen my sleeve garters? So what do you do? You go to Paris, that's what you do. Get away--from what? From clam linguini? For what? Clam bikinis! [fist pumps] Everyman goes to Paris. You know, when I was in the Army, I went to Paris. Those European girls,--behold! they are wonderfully made...no wonder the guy paints when he gets old! Behold--you're old! And what's his name? Even better! No names! No faces! Everyone seen The Last Tango in Paris? If you haven't seen it, you should. That'll make you understand: when you see a Danish woman on a business trip, boy...you get the butter."

Processes

"That was the end. No special point had been made. Did they all say what they had to say? No, they didn't, and of course they did."

-- Philip Roth in Everyman

--

The props. Props for Anne Frank are almost done. Making the diary is ten times harder than I thought it would be. With a first layer of cloth as the base for the book's new cover, the thing looks like exactly what it is: a stitched up piece of a shirt stretched over an old book. My plan is to add at least one more layer of fabric, and if it still looks like a project instead of a diary, I'm moving to plan B--good old paper.

The cold read. It's the first time I've been up for a radio commercial (this one with a cell phone company) and the audition was much simpler than I thought it would be. I walked in, having read the script once--two guys talking about a Blackberry, how hard could it be?--and they took me straight to the sound studio. No one else was there except the secretary, the sound guy, and the person who read against me. Four reps, and I was done. Too bad I dropped $10 for parking; had I known it would be so quickly over with, I would have dropped a quarter in a meter.

--

At the Children's Theatre, everyone's basically biding their time until rehearsals start in a week and a half. Boxes one by one disappear as their contents appear on shelves, contracts come back signed, and people have stopped turning the wrong way out of their offices.