Okay kids, I think I'ma take another one of my bloggy sabbaticals. Which doesn't mean I've forgotten my two requests, nor that I won't come up with some snazzy prize for Dave and Tarvis for participating in the caption contest, but I am just so stinking tired lately that I'm afraid I'm pretty worthless as a blogger. And what little creative energy I do have I need to commit to writing a few new scripts for the next couple weeks. Besides, I done been slippin' these last few weeks as it is. I also thought that, if I were going to leave good old FOMW bare for a little while, this would be a nice something to leave at the top.
We opened Pinocchio this morning. I've been looking forward to this project for quite awhile. Last summer, I was thinking very seriously of leaving my job, and one of the strongest arguments toward my staying was the opportunity to direct this show. Now, I wrote the script, and while I do enjoy directing my own scripts, that wasn't the main allure of the piece. Instead, I wanted to do it because I knew it would be a challenge. It's very different in tone, in style, and in substance from everything I've done up to this point. And it's a deceptively complicated show. This is because it's based on one of the strangest books I've ever read, and I wanted to stay true to the intent of the book (while keeping the story from spiraling into the range of "utterly incomprehensible") so I tried to keep a lot of the inherent weirdness in the story. I looked forward to the opportunity to let my imagination run relatively wild in meeting the creative difficulties we'd encounter to try to pull this one off.
That was a full year ago. Then, stuff got wacky. People started leaving the company and went unreplaced. Casting procedures changed. Tech weekends were canceled. I ended up with a pool of about seven actors to cast from, so I reduced my original cast size from six to five and changed my whole concept. A staged reading was added into the already-crowded schedule, taking out half of my production team for two weeks.
Oh yeah, and then we had another baby. Crazy. And that was just the stuff going on in my life, not to mention my cast and crew!
Needless to say, I got all the challenges I'd been anticipating plus a couple. I won't say that it's been a stressful process, which is a blessing because it could have easily become one. No, the process has been fun. Rehearsals were often the only things that kept me going from nine to five many days over this past month. Everyone poured everything they had into this show regardless of fatigue, distraction, or other crap that could have become an excuse to do a mediocre job.
Nevertheless, I was actually really nervous going into this morning. I generally have a fair bit of confidence in my scripts, and I was confident in the work we'd done, but...well, you have to understand, this play is pretty out there. It's not always comfy and cozy. It's not what most people expect from the Pinocchio story. It's not necessarily what people who come to our theatre come to expect. And for the first time, I started to wonder if maybe I'd let my creative side play just a tad too much on this one. Maybe I should have pulled back on the weirdness here or there. Perhaps I should have cut out a couple of scenes or characters. After all, it is the longest kids' show we've done in my six years here (75 minutes).
Maybe this was going to be kind of a disaster, as one high-ranking member of my company told me it would.
Today's opening audience was a rather large group from the day school of the church that hosts our performances. That means a lot of three- and four-year-olds. Like, an entire theater full of them. Fantastic. Have you ever tried to hold the attention of three or more four-year-olds? It doesn't generally happen. And although the previous night's preview performance had seemed to go over well, that was a crowd composed of at least 50% adults, and 85% of those were all good friends of one particular cast member. This was our trial run with kids. And I know I'm old school, but I always care more that the kids enjoy the kids' show than the adults.
"...for when the lights go down, the play begins!"
And we were off. One way or another, we were (essentially) locked into that room with a hundred pre-K kids and all their chattery, fidgety, small-bladdery wonder. The opening scene I knew would play well to this demographic, because it features two adult males bashing one another in the head with wood blocks. Always a winner with the younger ones, and it was today. Halfway through the scene, we stop whomping for a second to have some story. And at that point, something truly unexpected and bizarre happened: the audiences stopped roaring in laughter in order to listen to the story! And when we started up with the violence again, they jumped right back in with their giggles until it was time for more exciting storytelling/narration. And they listened to that, too! And as the play went on, it really started sinking in: the pre-K's were totally digging it! And I mean all of it! The weird parts, the wacky parts, even the talky parts. They seemed to really grasp what was going on and responded accordingly, either to the characters, their friends, or their teachers. Despite the fact that almost all of them had raised t heir hands and shouted "ME!" when asked if they had seen the Disney version of the story, they didn't seem to mind one bit that our little wooden boy hardly resembled the one in their memories at all.
Then, a little boy got up to go to the restroom. Here we go, I thought. It's all over. With this age, once one of 'em goes, they all go. But nobody else went. Not until there were about five minutes left in the show (and it's hard to blame a 4-year-old for not sitting still past seventy minutes). They were still with us. They still wanted to know what was going to happen next. They were delighted by the surprises. They laughed at the oddities. It worked. Now, I don't say this because I think pre-K's make for bad audiences; rather, they're generally among the most challenging audiences you'll encounter. I've seen a lot of our shows that just couldn't hold the little ones for very long. But we grabbed them early, and we held them for the whole show.
Afterward, sweet Sarah had decided we ought to have a celebration for the world premiere of this new play, so she and Leslie set up a small table in the theater and brought a cake from H-E-B and some leftover punch from another event, and we celebrated. Cast, crew, and friends who came to celebrate with us. Fellow company members who'd come to see the show shared their compliments. Everyone was chatty and happy. I wasn't chatty, however. I was sitting atop "the rock" by myself, looking around the theater at everyone sharing this opening morning with laughter, sweets, and praise. And it just sorta sunk in with a sort of surreal satisfaction. I looked around at the people who had spent the last month pulling out whatever they had left to bring this weird and wacky piece of theater together, and I thought, with eyes misting ever so slightly, We did it. We pulled this off.
I won't say this is the best show I've ever written or directed, though I think now that it's pretty dang good. And I won't say I've never been happier in my art, because that's probably hyperbole as well. And no, it ain't perfect. And yeah, I think I'll be making tweaks to the script when it's all over. And heck yeah, I made some mistakes putting this whole thing together. But you know what? I can't imagine feeling more satisfied than I felt in that moment: sleep-deprived, physically exhausted, utterly relieved, and proud not only of myself but of the team, I felt utterly and completely satisfied. It felt good.
The cake was pretty dang tasty, too.
Showing posts with label Theatre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Theatre. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
v2, d297: If Theatre Were Sports
*Note: My wife has pointed out that I haven't fulfilled either of my official FOMW requests. I just want you all to know, I know that. Unfortunately, they're both rather lengthy projects and I haven't been able to commit the necessary time to them yet. I'll see about getting to them as quickly as I can*
"Hey Sweetheart...Well, I just got out of a meeting with Ric...yep...he, we had a good idea this could be happening today. The season is pretty much a wash, and the company's strapped for cash, and my contract was up at the end of the year anyway, so...well, I was traded to the Dallas Children's Theatre organization...no, yeah, that's fantastic, but I don't think I'll actually see any time with the big company. Probably be sent down to Majik in San Antonio or something...because they've already got a playwright-in-residence, and by this point in the season they've had all their directors chosen for months. And they cast equity where possible. I mean, unless an assistant director gets a sudden injury or something, I don't see what they could possibly use me for. I mean, maybe they want to re-sign me in the off-season, but I'd be surprised...well, I think what it was is, they really wanted Abby...yeah, she's in the deal, too. It's Abby and I for a conditional draft pick and $25,000. So I think they wanted her, but Ric wouldn't let them have her unless they took on another dead-weight contract...well, that's more or less what I am right now. We're not going to the playoffs, the children's season is just about over anyway, and you know they're going to look to replace half of us with rookies next year to save some coin...No, don't start looking for houses in San Antonio. I'll just live in a hotel for the rest of the season and you stay in Houston with the boys. I'm sure someone from church will help take care of you, and once the season is over I'll move back and we can consider our options...Oh, I'm sure I can find something else in the off-season. I've got a couple of scripts I'm working on that my agent hopes will make me a bit more attractive on the free agent market. And if I am stuck in the minor leagues the rest of my career, I'm fine with that. Hey, at least I'm still in theatre, right?...no, you're right. This isn't exactly what we dreamed of. But it's what we've got. I'll drive home after Saturday shows to be with you and the boys Saturdays through Mondays. It's only for a little while...yeah, we'll get through this...okay, sure, I'll still pick up Robbie from day care today. I'm supposed to get a call soon from Robyn Flatt to tell me if I'm going to stick with the big club or head down to San Antonio, then I'll probably have to be out of here before dinner...I know, it sucks, but that's the business, right?...Right. Okay, I'm getting another call. That's probably Dallas. I'll call you back, okay?...I love you, too...bye."
"Hey Sweetheart...Well, I just got out of a meeting with Ric...yep...he, we had a good idea this could be happening today. The season is pretty much a wash, and the company's strapped for cash, and my contract was up at the end of the year anyway, so...well, I was traded to the Dallas Children's Theatre organization...no, yeah, that's fantastic, but I don't think I'll actually see any time with the big company. Probably be sent down to Majik in San Antonio or something...because they've already got a playwright-in-residence, and by this point in the season they've had all their directors chosen for months. And they cast equity where possible. I mean, unless an assistant director gets a sudden injury or something, I don't see what they could possibly use me for. I mean, maybe they want to re-sign me in the off-season, but I'd be surprised...well, I think what it was is, they really wanted Abby...yeah, she's in the deal, too. It's Abby and I for a conditional draft pick and $25,000. So I think they wanted her, but Ric wouldn't let them have her unless they took on another dead-weight contract...well, that's more or less what I am right now. We're not going to the playoffs, the children's season is just about over anyway, and you know they're going to look to replace half of us with rookies next year to save some coin...No, don't start looking for houses in San Antonio. I'll just live in a hotel for the rest of the season and you stay in Houston with the boys. I'm sure someone from church will help take care of you, and once the season is over I'll move back and we can consider our options...Oh, I'm sure I can find something else in the off-season. I've got a couple of scripts I'm working on that my agent hopes will make me a bit more attractive on the free agent market. And if I am stuck in the minor leagues the rest of my career, I'm fine with that. Hey, at least I'm still in theatre, right?...no, you're right. This isn't exactly what we dreamed of. But it's what we've got. I'll drive home after Saturday shows to be with you and the boys Saturdays through Mondays. It's only for a little while...yeah, we'll get through this...okay, sure, I'll still pick up Robbie from day care today. I'm supposed to get a call soon from Robyn Flatt to tell me if I'm going to stick with the big club or head down to San Antonio, then I'll probably have to be out of here before dinner...I know, it sucks, but that's the business, right?...Right. Okay, I'm getting another call. That's probably Dallas. I'll call you back, okay?...I love you, too...bye."
Thursday, December 30, 2010
v2, d242: Top 7 Theatre Moments of 2010
A friend today posted the following on Facebook: "Theater friends - what's your favorite role or accomplishment of the past year? Or favorite moment."
She then took the High Road and said that her favorite part was going through it all with her friends. I realized I couldn't answer after that, because anything I wrote would feel shallow and self-centered after such a fantastic response ;-)
It did get me to thinking, however, about my favorite moments from the 2010 year. (Started with Secret Garden rehearsals, wrapped up with Littlest Angel and early Hobbit rehearsals) And I came to a relatively disappointing conclusion:
2010 was a fairly unfulfilling year for me from an artistic standpoint.
Don't get me wrong, there were definitely high points (as are described below) and lots of good memories, but most of my assignments this year left me drained, frustrated, bored, or something similarly discouraging. The bad, I'd say, outweighed the good, theatrically speaking. In addition, two of my biggest Must-See shows came to town this year--In the Heights and Barrie's original script of Peter Pan--and had to ask friends who went how they were, because I missed both. The combination of family time and going nearly completely broke for half the year saw to that. And to cap it off, the only thing I wrote in the entire calendar year was a Christmas play that I threw together in eight hours and wasn't very good.
Not to bring the room down or anything, but on the whole, this wasn't exactly the creme de la creme of my artistic career.
I still loved it, though. Can't imagine anything I'd rather have done with the past year. I'm sure I have a "Theatre Burnout" level somewhere, but I haven't come close to it yet. This post, then, is to commemorate the high points within the general artistic doldrums that was 2010.
Here's to the good times!
TOP 7 THEATRE MOMENTS OF 2010 (in no particular order)
#1: The last Teammates booking (May)
I believe we were in Liberty. This is generally one of my favorite bookings every year. They've got a super-nice auditorium with actual theatrical lighting and a staff that's willing to help out when we arrive. At least, that's usually the way it goes. Somehow, the wires got crossed this year, and nobody in the theatre department knew we were coming. So the usually-spacious backstage area looked like a tornado had just gone through it, there was nobody to let us in, and the contact seemed pretty cross with us (for some reason) that she didn't know what we needed for setup. (Also, there was some incident that happened at McDonalds on the way there that had one of our team members extremely cross, and I'm fairly surprised one of us didn't get kicked in the face at any point in the long van trip as a result of not letting a particular inside joke go) So, in all honesty, this was not one of our "better" bookings overall.
The moment, however, comes within the show itself. Now, this is a show I wrote, so I know I'll always have a fondness for it on some level, but I also got to originate the role of the hapless fourth-grade doughboy Bruce Dumpling. It was a really fun role to play, and it was extremely satisfying (as the playwright) to see the way the show connected with our audiences in all the ways I'd hoped it would when I penned it. The real kicker, however, came in the show's final moments, as (spoiler alert) Bruce makes the shot the wins the climactic basketball showdown against the two bullies. Every performance we did of this show, the crowd went absolutely nuts when that happened. It. Was. Awesome! I've toured a lot of shows into a lot of elementary schools, and this was the only show that consistently received that strong of a spontaneous reaction from every audience. It was always cool, too. I mean, the first time we weren't expecting it, because it had never happened before. The next couple times, we thought maybe the first kids were an anomaly. By the end of the year, though, you knew it was coming, and it sort of drove your energy toward the big moment. Every other moment in educational children's theater where I've received that sort of reaction, it's always been directly solicited in the script. "Okay, kids, say it with me! Word power!" "Do any of you know the secret word to break the Balloon Man's balloons? What? It's 'No'? Quick, say it with me!" "When I say 'You,' you say 'Tell!' You!" "Hello, everybody! Oh, come on, you can do better than that! I said hello!" We never asked for a response in Teammates, though. They just went on the ride with us and got psyched all on their own. It served as a reminder of the power that live theatre can still have in today's kids.
Plus, it made me feel a little bit like a basketball star ;-)
#2: Sing Ho! (Winnie-the-Pooh, October)
I've posted on here how much I loved doing the show Winnie-The-Pooh. So I don't need to go into all gushy philosophical warm fuzzies here. It just felt good. Doing the show always made me feel a little better about life. I don't usually play larger roles; this was an exception. And it was a character I actually came to love. This is also unusual: I've usually got a pretty strong detachment from most characters I play after enough analysis and rehearsal time.
The particular moment I shall always remember about this show was the very last note of the very last song. The four actors in the cast ended evenly dispersed around our in-the-round performance space. Each of the members of this cast were people I love dearly, and I think we (far more often than not) enjoyed the cast dynamic. We had just finished singing, "Sing Ho for the life that we live! Sing Ho! for the life that we live! I don't much care if it rains or shines, 'cuz I've got a lot of honey in my house in the pines. Sing Ho! for my life!" Such a simple, joyful celebration of the little things that made these character happy. Friends, music, and life. What more do you need? One day, as we were singing our final Ho!, I looked around the stage as both Pooh and Will. I saw three friends, having fun together, doing something we loved, being adults playing as children's playthings, singing together. Huge smiles on our faces as well as the kids and adults surrounding our celebration. And I was so utterly, completely happy.
And yes, I have been accused of being a sentimentalist. Why do you ask?
#3: First week of Little Foxes rehearsals (March?)
I know, I know. Little Foxes became an utter nightmare and was a key contributor in one of the darkest periods of my year. But! I loved the first couple weeks of rehearsals! Almost everyone was really excited to be involved and the script is so well-crafted that it was an honest pleasure to watch such a talented cast sit down and work. I learned a lot about directing from the process, some "What To Do" and some "What Not To Do," but there were points in that first week where there was some serious synergy happening. Between actors. Between actor and director. People were even working out scenes and moments while on break and were doing extracurricular reading and discussing it before and after rehearsals. Those early rehearsals never felt to me like they were three hours long; the time flew by. And I wasn't really doing anything at all! Just watching. Watching committed actors throw themselves into a fantastic script. I don't care how hokey it sounds, it was downright inspiring.
And, of course, pretty soon after that, the whole thing went to hell. But we still put up a dang strong show and, as I've said, even the bad experiences are valuable learning experiences.
#4:Texas Christian Writers' Conference (August, I think)
I won a playwriting contest. I didn't really expect to win it, because the script I sent in wasn't overtly "Christian," and these sort of competitions are usually looking for very direct Biblical application plays. Which I don't usually do. However, I had a sweet little fairy tale that encourages its audiences to keep faith in tough times. Even though it uses Evil Things like magic and fairies and such.
Amazingly, it did win. More amazingly, it won despite being judged on only the first 25 pages. Which don't really connect to the story's faith element much at all. Still, the judge enjoyed the story and the writing so much she went ahead and gave it the first prize. It was a modest prize and a smaller contest, but it was exactly the boost I needed at that point in August. Or July. Whenever that thing was.
#5: That One Alice Rehearsal (April? Also March?)
I'ma be honest with you people. (I usually am, actually) I was not certain I was going to be able to pull off Alice. I know Hero Squad had gone over fairly well, but that show was easy for me. The playwright and I were pretty well in sync the whole time. Alice was a whole other animal. And while I was pretty sure I could make it work, it was probably the first project I've headed into here (as a director, at least) that I didn't go into certain I was going to pull out a good product.
I had a lot of fun with Alice. On the whole, this process was probably the high point of my artistic year. I loved my cast and crew, I'm proud of the work we put into it, and given that we were handed a really cumbersome adaptation of a book that's fairly inane and non-linear in the first place, I'm happy with what we ended up with. My favorite "moment" in the process probably came during the rehearsal where we were "table working" the mad tea party scene. My approach to this show was that every scene was a game with its own set of rules and its own objective. Each character operated with its own unique sense of logic, and it was up to Alice to try to understand them on their terms. In other words, she either caught on and started playing that character's game or she'd just get frustrated and leave. It happens in almost every scene. In the tea party, however, she's confronted with three different characters who seem to be living in different worlds while enjoying the same tea set.
We talked about this scene. We asked a lot of questions. We kept getting conflicting opinions. We went around and around and around in circles trying to pinpoint what was the actual happening of this freaking tea party. After about half an hour of discussion that was getting us nowhere but frustrated, I called for a short break and made a quick stop in the men's room. As I was washing my hands I was trying to analyze why the scene wasn't working. Why the conversation was going nowhere. And then it hit me: This is exactly what's happening in the scene! All four characters have a different idea of what's important, conversations are constantly interrupted and reconvened with no notice, and Alice is trying to make sense of them all at once!
I strode back into the rehearsal space and grabbed a few basketballs, a bag, some cones, and a few pillows from our touring props. "I want each of you three to take some props and engage in some activity," I said. "Alice, when you're talking to someone, I want you to try to join in with what they're doing. When you start talking to someone else, you have to drop what you're doing and join them in their activity. You guys have about twenty seconds to figure out what you want to do." Half a minute later, the Dormouse was asleep on the pillows, the March Hare sat cross-legged bouncing a basketball, and the Mad Hatter was dribbling another ball between his feet, soccer-style, through the cones. Poor Alice was jumping up from lying down on a spare pillow to playing soccer with the Hatter to sitting with the Hare and back the entire scene. It was chaotic. Each of the Wonderland characters existed completely independent of the others. It created clearer conflicts. And it left Alice decently out of breath.
It was perfect.
And we didn't have any major trouble with the scene again after that. It was a great day, because it felt like we'd hit our first major roadblock and obliterated it as a team.
Good lord, I really do sound like a motivational cassette tape from the 1990's, don't I?
#6: Hero Squad gets published (December)
I posted in depth about this recently, too. Wow. I put five years of work into that script. I felt I'd been helped by SO MANY PEOPLE along the way. You really have no idea what all goes into every single script you hold in your hands until you've been through the process yourself. Looking back, getting this play published was so hard. But one of the most fun and ultimately rewarding artistic challenges I've ever faced.
#7: Look ma, I'm the Cheshire Cat! (April, I think, but maybe May)
I'm really dropping the ball on remembering when things happened, aren't I?
I love the team/ensemble atmosphere of the rehearsal process. My college professor used to always say she was sad and even a bit jealous when a show opened, because she wanted to be in the actors' place, up there on the stage instead of just watching. I share her jealousy, but not her reasoning. I don't really want to be in the performers' place once a show opens. I want them to be performing. That's why I cast them in the first place. However, I've usually had such a blast working with them, trying crazy things, finding things that worked, overcoming blocks and obstacles, that I'm really very disappointed to see them go on to the run of the show and know I'm not an active part of the team any more. I feel a little left out. Not in a "Poor me!" sort of way, but you know. I enjoyed my part in the process. I enjoyed working with those actors. And now that thing we worked so hard to put together is going on, and I'm not going on with it.
Obviously, this wasn't the case with Hero Squad, because we needed an extra body to be a ninja and a Bottlenose Boy (plus some Man-Strength to heft the cage that lowered from the ceiling) so I was actually a part of that show from first readthrough till closing. Alice was the first time I'd really be shut out of a show once it opened.
....or so we thought!
I was not glad that one of my actors was in such serious pain that he could not go on. I never, ever, ever with that on anybody. Given my preference, I'd still wish he'd have been able to play the full run and not miss the one performance that one morning. However, since he did have to miss a show, I can't tell you how much fun it was to go on in his place. To be a part of Team Alice again. To be invited back into the sandbox one last time. To share a curtain call with the cast I'd put together and led through this creative process. One last unexpected trip down the Rabbit Hole.
I honestly don't remember much about the show other than the fact that I totally blew the cat dance. I just remember getting a little bit psyched from the point when the stage manager called the night before and said "We may have a problem," lying in bed and running over the entire show in my mind that night to make sure I could do it, and trying to contain my giddiness during vocal warmups with the cast the next day. (It's not manly to be "giddy." "Psyched," yes, but not "giddy.") Oh, and I remember that the show was a total blast. A whirlwind fourteen hours that served as one of the highlights of my year.
And I was very glad that my actor felt well enough to play the show that evening. Because he is incredibly talented, he's far better than me, and he's the one who did all the work to earn the stage time.
But there's still a small part of me that wishes I'd had a second crack at that darn Cheshire Cat dance.
She then took the High Road and said that her favorite part was going through it all with her friends. I realized I couldn't answer after that, because anything I wrote would feel shallow and self-centered after such a fantastic response ;-)
It did get me to thinking, however, about my favorite moments from the 2010 year. (Started with Secret Garden rehearsals, wrapped up with Littlest Angel and early Hobbit rehearsals) And I came to a relatively disappointing conclusion:
2010 was a fairly unfulfilling year for me from an artistic standpoint.
Don't get me wrong, there were definitely high points (as are described below) and lots of good memories, but most of my assignments this year left me drained, frustrated, bored, or something similarly discouraging. The bad, I'd say, outweighed the good, theatrically speaking. In addition, two of my biggest Must-See shows came to town this year--In the Heights and Barrie's original script of Peter Pan--and had to ask friends who went how they were, because I missed both. The combination of family time and going nearly completely broke for half the year saw to that. And to cap it off, the only thing I wrote in the entire calendar year was a Christmas play that I threw together in eight hours and wasn't very good.
Not to bring the room down or anything, but on the whole, this wasn't exactly the creme de la creme of my artistic career.
I still loved it, though. Can't imagine anything I'd rather have done with the past year. I'm sure I have a "Theatre Burnout" level somewhere, but I haven't come close to it yet. This post, then, is to commemorate the high points within the general artistic doldrums that was 2010.
Here's to the good times!
TOP 7 THEATRE MOMENTS OF 2010 (in no particular order)
#1: The last Teammates booking (May)
I believe we were in Liberty. This is generally one of my favorite bookings every year. They've got a super-nice auditorium with actual theatrical lighting and a staff that's willing to help out when we arrive. At least, that's usually the way it goes. Somehow, the wires got crossed this year, and nobody in the theatre department knew we were coming. So the usually-spacious backstage area looked like a tornado had just gone through it, there was nobody to let us in, and the contact seemed pretty cross with us (for some reason) that she didn't know what we needed for setup. (Also, there was some incident that happened at McDonalds on the way there that had one of our team members extremely cross, and I'm fairly surprised one of us didn't get kicked in the face at any point in the long van trip as a result of not letting a particular inside joke go) So, in all honesty, this was not one of our "better" bookings overall.
The moment, however, comes within the show itself. Now, this is a show I wrote, so I know I'll always have a fondness for it on some level, but I also got to originate the role of the hapless fourth-grade doughboy Bruce Dumpling. It was a really fun role to play, and it was extremely satisfying (as the playwright) to see the way the show connected with our audiences in all the ways I'd hoped it would when I penned it. The real kicker, however, came in the show's final moments, as (spoiler alert) Bruce makes the shot the wins the climactic basketball showdown against the two bullies. Every performance we did of this show, the crowd went absolutely nuts when that happened. It. Was. Awesome! I've toured a lot of shows into a lot of elementary schools, and this was the only show that consistently received that strong of a spontaneous reaction from every audience. It was always cool, too. I mean, the first time we weren't expecting it, because it had never happened before. The next couple times, we thought maybe the first kids were an anomaly. By the end of the year, though, you knew it was coming, and it sort of drove your energy toward the big moment. Every other moment in educational children's theater where I've received that sort of reaction, it's always been directly solicited in the script. "Okay, kids, say it with me! Word power!" "Do any of you know the secret word to break the Balloon Man's balloons? What? It's 'No'? Quick, say it with me!" "When I say 'You,' you say 'Tell!' You!" "Hello, everybody! Oh, come on, you can do better than that! I said hello!" We never asked for a response in Teammates, though. They just went on the ride with us and got psyched all on their own. It served as a reminder of the power that live theatre can still have in today's kids.
Plus, it made me feel a little bit like a basketball star ;-)
#2: Sing Ho! (Winnie-the-Pooh, October)
I've posted on here how much I loved doing the show Winnie-The-Pooh. So I don't need to go into all gushy philosophical warm fuzzies here. It just felt good. Doing the show always made me feel a little better about life. I don't usually play larger roles; this was an exception. And it was a character I actually came to love. This is also unusual: I've usually got a pretty strong detachment from most characters I play after enough analysis and rehearsal time.
The particular moment I shall always remember about this show was the very last note of the very last song. The four actors in the cast ended evenly dispersed around our in-the-round performance space. Each of the members of this cast were people I love dearly, and I think we (far more often than not) enjoyed the cast dynamic. We had just finished singing, "Sing Ho for the life that we live! Sing Ho! for the life that we live! I don't much care if it rains or shines, 'cuz I've got a lot of honey in my house in the pines. Sing Ho! for my life!" Such a simple, joyful celebration of the little things that made these character happy. Friends, music, and life. What more do you need? One day, as we were singing our final Ho!, I looked around the stage as both Pooh and Will. I saw three friends, having fun together, doing something we loved, being adults playing as children's playthings, singing together. Huge smiles on our faces as well as the kids and adults surrounding our celebration. And I was so utterly, completely happy.
And yes, I have been accused of being a sentimentalist. Why do you ask?
#3: First week of Little Foxes rehearsals (March?)
I know, I know. Little Foxes became an utter nightmare and was a key contributor in one of the darkest periods of my year. But! I loved the first couple weeks of rehearsals! Almost everyone was really excited to be involved and the script is so well-crafted that it was an honest pleasure to watch such a talented cast sit down and work. I learned a lot about directing from the process, some "What To Do" and some "What Not To Do," but there were points in that first week where there was some serious synergy happening. Between actors. Between actor and director. People were even working out scenes and moments while on break and were doing extracurricular reading and discussing it before and after rehearsals. Those early rehearsals never felt to me like they were three hours long; the time flew by. And I wasn't really doing anything at all! Just watching. Watching committed actors throw themselves into a fantastic script. I don't care how hokey it sounds, it was downright inspiring.
And, of course, pretty soon after that, the whole thing went to hell. But we still put up a dang strong show and, as I've said, even the bad experiences are valuable learning experiences.
#4:Texas Christian Writers' Conference (August, I think)
I won a playwriting contest. I didn't really expect to win it, because the script I sent in wasn't overtly "Christian," and these sort of competitions are usually looking for very direct Biblical application plays. Which I don't usually do. However, I had a sweet little fairy tale that encourages its audiences to keep faith in tough times. Even though it uses Evil Things like magic and fairies and such.
Amazingly, it did win. More amazingly, it won despite being judged on only the first 25 pages. Which don't really connect to the story's faith element much at all. Still, the judge enjoyed the story and the writing so much she went ahead and gave it the first prize. It was a modest prize and a smaller contest, but it was exactly the boost I needed at that point in August. Or July. Whenever that thing was.
#5: That One Alice Rehearsal (April? Also March?)
I'ma be honest with you people. (I usually am, actually) I was not certain I was going to be able to pull off Alice. I know Hero Squad had gone over fairly well, but that show was easy for me. The playwright and I were pretty well in sync the whole time. Alice was a whole other animal. And while I was pretty sure I could make it work, it was probably the first project I've headed into here (as a director, at least) that I didn't go into certain I was going to pull out a good product.
I had a lot of fun with Alice. On the whole, this process was probably the high point of my artistic year. I loved my cast and crew, I'm proud of the work we put into it, and given that we were handed a really cumbersome adaptation of a book that's fairly inane and non-linear in the first place, I'm happy with what we ended up with. My favorite "moment" in the process probably came during the rehearsal where we were "table working" the mad tea party scene. My approach to this show was that every scene was a game with its own set of rules and its own objective. Each character operated with its own unique sense of logic, and it was up to Alice to try to understand them on their terms. In other words, she either caught on and started playing that character's game or she'd just get frustrated and leave. It happens in almost every scene. In the tea party, however, she's confronted with three different characters who seem to be living in different worlds while enjoying the same tea set.
We talked about this scene. We asked a lot of questions. We kept getting conflicting opinions. We went around and around and around in circles trying to pinpoint what was the actual happening of this freaking tea party. After about half an hour of discussion that was getting us nowhere but frustrated, I called for a short break and made a quick stop in the men's room. As I was washing my hands I was trying to analyze why the scene wasn't working. Why the conversation was going nowhere. And then it hit me: This is exactly what's happening in the scene! All four characters have a different idea of what's important, conversations are constantly interrupted and reconvened with no notice, and Alice is trying to make sense of them all at once!
I strode back into the rehearsal space and grabbed a few basketballs, a bag, some cones, and a few pillows from our touring props. "I want each of you three to take some props and engage in some activity," I said. "Alice, when you're talking to someone, I want you to try to join in with what they're doing. When you start talking to someone else, you have to drop what you're doing and join them in their activity. You guys have about twenty seconds to figure out what you want to do." Half a minute later, the Dormouse was asleep on the pillows, the March Hare sat cross-legged bouncing a basketball, and the Mad Hatter was dribbling another ball between his feet, soccer-style, through the cones. Poor Alice was jumping up from lying down on a spare pillow to playing soccer with the Hatter to sitting with the Hare and back the entire scene. It was chaotic. Each of the Wonderland characters existed completely independent of the others. It created clearer conflicts. And it left Alice decently out of breath.
It was perfect.
And we didn't have any major trouble with the scene again after that. It was a great day, because it felt like we'd hit our first major roadblock and obliterated it as a team.
Good lord, I really do sound like a motivational cassette tape from the 1990's, don't I?
#6: Hero Squad gets published (December)
I posted in depth about this recently, too. Wow. I put five years of work into that script. I felt I'd been helped by SO MANY PEOPLE along the way. You really have no idea what all goes into every single script you hold in your hands until you've been through the process yourself. Looking back, getting this play published was so hard. But one of the most fun and ultimately rewarding artistic challenges I've ever faced.
#7: Look ma, I'm the Cheshire Cat! (April, I think, but maybe May)
I'm really dropping the ball on remembering when things happened, aren't I?
I love the team/ensemble atmosphere of the rehearsal process. My college professor used to always say she was sad and even a bit jealous when a show opened, because she wanted to be in the actors' place, up there on the stage instead of just watching. I share her jealousy, but not her reasoning. I don't really want to be in the performers' place once a show opens. I want them to be performing. That's why I cast them in the first place. However, I've usually had such a blast working with them, trying crazy things, finding things that worked, overcoming blocks and obstacles, that I'm really very disappointed to see them go on to the run of the show and know I'm not an active part of the team any more. I feel a little left out. Not in a "Poor me!" sort of way, but you know. I enjoyed my part in the process. I enjoyed working with those actors. And now that thing we worked so hard to put together is going on, and I'm not going on with it.
Obviously, this wasn't the case with Hero Squad, because we needed an extra body to be a ninja and a Bottlenose Boy (plus some Man-Strength to heft the cage that lowered from the ceiling) so I was actually a part of that show from first readthrough till closing. Alice was the first time I'd really be shut out of a show once it opened.
....or so we thought!
I was not glad that one of my actors was in such serious pain that he could not go on. I never, ever, ever with that on anybody. Given my preference, I'd still wish he'd have been able to play the full run and not miss the one performance that one morning. However, since he did have to miss a show, I can't tell you how much fun it was to go on in his place. To be a part of Team Alice again. To be invited back into the sandbox one last time. To share a curtain call with the cast I'd put together and led through this creative process. One last unexpected trip down the Rabbit Hole.
I honestly don't remember much about the show other than the fact that I totally blew the cat dance. I just remember getting a little bit psyched from the point when the stage manager called the night before and said "We may have a problem," lying in bed and running over the entire show in my mind that night to make sure I could do it, and trying to contain my giddiness during vocal warmups with the cast the next day. (It's not manly to be "giddy." "Psyched," yes, but not "giddy.") Oh, and I remember that the show was a total blast. A whirlwind fourteen hours that served as one of the highlights of my year.
And I was very glad that my actor felt well enough to play the show that evening. Because he is incredibly talented, he's far better than me, and he's the one who did all the work to earn the stage time.
But there's still a small part of me that wishes I'd had a second crack at that darn Cheshire Cat dance.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
v2, d237: "Together forever, I solemnly voooooooow...."
I reckon I ought to offer a comment or two on the closing of our children's show this morning.
The Littlest Angel. I was never too crazy about the script; in fact, I'm still not. And I really like all the songs, but I never felt they meshed with one another or the script. And you could certainly raise some concerns on theological ground. (We addressed some of this through script edits, fortunately) However, I've often said I'd rather be involved with a script I dislike than not be involved at all, and that was truly the case in this instance.
I'm very glad I was a part of this show. We had fun. And I think we did good work. We put together a charming little show that left our audiences with warm happy Christmas feelings, and that's great. For me, however, the show had the added benefit of putting me with a group of people I enjoy in the situation I feel most comfortable in (working on a show) during what has turned out to be one of the most difficult seasons of my life.
So, while I wasn't initially thrilled at the prospect of performing this show almost thirty times in twenty days, it's been a blessing to me. And I know we've been a blessing to many others over the past month. And I want to thank any of you who are reading who were part of the project in one way or another. Also, thanks to those who came, saw it, and said hi afterward. This may not end up being the show I write extensively about in my memoirs. But it's the one I needed this Christmas.
Christmas eve is tomorrow. My folks should be in sometime mid-afternoon, and then the whole family will be in the same place for almost a full twenty-four hours. I'm going to go get ready for bed so I can make the most of it.
Ta-ta!
The Littlest Angel. I was never too crazy about the script; in fact, I'm still not. And I really like all the songs, but I never felt they meshed with one another or the script. And you could certainly raise some concerns on theological ground. (We addressed some of this through script edits, fortunately) However, I've often said I'd rather be involved with a script I dislike than not be involved at all, and that was truly the case in this instance.
I'm very glad I was a part of this show. We had fun. And I think we did good work. We put together a charming little show that left our audiences with warm happy Christmas feelings, and that's great. For me, however, the show had the added benefit of putting me with a group of people I enjoy in the situation I feel most comfortable in (working on a show) during what has turned out to be one of the most difficult seasons of my life.
So, while I wasn't initially thrilled at the prospect of performing this show almost thirty times in twenty days, it's been a blessing to me. And I know we've been a blessing to many others over the past month. And I want to thank any of you who are reading who were part of the project in one way or another. Also, thanks to those who came, saw it, and said hi afterward. This may not end up being the show I write extensively about in my memoirs. But it's the one I needed this Christmas.
Christmas eve is tomorrow. My folks should be in sometime mid-afternoon, and then the whole family will be in the same place for almost a full twenty-four hours. I'm going to go get ready for bed so I can make the most of it.
Ta-ta!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
v2, d213: Set All Stunners to Stun
That post title has nothing to do with this post, but I liked it.
I got to work at the theater tonight for our Christmas show. Er, shows. Sort of. We have four one-acts prepared and every night we do three of them based on which colorful box the audience encourages the actors to open at the beginning of the show. So you may never see the exact same shows in the exact same order even if you come up to three times! Or four. I got conflicting information on how many scenarios we have this evening. There's also a prize giveaway at some point where people have to pick a box from under the tree to see what prize they'll win. It's kinda like Deal or No Deal. (When I was a kid, I loved Deal or No Deal. I'm not sure why, but I think it was because of the random lame prizes. Hey, why was everyone in the audience dressed up? Man, that show was weird)
Anyway: it was a small crowd tonight, and I had a lot of friends working the show with me, and it's a fairly short evening of entertainment, so it was quite the smooth and pleasant night at the theatre. (I didn't really get to watch the shows because of the stuff I had to be doing--counting ticket stubs, counting concession money, waiting for late seaters, dimming lights, opening doors, etc, but I'll see it one night when I'm a lowly usher and not the mighty House Manager) I absolutely love being at the theatre on show night. I know I've mentioned that before. There's just a magic about it. I enjoy the people who have made something special out of the evening by coming to a show. I love seeing the long-time fans who have come expecting to have a good time. I love hearing the audience reactions from behind the closed box office door while I'm working on something. Hearing people discuss the show or their favorite actors at intermission. Watching husbands take their wives by the hand on the way out the door as the show is over. I love it all. In some ways, I'd rather be working front-of-house type stuff than I would actually be in the show (most shows).
Tonight, however, I also realized that the "night of the show" buzz really irritates my writer's itch. When I'm watching a play--almost any play--I want to write a play. Sadly, by the time I get home and take care of everything, the itch is usually gone. But I can definitely tell that it was there.
Hopefully I'll have something new on paper by the end of 2010. It'll be tough, because Christmas is going to be a busy and hectic season. Honestly, it'll probably be rough from now until...well, at least May, I'd guess. But some of my best stuff has come when I haven't had the time to do it, so I've got that going for me, maybe.
Oh, incidentally, there aren't a lot of competitions out there that really encourage new plays for young audiences in the state of Texas. I'm thinking of starting one. Which would be a bummer, because then I couldn't enter or win it. But I'm sure there are people out there who would appreciate it.
K, I'm tired. I don't want to go back and read this because I'm afraid it won't make much sense. I think I was a lot more awake when I started writing than I am now. Curse you, caffeine crash!
I got to work at the theater tonight for our Christmas show. Er, shows. Sort of. We have four one-acts prepared and every night we do three of them based on which colorful box the audience encourages the actors to open at the beginning of the show. So you may never see the exact same shows in the exact same order even if you come up to three times! Or four. I got conflicting information on how many scenarios we have this evening. There's also a prize giveaway at some point where people have to pick a box from under the tree to see what prize they'll win. It's kinda like Deal or No Deal. (When I was a kid, I loved Deal or No Deal. I'm not sure why, but I think it was because of the random lame prizes. Hey, why was everyone in the audience dressed up? Man, that show was weird)
Anyway: it was a small crowd tonight, and I had a lot of friends working the show with me, and it's a fairly short evening of entertainment, so it was quite the smooth and pleasant night at the theatre. (I didn't really get to watch the shows because of the stuff I had to be doing--counting ticket stubs, counting concession money, waiting for late seaters, dimming lights, opening doors, etc, but I'll see it one night when I'm a lowly usher and not the mighty House Manager) I absolutely love being at the theatre on show night. I know I've mentioned that before. There's just a magic about it. I enjoy the people who have made something special out of the evening by coming to a show. I love seeing the long-time fans who have come expecting to have a good time. I love hearing the audience reactions from behind the closed box office door while I'm working on something. Hearing people discuss the show or their favorite actors at intermission. Watching husbands take their wives by the hand on the way out the door as the show is over. I love it all. In some ways, I'd rather be working front-of-house type stuff than I would actually be in the show (most shows).
Tonight, however, I also realized that the "night of the show" buzz really irritates my writer's itch. When I'm watching a play--almost any play--I want to write a play. Sadly, by the time I get home and take care of everything, the itch is usually gone. But I can definitely tell that it was there.
Hopefully I'll have something new on paper by the end of 2010. It'll be tough, because Christmas is going to be a busy and hectic season. Honestly, it'll probably be rough from now until...well, at least May, I'd guess. But some of my best stuff has come when I haven't had the time to do it, so I've got that going for me, maybe.
Oh, incidentally, there aren't a lot of competitions out there that really encourage new plays for young audiences in the state of Texas. I'm thinking of starting one. Which would be a bummer, because then I couldn't enter or win it. But I'm sure there are people out there who would appreciate it.
K, I'm tired. I don't want to go back and read this because I'm afraid it won't make much sense. I think I was a lot more awake when I started writing than I am now. Curse you, caffeine crash!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
v2, d207: Farewell to Pooh
It seems I ought to say something reflective upon the closing of Winnie-the-Pooh. I'm not sure why because, realistically, it was only nine weeks of my life. Nevertheless, there's always such a sense of finality when a show closes, when you bow for the final time, when you hang up the costume never to put it on again. Though in all likelihood you will put at least pieces of it on again, because you're a rep company and a non-profit and there are only so many things in your costume stock that will fit you.
I think I've said before how much I've enjoyed the show and what a privilege it has been work with this particular cast. The show ends with a rousing little reprise of "Sing Ho! For a Bear" where the entire cast changes the lyrics to "Sing Ho! For my life!" And I would generally agree with that sentiment when we reached that point in the show. I was always happy to be there, doing a play, playing Winnie-the-Pooh, with these people. The entire show was an hour of warm fuzzies and feel-good times from start to finish. And that's how I'd like to remember it.
Not with the way it ended up ending up: starting 20 minutes late on the day of the last performance, with me losing my voice progressively as the show went along to the point where "Cottleston Pie" was half-sung, half growled because I'd somehow lost 80% of what limited vocal range I'd had at the beginning of the morning. Among other things.
In-joke saved for posterity: "I partied with the Mad Hatter! And Winnie the Pooh!"
*****
Then, suddenly again, Christopher Robin, who was still looking at the world, with his chin in his hands, called out, "Pooh!"
"Yes?" said Pooh.
"When I'm--when--Pooh!"
"Yes, Christopher Robin?"
"I'm not going to do Nothing any more."
"Never again?"
"Well, not so much. They don't let you."
Pooh waited for him to go on, but he was silent again.
"Yes, Christopher Robin?" said Pooh helpfully.
"Pooh, when I'm--you know--when I'm not doing Nothing, will you come up here sometimes?"
"Just me?"
"Yes, Pooh."
"Will you be here too?"
"Yes, Pooh, I will be, really. I promise I will be, Pooh."
"That's good," said Pooh.
"Pooh, promise me you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred."
Pooh thought for a little.
"How old shall I be then?"
"Ninety-nine."
Pooh nodded.
"I promise," he said.
Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh's paw.
"Pooh," said Christopher Robin earnestly, "if I--if I'm not quite---" he stopped and tried again--"Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won't you?"
"Understand what?"
"Oh, nothing." He laughed and jumped to his feet. "Come on!"
"Where?" said Pooh.
"Anywhere," said Christopher Robin.
So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing."
I think I've said before how much I've enjoyed the show and what a privilege it has been work with this particular cast. The show ends with a rousing little reprise of "Sing Ho! For a Bear" where the entire cast changes the lyrics to "Sing Ho! For my life!" And I would generally agree with that sentiment when we reached that point in the show. I was always happy to be there, doing a play, playing Winnie-the-Pooh, with these people. The entire show was an hour of warm fuzzies and feel-good times from start to finish. And that's how I'd like to remember it.
Not with the way it ended up ending up: starting 20 minutes late on the day of the last performance, with me losing my voice progressively as the show went along to the point where "Cottleston Pie" was half-sung, half growled because I'd somehow lost 80% of what limited vocal range I'd had at the beginning of the morning. Among other things.
In-joke saved for posterity: "I partied with the Mad Hatter! And Winnie the Pooh!"
*****
Then, suddenly again, Christopher Robin, who was still looking at the world, with his chin in his hands, called out, "Pooh!"
"Yes?" said Pooh.
"When I'm--when--Pooh!"
"Yes, Christopher Robin?"
"I'm not going to do Nothing any more."
"Never again?"
"Well, not so much. They don't let you."
Pooh waited for him to go on, but he was silent again.
"Yes, Christopher Robin?" said Pooh helpfully.
"Pooh, when I'm--you know--when I'm not doing Nothing, will you come up here sometimes?"
"Just me?"
"Yes, Pooh."
"Will you be here too?"
"Yes, Pooh, I will be, really. I promise I will be, Pooh."
"That's good," said Pooh.
"Pooh, promise me you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred."
Pooh thought for a little.
"How old shall I be then?"
"Ninety-nine."
Pooh nodded.
"I promise," he said.
Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh's paw.
"Pooh," said Christopher Robin earnestly, "if I--if I'm not quite---" he stopped and tried again--"Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won't you?"
"Understand what?"
"Oh, nothing." He laughed and jumped to his feet. "Come on!"
"Where?" said Pooh.
"Anywhere," said Christopher Robin.
So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing."
Friday, October 15, 2010
v2, d181: Sing Ho, for a Blog!
One of the many things that has been running me ragged lately is our current kids show, Winnie the Pooh, in which (as I've already mentioned) I'm playing the Bear of Very Little Brain himself. The entire process has been a joy, and I'm glad to be a part of this production, character, cast, and experience. I'm very pleased with the result of the past four weeks of rehearsal. I think we've built one of the stronger shows we've had recently in our children's theater. My co-stars are all dynamic in their various characters. The script is by no means extraordinary, but the source material is strong enough and the cast/production team are talented enough that I think we've got a really charming hour of live theatre on our stage.
On top of that, it's fun, too ;-)
There (in case you haven't already seen it on my Facebook, Abby's blog, or the Players' Flickr) is the cast. Aren't we endearing?
As for my own work on the show: I think I'm doing a pretty good job. I can tell there are still some places where I'm missing the mark, and I'm still working on those, but I don't think they're major detractors from the show or the character. I've discovered I can really relate to Pooh in a lot of ways. Which many would consider a bad sign. But there you have it. Truthfully, though, over the past few years I've been striving to live in more of the "each day is an adventure" world that Pooh resides in: Look around, take it nice and slow, enjoy your friends, help everyone you can, and sing and dance when the fancy hits you. And let the fancy hit you three to five times a day. Seems like a good way to live, no?
Pooh embodies the simplicity and wonder of childhood. He gets really excited about plans, friends, and snacks. He will completely derail his day just to help someone else feel better. He likes Cleverness, even if he's not terribly proficient in it. He knows who he is, and he's comfortable with himself. He's easily made the fool but rarely embarrassed. And he regularly composes poetry just because he loves it. He's the sort of fellow who would have probably annoyed the heck out of me eight or nine years ago, but the older I get, the more wisdom I see in the Hundred Acre Wood.
Okay, I don't want to turn this into a term paper on the philosophy of A. A. Milne's Winnie-The-Pooh stories. Really, I was just wanting to say the show is up, people are really enjoying it, I'm having a blast with it, I think it's good, and I think I'm not too bad in it, either. That's all I was going for. It's late. I have to get to bed.
And see what Adventure tomorrow might bring ;-)
On top of that, it's fun, too ;-)
As for my own work on the show: I think I'm doing a pretty good job. I can tell there are still some places where I'm missing the mark, and I'm still working on those, but I don't think they're major detractors from the show or the character. I've discovered I can really relate to Pooh in a lot of ways. Which many would consider a bad sign. But there you have it. Truthfully, though, over the past few years I've been striving to live in more of the "each day is an adventure" world that Pooh resides in: Look around, take it nice and slow, enjoy your friends, help everyone you can, and sing and dance when the fancy hits you. And let the fancy hit you three to five times a day. Seems like a good way to live, no?
Pooh embodies the simplicity and wonder of childhood. He gets really excited about plans, friends, and snacks. He will completely derail his day just to help someone else feel better. He likes Cleverness, even if he's not terribly proficient in it. He knows who he is, and he's comfortable with himself. He's easily made the fool but rarely embarrassed. And he regularly composes poetry just because he loves it. He's the sort of fellow who would have probably annoyed the heck out of me eight or nine years ago, but the older I get, the more wisdom I see in the Hundred Acre Wood.
Okay, I don't want to turn this into a term paper on the philosophy of A. A. Milne's Winnie-The-Pooh stories. Really, I was just wanting to say the show is up, people are really enjoying it, I'm having a blast with it, I think it's good, and I think I'm not too bad in it, either. That's all I was going for. It's late. I have to get to bed.
And see what Adventure tomorrow might bring ;-)
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
v2, d152: "Spots and guests and all!"
Man, if they had got the sound to sync with the video on that clip, the whole thing woulda been freaking awesome.
Tonight was our annual recognition of our season ticket holders/end-of-the-year awards show. This is often a stressful event for everyone involved due to a number of factors. A lot of it has to do with scheduling, because it's always going on while one show is still running, the next is rehearsing, and our other departments are working toward starting up the new year. It's an awkward time to try to add an event that includes the entire company, but there's really not a better time to do it. (There are other factors, too, such as juggling so many schedules to try to find enough rehearsals in a short span of time, etc, but who wants to get into all of that on a public blog? Not this guy.)
This year, I learned I was going to be "directing" the entertainment portion of the event. I have to admit, I wasn't looking forward to this assignment. The director of Spotlighter has never been a person I've envied, and I didn't think there was really a way I was going to succeed with it, but I decided to do the best I could to try to make it as smooth a process for everybody involved as possible.
Much to my surprise, rehearsals were very productive, we were able to identify and take care of tech needs early, the script was enjoyable, and attitudes were (for the most part) very patient and positive. I feel God's hand has been all over this process, helping us avoid major headaches. A lot of people commented on how smoothly the whole process went, and I know it's nothing special that I did. I'm glad that it's over, but I'm also glad that it happened. It was a positive experience, and that's not always something we're all able to say afterward.
Interesting side note: I've suspected this for awhile, but it turns out I've got terrible taste. We give out something like twenty awards, and as company members we get to vote on all of them. Of my twenty votes, two of them turned out to be winners! This is generally the trend I've noticed. Not that I don't think the winners aren't all very deserving, they just weren't the ones I'd pick. And this happens pretty much every year. So, if you're reading this and you're somebody I voted for, I'm sorry. I may very well have jinxed you. Next year, I may try to identify the biggest "threats" to the people I want to win and vote for them and see what happens.
Seriously, though, congratulations to all of the winners. I'm always so proud of all the work and care that we all put into our shows. In most cases, it's really hard and, in my opinion, unfair to try to pick a "best." Fortunately, I don't think many feelings get hurt over these things.
Funny fact: the only Spotligher I've ever taken home (and likely will ever take home) was my intern year for a props design.
Clearly, I've missed my calling with all this extraneous stuff I've been doing since then ;-)
Saturday, August 21, 2010
v2, d150: Miller Time
This all actually happened Thursday, but Thursday's blog had already been reserved by Birthday Mad-Libs, and last night was a late Scott Pilgrim showing, so this got pushed to tonight.
Had the opportunity to perform in the two-person (really three) production of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe at Miller Outdoor Theater last Thursday. It's really an outstanding venue and always a fun place to perform. I've performed there twice, run sound for one production, and been on crew/shark detail for one show. There's a part of me that always gets jealous when one of our fully-staged children's theater series shows travels to Miller because it's always a show I'm not involved with, so I have to hope they book our touring group. Fortunately, they did, and the date they chose for this performance was August 19. Unfortunately, August 19 fell within the hottest two weeks of the summer this year. (On the whole, I haven't felt this summer to be particularly terrible; I'd go for a jog around 11 and sometimes walk from one workplace to the other at 2:30 and it was always bearable until these past two weeks hit. Brutal, brutal, brutal)
Driving to the theater, I caught a clip of the weather forecast for the day. Now, in Houston, late-morning is generally one of the worst times of the day. It's as the old saying goes: "It's not the heat, it's the humidity." (The head doesn't get terrible until after 3:00) Naturally, we were going to be performing at 11:00, so I was more interested in the intangibles than the straight temperature. "We've got a high today of 95," the voice on the radio said, and I thought This might not be too horrible after all, "with a heat index of 103-107."
Okay, fine. I'd been mentally prepping for this anyway. If it's gonna be hot, it may as well be hot as h-e-double-hockey-sticks.
That's right, I just linked to a clip from a Disney Channel original starring Matthew Lawrence as a hockey player an Rhea Perlman as Satan.
And no, I won't do it any more.
Anyway.
I'd gone out the night before to pick up some Gatoerade or Powerade or whatever (hence the super-profound "Powerade" post a couple of days ago) because I wanted lots of things like electrolytes running through our systems so we wouldn't pass out during the show. Two actors + all of Narnia = lots of sweat under normal circumstances and copious amounts in August 19 circumstances. So, Powerade it was, because I don't think anywhere in Houston sells Powerthirst (warning: the preceding link includes an oddly placed F-bomb but is otherwise clean). So, off to Kroger, where I learned that I could either buy 4 32-oz bottles of Powerade for $4 or 8 32-oz bottles of Powerade for $4. I had to bust out the calculator (you know, the one on my cell phone!) but I finally decided that 8 was the better deal, so there was plenty of Powerade to go around.
There were separate dressing rooms for men and women, but since there was only one of each gender we shared the men's dressing area as sort of a pre-show hangout/warmup room. (Don't worry, we still changed in our own separate rooms, but an hour before the show is a long time to spend by yourself) This became humorous when Leah was sitting by the makeup mirror closest to the door while I was hanging out with Hatcher (our sound tech) near the back. My direct supervisor from work came by for the show and thought he'd drop in to see how we were doing half an hour before showtime. There's a knock at the door, and Leah's delightfully feminine voice rings out, "Come in!" Come in he did, with a fairly confuzzled look settled firmly upon his brow. He looked down at her with one eyebrow raised and, referring to the sign outside the door, asked simply, "Men?"
It was probably a lot funnier if you were there.
He said a prayer for the three of us, we downed some electrolytes, I positioned a cooler with two more bottles of Powerade directly behind the grand drape for immediate consumption upon completion of the performance, and we went out to do our thing. The show went very well. I could feel the energy-sapping heat, but I never really felt it starting to affect me or slow me down. My mic had some issues, and every time I heard it go out I tried to see if I was doing anything that could have been hurting the signal, but there didn't seem to be any consistency when it happened (other than it was often on a laugh line. Figures.) I have to say that it felt like we were being taken care of. I felt like there was a constant breeze, only while most Houston breezes are just blowing hot grossness from one place to another, this one was at least minorly refreshing. I don't know if there was actually a breeze, or if this was a result from the ceiling fans positioned directly over the audience (I've never really noticed these fans affecting the stage much in my previous trips), or if God was just fanning us lightly with His hand throughout the show. Either way, it was wonderful, and while we were still hot, fatigued, and drenched with perspiration at the end of the show, we did make it, and the crowd loved it.
We came backstage and chugged some more Ade before heading out to the lip of the stage to greet our audience. One group of kids stayed until everyone else had left and then the entire group of twenty or so came forward at once with their questions. I usually enjoy talking to the kids after performances and helping them realize that acting on stage is so similar to using their own imagination in their playtime at home. You can almost see the metaphorical lightbulb come on as they realize that the actors are normal people like they are.
After about fifteen minutes or so, when most of the crowd was gone, the Miller crew raised the huge grand drape, and the cool air powerful air conditioners (which all exist upstage from the drape and therefore didn't reach our performance space at all) rushed out toward us. The kids threw their hands up in the air, and many of them gasped, "Oh, thank you!" melodramatically.
Yeah kid, I though. I'll bet sitting there watching under gigantor fans really takes it out of you.
Had the opportunity to perform in the two-person (really three) production of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe at Miller Outdoor Theater last Thursday. It's really an outstanding venue and always a fun place to perform. I've performed there twice, run sound for one production, and been on crew/shark detail for one show. There's a part of me that always gets jealous when one of our fully-staged children's theater series shows travels to Miller because it's always a show I'm not involved with, so I have to hope they book our touring group. Fortunately, they did, and the date they chose for this performance was August 19. Unfortunately, August 19 fell within the hottest two weeks of the summer this year. (On the whole, I haven't felt this summer to be particularly terrible; I'd go for a jog around 11 and sometimes walk from one workplace to the other at 2:30 and it was always bearable until these past two weeks hit. Brutal, brutal, brutal)
Driving to the theater, I caught a clip of the weather forecast for the day. Now, in Houston, late-morning is generally one of the worst times of the day. It's as the old saying goes: "It's not the heat, it's the humidity." (The head doesn't get terrible until after 3:00) Naturally, we were going to be performing at 11:00, so I was more interested in the intangibles than the straight temperature. "We've got a high today of 95," the voice on the radio said, and I thought This might not be too horrible after all, "with a heat index of 103-107."
Okay, fine. I'd been mentally prepping for this anyway. If it's gonna be hot, it may as well be hot as h-e-double-hockey-sticks.
That's right, I just linked to a clip from a Disney Channel original starring Matthew Lawrence as a hockey player an Rhea Perlman as Satan.
And no, I won't do it any more.
Anyway.
I'd gone out the night before to pick up some Gatoerade or Powerade or whatever (hence the super-profound "Powerade" post a couple of days ago) because I wanted lots of things like electrolytes running through our systems so we wouldn't pass out during the show. Two actors + all of Narnia = lots of sweat under normal circumstances and copious amounts in August 19 circumstances. So, Powerade it was, because I don't think anywhere in Houston sells Powerthirst (warning: the preceding link includes an oddly placed F-bomb but is otherwise clean). So, off to Kroger, where I learned that I could either buy 4 32-oz bottles of Powerade for $4 or 8 32-oz bottles of Powerade for $4. I had to bust out the calculator (you know, the one on my cell phone!) but I finally decided that 8 was the better deal, so there was plenty of Powerade to go around.
There were separate dressing rooms for men and women, but since there was only one of each gender we shared the men's dressing area as sort of a pre-show hangout/warmup room. (Don't worry, we still changed in our own separate rooms, but an hour before the show is a long time to spend by yourself) This became humorous when Leah was sitting by the makeup mirror closest to the door while I was hanging out with Hatcher (our sound tech) near the back. My direct supervisor from work came by for the show and thought he'd drop in to see how we were doing half an hour before showtime. There's a knock at the door, and Leah's delightfully feminine voice rings out, "Come in!" Come in he did, with a fairly confuzzled look settled firmly upon his brow. He looked down at her with one eyebrow raised and, referring to the sign outside the door, asked simply, "Men?"
It was probably a lot funnier if you were there.
He said a prayer for the three of us, we downed some electrolytes, I positioned a cooler with two more bottles of Powerade directly behind the grand drape for immediate consumption upon completion of the performance, and we went out to do our thing. The show went very well. I could feel the energy-sapping heat, but I never really felt it starting to affect me or slow me down. My mic had some issues, and every time I heard it go out I tried to see if I was doing anything that could have been hurting the signal, but there didn't seem to be any consistency when it happened (other than it was often on a laugh line. Figures.) I have to say that it felt like we were being taken care of. I felt like there was a constant breeze, only while most Houston breezes are just blowing hot grossness from one place to another, this one was at least minorly refreshing. I don't know if there was actually a breeze, or if this was a result from the ceiling fans positioned directly over the audience (I've never really noticed these fans affecting the stage much in my previous trips), or if God was just fanning us lightly with His hand throughout the show. Either way, it was wonderful, and while we were still hot, fatigued, and drenched with perspiration at the end of the show, we did make it, and the crowd loved it.
We came backstage and chugged some more Ade before heading out to the lip of the stage to greet our audience. One group of kids stayed until everyone else had left and then the entire group of twenty or so came forward at once with their questions. I usually enjoy talking to the kids after performances and helping them realize that acting on stage is so similar to using their own imagination in their playtime at home. You can almost see the metaphorical lightbulb come on as they realize that the actors are normal people like they are.
After about fifteen minutes or so, when most of the crowd was gone, the Miller crew raised the huge grand drape, and the cool air powerful air conditioners (which all exist upstage from the drape and therefore didn't reach our performance space at all) rushed out toward us. The kids threw their hands up in the air, and many of them gasped, "Oh, thank you!" melodramatically.
Yeah kid, I though. I'll bet sitting there watching under gigantor fans really takes it out of you.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
v2, d134: WOF #5: Top Bottom 7
Unrelated, but awesome:
First off, remember this? You do? Good. You'll be glad to know there's been some resolution.
Okay, now as I said yesterday, for every great experience you get in theatre, you get a less-than-great experience. (Actually, you probably get far more of the latter than the former over the course of a career) And since I used some time and space to commemorate the more memorable of my experiences yesterday, I think it's only fair to show the other side of this fantasy/reality of professional theatre.
I've always said that, in this art, every experience (excepting abusive or exploitatious experiences, of course) is good experience, even if it's a bad experience. But a few of these shows have really challenged that particular point of view...
TOP 7 THEATRICAL HEADACHES OF MY CAREER (1992-2010)
#7: Through the Looking Glass, A. D. Players, 2008
I love Alice. I love the Alice stories. I love Alice Through the Looking Glass. I did not love being in this production of Through the Looking Glass. There were some unfortunate circumstances, and the director didn't really seem to like the story at all. I tried to give it a go, but the negativity from the rest of the cast was just infectious. As soon as the show started, pretty much everybody onstage or backstage was just waiting for it to end. The few audiences we played for really seemed to enjoy it, though.
I hope I don't get fired.
#6: The Adding Machine; Oklahoma Baptist University, 2003
I have to say, The Adding Machine was a dang impressive show. Everything visually, conceptually, musically, was awesome. We decimated Elmer Rice in the process, but what we put together was pretty neat.
That said, it wasn't very fun. At least, not for me. There were twelve of us who played these drone/automaton worker-types. We dressed identically and wore these creepy-as-heck clear plastic masks and spent most of the show in some sort of perpetual, machine-like motion in the background somewhere unless we were in the scene (and we each played 2 or 3 minor parts). It was very post-modern. Very Metropolis. And very weird.
As a performer, I found a lot of the stylized stuff we were doing to be quite cool at first, because it was so different from anything I'd tried before. But it soon became really monotonous. And we still had four weeks of rehearsal and two weeks of show to go. It was also kind of depressing to be a part of, since we were painting a particularly bleak portrait of the world.
Anyway, Adding Machine wasn't bad, and I'm very grateful for the chance to have been a part of it, but it was definitely a headache, and I know I'm not the only one who was glad when it was over.
And here's my "big scene!" :
#5: Pollyanna, A. D. Players, 2006
I was the co-set and prop designer for this show. This was to be sort of my "training" show in how to design at our children's theater. The set I didn't really have too much of an issue with, but I'd never done props before. That was sort of the other co-designer's specialty, so he was going to show me the ropes, show me the places you go to find stuff, that sort of thing. Keep in mind, I'd been in this massive city for all of six months at this point and was lucky enough to know my way from my home to my work to my church to Wal-Mart. This was going to be a great opportunity not only to learn a new skill, but also get to know my new home.
Then, the other co-designer left, and I was left to fend for myself. The set was pretty much finished, leaving only the prop work to do, and nobody to mentor me. Plus, this show's director was quite particular with her--well, everything. Which is totally fine. I think that can be a great thing in a director. But it's a painfully frustrating thing for an intern first-time prop designer who's already flustered and in over his head. I spent hours in my car, lost down streets that had decided to go one-way at the most inopportune of time, trying to chase down a specific quilt that didn't exist, knowing that I was letting everybody down. After seven years of constant scene shop work, I think this is the show that really burned me out on it.
There is a happy ending, fortunately. As the year went on, I won an award voted on by the company for my props work on one of our mainstage shows, and our next kids show was more prop creation than running around and collecting, and that experience was really fun and, I felt, pretty decent work, so when I did leave the shop it wasn't on a down note.
#4:
Actually, I'm pleading the fifth on this one. I'm probably already pressing my luck with this blog. I'll just say this: coins were being vomited and children were being scooped up like wildflowers.
#3: His Strength, Our Weakness, OBU, 2002
I don't know why I was a part of this one. I think somebody asked me, and I was nice, and I was a freshman, and I wanted people to like me. We had sort of a traveling faith-based drama unit at my school. That year, it was called Harvest Players. We did a script called His Strength, Our Weakness. It was a combination of choral odes and long monologues by Biblical characters. It was kind of boring, and I didn't feel we were doing it very well. I was pretty embarrassed to be a part of it. I had also been thrown into it pretty last-minute because someone else had backed out. I remember a meeting in the our department head's office with the whole cast, and while I don't remember too many details, I do remember there were quite a few tears. We performed it for a few churches, and they seemed to enjoy it, but this is the show that effectively turned me off to the idea of "Christian drama" for years.
But obviously, we've made up since then ;-)
#2: Kiss Me, Kate, Horsefeathers and Applesauce, 2002
It's a shame no H&A shows made yesterday's list, because those were some of the best summers of my life. This ended up being a really strong show, but it was a NIGHTMARE getting it up. It was the fourth show of our summer, meaning rehearsal felt a bit rushed anyway and everyone was already tired when we started. Our directors were a couple of guys from a New York revival house, and they wanted everything to be exactly like the recent Broadway revival of Kiss Me Kate had been. Great. Except we were not Broadway. We had a tiny performance space with no wings or fly. Didn't matter, they wanted everything on stage. Our green room was so crowded with set pieces, there was no room for actors.
But the show's director was possibly the worst individual I've ever worked with/under/for in theatre. He and his boyfriend (the choreographer) were total good cop/bad cop, and the director was the bad cop. He cursed us out all the time. He called everybody to every all-day rehearsal, regardless of whether or not we were in the scenes they were working. This would normally be okay, but at H&A the actors all have tech responsibilities when not in rehearsal. That meant nothing was getting done during the day, so all the extensive set and costume and lighting work started at 10 p.m. (Sets had it easier than anybody else, because we did have a couple of full-time set people) We were yelled at for being tired, we had wrists slapped for missing spike marks, we got notes like "What the F*** were you doing in this scene?" read in front of the entire company. He made actors cry. He turned the nicest, most tactful woman in North America into a vicious, fire-breathing dragon (not literally). And after he'd storm out on us, the choreographer, who was SUPER nice, would come in and try to smooth things over with everyone. We never got a full run of the show before we opened because we had to stop for cussing and because the traffic patterns backstage thanks to his super-complicated set changes would derail everything. When the show opened with "Another Openin', Another Show," I stood backstage with tears in my eyes, partially because we were finally opening and partially because, well, "Four weeks you rehearse and rehearse, three weeks and it couldn't be worse. One week, will it ever be right? Then out of the hat, it's that big first night!" Indeed.
Here's the story I usually tell to communicate the kind of guy we had running the show: We had a manually-operated roll drop that weighed about 250 pounds. We had taped out on the floor where it should go. One of our dress rehearsals, the drop was delayed slightly at the end of a song. The note, predictably, said "Where the F*** was the roll drop??" I knew exactly why it hadn't come down, because I was on stage at the time: actors don't understand spike tape. There was someone standing directly in the drop's path, and the drop operator (the droperator?) waited for them to move before lowering it. I suggested the possibility (somehow, I think I always stayed on this director's good side), and he replied with "Drop it anyway." He was dead serious. Every single one of us just stared. It was deathly silent. "I guarantee you, they'll never stand in the way again."
Another cast member spoke up. "Yeah," he said incredulously, "because they'll be dead!" Joel turned to the man. "Exactly," he said.
Here's a shot of the offending roll drop. "Shrewsical: The Musical!" Joel thought it was hilarious. (I'm on the left in the red bowtie)
#1: No Time for Heaven, Wellington Community Theater, 1996? (I'm a little fuzzy on the date)
Oh, man. At least Kiss Me Kate had a strong performance at the end. No Time For Heaven was just bad. Bad, bad, bad. It was the only horrible experience I ever had in all my shows with WCT. How bad was it? At one point, two of the actors were standing outside the building where we were going to be performing in three days (my church's basement, incidentally) discussing the possibility of simply not doing the performance, figuring it would be better in the long run to cancel than to put on a terrible show and scare away audiences forever. What they didn't know was that the director was standing at the base of the stairs, grinding her teeth together as she heard every word they said.
What went wrong? For starters, our female lead was an older woman who I always loved in all my WCT experiences, but she had to carry the show. And she couldn't remember her lines. Sometimes to the tune of "We just cut ten pages of dialogue. Now what do we do?" Our "grandpa" was probably in his twenties. We just grayed his hair. We couldn't get our usual performance space, so we used the tiny stage in the basement of my church, which was in need of some repair anyway. (Still is, to my knowledge) For that reason, we couldn't actually build much of a solid set, and the stage was too small. This means the walls shook every time someone opened or closed a door. We had a prompter during the performances who was just off-stage. She was louder than a few of the actors, so from time to time you'd hear this woman's voice coming from one of the shaking walls. Only thing is, she was dyslexic which, again, there's nothing wrong with. But it's an unfortunate condition for someone reading your lines to try to get you back on track to have. Especially if the audience can here her anyway. Then there was the cast: we didn't hate each other, but we weren't exactly bosom buddies, either. I think the stress of the show really played on everybody. It's the ONLY community theater I've ever done where there was no cast party afterward. My sister and I didn't even say goodbye to all of the actors after the last show. Everyone just cleaned up and left as quickly as possible.
Looking back, I find it hard to believe some of these things happened. I'm grateful for each experience, though. I learned something through every one of these assignments. Sometimes you learn more from a disaster than you learn from a success.
Speaking of disasters, here are some runners-up: Charlotte's Web, Wellington Recreation Center (I directed a kids' class), 2000; South Pacific, Horsefeathers and Applesauce, 2001 (the set consisted pretty much of four giant potholders that had to be individually weaved. Not an exaggeration); Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Horsefeathers and Applesauce, 2000 (Drunk choreographer, MAJOR backstage drama/teenage hormone crap); Life is a Dream, Oklahoma City Theatre Company, 2004 (dreary, plodding, three-hour take on what is an engaging and often-humorous script; an extended run, generally for houses of less than twelve); It Could Be Any One of Us, OBU, 2005 (senior "I'm over it" show); Medium Rare, Wellington High School, 1998 (Director's philosophy of theatre: "That play has boys dressing up as girls, doesn't it? That's always funny, we'll do that one").
So there you have it. The best and the worst. It'll be tough for anything to crack either of these lists in the years to come, but I look forward to finding both the show that tops Hero Squad and the one that is more hilariously painful than Kiss Me Kate or No Time For Heaven.
First off, remember this? You do? Good. You'll be glad to know there's been some resolution.
Okay, now as I said yesterday, for every great experience you get in theatre, you get a less-than-great experience. (Actually, you probably get far more of the latter than the former over the course of a career) And since I used some time and space to commemorate the more memorable of my experiences yesterday, I think it's only fair to show the other side of this fantasy/reality of professional theatre.
I've always said that, in this art, every experience (excepting abusive or exploitatious experiences, of course) is good experience, even if it's a bad experience. But a few of these shows have really challenged that particular point of view...
TOP 7 THEATRICAL HEADACHES OF MY CAREER (1992-2010)
#7: Through the Looking Glass, A. D. Players, 2008
I love Alice. I love the Alice stories. I love Alice Through the Looking Glass. I did not love being in this production of Through the Looking Glass. There were some unfortunate circumstances, and the director didn't really seem to like the story at all. I tried to give it a go, but the negativity from the rest of the cast was just infectious. As soon as the show started, pretty much everybody onstage or backstage was just waiting for it to end. The few audiences we played for really seemed to enjoy it, though.
I hope I don't get fired.
#6: The Adding Machine; Oklahoma Baptist University, 2003
I have to say, The Adding Machine was a dang impressive show. Everything visually, conceptually, musically, was awesome. We decimated Elmer Rice in the process, but what we put together was pretty neat.
That said, it wasn't very fun. At least, not for me. There were twelve of us who played these drone/automaton worker-types. We dressed identically and wore these creepy-as-heck clear plastic masks and spent most of the show in some sort of perpetual, machine-like motion in the background somewhere unless we were in the scene (and we each played 2 or 3 minor parts). It was very post-modern. Very Metropolis. And very weird.
As a performer, I found a lot of the stylized stuff we were doing to be quite cool at first, because it was so different from anything I'd tried before. But it soon became really monotonous. And we still had four weeks of rehearsal and two weeks of show to go. It was also kind of depressing to be a part of, since we were painting a particularly bleak portrait of the world.
Anyway, Adding Machine wasn't bad, and I'm very grateful for the chance to have been a part of it, but it was definitely a headache, and I know I'm not the only one who was glad when it was over.
And here's my "big scene!" :
#5: Pollyanna, A. D. Players, 2006
I was the co-set and prop designer for this show. This was to be sort of my "training" show in how to design at our children's theater. The set I didn't really have too much of an issue with, but I'd never done props before. That was sort of the other co-designer's specialty, so he was going to show me the ropes, show me the places you go to find stuff, that sort of thing. Keep in mind, I'd been in this massive city for all of six months at this point and was lucky enough to know my way from my home to my work to my church to Wal-Mart. This was going to be a great opportunity not only to learn a new skill, but also get to know my new home.
Then, the other co-designer left, and I was left to fend for myself. The set was pretty much finished, leaving only the prop work to do, and nobody to mentor me. Plus, this show's director was quite particular with her--well, everything. Which is totally fine. I think that can be a great thing in a director. But it's a painfully frustrating thing for an intern first-time prop designer who's already flustered and in over his head. I spent hours in my car, lost down streets that had decided to go one-way at the most inopportune of time, trying to chase down a specific quilt that didn't exist, knowing that I was letting everybody down. After seven years of constant scene shop work, I think this is the show that really burned me out on it.
There is a happy ending, fortunately. As the year went on, I won an award voted on by the company for my props work on one of our mainstage shows, and our next kids show was more prop creation than running around and collecting, and that experience was really fun and, I felt, pretty decent work, so when I did leave the shop it wasn't on a down note.
#4:
Actually, I'm pleading the fifth on this one. I'm probably already pressing my luck with this blog. I'll just say this: coins were being vomited and children were being scooped up like wildflowers.
#3: His Strength, Our Weakness, OBU, 2002
I don't know why I was a part of this one. I think somebody asked me, and I was nice, and I was a freshman, and I wanted people to like me. We had sort of a traveling faith-based drama unit at my school. That year, it was called Harvest Players. We did a script called His Strength, Our Weakness. It was a combination of choral odes and long monologues by Biblical characters. It was kind of boring, and I didn't feel we were doing it very well. I was pretty embarrassed to be a part of it. I had also been thrown into it pretty last-minute because someone else had backed out. I remember a meeting in the our department head's office with the whole cast, and while I don't remember too many details, I do remember there were quite a few tears. We performed it for a few churches, and they seemed to enjoy it, but this is the show that effectively turned me off to the idea of "Christian drama" for years.
But obviously, we've made up since then ;-)
#2: Kiss Me, Kate, Horsefeathers and Applesauce, 2002
It's a shame no H&A shows made yesterday's list, because those were some of the best summers of my life. This ended up being a really strong show, but it was a NIGHTMARE getting it up. It was the fourth show of our summer, meaning rehearsal felt a bit rushed anyway and everyone was already tired when we started. Our directors were a couple of guys from a New York revival house, and they wanted everything to be exactly like the recent Broadway revival of Kiss Me Kate had been. Great. Except we were not Broadway. We had a tiny performance space with no wings or fly. Didn't matter, they wanted everything on stage. Our green room was so crowded with set pieces, there was no room for actors.
But the show's director was possibly the worst individual I've ever worked with/under/for in theatre. He and his boyfriend (the choreographer) were total good cop/bad cop, and the director was the bad cop. He cursed us out all the time. He called everybody to every all-day rehearsal, regardless of whether or not we were in the scenes they were working. This would normally be okay, but at H&A the actors all have tech responsibilities when not in rehearsal. That meant nothing was getting done during the day, so all the extensive set and costume and lighting work started at 10 p.m. (Sets had it easier than anybody else, because we did have a couple of full-time set people) We were yelled at for being tired, we had wrists slapped for missing spike marks, we got notes like "What the F*** were you doing in this scene?" read in front of the entire company. He made actors cry. He turned the nicest, most tactful woman in North America into a vicious, fire-breathing dragon (not literally). And after he'd storm out on us, the choreographer, who was SUPER nice, would come in and try to smooth things over with everyone. We never got a full run of the show before we opened because we had to stop for cussing and because the traffic patterns backstage thanks to his super-complicated set changes would derail everything. When the show opened with "Another Openin', Another Show," I stood backstage with tears in my eyes, partially because we were finally opening and partially because, well, "Four weeks you rehearse and rehearse, three weeks and it couldn't be worse. One week, will it ever be right? Then out of the hat, it's that big first night!" Indeed.
Here's the story I usually tell to communicate the kind of guy we had running the show: We had a manually-operated roll drop that weighed about 250 pounds. We had taped out on the floor where it should go. One of our dress rehearsals, the drop was delayed slightly at the end of a song. The note, predictably, said "Where the F*** was the roll drop??" I knew exactly why it hadn't come down, because I was on stage at the time: actors don't understand spike tape. There was someone standing directly in the drop's path, and the drop operator (the droperator?) waited for them to move before lowering it. I suggested the possibility (somehow, I think I always stayed on this director's good side), and he replied with "Drop it anyway." He was dead serious. Every single one of us just stared. It was deathly silent. "I guarantee you, they'll never stand in the way again."
Another cast member spoke up. "Yeah," he said incredulously, "because they'll be dead!" Joel turned to the man. "Exactly," he said.
Here's a shot of the offending roll drop. "Shrewsical: The Musical!" Joel thought it was hilarious. (I'm on the left in the red bowtie)
#1: No Time for Heaven, Wellington Community Theater, 1996? (I'm a little fuzzy on the date)
Oh, man. At least Kiss Me Kate had a strong performance at the end. No Time For Heaven was just bad. Bad, bad, bad. It was the only horrible experience I ever had in all my shows with WCT. How bad was it? At one point, two of the actors were standing outside the building where we were going to be performing in three days (my church's basement, incidentally) discussing the possibility of simply not doing the performance, figuring it would be better in the long run to cancel than to put on a terrible show and scare away audiences forever. What they didn't know was that the director was standing at the base of the stairs, grinding her teeth together as she heard every word they said.
What went wrong? For starters, our female lead was an older woman who I always loved in all my WCT experiences, but she had to carry the show. And she couldn't remember her lines. Sometimes to the tune of "We just cut ten pages of dialogue. Now what do we do?" Our "grandpa" was probably in his twenties. We just grayed his hair. We couldn't get our usual performance space, so we used the tiny stage in the basement of my church, which was in need of some repair anyway. (Still is, to my knowledge) For that reason, we couldn't actually build much of a solid set, and the stage was too small. This means the walls shook every time someone opened or closed a door. We had a prompter during the performances who was just off-stage. She was louder than a few of the actors, so from time to time you'd hear this woman's voice coming from one of the shaking walls. Only thing is, she was dyslexic which, again, there's nothing wrong with. But it's an unfortunate condition for someone reading your lines to try to get you back on track to have. Especially if the audience can here her anyway. Then there was the cast: we didn't hate each other, but we weren't exactly bosom buddies, either. I think the stress of the show really played on everybody. It's the ONLY community theater I've ever done where there was no cast party afterward. My sister and I didn't even say goodbye to all of the actors after the last show. Everyone just cleaned up and left as quickly as possible.
Looking back, I find it hard to believe some of these things happened. I'm grateful for each experience, though. I learned something through every one of these assignments. Sometimes you learn more from a disaster than you learn from a success.
Speaking of disasters, here are some runners-up: Charlotte's Web, Wellington Recreation Center (I directed a kids' class), 2000; South Pacific, Horsefeathers and Applesauce, 2001 (the set consisted pretty much of four giant potholders that had to be individually weaved. Not an exaggeration); Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Horsefeathers and Applesauce, 2000 (Drunk choreographer, MAJOR backstage drama/teenage hormone crap); Life is a Dream, Oklahoma City Theatre Company, 2004 (dreary, plodding, three-hour take on what is an engaging and often-humorous script; an extended run, generally for houses of less than twelve); It Could Be Any One of Us, OBU, 2005 (senior "I'm over it" show); Medium Rare, Wellington High School, 1998 (Director's philosophy of theatre: "That play has boys dressing up as girls, doesn't it? That's always funny, we'll do that one").
So there you have it. The best and the worst. It'll be tough for anything to crack either of these lists in the years to come, but I look forward to finding both the show that tops Hero Squad and the one that is more hilariously painful than Kiss Me Kate or No Time For Heaven.
Monday, August 2, 2010
v2, d133: WOF #4: Top 7
Sorry for the delay, on to the fun.
I've done a lot of shows. By this age, I think pretty much anybody still in showbusiness has. So, why not do a Top 7 of the productions that were the most fun to be a part of and augment it with pictures when possible? Man, I'm a genius.
Here we go:
TOP 7 "MOST FUN" SHOWS FROM MY CAREER (1992-2010)
#7: Fiddler on the Roof, Wellington Community Theater, 1998
I don't have any pictures for this one, which is a shame. I had thousands of great laughs in my years at WCT, but this one stands out in my mind. I was a freshman in high school. When I joined WCT in 1992, we had a show with a cast of seven, most of whom were from out of town. Fiddler was a cast of forty-eight, two of whom came from outside Wellington. It was so remarkable to look back and see the journey the group had made in those six years. This was also the show with the least amount of "Backstage drama" after I hit puberty (Well, except for 12 Angry Men, which was all men, so I had no drama whatsoever), and the entire cast seemed to get along really, really well. People who I'd never have imagined would want to be in a play came out to play minor roles. And of course, if you're a man in musical theater, Fiddler is a blast to be a part of anyway. You get to sing in a drunken chorus, be a nightmarish specter, dance/fight at a wedding, there's all kinds of goodies! (The fact that I got to play the romantic opposite to the girl I had a major crush on for, oh, three or four years certainly had its perks as well)
#6: Much Ado About Nothing, Oklahoma Baptist University, 2002
One thing I took away from my college theater experience: I wasn't that good of an actor. In the right role, however, I could really get a chance to shine. This was one of few shows I've acted in where I still feel I did a good job with the role. I played the villainous Don John, which was just awesome in and of itself. Those who know my well know that I have relatively playfully evil tendencies, and Shakespeare's bad guys are so over-the-top evil that it was a pure joy to step into D.J.'s skin every night. I loved everything about this show. It was so funny. The set was one of my favorite that we ever built, and this was back when I got to do a lot of shop work, both at school and in summer stocks. Here's a good shot of the set:
And here's me, all hard-core:
Nice, eh? This was also the first show that virtually everybody in the department was involved in. And you all know how much I love the ensemble nature of theatre. We all had fun building this fun, awesome show together.
#5: Pirates of Penzance, The Huron Playhouse and OBU, 2003
I did this show back-to-back, as the last show of the 2003 summer season at Playhouse and the first show of 2003-04 at OBU. I think maybe the Playhouse version was moderately more fun primarily because the fact that we had a cast that was fifty strong plus a full pit orchestra. The OBU version was also fun because I had a larger role and I was better friends with several of the people involved. Really, though, I think I could do Pirates for a full year and not grow sick of it. The music is so incredibly upbeat and silly and it just lends itself to an awesome show all around.
These pics are from the OBU version, because the only Playhouse pic I have won't fit on the scanner.
Yeah.Love this show.
#4: The Robin Hood show, Oklahoma Baptist University, 2002
I don't want to use the script's actual name, because last time I used it on a blog, the playwright then emailed me a few days later. It was a little creepy. Anyway, this was my first ever foray into the world of theatre for young audiences. Obviously, I was hooked, and still am, and even though I'm actually not that big a fan of this script anymore (hence not using it's actual title and getting back in touch with the playwright) it still sticks out as one of the most dynamic theatrical experiences I've ever had. The audience sat in the round and were so close they were basically on the stage in two sections. I played the narrator character, so I spent a lot of time interacting directly with the audience. There was so much energy at every single performance. We actually had crowds lined up outside the building wanting to get in. Everyone who came had such a great time, young and old, and it really impacted the way I eventually decided I wanted to write children's plays: I wanted every attendee to enjoy the show on a level that would resonate with them regardless of their age or experience. (My intention has been to do so without stooping to some of the 'easy' tricks this particular script employed; sometimes I hit, sometimes I miss, but still) We also ran this show fourteen times in fourteen days. It was really a phenomenal schedule (even if I did fall behind in most every class for two weeks) and possibly the best two weeks of my collegiate life. Sadly, this would be the last time I was involved in any of our department's TYA productions, but clearly, it stuck. (I'm the one in the back in this pic, by the way. That was an awesome hat)
#3: Miss Nelson is Missing!, A. D. Players, 2008
Really, what about this show wasn't fun? The cast was dynamite, the music was fun. The script left some to be desired, but really it was just there as a vehicle to get from one musical number to the next, and to that degree it worked. Those of us in the cast were so willing to play with one another that it seemed we were always finding new things in every rehearsal--not in that "Wow, um...he's never done that before" tone two weeks into the run, but in the "Hey, that's kind of fun. I think that can work!" vein of collaborative creativity. I had a lizard. Sarah had her ribbons. Natalie's jumprope. Jason's pencils. There were so many really small touches that, in my mind, separate a good show from a great show. Of every show I've ever worked on, this is probably the biggest sense of ensemble discovery and creativity that I've ever experienced. I honestly wish we could have taken this one on tour and played it for a couple of months. I think it was that good, and I'm pretty sure any one of us would have been okay with that. (Note: I'm not generally a guy who wants to run a show past its closing date. Exceptions: This, Much Ado, The Foreigner, Pirates, Robin Hood, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Twelfth Night, and #1 on this list. Out of 112 shows, that's it)
Let's see, what else was I going to say about this show....oh yes! We opened the week of Hurricane Ike. Meant we missed most of tech week, which I know was a nightmare to our tech people, but we opened the weekend after the storm. We had people coming to the show because they still didn't have power in their houses and they needed an air-conditioned place to take their kids. It was such a unique experience, being that escapist buffer for a city full of children who'd been through and were still experiencing something so scary. It reminded me of the kind of powerful tool light-hearted entertainment can be, especially for the family of four.
#2: You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown, Wellington High School, 1998
Another great ensemble story, but what made this one special was actually my relationship with the director. He was the first person who really singled me out as someone with potential as an artist. At least, he was the first one who I believed, and that's just as big a thing. Sure, your parents always tell you you're great, but here was a guy who had a background in the industry, performing professionally in major productions of musicals across the country before he settled down and started teaching. He was the first theatre pro I knew, and he was the first who really told me I could make it if I wanted to.
I've done YAGMCB three times now in different capacities, and this was my only time to play an actual scripted character. I played Charlie Brown, and it was so unlike anything our school had done in at least a decade that it felt like we were breaking some exciting new ground. It was a bigger production than the previous year's musical (which had been the first one in years), the technical elements were a step up, the cast included some singers with acting experience and some without. Our school faculty hadn't seen anything quite like it before...and it ended up being a HUGE hit and a stepping stone for what would be a revitalized theatre program in the years go come. (Sadly, this teacher moved on after this year, but we still keep in touch occasionally)
Opening night, a sudden hailstorm knocked out the power in the entire school just before places. We got power back, but all our light cues were gone, so the board op (the director's brother and another professional, thankfully) was pretty much making it up as he went that night. The show was great, though. I also had a lot of friends in the crowd that night, so when I took center stage for the last bow, the place went crazy. It's not an experience I'd had often before, nor have I had since, but it was a magical night.
I apologize that there are no pictures. I'm sorry more for my sake than yours, because there was so much that happened over the rehearsal and show process, and I'm not just talking about the three guys in the cast getting their legs shaved by two girls in the band director's bathtub, though that experience could be a blog in and of itself.
#1: The Hero Squad vs. The Princess Snatchers, A. D. Players, 2009
I know, this surprises no one. Well, who cares. Every once in a great while, an artist gets a dream project. This was the first script I'd ever written (unless you want to count Big Liar, Little Liar, and I know you do, Holly), and I'd been working with it for three and a half years. It was my first chance to direct a full show, with a design team and everything, and just about everyone involved with the show was stoked about it. I knew at the time that I'd probably never get a set of circumstances as favorable as I'd been handed for Princess Snatchers, and I wanted to make the most out of it. I felt so fully comfortable handing over my work into these actors, designers, and stage managers, and they absolutely knocked it out of the park. There were frustrations, yeah, and there are things I would have done differently if I'd known then what I know now, and yada yada yada. But I can't think of a single project into which I've poured so many hours--from writing to pre-production to directing to jumping around as a ninja and a bottlenosed bankrobber during the run of the show--and received such great response. Audiences were absolutely spellbound. Almost nobody went to the restroom the entire run of the show. (When a kids' audience gets bored, they want to go pee. If they're into the show enough, they'll generally hold it)
I'm currently struggling to get this particular script picked up by a national publisher. So far, no dice. I really hope it'll happen. I believe it should happen, at least. But if it doesn't, I had the experience of a lifetime putting it together and watching it run, and if that's all I ever get out of it, I guarantee I'll still smile at the memory.
Runners up: Bat Boy: The Musical, Elsik High School, 2009; The Foreigner, The Huron Playhouse, 2003; Alice Now!, A. D. Players, 2010; Secret Identity, A. D. Plaeyrs, 2009; One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Horsefeathers and Applesauce, 2002; Honk!, Horsefeathers and Applesauce, 2004; and The Sound of Music, Wellington Community Theater, 1997
Now, there are two sides of every coin. For every Hero Squad, there's, well, there's one of our next Top 7 . Which I had planned on doing tonight, but getting the scanner figured out took me a little longer than I expected it to. So t'll have to wait another night, when I'll give you the 7 biggest headache-productions of the last eighteen years.(Warning: I have far fewer pictures of those ones ;-) )
I've done a lot of shows. By this age, I think pretty much anybody still in showbusiness has. So, why not do a Top 7 of the productions that were the most fun to be a part of and augment it with pictures when possible? Man, I'm a genius.
Here we go:
TOP 7 "MOST FUN" SHOWS FROM MY CAREER (1992-2010)
#7: Fiddler on the Roof, Wellington Community Theater, 1998
I don't have any pictures for this one, which is a shame. I had thousands of great laughs in my years at WCT, but this one stands out in my mind. I was a freshman in high school. When I joined WCT in 1992, we had a show with a cast of seven, most of whom were from out of town. Fiddler was a cast of forty-eight, two of whom came from outside Wellington. It was so remarkable to look back and see the journey the group had made in those six years. This was also the show with the least amount of "Backstage drama" after I hit puberty (Well, except for 12 Angry Men, which was all men, so I had no drama whatsoever), and the entire cast seemed to get along really, really well. People who I'd never have imagined would want to be in a play came out to play minor roles. And of course, if you're a man in musical theater, Fiddler is a blast to be a part of anyway. You get to sing in a drunken chorus, be a nightmarish specter, dance/fight at a wedding, there's all kinds of goodies! (The fact that I got to play the romantic opposite to the girl I had a major crush on for, oh, three or four years certainly had its perks as well)
#6: Much Ado About Nothing, Oklahoma Baptist University, 2002
One thing I took away from my college theater experience: I wasn't that good of an actor. In the right role, however, I could really get a chance to shine. This was one of few shows I've acted in where I still feel I did a good job with the role. I played the villainous Don John, which was just awesome in and of itself. Those who know my well know that I have relatively playfully evil tendencies, and Shakespeare's bad guys are so over-the-top evil that it was a pure joy to step into D.J.'s skin every night. I loved everything about this show. It was so funny. The set was one of my favorite that we ever built, and this was back when I got to do a lot of shop work, both at school and in summer stocks. Here's a good shot of the set:
And here's me, all hard-core:
#5: Pirates of Penzance, The Huron Playhouse and OBU, 2003
I did this show back-to-back, as the last show of the 2003 summer season at Playhouse and the first show of 2003-04 at OBU. I think maybe the Playhouse version was moderately more fun primarily because the fact that we had a cast that was fifty strong plus a full pit orchestra. The OBU version was also fun because I had a larger role and I was better friends with several of the people involved. Really, though, I think I could do Pirates for a full year and not grow sick of it. The music is so incredibly upbeat and silly and it just lends itself to an awesome show all around.
These pics are from the OBU version, because the only Playhouse pic I have won't fit on the scanner.
Yeah.Love this show.
#4: The Robin Hood show, Oklahoma Baptist University, 2002
I don't want to use the script's actual name, because last time I used it on a blog, the playwright then emailed me a few days later. It was a little creepy. Anyway, this was my first ever foray into the world of theatre for young audiences. Obviously, I was hooked, and still am, and even though I'm actually not that big a fan of this script anymore (hence not using it's actual title and getting back in touch with the playwright) it still sticks out as one of the most dynamic theatrical experiences I've ever had. The audience sat in the round and were so close they were basically on the stage in two sections. I played the narrator character, so I spent a lot of time interacting directly with the audience. There was so much energy at every single performance. We actually had crowds lined up outside the building wanting to get in. Everyone who came had such a great time, young and old, and it really impacted the way I eventually decided I wanted to write children's plays: I wanted every attendee to enjoy the show on a level that would resonate with them regardless of their age or experience. (My intention has been to do so without stooping to some of the 'easy' tricks this particular script employed; sometimes I hit, sometimes I miss, but still) We also ran this show fourteen times in fourteen days. It was really a phenomenal schedule (even if I did fall behind in most every class for two weeks) and possibly the best two weeks of my collegiate life. Sadly, this would be the last time I was involved in any of our department's TYA productions, but clearly, it stuck. (I'm the one in the back in this pic, by the way. That was an awesome hat)
#3: Miss Nelson is Missing!, A. D. Players, 2008
Really, what about this show wasn't fun? The cast was dynamite, the music was fun. The script left some to be desired, but really it was just there as a vehicle to get from one musical number to the next, and to that degree it worked. Those of us in the cast were so willing to play with one another that it seemed we were always finding new things in every rehearsal--not in that "Wow, um...he's never done that before" tone two weeks into the run, but in the "Hey, that's kind of fun. I think that can work!" vein of collaborative creativity. I had a lizard. Sarah had her ribbons. Natalie's jumprope. Jason's pencils. There were so many really small touches that, in my mind, separate a good show from a great show. Of every show I've ever worked on, this is probably the biggest sense of ensemble discovery and creativity that I've ever experienced. I honestly wish we could have taken this one on tour and played it for a couple of months. I think it was that good, and I'm pretty sure any one of us would have been okay with that. (Note: I'm not generally a guy who wants to run a show past its closing date. Exceptions: This, Much Ado, The Foreigner, Pirates, Robin Hood, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Twelfth Night, and #1 on this list. Out of 112 shows, that's it)
Let's see, what else was I going to say about this show....oh yes! We opened the week of Hurricane Ike. Meant we missed most of tech week, which I know was a nightmare to our tech people, but we opened the weekend after the storm. We had people coming to the show because they still didn't have power in their houses and they needed an air-conditioned place to take their kids. It was such a unique experience, being that escapist buffer for a city full of children who'd been through and were still experiencing something so scary. It reminded me of the kind of powerful tool light-hearted entertainment can be, especially for the family of four.
#2: You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown, Wellington High School, 1998
Another great ensemble story, but what made this one special was actually my relationship with the director. He was the first person who really singled me out as someone with potential as an artist. At least, he was the first one who I believed, and that's just as big a thing. Sure, your parents always tell you you're great, but here was a guy who had a background in the industry, performing professionally in major productions of musicals across the country before he settled down and started teaching. He was the first theatre pro I knew, and he was the first who really told me I could make it if I wanted to.
I've done YAGMCB three times now in different capacities, and this was my only time to play an actual scripted character. I played Charlie Brown, and it was so unlike anything our school had done in at least a decade that it felt like we were breaking some exciting new ground. It was a bigger production than the previous year's musical (which had been the first one in years), the technical elements were a step up, the cast included some singers with acting experience and some without. Our school faculty hadn't seen anything quite like it before...and it ended up being a HUGE hit and a stepping stone for what would be a revitalized theatre program in the years go come. (Sadly, this teacher moved on after this year, but we still keep in touch occasionally)
Opening night, a sudden hailstorm knocked out the power in the entire school just before places. We got power back, but all our light cues were gone, so the board op (the director's brother and another professional, thankfully) was pretty much making it up as he went that night. The show was great, though. I also had a lot of friends in the crowd that night, so when I took center stage for the last bow, the place went crazy. It's not an experience I'd had often before, nor have I had since, but it was a magical night.
I apologize that there are no pictures. I'm sorry more for my sake than yours, because there was so much that happened over the rehearsal and show process, and I'm not just talking about the three guys in the cast getting their legs shaved by two girls in the band director's bathtub, though that experience could be a blog in and of itself.
#1: The Hero Squad vs. The Princess Snatchers, A. D. Players, 2009
I know, this surprises no one. Well, who cares. Every once in a great while, an artist gets a dream project. This was the first script I'd ever written (unless you want to count Big Liar, Little Liar, and I know you do, Holly), and I'd been working with it for three and a half years. It was my first chance to direct a full show, with a design team and everything, and just about everyone involved with the show was stoked about it. I knew at the time that I'd probably never get a set of circumstances as favorable as I'd been handed for Princess Snatchers, and I wanted to make the most out of it. I felt so fully comfortable handing over my work into these actors, designers, and stage managers, and they absolutely knocked it out of the park. There were frustrations, yeah, and there are things I would have done differently if I'd known then what I know now, and yada yada yada. But I can't think of a single project into which I've poured so many hours--from writing to pre-production to directing to jumping around as a ninja and a bottlenosed bankrobber during the run of the show--and received such great response. Audiences were absolutely spellbound. Almost nobody went to the restroom the entire run of the show. (When a kids' audience gets bored, they want to go pee. If they're into the show enough, they'll generally hold it)
I'm currently struggling to get this particular script picked up by a national publisher. So far, no dice. I really hope it'll happen. I believe it should happen, at least. But if it doesn't, I had the experience of a lifetime putting it together and watching it run, and if that's all I ever get out of it, I guarantee I'll still smile at the memory.
Runners up: Bat Boy: The Musical, Elsik High School, 2009; The Foreigner, The Huron Playhouse, 2003; Alice Now!, A. D. Players, 2010; Secret Identity, A. D. Plaeyrs, 2009; One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Horsefeathers and Applesauce, 2002; Honk!, Horsefeathers and Applesauce, 2004; and The Sound of Music, Wellington Community Theater, 1997
Now, there are two sides of every coin. For every Hero Squad, there's, well, there's one of our next Top 7 . Which I had planned on doing tonight, but getting the scanner figured out took me a little longer than I expected it to. So t'll have to wait another night, when I'll give you the 7 biggest headache-productions of the last eighteen years.(Warning: I have far fewer pictures of those ones ;-) )
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
v2, d123: What if Theatre Were Like Sports?
Imagine if there were a hierarchy of professional theaters. I mean, there is one already, sort of, with LORT theaters, but they still exist independently of one another. I'm talking about theatrical affiliations, a la pro sports, where you've got your (for lack of a better term) "Major League" theaters--your Steppenwolfs, your Alleys, your CTCs or Dallas Childrens--and below them, you have a second tier where these major theaters develop talent they hope can one day move up to "the show," and then below that there's another tier (I'd imagine the Players probably fit in here somewhere), and somewhere in the midst of all that there are professional summer stocks, where theaters occasionally send one or two people per year a la NFL Europe. Or something. Then you've got all the other theater companies that exist but don't feed into the mainstream theaters, like we have now, only the people working there are mostly hoping to get lucky and get a big break with one of the affiliates to work their way up.
Every year, the major theaters get together and have an eight-round draft. All the theater undergraduates from across the country (as well as equivalent development/educational programs around the world) are eligible. Undrafted thespians can still catch on with a minor-league theater and hope to catch the parent company's attention. Theaters can trade anybody; you're looking for an ingenue but think your ATD might be ready to make the step up to a full time TD? Great, we need a TD and have a glut of thirty-year-old women who look like they're sixteen! We'll trade you one or two plus a mid-round pick for your ATD. Fax the deal to American Theatre Wing. The theater that finishes last in the box office the previous season picks first in the draft. Draft picks can either go to work professionally with an entry-level contract of limited term, or the parent company can retain their rights while they go on to pursue a master's degree. After a certain number of years and the contract expires, though, the actor/designer/director/whatever becomes a free agent and can sign with any theater in the country.
Feel free to thrown in your own addendum to the theater-sport world in the comments, cuz this is kinda fun.
Every year, the major theaters get together and have an eight-round draft. All the theater undergraduates from across the country (as well as equivalent development/educational programs around the world) are eligible. Undrafted thespians can still catch on with a minor-league theater and hope to catch the parent company's attention. Theaters can trade anybody; you're looking for an ingenue but think your ATD might be ready to make the step up to a full time TD? Great, we need a TD and have a glut of thirty-year-old women who look like they're sixteen! We'll trade you one or two plus a mid-round pick for your ATD. Fax the deal to American Theatre Wing. The theater that finishes last in the box office the previous season picks first in the draft. Draft picks can either go to work professionally with an entry-level contract of limited term, or the parent company can retain their rights while they go on to pursue a master's degree. After a certain number of years and the contract expires, though, the actor/designer/director/whatever becomes a free agent and can sign with any theater in the country.
Feel free to thrown in your own addendum to the theater-sport world in the comments, cuz this is kinda fun.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
v2, d110: Dear Abby
My building is always really noisy during the summer. We have kids in theatre camp pretty much all day, every day, for two months. Which is awesome. I love it. But there are times when I think pretty much anybody in the building will tell you it can get a bit to the crazy side. (Since I started bringing my iPod to work, by the way, this has been less of an issue)
And then, there's musical theatre class. The kids have 4 days to learn a bunch of songs and scenes from one specific musical. It's awesome. However, you WILL hear these songs over 60 times over the course of the week. At the end of the week, you'll either love them...or you'll DESPISE THEM!!!
This is why I am so happy that the current musical theatre camp is doing scenes from Seussical: The Musical. I love Seussical. I love the music. I rarely listen to it, even though I have it, but every time I do, it's so dang catchy you really can't help but bounce along with it to some degree. I also like the story, and I'm pretty in awe of the way they worked something like 15 Seuss books into one (sort of two) massive, 2-hour storyline. I also have deep admiration for the ability to make a 2-hour show rhyme. I did some rhyming narration in the Hero Squad Christmas special, and that was more than enough for me.
For me, though, there's more than just the songs that I enjoy. I've become very sentimental at work lately. Striking after rehearsal for one show, I'll think back to the dozens of other touring shows I've rehearsed in that space, or I can't remember one venue without thinking about something funny that happened when I was there four years ago, or I'll look at the mainstage and reconstruct it in my mind to fit any of the thirty different sets it's sported since The Mousetrap. For some reason, now is the time of looking back fondly upon the good times.
Which brings us back to Seussical, because the first class I taught in our academy (actually, assisted with) was a class of the little-bitties, and we acted out a couple of songs from that show. It was so much fun. I learned so much from that experience and it was probably one of my favorite classes to teach. And while I haven't taught a LOT of classes in my time here, I've taught enough to have had some good ones, some great ones, and some bad ones. This was one of the great ones. And I've had the opportunity to watch some of those kids grow, too, since some of them have come back for more classes or become regular attendees at our children's theatre. I have to tell you, that's been a pretty wild experience, to see the work you invested in Child A five years ago stick and inform the work they're doing with you as a fifth-grade student.
I know, I know. They grow up so fast, sniff...
Anyway, I appreciate hearing the cheesy, bouncy harmonies of the rhyme-happy show. It's good music, and it takes me back to a happy time with a lot of laughs and smiles. And those sort of cheesy, warm fuzzy reflections often serve as a reminder that there are still plenty of good times to be had.
And then, there's musical theatre class. The kids have 4 days to learn a bunch of songs and scenes from one specific musical. It's awesome. However, you WILL hear these songs over 60 times over the course of the week. At the end of the week, you'll either love them...or you'll DESPISE THEM!!!
This is why I am so happy that the current musical theatre camp is doing scenes from Seussical: The Musical. I love Seussical. I love the music. I rarely listen to it, even though I have it, but every time I do, it's so dang catchy you really can't help but bounce along with it to some degree. I also like the story, and I'm pretty in awe of the way they worked something like 15 Seuss books into one (sort of two) massive, 2-hour storyline. I also have deep admiration for the ability to make a 2-hour show rhyme. I did some rhyming narration in the Hero Squad Christmas special, and that was more than enough for me.
For me, though, there's more than just the songs that I enjoy. I've become very sentimental at work lately. Striking after rehearsal for one show, I'll think back to the dozens of other touring shows I've rehearsed in that space, or I can't remember one venue without thinking about something funny that happened when I was there four years ago, or I'll look at the mainstage and reconstruct it in my mind to fit any of the thirty different sets it's sported since The Mousetrap. For some reason, now is the time of looking back fondly upon the good times.
Which brings us back to Seussical, because the first class I taught in our academy (actually, assisted with) was a class of the little-bitties, and we acted out a couple of songs from that show. It was so much fun. I learned so much from that experience and it was probably one of my favorite classes to teach. And while I haven't taught a LOT of classes in my time here, I've taught enough to have had some good ones, some great ones, and some bad ones. This was one of the great ones. And I've had the opportunity to watch some of those kids grow, too, since some of them have come back for more classes or become regular attendees at our children's theatre. I have to tell you, that's been a pretty wild experience, to see the work you invested in Child A five years ago stick and inform the work they're doing with you as a fifth-grade student.
I know, I know. They grow up so fast, sniff...
Anyway, I appreciate hearing the cheesy, bouncy harmonies of the rhyme-happy show. It's good music, and it takes me back to a happy time with a lot of laughs and smiles. And those sort of cheesy, warm fuzzy reflections often serve as a reminder that there are still plenty of good times to be had.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
v2, d96: Scattered Showers
Well, today has been fairly discouraging. Alas.
Hey, check this out!
We sent out season ticket renewals last night/this morning, which means 90 minutes of envelope licking yesterday afternoon! Yes, we did have a few of these sponges you can use, but they were all taken, as far as I'm aware. Mmmm, envelope glue!
Also, the Alley Theatre has announced their season. They're opening with Peter Pan. And not the musical Peter Pan, but J.M. Barrie's original script! I'm actually very excited about this. Barrie's script is probably the most imaginative rendition of the story ever written, and there are some things that I just can't visualize being staged without modern Broadway-type technology and budget. (Which, of course, the Alley has, but I would really have loved to see how they accomplished this back in the 1800s or whenever)
Okey-doke, it's suddenly raining (again) really hard, and I suddenly have stuff to get done this afternoon, so I'm signing off. Ciao!
Hey, check this out!
We sent out season ticket renewals last night/this morning, which means 90 minutes of envelope licking yesterday afternoon! Yes, we did have a few of these sponges you can use, but they were all taken, as far as I'm aware. Mmmm, envelope glue!
Also, the Alley Theatre has announced their season. They're opening with Peter Pan. And not the musical Peter Pan, but J.M. Barrie's original script! I'm actually very excited about this. Barrie's script is probably the most imaginative rendition of the story ever written, and there are some things that I just can't visualize being staged without modern Broadway-type technology and budget. (Which, of course, the Alley has, but I would really have loved to see how they accomplished this back in the 1800s or whenever)
Okey-doke, it's suddenly raining (again) really hard, and I suddenly have stuff to get done this afternoon, so I'm signing off. Ciao!
Saturday, May 22, 2010
v2, d74: Leaving Wonderland
Well, my show closed today. I got to house manage for the final performance, which had a disappointingly small but encouragingly enthusiastic crowd of forty-five. Now, I spent the next eight or so months or so analyzing, rethinking, re-staging in my mind to see what things I could have done differently, what things I could have done better, which scenes I should have trimmed a bit more (since I had the playwright's permission), what worked, what didn't, good moments in rehearsal, things I should have tried differently. This'll continue until I get closer to whatever the next directing project is going to be, and hopefully it'll all help make the next project better.
At the beginning of the run, one of my coworkers asked if I was going to be "that" director, the one who watches every single performance and keeps his actors nervous, giving notes through the entire run. Well, no, not exactly. I did watch a LOT of performances, but that's because I think you can learn so much about your work from seeing it play repeatedly for a number of different audiences. I think I picked up something new about my work from just about every crowd I observed.
In a lot of ways, this was a fairly difficult show for me to do. It's the first full-scale show I directed that I didn't also write. It's the first musical I've had to direct. It was also sort of an awkward script, and we had to work in a lot of cases in order to make it nice and tight when the writing was drawn out, superfluous, and largely directionless. Also, the story itself is a challenge. It's more episodic than linear, and no one scene really lead into the next at any point in the story. It wasn't really until the second week of rehearsals that I was convinced I was going to be able to do a good job with it. Then, I had actors getting sick and missing rehearsals or sudden calls from the boss to sit in a meeting during rehearsal time. Challenges!
Overall, I'm very pleased with what we ended up with. I felt like everybody gave it their 100% from the first rehearsal, and nobody used any of the challenges listed above as an excuse for a subpar scene or performance. As an ensemble, we acknowledged our obstacles and worked at them until they worked. Were I to start the process anew, there are definitely things I would try differently. If that weren't the case, then I think I'd probably have to consider this project a failure, because it would mean I hadn't learned anything. But I'm not ashamed with the way we did anything. My goal was to make sure every rehearsal was a step forward, and I believe we accomplished that.
Here are some fun facts:
--The choreography, which I was only barely involved with, was wonderful. It was innovative, it was story-driven, and it utilized each of the actors' strengths as a "mover." There were a few numbers that, as Leah and I would review them before teaching them to the actors, I thought would be too much for our cast to handle, but they always had it down within the first rehearsal they learned each dance. Well, except for one. The one dance that was the hardest for us to get right? "Touch Your Toes." The words are "Touch your toes/Touch your nose/Pat your neighbor's shoulder/Pretend you're warm/Very warm/Now pretend you're colder." Etc. We spent more time reviewing Touch Your Toes than any other number in the show. Strange! But true!
--My favorite rehearsal? We were discussing the Mad Tea Party and having trouble tracking Alice's dilemma in the scene, where the Hatter, Hare, and Doormouse all go off on their own conversations while Alice tries to keep up with all three at once. The table-talk was getting circular and frustrating, so we took a break, and when we came back I handed out some basketballs, a couple cones, and a few throw pillows. I told each of the guys to take some stuff and start playing some sort of game with it and told Alice that, while she was talking to one character, she had to be playing the same game he was, and that she had to change games when she changed conversations. The creativity that resulted was not only amazing, but also highly amusing. As the scene progressed, we saw Alice trying to take a nap, dribble a basketball, and play soccer within about eight seconds of each other. And from a dramatic standpoint, we never had trouble with that scene again. Now learning the lines on the other hand...
--I would tell my actors when we'd adjourn for the weekend, "If you think of a question you want to ask about a scene or your character, please feel free to call me. I know some people are like 'Don't bother me about work on the weekend!' but I'm not one of those people." This show is the first time that actually happened. I was getting into my car at Walgreen's when I got a VERY long text from an actor giving me their thoughts on a certain scene. I'm not going to lie, that absolutely made my night.
--The playwright came to see the show early in the run. She didn't like it. She saw the first half of the show again today and said that it had seen great improvements and I'd done a good job of addressing her comments. The only thing we'd changed? The caterpillar now had six arms instead of its original two. Lesson learned: if your show isn't faring well, try adding a couple of arms. That could be all that you're missing.
Thanks to everybody who worked on Alice in any capacity, from building door frames to making masks to being in the flipping show. Thanks also to everybody who came to see it, especially those of you who had to pay, and STILL came! Thanks for all the encouragements, the comments, the suggestions, and yes, the love.
`Wake up, Alice dear!' said her sister; `Why, what a long sleep you've had!'
`Oh, I've had such a curious dream!' said Alice, and she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about; and when she had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, `It WAS a curious dream, dear, certainly: but now run in to your tea; it's getting late.' So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.
At the beginning of the run, one of my coworkers asked if I was going to be "that" director, the one who watches every single performance and keeps his actors nervous, giving notes through the entire run. Well, no, not exactly. I did watch a LOT of performances, but that's because I think you can learn so much about your work from seeing it play repeatedly for a number of different audiences. I think I picked up something new about my work from just about every crowd I observed.
In a lot of ways, this was a fairly difficult show for me to do. It's the first full-scale show I directed that I didn't also write. It's the first musical I've had to direct. It was also sort of an awkward script, and we had to work in a lot of cases in order to make it nice and tight when the writing was drawn out, superfluous, and largely directionless. Also, the story itself is a challenge. It's more episodic than linear, and no one scene really lead into the next at any point in the story. It wasn't really until the second week of rehearsals that I was convinced I was going to be able to do a good job with it. Then, I had actors getting sick and missing rehearsals or sudden calls from the boss to sit in a meeting during rehearsal time. Challenges!
Overall, I'm very pleased with what we ended up with. I felt like everybody gave it their 100% from the first rehearsal, and nobody used any of the challenges listed above as an excuse for a subpar scene or performance. As an ensemble, we acknowledged our obstacles and worked at them until they worked. Were I to start the process anew, there are definitely things I would try differently. If that weren't the case, then I think I'd probably have to consider this project a failure, because it would mean I hadn't learned anything. But I'm not ashamed with the way we did anything. My goal was to make sure every rehearsal was a step forward, and I believe we accomplished that.
Here are some fun facts:
--The choreography, which I was only barely involved with, was wonderful. It was innovative, it was story-driven, and it utilized each of the actors' strengths as a "mover." There were a few numbers that, as Leah and I would review them before teaching them to the actors, I thought would be too much for our cast to handle, but they always had it down within the first rehearsal they learned each dance. Well, except for one. The one dance that was the hardest for us to get right? "Touch Your Toes." The words are "Touch your toes/Touch your nose/Pat your neighbor's shoulder/Pretend you're warm/Very warm/Now pretend you're colder." Etc. We spent more time reviewing Touch Your Toes than any other number in the show. Strange! But true!
--My favorite rehearsal? We were discussing the Mad Tea Party and having trouble tracking Alice's dilemma in the scene, where the Hatter, Hare, and Doormouse all go off on their own conversations while Alice tries to keep up with all three at once. The table-talk was getting circular and frustrating, so we took a break, and when we came back I handed out some basketballs, a couple cones, and a few throw pillows. I told each of the guys to take some stuff and start playing some sort of game with it and told Alice that, while she was talking to one character, she had to be playing the same game he was, and that she had to change games when she changed conversations. The creativity that resulted was not only amazing, but also highly amusing. As the scene progressed, we saw Alice trying to take a nap, dribble a basketball, and play soccer within about eight seconds of each other. And from a dramatic standpoint, we never had trouble with that scene again. Now learning the lines on the other hand...
--I would tell my actors when we'd adjourn for the weekend, "If you think of a question you want to ask about a scene or your character, please feel free to call me. I know some people are like 'Don't bother me about work on the weekend!' but I'm not one of those people." This show is the first time that actually happened. I was getting into my car at Walgreen's when I got a VERY long text from an actor giving me their thoughts on a certain scene. I'm not going to lie, that absolutely made my night.
--The playwright came to see the show early in the run. She didn't like it. She saw the first half of the show again today and said that it had seen great improvements and I'd done a good job of addressing her comments. The only thing we'd changed? The caterpillar now had six arms instead of its original two. Lesson learned: if your show isn't faring well, try adding a couple of arms. That could be all that you're missing.
Thanks to everybody who worked on Alice in any capacity, from building door frames to making masks to being in the flipping show. Thanks also to everybody who came to see it, especially those of you who had to pay, and STILL came! Thanks for all the encouragements, the comments, the suggestions, and yes, the love.
`Wake up, Alice dear!' said her sister; `Why, what a long sleep you've had!'
`Oh, I've had such a curious dream!' said Alice, and she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about; and when she had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, `It WAS a curious dream, dear, certainly: but now run in to your tea; it's getting late.' So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.
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