IN XANADU

Today I Got My First Hate Mail

2012-01-26T04:58:00.002-05:00

For those who came in late, I was hired to direct AIDA for one theatre later this summer and ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA for another theatre organization in the fall. Since I had a long break between the last show and the next one (always a dangerous time for me), one dark and stormy night I got an epiphany. It went something like this;

(1) Directing plays is not the grand fun it used to be. Directing plays is becoming

more like work with only occasional satisfactions, usually if or when an actor “gets it.”

     (2) Directing plays is becoming more a form of escape. For a few hours each night I get to yell at actors. And, while there is a marked degree of satisfaction in doing this, these are actors after all, and not real people.

     (3) Directing plays has become an excuse for not writing. I wish I could make some cute or caustic comment to blunt the truth of this statement, but I can’t. It is what it is.

     (4) I should avoid any epiphany I get on a dark and stormy night. I just know it’s never gonna be fun.

     So. In December I contacted both theatre groups, informing them that I would not be available to direct for them this season after all, citing with deep regret that, because of personal problems, I could not give these two shows the attention they deserved.

      Everything I had said was true and certainly heartfelt. These two plays had become very dear to me, and I was saddened with the knowledge that the visions I had created in my mind would never see the light of day. Still, after almost literally casting off this mantle, I felt a great sense of relief. I could actually go about my day and NOT think of blocking, abstract set designs, and spectacular lighting effects. My emails dropped instantly from 60 a day down to a quite delightful 4. (I was being shunned.)

      And now, my friend, we are up to date – or at least up to this morning.

“I spent a year preparing for this play,” the email began, “a YEAR! I set everything aside, my whole life, just to play this role.”

     At this rather dramatic point in the narrative, I must point out that I only vaguely know the person who sent me the email. And, although I am not at all opposed to pre-casting, I really prefer it to be known before auditions, and determined by me, rather than by the person who is auditioning, or is thinking of auditioning, or is planning to secure the role in question by other and hopefully aesthetically pleasing means.

     I will spare you the more terse (and colorful) portions of the missive in question. In essence I was informed that she considered my unexpected withdrawal as an attack on her personally, that as a result I may have permanently damaged the relationship between her and her family (no kidding, she said that.), that I most certainly must be evil incarnate, and – if she has anything to say about it – I would no longer be welcome in any theatre anywhere in the known world.

      And I must tell you, friend, I was singularly impressed. Although she was juvenile in the extreme, it didn’t negate the fact that she was thorough. She didn’t actually invoke the wrath of God, but she certainly pointed out that He had screwed up the day I was born.

     As for me, I consider this as just another milestone in my life, and points to the fact that I made the correct decision in stepping aside for awhile. I have not a doubt in the world that should I direct a play at some point in the future in which she is interested, all of the present rancor will simply be a fading and unimportant memory …

     … to her.

It's Done!

2012-01-02T18:34:00.000-05:00

I am no longer a theatre director.

Honestly, I look at those words and still get a chill. Directing plays for a number of theatres in middle America has not only been my main source of income for years, but has also provided warm enjoyment in the form of both identity and tact authority. In only two weeks my emails have dropped from sixty a day to four.

Pretty drastic, that. I feel like I have purposely thrown myself off the edge of the earth. And perhaps I have.

But I had to do it. I consider myself a writer, but the last play of mine to be produced was two years ago. And it was one I had written twenty years before …

“Are you going to go see it,” my agent asked.

“I’ve seen it a gazillion times,” I replied.

“There’s an extra couple of hundred in it for us if you attend on opening night.” Note the word US.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I replied. In the back of my mind I hear, “Once more unto the breach, dear friends …”

“Is it a long drive,” I ask.

“It’s in Glasgow, Scotland.”

“That’s a long drive,” I concede. I live in Ohio. I can’t even SEE Scotland from here.

So. I am out of the directing business and back into writing. I have a play in progress that I think will be the best thing I have written. It has been sitting twenty pages from completion for over a year now.

And I have taken a perverse enjoyment in watching the piranha-like fight over the two plays from which I have walked away. I will miss you, my friends – miss you dearly. My consolation will be that I will be no longer directing what I should be writing.

For the people I care about, far and near.

2011-12-25T11:25:00.002-05:00

Transitions

2011-12-22T02:02:00.003-05:00

     I am being called again ...

     I look over the past few years and realize with a growing clarity that I have missed my mark. I don't know how it happened. My goals certainly were clear enough, and for a period of time I was meeting them on a regular basis.

     Perhaps that was the problem. I never had a real struggle - doors always opened for me, and I had a lust for achievement that sent me down a number of most interesting paths.

     And I still lean heavily toward those activities in my life that have always been enjoyable, notably, directing stage plays. I joke - and it's true - that the best therapy in the world is to yell at people and constantly tell them where to go ... and they thank me for it. Apparently I have skill to some degree. I have one room filled with awards, certificates, engraved commendations, and on and on and on. Nice, but constantly in need of dusting.

     Would you like to know my secret? I'll tell you my secret - actually three secrets. And I will give them to you - no charge.

     When you cast a show, bring in the very best people you can find, and then have the good sense to stay out of their way while they do what they are supposed to be good at.

     In herding actors around the stage, make pretty pictures with people.

     Never ever ever ever bore your audience. Pace a play fast, so that the people watching your production will still have time for a drink or two after the show.

     That's it. All my secrets. Now go out there and direct something!

     ... because I won't. Maybe I'm finally growing up. I went to see a show the other night that had several talented friends in it. I couldn't wait for it to end so I could leave and ... and ...

     Ah, the mark I missed. I am directing plays I should be writing. I have a number of works in progress, inching painfully forward. It occurs to me that since I bill myself as a writer, perhaps I should actually take some time and write something.

     And there is a chance that I will.

     j

ANNIE, OVER AND OUT.

2011-12-07T15:09:00.001-05:00

Okay, so ANNIE opened this weekend. In the span of less than a week it went from being still dismally God awful to marginally acceptable. Like an elephant in a tutu it lumbered around the stage for two hours pretending to be Tinker Bell. The dozens of stage mothers were entranced. Their small unwashed spastic and tone deaf children had been magically transformed into small unwashed spastic and tone deaf stars of the stage. With the exception of a few seats available on opening night, the entire run is sold out! The theatre is making a $1,500 profit per performance.

It's not fair. It's just not fair.

Rotten orphans.

I'd love to give you more details, but I've been nursing a cold now for a week, lovingly given to me by a chemical weapon in pigtails.

ANNIE

2011-11-17T12:10:00.001-05:00

I'm acting as an unofficial coach (for want of a better word) on a production of ANNIE. I figure that if I have to suffer thru this, you should too.

OF MICE AND MEN final

2011-11-01T00:47:00.000-04:00

I kept five of the slats that made up part of the wall in the barn. They now hang in my living room.

j

j

2011-10-27T20:12:00.004-04:00

from j

The future ...?

2011-10-16T20:06:00.000-04:00

This I could afford ...

What Kind Of Fool

2011-10-05T20:59:00.002-04:00

      About a year ago I started experiencing a vague restlessness. I recognized this was not my normal wanderlust – I have always been drawn to what is around the next corner, over the next hill. This was not even my companion desire to slip away; to avoid the very repetition in which others find comfort.

      This was something new – a slowly growing “awareness” of my surroundings as if I had been living for years in a fog, and for no purposed reason on my part, that masking grey shroud was lifting.

      When did adequate become acceptable? When did mundane become marvelous? It occurred to me that I’ve been directing more and more plays of late. I thought I had been moving toward something. But what? True, the work is enjoyable, but the thrill only comes now when the shows are bigger and bigger and bigger …

      I’ve become jaded, complacent. Blindfolded.

      Last weekend my eyes were opened. For the first time I realized that I had been settling for considerably less than I could have. I had dreams once, and a very keen appreciation of more than manufactured truth and beauty.

      The dreams eroded. Can’t blame anyone but myself. I sold myself cheap.

      The dreams came back. Inspiration unexpectedly handed to me; a gift.

      What shall I do? What will I do?

      I shall take inspiration by the hand and look for bright horizons.

     This time I will settle for nothing less.

Writer Retreat

2011-10-01T13:10:00.000-04:00

In spite of popular belief, our Writer Retreat was not strictly for the birds.

j

Suzie! Please! Tell me it's not true!

2011-09-29T00:08:00.000-04:00

AIDA

2011-09-22T04:16:00.001-04:00

Today I was informed that of the directors applying to direct AIDA next spring, I had been selected.

A-A-A-A-A-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H!!!! E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-!!!! O-O-O-O-O-O-O-H-H-H-H-H!! (Pause for breath.) H-H-H-H-E-E-E-E-E-E-E. WHO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O!!! (Oh baby.)

I thanked the committee politely, and, in as dignified a manner as possible, informed them that I would be pleased to present my plans at the first opportunity.

... whatever those plans are. At this point I have no clue.

Memories

2011-09-19T13:48:00.002-04:00

Someone asked me about the music that influenced my life during the time when my life could still be influenced by music.

Her she is; the voice that defined a generation and the song that so reflected my own wander lust.

Xanadu

2011-09-18T18:01:00.001-04:00

A picture taken by my writing partner during her quest west, while researching background material for a book based on a play we co-authored.

Not exactly the way I pictured it, but the thought was there.

Post Script

2011-09-15T05:22:00.000-04:00

     Just learned that the production of OF MICE AND MEN that I directed has placed as the third largest ticket sales in the fifty year history of the theatre.

     La-de-dah.

     j

An Observation

2011-09-12T04:11:00.005-04:00

     I have been constant in directing one show after another lately. I am aware of that as a fact. Add the classes and seminars I occasionally teach plus the reviews I write, and I seem to find a barrage of projects in front of me at any given moment. I am rarely home (explaining, in part, why these posts normally find life at somewhere around three in the morning.)

    I tell myself these are all things I sincerely want to do. And this is true. I love my work.

    I tell myself that I am finite, that eventually there will be an ending, and that I should go and do now, while I can, because there will come a time when I will want to make other choices.

    I tell myself that, because of the constant string of shows, mostly successful, I am in demand - that if I stop, even for a relatively short period of time, I will be forgotten. No, I'm not being paranoid. This is also true - the nature of show business. What have you done for me lately - like, this morning?

    But events over the past few months (which you might refer to as "life") have given me pause. Is there the (of course) remote possibility that I'm using all this as an escape? Might there be other things worth doing, worth saying?

     I am tentatively reaching in new directions. So far I haven't had the greatest of successes. But I'll let you know how it all works out.

    j

Update

2011-09-11T06:13:00.001-04:00

I am presently working as a production advisor to a nearby theatre group now in rehearsal for a December production of ANNIE.

(And just where did that come from?!)

The director had called me to borrow the bunks used in OF MICE AND MEN. I was flattered, told her they belonged to the theatre that had produced the show, and thought that would be the end of the matter.

It wasn’t. She called again, this time with questions. Over the next few days we talked often and at some length. Since I had directed ANNIE (twice), it pleased me to point out a few land mines written into the show.

She offered me a position with the company. I declined. She offered again. I told her that, having directed this epic with thousands of smelly children and a dog, I would rather die than be involved with yet another production.

Call me Lazarus.

The first actual rehearsal was today. I had to admit I was impressed – the major roles have been cast with seriously talented people. On the other hand, surrounding them were the two dozen or so “orphans” and the equal number of stage mothers (who could have given Hitler lessons in aggression).

Suddenly I remembered why I hated this show with a passion. Too late.

Oh well. The cookies are free and I get along great with the dog.

Wanderin' Star

2011-09-04T09:20:00.000-04:00

Art work

2011-09-01T15:35:00.002-04:00

OF MICE AND MEN closed, as all plays do. The set was taken down, dismantled, some sections placed in storage for future use, some portions deemed of little or no value, destroyed.

But this set was different - literally a work of art. A number of people involved in the production (including the art director) rescued sections of "skin" as they were heading toward large no-nonsense dumpsters. I have an entire section of what had been the barn.

These panels are now momentarily occupying space in my den. They are safe and saved. When I get an afternoon free, I plan to have them mounted and framed. I already know where they will hang.

What do you think?

At Sixes And Seven eights ...

2011-08-30T05:09:00.002-04:00

The bewitching hour never announces its arrival. I wait for it, start writing in faith, and discover it has been waiting for me – or, more often passed me by, offended that I might presume upon the nature of the beast.

So sit closer, please. I am uncertain tonight. I am two-dimensional, desperately in need of taking definitive actions. The speeches are all in my mind – complete – edited and amended and augmented and articulated a hundred times. Tiny stitches in an old sock. But I am unsure, sore afraid of not being taken seriously or worse – being laughed at! So I hesitate, and by example live in parable. Who makes up these silly rules, anyway?!

The play closed yesterday. The set is gone. Bare stage remains. As I have done so many times before, I stand there, alone, listening to echoes of echoes. It was a good show, excellent by the standards of this theatre – two standing ovations. And I should feel a sense of relief – this is the first time in 15 months that I haven’t been in production or pre-production for one show or another. But I feel nothing inside – empty. Why is that, do you suppose? Why this rush from one project to the next to the next? What void do I pretend to fill? I know the answer, of course. Fulfillment is finite. What increases one person diminishes someone else. I won’t have that. For the life of me, I will not.

So maybe a vacation is in order – I haven’t taken one in at least ten years. At the moment the orient has some appeal. I’ll send you some postcards from Xanadu!

25 Thinks You May Not Know About Me

2011-08-25T15:49:00.004-04:00

I’m doing this under duress. I prefer being a more private person.
The vast majority of my friends are involved in the Arts. Talented people allow me to breathe.
My youngest friend is 14. My oldest friend is dead.
I avoid other people who are Mensa (with a few exceptions). They are not nearly as provocative or interesting as they think they are (with a few exceptions.)
I consider myself a gypsy. I’ve already stayed far too long in one place.
My hobbies are horseback riding, sailing, and fencing. And I used to be damn good at two of ‘em.
I’m learning that true intimacy with a few people may not be such a useless practice after all.
I’m running out of things to say already.
I firmly believe that children should be seen and not often.
I think marriage is a wonderful state. But I feel the same way about Nebraska, so what do I know?
My favorite author is Dorothy Parker. She and Darth Vader could have been bff.
I’ve always been a Feminist. There was a time when that meant something.
I never wear socks; only wear shoes when I’m out in public. (I don’t think that has anything to do with being a Feminist, but if they ever need a sock burning, I'm there.)
I like rum an’ coke, Greek salad, baked potatoes, and a really good steak – my favorite meal. But I’m open to new experiences. (Sam? Are you getting this?)
I am at my most creative between three-thirty and five in the morning. I have idly wondered why that is so.
I bore my dog to sleep on a regular basis, but he loves me anyway.
I appreciate having friends in Canada and Europe. They give me a more balanced perspective on where I live … and where they live. I wish I had a friend in Russia. Or Nebraska.
I just got SKYPE – yesterday held a video conversation on my computer. This is absolutely positively the best toy ever!
I used to write plays because I thought I had something to say. I was wrong, but that realization has never slowed me down. (Nor anybody else.)
I used to be a Republican. Then I became a Democrat. Now I’m looking wistfully toward limited monarchy. Come on, people – there’s gotta be SOMETHING out there that works!
My ancestors were German and American Indian. They fought a lot – often against each other. Still do. Early on they worked as whalers, mule skinners, and educators. I’m the black sheep in the family.
My favorite composers are Sergei Rachmaninoff, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Paul Simon, Scott Joplin, and George Gershwin. I plan to invite them over for lunch on Tuesday.
Some of my friends are gay. Some of my friends are not. Most of the time we get along just fine.
I've done almost everything in life that I've wanted to do, and I think not too many people can say that.
And then there is you, managing to hang in through all my ranting, highs and lows. Thank you – you are pretty cool. And appreciated.

Okay. There. I did it. Your turn.

Late Night Again

2011-08-23T04:19:00.006-04:00

My occasional dip into a melancholy mood always catches me by surprise. Slowly I become aware of the signs – it’s 4ish in the morning, I’m sitting here nursing the last of the rum an’ coke I poured several hours ago, and those who are dear to me are not within the arm’s length of where I want them to be.

In the background I hear Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. It could as easily be Willie Nelson (except that is whisky sipping music, and I don’t normally keep a bottle of whiskey in the house.) Or it could as easily be a tune by Hank Williams Senior – except for that, you need to be sitting beside strangers in a dingy bar where you can truly feel all alone in the world.

So Rachmaninoff it is. A kindred spirit in a way. A tortured soul (largely of his own making.) His true brilliance came when he was relatively young, and he spent most of his career chasing his own shadow. He was artistic, and by being sensitive he was easily offended. I don’t know if he smoked, but he did drink some (or so I’m told), and, by being the poster boy for the Russian fatalistic temperament, he found women – especially in America – were particularly drawn to him. When I was studying music theory seriously I discovered he had been the teacher of my teacher. I heard stories … perhaps that’s why I feel a relationship. If he was here now we’d both be sipping rum an’ coke and listening to his music. And probably crying for no good reason I know. And feeling good about it.

The artist on this recording is Yuja Wang, who has done just enough to start attracting attention. Rachmaninoff was a huge hulking man, with hands like meat hooks. Ms Wang appears somewhat diminutive, with not the physical strength to attack some of the passages the way they were intended. On the other hand … Ms Wang has dexterity the composer could never have matched on his best day.

So it’s a draw. Enjoy.

JUST A THOUGHT ...

2011-08-16T21:34:00.001-04:00

      Huh.

      OF MICE AND MEN is winding down. Granted, it has a couple of more weeks to run … but it’s going well – very well. And once a show opens, there’s not a whole lot for a director to do beyond keeping the show from evolving. In fact, most directors depart after opening night, leaving already strict adherence to vision in the hands of a Stage Manager who speaks directly to God, and hands out judgments accordingly.

      And …

      My next official (read “paid”) commitment is Shakespeare’s ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA, scheduled to open in August of 2012, with auditions next June. The two leads have been signed already, and I’ve had initial conversations with both the costumer and set designer. Blah blah blah. In fact, the entire crew has been optioned, and I am now simply waiting to audition the supporting cast ten months from now …

     Yawn. Ten months. Being left to my own devices is not a good thing for a lengthy period of time. I tend to tap dance eagerly into marked fields of land mines. (If you don't believe me, please let me introduce you to colorful and expensive ex-wives.)

     And so …

I just learned that the same theatre producing OF MICE AND MEN now will offer the Elton John/Tim Rice musical AIDA next May, (as a replacement for something). Auditions are in February, and they are suddenly looking for a crew and a director … Out of curiosity I inquired, and by the merest of coincidences, my entire A&C crew offered to step in. All that remains is for me to decide if I want to apply to direct … This is, of course, a rhetorical pondering. OF COURSE I applied!

Director interviews are in mid September. I’ll let you know how it goes. I presume the decision will be shortly thereafter. I’ll let you know how that goes, too.

Things are lookin’ up.

That’s the way, uh-huh uh-huh, I like it, uh-huh uh-huh …

Monday, 5pm. Everything at Sixes and Sevens

2011-08-08T20:26:00.000-04:00

I’m bored. Rare for me. Recovering from a quite nasty infection which kept my physical activities at a painful (an understatement) minimum for over a month now. Drugs are definitely kicking in. Feeling better, but still officially “on leave.” I wanna go play. Something. Somewhere.

Just finished reading “Metaphoric SilverBand,” a post from my favorite writer, Julie. If you have the inclination, check it out. It touched me on several levels. Maybe it’s the drugs. Yeah, I can tell myself that …

Dear friend Malmesbury (if I may be so bold.) A White Castle slider purports to be a sandwich, square, which would fit comfortably in a teacup. It appears to suggest a foundation of a ground meat (of undisclosed origin) cooked with aged onion chips. This delicacy is then almost surgically inserted into a spongy bun lightly brushed with their trademark grease. To appreciate this treat fully, a most solemn ritual is required; rise early, work hard, only have a salad with perhaps a biscuit on the side for lunch. Skip the evening meal altogether. Instead, gather perhaps a half dozen close friends near and start drinking heavily just before the sun starts to set. (The time here is critical.) At somewhen between 3:30 and 4 in the morning, boldly invade your unsuspecting White Castle restaurant and DEMAND six sliders. With a little practice, you will be able to swallow each one without even a pretense of chewing. I guarantee, promise, and solemnly avow that manna from heaven could not possibly taste better! This will be followed by a few hours of unconsciousness (that you may claim as sleep if you wish.) Likely you won’t have any idea where you are when you wake, and be wrinkled both outside and in. You will most certainly be surprised that you had not died during the night, coupled with the fervent wish that you had.

I have acquired a new friend. I reviewed her in a play, and when I asked for cast pictures, discovered she had taken many of them. She is a truly remarkable photographer – every picture she takes is interesting and tells a story. I have introduced her to a local organization accustomed to promoting the outrageously gifted. Unfortunately she is 15 and I am certainly old enough to be judged as having ulterior motives by people who don’t know me. A shame sometimes that life is the way it is. I feel cheated.

Friday is our next performance of OF MICE AND MEN. The play is awesome! It took leaps during the last days of rehearsal, certainly beyond my initial concepts. I think that if I have a “talent” at all, it’s in casting truly gifted people, putting them on a stage, and then being wise enough to stay out of the way while they do what they do. (And, trust me, I’m not being modest. This happens too often to be coincidental.)

So. Done now. I didn’t get to take my sprint around the neighborhood, but I’m learning to live with disappointment …

Oh Yeah, There's That ...

2011-08-04T12:36:00.000-04:00

OF MICE AND MEN opens Friday. Finally. In spite of everything that has happened - certainly I've not been as physically and mentally there as I normally would have been. But both cast and crew had been wisely selected, and our collective vision has remained remarkably intact. It's going to be an excellent production, with moments of great sad beauty and soul-wrenching honesty. As with every show I direct, my goal is to be a tough act to follow. I think we're gonna pass that benchmark without even breathing heavy.

For The Record

2011-08-01T14:43:00.000-04:00

I have received several snide comments recently suggesting that – based on blog comments I’ve made – I must certainly hate and/or enjoy degrading the entire population of Great Britain.

I was shocked – enough so that I feel obliged to respond.

So let’s be clear here. I love the Brits. When you are privileged to befriend the common individual (and not just the façade), they are (generally) funny, loving, generous, inventive – in other words just like the Italians and the Russians and the Greeks and the Germans (well, maybe not the Germans) and ta-da – just like us!

There are some interesting similarities. The English largely poke fun at their class distinctions. We claim to not even have class distinctions, but take our social levels very seriously.

In England they speak English. In this country we speak dubious gibberish . The comforting factor here is that both nations butcher pronunciations equally.

In certain parts of the British Empire a man in a dress is called a Scot. In this country that same man would be called “under arrest.”

I learned to drink beer at room temperature from a friend who lived for years near the white cliffs of Dover. (I don’t know if they still do that, but it doesn’t matter – I’m hooked.) And I make the trek to Disney World in Florida every chance I get because that’s the only place I know where I can get a real Stout.

On the other hand, the English eat … something … stuffed into skin that revolts me to even think about. In fairness here, we encourage the unsuspecting to swallow without thinking meaty time bombs called “White Castle Sliders,” so …

Both Great Britain and the United States take great pleasure in royalty worship. The only difference is that in this country we hunt for stupidity to idolize, while they have to wait for someone to marry into it.

With all that said, there is one mystery that eludes me. When a politician in this country makes a pronouncement, somewhere in England his equal believes it! I mean – honestly – haven’t you learned anything yet?! (I admit to a big prejudice here. I like Tony Blair. I always thought of him as being an honest and honorable man, and if he hadn’t followed the lead of a former US President quite so closely, he might not have been so rightly dumped, and set an example of something.)

But what do I know? I listened to the same people HE did.

So, We clear now?

Next time we will talk about the Russians, okay? I like them (the people, not the politics). They have a fatalistic outlook on life – enjoy today because tomorrow the bomb may go off in Moscow (and they’re not at all sure if it’s one of ours or could be one of theirs …)

This has been fun. Comments?

I Have This Suddenly Brilliant Idea.

2011-07-29T19:15:00.003-04:00

     I have been watching the news with ever increasing feelings of gloom and depression. The United States, starting with naked greed and galloping stupidity, augmented by indifference and pomposity, has been in a monetary free fall for some time, heading toward a financial depression the likes of which this world has never seen.

     Even today – moments ago – I heard that Congress is debating a bill that, in theory, would keep the country from defaulting on debts that will become due in just a few days. Only – funny this – it’s already acknowledged that the bill will be voted down after the tedious debaters have been sated.

     Here’s my first idea. When a foreign country acts in a way we consider irresponsible, we impose sanctions against them. At this dramatic point in time wouldn't it be quite reasonable for the UN to invite Poland or France or Spain to come over and sink a few concrete barges in New York harbor until we come to our senses?

     Or – here’s an even better idea. All the people “in charge,” from the President on down, keep telling me that they all work for me, and that if I’m not happy with their work, I’m certainly encouraged to vote someone else into office.

     Well, I gotta tell ya, I am NOT happy with your work, and I’ve tried that “voting someone else into office” thing, and that hasn’t seen much in the way of change, either.

     So here’s my second idea. If the Congress and the Senate and the Executive branch all work for me, sorry guys, your efforts are appreciated but not good enough. In other words, you are fired. No, actually those ARE the words. Your services are no longer required. As of today. Now. Please turn in your keys at the front desk by four o’clock this afternoon, and your personal property may be picked up in cardboard boxes on the loading dock starting at nine tomorrow morning.

     At the same time, suddenly we have a large number of employment opportunities. “Line forms on the left,” we can say, and “no experience necessary.” (Certainly that would be the truth.) Everybody is on a 90 day trial period. Love it!

     Or finally … if all else fails, we look up the person or organization or business who is in fact running Great Britain these days and tell them “we were only kidding” a couple of hundred years ago and “couldn’t they take a joke” and “it was all just a misunderstanding” and stuff like that … (God knows they’ve bought our line before. Maybe if we promise to give India back to them … or Nebraska.)

     Thoughts?

Half the circle complete,

2011-07-26T15:30:00.000-04:00

This is the way it begins and ends - bare stage. I paced off every inch, side to side, front to back - walls here, doors here, furniture ... before the first tape mark was placed marking an entrance, I could see it all - every stick in place.

Here IS every stick in place, Oddly, this is very close to my original design, and a first. Normally I oversee day-to-day construction, making changes where inspiration moves me. In this case I handed drawings,color swatches and various cryptic smudges over to artist Kat Wexler, and - because life got in the way, I basically walked away until she proudly/hesitantly led me into the completed setting last night.

I had pointed out craggy texture from a few of my favorite Max Parrish paintings, and asked "Can you do the walls like this?" She could and did. The walls you see here are not painted. Instead, various bright colors were mixed with wet plaster, and the colors were trowled on (rather than painted).

Wow. I love it.

But the bottom line is this; does it work? Granted, this is a Steinbeck work, dark by nature. But is it too oppressive, too distracting, or does it enhance the mood? Here are a couple of rehearsal cast pictures. You tell me.

5:48am

2011-07-19T06:11:00.000-04:00

I've been writing on scene three of THE TEAPOT COLLECTOR for about three hours now. I don't know why. I woke up out of my usual mildly fitful sleep with dialogue going through my mind and I knew I wouldn't rest until I got it down on paper - (or whatever the electronic equivalent to paper might be.)

My dog Willie mumbled something under his breath as he begrudgingly vacated the corner of the couch I claim as my own. He watched me for awhile until his eyes glazed over and he went to sleep sitting up. At some point he must have fallen over, because all I see sticking up from the far side of the couch pillow are two hind paws and a bit of tail. Something else to add to my colorful resume - I bore dogs.

So. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that for whatever reason, I'm writing again. I thought I never would.

j.

Update

2011-07-16T21:56:00.002-04:00

The funeral went well. (And you may certainly interpret that comment to mean any funeral that is now behind you, has gone well.) I lost count of the number of cards and emails I received. I invited five dear people to support (protect) me, and straight out lie for me if I did something more inane or inappropriate than usual. In addition, well over a hundred of my theatre friends attended the funeral. I have not received any complaints about silverware missing, but I don’t recall much in the way of silverware being there in the first place. Looking back, I was – and still am – beyond expressing how I feel. Absolutely … I am a very private person. This outpouring of love falls well beyond my experience, so I have little with which to compare it (and, unusual for me, utterly at a loss for words.)

I love my daughter, miss her already. But she would be the first to remind me that this funeral business is morbid at best, and then scold me (with one of those looks) if I thought of her any way other than the way we always were together – at ease to speak or not, because we understood each other in a way that didn’t need words. And she would remind me that we will meet again, be together again soon enough.

So when I think of her, she is always smiling, so I smile as well.

Rachel Mock

2011-07-15T21:27:00.004-04:00

This is Rachel Mock.

She is young, attractive, witty, smart, shy in a most charming way. Five minutes after you meet her you will fall in love with her. Guaranteed.

Unless somebody gives her a sword …

Or a gun … (photo by Craig Lawrence)

Rachel is the fight coordinator for our production of OF MICE AND MEN, and she is very good at what she does.

Every once in awhile I've been fortunate enough to inlist the services of just the right person for the job. Every once in awhile I've been fortunate enough to actually recognize greatness on the way up.

Watch for this one. You will see her again.

j

Funny, I Never Quite Get Tired Of This.

2011-07-03T19:30:00.000-04:00

Teapots and daughters

2011-07-01T21:01:00.000-04:00

Because I never saw a teapot I didn't want, my daughter gave me this one for Christmas ....

.. and because she wanted to be sure I understood the sentiment behind the gift, she made and included the sign.

My daughter

2011-06-22T00:09:00.000-04:00

My Candle Burns At Both Ends

2011-06-15T00:25:00.002-04:00

My candle burns at both ends,

it will not last the night.

But ah my foes, and oh, my friends,

it gives a lovely light.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Auditions for OF MICE AND MEN are in 5 days. Auditions for ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA are in 14 months. There are people eager to start work on both productions now. Uh-huh. Unfortunately I'm one of them. Suggestions?

My writing partner completed the writing of her novel based on the play we co-authored. I'm most interested in reading the ending. In the play the bad guy is eventually dispatched by the good guy. In an early version of her book, the bad guy (who is not overly bright) tries to shoot it out with the three thousand attendees at a police marksmanship competition ... (or something to that effect. I remember it was a whole bunch of people). In a way I'm sorry she's not going with that ending - it had a Butch Cassidy sort of feeling about it. So now she has this new ending that she is excited about. Since she is an excellent writer, I can't wait.

I got a new stove today. Not that anything was wrong with the old one. A friend of mine inherited furniture and asked several of us if we wanted any of it. The stove was better than mine - more bells and whistles, so I said yes. It arrived today. I put the old one out on the curb for garbage pick-up tomorrow ... (and yes, I called first). Ten minutes after I set it out, an old man in an old truck picked it up and drove away. Free enterprise. Don't ya love it?

While the movers were here, they carried an antique library-style bookcase from my living room up to my study on the third floor. I had loaned it out for a play, and didn't at all remember it being that heavy when it came down. I have my living room back. My joy knows no bounds.

All the foreign restaurants within 40 miles of my door are either Mexican or Oriental. I don't mind, I suppose, but a little variety would be appreciated. I mean, if I want an occasional real draft Guinness, why do I have to go all the way to Disney World to get it? Not fair. Other people eat at English Pubs and Russian Tea Rooms. Other people eat Hungarian and Spanish and Italian and German. Here even Tim Horton's has "Americanized." Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h!!

The Republican Party has started gathering forces together (already) for the next Presidential election. With one or two exceptions, the candidates are a pretty sorry looking bunch. There is talk that Sarah Palin might run. Every Democrat in the world hopes so - I'm convinced the woman is an idiot.

Speaking of which, the other Sarah (Ferguson) appeared on TV earlier today. She confessed to the world that for years she has been an "utter and complete fool." To the best of my knowledge, not one person has disagreed with her.

On the other hand, don't you think we need at least a few people like these in our lives? I mean, the occasional cold water of creative utter stupidity thrown in your face causes at least a jot of involuntary response in even the most jaded of temperaments.

Aw well. Sorry. Sort of got off the theatre fence tonight, if that's what you were expecting. Sometimes - too often - with the work I do and love, it's far too easy to forget that there's another world if I simply choose to see it. And Will Rogers was right - "I never met a man I didn't like." And that's how I feel as well. If I run out of stories, it's because I've stopped listening.

As before, it's late, and I feel much better after our conversation. You really are the best of company.

Another Openin' Another show ...

2011-06-07T22:26:00.001-04:00

     Auditions for OF MICE AND MEN are now two weeks away. I'm ready. I've augmented the crew I had on the last play with a few specialists - one being a fight coordinator. I've never used a fight coordinator before. This one is warm and friendly - until she has a gun or a dagger in her hands. I've not worked with her before, but I've seen the results of her efforts. Impressive. Should be interesting.

     About every actor I know has contacted me - they all want in the play. If half of them actually show up for auditions, I will have a galloping good cast. And of course it helps that I have one of the best scripts I've ever worked with.

    The play has a large number of men and only one woman. Since the main woman's dressing room is quite large, I'm tempted to move her somewhere and use that area for farm animals. (I'll have to look - I'm sure there's a form that covers things like this.) Several women I know are interested in the role - it's a chance for an actress to die on stage ... on purpose.

    More relaxed now. Paperwork is done, forms forms forms, audition forms, character break-downs, rehearsal schedules, budgets, publicity, yadda yadda yadda. The "director packet" of papers alone is a dozen pages long. I suppose this should bother me, except I have no plan to actually read any of it. I've worked with this group before, I know what they want. As long as the shows I direct for them make money, everybody is happy.

     I do miss the days before spirit-killing contracts - when a handshake was enough.

     I've had almost all my pre-show meetings. One more to go. I meet with the set decor artist on Friday. I love the designs I've seen so far. The set is going to be light and airy. At the moment I don't know who is going to build the set. At the moment I don't care.

     And there you have it - a theatre director's version of a pre-flight check list. I'll let you know how it goes. Count on it.

j

Pictures

2011-06-03T22:24:00.000-04:00

Facebook offered to assemble a collage of my friends. This is way too cool.

In Flanders Fields

2011-05-30T18:52:00.003-04:00

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

- Lt. Colonel John McCrae, 1915

My time of day ...

2011-05-30T03:41:00.001-04:00

     There's a song from GUYS AND DOLLS that starts out "My time of day is the dark time, a couple of deals before dawn ..." I think that fits me. The quiet outside my door seems to express the quiet I feel inside.

     I am tired, tired. Weary. Staging two major plays back to back is bad enough, but yesterday I was forwarded a message from the witch who manages the theatre building we just vacated, accusing us of stealing furniture! Fortunately someone in our group reached her (today) before I could. Just as well. Tell me - have you ever met someone who irritates you just by breathing? That's her. For the past year I've dealt with her through others, because when I'm forced to face her directly, in no time at all I'm so angry that I become something less than articulate.

     My writing partner is now finishing the book based on the play we co-authored. Watching her progress has been fascinating to me. She has fleshed out countless allusions and given depth to the words that normally would only come alive when spoken by an actor. A year or so ago we started writing a novel together that remains in rough draft and wanting an ending. Perhaps when she finished this one, we may go back to that one. I think I hope so.

     All quiet on the political front at the moment. The economy is so poor that schools across the country are drastically cutting back on arts funding of any sort. In a way this is benefiting our theatre group, as we have taken on a number of fresh-faced interns, eager to please. (And we, of course, are eager for them to be eager.)

     There is one small announcement that is of interest. It is rumored that Sarah Palin may soon announce that she is running for President. I think that would be grand. She is the eternal fountain from which any number of genuinely funny jokes spring fourth. I have looked over the group of Republicans who have already announced their lackluster candidacy. They are a singularly bland bunch.

     I saw on television that former California Governor Schwarzenegger has announced that he is indeed the father of the boy born to one of his servants. It's sad to admit that we, the people, are so jaded that this crumb of information will do nothing but enhance his career as a movie actor.

     I have been truly blessed by the fact that, although it has rained fiercely over the past few months, my house has neither been blown nor washed away. Since I live on the sheltered side of a high hill, storms tend to go around rather than over me. The water in the stream below would have to rise by more than 80 feet to invade my backyard.

     I have added another name to my BFF list. It is "Open The Pod Bay Doors, Hal." If you like movie lore and observations, you might find this man interesting.

     It is now twenty minutes to four, and the sun is throwing pre-shadows over the city to my right. I think I can sleep now, fully sated. As always, thanks for the company.

j

Updates

2011-05-24T15:23:00.005-04:00

ZACK has closed. It was a good play. The best performance was the last one - it took the cast awhile to "get it." To properly express casual British humor is generally a blue mystery to a number of American performers (certainly to the ones in my cast.) Eventually we discovered where the laughs came and mimicked the actions that provoked positive responses, without (I suspect) never being entirely sure why the reactions came. Clueless we were. But eventually the show took a lumbering leap forward, drew audiences, made money, and everybody went away happy ...

I was not there for set strike. I was working on another project the day the walls were dismantled and the furniture was covered and trucked away. Just as well - not only did the show close. but the theatre as well. The building will be turned into office space, and the auditorium - minus the stage - will become the temporary home for a church. I wish them well - and also luck. The ghost of Richard III roams the halls, as does Eliza Doolittle, Puck, Major Barbara, and Puff the Magic Dragon.

I've started work - pre-production stuff - on the next play I'm directing, OF MICE AND MEN. Different play, different theatre. I've been given a real luxury here - allowed to name my own crew. So, with the exception of the stage manager, I brought the entire ZACK crew over to the new project. Happy me.

So. There you are. And there I am. New project. New goals. New expectations. And I'm all set to start, anxious even. I'm starting tomorrow. Right after lunch. Tomorrow. Sometime tomorrow.

j

Night lite

2011-05-18T03:02:00.003-04:00

It's nearish to 1 a.m. Close enough.

ZACK opened to a quite receptive audience Friday night. The show was well received, and the comments were all positive, if carefully considered. What does that mean? I had hoped for gibbering hysteria. On the other hand, the after-the-show crowd hung around until we had to (politely) throw them out in order to close the theatre. So I suppose we did well. This production was not scheduled for a review, and that's too bad. I would have liked validation for our efforts.

I'm scheduled to review HAMLET for a small theatre group tomorrow night. I've seen the actor in the lead role before, and have always respected and admired his work. In appearance and speech, he reminds me of James Mason. I plan to have an enjoyable evening.

Speaking of Shakespeare, I have just committed to direct ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA next spring. Although the announcement won't be made public by the theatre for at least another month, I have already received a number of phone calls from talented and heavy-breathing actresses. I think I'm gonna like my job.

In the interest of full disclosure, I will mention that I'm directing OF MICE AND MEN, starting in mid June, and have been receiving phone calls from men interested - very - in the lead roles. Yeah yeah. Wait your turn.

A friend of mine is directing a play - I don't know the name - which opens the first of June. She asked me today if I had a rowboat I could loan her for the production and/or several large fake boulders. As it turns out, I have a Styrofoam boulder. I used it in an Easter cantata, and the thing has been in the trunk of my car ever since.

My writing partner attended a meeting of movie makers (and the purpose of this gathering was not disclosed to me). She was the only writer, and coincidentally, the only woman. After the meeting she started a ten minute script, and dyed her hair brunette. Okay ...

Would you call a friend and ask if he or she had any large fake rocks you could borrow? I'm not sure which bothers me more - that she asked, or that I did.

Well, it's now close onto 3 a.m. and I've rambled on enough to bore myself to the point of sleep. As always, I've enjoyed your company.

j

ZACK, part 2

2011-05-10T06:22:00.001-04:00

The play opens this Friday. Dialogue is heavy into character building. I'm beginning to have a greater respect for the playwright - the humor manages to be subtle and broad at the same time.

I've Americanized the work in that I'm not having the cast speak with a British accent (which we do badly). The costuming reflects an American perception of British dress, rather than an attempt to be realistic. This became painfully obvious when I stumbled across the London cast picture, above, and compared it to our own, below.

ZACK

2011-04-10T23:42:00.000-04:00

Started construction on the set for the play ZACK.

There are no walls, just the bare frames where walls would be. It might be really really good.

... or it might be really really not.

Saturday morning, 9:42

2011-04-09T10:32:00.000-04:00

     It's Saturday morning. I'm sitting here watching CNN for headlines. I just finished eating a chocolate doughnut that I most certainly should not have even considered ...

     Last night I saw THE LATE CHRISTOPHER BEAN at a theatre that had at one time been an automobile service station - intimate, but oddly enough it works. I finished writing the review (comments were positive, but not rave) at 2:55 this morning. I think fast, but I type slowly. I like to look at words on whatever passes for paper in a computer.

     At 5 this afternoon I'll drive to a smallish church to direct the rehearsal for an original Easter opera (that may prove to be not terrible after all. I'm a firm believer in miracles, and always surprised when they happen.) By 7:30 I will have driven like a madman to the theatre where I'm directing a rehearsal for the play ZACK. (And no, I don't usually schedule two different rehearsals in the same day.)

     But all that is later. Right now I'm fighting the dog for doughnut crumbs. (And I'm winning! He's faster than I am, but I'm bigger.) Nope. Sorry. His eyes just gazed over and he went to sleep. Great. My dog thinks I'm boring.

     I'm over my cold. Sorta. More or less. In a way, I regret it. When I'm well, it's much harder to get people to peel the skin off of grapes for me. Oh well, I'm accustomed to certain hardships.

     My best friend is selling most of her stuff and planning on moving into a tiny house. (Literally a tiny house - a home built on a truck bed.) I've thought about it. I've always wanted to run away and join a gypsy caravan, and live in a wagon ... with a fully functioning bathroom ... and another wagon following behind with my stuff. Maybe two wagons. Three at the most.

     So. There you have it. If I quit now, I think i can squeeze in a nap before lunch.

     I love Saturdays, don't you?

j

Cough cough

2011-03-30T21:20:00.000-04:00

I have a cold. Being a man, I need someone to fluff my pillow and hand me the remote.

cough hack ...

j

Send In The Clowns

2011-03-22T14:58:00.004-04:00

I know. We haven't talked in awhile.

My fault. It's been far too easy to sink up to my eyes into the warm dark mire of unthinking, Time goes by - days, weeks - so quickly and quietly that they escape notice. Only minutes drag on forever. Why is that, do you suppose? (Rhetorical question).

I finished writing a play I started five years ago. That was good. Oddly enough, (considering my laid-back approach to writing it), thirty seconds after typing "The play has ended," I emailed it to a producer friend of mine. She almost immediately emailed me back, saying she would read it right away. I'm sure there's some significance to all of this, but it escapes me. (Hey, I just write this stuff. What happens to it after that I try to stay away from - as much as I can - so long as the checks come in.) Anyway, if something good comes of it, I'll let you know and we'll go out and have a drink together. Sound good?

I'm on the board of a local theatre, and we decided to have a yard sale. People who have NEVER come to see a play have called and written, concerned that we were closing. When I tell them we are simply selling things we couldn't give away, they are disappointed. In case you are interested, we still have a few boxes of something totally indescribable. I can make you a real deal ...

Two weeks ago I applied at a theatre to direct WHITE CHRISTMAS the musical. I like this group, have worked for them several times. They leave me alone, and are less than 20 miles from where I live. Nice. Yesterday they phoned me, and, instead of WHITE CHRISTMAS, I was offered OF MICE AND MEN. I accepted. Close enough.

I have two more job interviews pending. One is for a play in the spring of 2012, and the other is for a theatre I've yet to work for. (They like me. I gave them a low price on a bunch of old flats and platforms last used in the War of the Roses.)

So there you are. I know there are a few more tidbits of information to throw at you that are every bit as uninteresting as all this is, but I'll save that for another minute or two.

And how has your day been going? You've been pretty quiet out there lately.

j

For Julie, who liked the last one ...

2011-02-28T16:12:00.000-05:00

2011-01-29T14:33:00.000-05:00

Set Design

2011-01-16T18:38:00.000-05:00

I'm most comfortable with the play ZACK, which I'm next scheduled to direct. It is a silly comedy in the best British tradition ... (and absolutely nobody does silly tradition on purpose better than the British.)

It bothered me somewhat that, the way the play is constructed, funny sequences are implied, occurring off stage. (Not at all uncommon for plays written in the 1930's.)

So I have designed a set where silly can be appreciated to the fullest extent.

Jesus Christ Superstar (1973) - Everything's Alright

2011-01-15T00:58:00.000-05:00

Finally

2011-01-06T17:28:00.001-05:00

I Am Sent with Broom Before, To Sweep The Dust Behind The Door.

2011-01-06T05:31:00.001-05:00

I have been asked to edit Shakespeare's A MID SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM for production by a local theatre group. Someone from their group (apparently) saw my staging of RICHARD III and approved of the deletions I had made in that work.

"Bring A MID SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM down to under two hours," I was asked, "and shorten the monologues."

I nodded and agreed. Since Shakespeare's comedy is only about 75 minutes long, I knew that length would not be an issue. (When I edited RICHARD, it was to bring the running time down from five to two and a half hours.)

Editing the monologues is another matter altogether. I see two small paragraphs that appear redundant. The more I study this playwright, the more impressed I become. He approaches an issue from every angle. And, for some reason the light has been turned on, and I'm looking at Shakespeare from a fresh, rather than my normally jaded, viewpoint. My impression is that Shakespeare may be OVER analyzed, so galloping ignorance is not always a bad thing. My inclination is to simply sit back and enjoy the ride.

Aside from that, I'm starting to put together the first notes for the other play I'm contracted to direct at the theatre where dear RICHARD was staged, The play is called ZACK, written in 1920 by Harold Brighouse. I've never heard of it. Have you? The saving grace here is that I appreciate the British humor from that time, so I anticipate that ZACK and I will get along just fine.

This is my favorite time of the year. Mosr of the theatres available to me have now picked their next seasons, and will soon be looking for directors. Since I've been fortunate enough to be involved with two "hits" in a row, I'm in a good position to get the shows that are of interest to me.

And ...

Enough for now. Corners of the night sky have now streaks of dark crimson. Morning is not far away and my bed is calling.

j

The Problem, Dear Brutus

2011-01-03T04:20:00.000-05:00

It’s one forty-one in the morning, and the topic for tonight is the obvious and monumental decline of the United States of America as a world power.

There. I’ve said it. Are you happy now? We’ve had it. Done. Bye-bye. Auf wiedersehen!

There’s only one problem here.

I don’t believe it.

It’s not that I’m super patriotic – “my country, right or wrong!” (Oh. Excuse me. I think that was Germany.) We secretly want to believe that everyone in the world would be better off if they thought like we do, and that everyone yearns for a democracy exactly just like ours.

(And perhaps that’s part of the problem. We don’t actually live in a democracy. We live in a republic. You know, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic …” Oops. My bad.)

In any case, as a country we are not always the most diplomatic. But this is not a sign of decline. We’ve always been that way. In 1958 a novel was published called “The Ugly American.” Set in a fictional Asian country, it chronicles “innate arrogance and the failure to understand the local culture.” We definitely like to impose our will on our friends. (Case in point; we talked our best friend country into joining us in some prolonged for real war games. It worked for awhile. The Prime Minister who agreed to this (at the time) is now diplomatic attaché to a community of yak herders in Outer Pango-Pango.)

Perhaps the pessimists see us in decline because of our economy. I can certainly agree that it’s a mess. “Worst since the great depression,” they say. True true. But they don’t actually listen to what they are saying. It’s not “worse THAN the great depression.”

(Consider this one fact alone. In the 1930’s we were a largely pacifist nation. I don’t think anyone would question that we now have the greatest war machine on earth. I don’t think our most serious nuclear foe would want to put that to the test.)

So – seriously – how can anyone say we are in a decline that will permanently affect our status as an influential authority on the world scene? Isn’t that for history alone to decide? Pardon me. Let’s not even go that far. Tell me, o great sayers of the sooth, what’s the political climate going to be like in two weeks? Should I wear my radioactively shielded raincoat?

“The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, but in ourselves.” We see emerging nations as our replacements, when they are what they have always been – a challenge. China is an industrial leviathan, but with a flawed government. How much farther can they go before they implode? Japan is fast on their heels and, in my opinion, much more stable. We should seriously make an effort to understand their culture … but we probably won’t.

After some thought on the matter, I can see Germany becoming the dominant force in Europe. Their influence and pressure is already growing. Because of this, I see England becoming stronger. The balance. They have risen to the occasion so many times before, I see no reason why they won’t again. But it ain’t gonna be easy. It never is.

Okay. I’ve now solved the problems of the world, looked under rocks, and heaved a few at cultures I generally like. But am I right? Could be. Or could be not. Could be next week the governor of Pango-Pango will announce that his yak butter is the cure for the common cold …

Great. It will give us a whole new direction in which to lurch.

MORGAN update

2010-12-31T19:32:00.003-05:00

In February of 2010 I submitted a post regarding the (then) present disposition of a play I had written years before, but until then had never released. The play is titled MORGAN and to this day remains a passion in my life.

It’s funny how some things come into being. My young daughter and I had been watching one of the many dreary King Arthur movies on television, when she turned to me and asked, “Morgan le Fay? Who is HE?”

I answered as best I could, but in the back of my mind I was already envisioning a play that would justify that question.

Before I put a single word on paper, I spent three years reading every novel, history, and commentary I could find regarding the literary Arthur Pendragon and his estranged half-sister, Morgan. (There’s reasonable evidence to suggest that an “Arthur” actually lived, and that he was so far removed from the legend as to be almost unrecognizable.)

I made a couple of interesting discoveries.

The first – a somewhat humbling realization. In 6th century England there were both crude and sophisticated civilizations, religions, and codes of conduct. Intelligent thought was in evidence. My country has yet to HAVE a 6th century. During the time of Arthur, where I live was swamp lands – Indians hadn’t even reached here.

The other discovery was more to the point. Throughout most of the narratives, there is a recurrent theme along these lines; Morgan was evil, a schemer, a witch, jealous of her half-brother, and constantly plotting his downfall for never fully explained reasons. Eventually Arthur “wins,” but only after prolonged struggle and cost (including his life.)

I soon realized the problem started with Arthur. He was ultimately the winner, and history is almost always written by the last group standing. The truth, as I discovered, is that Morgan was the victim in every sense of the word. As a child she witnessed her lands taken away, her father killed, and her mother raped. To put it in modern terms, Morgan witnessed a terrorist attack.

So that became Act I of my play.

Act II chronicles Morgan’s rise to power. It seems reasonable (as literature) to suggest that Druids existed at that time, that Merlin was a Druid High Priest, and that they wielded real mystical power. Morgan, being a woman, realized her only opportunity to effect justice was by embracing black arts. She became second only to Merlin, and outlasted him.

Act III follows her descent into madness and the suggestion of recovery. She became an absolute power, and “absolute power corrupts absolutely.” She became Hitler at his worst. With the death of Arthur she loses her powers and there is an implication that she could eventually regain a degree of sanity.

The play ends with an irony. Without her constant prodding, Arthur would have been nothing. If left in peace, he would have been an insignificant king of a lackluster kingdom, one in a long line of dusty footnotes. Instead of destroying him, she directly and indirectly created the legend.

Now you have the picture. It’s a large and complex work. No theatre I know is capable of producing it. (Key words here are “I know.”) About a year ago I was discussing the language in the play with a friend who produces mainly Shakespeare plays. She asked to read it, and a month later asked if I would allow the work to be considered for production by them.

I agreed, made note of it in a blog, and then forgot about it.

A couple of days ago one of my favorite commentators asked for an update. Here it is.

In November the Shakespeare producer contacted me and said her company would produce the play if I would direct. Since at the time I was neck deep in the RICHARD III production, I postponed answering.

And that’s where I am now. I don’t know if I want to do this.

I just don’t know.

j

A Teapot Christmas

2010-12-25T04:48:00.000-05:00

In our Writer's Group gift exchange, a good friend gave me this Teapot calendar for Christmas. Not an expensive gift this, but a warming one. She is well aware of my undisguised attraction to anything teapot.

Above a teapot on the opposite side of the room is another wall hanging, given to me by a loving daughter some years back. It also reminds me of constant support and encouragement.

This is a happy room.

j

Tis the season ...

2010-12-19T10:26:00.000-05:00

Dancing In The Dark

2010-12-09T23:52:00.001-05:00

A long number of years ago I fancied myself to be an artist. I played with brushes for awhile, graduated to smearing paint on canvas with a knife, a saw, even once encouraged a small child to wallow across a canvas barefoot. (True story. Unfortunately, the child was half way across my kitchen before I could catch her ...)

And then I discovered the airbrush. With no effort at all I could produce ten paintings at a time, and they were so utterly bazaar that utterly bazaar human beings would purchase them and hold them dearly close (figuratively speaking.)

I digress.

It was shortly after I started detailing the neighbor's dog that I saw a pictorial in NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC supposing what other planets might look like.

My immediate reaction was "I can do that," and, placing cans on black canvas, happily sprayed up a storm - sometimes literally.

The cans sold easily. All of the paintings - seven of 'em - sold, except one. I was surprised. The one to be found wanting was of an exploding star, and by a fluke looked not too bad.

That was years ago.

I found the thing today while I was digging Christmas trivia out of a closet.

I know, I know. This wee tale sounds suspiciously like a writer over/under stimulated.

Could be. But how, then, do you explain this dumb thing?

Three Oh Nine AM

2010-12-03T04:09:00.002-05:00

Why is it we always get together at these strange hours of the night?

I got a new computer - can you tell? I was going to buy one, but a friend who loves me gave me this one, and I've literally spent the entire day moving files and arranging little icons like ducks in a row ... (Now isn't that a silly statement? My mother used to raise ducks, and I'm reasonably sure she never tried to put any of them in a row. An annoyed duck is not a pretty sight.)

Yesterday I finished re-writing the second of three plays I'm contracted to direct. The play is called "Zack," and is set in England in the year 1916. It pretends to be a comedy, but much of the dialog aimed toward and about women was, to me, offensive, so I changed it. I've discovered that I'm strongly in favor of woman's liberation and equality. Some of the better influences in my life have come from truly smart women ... (Unfortunately I didn't marry any of them, but that's a story for another time.)

Tomorrow - later today - I may actually get back to writing on any one of the three plays "in progress" and neatly stored in Documents. Or I may not. I have a small antique cabinet in the basement, partially restored. Maybe I'll partially restore it a bit more,

I had forgotten what it's like to be between shows, The sun still comes up and goes down. My neighborhood is in color - I had forgotten. A squirrel waits for an offering of bread. I think that when a squirrel is not afraid of you, why, that's a pretty wonderful thing.

j

Where are my children?!

2010-11-21T22:06:00.000-05:00

I’m sitting in an empty auditorium.

I look around at the darkened seating, a program or two occupying spaces where people had staked out territory only fourteen hours ago. Around the edges of the stage are the folding chairs used to seat the overflow of enthusiastic late comers … students mostly, I think, taking notes at first, and then caught up, caught up, pens laid aside, forgotten.

Every night it was the same.

RICHARD III closed last night. Six performances. An inordinate amount of work for just six performances, don’t you think?

It’s cold in here. You know the feeling – the kind of dry chill that reminds you of just how large the room is, and how minute is the portion you occupy. Last night it was warm in exactly this very spot. Did someone forget to turn off the air conditioning? It really doesn’t matter.

I stare at the stage – empty now. They dismantled the set this morning. Men came in – and a few women. With power screwdrivers they came, with ladders and furniture covers and dollies and in no time at all they took everything away – the throne, the platforms, walls windows doors everything.

But in the comforter of darkness I still see them – figures claw out of the darkness and stand resolutely on stairs that are no longer there and say “I am here! I am ANNE and MARGARET and BUCKINGHAM and GREY and CATESBY and RICHMOND …

And in the shadows, RICHARD … always in the shadows Richard …

People are coming. They are at some distance, but this is a theatre, after all. Sound is encouraged to carry. I suspect they are the crew about to turn the stage into the home for JAMES AND THE GIANT PEACH.

Oh well.

jb

For My Friends Who Have Been Following ...

2010-11-14T09:41:00.013-05:00

Our production of RICHARD III opened Friday to a literally packed house (and stage. We ended up placing folding chairs around the fringes of the acting areas. That was interesting ...) On Saturday night not only were all these seats filled, but we sold a fistfull of "standing room only" tickets. So many people filled the theatre that we had to turn on the air conditioning ... in the middle of November.

The other production of RICHARD (being offered by another company in direct competition to ours) was panned by every media critic, and we are now listed under "Best Bets In Entertainment" in the city guide.

Never - NEVER - in the wildest stretches of my imagination would I have envisioned this reaction. I have now been interviewed three times, by serious people, seeking inspired enlightenment.

(And - let me tell you - it's difficult to appear guru-like when you are laughing so hard that it hurts.)

jb

A Ton And A Half Of Ham

2010-11-11T14:46:00.001-05:00

RICHARD III opens tomorrow night to the general public, tonight to a select audience.

We've been working on this play since April - planning, building, casting, rehearsing - I don't think the invasion of Normandy had greater preparation.

And it promises to be a pretty good show. Seasoned adult performers and precocious juveniles explore complex characterizations. The drama is intense.

I'm starting to develop a grudging respect for the playwright. Although his work is a tad or two wordy, I think he definitely has potential.

And after combat with managers and producers, the play is being produced the way I envisioned it. Hopefully that will be a good thing. We will know very soon.

In a day or two the reviews will be in.

I'm already in pre-prep for the play I'm directing in the Spring.

jb

Weary ...

2010-11-07T06:11:00.000-05:00

It gets that way sometime.

It's again late at night ...

Huh. Not really. It's twenty after eleven. Seems later. Much.

The play opens in six days and suddenly the theatre and others want to make changes. The producer, a woman with dubious talent and the uncanny ability to spout inane pedantic and totally cloying advice, sweetly suggests I count to ten, and then everything will be just fine.

I want to count to one and then kill her. It's the humane thing to do - I want to put her out of my misery.

But I won't. Instead I'll watch my vision pecked by people who do so in order to advance their own agendas ,,, It's happened before, and eventually I dropped away for ... years ... because I wanted something pure and was optimistic enough to think that next time I would get it.

But next time was no different from the last time, or the time before that, or the hundreds of times before that ...

So I will count to ten and tell myself that everything will be just fine because what I really really really really want is to be really really really mediocre.

Are there enough pills or drinks or drugs in the world to allow me to believe that? Dear God, why did you plant in me the desire to create - to reflect something of You - and then surround me with morons?!

Or maybe I'll just drop away again.

For good.

RICHARD III

2010-10-20T22:58:00.000-04:00

The Play's The Thing

2010-10-06T16:13:00.004-04:00

Last night I didn’t come home wondering why I had ever agreed to direct a production of RICHARD III.

For most of my adult life I’ve been drawn to this play – first as an actor and later as a director. It’s far more fun playing a bad guy than a good one. There are an almost infinite number of ways to express satisfaction bordering on breathing heavy while following even the most simple of inclinations (like taking a sledge hammer to the screaming car radio next to you at the traffic light, or shoving a cell phone somewhere after listening to half of an inane conversation in the elevator.) In any case, when RICHARD says “Off with his head,” (and he says it often), there’s an empathy there. Admit it.

So I wanted to play RICHARD. I even had half a dozen or so words memorized. “Now is the winter of our discontent …” That was good, and made me sound so so cultured. And then there was “since I cannot prove a lover, I’m gonna be the best villain you ever saw in your life…” (or words to that effect.) Honesty here. I respected that.

But when the opportunity came along, I shied away from auditioning for the role. After all, this was Shakespeare. (See? Even his name pops up in italics.) I mean, this was like playing God, and only Morgan Freeman and George Burns played God, and look what happened to them!

Eventually I fell into directing and playwriting. (No fool here. As an actor I played a role. As I director/writer I played ALL the roles.) That’s what I told myself. The truth was, I was never comfortable memorizing lines at the best of times. And. getting older, I found I wasn’t healing as fast as when I was younger, and actors will gladly throw themselves in front of the Avenue C Bus if someone asks them to.)

So I directed stuff – lots and lots (and lots) of stuff. I was most successful in directing comedies and musicals, but I also directed dramas that were considered respectable. Please understand that none of this was ego driven as ego is normally regarded. I like dealing with concepts. When I see that an idea will work, that’s enough, I’m happy. Everything that follows is simply a necessary part of the job. (Frankly, even confiding my thoughts and motivations to you feels uncomfortably close to bragging.)

So I never directed a Shakespeare play – until some fool theatre asked me to. Actually the conversation was more along the lines of …

Me: Richard the Third? You’re doing Richard the Third?! I’ve always wanted to direct that play!

Theatre Rep: Okay.

That was it. See where blind rhetoric can lead? Let that be a lesson to you.

So here we were – first rehearsal, second, third … Actors approach reverently, eyes lowered (And when was the last time you saw THAT happen?) And I fake them around the stage, and I’m surrounded by living bobble heads thinking I actually have some kind of clue about what I’m doing. (Note to Malmesbury. You’re the only Brit I know. Do you understand this stuff? God, you really do come from a superior race.)

And then we came to last night. At some point the blah blah blah became passionate dialogue – surprised everyone, most of all me. People were caught in the moment of discovery. I could see the excitement. Where did it come from?

The question is, will it be there again tonight?

In passing

2010-09-28T01:56:00.000-04:00

It's about a quarter to one in the morning. Quiet time. I hear a truck somewhere in the distance going in a southernly direction. It's gone now.

I've taken a couple of pain killers to help me sleep. While I'm waiting for them to kick in, we can chat for a little hour. I've missed you. At the moment you seem like an age ago, a world away.

The play I'm directing has taken over my life. RICHARD III. Shakespeare. This thing has colored my every waking thought for a month now, jealous for attention. I'm not only directing the play, I'm also producing it. Details. Everyone wants attention. Everyone wants.

I'm learning slowly that old Will was an interesting character. He uses words that don't fit easily in the modern mouth. He makes up words. He's a terrible speller. But underneath all the posturing is subtext so beautiful it takes my breath away. Why anyone would feel the need to change this - to have ego so vaulted that thinking alterations would improve even a tiny jot ... I don't see it. I really don't.

I noticed last night that it's getting darker earlier. Evenings are cooler. Right now the weather is perfect - warm during the day and cool at night. I love to take walks at one or two in the morning. Think time. My neighborhood looks different. Even the houses slumber. I will hear a cat or two, they seem to enjoy the darkness as well. There is one who has taken the fancy to sleep in my basement window well during the day. I suspect that, like me, she is drawn to wander under the thick blanket of stars.

I miss living out west. Arizona, New Mexico, parts of California - the sky is so much larger there. You can stretch out a hand and lightly brush a thousand touches of light. I have several friends who live in New York. One in particular wants me to move there. Sometimes I wonder if she's aware that there is a sky?

Okay. Better now - dozier. Funny. I never in my life was drawn to pills of any kind and for any reason. But of late I I've been taking pain killers. They kill pain. All kinds.

G'night. Thanks for hangin' with me.

j

Remembering Carpathia

2010-09-15T22:58:00.000-04:00

Today I was reminded of a dream. Here is where it lives.

Hidden Knowledge

2010-08-20T20:18:00.001-04:00

In his book, Mein Kempf, Adolf Hitler states, “If you tell a lie long enough, loud enough, and often enough, the people will believe it.”

Here are two examples demonstrating the accuracy of that statement.

“President Obama was not born in this country,” and “President Obama is not a Christian. He’s a Muslim.”

Frankly, I’m now well past getting weary by all the hyperbole. It bores me, and I’ve seriously started questioning the intensions of the gossip mongers behind the rumors, and the intelligence of their growing number of apparently simple minded followers.

If Barack Obama was not born in this country, isn’t that something that should have been determined before he ran for President? Oh. Excuse me. It was investigated at the time. If he was not born in Hawaii as he claims, there was a truly Machiavellian cover-up involving a number of people, orchestrated by a junior Senator from Illinois, and all before he announced his candidacy. (Perversely, if he’s that good, maybe he should be in office.)

But I want to be fair. For those who allege with confidence that the President was not born in this country, please tell me where he was born, and the proof of your declaration. And please, facts only, no innuendo.

And then there’s the “Is he or isn’t he a Christian” business. Where were the skeptics during the denunciation of his then minister Jeremiah Wright? Remember all that? The then candidate for President went out of his way to separate himself from the church he had attended for years. There are those who would have you believe that – again – a large number of people (The Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago) were willing to hide the fact that Obama was secretly a Muslim. Interestingly, the followers of Islam don’t seem to take kindly to believers who regularly break religious laws. So it would appear that if the President is a closet Muslim, every follower of Allah must be in on it. If this is true, he is deserving of the most awesome respect.

The reason behind this discourse is a concern for the reasons behind these subjective slurs. Obviously attacks on policy aren’t enough. There is an apparent need to demean the character of the man we elected as President. The ancient Greeks had a word that may apply, The word is “Gnostic,” and means “hidden knowledge.” Those who possessed this supposed information considered themselves superior to those who did not.

Maybe they still do.

j

Lucy, I'm home!

2010-08-11T13:07:00.002-04:00

I discovered YouTube. I watched stuff. And more stuff. And more stuff. I glutted on stuff. Wow. Sam? I'm disappointed you didn't tell me. Is there anything else out there I should know about?

Julie, my often writing partner, showed me a book about tiny houses on wheels, so for the past while I’ve been mentally touring Europe, stealing chickens from rich people, and watching sad-eyed women dancing around the evening camp fire. Sometimes I think I was born about 400 years too late.

I discovered comments from you were no longer coming to my email, but were now being stored in an inane section of my blog called “comments.” I published everything I read, and sent Blogger a few comments of my own in the best tradition of Mel Gibson. (Speaking of which, Kari, you are absolutely correct. I wasn’t trying to excuse anything, just pointing out that we love to rush to judgment. Malmesbury, you constantly enrich my blog with your visits. I’m humbled by your astute observations.)

And I’ve been busy with what is supposedly my vocation/avocation (depending on who’s paying at the moment.)

My play on commission is finished. I hate parts of it with a genuine purple passion, but in re-write I’ll improve the work and annoy actors at the same time. It’s a win-win situation.

The other play I’m writing is going much slower. This is a work of love, so I’m purposely caressing it, sometimes with one single word nestled carefully behind another.

For those who tuned in late, I’ve been hired to direct a production of RICHARD III for a local theatre in November. Rehearsals will start in a few weeks, and already a number of performers have started breathing heavy. (It’s going to be a truly scary play – several of the characters carry real daggers. Hopefully they will only stab each other or themselves, and not anyone who paid to see the show.)

This same theatre has now asked me to direct two other plays. The first is called ZACK, scheduled for production in May of 2011, and – to my surprise – one of my own plays, to follow in August of 2011. Okay …
And that’s about all for now. I feel greatly unburdened. Thank you so very much for hanging in there with me.

j

THE TIGER

2010-08-11T11:23:00.000-04:00

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the starts threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake

Toot, Toot, Tootsie! - Al Jolson

2010-08-05T22:16:00.000-04:00

Leaving on a jet plane- peter, paul and mary

2010-08-04T09:25:00.000-04:00

The Right To Judge

2010-07-15T12:57:00.005-04:00

I’ve been watching with a growing (if somewhat jaded) interest in the case against Mel Gibson that is being theatrically played out in the court of public opinion.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve heard the tapes. They are reprehensible, vile, evil to the point of being demonic. Okay? These rants are the product of a deranged mind.

(And responses have been equally vehement. Note to would-be judges – if you are going to condemn Mr. Gibson’s choices of words, please don’t use the same words yourself. It confuses me.)

And – have you noticed – these tapes (5 so far) would not have had quite the emotional impact if they had been released all at once. Instead, release for each tape has been separated by a few days, allowing the press to instigate the same call for torches and pitchforks several times in a row.

It bothers me that we don’t know how old these tapes are. It bothers me that they are being released right at the time when Mel Gibson’s child custody case is starting. I find it difficult to believe this is a coincidence. In any case, the date when the tapes are released does not make Mel Gibson less guilty. On the other hand, it appears to make Oksana Grigorieva less innocent. Why didn’t she call the police after recording the first tirade? Or the second one? Or the third one? Or … why now?

Both Whoopi Goldberg and Jody Foster have been castigated for suggesting positive aspects to Mel Gibson’s character based on their personal experiences. Since we won’t tolerate any grey areas of actual knowledge here, they are dismissed as naive or stupid - guilty by association.

Nobody has answered this question – why is he mad? What started him down an emotional hill so steep that he literally has difficulty breathing? Is he truly a monster, or is he sick? If we judge without an answer to this question, what does that say about us?

And that is what concerns me the most. We don’t really care what Mel Gibson has or has not done. He's a token. We are content with one side of the story, which allows us to anoint him king of everything despicable in the male psyche. To give our passions proper heat we cling to conclusions based on other people’s calculated sensationalism and a decided lust for witch hunting.

Innocent until proven guilty only applies to people we like.

So, in case you feel I am defending Mel Gibson, I am not. In his condemnation of others he condemns himself.

But - I wonder - are we doing the same thing?

July 4, 2010

2010-07-04T11:24:00.000-04:00

Comments On A Mind Set.

2010-06-27T14:26:00.000-04:00

In the Spring of this year I was invited by Theatre Vault website to submit an article listing areas and directions where Community Theatre (in a general sense) could stand improvement.

I responded, pointing out my favorite picky details that have slightly dented a 55-year love affair with good and great theatrical experiences.

Apparently my article was acceptable to the regular readers of Theatre Vault. (Nobody was breathing heavily at my front door.) And, a few weeks ago, the Editor of the TV website invited me to submit another article along the same lines.

This time I hesitated. For one thing, I felt I had adequately covered the subject the first time around. There’s a fine line between constructive criticism and theatre bashing, and I’ve been on the receiving end of spurious attack enough times to not wish to inflict that on anybody else.

But I changed my mind. In response to a recent less than glowing review of mine, a reader pointedly reminded me that I was “reviewing a community theatre production, and not Broadway’s latest and greatest.”

I found this comment to be demeaning, not only to the theatre group he supports, but also to the community of non-professional theatres as a whole.

And I’ve heard it before. “It’s just community theatre.” To imply that one standard should or does exist for professional theatre and a lower one exists for community theatre is to suggest that the many incredibly gifted performers in community theatre are not good enough to stand equal to their paid brothers and sisters.

In fact, almost the opposite is true. There are over 40 theatrical organizations in this city, all fighting for the same dollars and patrons. No group is going to survive without constantly challenging the others to improve. Furthermore, many years ago the area went off the “A” list for professional touring companies, simply because they knew they couldn’t compete with both the quality and quantity of local presentations. Only in the areas of elaborately staged large musicals will you see much in the way of professional theatre here, and even these groups don’t always make a profit.

The bottom line is simply this; there’s only one standard. As an audience member, if you like a show, it’s good. If you don’t, it isn’t. It’s as simple as that. Your judgment should be based solely on taste and experience, without qualifications. If you are working on a show, and have the mind set that it’s “just community theatre,” the show is dead already. Make it the best it can possibly be, and settle for nothing less. Invite – even dare – comparisons to anybody. A positive, rather than defensive, attitude is everything.

A Time for Everything

2010-06-18T21:51:00.000-04:00

There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,
   a time to mourn and a time to dance,

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
   a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

a time to search and a time to give up,
   a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

                                                 Ecclesiastes 3

Interesting Times

2010-06-03T21:37:00.001-04:00

I’ve been around for awhile. I’ve seen this country change and change again. Some of it has been pretty good. We seem to be innovative to the point where it’s mind boggling. On the other hand, some of our directions and aspirations have been something less than admirable. (Why the Canadians speak to us at all has always been a mystery to me.)

During my lifetime a bunch of Presidents have come and gone. Some of ‘em were pretty good. Some of ‘em were just pretty. I’ve personally seen three, interviewed two.

I’m actually happy with the guy running the country at the moment. He’s not perfect – I think it would bother me if he was. But he still seems to be smarter than I am, and that’s why I voted for him in the first place.

Here’s an observation, then. I don’t think – in my entire life – I’ve ever seen so many disasters (man made and otherwise) fall over each other without a break as much as they have during the present administration. I saw a picture of the President today, and his hair is turning white. It’s not the first time, either. Other presidents have aged greatly during their time in office.

All this is leading to a question, rhetorical perhaps. Why would a smart person want the job? Think about it before answering. It’s a trick question.

j

Not Fair!

2010-05-26T17:42:00.003-04:00

The Brits are unfair! Rumor has it that Sarah Ferguson may

be moving to New York. Is there not some hamlet anywhere in the British Isles willing to offer sanctuary to Sarah Palin?

BCTCO Playwriting Competition

2010-05-16T00:24:00.002-04:00

I've just been elected to the board of a theatre company. With the thought of actually contributing something, at the first meeting I suggested they start a playwriting competition. They liked the idea. Here 'tis.

BCTCO Playwriting Competition

Bread & Circus Theatre Company (BCTCO) is pleased to announce its first ever playwriting competition. From submitted manuscripts, the theatre will produce an original play in August, 2010

This competition is open to all playwrights.

Only full-length plays will be accepted, submitted in standard script format.

Scripts may be submitted via e-mail to bctcocontest@gmail.com or by mailing a hard copy to:

BCTCO CONTEST
188 Midcliff Drive
Columbus, Ohio 43213

Entries for the 2010-2011 season must be received by midnight on June 15, 2010. Hard copies submitted will be returned only if accompanied by an SASE with sufficient postage.

The winner will be announced in the July Bread & Circus Newsletter.

There are no fees or other requirements to enter this competition; however, guidelines for entries are the same as for any other play produced at Bread & Circus.

• We are a family oriented theatre. Profanity and nudity are discouraged.

• We have limited stage space, so plays with multiple settings, while not automatically rejected, are not encouraged. We favor plays with simple or one-set requirements.

For further information, contact Bread & Circus Theatre Company at bctco1@gmail.com or call 614-470-4895.

Gone

2010-05-10T09:34:00.001-04:00

The gypsy caravan is calling again. Wanna cross byways of Europe for a month. A few scenes, sad music, dark wine and eyes, going thru motions in silent forests. Horses. Dog.

Heaven

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent ...

2010-05-06T22:49:00.003-04:00

Yeah, yeah, you’re undoubtedly going to hear a lot about this in the next few months. But the story so far has been unique in my experiences – so I thought I’d share some observations as I go along …

Some time ago, around Christmas I think, a theatre I frequent announced their 2010-2011 season. I like this little group, gutsy they are – normally their offerings are lesser known works by famous playwrights, and occasionally they throw in a classic – last season it was Shaw, this season Noel Coward, and starting in the Fall, Shakespeare.

I remember hearing me say it. I was talking to the Artistic Director and said,
“Wow! You’re doing Richard the Third? I’ve always wanted to do Richard the Third!”

So now I’m directing Richard the Third. And what’s the moral here? Altogether now:

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR!

So in December of 2009 I was contracted to direct R3 in November 2010.

Fine. Eleven months to think and plan.

And worry. What have I done?! This is Shakespeare. Shakespeare! Who in their right mind would trust me with arguably the greatest playwright who ever lived? I had (and have) visions of the British cutting off diplomatic relations, and blockading harbors, and unmanned aircraft being aimed at the theatre, and Sean Connery telling me he saw the show and was shaken but not stirred …

And they would be so right. Benny Hill is my inspiration. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod what have I done?

Here was my first hurtle. I was handed the script, and told to cut 45 pages out of it.

What?!

“It’s long,” I was told. “Lots of repetition. Lots of references to people nobody cares about. You'll have fun.”

Oh-h-h-h-h …

So I cut 42 pages. I have, after all, some principles. Maybe, with luck, when I die I’ll only be sent to the fifth level of hell …

In April the theatre held unified auditions, meaning they cast not a show, but a season. Out of the 44 characters written into R3, I was able to cast three – all women. Whatever you think of Willie S, he wrote strong women characters. The three actresses I have could eat their male counterparts for lunch.

And that’s where I am at the moment. There’s more – much more. Actors shy away (Ha!) and now I’ve learned that three productions of the same play are going to be produced roughly at the same time in the same city.

Can it get any better than this?

j

Soft You Now ...

2010-05-03T18:48:00.006-04:00

Script Frenzy has ended. They wanted 100 pages in 30 days, they got 104 pages in 28 days. They gave Julie and I a logo saying that we are winners (as opposed to the one that simply concedes that we would be capable of covering a good sized wall with words ..

I have mostly sort of completed casting for the production of RICHARD III that I'm scheduled to direct in the fall. It was a surprise, then, when I stumbled across auditions mentioned on Facebook. Oops - auditions are for another company. I forgot that THREE productions of the play are scheduled to open within weeks of each other. (Who came up with that idea?)

I just finished seeing RENT, and writing reviews for A THOUSAND CLOWNS and I NEVER SANG FOR MY FATHER. My fingers hurt.

I am unaware of any politicians doing anything profoundly outrageous so far today, resulting in no heavy breathing on my part (and no cause for consternation and/or bemused interest from friends who live in civilized countries.).

Julie is off swatting at the windmill down the street, and the gauntlet Q threw at my feet I will pick up - tomorrow.

For the moment, then, the sun is shining and the weather is balmy warm. I'm going to take my drink, sit in the lawn chair I should have taken in last fall, and just smell the dandelions.

j

A Response

2010-05-01T03:01:00.000-04:00

I received this comment on my last post:

balcony39 has left a new comment on your post "Okay. I'm About To Intimidate A Windmill. Again":
As a foreigner, tho' frequent visitor to the USA when I first started to read this I seriously thought the Gov of Arizona had it in for illegal aliens (from Mars etc.) You guys and your politicians are so wacked it seemed utterly feasible. Then I read on and I saw the raw ugly all pervasive face of rising hard right Neo Nazism. Ugly, Ugly, Ugly!!! Think on In Xanadu. Read a bit of history and see how the little stuff, and such a nasty bill is not a small thing, leads to the total erosion of human rights. Good luck!

I thought the observations from balcony 39 deserved more than simply being buried in the comments section of my post.

First of all, I sincerely apologize for the appearance of having “wacked” politicians. The United States of America is a republic, and republics constantly evolve, and sometimes it’s not pretty. If you read our history, you will note that regardless of whatever direction we lurch, eventually – and it could take years – the will of all the people dominates.

To compare the Arizona law to Neo Nazism is to focus on the wrong period of history. (And, respectfully, it’s condescending of you not to look deeper.) Unlike Nazi Germany, this is not a national law, it is a state law, and every civil rights organization in the country is lining up to take a shot at it. They are doing this because they can do this. On the national level, our President has people examining it – closely. Already parts of this law have been revised, and this is before it even goes into effect. This is literally the will of the people in action.

The real problem here is one of attitude. The “aliens” of today are regarded the same way African Americans were regarded in the 1930’s, 40’s, and 50’s. I suspect that earning respect and equality today will be every bit as difficult as it was 60 tears ago.

But you have to start somewhere.

j

Okay. I'm About To Intimidate A Windmill. Again

2010-04-26T00:16:00.003-04:00

A couple of days ago I was staring at a blank computer screen (“You are getting sleepy, sleepy …”) and in the background the Governor of Arizona was signing a declaration of war against illegal aliens.

I was intrigued.

In the first place, the Governor of Arizona looks like the product of bad casting.

(“No no,” you would cry, “She’s not the Governor. She’s the Governor’s ex wife’s obnoxious Aunt Florence who is the first one eaten by the pod people... in the swamp … on Mars”)

In the second place, I was attracted by the obvious and loud opposition to the law the Governor was signing.

“Illegal aliens and the crimes they bring in are overrunning the state,” the Governor says. “They have to be stopped.”

I’m not sure why, but this seemed to many to be a radical concept.

“Sanctuary,” I know of one alien claiming. “Give me sanctuary.” And this person was taken into a church, housed, fed, and encouraged to resist deportation.

Would the church be as willing to take in a bicycle thief?

What’s the difference?

By best estimates, there are millions of illegal aliens in this country. Not thousands, not tens of thousands, not hundreds of thousands – millions. I can’t even fathom that many people.

And, being illegal, they don’t pay taxes on anything.

They don’t pay for fire departments, road repairs, or city lights, yet they use these services every day.

These millions of people also get health care. Free.

The children of illegal aliens attend our already over filled public schools. Again, there is not even a beginning of financial support from their parents.

There used to be a rational that “they are filling jobs nobody else wants.” With unemployment standing at about ten per cent, I don’t think that excuse still works.

The one cry I hear from opponents to this law is that of racial profiling. Aliens must carry identification when they are out in public. This strikes me as funny. I don’t know of anyone who doesn’t carry identification with them.

It isn’t that I don’t feel sympathy for suffering people – I do. But breaking the law and stealing from the government is not a good way to start a relationship. I’m beginning to feel like I’m being pushed – and worse, secretly scorned and laughed at.

And that is a mistake.

They have attracted my attention

The last I knew, laws were still being enacted and enforced in this country by the majority.

And the last I knew, that was still me ... and the Governor of Arizona ... and one or two other people..

Comments?

j

A NAKED GIRL WILL ATTRACT ATTENTION

2010-04-23T18:02:00.000-04:00

Julie Morrison and I are now in day 23 of Script Frenzy. The story has evolved, having started with our only very vague guideline that a romance would evolve between the two central characters in a small independent film studio. (This is a contest, after all. Blah blah romance fills pages quickly, and with only blah blah thought required to ladle this stuff out.)

Yeah, well, from past experience I should have known better.

Julie has this great heart for the badly downtrodden. Before I knew it, we had battered women camped out in the second floor of our “studio.” To give depth to the pain women can go through, it’s revealed that our central female character has made some unwise decisions in the past. As a result – and without going into a lot of detail – she is kidnapped by a man she had crossed, and (at this point in the story) about to be forced into amateur porno films. Heavy stuff here. Heavy heavy heavy. (On the other hand, and taken completely out of context, Julie’s line “A naked girl will attract attention” seemed to me to be something of an understatement.)

So much for our blah blah shallow quickie romance story. Oh well, Jennifer Lopez probably wouldn’t be interested anyway.)

Now. Although my writing partner and I don’t suggest to each other what to write, we do exchange technical suggestions. (Her contributions encourage me to add depth to my writing – something that doesn’t come natural to any man. For my part, having worked most of my life in television, film, and theatre, I can offer technical details that give a story a bit more creditability.)

All this is background to the story I’m about to tell you – true story – about the time I was asked to direct a series of porno films. In reading a gazillion posts on lots and lots of blogs, I don’t recall that subject coming up very often, so you might find it interesting.

It was right after I had won my second Emmy, and I was riding pretty high. I was regularly directing regional sporting events on television, one network was interested in me, I was doing specials of every kind, and on the side producing/directing commercials for a large advertising agency. (If you are over 30 and watch television at all, you’ve seen some of them.)

I had worked with “Dan” and his crew from the agency for a couple of years. Once or twice a month they’d take over a studio after normal working hours and we’d crank out commercials until the sun came up (and employees started coming in.)

Dan and I got along great. After a session or two, I had learned what he was looking for in general, and we became part of a smooth and efficient team.

After one particularly long and difficult shoot, Dan and I were having breakfast together when he broached the subject of adult films.

“I’ve been producing films for about two years now,” he stated flatly.

“Porno,” I questioned.

“We call them Adult films,” he corrected.

“What happened to your old director,” I asked.

"He moved on,” I was told. No other information was asked or given.

Here was the offer. We would produce ten films in ten days. An empty building would be our studio, equipment would be rented from the agency, and we would start each evening at seven, and must be completed by sunrise the next day.

Dan would produce, I would direct, and the two techs – camera and audio – would come from the agency, in fact would be men I had worked with on several occasions. “Talent” would come from a waiting list at the mega university that in many ways dominates the capital city in this state.

I was to be paid $200 per night – not a great amount of money, but at the end of ten days I’d walk away with $2000, tax free. Similarly, the techs were to be paid $150 each. The female talent each night would earn $200, and her male partner would be unpaid.

That was it. I was impressed with how incredibly easy it all was.

I declined the offer. I would love to say I was filled with indignation, but I wasn’t. There was no indication that anyone involved was being forced in any way to participate. Money was the draw, and at that time in my life I didn’t have the moral or religious attitudes that would later influence my life.

So I said “no.” Overall I counted at least 25 people who would be involved in the total project, and I didn’t think that many people could keep a secret.

Dan accepted my decision graciously, and nothing more was said. Three years later he moved to Denver.

All this was a number of years ago, and until Julie and I started this work, I had totally forgotten about it. I don’t know, nor care, if the “business” continued or ended.

On the other hand, I’m impressed as to how easy it all appears to be.

Comments?

j

2010-04-19T23:48:00.001-04:00

Day 19 of Script Frenzy. The last dozen or so pages are pretty good. Hmm. We may have something beyond blah blah blah. Wouldn't that be funny?

Day 2 of holding auditions for Richard III. I can easily cast Lady Anne, Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Margaret. I still have no Richard and would like stronger male supporting characters. In the theatre there seems to always be more talented women than there are men. With the men I have so far, their female counterparts would eat them for breakfast.

Day 1. Are you kidding me? Is it that time of year already? A-a-a-h-h-h-h-h!!!!

Script Frenzy, day 17

2010-04-17T13:43:00.000-04:00

The object of the contest is to write a 100 page story in 30 days.

Julie Morrison and I are now at 60 pages, working at it with some but not great effort. Most of the time we have been ahead of the daily page number goals set by Script Frenzy.

We started with no plot nor outline. Simply, one of us would write a page or two, and then the other person would add to it, building a story as we go along.

What started as a romantic ghost story has turned toward searing drama. Once again I, with the perception and sensitivity of a sea snail, am w-a-y-y-y out of my depth.

When I Have Fears

2010-04-12T19:10:00.000-04:00

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

John Keats

Script Frenzy, part two

2010-04-09T22:29:00.000-04:00

Day 9, 34 pages complete.

Julie Morrison and I have once again partnered to enter this annual writing competition. The goal is to write 100 pages of words in 30 days. So far we're slightly ahead of where we should be.

Last year we wrote a script. This year we're writing a novel.

Next year we'll likely write another script.

Fewer words.

j

It's That Time Again.

2010-04-03T17:05:00.001-04:00

Getting back to what I'm supposed to know what I'm doing.

j

Health Care Reform

2010-03-30T16:31:00.001-04:00

I never intended to write a “this is where I stand” series. As most of you know, I love to pose questions that will evoke responses, but I make at least a token effort to keep my own opinions private. I’ve often commented – lamented – that a writer is more an observer than a participant in life.

However. The present political situation in this country, the decidedly unprofessional attitudes of many of our leaders, and the resulting unreasoned anger by citizens in general, have made me realize that to encourage debate without making my own position known, is not disinterested reporting, it’s avoiding confrontation.

So I’ve decided to level the playing field; this is how I feel, and why. Based on that, I invite your response. No more high altitude bombing. (I know I’m hitting something, I’m just not sure what.)

For the past year, I’ve watch the antics of congress and the senate with both growing interest and apprehension. In many instances the two major political powers flatly have refused to work with each other. Vaguely I can remember this happening one or more times in the past. During these time periods no viable business of the government was conducted. At the time there was a standing joke that this inaction may not have been a bad thing at all.

In this case, however, a purposeful antagonism seems to have abraded the distance between the democrats and the republicans. I’ve seen far more name calling and finger pointing than I expect from elected officials. Hate is an effective recruiting tool, but is almost always not satisfied until a violent action accompanies it.

Now you have my viewpoint on our present congress and senate. Their disrespect for each other doesn’t even come close to my disappointment in them as a whole.

With that as background, then, here are my observations of the progress of the present health care reform bill.

I remember when the bill was bring drafted, the President went on TV and said (paraphrased) “Here it is. If anybody has a better idea, let me know.” I don’t recall anybody stepping forward. Up to and including the time when the bill was made into law, there was STILL no better plan offered, just the demand to scrap everything and start over.

Those in favor of the law will explain in detail why it will work. Those opposed will explain (in my case with a condescending tone of voice) why it won’t work. The truth is, since none of this has been put into effect yet, nobody actually knows how it will work. Seems to me that the prudent course of action would be to observe something happening before praising or condemning it.

There seems to be a great amount of talk about “starting over.” Why? Admittedly, the work is not perfect. What’s wrong with fixing the problem areas instead of simply dropping everything? This law will provide millions of people with health insurance. Having given it to them, can you honestly face them and say you are now taking it away? What truly offends me are the people who are working so hard to withdraw the insurance have no fears of losing their own.

Comment?

j

This Is Where I Stand

2010-03-27T20:35:00.002-04:00

Remember this thing?

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

In case you are unaware, this is the opening paragraph from the United States Declaration of Independence, signed by 56 men on July 4, 1776.

I’ve always enjoyed the pure audacity of this document. Here were a number of wealthy and influential men laying everything they held dear – including their lives – on the line for their convictions.

Two hundred and thirty-four years later it’s easy to view these people as two dimensional, frozen in portraits, a faded parchment one of the few artifacts reminding us that they lived at all.

Oddly enough, it was an Englishman commenting on my last post who unintentionally reminded me that grumbling from the safe obscurity of the sidelines doesn’t cut it. (Good show, Malmesbury.)

So. In order to give some kind of perspective to my critiques of the people who lead this country, here’s where I stand on those who either are in power, or think they are.

I support the President of the United States. I voted for him. (And was surprised when he won.) He’s not perfect – largely inexperienced. I know that. But I liked many of his ideas. And he’s smart. Sarah Palin once commented that if Barack Obama was elected, we’d have a college professor in office. To me, that was a selling point. I WANT someone as President who is smarter than I am. God knows I want someone in there who is smarter than Sarah Palin! I’ve been told that the effect of any President isn’t felt until 8 years after that person takes office. I’m willing to wait at least a little while before offering a judgment.

I have nothing against John McCain, but I felt nothing strongly for him, either. He had – has – a sarcastic streak I don’t appreciate. That turned me off, and thus so did he. As of late, he’s joined the “hell no” bandwagon. That’s fine. When I think of him, I will be reminded of the slogan. Good job, John.

I’m amazed at the popularity of Sarah Palin. The woman is hard pressed to put together two coherent sentences in a row. Yes, I read her book. Everything I see her do is motivated primarily to promote Sarah Palin. At some point I’d like to see her sink into the obscurity she so richly deserves.

On the day the Health Reform bill was made into law, the Republican minority leader, John Boehner, announced that he would make every effort to see that law repealed at the earliest possible opportunity. He has no better plan in mind. If he succeeds, I sincerely hope the 56 million people he will deprive of health insurance will take the opportunity to thank him personally.

And to those congressmen and senators who yell out during speeches and preach hate at every opportunity, I have zero tolerance. Zero. I don’t care how impassioned they are, this is unacceptable, immature, self-serving and rude. And in case you think I’m being too hard on them, consider this; forget for a moment that they are congressmen and senators. Would you want someone like that in the car behind you on the way home?

j

Congress and the Senate

2010-03-25T23:15:00.003-04:00

To: The Congress and Senate of these United States
From: One really irritated rabbit

Re: I WANT MY VOTE BACK!

When I was in school, I was taught that it was rude to interrupt when someone else was speaking. When I was in business, if someone disrupted a meeting (which, by the way, never happened) that person would be asked to leave. Why, as a congressman or Senator, do you think it’s appropriate to scream out an inane comment when another public figure is speaking? Do you honestly think I appreciate this display of immaturity representing me? Do you think an insincere apology will mollify me? Sir or madam, it will not. I want you gone – out of here. I want your head shaved and painted orange. I want you stripped naked, and paraded out of town in the middle of winter while clinging by your fingernails to the top of a forty-foot tar covered telephone pole. And it’s not for you that I want this. You are history. Rather, I want the imbecile who replaces you to go into the job fully educated.

I don’t want one party to vote a hundred percent for a bill where the other party votes a hundred percent against it. And if a bill is voted into law, I don’t want to hear – that very day, that you are going to work to have it repealed at the first opportunity. Excuse me for asking, but … if you are so dissatisfied with this bill that you brag that you had nothing to do with it’s creation … my question is, why didn’t you? What am I paying you for? What are you doing up there? I think I’ve had enough. Clean out your desks and go. No hurry. Take all morning if you must.

What started my tirade? Today I heard a man casually comment that he’d like to see someone “take a gun an’ shoot the President an’ all them damn democrats.” True story.

Shocked (and more than a little naive), I asked the man why he wanted all these people murdered.

“Because of the - - health reform law,” he grumbled.

I thought about that. “Isn’t killing people over a health bill something of an oxymoron,” I asked.

The man bristled, sure that I was belittling him. He left, the anger more obvious than it was before he forced conversation upon me.

I wondered if he was encouraged by all the pompous rhetoric you have been spouting over the past weeks and months? I wonder if he will find justification in some form of violent action by following your leadership.?

And if someone is killed, I wonder if you can be tried as an accomplice or instigator? Boy, I hope so.

And so, whatever your motivations are, I want you to be aware of the following:

(1) YOU NO LONGER REPRESENT ME! I release you from your claimed obligations. You are, in fact, a source of great personal embarrassment.

(2) You have lost my vote. Not only have you lost my vote in the upcoming elections, but I’m going to see if I can take back my vote from the last several times you ran for office.

(3) It takes a lot – it really does, but you do NOT have the approval of a rabbit!

j

Panic Attack.

2010-03-23T21:49:00.003-04:00

I know. It's been days since we've talked.

I'm feeling pressed. Several things happening at the same time.

Someone asked me today if I am retiring. From what? What does that mean?

In a few days Julie and I will again start writing for Script Frenzy - during the month of April we will write 100 pages in 30 days. A piece of cake. Last year we finished several days ahead of schedule. It was fun. creative, and we ended with something we're still working on.

Thursday I'm being interviewed in a town twenty miles away. I'm applying to direct a play at a theatre twenty miles in another direction. I'm not even sure I absolutely want this job. Why am I doing this?

I have two plays I'm writing that are near to completion. I look at them often - almost every day. I know the words - I have the words in my mind, but for some reason I can't/won't put them on paper. Why is that?

Here's a good one. I've been hired to direct a production of Richard III in November. Are these people out of their minds?! I'm a drop-your-pants kind of director. So far I haven't found much of that in Richard III. help .....

A friend emailed me because gossip built a wall between us. I was depressed. I thought I knew him better. I thought he knew me better. I emailed him back. I feel better. I hope he does, too. Why do people do these things? Is life really that jaded?

Last year I accepted a board position with a local drama school. I don't know why, but now, all of a sudden, these people actually expect me to DO something. I don't remember reading anything like that in the by-laws.

The theatre website for which I write hasn't contacted me in about a week. Relief. On the other hand, they haven't contacted me in a WEEK! What are they telling me?
/
So if you need to reach me, I'll be under the bed. Leave a message. Unless a gypsy caravan comes thru, in which case I'm outta here. I've always wanted to visit Volgagrad.

And Yet Another Review

2010-03-14T15:45:00.006-04:00

They're comin' thick and fast now, boy ...

Theatre Review – Hedda Gabler
Curtain Players Community Theatre 03/14/10

When the play Hedda Gabler was first produced in 1891, audiences didn’t understand it, and reviewers failed to recognize it as the great classic it would become. And when we say “it,” of course we refer to the central character of Hedda. She alone drives the plot forward. She alone makes the unremarkable characters around her remarkable, bending them to her formidable will.

In fact, if this was a one person play, it would still be fascinating.

Hedda is a study in contrasts. She hates her place in the society of her age, yet almost desperately wants to be accepted by it. She finds a sense of obliged destiny fulfilled by being married, but has nothing but disdain for her husband. Being raised by a single parent (a father in the military), her interests do not at all reflect those of proper young ladies during the latter part of the Victoria influenced era. Her open yearning for equality is her attraction, and the very denial of it determines not only her character, but also her fate.

Knowing all this in advance, I was intrigued to see how Curtain Players would handle an epic play in a petite theatre.

Frankly, they did pretty well.

The setting for the play is both comfortable and bright. Since the audience area is only six rows deep, there is an abiding intimacy here. Likewise the costumes appeared to be correct (and expensive) to my untrained eye. “Job well done” to designers Matt Hermes and Drew Washburn, and to costumer Joyce Leahy.

In a cast of worthy performances, Micah Jenkins first stands out. As the cuckold husband, his presentation of subtle weakness was constantly creative. I was impressed. I often forgot I was watching someone act.

I never forgot I was watching acting when I saw Joe Lusher as the judge. I wasn’t surprised to read of his Shakespearian background. I can only describe his performance as “rich.” I would occasionally back away from the involvement of the work to just enjoy pure style.

As the writer Lovborg, I was impressed with the raw power that Jeremy Ryan Brown brought to the set. He was the only male in the cast who could consistently stand up to the Godzilla-like personality of Hedda Gabler.

In a strong supporting role was Laura Miller as Thea. She must be good. I disliked the weakness in this character from her first moment on stage.

Also in smaller roles were Nancy Meyer and Linda Browning Hughes. In both cases I would like to have seen more.

And then there’s Hedda … When she first stepped on stage, Emma Bach reminded me of Walt Disney’s Alice in Wonderland. After three minutes she reminded me of Lady Macbeth. By the end of the evening I wasn’t sure exactly what I had seen – other than it wasn’t going to fit well into any of my pre-conceived boxes. Here is a character so complex, so driven, yet so fragile … Ms Bach handled it all with seeming ease. In addition she added an almost hypnotic charm – one of those “I-am-the-flame-you-are-the-moth” kind of things.

With the high quality of everything else, I was disappointed with the direction. For example, the character of Hedda was too openly domineering, right from the beginning. A softer start would have allowed the character to “grow”, revealing more depth. What bothered me the most was the amateurish blocking – the unmotivated moving of people from one side of the set to another. Often three people would be jockeying for position to see who stands next to whom. Not good. And likely these mistakes might have been unnoticed if the quality of acting was less than it is.

Hedda Gabler will continue to be performed at Curtain Players Community theatre this coming weekend.

Woo-woo! Another review!

2010-03-07T22:44:00.002-05:00

Is been a week of the write stuff - one interview, one article, two reports, two reviews. Here's my second review. (By the way, if this play ever passes by your doorstep, SEE IT.)

Theatre Review – Six Dance Lessons In Six Weeks
Emerald City Players 03/06/10

Okay. Let’s start with the punch line. The Emerald City Players production of Six Dance Lessons In Six Weeks is the funniest two person play I’ve ever seen in my life.

Having said that, if the people on play selection up in Dublin had asked me, I would have told them – straight out – “don’t do this play.” That’s what I would have said.

“Why not,” they would have asked. (Or likely would have asked. They’re a polite bunch. Respectful.)

“Because,” I would have pounced, “it will never work. Never ever. There are only two people in the cast – two! Where are you gonna find two people in this town who can pull that off? And it deals with intolerance and acceptance! When was the last time you saw a funny play about intolerance and acceptance?”

In my mind I could see them squirming. I had them and they knew it.

And then I would have gone straight for the throat. “Nobody’s gonna come see it. If you want audiences, do something by Neil Simon, or - better yet – Richard Rogers. That’s it! Or something with lots of kids. I think Annie Five is available …”

They didn’t listen to me. In fact, they didn’t even ask me. This conversation never happened.

But it illustrates two points.

First, it’s true that Six Dance Lessons In Six Weeks will likely not draw large audiences. The show is not that well known by the general public. It does have a cast of only two people, and both of them are (a) not young, and (b) dressed throughout the production. Since the play deals with adult themes, it has adult language.

In other words, this play has everything in the world working against it as a community theatre presentation. Many times I’ve been told that these theatres can’t afford to speculate. Wistfully I’ve heard that they must stick with the proven money makers. It’s a matter of survival.

The second point is the colossal loss to the quality of life there would be if we chose not to embrace a play like this when it comes along.

Here’s what we would have missed;

We would have missed a marvelously well written work – it is at the same time warm, zany, funny, biting, and endlessly inventive. Very few topics are sacred – literally.

We would have missed two incredible performances. Kathy Strum and Mark Schuliger compliment each other perfectly. The chemistry between them is remarkable. At every moment you know you are in most capable hands. Characterizations are strong, clear, and sustained. Actions are motivated and reactions are endearing. And as for energy levels … could two people actually sustain the necessary energy levels to keep a play interesting for a two hour period? Hint. The energy levels were still going up during the curtain calls.

Six Dance Lessons In Six Weeks will continue to be presented by Emerald City Players for the final times this weekend.

Parting shot. A number of plays are all being presented this weekend, all over town. Even with your best guess, every once in awhile a great one slips by, unnoticed. Don’t let Six Dance Lessons In Six Weeks be one of them.

Review of Tracks In The Snow

2010-03-06T14:10:00.004-05:00

Another day, another play. Another review, same website.

Theatre Review – Tracks In The Snow for Raconteur Theatre Company .

The ambiance of Club Diversity on South High Street is unmistakable, and typical of those intimate bars that have been around since the year two. This one is remarkable only because it’s carved into architecture at once familiar in German Village; remnants of plaster over lathe, ancient brick, exposed beams - all giving the impression of strength, history, dignity, and quiet repose.

After mildly curious stares by local patrons, someone led me up a flight of wide steps and down a hall to a room about the size of a small efficiency apartment. At the front is the acting area. In the rear, light and sound boards. In between, purple walls, tables, chairs, imaginative drawings on what had once been large windows.

All this is Raconteur Theatre Company – every bit of it. The experience does not begin with the play, but when you walk in the door of the building.

To begin their 2010 season, Raconteur has chosen the play Tracks In The Snow, by Neil McGowan. The story centers around a young man, forced to take shelter with a farmer and his family during a snow storm. Complications arise when the young man interacts with the farmer’s two daughters …

Yeah, yeah, it was all I could do to write that last sentence. My first impression of the plot was that it fell somewhere between a soap opera and a very old joke. The characters were less than subtle exaggerations of real people – certainly larger that life. Worse, like a parody of Greek tragedy, I anticipated the ending right from the beginning.

So … with this comforting feeling of condescending superiority, at what point did I become aware that the characters moved from bazaar to interesting? When – and more importantly, HOW – did I become involved in their lives?

Everything, of course, begins with the writing. Neil McGowan has purposely created characters that are “weird” by their own admission. As more intimate details of their lives are revealed, so are their social and cultural values. The young man, representing the audience, is at first distant, an observer. As he is reluctantly drawn in, so are those of us who are watching and listening. If the purpose of the playwright is to say that we are all unique, yet share variations of the same very real issues … well then, congratulations, Mister McGowan, ya got me.

But even the best of scripts is subject to interpretation. Somewhere during the roughly two-hour presentation, the characterizations went from my impression of “strange” to “strong.” I’ve tried to pinpoint when that happened – for some reason that seems important to me – but I can’t. Only after the fact was I aware that my attitude had changed.

Perhaps it was in the performance of Leslie Robinson as the family matriarch. Ms Robinson was certainly the most believable of the cast members, and always a joy to watch in whatever role she takes.

Or my involvement might have been the result of watching Sean Reid, Jonathan Carter, Lorelei Moore, and Tom Shafer. At first they appeared to tip toe around the edges of burlesque in their broad character presentations, but by half way through the show I found myself nodding my head, “yes, I do know people like that.”

From the start I was intrigued with the performance of Andrew Goodwin. Mister Goodwin starred in one of my own plays several years ago, and I was curious to see his transformation into this new character. At first he appeared stiff, even formal. But as the play evolved, so did his character, becoming softer, more sensitive, even slightly haunted.

In the end, however, the main thrust of Tracks In The Snow is carried by Katie Powell. This talented performer is a dynamo of energy, leading the direction of the plot down one seeming rabbit trail after another. Ironically, you know this very exuberance will eventually doom the character. None of her dreams will be fulfilled.

The Raconteur Theatre Company’s production of Tracks In The Snow is a funny sad play, and if your nature is sensitive, the shadows will remain on the edges of haunted memory for some time.

Bringing You Up To Date

2010-02-26T18:54:00.008-05:00

The 30th (and hopefully final) re-write of MORGAN is complete, and a copy of the 124 page play has been mailed to a producer who has expressed an interest in reading it.

Another play, ELYCE TIMES ONE, co-authored by Julie Morrison and me, is presently being considered by two local theatres. Both groups have promised to get back to me sometime in March, as to whether either is interested in producing it sometime soon. A third theatre has guaranteed production in the summer of 2011, if someone else doesn’t do it first. (Although the play is complete, it has been offered as a works-in-progress, with the idea of re-writes likely afterwards.) All three theatres are in favor of producing the play, because (1) it would be out of their regular season, (2) it’s a comparatively inexpensive play to produce, and (3) whoever eventually gets it will apply – and likely get – serious grant money.

Also in March my agent tells me one of my earlier plays is still scheduled to be produced at a theatre in Glasgow, Scotland. (No, I’m not planning to go see it. Just send me money – or pounds – or Euros. I don’t care, I’m not fussy.)

My next assignments to review plays for Theatre Vault are March 5th and 6th. I’m going to see TRACKS IN THE SNOW on Friday, and SIX DANCE LESSONS IN SIX WEEKS on Saturday.

Someone has asked to moderate my writer’s group in March. He’s going to lead a discussion on how to write action scenes. Good. Nothing here I need prepare for.

Julie and I have discussed another writing collaboration – likely to start in April.

I have no directing assignments until fall. Yea.

So.

What does this all mean? It means I have an entire week of writing or not writing. I have two works partially completed. (One is three-quarters done. I’m on the last page of the other one – I can’t come up with a good way to END the dumb thing!)

Or, I don’t know, maybe I’ll just do something silly, like – I don’t know – maybe I’ll read something somebody else has written, like a book or something like that. Is that too drastic? I could start with comic strips and work my way up. Do they still draw comic strips?

Or maybe I’ll take long walks. I used to enjoy that. And if I’m not boiling over a plot outline in my mind, I don’t get lost nearly as often.

Or maybe I’ll just sleep. I have a new pillow. I hate it. But I’ve been beating it regularly with a baseball bat, and I ran over it twice with the car, so it doesn’t feel so much like a truck tire in a pillowcase any more.

Or I could shovel the sidewalk … naw, forget that one.

I know! I’ll write a post on this blog explaining why I’m not … writing … anything.

Hmmm.

I know what I’ll do – I’ll think about it. That’s what Ill do – I'll think about it.

Tomorrow. Maybe.

jb

And how was your day?

My Pit Bull, Guarding The House

2010-02-24T02:16:00.001-05:00

MORGAN!

2010-02-21T21:46:00.010-05:00

MORGAN is a biography of Morgan le Fay, King Arthur's half sister.

Re-write number 30 was completed today. I've been working on this play for almost exactly 25 years.

After the 6th complete revision, the work won a regional contest and received a public reading at a college in Southern Ohio.

I wasn't happy with what I had written. I withdrew the play, picked away at it every once in awhile. I never offered it to any theatre with the idea of having it produced.

I wasn't sure if any theatre would or could produce it. The language, so far as I could make it, is in antiquated English. And the setting is large.

But I kept working on it. Working on it was fun. I think I've created something that might actually be literature. (But please don't tell anybody.)

I stopped after the 29th re-write. The 29th re-write was still on a typewriter, and typing a 122 page play 29 times was not fun.

So it became something to be read.

Now somebody is interested in reading it. This person runs a theatre specializing in Shakespeare plays and the like.

Hmmm.

So re-write number 30 just went by. On a computer.

I'll let you know if there's any breaking news.

jb