Friday, February 02, 2018
All of them are people I know or have seen onstage, none of them are the people I thought would end up in that role.
We cast a show, not necessarily a role. We want an ensemble that compliments and balances one another. Sometimes we get to auditions and Person A seems perfect for the part of the husband, but Person B who is MORE perfect for the part of the wife can't have a husband that young. Or that old. So you move on.
Or these two had amazing chemistry in their audition scenes, even though you didn't think they were a fit offstage.
It's akin to putting together a giant people puzzle, but you only know where the pieces need to end up, but not what they are yet. It was great fun pairing people up, grouping people up for reads and letting the chemistry mingle. Sometimes you have a person read for their second or third choice and sparks fly and magic happens. But the hard part, the really hard part, is turning away people you love from parts you know they have worked hard on. You hope they are professional and understanding - and most are. And if they're not, they don't last long in theatre. It's mostly rejection followed by disappointment with occasional glimpses of amazing greatness. So on to first read!
Saturday, July 08, 2017
There’s never enough. Particularly when you are trying to put together the best show possible, with actors and tech folks (and a director) that have lives and jobs and kids.
In community theatre, this is no one’s full time gig. No one is getting paid. Heck we are lucky if it only costs us a little money. Because Jehovah knows I’ve spent A LOT before. Three kids, multiple costume changes, etc. Gas and take-out because no one has time to cook? Adds up.
I mean we do have a budget, but it is most assuredly a shoestring budget. And that shoestring is missing the aglets and is frayed and ready to give up and really needs replaced. So instead of “I’d really like this shade of Chartreuse for the wall” you probably get “Don’t we have a couple gallons of green left from that one thing two years ago?”
But I digress because I came here to talk about time.
So the average, according to many sources on the interwebs, is an hour of rehearsal for each page or minute of the show. For Rabbit Hole the standard three night a week schedule gives us 23 rehearsals. Including tech week.
Twenty – three.
It seems like a lot, but for a 120 page script that gives us roughly 35 minutes of rehearsal per page. To get to an hour per page, we would need FOURTY rehearsals.In seven weeks. Well over five rehearsals a week. I don’t want to rehearse five nights a week, let alone ask my actors to.
Don’t get me wrong, we can put up a show at 35 minutes per page. But I can tell you right now it won’t be great. It will be a ‘come together at the last minute and really not until opening night’ kind of show. And while, as an actor and tech person, part of me thrives on the adrenaline and lift you get from those kinds of shows, it is not what I want as a director. I want scenes to be rock solid, I want actors that have been comfortable enough in their lines to really explore character and delivery. I want to achieve that fine line between polished and over-rehearsed. I want the show to be alive and exciting and at the same time just on rails, headed for the ending.
Our patrons deserve as close to professional as we can get. It’s expensive to see a show, particularly so if you have a big family you want to bring. We need to make sure they get a show that provides sufficient value, that will have folks willing to say “I saw a play here and it was amazing, and you should go too”.
So 250+ days before we open, I am shortly going to sit down with my script and plot rehearsal schedule, scene by scene. And then probably throw it all away when I get a cast that has their own schedules, but at least I’ll have an outline of what I want to get to when. Watch out for those extended Sunday rehearsals.
Just in case you want to play along, here’s a link to the show calendar:
Friday, July 07, 2017
So I’m directing a thing.
Why direct? Why me? Firstly, I am tired of griping about other people’s work onstage and figured it was time to shut up and see if I could do something better. Or at least that I thought was better Secondly, “Rabbit Hole” deals with grief and loss, and how we each grapple with death. It’s a story told in the silences and pauses, in the looks and movements of the characters. Sure the dialogue is there, but the dialogue is mostly informed by the subject and not directly addressive of it. (Ok addresive is not a word. But it fits.)
“Rabbit Hole” is also a movie with Nicole Kidman which I am NOT going to see until after we close.
So I thought I’d blog about it. Because it helps me process things, and might give someone else insights.
We’ll start with my Director’s Proposal. To those that haven’t done one it can be a strange and daunting document, perhaps this will give an idea.
Experience and Vision
What attracted you to the show? What can you, as a director, bring to it that is unique?
I first read Rabbit Hole after it won the Pulitzer and was blown away. As an aspiring playwright I read widely and consider it exceptional. I read it again when Red Mask announced its production and found that it spoke to me in a completely different way, and I was fascinated by that and fell in love with the play again, for entirely different reasons.
It speaks to me in terms of grief and loss, relationships and religion. The situations that arise might not be universal, but the emotions and reactions are. Having lost my brother, mother, father, and wife in the span of 6 or so years, I think I have a pretty unique perspective on grief and loss that I can hopefully use to lend some reality to the performance of the cast.
For me, Rabbit Hole is a play told in the silences and reactions. There is more said in the beats within and between dialogue than during it. The author is not afraid of the pause, of letting the dialogue breathe and be genuine. There is so much opportunity here for real acting, for performance to be informed by circumstance of character and not just the words that come out. Throughout the dialogue there are moments when the reactions of the other characters on stage tell us more about what is being said than the character saying it. I love that challenge.
Every word of the play is informed by the tragedy we don’t see and rarely talk about.
What theatre experience do you have?
I have been involved in many productions, from onstage to backstage to front of house, from Sunshine II to DLO to Red Mask to Dark Horse.
Have you ever directed before? If so, what challenges did you encounter during the last show you directed? What did you learn? If not, what challenges are you anticipating?
No! It’s about time I quit complaining about other people’s shows and directed my own. Directing is going to be a give and take, particularly with this production. It will be a challenge to let the actors get what they want out of the role and a performance, and to still get what I want. I love working with creative people, letting them explore their vision while at the same time guiding that vision. I hope to achieve a true collaboration where all parties come away satisfied with the end results.
Design and Technical Details
What setting have you chosen for the play? Please provide the specific time and place. If already specified in the script, why are you choosing to uphold what is specified? If you have chosen something different, what prompted your choice?
Discuss your overall design concepts, including set design and decoration as well as lighting and sound requirements. Attach drawings or supplemental materials as they are available.
The setting is simply AnySuburb, USA, today.
I am truly torn between a literal representation of the house in the play and just suggesting the house with some furniture.
The house is important to this play. It is almost a character. The boy haunts it, not in a specific sense but we need to be able to see him there, imagine he was there, know that he was there.
If literal, it’s important to have a ‘real’ kitchen, with island and place for sink and fridge where the light comes on when you open it and there is food in there. I think we need an island to separate the kitchen and living room. The kitchen needs lights, either under the cabinet or over the island or both. The cabinets need to open, we need to put stuff in them. We need to see stuff in them.
The living room can be quite simple, with a couch and chair or love seat and coffee table. We need a bookcase or two.
The bedroom is a conundrum, but it must exist. Do we put it “upstairs”? That would work. It needs to start as clearly a boys bedroom and change when we redecorate to clean house.
If we use a minimalist set we would just need a bed, a couch and chair, a dining room table and perhaps a single cupboard or just a refrigerator. Granted. I am still mulling this over.
There are select sounds during the play. Some of them can come from the sound system, but I will want some of the to come from the stage. In an environment as intimate as the Katherine Randolph theatre, it takes us out of the play to have sounds that should be onstage come from the sound system. I can help with this.
Lighting this play should be fairly straightforward as we are always inside, so variances from scene to scene are minimal.
The only thing I would change in the play is the scene where a character walks off and returns with a dictionary, I would just have him return with his smart phone.
Share your ideas for costumes, hair and make-up. Again, please attach supplemental materials as they are available.
I am absolutely entirely unconcerned with this and would let the actors decide, with my approval, what to wear in accordance with their character.
How will you approach casting the show? What are you looking for? Are there any special requirements/skills for any of the characters?
Age and gender appropriate are my only concerns.
As a director, how do you approach a show? How will you work with your actors to realize your vision?
As stated earlier, directing is collaboration. Rarely if ever will I say ‘Do This’ and issue an edict. I will say “Let’s try it this way once”, and try a scene or line or bit of business several ways and see what works best. I will be more than willing to try an actor’s idea and see if it has wings. If something doesn’t work I will be able to articulate why before moving on. Exploring a scene is part of the joy and creativity of bringing a play to life.
I don’t want to issue edicts on line reading. “Say it this way” is something I don’t want to say. I want the actor to find the right reading.
Also I will not be one that finishes out a scene in rehearsal just because we started it. If there’s something to correct, I want to correct it right away and go back. Or if we’re trying something new, try it several times in a row before moving on with the rest of the scene.
Are there any other special considerations in the show that you must consider as a director? (i.e. special effects, violence, strong language, content) What are your thoughts on these components as they relate to the play?
There is strong language in the script (well, strong for the Red Mask regulars) but I think it can be left in without offense. In general my philosophy is that the playwright spent far more time agonizing over the words on the page than I or the cast ever will, and I am loathe to change a single one. While being off-book as soon as possible is important, it is NOT more important than getting the words right.
<I’ve redacted my section on the Production Team, since I don’t really have their permission to put them out there. Let me just say that I was extremely lucky to get HIGHLY qualified (perhaps OVER qualified?) folks to help me with Stage Management, Set Design, and Producer and I already owe them a debt of gratitude for agreeing to come onboard.>
So there you have it. That and some conversation with a few old friends and a couple of new ones got me the gig.
Only 287 days until we open!
Thursday, January 19, 2017
It's been awhile.
A lot has changed.
I'm playing the role of Violet's Father in the musical "Violet" for DLO Musical Theatre. It's the first time I've been cast as my "part of first choice" in a production, and I am beyond thrilled.
My interest in the role started with the beautiful song the character gets to sing, "What I Could Do". And the role seemed written for my circumstance - single father, raising a slightly feisty daughter? How much of stretch is that?
Turns out, simultaneously not much and quite a bit.
I try to pull my character references only from what the audience gets to see. There is more backstory in the 'original' version of the musical, and yet more in the story that serves as the basis for the musical. But the audience doesn't get to see that. I use it to understand where the character came from, and the arc that he has followed as the material moved from story to musical to revival. And the way his relationship to other characters changed.
It would be easy to play him as angry, angry about the hand he was dealt and the hand he dealt his daughter by accident. But that would do the character a disservice, I think. It leaves him no room for redemption or forgiveness.
Father lives his life every day in the shadow of that accident. His grief and despair consume him. He loses his wife, then disfigures his best tangible link back to her. We learn little about Mama from this script, but I know this: He loved her. She was his sun.
So when Violet asks "How come we never talk about her" and Father doesn't answer, it is because he can't. How do you describe the sun to someone who's never seen it? How do you talk about what was the center of your life without having to remember that it's gone? How do you talk about all that was good without reliving it? Lots of folks never figure that out, and Father hasn't either.
When Violet finally confronts him, even in her dream (if indeed it IS a dream) and he finally faces his loss and her loss, he is brought down, devasted, to his lowest point. And perhaps his response to Violet is the only response, the best response - I did what I could do.
To build that character informed by those experiences has been difficult at best. It would be easier still just to come in and be me, but the character deserves more than that, this show deserves more than that. I still have a lot of work to do. If I'm not emotionally drained and exhausted at the end of each show, then I'm doing something wrong.
The tagline for the show is "It's About the Journeys you take to get to where you are". I think that sounds catchy but it's wrong. Ultimately I think the undercurrent of the show is forgiveness, and Father really never rests until he has gotten it from Violet, and from himself.
I am surrounded by incredible talent, raising the bar with every rehearsal.To see some of the work that is going into this, one would never know that it's community theater - -that indeed we PAY for the privilege of doing the show. I do it out of love - for the music, the performance, the pursuit of excellence, the cast family. But mostly for the transformative power of live theater, to take the cast and the audience to somewhere and somewhen else, to literally put on someone else's shoes and portray what it was to live in them for 90 minutes.
Friday, November 01, 2013
Driving down to Evansville today, I watched the moonrise. It was a fragile little thumbnail moon, leading the path for the sun to come up behind it. When it was about 1/4 way up in the east, the sun started to follow. Within minutes the moon was gone, outshone by the sun that it reflected. And I wanted to use that as an analogy about life in something, about how the moon is always there but without the sun we'd never see it, while at the same time when it's too close to the sun in the sky it's invisible.
I wanted to say something about relationships, because that's been on my mind lately. About how we have to be willing to be the moon sometimes. But it occurred to me that while I greatly enjoy being the sun occasionally, I am mostly the moon. Always present, gravitational forces subtly affecting the earth, basking in and reflecting the glow of my sun, blazing a trail for it across the night sky.
Friday, December 07, 2012
Today, I feel the same way.
Another early memory is of Dad playing Christmas songs on his old acoustic guitar while the family sang along. Many of my memories of Dad involve music - not surprising to anyone here, I’m sure. For some time I thought that everyone went out on summer weekends to see their Dad play music, or had a babysitter on Saturday nights while their parents went to a gig. I could never pick up the guitar myself, in spite of lessons and some practice. I realized it was going to be hard work, and Dad could not read music to help me learn. All of that pickin’ over the years, and couldn't read music a lick.
Making music for him was not about perfection, it was about performing, and having fun. It was his joy. I remember finally being able to go to a bar and hear dad play. His was playing in a little quartet with Randy Draper and a couple of other musicians in front of a crowd of mostly indifferent folks. They lit into one song and something just didn’t sound quite right to me. After several bars, Dad turned to Randy (or Randy turned to Dad, I forget which) and said “We’re in A!”
“We’re in the key of A!”
“Ok!” and they switched up and kept right on going, never missing a beat.
Dad was never what you’d call a ‘stern disciplinarian’. I remember being spanked exactly once, when I decided to disappear after grade school one afternoon to my friend Shayne’s house, and didn’t tell him or mom where I was going. When he finally tracked me down at around 7pm he was pretty angry, but even then in the filter of my memory he was reluctant to deliver the whoopin that I surely had coming to me. When my buddy John and I decided to pull a stupid stunt and made the news with it, and nearly got arrested for it, he laughed longer and harder than I did about it. When we would stay at until 3am laying on the hood of his car, or in the street, stargazing and talking about vital, important, 13-year-old things, Dad would just mosey over and suggest that it might, in fact, be time to come home to bed.
Dad let me learn from my mistakes. I don’t know if it was a conscious decision on his part or if it was just the way he’d been brought up. But he would often talk through a situation or problem or question with me and ultimately let me decide. From what instrument I was going to play in grade school to whether or not to finish up college in Indianapolis. He was not a person of absolutes - everything was to be studied and discussed before jumping in. There were many times I made decisions I know he didn’t approve of. Most of them worked out OK, but he lived with all of them and never ever called me out for making a bad one.
There was an extended period when Dad wasn’t in my life by his choice, and then a period where he wasn’t in my life by my choice. I regret them both. But during that time he never missed a band concert or chorus concert or band competition that he could get to. When I decided in my junior year of high school to go march with an independent Winter Guard, Dad never discouraged me. I made it to every practice in Champaign and Rantoul, through snow and flat tires, and I’ll never know what a hardship that might have been on him (as I’m sure it was). He just did it. Even though he did once ride away on the bus he was chaperoning and leave me stranded at a high school in suburban Chicago -- but that was only until they got to the McDonald’s down the road and noticed me missing.
My proudest moment with my father, though, may have been the time we sat down at Steak -n- Shake over a bowl of chili and got over the past and put it to rest. It was a critical juncture in my life, leaving all of that garbage behind, and I’m thankful he was willing to do it.
I’ll cherish every moment that I was able to finally get together with Dad and make music. We did a few things here at church where we sang and he played for Father’s day, and we played in a band that consisted of some fellow church members. We also got to sing in the Danville Barbershop Chorus together, a time we both loved. I’m not sure he knows what it meant to me to be able to do that - but then, I probably didn’t know how much it meant to him either.
I’m also especially thrilled that he got to see his grandchildren perform on stage by themselves in the summer children’s musical and in the fall with me. I don’t think he talked about anything else for weeks after seeing us perform in that musical. I wish he could be around for the next.
I was very proud of Dad in the endeavors he pursued in his retirement - helping the Community Action group and serving as an Auxiliary Police Officer. I took to calling him “Officer Ernie”. I think he thought it was a joke, but I really wanted everyone to ask me why I called him that, so I could tell them he was an auxiliary officer. I was very proud the day he took the oath and shook the Mayor’s hand and began his service.
My Dad taught me many things - never by saying “Here, let me teach you this,” but by example. Some of it was good examples, much of it was bad. For instance, Dad was pretty much hopeless with money. Financial advice is not something I sought from him. But he did teach me the value of hard work, and the value of education. I spent a summer working with Dad at Danville Metal Stamping. It was an education in life, in work, and in the world. Watching my Dad, day after day, doing the same thing - grab a widget, grind a little bit, measure a little bit, grand a little bit, feel it’s dimensions, grind a little bit, measure it in a jig, put it aside and grab the next widget - mind numbingly boring stuff to me. I could not fathom how he did it, day after day. God Bless those who do, because we need those precision parts. But it was something he took great pride in, and to hear him talk about the jets and rockets that could fly because of the little widgets he helped make was breathtaking. At the same time, it made me more determined to finish my education at whatever cost so I didn’t have to sit on a little metal stool, grinding widget after widget. When I think of all of the inconsequential crap that I wanted him to buy for me with his labor, it makes me sad and a little embarrassed. Fruits of labor like that should have been saved for grand endeavors, mighty works, not baseball caps and Big Jim dolls and saxophone reeds. But since then I’ve learned that to a father those little things ARE the grand endeavors, they are the mighty works.
Dad loved his cars. When it was time for a new car we’d have two weeks of conversations about which cars he was looking at, what the various pluses and minuses were for each one. And we’d talk about the cars he would love to have but were just out of his reach. Then after he’d made the purchase would come dozens of pictures of his new ride. Dad was an avid photographer. He’s probably lost more pictures than I’ve ever taken. We’re still finding boxes full of pictures tucked away in his house. We found pictures I had no idea he even had, that I thought were lost or didn’t exist: Stephen and I and my old Mustang, me singing at a church event with him and Richard and Darrel. In nearly every envelope of pictures, though, there was almost always a picture or two of the sky, or a particular cloud that caught Dad’s eye. He wasn’t just documenting a day, or his trip. He was willing to look up and search out the beauty in the day.
In looking back on Dad’s life I find a lot to be proud of. He was a simple man, straightforward and uncomplicated. He left a legacy of hard work and music and service to his community. And in spite of his flaws he loved, truly loved his kids, and his step-kids, and his grandkids.
I know that Ernie would want to be missed, for a while. He would want us to grieve for a bit, but to quickly move on. He wouldn’t want us to be sad at his memory, and eventually we won’t. I’ll think of him all of the time, I’m sure, because his image is all over this town - at every bus stop, in every bar, in every old honkey-tonk song, at every karaoke event, in every airplane and jet that flies overhead. There are many places in town where I’ll always be “Ernie’s boy”, and I am fine with that.
I tell people that if I ever want to see my Mom, all I have to do is put on a wig and find a mirror. If I ever want to see my Dad, I can look at my sons. And if I ever want to hear him, I just have to sing. So I’m going to leave you with this little thing, this little bit of my father. This little bit his grandfather sang to me, and Dad sang to me and most of his grandchildren.
Thursday, May 05, 2011
So here, in no particular order (unless I state otherwise), are teachers that have made an impact on my life in the classroom.
The two Mrs. Smiths : J. Smith for once playing the piano for me and telling me I could sing. S. Smith for remembering me years later and comforting me after my little league team got the snot beat out of us in the city tourney. And both for being great teachers besides.
Mr. Keller, for not giving me a detention when I came sprinting into his English class microseconds after the bell rang, because I told the truth. I believe I told him I was late because I was goofing off.
Mr. Butikas, for not pitching a fit when I dropped his Trig class to take creative writing. Creative writing was great, but in hindsight sir I should have stayed in your class. And for not calling me out for falling asleep in his class during Halloween time when some friends and I were working at the DACC haunted house all night.
Jim Conder, for endless rides to and from Jazz Band practice and for calling me up and telling me I had talent when I wanted to quit band in the sixth grade because I was sick of carrying that damn horn to school. To this day, I enjoy few things more than picking up my sax and playing with a group or in church.
Jon Dugle, for pushing us to play crap we had no idea would could play, and for making sure we did it with excellence. And the bad jokes, some of which I still tell to this day.
John Sanders, for opening my eyes.
Jim Beebe, for instilling in me a love of theater and public speaking, and continuing to be my good friend.
Mrs. Alexander, for giving an “F” on one portion of the final and an “A” on the other, and thereby letting me know that my shit did stink, in some respects.
Marion Blackburn, for telling me that my shit did indeed stink. Seems to be a recurring theme. If it helps, I’ve learned that lesson.
Ms. Millis, for reasons I won’t discuss here.
And, finally, every school librarian that took me under their wing and steered me towards books that would broaden my horizons and challenge my thinking, thereby teaching me as much or more than I was learning in class.
It's suddenly February and I have a cast. All of them are people I know or have seen onstage, none of them are the people I thought wou...
So I’m directing a thing. “Rabbit Hole” is a play by David Lindsay-Abaire. It won him the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 2007. Why direct?...
There’s never enough. Particularly when you are trying to put together the best show possible, with actors and tech folks (and a director) t...
Hey! It's been awhile. A lot has changed. I'm playing the role of Violet's Father in the musical "Violet" for DLO ...