human behaviour.

Summer has come and gone. The boys of summer have packed up their gear and shuffled back to reality. Yesterday was the first day of fall, as well as the opening evening of my play. The appropriately titled Hell Week did not fail to meet its inherent demands. My last minute set doctor, if you will, came down with what was thought to initially be strep throat. My sound designer continued to miss the mark, offering half-hearted cues, leaving me to assemble everything show worthy by myself. And my lackadaisical stage manager decided to finally bring her 65% to the party as well as loads of very unattractive personality hues. Every tech night of the week felt like a marionette show of a sort, as getting people to communicate with one another without my urging or to notice obvious problems without my shining a light on them became all too common.

For this whole show I have been spread thin holding my faith in others, but then spread even thinner as their investments were shown to be fleeting. If I knew I would need to do nearly everything from the beginning, including in some cases doing actual basic thinking for people, I would have prepared many things prior to the point of being nearly too late. I gave my cast a black-out night on the evening before the show. I was not fully satisfied with the results of our full dress rehearsal, but since only one of the actors had become privy to all of the odds I have been working against this whole time, the last thing I wanted to do was keep my cast around while final touches were being put to the set and the tech department. Overworking my actors or letting their morale or energy levels waiver too much works against the success of performance and the show in my mind.

Our first night's house was medium-sized and reasonably responsive during the performance. We got a slew of exceedingly positive critiques. The cast nailed their performances, and as expected pulled out punches I knew they were saving for a paying audience.

The basic structure of things as they ran were the weakest points to me. My stage manager could not find it in her heart to put the board president hat away for the evening. Her concerns were not related to being a stage manager, who would warm up the theatre before everyone arrives or stay to ensure everything is wrapped up properly, but one who sees the few things she does as a piece of cake. She quite often leaves remnants of said cake behind for others to sweep up. I feel she wears figurehead titles, and for some reason people can't see through her weaknesses with power, control, and leadership. We opened house late since she forgot the tickets, although the way the bookkeeping is done here chit marks work just as well.

And then she wanted to curtail my pre-show playlist to get rolling with show, even it was her fault we got the late start. I have very definitive ways I set tone and mood in my shows, and for those arriving early it plays through the set and music, which specifically had its own share of problems besides. I like to take an audience on a voyage of sound, color, emotion, meaning, and full of dramatic umami. Our first audience experienced it with an immediate hiccup and dead air, equivalent to when an actor clearly forgets a line and stands looking awkward and out of character, or when wonderful comedy occurs and everyone bites their lower lip in an effort to keep from laughing and embarrassment ensues.

I don't know if it was that the show wasn't ready for an audience or if I just wasn't ready to let it go. In ways I felt my baby was being tended by some incompetent teenager. I have been working so tirelessly that the point of exhaustion has been left behind many miles ago. Instead of attending opening night, I should have been wrapped up in blankets, getting more than my of late allotment of six hours of shut eye.

I have high standards. I have invested blood, sweat, tears, cash, time, and effort on this production, and since it reeks so well of my soul I have equally high expectations for it. I think I look forward to night two far more. I have never had a show that was not completely ready for show on opening night. This puts my cast and my art in a very vulnerable position. This has been the most challenging production I have undertaken to date, but in so many ways my most satisfying and certainly the one with the greatest learning curve. Leave it to putting on a show about human nature to truly discover endless variations on the foibles programmed deep within us all.

my tribe

This play has been my most harrowing undertaking yet. In some ways I attribute this to the material, and how the core themes and meaning of a show bleeds heavily onto the flow of production. Things are far beyond gloves merely coming out. This one has tested ideals such as loyalty and conviction, and pitted us against them in an all out battle of wills. I have seen Darwinian truths as illness, innate inadequacies, and other intrusions have left an inordinately small collective of villagers building the camp. I have found myself harshly protective of my family and quick to question the motives of outsiders. In three days this season long gruesome trek of a show will hit the oasis, lap up laughter, applause, and cringes from what we can hope will be a welcoming band of foreign villagers.

anima cruelty

pol·i·tic (adj.)
1. Using or marked by prudence, expedience, and shrewdness; artful.
2. Using, displaying, or proceeding from policy; judicious.
3. Crafty; cunning.

Undertaking this new play certainly looked like a much more pleasurable journey four months ago when I waited with bated breath to know whether or not my show had been selected. I was never told directly, which was contrary from expectation. I found out when the theatre's website was updated, thus beginning the first of many communication failures.

The theatre continues to refer to this as a transitional year. From my stance, it has been one that has left my show out in the cold time and again. So much energy, time, and personnel were expended on the season opener, leaving mine to feel like the second child who wished there were more old pictures of them in the photo albums and that the collection of clothes weren't all hand-me-downs.

I knew that there would be challenges in having the Board President on my team as stage manager, but since I had considered her amongst my friends and since she seemed to enjoy the show so well, I went forward with it. I have now found myself working with a person who is quick to switch hats from stage manager to condescending President with aplomb. I can handle it. It's my actors have taken the most abuse. I know it's one of many things that have driven them to have difficulty putting faith in her and her abilities.

The Vice President was present following my first evening of auditions, and against all of my creative and professional judgment suggested I highly consider casting the actress who auditioned that evening. They were wrong for the role in so many ways, whether it be age, appearance, or the noticeable resume-fanning inability to actually be directed. He said it would be a politically strong move. It would inspire members of our main community theatre competition to come out.

How could I have known at the time that this would merely be a taste of things to come? The Board members meet once a month and I have it on good authority that my show was brought into question during at least one of those. In fact the minutes from those meetings are still not posted on their website, as per the requirement. I know that there were plenty of behind-the-scenes attempts to intrude on the progress of my show.

They were propelled forward by the theatre's Promotions Director. His squeaky clean family show opened the season. I suspect that he offered himself to that title to have the reins over his own production. He hasn't seen fit to contribute to the promotion of my show. I have worked myself ragged trying to inspire a promotions team to get the word out about my upcoming production. I can only do so much, and even without the assistance of the above individual, I have still had to jump through hoops to get where I have.

His second in command on that play is the theatre's nit-picky, but seemingly experienced Technical Director. He flashes his resume and credentials faster than you can ask the time of day. He's young and full of young dispositions. I have loathed his presence and had difficulty navigating all of the hurdles he has swung my way. I hashed it out with him last weekend. We are both cooks who realize there are not enough sous chefs to go around.

Since my set designer went (still) MIA, I decided to move ahead without her and to commit to my own design with a good friend of mine who is handy with construction-related matters. I have slowly but surely been adding touches after touches to my set, and it is really coming together. I am out quite a bit of cash and some of my house looks a tad rifled through. All of this is the cost of doing local theatre, and a particularly fun aspect.

He decided to add a piece of input about the set - a decent one. Basically the equivalent procedure of someone telling Wyclef Jean that Lauryn's lyrics needed one time. Whoever that was had better have gotten full credit for songwriting, because that's where I am. Immediately I get this unrequested sketch of my set, word for word from my own set-up plus this guy's slight additions, an opportunistic email checking on what sort of playbill credit can be expecting, as well as a call from the VP of the Board wanting to make sure I am doling out credit appropriately.

It looks like no one can understand that I might actually have a perfect handle on everything. I am over-extended, but my boat is not sinking. The few people I have working with me have given their all, and things are going remarkably well. Last minute ride jumpers are really rubbing me the wrong way. I am caught between having a dishonest credit scroll or missing out on one small touch that would add another bit of oomph to the proceedings.

The politics that have sponsored all of this is pushing me more and more away from continued involvement. Not everything needs to be put to a committee and I don't think it's right that someone who has been out of the loop should be able to hop in and start pushing people around.

Only eleven more days until this play limps across the finish line to opening night, back strong, head up high, and wearing its bruises proudly.

get fierce.

It could be said that I choose physically and emotionally draining productions to present to an audience. None of the plays I have directed nor any of the scripts I have written or developed have been walks in the proverbial park. Much like the material I find myself drawn to, I am challenging. I realize this. I present others with challenges and hurdles whether through allowing others the chance to find a canvas to stretch their own art or by my often esoteric, dry wit that has been known to bypass some folks altogether. I hold expectations high but attainable above myself and others. I question the authority of others and I attempt to lead by strong example. As opening night on the new show draws near, I find again the recognizable motif of every production I have ever managed: I have around me a very different cast of characters than I had at the start. As the echoing dramas continue to bounce across my show, I can reasonably attest to those who might want to join up in the future, if you're looking for an easy ride, you'll need to look elsewhere.

final countdown.

As I sent out the emails requesting information from my cast and crew for their playbill bios, it really hit me just how few people are really involved in this production. The unprofessional disappearance of my former set designer left a gaping hole that I have been working tirelessly to fill over the past several days. The Labor Day holiday weekend has conflicted with not only my rehearsal schedule, but also my efforts to have my street team hitting the pavement with posters. The town is not painted heavily enough with our striking posters for my liking. I am ridiculously over-extended with my hands far too deep into nearly every aspect as opposed to overseeing the work of others, allowing me to then focus my attention on the right things.

Last week I looked to a few of the board members at the theatre for support, only to be knocked back with attitude and defensiveness. I loathe the feeling that I am more alone with more people in the proverbial room than I have on past productions. There are more rules and regulations, but with that comes more egos and ever more drama. The regime that have taken over the theatre, though leaking good intentions, are wrong to make such knee-jerk judgments of me just because of their bad experience with a now banned director. I come armed with my own bag of tricks, and a decent reputation. I am glad to know just who I can depend on, but I am sad to see that it's not this recently assembled board. If this is the way of it then I am not sure that I wish to bring my talents to another production there.

wrinkled tenacity

te·na·cious
adj.
1. Holding or tending to hold persistently to something, such as a point of view.
2. Holding together firmly; cohesive: a tenacious material.
3. Clinging to another object or surface; adhesive: tenacious lint.
4. Tending to retain; retentive: a tenacious memory.

I have been dubbed tenacious on multiple occasions during my lifetime. Sometimes I find it to be a hex and a weighty hindrance. The production of my current play is certainly no exception.

Let's re-cap:

My efforts to find a stage manager who was not also a convicted rapist brought me to a first-timer whose main qualifications were that she is the President of the Board for the Theatre, so therefore full of vigor, love for our theatre, and dependable. Having to train someone to do something that Google really does go on and on about is one thing, but then to have them commit themselves to a supporting cast member role in the current play whose schedule and run was sure to conflict aplenty. I convinced her to drop-out, but it wasn't the last time I heard of her attempting to divert attention from the show. On the days she's there, though she is in her late-forties, she can often come off as a teenager with ADD. The cast doesn't much like having her around. Maybe they can tell she was vying for one of their parts for which she is exceedingly over-aged.

The casting process took not only three sessions of miserable auditions, but a forthright smattering of hunting behind the woodwork with just the right tone of begging to assemble the first four for the ensemble. The fact that one of them dropped out early in the process was only compounded by the fact that the first half of the month of August took skill, tact, and extra special ideas for what the word rehearsal could mean with half of my cast on some semblance of vacation. Fortunately my efforts to re-cast were greeted with a strong replacement, for was a hard sell, but a workable choice.

As if this wasn't enough, the newly crowned Promotions Director of the Theatre was making underhanded efforts to have my show pulled from the season. My stage manager via President of the Board decided it appropriate to announce these shadow dealings in the presence of my cast and sexy understudy at the second ever rehearsal. It tainted and toned many of the subsequent ones, and has been one of the hardest things to unfetter ourselves from, as pot-shots from the sidelines do not always bring confidence from the populace. Just when I thought that this whole matter was done, I got the first direct e-mail from the guy a few days back with rambling, generic promotional ideas that I am privy to given my previous experience. He also thought it necessary to make extensive jabs at my production, my poster, my uphill battle, and put our shows in direct competition with one another - numbers-wise.

Then there's the new transitional Board of the Theatre, who were once four or five people who wore what seemed to be fancy titles but did very little. Now they have fancy titles and (in some cases) the egos to match. None of the key members have ever actually directed a show at this small, underfunded theatre, yet they have come up with rules and by-laws, and who-ha to abide by that in a few cases is a welcome change but primarily comes at a cost - quite literally. For one, they would prefer we assemble backdrops instead of painting the walls and assemble flooring instead of painting the floor. There has been a long history of painting the damn space. It's cheap enough to keep it in budget and to ensure we non-professionals can actually get the job done. It doesn't end there, but that one segues all pretty to my next part.

I had a brilliant set designer on my last show, who I was able to have commit to working on this one. Her excitement and interest level were high a month and a half ago, and then even a month ago. I had no idea at the time that this would be the last time I would hear back from her. I sent periodic update emails as the rehearsal process evolved our conversations about the set, and I shared suggestions as to when we could meet to chat these things up on a more one-on-one level. I got zero response. I tried multiple e-mails, Facebook, texting, and even phone calling to a full voice mailbox. I know she's alive. Facebook assures me she's actively in town. My poster artist used her as the model on the poster for my play for God's sake! This is what we call dropping the ball and then kicking it in my face.

We are twenty-two days out from show. I have no set designer. I have a slight construction team at the ready, but no captain. Producing and directing the show are quite enough without having to take the reins on this duty as well. If it ended there, we might be able to wrap up this pretty package, but at present we will have naked actors on the stage. I had a talented clothing designer on-board for a short while, but since she backed out I have only had one other person issue interest - albeit with the caveat they have someone else as partner. Whatever it was before, at this point it can't be the most challenging position on the team. Nothing can be. When things get to this point it's more about pragmatism than ideal vision, which is one of many concessions I make since the reliability on others is mostly unavailable and my expectation to have many beyond myself pre-plan has been thwarted.

The counterbalance to all of this is a brilliant play on the page and an even better one with our execution, a cast who have begun to find some cohesion and connection, a perfect promotional poster and a core team of folks willing to walk the streets, an energized and dependable F/X make-up guru, and my girlfriend who has understudied, filled in for, and otherwise contributed to so many facets I can't even come up with an official playbill title for her.

Cheers to not being driven to drink heavily throughout all of this!

[clink]

wu wei

Funny how I blind myself
I never knew if I was sometimes played upon
Afraid to lose,
I'd tell myself what good you do
Convince myself

It's my life
Don't you forget
It's my life
It never ends

- Talk Talk "It's My Life", 1984

Intersections can be fascinating. I have found myself watching the flow of traffic moving in those four distinct directions, everyone intent on leaving this place and moving on to the next, recognizing that the destinations of some are remarkably similar to the recent location of several others, and noting that within all of that shuffle so many are really in the same place. In metaphors by-ways, highways, crossroads, and other means of point A to point B are used to signify one's present position in life. Here is never good enough.

Today I find an intriguing intersection of time. I see these quite often, but usually keep them to myself. I find significance in measuring and taking note of time, as I see it, whether or not there's anything tangible about it. I grew up listening to "Time in a Bottle" and watching Quantum Leap, so my concept of time has a wide birth. Only with our conception of time can we view synchronicity and supposed coincidence. We need such borders to see the overlap.

One month from today my play opens. For me that's crunch time. We are getting down to the wire. I see all of these dots bouncing about throughout my mind, and slowly each becomes connected, and together we are creating more and more viewable images. But there's so much more work to do. Last week the poster was completed. This is the first line of attack in any promotional campaign, and I think of the difficult trek it was to even get there. The original poster designer became revved up by the idea of working on the show, back in early June, but all subsequent communications lacked response. The second choice artist wasn't even known to me until after that struggle of wills and patience, but the end result assures me that she should have been first.

Today also marks ten years since the completion of my first feature length screenplay. I had dabbled in writing scripts for many years prior. I ran out of interest for many of them after about ten or fifteen pages. This was the first one that involved extensive research, revision, and revelation. This was my baby, and the one that got whipped the most by the Hollywood perspective. It was deemed many harsh things, all of which became badges of honor that I would ultimately wear happily. It was accused of being too rough, too raw, too edgy, too left of center, and maybe appropriately too long. I did have some cheerleaders and fans, who wanted to work with this ballsy novice, and a couple interested investors, but I had a really poor business execution given the faith I put in an enthusiastic, charismatic, but ultimately flaky partner who was intending to help me get the film made.

What did I know? I was still grappling to find my voice. Translating it from my mind to the page never quite came across how I wanted. About five years ago, I completely dismantled the material and started to develop the more comfortable novel version. It languishes with many other original bits and bauble, awaiting the intersection of time, interest, and inspiration.

This morning I had a brief Facebook chat with a good friend who I met at the height of the above script's fateful trip to the screen. He sold his first play, a Civil War musical that uses royalty free period music and is geared toward kids - his preferred audience. I updated him on the progress of the current play. I recounted the time when I was anti-theatre and could only see myself working in film. I viewed theatre as musically cheesy and dramatically boring. My theatre experiences were clearly narrow, but I also wonder if I might just be a really bad audience and far better suited for the other side of the stage.

cabin pressure

In times of change, learners inherit the Earth, while the learned find themselves beautifully equipped to deal with a world that no longer exists.
-Eric Hoffer

I overspend on a cellphone whose main usage is sending text messages. I sell cellphones as part of my job, although I care very little about silly technological toys that create distractions that I don't desire. I used to write letters and send cards for birthdays and had an extensive Christmas card list. Since I'm working on a play the extent of e-mails I have been writing has increased exponentially. Certain interactions have been reduced to commenting on Facebook. This must be why seeing someone you know out and sharing a dozen words can feel satisfying.

Modern life has become a peculiarly abbreviated matter.

I got an e-mail from my dad yesterday. I can't recall how much I mentioned in the past, but my family has been fractured for some time now. Last Thanksgiving my sister broke up with my parents after a heated argument, although, from one standpoint it just looks like the silent treatment. They both refuse to speak to the other until x, y, or z happen. It's a Mexican stand-off of stubbornness that might well be indicative of the appropriate direction for these relationships, but I am not certain anyone involved has any resolution on the matter. My brother and his family have kept an arm's length from them since the whole turkey day debacle that I was thankfully a thousand miles away for. So many things are heard through hearsay and suspicion. Backhanded motivations and indirect dealings are but two concepts recessively attached to my family's DNA.

My dad sounds very sad and unsettled. He describes a world that he has little handle on. He made a weird Jell-o analogy, but I get the point. Everything he thought he understood is blatantly askew, especially as it has to do with the family. Despite everything that came before, I haven't pushed my parents out of my world as well. I decided some time ago that sometimes it's more a matter of approach. I see the human frailty in them, and it allows for far more eye to eye.

Overall, I am careful to keep poisonous influences out of my life. Once you realize the power is yours to maintain the quantity of unhealthy relationships in your life, Pandora's cute little box is stretched open wide for good. But you've got to pick your battles.

learning curve.

Nothing assures you how much you've been looking ahead until you're given the chance to look back, and everything feels unfamiliar. Even though I had considered just letting them burn up in the figurative house fire that was once my reality, I recently got a hold of books and books of parsed through old pictures. Most of them were taken during my 35mm period, clinically representing various holidays, events, and plenty of random fill-time - many of them surprisingly date stamped.

I had wanted to be a filmmaker since before my voice cracked, and the still camera became the settled for alternative. As I flipped the filmmaker’s spirit was clear, though often in weak soft focus or inadvertently less candid than intended, with interesting, odd angles, noticeable cross-cutting, and a quiet objective perspective. I showed up periodically with painted on grin, but the main meat of the ones I took show an outsider's point of view. Sappy movies always seem to offer voice-over and sound design for these unnecessary exposition moments where a character is strolling down the cul-de-sac of memory. I didn't have that.

I remember one Christmas in the early 2000s when my brother-in-law had filched an antiquated video camera from his place of employment. I used it to film my niece as she grew. I always loathed the camera person speaking on home movies, because I felt the acoustics were unnatural. Add this standpoint to my general mental and emotional disposition of the time to a Christmas video from that year, and you might garner that I was quickly able to displace myself from the holiday altogether.

I was taken aback by how many pictures of my parents there were and how with all of the rough ground my relationship with them has traveled, how many of them I felt the need to keep. Then there was the whole collection of my nieces and nephews, save one, growing up at distance. I added a bundle of those to the stack that began to seem like something akin to an image flip book. Then there were the reunion pictures of one sort or another - all of them before the advent of Facebook, thus more cherished, at least at the time.

So many pictures passed before my eyes from this period recently. I wished for at least a few loops of archived audio to sneak into my brain, but nothing came. I couldn't for the life of me remember a single conversation had during any of these occasions, nor in many cases any details besides those present in the images.

I chose a stack to keep and parted with the rest.

dining in

Following conflict upon conflicts, out of town trips, recasting, illness, and bombardment and threats to shut the show down, after half a month I had my full cast assembled in one location for the first time Saturday night. Plus for the first time in weeks, we even had full access to the theatre as opposed to random last minute living rooms and far too public venues. Before the first lines of dialogue were delivered, I knew to expect the truth of how bad off the production could be five or six weeks out from show.

I have been working tirelessly to keep the absent actors in the loop, and have given directions they can use in their own at-distance preparation. And I have done what I could to keep cohesion with the show for those who have been most consistently available, so as to seal the gaping hole blowing cold air in toward our show. The instant connection at first meeting of two of my actors, and the positive rhythm of their first official read together, proved to me that much of this effort has seen results.

If the production showed its pulse on Saturday then last night's rehearsal revealed its heart. My girlfriend and I had everyone over to our apartment, for one of three remaining off-site rehearsals, due to the geezer man's show being in Hell Week at the theatre. A comfortable, welcoming home, a little bit of food and alcohol, some apropos music, and a fantastic script were elements of the recipe for two and a half hours of interlaced stories, laughter, and true discovery of character.

going public

The theatre had their second and a half annual new season fancy-casual Gala last night. They have been holding them as long as I have been directing shows there. It's a time to remind the community of our existence, give 'em free food and drink, ask them for donations and to buy season tickets, and introduce them to the upcoming season of (now) nine shows.

Each director is assigned a table to present and promote their show. Though at times nerve-wracking, this is a favorite aspect of mine. Something about it reminds me of grade school alternative options to doing the written report. If that's the case, then half of the kids should get failing grades. Or maybe I'm just an over-achiever. I just find it insulting when those who represent not only shows being put on by the theatre, but the theatre itself don't seem to put in a lick of effort.

The mingling masses shuffled on by, getting the chance to give the first whiff of public air to the show's poster art, which turned out beyond my wildest expectations. Since the show's focal plot point is a dinner party shared with friends, invitations to the show were available for everyone. And if they listened closely they could get a listen to my specifically chosen blend of tunes revolving around themes and moods of the primal existence, whether it be traditional African or Native American music, Shriekback's animalistic Nemesis, or Oingo Boingo's Island of Lost Souls-inspired No Spill Blood.

My other contribution as a director for the season is to submit a short scene from the show to be performed. My poor show is still healing from all of the wounds it has sustained so far. This is not the time to put my actors up to the scrutiny of the local public, so I made the decision to completely recast the show for the scene on the spot. The casting was an uphill battle, as has been my ability to get my complete cast in the same room together, so what better tongue-in-cheek means of poking fun at this scenario then to have some new blood join in. It's like a cover band. Although in this case, my lead actress - finally back from her trip - read for her in-show husband. My girlfriend, who'd been reading that actress' part in her absence, switched off and read for her close friend. A random much-too-old woman who was curious about the show read for the lead and I had a well-humored friend of mine read not for the fourth character, but as the enigmatic narrator (i.e. he delivered the italicized portions and directions in his best audio book voice).

What a fun evening!

never surrender

An ill-wind comes arising
Across the cities of the plain
There's no swimming in the heavy water
No singing in the acid rain
-"Distant Early Warning", Rush

After Tuesday's mess of a rehearsal, we came home to a neighborhood-wide power outage. Sitting in the glow of candlelight with my sweetie offered the chance to find a lot of clarity. Though the storms continued throughout the night, by morning skies literal and metaphoric were far clearer. I woke up ready to tackle the hell out of this bruised and battered masterpiece.

It's said that every production has one under par performance, wherein the rote and familiar passages practiced and practiced just don't deliver the same punch. The collective heart tends to be elsewhere. On the first show it was the evening our review was published. The words were glowing, but one of my actors couldn't wrap their head around what could likely be construed as a backhanded compliment. That drop in energy affected everyone. The second show didn't have a night like this. Each successive show was more intense, more well-attended, and more well-received than the last.

I contend every show, instead, has one rehearsal fitting of this description - its point of no return. On the first show, our stage manager was sick, leaving me with double duty, our unpredictable actress was late, and my male leads were running lines from an entirely different show, and my fourth actor was busy texting in relation to some drama or another. I could not get the focus together. So I cancelled the rehearsal on the spot, to the utter surprise and chagrin of the actors, who quickly did the bad child turn-around. This was the turning point that headed the show in a more positive direction. Every one of us put in much more effort after that night, to the overall success of the show.

On the next one, I was going through the end of my marriage, which I feel added just one more level of crazy to the proceedings already rife with mental instability. Abandoning town and the then current orbit for some much needed sanity, I left the show in the hands of my quickly promoted already overly vocal and opinionated stage manager cum assistant director. This irresponsibility toward my show, though entirely necessary, filled me with embarrassment. My first night back after my brief sabbatical was the key turning point for the show.

When your sails are losing wind, it's time to turn the boat. Since productions are in ways living, breathing entities, far bigger than any one person, taking the power back over the beast is not only a necessity but an invigorating reminder of one's own spirit. The faith hiccup lasted all but a breath, but long enough to cause some worry. Everything has since been moving in a very positive, productive, forward direction. Yesterday was the best day of the week, full of accomplishment, connection, good food, and a joyous love of life!

Salud!

thunder road

The shadow of the lone detractor to my show lays heavily on the production. This prudish little man's pungent, outspoken rejection of our show, and claims that it is obscene and not fit for the standards of our town or our theater has left a poisonous aftertaste throughout the whole situation. The production has been having its difficulties without his raising his pussy flag in protest.

Last night's rehearsal was the first we got to actually share in the theater, given the above director's current show that has taken precedence. The whole place is under construction and transition, from the leadership on down to the internal structure of the theater. Walls are temporarily absent, sawdust lingers on the floor like entrails of termites on parade, nails, screws, cords, and power tools lay about as if Home Depot had a twister.

The day had progressed so well beforehand. I had a surprisingly satisfying conversation with my mother, I accomplished a fair amount about the show and around the house, and my girlfriend and I had a delicious meal at one of our favorite joints. The fact that the above director's assistant was still warming up the theater with his presence when we arrived offered a bit of sandpaper rub to the wound. He almost seemed surprised that we were gathering for our rehearsal. It would be nice if our time there could be respected.

But that wasn't the end of it. It's already known that our lead actress is out of town. There's nothing I could do to prevent this. The rest of my troupe seemed no better, with one distracted by happenstance of a dead car battery before rehearsal, another by work and other responsibilities overspilling into this and other rehearsal time, and the other by the contents of the flask in his pocket.

And then it started to rain. It started to pour down as if we had all neglected to follow the weather report, and this would be a storm to knock out the power, and we would all hope that sawdust tastes as good as they say. The roof of the theater has never been known to take kindly to a hard rain. It's one of the reasons that any actor who seems to exhibit difficulty in the projection department is always forewarned about what an audience would get from them during a rainstorm show.

Maybe with my lead out of town, I should not have bothered to meet with the remaindered cast two days in a row. I like to gather to collect our thoughts, run through to help actors learn their lines, and generally grow a rapport. As much work as I have put into this show already, the time moves forward, but it keeps feeling like the show is un-preventatively on pause. I can just hope that the literal rain offers us a bit of a metaphoric fresh start.

food poisoning.

I was up above it
Now I'm down in it
-nine inch nails

I knew as soon as I saw her name pop up in my email yesterday morning that I would be losing one of my hard-found four actors for this tightly woven ensemble piece that has taken quite a beating so far. As we are fifty plus days out from show, the last thing we needed was to be back down to a 75% cast. Interestingly enough she was also the last to confirm. I don't fault her. I know she had anxiety about the show. It wasn't expressed this way, but I predict the material might be a farther reach for her perceived talents. I could see it in her, though. I know with work we could have gone some amazing places with her performance. She called out a variety of conflicts, which are completely understandable. I have no cause to let my show have negative affects on the rest of someone's reality.

A mad scramble laid across my Monday at work, leaving the casting situation dangling precariously for a mere seven hours. In acts of desperation, one can very quickly muster up loads of determination. I have my heart and soul invested in this show, and as the old adage instructs: it must go on. A slight change of direction led me to tentatively cast a multi-talented actor friend mine, who I invited out to our rehearsal under the auspices of essentially reading for the part.

The more I reconfigured things, the more right she felt for the part, becoming a reminder of the unexpected blessings found under various levels of duress. As our lead is away during our first week of rehearsals, I had my girlfriend read her part. The newly created other 75% of the cast melded beautifully, as did my girlfriend's complete understanding of the direction I am taking the show, because her reading was frequently spot-on and allowed the other actors the chance to really pull some great punches.

And this show knows from floggings. The complete truth was revealed as our read-through wound down into chatter, laughter, and wonderfully evolved enjoyment of each others company.

My stage manager also happens to be the head of the board of directors for the theater. This is mostly coincidental and also because I consider her amongst my trusted friends. As it turns out, the head of promotions for the theater and the director of the show ahead of mine sent an alert out to the board members in the hopes to have my show pulled from the season. Suddenly all of the sabotaging, all of the passive-aggressive toned emails, and the condescension started to make more sense. He had no intention of respecting my need to share usage of the space or my goal to have a crisp, enthusiastic support team who will equally promote my show as his.

Since it was clear that the production has been periodically treading water, I can thank him for helping to poison the well. Adding insult to injury will only make Papa Bear angry. And as this whole matter just adds additional layers of truth to the pudding of the show. I'll just stir a few more times and move on.

stranger, lover

Listening to the first read of the play on Thursday night revealed a number of truths. One is that a great play pales on the page by comparison to having actors express it, even at the raw level of unfamiliar, misguided, occasionally on-the-spot reading aloud. I thought I loved the hell out of this show before, but when I heard the actors I cast commit it to spoken language, the air around our table simply sparkled.

One of the things that appeals to me about doing theater, and even writing fiction (for that matter), is getting the chance to create genuine moments. Revealing core truths, human connection, and life with its clothes off is quite satisfying. Often times these moments are shared in the confines of rehearsal, but when stars fully align they can be shared with an audience. Even though there are great distinctions between my first two plays, one intriguing similarity is that first meetings and the banter of strangers pervaded both pieces. Each contained myriad lonely people, seeking connection and warmth.

If the first two shows were about strangers than the new piece is about longevity, in all of its glory, misery, and in between. There is an intriguing depth and shorthand had between people who've known one another for a long time. The fact that this play deals with those who have lost touch with the above adds all sorts of interesting challenges for me and my cast of strangers. I can tell that the arms length beginnings of the interactions between the actors will steadily grow into something more and more acclimated and familiar. And I can hope that after they've stopped squirming in their seats and the laughter has quieted, we'll have found some morsel of truth for everyone to take away. They'll be heard and say yeah, that's what it's like.

table five

All of the hard work is starting to show results. The whole cast met for the first time at our first group read-through of the script. I have cast at least three of them against type, so several were surprised by which character they were offered and likewise some of the actors were taken aback by who they would be working across. This is just the right combination of comfort and unease about the casting, as well as the raunchy material that I feel is necessary for each to find the show challenging but still completely surmountable. Things are underway and the excitement is growing.

breaking bread.

Hollywood has been having a field day, raping the childhoods of those who spent theirs in the mid-seventies and eighties. Remakes on the big screen have been an aspect of silver screen enjoyment since the beginning, whether it was the multitude of Wizard of Oz flicks, the infamous Gaslight scenario, or Hitchcock remaking his own The Man who Knew too Much. These days it's gotten much worse, and more notably the source material has unexpected co-ownership by the reams of kids who grew up on it. Hollywood does not own the rights to our childhoods. Yet a new Footloose, a new Karate Kid, and even a rehash of Indiana Jones exists.

Remakes in music have always had a different tone, because they come and go. Classical music became the pieces struggling pianists would learn, beat by beat, to have in their own oeuvre. Much of classic jazz and vocal music would become standards, which is code for 'remake me'. Purists have original music in their hearts and were the first to react when hip-hop reached into the vaults of their nostalgia, taking their backseat prom memories out of context, and looping them into oblivion. Musical remakes are much easier to by-pass. A huge percentage of them do little more than overlay their different voice over the same general structure, like phoned-in karaoke. Therefore, most remakes sound like Smashing Pumpkins doing 'Landslide' and not Placebo doing 'Running Up that Hill'.

Plays are designed to be performed by one company after another. Playwrights can only hope for the wide-reaches of the world to meet their characters, hear their words, and react to the depth of their thought. In a way, this is one of the things that has attracted me to doing theater. At a primitive level, it's the fourth grade all over again. We are all assigned a project, but we each approach it differently. The script is the recipe, but every cook knows that recipes are but an outline, a jumping off point, contingent about the available ingredients, mood, and out-and-out instinct.

Putting together my dinner amongst sordid friends play that I am doing right now has followed similar themes. My behind the scenes support grows by leaps and bounds every few days. My on-stage performers have been much, much harder to gather up. The preceding show has a cast of baker's dozen. The theater across town is dropping RENT on the stodgy old-timers. I knew the pick-ins would be slim. However, much like that improvised recipe, you have to be able to use what you've got. I knew last week I could not present the show with the combination of actors I had found. Much like a marriage being only as good as how the correlation between the two operates and always at the threat of combining like that murky brown-black color that happens to paint on a palette, my ensemble cast needed a certain combined verve and energy. To me, that came in the form of an actor who came out for my third night of auditions on Monday, who would add just the right color to the show.

Now I have a cast. I have confirmed with everyone involved. Everything about this process and its result has felt like combating a new video game level. Now this one is replete with its own challenges, such as a stage manager who I had to gently wheedle out of performing in the aforementioned preceding show and many an actor's scheduling conflicts, such as one who will be gone for two weeks come this Friday. I feel that my first play had its own share of duress, so I feel completely undeterred by these hurdles. I have a solid cast put together. That's something toast worthy!

pulling teeth.

. . . not for the feint of heart.

baker's dozen

My horoscope from Tuesday, July 19th:

If a recent project isn't turning out the way you'd anticipated, it's time to use your built-in escape route. Implement Plan B like the brilliant superhero you know are. A great opportunity is coming soon -- flex your flexibility!

The official auditions were a major disappointment, to be certain. But the production itself has been in full swing for some weeks now, as the behind the scenes team has been underway with work, ideas, and steadily building the show's momentum. Given the material, it seems apropos to allow it to morph organically.

Aesthetically the skeletal structure of the animal that encompasses this play's production team is growing thick and sturdy. As for the meat and the heart of the production, I am feeling set on half of my cast - both of which were in one manner of speaking or another, personally hand-picked and not due to the open call. Communications back and forth with my (tentatively) other two cast member considerations has been with ease, but less frequent than I would hope it to be.

Today marks two months until the show opens.

This makes me a little uneasy, given how challenging this material may be to pull off. My last show was assembled in just shy of three months rehearsal. By comparison, most of the production credits did change hand about five weeks out. The show was about unstable mental states, which certainly accounted for a lot of the dramas that went down outside of production.

This show is about core needs, like sex, eating, and music. A party, by comparison.

added spice.

I have heard time and again from people excited to see my upcoming play. The little bit they know is quick to whet their theatre-going appetites. I have even heard from folks who aren't regularly interested in plays throwing their own ideas into the fire, as they suppose what the show might be from the small amount of gristle I have given out. That said, the need to properly cast is amped up with this sort of buzz. Fortunately my intincts were true, and I am slowly assembling a third set of auditions, tentatively more of a specially scheduled event rather than a mass cattle call. Despite, the off-set antics of my first play, this one is the closest I have come to putting together an ensemble cast, so which element each actor brings to the stage will help determine the right combination for a tasty evening for all who see it.

second (re)course.

if I only could be running up that hill
with no problems...

- kate bush

My show can not move forward with any variation of the five people who came to audition. As the producer and director of this show, I should feel resolved with this understanding. Part of me worries that they are my only available casting options. They all bring their own bag of tricks. I will afford them that, however the two months I have until open won't allow me to teach the weakest among them to act, much less bring what's necessary to give this fine play its due.

As soon as I realized that my auditions would consist of one phone-in, one slummin'-it, and three pity parties, I resolved to personally contact specific actors from the Facebook event list who had indicated their likely or Facebook-definitive attendance. It is certainly an act of desperation, but being at the helm of such a fantastic show that the theatre is riding a thousand dollars and one month's rent on, to say little of my own need to deliver certain production quality, it is a harsh necessity. The personal, intimate touch has often been a trademark of my productions, so I hope my cold-call (if you will) e-mails aren't too off putting. But what other choice have I?

feast. famine.

After the meager turn-out for the first night of auditions, desperate times called for adjacent measures. I decided to drop an e-mail to one of the directors of this past season. There were a lot of creative choices left unmade and leisure instead of focus in the on-stage results in their show, but I knew I could hone the skills of a couple of the actors in it - in a pinch.

I asked if they'd be amenable to getting the word out about my second night of auditions to their cast. I didn't say which cast, since desperation doesn't need to be without discretion. I am truly glad I did, since that director, and two of that show's cast made up seventy-five percent of my second night's gleaming hope.

The final quarter was held by an old friend of mine, who I have known for six years now and who I have directed before, but who really phoned in the audition. If I didn't know him, it would appear as if he didn't give an in-flight fuck about my show. My friendship with this guy is not exactly a casualty of the nuclear fall-out from the divorce, but it's taken injury and hasn't been the same since. His personality suggests diplomacy, but his attitude proves his favoring of my late-other-half.

One friend of mine, who is very supportive of this show, said to me: I don't envy you having to cast this show. I know they didn't mean: because practically no one is going to come out for it. I know this is a fantastic play, I feel intensely good about the direction I am going with it, and my previous shows hold a positive history amongst local theatre-knowers. I could go crazy if I continue to try and discern why the party was such a bust. So, I'll resist the opportunity.

the gathering.

And we're not little children
And we know what we want
And the future is certain
Give us time to work it out

- talking heads, road to nowhere

The fifteen month journey since the last time I stepped into my theatre as a creative entity and last night's audition session has been one fraught with life altering forward momentum and unexpected discovery. There is a beautiful correlation between the synthesis of the current fabric of my life at present and the organic manner in which I am approaching the new show's production.

I hadn't even read the play's script until after I had submitted it as my selection for the season. I scoured the web for plays, reading through or about hundreds of shows, honing my mind toward shows of specific cast size and offering certain key ingredients that I find key for nailing a show at this most intimate theatre space. Everything I was reading about the show, and the few pages I was able to see while I awaited my Amazon.com delivery held my interest, excited my instincts, and whet my creative appetites. The previous shows I directed had the security blanket of film versions. I never allowed my cast or myself to refer to them, but isn't it nice to have such an out?

This show allowed me a creative freefall, which is quite indicative of the distance I have come since putting together the last show, two years ago. All of the personal and professional growth that has transpired in that time leads me to undertake such weighty material. It's a very challenging show that finds the humorous gravity amidst deep held human viscera.

Since my last show, the theatre itself has been through a great transition in leadership and visually, as it heads toward the professional workplace I had always deemed it to be. My shows were often the anomaly for this reason, but now that the bar is moving in my direction, I am ready to step up my own game, if you will. It was truly invigorating to be back within its scarred, cobwebbed, whispering walls. Even more exciting was finally getting to share this second home with my girlfriend.

She and a few others were in attendance for the first night of auditions. There was a lot of lightness and humor in the air, and an excitement for plenty of things to come. I even had an unexpected visitor in a friend of mine who just dropped in to say hello, which is truly an unfortunate rarity these days.

Then like something out of 200 Cigarettes, the showing for actual auditioners was embodied by one unexpected soul, who is better known to commit blood, sweat, and tears to the other, far more funded, safe theatre. I have no idea what drove her to consider this show, but there we are: one audition down, one more to go. I can only hope that tonight proves more fruitful. It's an amazing show, whose backstage production value is coming together fluidly. I can only wish for some actors to embody this attractive skeletal structure we're assembling.

hunt. peck.

The first of two nights of casting auditions is happening tonight. I am headed over to the theater in just a few hours, crossing my fingers that the swelling of buzz around the show causes a multitude of people to come out.

I tossed and turned a bit last night in anticipation of this first round of monologues, meetings, and meandering artist types. One of my favorite aspects of working in the arts is the recidivism of that first day of school anxiety. Every new show, every hurdle therein, every opening night, and every finale is rife with creatively charged nerves. There's little else like it.

Each of the plays I selected to direct have been desperately demanding on everyone involved. The first show had two nights of auditions and then a week and a half of waiting to finalize the cast, since I was holding out for my preferred pick who was busy deciding whether or not our theater shone the right color on her resume. That show's follow-up took three open auditions to cast, and it involved me taking an extra special gamble on a couple of weaker actors. With the work we put in, everyone was quite able to hold their own by show's open.

This new play again asks a ton of everyone involved, at every level. I suppose I have some semblance of a sadistic streak in me, at least when it comes to what I expect of others, and certainly an audience. But many know that I put just as many demands on myself, so I hardly get away scot-free. What's the point of waking up each day if you're making no effort to stretch yourself and strain the limitations of your disposition, your perspective, and your core being? As much as this show is an intensely twisted comedy that edges farther and farther, pushing the proverbial envelope more and more, at its core there is a relatable story of mortality and meaning.

will return.

[enough said]