Hi Everyone!
During my final semester at Brooklyn College, my 20th Century Theatre professor, Steve, introduced me to works by Allen Kaprow and Tadeusz Kantor. Thank God. I would have been really embarrassed if I had a BFA in Theatre and didn't know who these people were. It's bad enough I still have no idea what every theatre theorist who has ever written anything, means when he or she uses the adjective "plastic."
Anyway, I was pretty enamored by the ideas of these two theorists. Steve agreed to let me stage my own Kaprow-Kantor inspired Happening as a final project. The vague plan was to advertise a meeting on Brooklyn College's quad, and trace each other with Sidewalk Chalk.
This is the mission statement.
Here are the photographs.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Holistic Theatre
Holism – noun Philosophy – The theory that whole entities, as fundamental components of reality, have an existence other than as the mere sum of their parts. (Random House Dictionary, 2009)
The spirit of theatre, I believe, comes in the hope of uniting audience and production. A hope that spectators will be more than spectators, that actors will do more than entertain, that all in the room on a particular evening will connect through higher themes and emotions – that people will be, for lack of a better term, moved.
A few months ago I sat in on a Butoh workshop. Feeling rather unwell that day, I (sadly) opted only to watch rather than participate. Though downtrodden, being witness proved to bear its own gifts beyond the scholastic and analytic. For here I am, months past and still stirring with thoughts and feelings from the encounter. As a workshop, it was (smartly) not geared toward the idea of the “performative” – for an “audience” – but nor was it for personal, private, (selfish?), learning. Those participating were guided to express, for whoever was willing to holistically listen, the seemingly inexpressible essences of whom they uniquely are.
What a joy! Here was all the humanity of each individual participating in all its frighteningly unsanitary glory. No jars or tubes, no gloves or goggles, no disinfectants or antibacterial wipes. No fourth walls or contrivance of a character. Meat on my plate, straight from the hide. Raw, bleeding.
Take a breath, hold it, and dance your final dance of life until you can dance no more. Walk the timeline of your life, from birth to death, not failing to take time and cherish the moments in between. They all will come, but they all will pass. And death will come, and you will pass.
This was as great a theatre as any I could hope to see upon a stage. Perhaps as Romantic in theory as could exist, too. It was grotesque, but that it was made it beautiful. I saw the rich life of those I knew, and recognized the fruitfulness of those I didn’t. I thought of my life, my connections, what my dance of life would be. I was filled with love and hope, and wanted to do better in the world, make stronger, more loving connections while I was able. I was in awe of the spirit of (wo)man.
This is what theatre should be.
I have spent this summer working on Joan of Arc at Fort Tryon Park with Gorilla Rep, an environmental and ensemble based group that takes great pride in directly connecting with the audience to make them truly a part of the show.* During one performance, in the latter part of the play as it moved near the large archway at the base of the Pine Grove area, a dark, clearly solid object came plummeting out of the sky and nailed a teenage audience member square on the head. The show was stopped as the girl was tended to, our young war veteran director chased off the culprits, and cast joined audience beyond the (500 watt) lights. Suddenly, I was back in the classroom, experiencing Butoh. Breath held, our spirits danced in fear, hoping the girl to be uninjured. It was roughly ten minutes that cast and audience shared as family, strengthening our devotion to being better people over this unnecessarily violent act. Fortunately, we shortly discovered the object was only a half-filled beer can. Our combat medic cleared the beer-soaked teen of any severe injury (aside from the slight to her dignity) and when asked, she insisted on seeing the rest of the show (it was her second time). And almost all of the some-odd hundred audience members stayed as well. Not because the show was that fantastic (though we’d like to believe it was), but because of a deep emotional connection to community. We all stuck together. That’s what Joan of Arc is all about.
There was something very special about the end of that performance. The strange, artificial (and somehow inevitable) wall between performance and audience was permanently stripped from the evening. I felt an incredible, overwhelming need to tell the rest of this story to the absolute best of my ability (Joan of Arc is, after all, about love and greed, right and wrong, and the very gray line between them). Which was tough. I was playing a vindictive character attempting to rape Joan, ultimately gaining pleasure from her burning. It was, however, so important for this audience that I play my role truthfully that I – and the whole rest of the cast – prevailed with incredible fervor. That last thirty minutes were one of the greatest gifts as an actor I feel I’ve both ever given and received.
Yes, a select few were very angry the show was not stopped and the cops were not called. Yes, some participants did not give over to the experience in the Butoh workshop. But they are important, too. They are humanity that must be recognized, and the earth shared with them as well. Theatre should remind us of our community we must love while we share our brief moments on earth. And great theatre will not just “show” us, but truly share with us the same thick air in a small room gathered under the stars willing to look merely to one another.
* - I do not mean, though I admit it certainly sounds like it, to say that Gorilla Rep is what theatre should be.
The spirit of theatre, I believe, comes in the hope of uniting audience and production. A hope that spectators will be more than spectators, that actors will do more than entertain, that all in the room on a particular evening will connect through higher themes and emotions – that people will be, for lack of a better term, moved.
A few months ago I sat in on a Butoh workshop. Feeling rather unwell that day, I (sadly) opted only to watch rather than participate. Though downtrodden, being witness proved to bear its own gifts beyond the scholastic and analytic. For here I am, months past and still stirring with thoughts and feelings from the encounter. As a workshop, it was (smartly) not geared toward the idea of the “performative” – for an “audience” – but nor was it for personal, private, (selfish?), learning. Those participating were guided to express, for whoever was willing to holistically listen, the seemingly inexpressible essences of whom they uniquely are.
What a joy! Here was all the humanity of each individual participating in all its frighteningly unsanitary glory. No jars or tubes, no gloves or goggles, no disinfectants or antibacterial wipes. No fourth walls or contrivance of a character. Meat on my plate, straight from the hide. Raw, bleeding.
Take a breath, hold it, and dance your final dance of life until you can dance no more. Walk the timeline of your life, from birth to death, not failing to take time and cherish the moments in between. They all will come, but they all will pass. And death will come, and you will pass.
This was as great a theatre as any I could hope to see upon a stage. Perhaps as Romantic in theory as could exist, too. It was grotesque, but that it was made it beautiful. I saw the rich life of those I knew, and recognized the fruitfulness of those I didn’t. I thought of my life, my connections, what my dance of life would be. I was filled with love and hope, and wanted to do better in the world, make stronger, more loving connections while I was able. I was in awe of the spirit of (wo)man.
This is what theatre should be.
I have spent this summer working on Joan of Arc at Fort Tryon Park with Gorilla Rep, an environmental and ensemble based group that takes great pride in directly connecting with the audience to make them truly a part of the show.* During one performance, in the latter part of the play as it moved near the large archway at the base of the Pine Grove area, a dark, clearly solid object came plummeting out of the sky and nailed a teenage audience member square on the head. The show was stopped as the girl was tended to, our young war veteran director chased off the culprits, and cast joined audience beyond the (500 watt) lights. Suddenly, I was back in the classroom, experiencing Butoh. Breath held, our spirits danced in fear, hoping the girl to be uninjured. It was roughly ten minutes that cast and audience shared as family, strengthening our devotion to being better people over this unnecessarily violent act. Fortunately, we shortly discovered the object was only a half-filled beer can. Our combat medic cleared the beer-soaked teen of any severe injury (aside from the slight to her dignity) and when asked, she insisted on seeing the rest of the show (it was her second time). And almost all of the some-odd hundred audience members stayed as well. Not because the show was that fantastic (though we’d like to believe it was), but because of a deep emotional connection to community. We all stuck together. That’s what Joan of Arc is all about.
There was something very special about the end of that performance. The strange, artificial (and somehow inevitable) wall between performance and audience was permanently stripped from the evening. I felt an incredible, overwhelming need to tell the rest of this story to the absolute best of my ability (Joan of Arc is, after all, about love and greed, right and wrong, and the very gray line between them). Which was tough. I was playing a vindictive character attempting to rape Joan, ultimately gaining pleasure from her burning. It was, however, so important for this audience that I play my role truthfully that I – and the whole rest of the cast – prevailed with incredible fervor. That last thirty minutes were one of the greatest gifts as an actor I feel I’ve both ever given and received.
Yes, a select few were very angry the show was not stopped and the cops were not called. Yes, some participants did not give over to the experience in the Butoh workshop. But they are important, too. They are humanity that must be recognized, and the earth shared with them as well. Theatre should remind us of our community we must love while we share our brief moments on earth. And great theatre will not just “show” us, but truly share with us the same thick air in a small room gathered under the stars willing to look merely to one another.
* - I do not mean, though I admit it certainly sounds like it, to say that Gorilla Rep is what theatre should be.
Monday, August 10, 2009
The Times they are a-changin'
I live quite happily without a television, having very little time for passive entertainment and keeping up with current events through online periodicals. The news has always been difficult for me due to my feint-of-heart sensitivity to violent images and my talent for crying over just about everything (international tragedies and Pixar films alike). I'm very thankful for the easily accessible, alternate source of news that enables me to choose which articles I read instead of tolerating unannounced gruesome images and the repetitive nature most news channels thrive on.
I like the New York Times. I find the articles informative and compact and the website is easy to navigate. I start with the "front page" and move on to national headlines, then to the international section. I peruse the science and health articles, and if I have time, I read an opinion or two. I end with the arts section, working my way down the artistic alphabet (skipping over "Television") until I arrive at the theatre page. This should be my favorite section, but it's not. I usually take in the reviews with an open mind, and find the informative articles educational and enjoyable. I love the audio slideshows. However, there are two particular articles I've read lately that have left me a little embarassed for The Times:
A recent review of Gorilla Rep's "Joan of Arc" addresses some legitimate critiques of the production from a company that is famous for outdoor, wordsy theatre...except that a large part of the article was criticising it for being...outdoors and wordsy. I am not suggesting that mud and mosquitos should be an understood and accepted aspect of outdoor theatre, and therefore should be left out of a review completely. Folks who have never seen a Gorilla Rep production should be advised to bring bug spray and sneakers. The company is considerate enough to add a disclaimer about the nature of their performances on their website. I would have appreciated critisism that did not dwell on the advertised, if not renown style of their environmentally staged performances.
Secondly, there was a great informative article on the process the playwright underwent in the development of Primary Stage's "A Lifetime Burning." The article focused on the playwright's obsession for modern design and how it was translated into the play and the set design. Though there is a photograph of the set and it is mentioned several times, none of the designers are credited except for the company which provided some of the furniture. I don't expect the production team to be recognized often, but since this piece is so particular about the aesthetic inspiration of the show and the set design, I would have expected the designer to be credited. Please note that this article appears in the Theatre section of the New York Times website, but originally appeared in the Home and Garden section of the Style Page in the published periodical.
As always...what do you guys think?
I like the New York Times. I find the articles informative and compact and the website is easy to navigate. I start with the "front page" and move on to national headlines, then to the international section. I peruse the science and health articles, and if I have time, I read an opinion or two. I end with the arts section, working my way down the artistic alphabet (skipping over "Television") until I arrive at the theatre page. This should be my favorite section, but it's not. I usually take in the reviews with an open mind, and find the informative articles educational and enjoyable. I love the audio slideshows. However, there are two particular articles I've read lately that have left me a little embarassed for The Times:
A recent review of Gorilla Rep's "Joan of Arc" addresses some legitimate critiques of the production from a company that is famous for outdoor, wordsy theatre...except that a large part of the article was criticising it for being...outdoors and wordsy. I am not suggesting that mud and mosquitos should be an understood and accepted aspect of outdoor theatre, and therefore should be left out of a review completely. Folks who have never seen a Gorilla Rep production should be advised to bring bug spray and sneakers. The company is considerate enough to add a disclaimer about the nature of their performances on their website. I would have appreciated critisism that did not dwell on the advertised, if not renown style of their environmentally staged performances.
Secondly, there was a great informative article on the process the playwright underwent in the development of Primary Stage's "A Lifetime Burning." The article focused on the playwright's obsession for modern design and how it was translated into the play and the set design. Though there is a photograph of the set and it is mentioned several times, none of the designers are credited except for the company which provided some of the furniture. I don't expect the production team to be recognized often, but since this piece is so particular about the aesthetic inspiration of the show and the set design, I would have expected the designer to be credited. Please note that this article appears in the Theatre section of the New York Times website, but originally appeared in the Home and Garden section of the Style Page in the published periodical.
As always...what do you guys think?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
An Important Workshop Announcement
Lecoqworkshop NYC
Presents
LECOQ TECHNIQUE
SUMMER INTENSIVE 2009
THE ART OF MOVEMENT AT THE SERVICE OF THE ACTOR
WITH MASTER TEACHER: NORMAN TAYLOR
June 22nd - 26th
After two highly successful visits in ’06 and ’08, Norman Taylor, who taught alongside Jacques Lecoq for 20 years, is returning to New York for a five-day summer workshop.
Beginning with the premise that everything moves, this workshop is an exploration into the inherently physical nature of theater. It will explore three fundamentals of Jacques Lecoq's approach to artistic training: the analysis of movement, physical storytelling, and the actor as creator. By drawing upon the inspiration of music, painting and poetry, the actor will explore styles of storytelling that include spoken word, pantomime blanche, the language of gesture and sound. Working from short stories by Chekhov and Poe, the workshop will culminate in the collective creation of original physical theater pieces.
This workshop offers the actor a unique opportunity to develop a heightened sense of their body in performance with one of the world’s greatest teachers.
SPACE IS LIMITED
Norman Taylor taught at the Ecole Internationale de Théâtre in Paris for 20 years. Prior to this, he was a student of Lecoq's himself, first as an actor and then as a student of his pedagogy. From 1998 - 1999, Norman was the Pedagogical Coordinator at the school. He now teaches Lecoq's techniques throughout Europe and Latin America and is on faculty at the renowned Lassaad International School of Theatre in Belgium. This is Norman’s third visit to North America.
_______________________________
Participants do not need to have studied Lecoq technique but do need to have a working familiarity with one or more theatrical movement techniques.
For more information please contact:
Adrienne Kapstein at lecoqworkshop@gmail.com
by phone at: (347) 645 4985
or go to: http://web.mac.com/adriennekapstein
Hours: Monday, June 22nd through Friday, June 26th 10am - 3pm
Location:
Brooklyn College:
New Theatre Workshop, Whitman Hall
(Entrance at Campus Road and Hillel Place)
Fee:
$450
$100 deposit is required to secure a space and is refundable until June 8th
Remainder of fee is due June 15th
Please make checks out to Adrienne Kapstein and mail to:
Adrienne Kapstein
2515 Glenwood Road, #6G
Brooklyn, NY 11210
Presents
LECOQ TECHNIQUE
SUMMER INTENSIVE 2009
THE ART OF MOVEMENT AT THE SERVICE OF THE ACTOR
WITH MASTER TEACHER: NORMAN TAYLOR
June 22nd - 26th
After two highly successful visits in ’06 and ’08, Norman Taylor, who taught alongside Jacques Lecoq for 20 years, is returning to New York for a five-day summer workshop.Beginning with the premise that everything moves, this workshop is an exploration into the inherently physical nature of theater. It will explore three fundamentals of Jacques Lecoq's approach to artistic training: the analysis of movement, physical storytelling, and the actor as creator. By drawing upon the inspiration of music, painting and poetry, the actor will explore styles of storytelling that include spoken word, pantomime blanche, the language of gesture and sound. Working from short stories by Chekhov and Poe, the workshop will culminate in the collective creation of original physical theater pieces.
This workshop offers the actor a unique opportunity to develop a heightened sense of their body in performance with one of the world’s greatest teachers.
SPACE IS LIMITED
Norman Taylor taught at the Ecole Internationale de Théâtre in Paris for 20 years. Prior to this, he was a student of Lecoq's himself, first as an actor and then as a student of his pedagogy. From 1998 - 1999, Norman was the Pedagogical Coordinator at the school. He now teaches Lecoq's techniques throughout Europe and Latin America and is on faculty at the renowned Lassaad International School of Theatre in Belgium. This is Norman’s third visit to North America.
_______________________________
Participants do not need to have studied Lecoq technique but do need to have a working familiarity with one or more theatrical movement techniques.
For more information please contact:
Adrienne Kapstein at lecoqworkshop@gmail.com
by phone at: (347) 645 4985
or go to: http://web.mac.com/adriennekapstein
Hours: Monday, June 22nd through Friday, June 26th 10am - 3pm
Location:
Brooklyn College:
New Theatre Workshop, Whitman Hall
(Entrance at Campus Road and Hillel Place)
Fee:
$450
$100 deposit is required to secure a space and is refundable until June 8th
Remainder of fee is due June 15th
Please make checks out to Adrienne Kapstein and mail to:
Adrienne Kapstein
2515 Glenwood Road, #6G
Brooklyn, NY 11210
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The Collaborative Theater - PART THREE: The Collaborative Theater
Theater is by its nature collaborative, no matter what way you slice the pie (unless you don’t slice the pie at all – see notes below). But we seem to have certain nomos (the Greek term for tradition, or unwritten law) in regards to how we create theater, of which I am starting to think – based on my previous exploits in parts one and two – are standing in our way of creating greater art.
Recently, I have had an Actor confide to me their fears of having to take a stage-craft class, and a Director share how they opted not to take an Improv II class because they weren’t “an actor.” In many other careers, this would (and probably should) be standard fare (you may not want an eye doctor giving you open heart surgery). But we are so fortunate to be working in such a free and exploratory environment; the nomos of the theater is not in stone - we do not have to adhere to “rules” of how to do Theater, there are no “Theater Police” to arrest us should we not create art in the way our society expects us to.
And how do we know what “society” is expecting us to do, anyway? Many of my good friends at this point, I am sure, are shaking their heads in shame, with Richard Foreman or John Jesurun pounding on their frontal lobes (please see notes). But I will abate your fears.
What happens should we momentarily put aside our prescribed titles (Actor, Director, Designer, etc.) in the working of theatrical projects? Would it work towards forming a more collaborative feeding ground for our art? I see a great quality of Theater growing out of Peter Brook’s question 'Why Theater?' and think, because of this, we all should, first and foremost, be Theater Artists.
So what I am calling the Collaborative Theater begins with Theater Artists interested in working with one another. And they come together lacking any preconceived notions of what is to happen, save for ideas they may want to play with theatrically. Here they embark on a discussion of their art, what brought them together, those ideas they may want to play with, etc. This discussion is most vital, not only because it is in the hope that this is the discussion that will lead to the creating of a work of art, but it is also about freeing everyone involved - discussing Theater freely, what one sees working or not working, what one finds interesting and boring - because this establishes the relationship of the artists from here on out. And it is here, hopefully, that an idea is arrived at which can begin to be worked theatrically. Obviously this could be an incredibly wide range of possibilities, depending on the people in the room; working from only fertile soil, the possibilities are truly limitless.
In deciding on a project, the preproduction element (crafting of a conceptualization, the writing of a play – anything) should remain as free and open to discussion as this initial discussion has been – no one has a “job” yet, we are all Artists with equally valuable thoughts. However, in the midst of crafting a project, leaders in certain aspects will seem to emerge – maybe a Designer, or a Director, even Characters. This should happen. For a piece of theatrical work to come to fruition, it is (or at least should be) demanded that each artist involved be their own leader of their aspect of the craft (or crafting).
In the Collaborative Theater, it is good to allow here for the unexpected. A prescribed “actor” may emerge designer, “director” may emerge actor, “designer” may emerge director. These roles, these Leaders, should emerge organically (and in that, it will be more organic that, say, the designer becomes a designer through this process. What we don’t want is, for example, non-collaborative actors to be fighting over a part – that would be counter-intuitive, more of that pie problem).
This term, “Leader,” is important, for who is a Leader without Followers? The idea here is that ultimately everyone becomes a Leader (an emerged designer will be the Leader of their element, an emerged actor will be the Leader of their character), and thus everyone else involved becomes everyone else’s follower. And they are all Followers not by blindly following, but they believe in their Leader, and know their ideas, when voiced, will be heard, discussed, thought about – each Follower is allowed to have an influence upon the Leader. Call it Democratic Theater, if you will.
The Collaborative Theater begins with the simple fertile soil of Artistic minds so as to keep the discussion open and free throughout the process. It is coming from the belief that the more truly collaborative our work, the stronger the piece we emerge with will be. It comes from a desire to keep fear or inhibition of sharing ideas (or opinions) out of the work, allowing for there always to be room to grow, ideas to be voiced by anyone within the group about any aspect of their production. When we all start from the same simple place of a desire to create, we are able to hear everyone more clearly as we move through our personal creation, for everyone else’s ideas were the one’s helping to shape what we ultimately created ourselves.
A Few Notes:
1. Tadashi Suzuki has some excellent thoughts I feel I should point out:
This is very true, and very much the opposite of what my aim with the Collaborative Theater is. This is the reason I have to treat the projects, as they move out of their embryonic states of ideas into actual practice, in regards to the Leaders. Everyone must take responsibility as a leader, doing work necessary to and contributing artistically with their position, as well as being an active follower to everyone else, being involved and curious about the creation of the rest of the piece.
2. The pie. One can cut the theater pie however they may like, but so long as it is being cut, it is being collaborative. So grabbing the pie and running would be selfish theater making. And I’m not quite sure how it would turn out, nor do I think anyone else would know, seeing as how it has been taken. It may also be interesting to expand this idea to the making of the pie itself. It is certainly possible for one to bake a pie by themselves, entirely for themselves. I recently made a batch of cookies in this same manner. In regards to the theater pie, however, this seems doomed from the start – doing it by yourself for yourself sounds as though the audience, if there is one to begin with, will be very disengaged and disinterested. As for my selfish cookie expedition: I wound up sick.
3. There are many artists out there doing excellent work in regard to collaboration, such as Tadashi Suzuki, Anne Bogart, David Levine, PS122, Less the Band, and so, so many others. I did, however, mention Richard Foreman and John Jesurun, admittedly mocking their work in my reference to loosely making theater by unconventional means, and I do not mean to completely discredit these accomplished Theater Creators (…ok maybe a little). But what little of their work I have seen is, to me, extremely selfish, and lacking some serious responsibility. And having a lackluster attitude toward responsibility diminishes any notion of immediacy.
Recently, I have had an Actor confide to me their fears of having to take a stage-craft class, and a Director share how they opted not to take an Improv II class because they weren’t “an actor.” In many other careers, this would (and probably should) be standard fare (you may not want an eye doctor giving you open heart surgery). But we are so fortunate to be working in such a free and exploratory environment; the nomos of the theater is not in stone - we do not have to adhere to “rules” of how to do Theater, there are no “Theater Police” to arrest us should we not create art in the way our society expects us to.
And how do we know what “society” is expecting us to do, anyway? Many of my good friends at this point, I am sure, are shaking their heads in shame, with Richard Foreman or John Jesurun pounding on their frontal lobes (please see notes). But I will abate your fears.
What happens should we momentarily put aside our prescribed titles (Actor, Director, Designer, etc.) in the working of theatrical projects? Would it work towards forming a more collaborative feeding ground for our art? I see a great quality of Theater growing out of Peter Brook’s question 'Why Theater?' and think, because of this, we all should, first and foremost, be Theater Artists.
So what I am calling the Collaborative Theater begins with Theater Artists interested in working with one another. And they come together lacking any preconceived notions of what is to happen, save for ideas they may want to play with theatrically. Here they embark on a discussion of their art, what brought them together, those ideas they may want to play with, etc. This discussion is most vital, not only because it is in the hope that this is the discussion that will lead to the creating of a work of art, but it is also about freeing everyone involved - discussing Theater freely, what one sees working or not working, what one finds interesting and boring - because this establishes the relationship of the artists from here on out. And it is here, hopefully, that an idea is arrived at which can begin to be worked theatrically. Obviously this could be an incredibly wide range of possibilities, depending on the people in the room; working from only fertile soil, the possibilities are truly limitless.
In deciding on a project, the preproduction element (crafting of a conceptualization, the writing of a play – anything) should remain as free and open to discussion as this initial discussion has been – no one has a “job” yet, we are all Artists with equally valuable thoughts. However, in the midst of crafting a project, leaders in certain aspects will seem to emerge – maybe a Designer, or a Director, even Characters. This should happen. For a piece of theatrical work to come to fruition, it is (or at least should be) demanded that each artist involved be their own leader of their aspect of the craft (or crafting).
In the Collaborative Theater, it is good to allow here for the unexpected. A prescribed “actor” may emerge designer, “director” may emerge actor, “designer” may emerge director. These roles, these Leaders, should emerge organically (and in that, it will be more organic that, say, the designer becomes a designer through this process. What we don’t want is, for example, non-collaborative actors to be fighting over a part – that would be counter-intuitive, more of that pie problem).
This term, “Leader,” is important, for who is a Leader without Followers? The idea here is that ultimately everyone becomes a Leader (an emerged designer will be the Leader of their element, an emerged actor will be the Leader of their character), and thus everyone else involved becomes everyone else’s follower. And they are all Followers not by blindly following, but they believe in their Leader, and know their ideas, when voiced, will be heard, discussed, thought about – each Follower is allowed to have an influence upon the Leader. Call it Democratic Theater, if you will.
The Collaborative Theater begins with the simple fertile soil of Artistic minds so as to keep the discussion open and free throughout the process. It is coming from the belief that the more truly collaborative our work, the stronger the piece we emerge with will be. It comes from a desire to keep fear or inhibition of sharing ideas (or opinions) out of the work, allowing for there always to be room to grow, ideas to be voiced by anyone within the group about any aspect of their production. When we all start from the same simple place of a desire to create, we are able to hear everyone more clearly as we move through our personal creation, for everyone else’s ideas were the one’s helping to shape what we ultimately created ourselves.
A Few Notes:
1. Tadashi Suzuki has some excellent thoughts I feel I should point out:
"[E]very aspect of the terrorist group known as the Japanese Red Army is evidently centralized. In such a communal mode of thinking, the communality supports the collective vision in its entirety, and therefore, personal and everyday dimensions of living are fulfilled by the group. When a group, be it theatrical or political, establishes its own logic, the individual constituents of the group are forced to regard themselves only in terms of this framework."
This is very true, and very much the opposite of what my aim with the Collaborative Theater is. This is the reason I have to treat the projects, as they move out of their embryonic states of ideas into actual practice, in regards to the Leaders. Everyone must take responsibility as a leader, doing work necessary to and contributing artistically with their position, as well as being an active follower to everyone else, being involved and curious about the creation of the rest of the piece.
2. The pie. One can cut the theater pie however they may like, but so long as it is being cut, it is being collaborative. So grabbing the pie and running would be selfish theater making. And I’m not quite sure how it would turn out, nor do I think anyone else would know, seeing as how it has been taken. It may also be interesting to expand this idea to the making of the pie itself. It is certainly possible for one to bake a pie by themselves, entirely for themselves. I recently made a batch of cookies in this same manner. In regards to the theater pie, however, this seems doomed from the start – doing it by yourself for yourself sounds as though the audience, if there is one to begin with, will be very disengaged and disinterested. As for my selfish cookie expedition: I wound up sick.
3. There are many artists out there doing excellent work in regard to collaboration, such as Tadashi Suzuki, Anne Bogart, David Levine, PS122, Less the Band, and so, so many others. I did, however, mention Richard Foreman and John Jesurun, admittedly mocking their work in my reference to loosely making theater by unconventional means, and I do not mean to completely discredit these accomplished Theater Creators (…ok maybe a little). But what little of their work I have seen is, to me, extremely selfish, and lacking some serious responsibility. And having a lackluster attitude toward responsibility diminishes any notion of immediacy.
The Collective Kitchen Table
This is our kitchen table:
This is what has become of our kitchen table in the home stretch of our busiest semester yet:
The kitchen table has always been a symbol for conversation and togetherness. For us, it's also a symbol for everything that we need to deal with in the immediate future.
About a month ago I was attempting to clean it (read: put stuff into a collin pile and a kaitlyn pile) and I came across the receipt Collin had filled out for one of those sponsor a child companies. When I asked him why he had signed up when we were struggling to pay rent, his reply was one of admirable sympathy: He felt bad for the street canvasser. By filling out the form, Collin contributed to the quota this guy had to fill in order to get paid for the week. His intent was to terminate the account as soon as it was activated, knowing that his cancellation would not affect the employee’s commission.
A couple weeks later, I was making a new attempt to clean the kitchen table when I noticed a large opened envelope from the same company, with its previous contents stacked neatly on top. While I perused the thank you letter that was capping the stack, I was still wondering if Collin had canceled yet. Then I saw the picture that was included in the package. His name -Moryz- was printed across the bottom, and he was absolutely adorable. I propped his picture up against another random kitchen-table-stack while I read a sheet of information about Moryz:
By the time Collin made his way back to the kitchen, I was in tears and Moryz’s picture was in a magnetic frame on the refrigerator. I told him that we had to sponsor him despite our diet of ramen noodles and water. He is real. He has a face and a name and a blue and white shirt. Our monthly contribution, about a weeks worth of starbucks, increases his family’s income by 50%. Collin admitted that he was already thinking of a way to approach me about it.
Pertaining to theatre, we often use the word immediacy to mean “live action,” in an attempt to differentiate theatre from television and film. Supplemental to the direct relationship between actor and audience member, immediacy can also describe the relevance and relatability of the subject matter, a political or emotional appeal and the urgency of a reaction from the audience. In the near future, I’m hoping to discuss some of the things that have influenced my thought, including Iranian Theatre, Carol Churchill’s Seven Jewish Children, and Venice Saved: A Seminar, a production recently featured at PS122. Until that glorious time, however, I’ll leave you with Artaud’s thoughts on the matter while desperately, as always, urging you to leave me with some of your thoughts:
This is what has become of our kitchen table in the home stretch of our busiest semester yet:
The kitchen table has always been a symbol for conversation and togetherness. For us, it's also a symbol for everything that we need to deal with in the immediate future.
About a month ago I was attempting to clean it (read: put stuff into a collin pile and a kaitlyn pile) and I came across the receipt Collin had filled out for one of those sponsor a child companies. When I asked him why he had signed up when we were struggling to pay rent, his reply was one of admirable sympathy: He felt bad for the street canvasser. By filling out the form, Collin contributed to the quota this guy had to fill in order to get paid for the week. His intent was to terminate the account as soon as it was activated, knowing that his cancellation would not affect the employee’s commission.
At this point, neither of us had thought about the child.
A couple weeks later, I was making a new attempt to clean the kitchen table when I noticed a large opened envelope from the same company, with its previous contents stacked neatly on top. While I perused the thank you letter that was capping the stack, I was still wondering if Collin had canceled yet. Then I saw the picture that was included in the package. His name -Moryz- was printed across the bottom, and he was absolutely adorable. I propped his picture up against another random kitchen-table-stack while I read a sheet of information about Moryz:
He is Filipino. He is six years old. He loves to dance. He goes to school. His favorite subject is art.
By the time Collin made his way back to the kitchen, I was in tears and Moryz’s picture was in a magnetic frame on the refrigerator. I told him that we had to sponsor him despite our diet of ramen noodles and water. He is real. He has a face and a name and a blue and white shirt. Our monthly contribution, about a weeks worth of starbucks, increases his family’s income by 50%. Collin admitted that he was already thinking of a way to approach me about it.
............................................................................
This personal account is a necessary preface to the subject of immediacy. Collin was more interested in helping the street canvasser than the hungry child because the street canvasser was there, right in front of him and Moryz was not. I did not care about Moryz when he was a statistic, only when he had a name and a picture. When he was sitting on our kitchen table. When he became immediate.Pertaining to theatre, we often use the word immediacy to mean “live action,” in an attempt to differentiate theatre from television and film. Supplemental to the direct relationship between actor and audience member, immediacy can also describe the relevance and relatability of the subject matter, a political or emotional appeal and the urgency of a reaction from the audience. In the near future, I’m hoping to discuss some of the things that have influenced my thought, including Iranian Theatre, Carol Churchill’s Seven Jewish Children, and Venice Saved: A Seminar, a production recently featured at PS122. Until that glorious time, however, I’ll leave you with Artaud’s thoughts on the matter while desperately, as always, urging you to leave me with some of your thoughts:
"We are not free. And the sky can still fall on our heads. And the theatre has been created to teach us that first of all.”
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
3 Things
I've valiantly resisted the viral "25 Random Things" Facebook post, but I have to admit that the format is pretty enticing to a girl buried under the first month of her last semester of undergrad. So here goes my edited version: Twenty-Five minus Twenty-Two Not Very Random Things About Me and Theatre.
1.) I think a lot about how a surrounding can influence the impression of a production. I was recently able to revisit this idea first-hand as the lucky recipient of a friend-of-a-friend's extra ticket for Chekov’s The Cherry Orchard at BAM. I was leaving work when I got the call, and before I knew it, I found myself mingling with a group of charming upper middle (lower upper?) class folks. My favorite was a sassy old woman boasting a diamond-studded Obama shirt, enlightening the entire women's bathroom line with her (intelligent!) ideas concerning the possible purpose behind the production's design concept. Sure, I felt a little out of place, but I was in total rapture. OF COURSE, the play I happened to catch was centered on social Darwinism and the dangerous mixture of class structure. I was relishing my new found atmosphere, much like Lopakhin was in his climb towards the top, and my fondness for the company I was with sentimentalized those characters on their way down. This is a production I would have enjoyed anywhere, but the warm, sparkling camaraderie I discovered myself misplaced in was a magnifying glass, drawing the play closer so I could recognize the familiarity.
2.) I'm quite steeped in theatre theory currently, as I've started an interesting course on 20th Century theatre. While reading an excerpt from Wagner’s Outlines of the Artwork of the Future! (Sorry Wagner, but an exclamation point belongs at the end of a title like that) I noticed that he used the masculine pronoun to describe all artists, but he used the feminine pronoun to describe art itself. I don't know if I should be offended or complimented. What do you guys think?
3.) On a whim, Collin and I went to see a show we knew absolutely nothing about, just because there was a pay-what-you-can special. All we had was an address. Turns out it was Virginia Woolfe's only play, Freshwater directed by the talented Anne Bogart at The Women's Project Theatre. Wow. That was lucky. GO SEE IT. It's a little pricey if you didn't catch the deal, and besides obvious artistic merit, they make it quite clear that there is not much more the play offers other than top notch hilarity. Yet in that promise they sure do deliver; this farcical, slap-stick, absurdly ridiculous parlor piece might as well equip its audience members with seat belts. I can’t remember the last time I had so much good, clean fun at a play.
When was the last time you had a blast at a show? (If you say Blasted, I will hunt you down and punch you in the shoulder...or eat your eyeballs). Seriously, though, I really want to know. What show was it? What was it about the show that made it so much fun? Let me know! Thanks for reading (and dealing with my obsessive parenthetical phrases)!
1.) I think a lot about how a surrounding can influence the impression of a production. I was recently able to revisit this idea first-hand as the lucky recipient of a friend-of-a-friend's extra ticket for Chekov’s The Cherry Orchard at BAM. I was leaving work when I got the call, and before I knew it, I found myself mingling with a group of charming upper middle (lower upper?) class folks. My favorite was a sassy old woman boasting a diamond-studded Obama shirt, enlightening the entire women's bathroom line with her (intelligent!) ideas concerning the possible purpose behind the production's design concept. Sure, I felt a little out of place, but I was in total rapture. OF COURSE, the play I happened to catch was centered on social Darwinism and the dangerous mixture of class structure. I was relishing my new found atmosphere, much like Lopakhin was in his climb towards the top, and my fondness for the company I was with sentimentalized those characters on their way down. This is a production I would have enjoyed anywhere, but the warm, sparkling camaraderie I discovered myself misplaced in was a magnifying glass, drawing the play closer so I could recognize the familiarity.
2.) I'm quite steeped in theatre theory currently, as I've started an interesting course on 20th Century theatre. While reading an excerpt from Wagner’s Outlines of the Artwork of the Future! (Sorry Wagner, but an exclamation point belongs at the end of a title like that) I noticed that he used the masculine pronoun to describe all artists, but he used the feminine pronoun to describe art itself. I don't know if I should be offended or complimented. What do you guys think?
3.) On a whim, Collin and I went to see a show we knew absolutely nothing about, just because there was a pay-what-you-can special. All we had was an address. Turns out it was Virginia Woolfe's only play, Freshwater directed by the talented Anne Bogart at The Women's Project Theatre. Wow. That was lucky. GO SEE IT. It's a little pricey if you didn't catch the deal, and besides obvious artistic merit, they make it quite clear that there is not much more the play offers other than top notch hilarity. Yet in that promise they sure do deliver; this farcical, slap-stick, absurdly ridiculous parlor piece might as well equip its audience members with seat belts. I can’t remember the last time I had so much good, clean fun at a play.
When was the last time you had a blast at a show? (If you say Blasted, I will hunt you down and punch you in the shoulder...or eat your eyeballs). Seriously, though, I really want to know. What show was it? What was it about the show that made it so much fun? Let me know! Thanks for reading (and dealing with my obsessive parenthetical phrases)!
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The Collaborative Theater - PART TWO: The Actor's Manifesto
Undoubtedly, Theater is an Art. And in that, Acting is an Art. It involves both a skilled intellect and a willingness to open one's self to a viscerally vulnerable place. And because an Actor's work demands such great personal sensitivity, it demands a certain level of respect from all co-workers, making them an equal among the creative playing field. I have, however, witnessed others take advantage of Actors due to a perceived notion that they are both desperate and disposable.
Those people – those ideas – frustrate me. Yet venting this frustration is only blowing hot air in a humid cavern. So instead of allowing the belittling nature of another to propagate to a point of the recipient's need to vent frustration, we all simply need not let our status lower in the face of what we have been told is “authority.”* The murk of the cavern floor is littered with matches, so make a spark.
Just to let you know, having worked at both an agency and in casting, I can assure you that appointments are often given with 24-48 hours notice. Actors schedules need to be flexible to accommodate audition opportunities.
In an ideal world, it would be great if these things could be arranged with more advanced notice, but that isn't something this industry is able to consistently provide at this time.
This was part of an email I received from an artistic director when trying to coordinate an audition for a show I happened to have helped workshop into fruition that past summer. It is in response to my request that I be given ample time to schedule and prepare for an audition appointment - something roughly more than 24 hours, seeing as how I am a full-time student, have a full-time job, and was, at the time, in rehearsal for two shows. And as strange as it may sound, I still had ample time to schedule an audition, had this company been willing to reply to an email (or four) so that it could indeed be scheduled.
I never attended their audition. But the reason we actors are still ambling in the dark is because many people did go to that audition. Those “in charge” - anyone who wrangles sole control over a theater company - have shoved actors into a box at the bottom of their closets, easily accessible for when it comes time for them to flaunt their “artistic genius.” And complacently, we Actors sit here, like a stick in the mud, because they tell us to. Because “actors schedules need to be flexible to accommodate audition opportunities,” as though their show is far superior to one’s own individual artistic credit.
What we need to be doing is asserting ourselves. Ask questions, and want clarification when when your questions are not answered. Come prepared - research what you can (play / company / playwright / director), rehearse your audition pieces thoroughly, warm up - and be willing to not take an audition when it would require compromising one’s professional life - when it would not allow decent preparation, or hinders one’s quality of life by interfering with work, school, or any other life-sustaining commitment. We, Actors, are Artists. And we should think of ourselves as such. Those offering us “audition opportunities” are no better nor no more important than us; they need us just as we need them.
There is no light at the end of this tunnel, because it is not a tunnel we are in. This dark cavern only gets brighter, only gets better, if we make it so. Pick up a match, light a fire, make a change. And though I speak specifically on behalf of the Actor, this should go for any practicing theater artist.
Because I believe in Collaboration.
* admittedly, frustration can rear its proverbial head in so many ways, one inevitably encounters it interminably. But that is a discussion for another day.
Monday, January 19, 2009
The Monthly Manifesto Presents: VALENTINE'S DAY!
We are sick of Hallmark trumping Valentine's Day, so this February 14th, come join us for an inexpensive celebration of love!
What to Bring: A tale of love, true or not, in any form.
We'll be sitting around in the morning, enjoying some form of a warm beverage, and sharing these tales with one another.
We will be disclosing the location privately, so if you want to join, make sure to contact us via email!
What to Bring: A tale of love, true or not, in any form.
We'll be sitting around in the morning, enjoying some form of a warm beverage, and sharing these tales with one another.
We will be disclosing the location privately, so if you want to join, make sure to contact us via email!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Kaitlyn Recommends a Book
Two years ago, I read A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier by Ishmael Beah. It’s an autobiographical account of a boy who spent his childhood fleeing from the atrocities of the civil war in Sierra Leone. Eventually, he was recruited into the army to fight on the front lines. It doesn’t take much for me to shed a tear when I read, but this remains the only book I’d ever had to put down for sobbing breaks.
This Christmas, I picked up a copy of it for my friend Mack. I thought he’d like it because he’s always reflecting that "This is real life,” at appropriate moments, like when he helped Collin and I move in together or when we met our godchild for the first time. I also thought that he’d be interested in Beah’s childhood affinity for Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, as he’s cast in an adaptation of the piece to be performed in May. I wanted to reread it before I gave it to him, but I was busy making sure that Haruki Murakami’s The Elephant Vanishes wasn’t too sexy to give to my grandmother for her Christmas present.
I inhaled some more fiction before I finally pulled A Long Way Gone off of the shelf this week. It hit me just as hard this time around. I mention it here because I’ve noticed in this business there is often a healthy and perpetual emotional kindling. We like to feel things, both negative and positive. We embrace a good tug on our heartstrings now and then. We’re not afraid to cry, because we believe in some abstract, halfway-defined concept called catharsis. If you’re up for reading this real account, brace yourself for what it may awaken inside of you. The truth, inspiration, and hope it will return makes it worthwhile.
Here's the unusually quiet Daily Show clip that made me run out and buy the book almost two years ago:
This Christmas, I picked up a copy of it for my friend Mack. I thought he’d like it because he’s always reflecting that "This is real life,” at appropriate moments, like when he helped Collin and I move in together or when we met our godchild for the first time. I also thought that he’d be interested in Beah’s childhood affinity for Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, as he’s cast in an adaptation of the piece to be performed in May. I wanted to reread it before I gave it to him, but I was busy making sure that Haruki Murakami’s The Elephant Vanishes wasn’t too sexy to give to my grandmother for her Christmas present.
I inhaled some more fiction before I finally pulled A Long Way Gone off of the shelf this week. It hit me just as hard this time around. I mention it here because I’ve noticed in this business there is often a healthy and perpetual emotional kindling. We like to feel things, both negative and positive. We embrace a good tug on our heartstrings now and then. We’re not afraid to cry, because we believe in some abstract, halfway-defined concept called catharsis. If you’re up for reading this real account, brace yourself for what it may awaken inside of you. The truth, inspiration, and hope it will return makes it worthwhile.
Here's the unusually quiet Daily Show clip that made me run out and buy the book almost two years ago:
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Two outta Three Ain't Bad
Because of our conflicting work schedules and insufficient funds, we don't get to go out and see plays as much as we'd like to. This past week, however, we had a couple of evenings off, and we took full advantage of them. We broke our rut of catching bad shows recently by hitting the mark with two out of the three.
EQUUS
“A wizard and a muggle in the parallel universe of Harry Potter, Daniel Radcliffe and Richard Griffiths reunite in Peter Shaffer's classic play about the effort to heal a troubled young man” was the first thing I read on playbill.com in discovery that there would be a revival of Equus on Broadway. I am quite a big fan of both Equus and Harry Potter, but being also a fan of artistic morality, I was very concerned.
Then I started seeing an irritated Peter Shaffer being quoted all over the Internet: “I was irritated that people talked on and on about it. It was so infantile. In the papers, I was always reading about how Harry Potter is 'waving his other wand,” “There is a great deal more going on in the play, you know. I'm not writing porn, for God's sake!”
But then, and quite to my surprise, I must admit, I started seeing Daniel Radcliffe all over the Internet – defending himself and the play in a rather articulate manner: “Offended mothers were calling up and saying I shouldn't be doing this, that they weren't going to go see it. OK, don't see it,” “They're treating it like it's pornography and it's not. It's only seven minutes at the end of the play when I'm naked, and I'm 19 now.”
I was impressed, and started searching out more interviews with Mr. Radcliffe, hoping for more insight on submerging himself into both the play and Broadway. And I was pleasantly surprised at what I found (which mostly has, strangely and sadly enough, disappeared from the internet – oh what a fickle little thing it is!). Daniel was excited about the play, and the theater, and so took to practicing the Alexander Technique, working on his voice, doing scene study…
Obviously, by this point, I had to see it.
His hard work and dedication to the craft certainly showed. This was no Harry Potter. This was no British teenage millionaire. This was a working actor. This was Alan Strang, the boy who I believed blinded six horses out of a lustful fear.
Perhaps the best part for me was watching when Dan would catch himself in a bad habit, take a moment, breathe, and drop right back in to keep churning through the mental labyrinth that is Alan Strang. I was proud of him – proud to be watching another actor taking his work so seriously and loving every minute of it. And he has yet to miss a performance.
This is a production, and more importantly a performance, no one else should miss, either.
Congratulations, Daniel Radcliffe.
- Collin
WOMEN BEWARE WOMEN
If there was one play I definitely wanted to catch this month, it was Women Beware Women. Even though the only Red Bull project I have seen was a dynamic reading of The Cenci, I've always been attracted to their ambitious mission statement and I adore the charming space they occupy at St. Clements. I could go on indefinitely about the successes of this production: the song and dance spectacles, the colorful characters, the sexy classic-contemporary combinations...but that's what the reviews are for, and unfortunately, it closes on Friday anyway. Still, there's something else about this piece that I have my mind on, which is...
Thank you, Jesse Berger, for including an intimate and informative director's note in the program. One that took care not to reveal plot points, but to give just enough information about the characters that the reader was drooling with anticipation. I mention this with such excitement because it is so often that I leave a play highly satisfied, but lacking any knowledge of why that play was chosen to be produced. Of course, the derived meaning or relevance of a play is often subjective, but it's nice to be able to use the director's thoughts to compare with, elaborate on, and enhance my own reactions.
Berger's note was a welcomed introduction into a world that the profound but empty scenery was beckoning me towards. In reading the note before the show began, I was able to see very clearly that Berger had a great understanding of the piece and made very specific and conscious decisions with his production. He celebrates the idiosyncrasies of the play, but presents an extremely cohesive piece. Also, it was refreshing to find the excitement and pride between the lines of his note. Berger truly loves each and every character in Women and it is evident that he had the time of his life adapting and directing it. Finally, he reminded us to be aware of the human qualities of the characters, no matter how theatrical the performance got, and regard the staged society in the light of our own. Here's to directors who know what they want, why they want it, and tell us about it.
- Kaitlyn
EQUUS
“A wizard and a muggle in the parallel universe of Harry Potter, Daniel Radcliffe and Richard Griffiths reunite in Peter Shaffer's classic play about the effort to heal a troubled young man” was the first thing I read on playbill.com in discovery that there would be a revival of Equus on Broadway. I am quite a big fan of both Equus and Harry Potter, but being also a fan of artistic morality, I was very concerned.
Then I started seeing an irritated Peter Shaffer being quoted all over the Internet: “I was irritated that people talked on and on about it. It was so infantile. In the papers, I was always reading about how Harry Potter is 'waving his other wand,” “There is a great deal more going on in the play, you know. I'm not writing porn, for God's sake!”
But then, and quite to my surprise, I must admit, I started seeing Daniel Radcliffe all over the Internet – defending himself and the play in a rather articulate manner: “Offended mothers were calling up and saying I shouldn't be doing this, that they weren't going to go see it. OK, don't see it,” “They're treating it like it's pornography and it's not. It's only seven minutes at the end of the play when I'm naked, and I'm 19 now.”
I was impressed, and started searching out more interviews with Mr. Radcliffe, hoping for more insight on submerging himself into both the play and Broadway. And I was pleasantly surprised at what I found (which mostly has, strangely and sadly enough, disappeared from the internet – oh what a fickle little thing it is!). Daniel was excited about the play, and the theater, and so took to practicing the Alexander Technique, working on his voice, doing scene study…
Obviously, by this point, I had to see it.
His hard work and dedication to the craft certainly showed. This was no Harry Potter. This was no British teenage millionaire. This was a working actor. This was Alan Strang, the boy who I believed blinded six horses out of a lustful fear.
Perhaps the best part for me was watching when Dan would catch himself in a bad habit, take a moment, breathe, and drop right back in to keep churning through the mental labyrinth that is Alan Strang. I was proud of him – proud to be watching another actor taking his work so seriously and loving every minute of it. And he has yet to miss a performance.
This is a production, and more importantly a performance, no one else should miss, either.
Congratulations, Daniel Radcliffe.
- Collin
WOMEN BEWARE WOMEN
If there was one play I definitely wanted to catch this month, it was Women Beware Women. Even though the only Red Bull project I have seen was a dynamic reading of The Cenci, I've always been attracted to their ambitious mission statement and I adore the charming space they occupy at St. Clements. I could go on indefinitely about the successes of this production: the song and dance spectacles, the colorful characters, the sexy classic-contemporary combinations...but that's what the reviews are for, and unfortunately, it closes on Friday anyway. Still, there's something else about this piece that I have my mind on, which is...
Thank you, Jesse Berger, for including an intimate and informative director's note in the program. One that took care not to reveal plot points, but to give just enough information about the characters that the reader was drooling with anticipation. I mention this with such excitement because it is so often that I leave a play highly satisfied, but lacking any knowledge of why that play was chosen to be produced. Of course, the derived meaning or relevance of a play is often subjective, but it's nice to be able to use the director's thoughts to compare with, elaborate on, and enhance my own reactions.
Berger's note was a welcomed introduction into a world that the profound but empty scenery was beckoning me towards. In reading the note before the show began, I was able to see very clearly that Berger had a great understanding of the piece and made very specific and conscious decisions with his production. He celebrates the idiosyncrasies of the play, but presents an extremely cohesive piece. Also, it was refreshing to find the excitement and pride between the lines of his note. Berger truly loves each and every character in Women and it is evident that he had the time of his life adapting and directing it. Finally, he reminded us to be aware of the human qualities of the characters, no matter how theatrical the performance got, and regard the staged society in the light of our own. Here's to directors who know what they want, why they want it, and tell us about it.
- Kaitlyn
Sunday, January 11, 2009
A Word From Captain Kirk; or What You Will
Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. My name is Kirk. I was previousomely the captain of an intergalactic, time traveling pirate ship, when, foolishly, I crossed the NeoClassical Kingsmen. An epic battle ensued, and on the climactic twelfth night (in the midst of a torrential storm of space debris) I was overtaken and punishéd via transformation from the unsung predecessor of the now infamous Oscar into a New York City Theatre. I fulfill my indefinite chastisement on 410 West 42nd Street. I now break my some-odd forty earth-years of silencement, with illimitable gratitude to the Monthly Manifesto, to transport news of a recent unsettlement within the confines of my bowels, brought on undoubtedly by the spirit that first captured me.
It all began as my entrails bubbled with the noisome feeling that I could only imagine were the earthly equivalent to the Galactically (and tragically) Renowned Nebulousossitisissus Yuppyoureverence Ubuntus (which, due to the extensive appellation and incredulous omnipresents, I shall thusforwardly refer to them as N.Y.U.’s): a cast of characters, an emetic PostClassical group of awkwardly immobile Minstrels, and the handy-work of a pre-non-post-structuralist that I first thought (and somewhat still think) was somesorta neonically-glowing parasite, eating away at the Artistry that beist myself (trapped, again, in Midtown Manhattan) and excreting chalk-lines, paint-tape, and frilly-laced PVC pipe. To my consternation, my seats slowly swelled with other, non-theatrically committed N.Y.U.’s. O, the Horror!
Inevitably, there be instances that I must now account to you posthaste. As the poor usher maladroitly held back the portal gates to my cavern reserved (once respectably) for performative acts, the tumoric audience proliferated prolifically. So much, as my luck would have it, that the eldliest of them all (surely once a part of, and now supporting and perpetuating the N.Y.U.’s) found there way to the front of the cluster, claustrophobing both themselves and my smallest of arteries - only to then fall fast asleep as soon as they plodded and deposited their bodies upon the seatation devices. Those who remained conscious (the younger, surlier folk that were in their ripest age to be members of that gang) showed their respect for the players in a most startling manner: heaping personal belongings, including appendages, atop my apron, committing overzealous salutations, and allotting intergalactic communication devices to remain on, and sing, during performance. In the front row, no less. Which then brings me to the palavormance.
The performing N.Y.U.’s (who were ironically costumed to look like N.Y.U.’s) cosmetically used the basest of physical gestures to aid their peers in an understanding of Shakespeare’s blatant and abundant sexual references, opposed to aiming their mission towards greater (though certainly pre-Postmodern), intergalactic importance. And the few chanteys interrupting all the sex jokes sounded not unlike any popular tune one could find broadcasted on even iAmbicPods of the gigliest bites - the actors thrusted, and the audience throbbed.
The production was intergalactically worshipped, by audience and actor alike. And my regurgitation of them all could not have been more anticipated.
I choose to run the risk of furtherworse punishment through my breech of silence because I can take it no longer. “It” being this incessant self-indulgence that the N.Y.U.’s here in this production, deep in the recesses of my digestive tract, have used to conquer the indefensible value of that whicheth theater can create. Why let this go on? Why insist on perturbing us immortals?
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to consider yourselves, thou peers, and those unforeseen spectators (those non-participants of these gangly actions) next time thou mountest a production. And please, in such a symbiotic relationship, consider the health and well-beingness of your host performance space.
... The Monthly Manifesto would like to thank the genre of Satire for being so apposite to the playful fictionalization of a night out, as well as our reader's ability to recognize when we make a flagrant generalization for the purpose of both humor and (we hope) poignancy. We would also like to thank the production team and performers of Twelfth Night for an evening of entertainment - no matter the form we took it in. This is an exaggeration of behavior we have, with sincere sorrow and frustration, come to expect. Being witness to an evening such as this, we couldn’t resist making light of what is a very real concern to us. That being said, there were a handful of engaging, spectacular, and truthful moments in a whole which otherwise fell short of its ambitious possibilities.
It all began as my entrails bubbled with the noisome feeling that I could only imagine were the earthly equivalent to the Galactically (and tragically) Renowned Nebulousossitisissus Yuppyoureverence Ubuntus (which, due to the extensive appellation and incredulous omnipresents, I shall thusforwardly refer to them as N.Y.U.’s): a cast of characters, an emetic PostClassical group of awkwardly immobile Minstrels, and the handy-work of a pre-non-post-structuralist that I first thought (and somewhat still think) was somesorta neonically-glowing parasite, eating away at the Artistry that beist myself (trapped, again, in Midtown Manhattan) and excreting chalk-lines, paint-tape, and frilly-laced PVC pipe. To my consternation, my seats slowly swelled with other, non-theatrically committed N.Y.U.’s. O, the Horror!
Inevitably, there be instances that I must now account to you posthaste. As the poor usher maladroitly held back the portal gates to my cavern reserved (once respectably) for performative acts, the tumoric audience proliferated prolifically. So much, as my luck would have it, that the eldliest of them all (surely once a part of, and now supporting and perpetuating the N.Y.U.’s) found there way to the front of the cluster, claustrophobing both themselves and my smallest of arteries - only to then fall fast asleep as soon as they plodded and deposited their bodies upon the seatation devices. Those who remained conscious (the younger, surlier folk that were in their ripest age to be members of that gang) showed their respect for the players in a most startling manner: heaping personal belongings, including appendages, atop my apron, committing overzealous salutations, and allotting intergalactic communication devices to remain on, and sing, during performance. In the front row, no less. Which then brings me to the palavormance.
The performing N.Y.U.’s (who were ironically costumed to look like N.Y.U.’s) cosmetically used the basest of physical gestures to aid their peers in an understanding of Shakespeare’s blatant and abundant sexual references, opposed to aiming their mission towards greater (though certainly pre-Postmodern), intergalactic importance. And the few chanteys interrupting all the sex jokes sounded not unlike any popular tune one could find broadcasted on even iAmbicPods of the gigliest bites - the actors thrusted, and the audience throbbed.
The production was intergalactically worshipped, by audience and actor alike. And my regurgitation of them all could not have been more anticipated.
I choose to run the risk of furtherworse punishment through my breech of silence because I can take it no longer. “It” being this incessant self-indulgence that the N.Y.U.’s here in this production, deep in the recesses of my digestive tract, have used to conquer the indefensible value of that whicheth theater can create. Why let this go on? Why insist on perturbing us immortals?
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to consider yourselves, thou peers, and those unforeseen spectators (those non-participants of these gangly actions) next time thou mountest a production. And please, in such a symbiotic relationship, consider the health and well-beingness of your host performance space.
... The Monthly Manifesto would like to thank the genre of Satire for being so apposite to the playful fictionalization of a night out, as well as our reader's ability to recognize when we make a flagrant generalization for the purpose of both humor and (we hope) poignancy. We would also like to thank the production team and performers of Twelfth Night for an evening of entertainment - no matter the form we took it in. This is an exaggeration of behavior we have, with sincere sorrow and frustration, come to expect. Being witness to an evening such as this, we couldn’t resist making light of what is a very real concern to us. That being said, there were a handful of engaging, spectacular, and truthful moments in a whole which otherwise fell short of its ambitious possibilities.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
What I think about at Jury Duty...
I had to postpone my initial summons to serve jury duty, as it fell on the single day I was given to paint the floor for my last show (coincidentally, it was a play about a man on trial for murder and a lawyer suborning perjury). I had rescheduled my civic duty for yesterday and was looking forward to taking complete advantage of my free time with Guare's House of Blue Leaves and a collection of Kafka's fiction that Collin bought for me.
The morning began with a 20 minute orientation video on the process a juror undergoes. It opened with a hilariously low-budget historical reenactment of the medieval concept trial by ordeal, where an accused man was bound and thrown into a river. I actually giggled audibly when the film over-dramatically quoted Aristotle as the man was pulled from the water and declared innocent. Next came a brief history of judicial systems and the establishment of the jury, some clips from Perry Mason (no joke) and then an explanation of how our present day court system works. At first, I was proud when the concept of a trial was likened to a piece of "dramatic theatre," due to the high level of conflict between two parties and a final resolution. Yet as the metaphor was extended to describe the people of the court as a "cast of characters," I began to feel a little uneasy. After all, a trial is serious business. Its purpose is to decide if a person is innocent or guilty, not to entertain and enlighten the spectators. Should a civil event of this magnitude be so lightly compared to theatre?
But informative-film-narrator-extraordinaire Diane Sawyer is right. A trial is theatrical. It revolves around the conflict of two opposing parties. Lawyers are playing characters because often times they don't personally believe in who or what they are defending. Their tactics are highly skilled speech and manipulation of emotion. Those on trial may be acting too, trying to portray a specific character that the jury will sympathize with. They even rehearse. The action is live and immediate, and those present are being asked to pass judgment on the characters. A good play will ask that you involve yourself as well as the elements of the play in this final judgment. But in a courtroom, the theatricality comes from trying to keep our true selves out. The accused should be judged solely on the evidence and on the interpretation of the law. Personal beliefs are not to be imposed on the situation. Therefore, a trial is one step removed from reality, perilously balancing between theatre and life. Passion and emotion are stripped from the courtroom in the attempt to collect a perfectly impartial group of people, which logistically produces a fairer trial, rendering the theatricality absolutely necessary.
Is this resemblance to be celebrated or feared? Should it make us proud or uneasy? I can’t help thinking maybe it should be a little bit of both. What do you guys think?
Still, it’s something interesting to mull over when I go see Equus tonight, a play that questions whether or not we have the right to judge another human being, and what the consequences of those judgments are.
The morning began with a 20 minute orientation video on the process a juror undergoes. It opened with a hilariously low-budget historical reenactment of the medieval concept trial by ordeal, where an accused man was bound and thrown into a river. I actually giggled audibly when the film over-dramatically quoted Aristotle as the man was pulled from the water and declared innocent. Next came a brief history of judicial systems and the establishment of the jury, some clips from Perry Mason (no joke) and then an explanation of how our present day court system works. At first, I was proud when the concept of a trial was likened to a piece of "dramatic theatre," due to the high level of conflict between two parties and a final resolution. Yet as the metaphor was extended to describe the people of the court as a "cast of characters," I began to feel a little uneasy. After all, a trial is serious business. Its purpose is to decide if a person is innocent or guilty, not to entertain and enlighten the spectators. Should a civil event of this magnitude be so lightly compared to theatre?
But informative-film-narrator-extraordinaire Diane Sawyer is right. A trial is theatrical. It revolves around the conflict of two opposing parties. Lawyers are playing characters because often times they don't personally believe in who or what they are defending. Their tactics are highly skilled speech and manipulation of emotion. Those on trial may be acting too, trying to portray a specific character that the jury will sympathize with. They even rehearse. The action is live and immediate, and those present are being asked to pass judgment on the characters. A good play will ask that you involve yourself as well as the elements of the play in this final judgment. But in a courtroom, the theatricality comes from trying to keep our true selves out. The accused should be judged solely on the evidence and on the interpretation of the law. Personal beliefs are not to be imposed on the situation. Therefore, a trial is one step removed from reality, perilously balancing between theatre and life. Passion and emotion are stripped from the courtroom in the attempt to collect a perfectly impartial group of people, which logistically produces a fairer trial, rendering the theatricality absolutely necessary.
Is this resemblance to be celebrated or feared? Should it make us proud or uneasy? I can’t help thinking maybe it should be a little bit of both. What do you guys think?
Still, it’s something interesting to mull over when I go see Equus tonight, a play that questions whether or not we have the right to judge another human being, and what the consequences of those judgments are.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
The Collaborative Theater - PART ONE: The Battlefield
It is a muddy field we battle in. The rain falls hard and fast, the soil unearths and unsteadies itself, and the slop of the field mars our true colors. So much so, in fact, that we may easily sometimes find ourselves facing off with another whom we are unsure of what side they fall on. Are they Red? Blue? Yellow? Green?
Or rather, are they an Artist? Or an Indolent Imposture with lack of knowledge and ideas claiming to be just about anything?
The trouble with art is that anyone can call themselves an Artist, unlike how, for example, not just anyone can call themselves a Doctor. To be a Doctor, you must have studied certain medicines, received certain degrees and credentials. To be an Artist, one only needs to claim to have ideas. But Artistic Merit is garnered by the reaction of peers and audience. Anyone can say they are an Actor, but it is those watching who will ultimately decide, if only for themselves.
Some say this is very bad, and that the artistry of the Theater, the noble profession of Acting, is being degraded by all of those that think they can jump right on in. I, however, think this a cause for celebration. Actors, myself included, should revel in this destruction of (oh god, dare I say it?) a Master Narrative. Those that are clouding our field of work only force those among us with true artistry to reevaluate ourselves and forge ahead with vigilant specificity – a specificity that slowly slunk away as Postmodernism slammed its way on in (which is all a part of the living nature of the theater; when it trudged its alien self upon our banks, the water fogged strange and new shades of grey. But having now settled, it is easy to think critically and objectively of what is superciliously splayed for consumption, and the time has come to embrace the challenges it has brought, finding the glory of what our overcoming of this obstacle can bring). And this is not a specificity waiting to be bought and consumed. This specificity comes from deep inside each unique individual that allows one’s true self to be present when working (auditioning, rehearsing, or performing). And the battle to move forward – the filling of that vacuity brought on by the Postmodern anomaly – happens when an actor refuses to give up this unique self for some façad that the vagueness surrounding them encourages one to think might be better than who they truly are.
Great thing about that Battlefield, those attempting to be something they’re not are easily spotted and will not last long (though occasionally convincing enough in an audition to get themselves into a show. That, and there are of course corporations perpetuating personality types that defy the true complexity of the human psyche, such as MTV). The hope then is that these individuals will come to love the Art: rather than wipe mud on their faces in the hope their idling is perceived as work, they will crave the battle, diving head-first into the tussle, unaware of the grim in their hair, the raw earth marring their once silky, teenage idol skin – they will discover the immense depth they hold within themselves, and take joy in the vulnerable demands of the field, thus transforming from Imposture to Artist. (An excellent example would be Mr. Daniel Radcliffe; lacking knowledge of the Art as he embarked on Harry Potter, the love of the Art persevered and inspired a maturity, as he has now challenged himself with the study and practice of the craft in Equus).
And all should be welcome to the Arts. Maybe I’m an Idealist, but I believe it a place meant to be devoid of Elitism.
Or rather, are they an Artist? Or an Indolent Imposture with lack of knowledge and ideas claiming to be just about anything?
The trouble with art is that anyone can call themselves an Artist, unlike how, for example, not just anyone can call themselves a Doctor. To be a Doctor, you must have studied certain medicines, received certain degrees and credentials. To be an Artist, one only needs to claim to have ideas. But Artistic Merit is garnered by the reaction of peers and audience. Anyone can say they are an Actor, but it is those watching who will ultimately decide, if only for themselves.
Some say this is very bad, and that the artistry of the Theater, the noble profession of Acting, is being degraded by all of those that think they can jump right on in. I, however, think this a cause for celebration. Actors, myself included, should revel in this destruction of (oh god, dare I say it?) a Master Narrative. Those that are clouding our field of work only force those among us with true artistry to reevaluate ourselves and forge ahead with vigilant specificity – a specificity that slowly slunk away as Postmodernism slammed its way on in (which is all a part of the living nature of the theater; when it trudged its alien self upon our banks, the water fogged strange and new shades of grey. But having now settled, it is easy to think critically and objectively of what is superciliously splayed for consumption, and the time has come to embrace the challenges it has brought, finding the glory of what our overcoming of this obstacle can bring). And this is not a specificity waiting to be bought and consumed. This specificity comes from deep inside each unique individual that allows one’s true self to be present when working (auditioning, rehearsing, or performing). And the battle to move forward – the filling of that vacuity brought on by the Postmodern anomaly – happens when an actor refuses to give up this unique self for some façad that the vagueness surrounding them encourages one to think might be better than who they truly are.
Great thing about that Battlefield, those attempting to be something they’re not are easily spotted and will not last long (though occasionally convincing enough in an audition to get themselves into a show. That, and there are of course corporations perpetuating personality types that defy the true complexity of the human psyche, such as MTV). The hope then is that these individuals will come to love the Art: rather than wipe mud on their faces in the hope their idling is perceived as work, they will crave the battle, diving head-first into the tussle, unaware of the grim in their hair, the raw earth marring their once silky, teenage idol skin – they will discover the immense depth they hold within themselves, and take joy in the vulnerable demands of the field, thus transforming from Imposture to Artist. (An excellent example would be Mr. Daniel Radcliffe; lacking knowledge of the Art as he embarked on Harry Potter, the love of the Art persevered and inspired a maturity, as he has now challenged himself with the study and practice of the craft in Equus).
And all should be welcome to the Arts. Maybe I’m an Idealist, but I believe it a place meant to be devoid of Elitism.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
To make the New Year a little happier...
I probably don’t enjoy this time of the year as much as I should. For me, the holidays are more stressful than happy, and I end up with just enough time off of work and school to evaluate the past year while I clean my house and brace myself for the next one. I was in some desperate need of cheering up this evening, and it came in the surprising form of a Facebook invitation. It was politely asking me to attend No Pants 2k9, an event planned by Improv Everywhere, a NYC based group that has been organizing and performing guerilla theatre since 2001.
Contemporary improvisational comedy is a type of performance that is drastically different than the theatre I am interested in pursuing, but I’ve had a soft spot for the art form ever since I ran tech for an improv troupe during my first couple years of college. But this isn’t your average improv routine that eventually deteriorates to sex jokes. Instead, Improv Everywhere pre-determines and plans a situation they would like to act out in public. The Improv Everywhere website catalogs video footage of each performance or “mission” they embark on. Tonight I watched every single one, and between my laughs, I couldn’t help thinking that the performances embody some of the qualities I value very much in theatre. For starters:
1. They are not elitist. In fact, they don’t even play to theatre-goers, but rather tourists, shoppers, dog walkers, joggers, students, or anyone else who was lucky enough to be hanging around the performance site. The most intimate mission was a romantic comedy-esque coincidence staged for a single cab driver, who was able to play the hero by uniting two of his passengers after realizing they were trying to find each other.
2. They use their resources wisely. Thousands of people come to New York City to pursue theatre and performance because of the obvious hub of spaces, theatre companies, training facilities and networking capabilities. The people behind Improv Everywhere, however, use the city itself as their playing space. Everything from the Washington Square Park fountain to the 6 train becomes their stage. The most brilliant space they utilized was the six-story open storefront window in Union Square, where they positioned one person per slot, each enacting a routine for the people below.
3. There is a high level of energy for all involved. The performers are all psyched to be involved, even if their only job is to dial a cell phone number at a specific time a block away from the event. Although some of the missions lean more towards performance art than drama, they usually draw a huge crowd that screams, claps, and cheers. One of the most sentimental missions was to research a little-known band playing in a crappy venue and show up as die hard fans. They brought over thirty audience members to an otherwise three person house. They had memorized the songs, made t-shirts, and even sported fake tattoos of the band. In response, the band pumped up their energy and took on the part of real rock stars, including rushing back to the stage after their set to play the encore that was being demanded by the crowd.
If you have a little bit of free time now that the holidays are over, watch a video or two. They’re hilarious, and many of them are heart-warming. More importantly, they’re an inspiring reminder of the capability of our creativity and the value of theatre: A celebration of action, reaction and interaction.
Contemporary improvisational comedy is a type of performance that is drastically different than the theatre I am interested in pursuing, but I’ve had a soft spot for the art form ever since I ran tech for an improv troupe during my first couple years of college. But this isn’t your average improv routine that eventually deteriorates to sex jokes. Instead, Improv Everywhere pre-determines and plans a situation they would like to act out in public. The Improv Everywhere website catalogs video footage of each performance or “mission” they embark on. Tonight I watched every single one, and between my laughs, I couldn’t help thinking that the performances embody some of the qualities I value very much in theatre. For starters:
1. They are not elitist. In fact, they don’t even play to theatre-goers, but rather tourists, shoppers, dog walkers, joggers, students, or anyone else who was lucky enough to be hanging around the performance site. The most intimate mission was a romantic comedy-esque coincidence staged for a single cab driver, who was able to play the hero by uniting two of his passengers after realizing they were trying to find each other.
2. They use their resources wisely. Thousands of people come to New York City to pursue theatre and performance because of the obvious hub of spaces, theatre companies, training facilities and networking capabilities. The people behind Improv Everywhere, however, use the city itself as their playing space. Everything from the Washington Square Park fountain to the 6 train becomes their stage. The most brilliant space they utilized was the six-story open storefront window in Union Square, where they positioned one person per slot, each enacting a routine for the people below.
3. There is a high level of energy for all involved. The performers are all psyched to be involved, even if their only job is to dial a cell phone number at a specific time a block away from the event. Although some of the missions lean more towards performance art than drama, they usually draw a huge crowd that screams, claps, and cheers. One of the most sentimental missions was to research a little-known band playing in a crappy venue and show up as die hard fans. They brought over thirty audience members to an otherwise three person house. They had memorized the songs, made t-shirts, and even sported fake tattoos of the band. In response, the band pumped up their energy and took on the part of real rock stars, including rushing back to the stage after their set to play the encore that was being demanded by the crowd.
If you have a little bit of free time now that the holidays are over, watch a video or two. They’re hilarious, and many of them are heart-warming. More importantly, they’re an inspiring reminder of the capability of our creativity and the value of theatre: A celebration of action, reaction and interaction.
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