Flux 5th Annual Retreat

Friday, August 27, 2010 0 comments

It's that happy time! We're off to our 5th Annual Retreat at the beautiful Little Pond Arts Retreat (picture above from 2008).

The first two days will be spent finishing our work from last year on values, mission, membership structure, and internal communications; then transition into a strategic plan conversation that will look at programming, branding, and development.

But don't worry: we are actually having fun and playing on this retreat, too! How could we not, with a roster of awesomeness that includes: Cat Adler-Josem, Ryan Andes, Jessica Angelskhan, Matthew Archambault, Erin Browne, Tiffany Clementi, Heather Cohn, David Crommett, Michael Davis, Ken Glickfeld, Will Lowry, Matthew Murumba, Kelly O'Donnell, Jason Paradine, Kristen Palmer, Brian Pracht, Zack Robidas, Marnie Schulenburg, Christina Shipp, Raushanah Simmons, Adam Szymkowicz, Isaiah Tanenbaum, Jane Taylor, and Cotton Wright.

Internet access is very spotty at Little Pond, so there may be some radio silence for a little while, but we'll have LOTS to talk about on our return...including the season announcement.
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Exploding Moments: Septimus and Clarissa

Thursday, August 26, 2010 1 comments

Readers of this blog know that after Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf is my favorite writer; close readers may even remember that we played around with staging Mrs. Dalloway at a Flux Sunday.

So you can imagine my excitement when I heard Ellen McLaughlin was adapting the novel for the stage with director Rachel Dickstein of Ripe Time. I confess I was also a little nervous; how could something I love so much survive translation to such a different medium?

Thankfully, it did; and the workshop production of Septimus and Clarissa is one of my favorite experiences in a theatre this year.

Septimus' suicide was particularly stunning: a revolving staircase that is the centerpiece of the staging points upstage, and as he runs up it to escape from his doctor, the staircase revolves 180 degrees so he is now facing us downstage in his moment of distress, unable to escape. He jumps, and the actor winds himself through the lattice underneath the stairs, creating a beautiful/terrible image of Septimus' broken body below.

In other words, it was a perfect moment for our Exploding Moments series, where we look at what makes a production work through the prism of a single moment. I sent the following five questions to playwright Ellen McLaughlin, director Rachel Dickstein, actor Tommy Schrider (Septimus), and set designer Susan Zeeman Rogers to find out more about how they did it.

What follows are their unedited responses (I am willing to risk a daunting length to keep the value of their responses); and I hope shining this wee bit of light on their work leads to a full production and longer run of this beautiful play.

1. The use of the mobile staircase and landing was one of the defining scenic elements of the workshop. How did you find this element in production meetings, and how present was it in rehearsal?

Ellen McLaughlin: Rachel and Susan, of course, can speak to that in a way that I can't because I wasn't in on the original thinking about the set. But speaking from the perspective of both the writer and the actor playing Clarissa, what I felt the staircase accomplished for us was to provide, with a poetic economy, visually resonant places for Clarissa and Septimus to exist--me on top of the unit and him beneath it-- both of us with access to "windows"--frames we could look out of. It felt right that we establish that at the beginning in the preshow. What the audience sees on entering the theater is basically two people thinking--me, up high, in pleasant light, looking out a window, listening to the sound of birds. Septimus beneath me, under the slope of the staircase, in a relatively cramped interior, scribbling on the floor or the back wall as he listens to a period radio playing news and music of the era alternating with static. As the play begins with the entrance of the music, we both stand and look out our respective windows, Septimus to some extent foreshadowing his look out the window before the suicide and Clarissa, by contrast, looking out at the world with pleasure and anticipation, the day ahead of her. Then I come down the stairs as the music builds until I reach the landing, where the music cuts out and we hear the sound of wings. We will hear that sound again at the moment of the suicide, but in this instance it is the sound of a different kind of release--Clarissa's release into the joy of the morning and the memory of herself walking out into a morning in the country when she was a girl. But because Septimus, under the staircase, is part of that first image too, I think it layers that moment in interesting ways. That moment, the moment at the start of the play that links the two characters, seems to me to be one of the most important elements we had to figure out as a company in order to make the production work properly. We wanted the two character lines and stories to echo and inform each other and that's the sort of dynamic it was vital to establish.

Anyway, about the staircase: Even though the staircase we had to use for the workshop was that unlovely, hellishly raked thing that was a remnant of the production, The Forest, which had preceded ours in the theater, we could still get a sense of what a staircase might eventually do for us. As it pivots, like the hand of a clock sweeping through the space, there is the sense of time passing as the day goes by--something the frequent sound cue of the tolling bells does for us as well. There is also the necessary sense of interior and exterior--I always liked the feeling of standing on the landing as the staircase was moved slightly onstage and then walking down off of it to indicate my entrance into the cool silence of my own house after the heat and activity of the world outside. And my retreat upstairs into the "attic room which is at the heart of a life" always made great sense to me.

And of course we needed height, if only for the suicide, that leap from a high window. It was important that Septimus flee up and away from Dr. Holmes and it was visually arresting to see him standing up there before the jump. Adding wheels to the staircase easily doubled its effectiveness for us theatrically since, like any huge sculptural piece, the character of the thing changes profoundly as you view it from different angles. The narrow garret under the stairs could be tremendously useful for Septimus's Bloomsbury apartment, and climbing along the side of it as if up and out of trenches proved wonderfully evocative for Septimus's memories of battle. These provide a nice contrast to the way Clarissa uses the stairs. Clarissa's memory of Peter Walsh telling her when she was a young woman that she "would marry a Prime Minister and stand at the top of the stairs" is central to the way she thinks of herself and determines the way she uses the height and the majesty of the descent. (Although the combination of heels and raked steps--what on earth were they thinking?--made for a real challenge, I must say.)

Rachel Dickstein: The mobile staircase was an idea that came from set designer Susan Zeeman Rogers in an earlier workshop phase in 2009. I think she sketched it out while sitting in on a rehearsal in December 2009. Susan introduced the idea to me as a way for us to suggest Clarissa's home - Peter Walsh says he always knew she'd marry a prime minister and be seen at the top of the stairs (meaning about to descend below to greet many guests at a party she'd throw for well-heeled people in London.) He means this in a somewhat critical way, but of course its true - when her party does begin she in fact does walk down a long stair case to join the party and I loved the idea that the set would be focused on the thing that takes her there - in the same way that the book is all about the events leading up to the party itself on that one June day. The stairs also would allow for a space on stage (the landing) where she could be alone, where she could retreat from that highly public life and offer a window for her to look out upon to see the June day, to see the glory of the world that exists outside the more fragile reality of her internal life.

What sold me on the idea of the stairs, however was when I started to imagine the space as a home for Septimus as well. While Clarissa lived atop it, Septimus' "home" would be below, highlighting in one architectural/scenic element how the story show the two characters being two sides of the same coin. Each level would have a window above and below, as if one were reflected in water. We see Septimus at the beginning of the show underneath it, in a somewhat caustrophobic space, we return there in a later scene (just before his suicide) when he and his wife have their last beautiful moments together in their apartment. I loved the idea that the window she looks out upon from her own room, would be the same window he jumps from when committing suicide also underscoring the reciprocal nature of the characters.

As to the stairs moving, Susan and I both wanted the set to have moving elements, so that we could slip fluidly between one part of London to another, or one state of mind to another. The stairs moving allowed that kind of fluidity while also allowing us to feel as if the ends of it were hands of a clock turning, or time passing in a more metaphoric way.

The stairs were not present in rehearsal, I would have loved that to be the case! But we did have some mockup 2 dimensional elements to at least approximate the footprint of the unit and that helped a lot. When we go back into rehearsal for the full production, I hope we'll be able to have the new unit available to us to work with earlier and we can build even more beautiful material with it the more time we have with it.

Susan Rogers: When we started thinking about the design for the play, we wanted to create a set that supported Woolfe's associative thought and stream of conscious thinking. The play goes backward and forward in time, overlapping moments. It seemed to me that the play has an arc-like gesture. We talked about many different ways to achieve this kind of set movement. But it was in rehearsal that I thought about a staircase. The staircase worked as contrasting spaces for both Clarissa and Septimus and its circular movement helped the play navigate through time and space.

The height of the staircase also worked to create a feeling of danger, of falling, which I hope to push further in our full production.
(Septimus (Tommy Schrider) and Lucretzia (Miriam Silverman)
2. Septimus is a veteran of World War I who experiences visions both terrifying and transcendent. What were the challenges and opportunities you experienced in staging, writing, and playing those visions?

EM: To a very large extent, it was the figure of Septimus that attracted me to this Woolf novel as opposed to any other when Rachel and I first talked about adapting one of the novels. From the first time I read it, Septimus's trauma and voyage toward suicide has always struck me as one of the great achievements in literature in its detail and poignancy. It's also, of course, terribly resonant now as we continue our foreign wars and our uneasy or simply oblivious relationship with the suffering veterans among us. I knew that, with the right actor, and Tommy Schrider is undoubtedly that actor, Septimus's mutable and vivid psychological reality would be fascinating to explore theatrically in terms of movement, music and text. It proved to be extremely challenging, but I think that the work the company did on his manias and his ultimate suicide is some of the best work we were able to do.

RD: One of the most thrilling things for me as a director and movement crafter was thinking of how to get the audience inside Septimus' head - to paint out the tactile sensory reality of his alternatively exultant and terrified state of mind. Ellen did a brilliant job of editing down the text from the novel to perfectly synthesize his story and Tommy Schrider, an amazingly gifted actor, brought great truthfulness to the role and honesty to those internal realities. I also had a great ensemble of inventors to collaborate with who all contributed an amazing amount of material towards what those visions would look like. Craig Baldwin, who plays Evans, Septimus' commanding officer who dies in battle and whose death haunts Septimus, played a huge part in developing those sequences. Daniel Irizarry, a long time Ripe Time-affiliated artist who worked with us in an earlier workshop, also helped create a lot of great material for these moments that remained in our June showings. In rehearsal, I set up structures for the actors to improvise within and they create material that I then shape. Everyone creates material for all the characters as we create the vocabulary of the whole piece together as an ensemble. Its a very collaborative process, and especially exciting when coming up with the dynamic material that makes up Septimus' visions.

Tommy Schrider: In the book, Septimus’s hallucinations are transcendently beautiful, yet have an apocalyptic underbelly of violence and terror borne out of his experiences in the Great War. As an actor I wanted to give voice to both of these extremes - especially the darker, more horrific elements of these visions - in order to provide a strong and necessary counterpoint to the beauty of Woolf’s language and of much (but certainly not all) of the rest of the story.

The visions in the park were quite challenging for a couple of reasons. I was determined to bring an emotional and dramatic clarity to an experience that, on the page, was larger than life and, onstage, needed to be intensely theatrical. Add to that the streamlining Ellen had done with Septimus’s text and the journey of each of these visions (in the book they are a good deal longer), the trap of those scenes for me then became falling into a general state of euphoria and/or terror (ie: melodrama), rather than living through each experience moment to moment in order to bring it to truthful theatrical life. Rehearsal became about tracking each vision – it’s origin (why is this happening to Septimus right now?), it’s progression (the subsequent beats/build ), it’s revelation (what does it reveal to him?) - and developing a dynamic physical/theatrical expression of it in onstage. I was lucky to work with an amazing bunch of actors who jumped in and together we were able to develop a physical vocabulary that led to what we staged.

As for the wartime sequences, a lot of the material was generated in rehearsal with Craig Baldwin (with a huge shout out to Daniel Irizarry who helped me think about those sequences in a very specific way during the first workshop). Craig and I knew that Rachel wanted to stage a lot of the war stuff on the scaffolding of the staircase, so we used that as a jumping off point and created a bunch of material on the staircase at the ART-NY South Oxford space on South Oxford Street in Brooklyn. We were determined to capture the physical and psychological brutality of Septimus’s wartime experience that left him so traumatized. Craig and I came up with some really cool stuff over in Brooklyn that we adapted for the stair unit at CSC. One of my favorite moments was when Craig was climbing up the scaffolding and grabs my hand for help, only to be shot in the back. There is that moment of suspension - we’re holding hands – until he slowly falls away and hangs there as Septimus stares out into space. That really felt like a viable breaking point for Septimus and helped me understand viscerally why he felt compelled to "fall" to his death later in the play.

The playing of the suicide itself was rather simple. He does have a moment of clarity and makes a choice to do it once he realizes there's no escape from the Holmes' and Bradshaws of the world. Originally, I was just going to fall out the window - make it quick and brutal - but the reality of the space prevented that from happening. I think what we came up with was more potent because it was so simple.
Clarissa's Green Dress dream (Ellen McLaughlin as Clarissa atop stairs, Mike Rudko as Peter below)
3. As he ascends the top of the stairs, they revolve, so that Septimus is brought from upstage, facing away from the audience, to all the way downstage facing us. How did you arrive at this staging choice, and how did it feel to play it?

EM: What I thought was remarkably effective about the staging of that moment was that it worked the way that terrifying moments feel in life, I find, when an instant slows down and the fleeting second is suddenly suspended, crystalline and heightened. The moment of his jump, we hear a loud ticking as the staircase is spun and the entire perspective for the audience is thus shifted -- he is brought from the center back of the stage to directly above the audience at the front of the stage. It is only after that long, almost sickening suspension that with the sound of wings we heard at the beginning of the play, we enter time again and achieve the release of the death.

RD: Actually when we moved into the theatre we had a slightly different plan, that the suicide would happen when the highest part of the stairs faced upstage. We had wanted to create a real jump and for various reasons, mostly regarding safety, we could not do that in this production phase. I turned to my lighting designer, Chris Akerlind, to see if there was some creative way to handle the moment with light and he actually suggested the shift of the stairs to the downstage position. It was such a better choice - Septimus "jumps" when the stairs face up but that moment of the jump is extended over the whole shift of the unit downstage - a clock ticks loudly the pressure of time beats in our ears and then as soon as it hits the downstage position, with Septimus towering above the audience, a sudden impulse pulses through his body as if flaying his body open, shooting him through the air, and we have black out on him - a shift to Clarissa walking upstage (as if to ask how does the moment echo with her?) and then a shift back to the room to see Lucrezia, his wife and Dr. Holmes seeing the devastation out the window on the street below.This also gave Tommy time to place himself on the railing below so that we'd see his body frozen as if impalled as his wife saw him in a beautiful tableau on Susan's angled iron work. As with many of moments we most love, the staging was started in rehearsal, and fully crafted in tech with all the elements in play. Tommy of course can speak best to what it felt like to play it.

4. I was struck throughout by how the roles were doubled, so that when Septimus sees an old man through the window on his way up the stairs, the role is played by the same actor who plays Sir William Bradshaw, the doctor who terrifies Septimus with the tyranny of "proportion". How deliberate were these doubling decisions?

EM: The figure of the anonymous old man whom Septimus sees across the street from him just before he jumps is in the Woolf text, though rather incidentally. I amplified that moment because I wanted to echo for Septimus the figure Clarissa sees at crucial moments in the play--the figure of the anonymous old woman in the house next door, a figure she relates to the notion of the "privacy of the soul" and indeed the mystery of life itself. In these incidents, I thought that the idea of each actor playing multiple parts--which is essential to the way we were doing the piece--really paid off for us. In the case of the suicide, dogged by the inept, bungling Dr. Holmes, who is coming up the stairs and driving him out to the window ledge where he is gearing himself to jump, Septimus looks across the street to see a stranger, a man who is played by the same actor as the man who played Dr. Bradshaw, who had only that afternoon cooly dismissed Septimus as mad. I liked that resonance, the sense that his world is filled with familiar strangers, all of them judging him, staring at him. I also liked the idea that, like Clarissa, he looks into the mystery of a stranger's face at this crucial moment--that one's most intimate moment is shared with someone whose name you will never know.In the case of the old woman Clarissa is linked to in a similar way, that character was played by LeeAnne Hutchison, who also played Young Clarissa, which was a bit of double casting I was happy we could do because it allowed us to have Clarissa contemplate the same figure when she thinks of her past and when she thinks of her future. She is what she was and what she will become. The old woman, like the Young Clarissa, is her other self.

RD: The doubling of Bradshaw and that old man was certainly intended. Ellen and I thought through a lot of the doubling as we were casting the show with the specific actors in mind. Guy Paul who brilliantly played both those roles, was the right voice and presence for those roles. When an actor doubles you certainly do see edges of the characters they have played before as they take on new characters. I don't think we thought of the old man as a stand in for Bradshaw at all, but certainly characters have a way of accumulating in your mind as this story unfolds and I like that those two characters overlapped for you. Most important to this moment is to create a parallel between Clarissa seeing the old woman out her woman at her party and this moment for Septimus. I could say a lot more on the resonance of these moments but each person watching in the audience should find his or her own meaning!
(Ellen McLaughlin as Clarissa Dalloway; Ensemble)
5. Septimus experiences a moment of lucidity right before his suicide; and his suicide elicits a similarly vivid clarity from Clarissa when she hears of it at her party. Why do you think Woolf linked the characters in this way, and in a full production, how would you stage this moment of Clarissa's?

EM: I found that the minimal staging we were forced by time constraints to do ultimately worked surprisingly well for that last part of the play, which we had to do as a reading. What we discovered the first time we did it was that having Septimus enter at the moment Clarissa is coming to terms with hearing of the death of a stranger she will never know was extraordinarily powerful. All he did was stand and say "Fear no more the heat of the sun" a phrase that goes through both their heads all day long. In fact, the only palpable link between them as characters is that snatch of Shakespeare. They are both contemplating their mortality on this particular day and that phrase keeps bobbing into both their consciousnesses. So on the last of the many times that it occurs to Clarissa--this time in relation to hearing about the death of Septimus--it made sense that Septimus himself would speak it onstage and Clarissa would turn to look directly at him for the first time. We came up with this simple moment together on the day we read through the scene as a group, and the power of it in performance was exceptional for me. It was an example of the sort of thing you can only achieve theatrically and I thought it justified the whole enterprise, if nothing else did.

RD: I wish I could say now how I would stage that moment for Clarissa. We haven't staged that part of the story yet, but I certainly will say that it should mirror and reflect Septimus' moment absolutely. There are subtle ways we've tied the two characters together and will be working on doing that even more as we continue to develop the piece. And this moment is really the most important in the whole piece so it will be staged with the kind of vivid clarity it deserves.
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Flux Sunday, August 22nd

Wednesday, August 25, 2010 0 comments

What is Flux Sunday?

Playwrights: Rob Ackerman (Throwing Gumballs), Zack Calhoon (Hell, West, and Crooked; Stolen), Kristen Palmer* (The Stray Dog), Brian Pracht (The Misogynist), August Schulenburg (Denny and Lila)

Actors: Susan Ferrara, Nancy Franklin, Ken Glickfeld, Kari Riely, Gretchen Poulos, Heather Cohn, Matt Archambault, Cotton Wright, Tiffany Clementi, Jason Paradine, David Crommett

This was our last Flux Sunday for a few weeks, as our next two weekends will be spent at our annual retreat at Little Pond (more on that anon, huzzah!) But we went into the break on a resilient note, as Tiffany rode to my rescue and ran the first half of the session as my bus crept slowly through the Sunday rain.

That means I can't tell you about the 1st half, so if you were there, reader, let me know what worked in the comments. But for the 2nd half highlights:

-Brian's The Misogynist ending on a pleasingly ambiguous note, as our troubled Ethan seems to be finding some measure of self-awareness that has eluded him until now; and the last scene between him and Libby is lovely.

-Tiffany as Davia loving her plaything John (Matt A) in Zack's Stolen; it was great to see Tiff revel in her power and cruelty

-Kari winsomely playing the con artist Lila seducing the small town doctor in Denny and Lila

-But above all, the read-through of Rob's Throwing Gumballs that followed; this zany heart attack of a play conceals a sincere crisis of an artists' moral responsibilities. Thanks to all who stuck around and joined us as we finally heard the whole play at a go.

So if you were there...what did I miss that's worth remembering?

*Kristen had to cancel last minute, but I believe her scene was read anyway. Read the full story

The Wider Frame

Tuesday, August 24, 2010 10 comments

Increasingly, I am seeing the problems that face the theatre as woven into a larger context; and I am coming to believe that we can't talk about the problems facing the field without also talking about that wider frame.

I think we can't talk about gender equity in season selection without talking about the 80 cents that women make to a man's dollar, or the woeful 3% of Fortune 500 companies led by women.

If we want to talk about the divide between artistic and administrative compensation, we need to also talk about CEO salaries that are 344 times that of the average worker.

If we talk about diversity on our stages, we need to remember that by 2050, America's minority population will exceed 50%.

When we talk about the financial growth of theatres, we need to factor in the externalized costs of theatre production, the same as every other business striving to move from GDP to GPI.

If we're concerned about theatre's declining relevance, we need to see it as connected to declining rates of empathy and creativity; and wrestle with the rapid changes to human consciousness.

The fight for better representation of African-American and Latino artists on our stages is related to the struggle to change a prison system that incarcerates black men at a rate over 6 times higher than that of whites; and that issues warrantless arrests for suspected illegal immigrants.

As we endlessly debate marketing tactics to increase our audience size, we need to remember that struggle takes place in the context of an increasingly disconnected civic society.

The discussion of aesthetic diversity, and the censorship of commerce, is intimately related to the impulses that are leading to the decimation of biodiversity and indigenous cultures.

The call for better arts advocacy won't work without calling to decrease voter apathy and the politics of demonization.

Theatre may be a mirror held up to nature; or it may be hammer with which to shape it; either way, we know which direction it's supposed to be facing. Lately, I've realized my own thought, and much of the discussion I'm reading, has been pointing theatre in the wrong direction. Read the full story

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Flux Sunday, August 15th

Tuesday, August 17, 2010 1 comments

What is Flux Sunday?

Playwrights: Johnna Adams (Nurture, Gidion's Knot, The Planned Obsolescence Of Karl Rove), August Schulenburg (Deinde)

Actors: Matt Archambault, Nancy Franklin, Brian Pracht, David Crommett, Ken Glickfeld, Jane Taylor

I admit, I went into this Sunday worried about the small turn out. But it ended up being a really satisfying evening, with our intimate crew reading through 3 scenes of Johnna's, 2 of which were older scripts we joked were B-Sides. They ended up blowing us away, reminding us of her crazy range as a playwright.


-No matter what else happens in my life, I can now say that I have played, at least in reading form, a Bleak Karlian Skriker. What is a Bleak Karlian Skriker you might ask? Oh, just a fire-breathing lizard demon living in the Magical Rovitanian Wonder Cabinet with the face of Karl Rove. No, they can't that away from me.

-Our inability to finish scenes in both Nurture and The Planned Obsolescence Of Karl Rove without laughing. Oh, ludicrous litany of Rove ailments, how could we stand against you?

-The disturbing undercurrents of Gidion's Knot, with lovely performances from Brian Pracht as the teenage war poet, and Ken Glickfeld as his poetry-struck forget-monster of a father.

-Jane Taylor's moving read of Dara's rhapsody after she is given an unexpected new lease on life in Deinde

-Johnna and Brian Pracht speaking with one mind in Deinde, no easy feat for a cold read

If you were part of our band of sisters and brothers, what do you remember?

AND...stay tuned for some changes in Flux Sunday policy... Read the full story

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Storytelling On The Brain

Tuesday, August 10, 2010 1 comments

I've been writing about Presence on the blog for some time, trying to understand the power of the connection between actor and audience evolving in real time. I've been looking to neuroscience for at least a metaphorical grasp about what might be driving this unique pleasure, considering such ideas of Quantum Darwinism and Mirror Neurons, wondering what impact it might have on Casting Our Audiences and Thinking About Diversity.

Now Livia Blackburne on A Brain Scientist's Take On Writing looks at the impact of storytelling on the brains of both the teller and listeners. It supports some of the ideas I was exploring above, and furthers them with this fascinating discovery:

Some regions in the listener's brain actually predicted the speaker's activity, as if the listener was anticipating parts of the story. Later tests of listener comprehension support this. The more predictive activity in a listener’s brain, the better she scored on comprehension questions after the experiment.
The delight of anticipating the twists of a particular plot is something we've all felt; here, the research catches it actually happening in our brains, and reveals that those with the greatest anticipation - those on the edge of their neuro-seats - have the greatest comprehension when the story is done.

All my favorite plays have created these vivid expectations in my mind; and that special thrill of a plot's maneuvering - sometimes evading, sometimes rewarding - around those expectations is a unique thrill of theatre unfolding in real time, with our responses to those maneuvers feeding back to the teller and changing the telling.

Cool stuff to think about on a Tuesday afternoon... Read the full story

Theatre and Money

Monday, August 9, 2010 2 comments

I am not an economist, and this post will not approach the rugged grandeur of Ian David Moss' musings on the subject of economic value. Rather, it is an open question about an uneasiness I've been having with how theatres talk about money.

I have religious friends who practice a strict personal morality that does not extend to judgments of others; they believe that God will sorts things out in the after life. It is a position of appealing humility; on the mortal plane we simply don't have all the information we need to truly judge something as complex as a human being's moral worth; so we will leave such decisions to a higher power, God.

In our democracy, money plays that role in the here and now. Money is our objective moral arbiter in the secular present. Money takes the hard decisions of value from our hands and crowd sources them across a billion decisions made by a billion consumers. The Invisible Hand of the free market is the Holy Spirit of American Democracy.

Of course, money has no real value; it is a symbol of value that allows us to measure the comparative worth of things. One week of my labor is worth this iPad because money deems it so. In most cases, this symbolic shorthand of money allows for a fair and efficient exchange of things.

But this efficiency allows for the real value, and the real cost, of some things to be obscured; the externalized environmental costs of so much of our stuff, so well dramatized by Annie Leonard, is hidden by this symbolic shorthand.

But more dangerously, this efficiency allows us to avoid difficult and necessary discussions of real value. A baseball player can make millions of dollars for playing a televised game as schools close on Fridays to cut budgets. A CEO can make 250 times more a year than an average worker. A third world laborer can make a dollar a day so that we can buy a t-shirt for $5.99.

Money allows us to avoid asking if these things represent true value. A baseball player deserves to make that much, and a laborer to make that little, because money says so; and money is our trusted objective moral arbiter.

And yet, we recognize that some kinds of value fall outside money's reach. Sex, one of the most sought after human experiences, can be purchased; but doing so might cost you your role as Governor. We might worship the Invisible Hand of the market as democracy's God; but it is a crime to directly purchase change in our democracy's laws.

Is theatre one of those experiences whose value cannot be sounded by money; or is it simply an obsolete economic model where you can make a killing but not a living? Depending on the day of the week, increasingly the answer is both.

On Monday we claim a civic value beyond money's reach; on Tuesday we cite the free market as the necessity for theatre leader salaries in six figures. On Wednesday, we say our plays are for the community; but if the community likes the play, on Thursday we raise the ticket prices. On Friday, we build a beautiful new lobby; and on Saturday, weep that we can't pay our artists more. And on Sunday, we wonder why people don't see the civic value of the arts.

American theatre's foundational myth remains Broadway, in spite of the regional theatre movement. For most Americans, it remains theatre's conceptual Olympus. And so because our foundational myth is theatre as show business, our culture remains deeply wary of theatre's claim to a more communal, civic, church-like value. But though church and sex and democracies can be (and have been) profit-driven; it doesn't mean they must be and it may not mean they should be. The shorthand of money may obscure their real value; or at the very least, allow us to avoid the hard discussion of value we need to have.

Theatre is a small part of this larger discussion of value we need to have as a culture; but it is an important part; and these mixed messages of our value, while perhaps necessary for our short-term survival, may be damaging our long term hopes. Read the full story

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Flux Sunday, August 8th

Sunday, August 8, 2010 1 comments

What is Flux Sunday?

Yes, I know, I owe you reports from from 7/11 and 7/18. But I'd like to start a new trend of blogging about Flux Sunday immediately afterwards, so all those who atteneded can chime in with thoughts, before time steals them.

Playwrights: Johnna Adams (Nurture), Zack Calhoon (Obamaville), James Comtois (McTeague), Kristen Palmer (The Stray Dog), Brian Pracht (The Mysoginist), Adam Szymkowicz (Curently Untitled), August Schulenburg (What Is Outside)

Actors: Isaiah Tanenbaum, Jane Taylor, David Crommett, Alisha Spielmann, Christina Shipp, Nancy Franklin, Matthew Archambault, Ken Glickfeld

Yup, we had a bevy of playwrights (a quill of playwrights?) and a whole bunch of pages. It was a solid three hour sandwhich of theatre, and I left full.

Highlights included:

-Johnna Adams's new play, Nurture. The tyrannical mother Cheryl and her obliviously smitten suitor Doug bond over their strange dancing daughters in a scene of shocking comic vitality. I'm not sure we quite got the the tone of this one - I have a hunch it is quicker and more deadpan - but it seems like an exciting new style for Johnna, and I can't wait to see where it goes.

-The scene between 'best friends' Jim and the dying Matt in Adam's new play; Jim's completely insincere attempt at empathy has all of us appalled and laughing

-Things getting ugly in The Mysoginist, with a particularly unsettling scene between Matt Archambault's Ethan and Alisha Spielmann's Libby (Alisha turned in several strong performances)

-The air of mystique pervading the first scene of Kristen's new play, tentatively called The Stray Dog. Curiosity, piqued.

-Ken Glickfeld as Curtis and David Crommett as James going toe to toe in Zack's Obamaville; things don't end well for this Tea Party; but even sitting round an office table, they weren't afraid to blow things up.

-Ken again in the shyly lovely courtship scene between Grannis and Nancy Franklin's Miss Baker in James' McTeague. Aww. And we needed some awww...it was a Sunday made up mostly of blackest comedy and violent drama.

It was great to have so many playwrights bringing pages that seemed to be pushing in new directions; or further in old ones; and I look forward to the next round.

SO...if you were there, lay down some cool wisdom in the comments field, y'here? Read the full story

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POP: J on Nerve

Saturday, August 7, 2010 0 comments

What is POP (aka) Playwrights-On-Playwrights?
Who else is POPing Adam Szymkowicz?

Number 5 is alive: J Holtham on Adam Szymkowicz's Nerve

J’s plays include January 2nd, Creative Writing, Lovers to Bed, 11th Hour, Race Music, Household Name, Splendid, and Daylight Savings (What Happens Now).

Nerve has been produced in NYC, St Louis, Miami, Asheville, Philadelphia, and beyond. For more information about Nerve, check out Adam's website. Nerve is published by Dramatists Play Service, and is available here and here.

The Ranks of the Freaks: A Response to Adam Szymkowicz’s Nerve

C'mon and save me
Why don't you save me
If you could save me
From the ranks of the freaks
Who suspect they could never love anyone

Except the freaks
Who suspect they could never love anyone
Except the freaks who could never love anyone

-"Save Me”, Aimee Mann, 1999

Nerve made me instantly uncomfortable. I’ve done my time in the world of internet dating and there was definitely the shock of recognition in the play. Not in Susan, the damaged, knife-wielding, interpretive-dancing date, but in Elliot, the equally damaged, puppet-making, codependent, insanely jealous fella in the play. Yeah, I’ve been that guy. I probably still am. So it’s hard to be in his company for too long. It hits too close to home.

Desperation and neediness make for a pretty toxic cocktail. More than the names of previous (and, let’s be honest, just as successful) dates are carved into the tabletop, pain is etched in every word of the play. Adam doesn’t spell out the details and he doesn’t really need to. We know these people and how they wound up at this bar, after a Michael Moore movie. We’ve been there. Maybe we haven’t been quite as needy as these two…but only by a hair.

Does that gap, that distance between the open wounds that these characters carry and the deeper, more camouflaged ones we all have, make for a play? Because there isn’t much else to Nerve. Two people, a scarred table, a puppet, a knife, that’s really it. They meet awkward, bond, repulse, bond some more, dance their pain, hurt each other…and not much else, in the way of plot or action. We get glimpses of their larger worlds, of the people who hurt them, or who they feel responsible for, but we spend our time with Susan and Elliot. It’s a quick 46 pages.

Or a long one. Depending on how much you can stand.

Read the full story

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Flux Sunday, June 27th

Tuesday, August 3, 2010 0 comments

(What is Flux Sunday?)

Playwrights: Rob Ackerman (Throwing Gumballs), Johnna Adams (Hripsime), Fengar Gael (The Spell Caster), Brian Pracht (The Misogynist; Or, No More Mr. Nice Guy), August Schulenburg (Deinde)

Actors: David Crommett, Alisha Spielmann, Nancy Franklin, Ingrid Nordstrom, Isaiah Tanenbaum, Heather Cohn, Jane Taylor, Elise Link

The playwrights returned in full force after my solo efforts the week previous; Rob brought the final pages of his momentary epic, Throwing Gumballs; Brian brought rewrites of his much traveled Misogynist; Johnna brought the Armenian verse play and I kept the science fiction coming.

Highlights included:
-Ingrid's hilariously trapped and smiling through the awkwardness portrayal of Julie in The Misogynist, as her suitor Ethan pulls out all the wrong stops
-David and Jane perfectly volleying back and forth the pleasure and recriminations of mentor and protege Malcolm and Nabanita in Deinde
-Heather showing off her acting chops as the enigmatic young sorceress Mayra in The Spell Caster
- Enjoying the final twisting peregrinations of the soul in Rob's epic blink in a man's life, Throwing Gumballs

There is always something special about coming to the end of a play we've worked scene by scene in Flux Sunday - sometimes they feel a little like tuning in to weekly episodes of your favorite TV show - and it is always hard to say goodbye. But then again, rewrites are never having to say goodbye... Read the full story

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POP: Gus on Nerve

What is POP (aka) Playwrights-On-Playwrights?
Who else is POPing Adam Szymkowicz?

Batting clean up: August Schulenburg on Adam Szymkowicz's Nerve

August’s plays include Riding the Bull, Rue, Other Bodies, The Lesser Seductions of History, Jacob's House, Good Hope, Kidding Jane and Carrin Beginning.

Nerve has been produced in NYC, St Louis, Miami, Asheville, Philadelphia, and beyond. For more information about Nerve, check out Adam's website. Nerve is published by Dramatists Play Service, and is available here and here.

Under the hood of Nerve
by August Schulenburg

There are messy plays that strive and fail and spill food on their shirts and sweat more than they should but somehow end up as essential things. Then there are plays like Nerve that feel nearly perfect in their execution, that meet the Salieri test: "Displace one note and there would be diminishment. Displace one phrase and the structure would fall." Nerve is a near-perfectly structured play about two people who strive and fail and spill food on their shirts and sweat more than they should and so wind up as essential to each other.

And what is this near-perfect structure? It revolves around a simple strophe/antistrophe: Susan and Elliot dialogue until a dangerous secret is revealed, causing one to retreat to the bathroom or bar; then the revealed secret is processed emotionally through individual rituals; then the lovers are prepared to go forward, and return to each other.

Broken down, it looks like this, with the S sections staged realistically, and the A sections involving some light/music stylistic shift:

S1: Elliot reveals he wants Susan in his life. Susan reveals a knife.
A1: Elliot calls a friend to say she could be the one. Susan does a dance of joy.

S2: Elliot reveals his ex was a liar. Susan says she never lies, and Elliot doesn't believe her.
A2: Susan crumples to the floor and crawls to the bathroom. Elliot hits himself hard in the head.

S3: Susan reveals she makes up dances in her head to escape. Elliot reveals he becomes easily obsessed with women.
A3: Susan tears up napkins, makes patterns, then dances between hope and caution.

S4: Elliot says "I love you".
A4: Elliot battles his doubts through a demonic puppet of his ex-girlfriend.

S5: Susan says, "I love you, too" and they kiss! They agree to be boyfriend and girlfriend.
A5: Susan tears more napkins, dances indecision and fear of being trapped, then dances through those fears into calm.

S6: Susan reveals she cuts herself, and Elliot accepts her.
A6: Susan makes a phone call, breaking things off with the other guy.

S7: Elliot asks if she wants to go back to his place, Susan takes him into the bathroom.
A7: They have sex! This is the first time in the play that they've shared the offstage transformational moment; we've been building to this through the first six sections.

S8: Elliot is now insanely jealous of every man in the bar, revealing he has been to jail for stalking.
A8: Now napkins fall from the ceiling, and Susan dances like a marionette, cutting her strings with her knife, then cutting herself, bleeding everywhere and trying to stop it with napkins.

S9: Susan tries to end the relationship, but Elliot won't let her, and they kiss again.
A9: This time, they kiss on stage, without any music shift, or lights effect, or napkins falling, or puppetry; and after they kiss they are quiet for a long time.

Reading the play for pleasure, and I assume in performance, this structure has an organic, inevitable feel; but looking under the hood, you can see how clever Adam is with the structure, especially the last three antistrophes. After establishing the rhythm through the first six movements, he breaks it on the seventh by having them share the transformational moment; he then escalates past that through the first really violent, scary moment of the play, where Susan cuts herself; and in a masterstroke of structure, the final transformational ritual happens at the table, without any of the effects or stylistic shifts from the previous eight. However, because of the previous eight, the kiss they share is more than a kiss; it is the final ritual affirmation of their love and commitment to each other.

Next up is Pretty Theft, and there, Adam will take considerable risks in structure; but here in Nerve, he uses a simple structure brilliantly, compressing the emotional journey of months into a single night through alternating real and stylistically heightened scenes. In contrast to Pretty Theft, Susan and Elliot are contained by the play perfectly; displace one movement of the play and the structure will fall.

Can you tell I'm excited to talk about Pretty Theft? I am. But that is another POP for another day... Read the full story