Nirvana?

It sure went well. It's nice to be able to write those words, let me tell you. The audience was extremely receptive, the feedback was wonderful; I really couldn't ask for anything more . . . well maybe except to be able to do it again tonight! This thing fits like a glove. It's light on its feet and deep when it has to be. Bette says it best when she said that to make someone preparing to kill his wife sympathetic is quite an accomplishment. And the audience loves the character. When the moderator asked at the end if there was anyone that found him unsympathetic, no one did. All in all a richly rewarding night. A few jumbled lines, but nothing important and the audience was none the wiser.

Now a few days rest and then to work on beefing it up for summertime! I can't wait to do this thing multiple times and really find the rhythms in it. It was weird when I was getting toward the end of the piece last night, I didn't want it to end. That's a nice feeling.

Tonight's the night

And now for the moment we've all been waiting for! I couldn't be more excited. Last night's tech was effortless; the two women who are running lights and sound know what they're about and it was smooth sailing all around. I was happy with the performance; there were notes after, of course, but overall, if tonight's performance hits the marks last night's did, I will be a happy camper. If I patch a few holes - nirvana.

Laurette (my daughter) took photos during the performance and while we were setting things up; I'll bet you we have some hellishly good stuff to use for promotion and what not for this summer. I can't wait to see them, but I will wait until she's there to show me . . . it will just be more special that way. It added so much to have her there doing it; I told her on the walk back to the car, that all those years ago when I'd hike in the woods in West Virginia and visualize a future in the city, right down to wife and daughter, well, it has ended up being pretty much as envisioned, having that daughter taking photos for this possibly defining moment in my life . . . the impact of that is not lost on me . . .

I suppose I risk making too much out of this, but I don't think that's possible really. When given the choice, all those years ago, of the easy path or the path with heart, I took the path with heart and it has lead me to this point. Where it leads beyond this is anyone's guess, but I won't pretend that it means nothing to me or that I don't want this ride to continue. I do. This is the ultimate expression of who I am. A lot of people have contributed to this, and without Bette and Laurette in my corner who knows how much of this would be happening right now . . . it's a journey . . . and I'm staying with it for the duration.

Next stop: this summer's Woodstock Fringe Festival!

So tonight is gonna be magic. We've worked hard at this and it has built to a very good place. I don't feel that we peaked too soon or anything, because last night wasn't the ultimate best this piece can be . . . but just having the stage to work on with the lights . . . it felt so damn right! It's like adding the next to last piece to the puzzle . . . that last piece is the audience . . . and I can't wait!

And those words of Tom Murphy will be the last thing I say to myself before walking onto that stage: Goddamnit, do it!

Well I survived that one!

Well that last rehearsal was memorable if only for how flat a performance can be! I guess that's the nature of this live performance thing, but it never ceases to amaze. I went in feeling real good . . . ready to rock, but we worked a couple of things first and then did a run through and it didn't feel very good at all. It just shows you, and I've said it before, you have to be ready for anything. Anyway, the characters were flat, my energy was just ok. Some of the long speeches worked, but for the most part: bland. The second time we did it . . . so . . .much . . . better. I felt connected. Wallace was laughing (and how many times has he seen this thing?) . . . an entirely different ballgame. Glad we ended on an up note.

why did this happen? If I were searching for excuses I'd lay some of it on a new room that we hadn't worked in before. The sound really bounced around in there and it was a little disconcerting. But that shouldn't really matter. I'd be worried if it hadn't improved substantially the second time around.

Tonight, a new space! And this one is for keeps . . . well at least for the performance. Of course, this will entail some adjustments. We've been working in these little rooms with maybe half the width of the stage, so it'll be thinking on your feet time. But it will work out. I for one, am really looking forward to it. Wouldn't it suck to get this far and not feel that way? I can't imagine that, but I feel like the work we've done has built a foundation for me to work from that is strong and like Bette says, even if I screw up I can use it. Hell it's my play if I have to rewrite on the fly . . . so be it . . . but I'm reasonably sure that won't happen . . . if I keep my head where it's supposed to be!

Last rehearsal, for now anyway

Tonight is the last rehearsal; tomorrow being tech night with all that entails: hell week in one night! A good omen for tonight though: I found my beloved beret! I had checked at Benny's Burritos and it wasn't there, I thought for sure that was where I had left it . . . as it turns out I had left it at the theater when we went to see Our Town! I'm relieved. The theater is on the way to rehearsal as well so it's all damn good. I was thinking of taking the train in tonight but with the bag of crap I have to carry I decided against it . . . plus I'll have ample time and not have to worry about subways and this and that.

The rehearsal last night was good. Worked Catfish some more and the big conflagration between our hero and his ex. I can't wait! Whatever happens I've had a blast. One of the big things Wallace has been able to pound into my head is to stand still . . . a lot of unconscious extraneous movement was finding its way in and he fought it every step of the way . . . and it's working. And I have to say, it feels really strong to plant there and have at it. Oh, I hope this is as good as it has the potential to be . . . I guess we know who controls the horizontal and vertical on that!

I heard from Jerome Davis from the Burning Coal Theater yesterday. He had gotten Wallace's email about the show and wished me well. We met when we did The Trip to Bountiful together. I really liked JD. He was talking about moving south and starting a theater, which he went on to do and it's still there, been there over ten years I believe. My first reading of Damage Control was done there . . . nice to hear from him.

Well more on that and everything else later, I have to head in for rehearsal the last!

More about Murphy

But first an Old Hickory update: I ran lines with Bette out in the sun on a beautiful Saturday morning yesterday. I gave her a highlighter and asked her to mark words or sections that I messed up, but not to stop me (I really need the momentum of beginning to end right now). When all was said and done there were a lot of little marks, words that I changed slightly, but not major screw ups. In short, nothing that would impact someone's understanding of the material. But most of them are better as written, and I need to spend some time over the next few days, polishing that up. Bette just loves this piece. She is the biggest supporter I have. She always has been right from the get go, but when something I write really turns her on, she is priceless; and Old Hickory really means a lot to her. She says it's the best thing I've done since Thirty Odd Years, and I think she's right.

Now to Murphy. He was another of those father figures in theater (Ed Morehouse is another) who you relate to just in a very deep way. Murphy was quite the character, he knew more about more things than anyone I have ever known. He had directed for the Charleston Light Opera Guild for years, and then, around 1980 or so, decided to leave them for the Kanawha Players, where I was entrenched. I did several shows with him, not always, or often the lead, but it was always a learning experience. I think he directed Auntie Mame, he directed Private Wars (aside from the Albee stuff the best perf. I did in Charleston probably) and he directed Anne of the Thousand Days. One night, after a performance of Anne (I played one of Anne's lovers early in the piece) a fellow in the audience from England said that my accent was wrong for someone in the royal house . . . I mentioned that to Murphy who, without missing a step, pointed out that my character had been boosted to aristocracy by Wolsey, having come from humbler circumstances in North Umberland . . . he knew what he was doing alright.

One time I was going to go fishing with a friend and I called the dept. of natural resources to get some tips and the voice on the phone was giving me all sorts of info about depth of the fish and all sorts of minutia . . . and then I realized it was Murphy! He could talk fishing/opera/accents of royalty/you name it . . . amazing man. the thing he most liked to talk about was his daughter Cathleen, who I never met.

So this vibrant, brilliant man went to a doctor for a checkup in January. They found a spot on his lung . . . he started chemotherapy and he was dead in August. Scary it was so quick. He never let it get him down though. I was honored to be in the last show he directed, Death of a Salesman. I played Howard Wagner. Murphy was especially loving and supportive during Salesman. As always, after opening night a few of us would go outside during the cast party and drink a bottle of Bushmills, nice tradition! He came and hung out on my front porch a few times with other friends from the theater crowd. We'd drink beer and smoke weed and just be together. No phony bullshit. I remember him saying how someone was drunk and approached him in a bar and said: Murphy, I hear you're dying. Murphy's response: 'Well I'm not dead yet!' He never lost that feistiness.

I went to see him in the hospital, in July. It was the last time I was to see him alive, but I didn't know that, of course. Anyway, I said to him: Murph, I'm thinking about moving to New York. To act. His response: Goddamnit, do it! You can always move back here if it doesn't work out. I was up there for a while, got tired of all the fags.

Of course. Direct. Blunt. To the point. 'Goddamnit, do it'. That was a moment that is seared into my being. Murph was one of three people that I knew that died that year; but he was the closest to me of the three in a lot of ways. All those deaths woke me up to the reality of what is gained and lost in thinking about doing something instead of doing it; and Murph's words were my rallying cry. It was just a few weeks later that he died. I told him about my plans to move to NYC before I told my parents. I was convinced of what I wanted to do, but thought people would think me crazy; but more often than not that fear was unfounded. People got behind me in so many ways, and my parents chief among them. their response when I told them? 'We want you to be happy'. It must have really hurt them to lose me, but they weren't about to try to talk me out of it.

I think Murphy's reaction gave me the backbone to tell my parents, and then to move forward with my relocation. I think of that moment often. There is a long chain of people and events that have lead me to wherever it is I am today . . . but I really can't thank Tom Murphy enough for those three words. Words to live by: Goddamnit. Do it!

I think I'll say them to myself right before I go on stage Thursday night.

Last rehearsal at Theaterlab

All but one of our rehearsals have been at Theaterlab on 14th St. Nice place. Nice people, reasonable prices. We can't rehearse there Monday and Tuesday because they're booked up! Bummer for us, good for them. They are very reasonably priced and convenient . . . Carlo is a Living Theater alumnus, so he has been around for a while. They do all sorts of performance stuff there as well. His partner in crime, Orietta (I think) is a dancer if I'm not mistaken. Anyway, they always made us feel welcome and if you need space in the city, I would give them a very good recommendation.

I'm not going to rehearse OH at home this weekend. I'll probably work on lines some but that's about it. I'll save the heavy lifting for rehearsal. This time next week I suppose I'll be wondering what the hell to do with myself, but I will have this summer in Woodstock to look forward to. I can also build it back up to closer to an hour. I cut some stuff that I really liked from the play to make it fit the festival's time requirements, and there are other aspects of the relationship of our hero to the other characters that I could explore or flesh out . . . so I won't be sitting on my hands and while four months seems like a long time, it'll be here before you know it!

It should be interesting to see how the piece morphs over a run of several performances. No two will be alike, I would bet the ranch on that!

One thing I had been thinking about researching to write about next is the mid-70s text book wars in West Virginia. Then I hear on WNYC that there is a radio documentary this weekend about the very same subject and that Trey Kay, the doc's producer, was gonna be on Leonard Lopate's show to be interviewed. Well, Trey Kay and I did the Fantasticks together in West Virginia, way back when. He was fresh out of college and trying his best to 'act'; very earnest and really wanted to do well, and he did just fine in the role of the young man; not long after that he moved to New York. But something about him didn't sit well with the director, Tom Murphy. I'll never forget one time he was back stage before a rehearsal vocalizing, and Murphy (I'll have to blog about him sometime!) said to whoever was sitting near enough to hear: Would somebody go back there and kick him in the ass! Another time Murphy told him: Trey, you've had about eighty hours of acting classes in college and we're seeing every damn one of them; STOP. ACTING!

Murphy was priceless. If I can figure out when that doc is being broadcast and don't get involved in anything else, I might have to listen.

One week from tonight!!!

I can sort of taste it now . . . it's like when you're close to the ocean and can kind of sense the salt in the air. We're still rehearsing (tonight, Monday and Tuesday) and then teching next Wed. then it's magic time!

I do feel confident about it, but not overly so . . . it does feel good but you have to be ever vigilant, because the moment you let your concentration slip, weird things can happen. We ran the whole thing last night and it went ok. There is still work to be done, but it felt good to do the whole thing beginning to end without any stopping for adjustments. It feels natural, like a good fit. I guess you could say it should be! I wrote it pretty specifically for myself so if the shoe don't fit there's no one to blame but the cobbler.

I did find a new piece of music for the top of the show. it's a banjo instrumental by Bela Fleck called 'Home Sweet Home' and it basically is the melody of 'be it ever so humble' etc. I think that is a nice ironic choice for opening this piece. You could say this guy might have some conflicted feelings about how wonderful dear old home is. We'll now end with the primal blues thing Bette stumbled upon last weekend.

On the way home last night, as I was walking to my car in the village, a guy came up to me and said 'You look like you can help me' and I said, 'How's that?' And he asked: 'Do you know if there's a shelter around here?' I told him I didn't and went on my way. Then it dawned on me that I was wearing the dirty, ripped pants that I hadn't changed out of after rehearsal . . . and I was carrying this overloaded bag of props and such . . . pretty funny at the time.

Music, continued and then some

Back to rehearsal last night. I was able to borrow a boom box from Carlo at Theaterlab, our rehearsal space, so Wallace could hear the music . . . he didn't exactly roll on the floor ecstatic with it, but he took the disc home to acclimate. I mean, I don't know what his experience is with down and dirty blues, but it might take a listen or two for him to hear what I heard in the music ... plus, the boom box wasn't exactly high tech, so if he hears it on a better system it might help as well. On the trip home I started having second thoughts myself. Maybe Dark Was the Night is too dirge like for the opening! So then I thought of John Hartford, who I always loved and saw perform many times, and his music is light hearted and beautiful . . . might be just the thing we need for the top of the show. So that is today's job.

We had a decent rehearsal last night. I felt like I was crawling through molasses half the time, but worked through it. I think we're both just ready to get this up and running already! I know I am. Chomping at the bit! Having said that, we are still finding things. It's quite an exploration. Nobody ever said this would be easy . . . and if they did . . . they lied! Sure it comes naturally to me, the rhythms of speech and all that, and sure some of it is based on my experience, but that's all surface stuff. What lies underneath the surface is what we're finding and it's bottomless; there always seems to be new colors to find and new relationships to discover. I'm learning a lot. About directing too. Wallace, in his gentle, loving way, is always pushing for more . . . pushing to break me out of my bad habits and taking the easiest route. It's all adding up to something . . . I guess we'll find out what on the 29th!

I got an email this morning from the festival about tech time. Seems the earlier show on our night is 'running over' and they asked if they could have fifteen minutes of our tech time. Though it is my default mode to be Mr. Niceguy, I declined. As I pointed out: I cut Old Hickory to forty minutes to accommodate the festival, let this other show find their own solutions. I guess they figure, and rightly so, it doesn't hurt to ask, but I figure, rightly so, that I don't have to roll over and play dead just cause they ask. In a way it's too bad, because I did really like the people from EAT when I met them the other night, but if they hold anyone's feet to the fire it should be the other piece. And if we run over on the night of the show, I guess it isn't the end of the world if we have a slightly shorter talk back session.

The theater

Saw the theater I'm going to be performing in last night. Nice space. Big. But nice. It's way bigger than we need, but ain't that a nice problem to have. I've been to a lot of festival type things where the audience is crammed in and the playing space is barely as big a a decent sized picnic table . . . but this is huge by comparison with lots of lighting equipment . . . very professional. And exciting! The theater is a children's theater company so we have to deal with the set as it is, which means the floor is alternating stripes of different shades of green, and there is an entrance door that we can either use or ignore but other than that it's just fine. Oh, the table available to us is pretty tiny, maybe two feet by two feet, but they didn't throw anything at us we can't handle.

And everyone was so damn nice!

In my previous posting I mentioned that I had put together an insert for the program to show Wallace; well I showed him last night. He said he might like to include Woodstock Fringe's logo and put something in about the play being done at the festival this year! That was great to hear. I told him that I had thought of that but just put in what I did figuring if I totally screwed up he might not want it in the festival. His response? 'Well we can always cancel'. I love his wit . . . he is a quick one.

They showed us the programs for the festival. They have one program for all the festivals (there are four very nearly simultaneous) and there is a blurb about each show. We put our inserts with specific info about us in their shell. It is a very professional piece, and features Laurette's photo and a bit about me and the blurb I gave them for the show.

I also discovered the music for the play. Well Bette did actually. She put on a disc of old blues guys who have been covered by Ry Cooder (if you don't know who he is look it up). I went to walk the dog and when I got back she called my attention to a track called 'Dark Was the Night' by Blind Willie Johnson. Wow. The blues at its best is always deep, but this song is existential. It is some killer guitar playing and then he starts this moan that sounds like the earth has opened and spit this guy out, or maybe he's playing on his porch on a sunny day and then clouds roll in and this fellow with a sythe comes walking up to him. As the guy walks toward him he keeps playing . . . but his music changes. At any rate, I digress. The song is beautiful and stark and really sets the scene. And it sounds Appalachian as well. I hope Wallace agrees.

But the most amazing thing, is: one of the characters in OH is called Catfish. The label is CD is on is: Catfish Records. AHHHHHHH.

I took the train in yesterday to give myself a break (and because I was tired, I ran a half marathon yesterday, two hours and six minutes since you asked) and read the script, which I hadn't done for a while. There were very few places that I saw where I may have been paraphrasing a bit, so I marked them with a highlighter so I can focus on them later.

So momentum is rolling. We're ten days away from production. And I feel real good about things. We're going to rehearse three times this week, then Mon/Tues next week and Wed. is tech. This train is rolling and it ain't about to slow down.

The program

I spent last night working on the program insert. It worked out pretty well. I was going to use a photo on it, but couldn't get the size just right, I might play around with it a bit more. At any rate, I was happy with how it looks. It's mostly just my bio and Wallace's bio, with a short note about the gestation of the play. I enjoy doing that kind of thing . . . it sparks all kinds of memories of the long and dusty trail to get to wherever I am now. Wherever it is, I'm here! It's a curse being an optimist sometimes. But it's a good curse. If I didn't think things would work out I never would have left the safehaven of West By God in the first place; let alone start writing plays and such. So one thing leads to another . . . there are disappointments, but it's always nice when something wonderful happens.

How's that for a seque to our most recent rehearsal? Wed. night, I was zapped. Tired tired tired. I had run thirteen miles or so getting ready for a big half marathon this weekend, and then scrambled all over the place after that and then went into the city to rehearse for three hours! Funny how that theater thing makes you forget all your petty woes and exhaustion . . . sure you're whipped after it . . . but you're whipped in a totally blissed out way ... euphoria is not too strong a word. So Wed. I suggested running the thing from start to finish, which we did, and it went pretty well. Wallace was happy. Then he said, "Now we get to play". And we went into some scenes to explore how to get the most out of them. Exploring the various characters, who they are why they're doing things. Wallace is really good with notes, he has shed a lot of light on this piece for me. He's always saying 'You wrote it', but it's funny how some aspects of the situations or encounters don't seem so clear until after he points them out.

He keeps saying 'You're doing wonderful work' and I keep correcting him with: 'No, we're doing wonderful work'. At any rate, it feels like a good partnership and I, for one am having a blast.

We were going to rehearse twice this week, but he remembered a concert he had tix to last night; so we are planning on three times next week, and then Mon/Tues rehearsal the following week with Wed tech and Thurs perf!!!

This time two weeks from now I'll be in an interesting place. I hope a good interesting place . . . but that's sort of up to me isn't it. Anyway, the pedal is definitely to the metal now and it's not something I'm dreading.

I thought I had a shot at a stage managers gig at Penguin Rep this week. It was posted on Playbill.com as starting 5/19. I emailed Joe Brancato, who I have a pretty nice history with (he directed a reading of Where the Rain Never Falls, and I did some voiceover work for a play up there . . . plus we keep in touch . . . he's a sweetheart and has kept a theater in Stony Point running for 30 years! And it's Equity!!! No mean feat!). Anyway, the posting was wrong and the job started 4/19; which, for obvious reasons left me out of the running. We had a nice talk though and I sent him At Death's Door for consideration for their reading series. I'm always submitting stuff and never getting the nod, which is a bit of a sore point for me, but there you go . . . can't let that stuff bother you or take it personally . . . the nature of the business I guess. I will say though, that my play Family Matters, which is loosely based on my parents and which I wrote specifically to write a play in which nothing happens (but plenty does; sort of my tip of the hat to Beckett you might say) anyway, I sent it to Joe and the word came back to me that one reason for rejecting it was: guess what? Nothing happens!

All I can say is Bette and I did a couple of readings of FM and it worked like gang-busters. Maybe it needs to be acted, not read. Some plays are like that.

Enough. I have to go rehearse!

Two weeks!

So two weeks from tonight is the tech for Old Hickory. I am feeling very confidant right now. I've been running it every day and it has been going well; all the pieces seem to fit and it has a flow. I just want to be on as solid ground as possible when I do this thing, so all the work right now is the foundation that anything else that happens will rest on. If I can establish that now, and in rehearsal with Wallace smooth off the rough edges, then I will have done all I can do in preparation. Then it's up to me when I step out on that stage to deliver.

Not much pressure there, is there? Actually, at the risk of sounding cockier about it than I am, there really isn't. If I didn't think I could do this I would never have sought it out in the first place. Sure I've had my moments of 'what the hell have I gotten myself into?' and I'm sure I'll have more of them: like ten minutes before I go on stage! But you work through all that and trust the preparation, trust the material and go out there swinging.

I'll never forget when I did The Zoo Story in a restaurant in Charleston, WV. Fifteen minutes or so before I went on I was seriously freaked out. I didn't have butterflies, I had gyspy moths! But it passed and we went out there and nailed it. That was the first time I had to carry a show, and it was daunting, but what a joy when it works! About six months after that I got the opportunity to work with Albee, he directing a production of Counting the Ways. At any rate, I don't remember being that freaked before that one . . . maybe I was, but the stark fear the deep questioning of why I was doing this to myself, prior to The Zoo Story, was unique.

That whole Zoo Story thing is a fun story. Bill Rainey and I were both pissed at the Kanawha Players, the community theater group we both worked with, for casting local politicians in leads despite their limitations as actors. So we were commiserating about it and he said, 'I have this little play I'd like you to read, if you like it we can do it in our basement or somewhere, and switch parts'. I read it and my life was changed. I was 29 years old and had never read this play, but when I did, it rocked my world. Something about Jerry spoke to me, and the story of Jerry and the dog, what a masterpiece! So we got together and read it, and it became real clear real fast that I was Jerry and Bill was Peter. Soon after that I went to see some friend play in a local restaurant (this band is now the house band for Mountain Stage by the way) and saw possibilities on that little stage . . . so I went to the owners and said words to the effect of 'How'd you like to have a play here?' They invited us in to read it for them and I could have shot Bill because he kept going on about how heavy the piece is, and the brothers that owned the place said their uncle (another community theater person) had suggested starting with lighter fare. I said, we're here, let us read it . . . what the hell? So he said ok. We had a few friends there, and we got on stage and read it with script in hand. When we were finished the owner said, 'How would you like to do it Monday nights in January?' We filled that place all four nights that we did it, and people were seriously rocked. Absolutely unforgettable.

An interesting note is: before we were even finished with our run the Kanawha Players came in and jumped on the bandwagon. An even more interesting note is: what we were doing, which started as in 'in your face' to the KP, got us some kind of award from them for special contributions to theater or some such. Whatever. It was a whale of a good time; and I will go on record as saying that Bill Rainey is one of the best actors I have ever worked with . . . he's a marvel and was a wonderful Peter. He even designed and built a retractable knife, which worked most of the time. One night it broke and while I was on the floor dying I had to put the blade back in the handle during my speech, without the audience noticing . . . talk about concentration exercise!

Ok enough rambling. A fun story I think though.

Promo piece

In going on about Our Town I forgot to say that I received an email today with the brochure for the one man talking fest.

Nice piece. The only problem was, they didn't send it as an attachment so you had to either forward their email along or cut and paste it to a word doc, which is four pages long. I wrote them to see if they could send it as an attachment . . .the only thing attached was a certification that no virus is in the email. That's nice, but what I really want is the flyer!!!!

Our Town

It's been running over a year, and I can't for the life of me figure out why it took so long to get to it, but yesterday we went to see Our Town at the Barrow Street Theatre and were completely blown away.

This is my favorite American play, and one of the best period (in case you're wondering my favorites are - in no particular order - Hamlet, Uncle Vanya, Waiting for Godot, Our Town and Long Days Journey into Night. After that you could get to the Albees and what have you) but Our Town has long been a favorite of mine. I have been trying to remember when I first came to know the play and try as I might, I can't remember; in an acting class in college I did the opening monologue of the Stage Manager as a final exam type thing, so it had to be before that. Even if you come to the play knowing what you know about it, this production adds something new. We sat in one of the two rows that are on stage and that added even more power, you become part of the play, or very nearly especially when, in the third act, you have graves all around you and the voices come from every direction . . . boy was that ever powerful. So see it. My daughter, Laurette has gotten to senior year of high school without having been exposed to this play somehow . . . and she loved it. You might say she is the perfect age for it, what with the George and Emily relationship being central to the piece.

The power of this play comes from the universality of it. It cuts right to the heart of existence and cuts through all the layers of what we think are important to remind us of what really is important. If I could ever write a play with this kind of impact and insight . . . I could die happy. It's what I strive for. I always try to find ways of folding my general feeling about things into my plays, to give people something to think about when they leave the theater. Nothing wrong with just entertaining people I suppose, but that's not what I'm after. What am I after? Go see Our Town, then you'll know. If you can't strive for something as great as this, why bother!

I think Thornton Wilder says it very well in a preface to an addition of his three full length plays that I have: 'The response we make when we "believe" a work of the imagination is that of saying: "This is the way things are. I have always known it without being fully aware that I knew it. Now in the presence of this play or novel or poem (or picture or piece of music)I know that I know it".'

Is that too much to ask of the audience? I don't think it's asking anything of the audience. The audience, in coming to the theater, is asking something of you . . . to be entertained, yes, but I believe they're happiest when they leave knowing something they have always known but don't spend much time thinking about. I believe that giving the audience that kernel is what they come for . . . so give it to them . . . don't be shy . . . dare them to leave not just with a smile on their faces, with something burbling around inside them as well.

Enough pontificating . . . I've gotta go rehearse!

At Death's Door

I got home last night after an exhausting/exhilarating rehearsal, eager to plop into bed and listened to our phone messages; there was one informing me that At Death's Door is a finalist in the Playwrights First competition at the Players Club in NYC! I've entered before, but I don't think I've made it to finalist before. As you can guess I'm very happy about this. ADD is one of those plays that I started a looonnnggg time ago and then set aside after writing myself into a corner after one act. Some time later (years for sure, maybe three or four) I read over it again while looking for something to jump start a writing slump and figured what the hell, so I started in on it again. It was read in process in all three of the groups I'm involved with and had a full reading last May in Dobbs Ferry.

I had completely forgotten about even entering this competition, but it was a welcome shot in the arm. I wasn't sure if the play would be too weird for them or not, but I sent it in anyway . . . like in sales: you don't spend someone's money for them. In this case, you don't want to make their decision for them and if I hadn't submitted it then there's no chance at all. The thing that makes it weird is a disappearing dying mother. It's never really explained what happens to her, but I think the journey is kind of fun. I had real problems figuring out what to do after the first act, when they find the mother gone from her bedroom. In the original version, she walked into the room and out the door. In this version she just disappears. Try explaining that one. At any rate, I went through a lot of writing and rewriting to find that second act, but it's there. The reading last year wasn't as successful as I would have hoped, but I did some trimming after that and I think that helped.

When I told my daughter about it this morning she said 'You should have sent them Thirty Odd Years'; which of course is a one act. I told her though that the main character in ADD, Othel Ray, is sort of the same character in some ways as Uncle Lee: the irrascible old coot. Of course, I hate to think of these guys as irrascible old coots because guess who I write them for!

Back to Old Hickory. Last night's rehearsal was entirely the last part of the play and we made immense progress. It was good to finally work on the exchanges between the Ex and Jimmy because that has been the three hundred pound gorilla in the room as far as I'm concerned. Acting a scene with two characters, one actor, is scary; but Wallace is helping a lot. We really focused on the last moments of the play too, complete with some changes that I didn't agree with at first, but being the team player that I am, I'm willing to let go of preconceptions and do what's best for the piece. I trust Wallace or I wouldn't be doing this in the first place.

Getting pumped

So I've been running Old Hickory every day. Not just for lines, but for as much of the blocking as I can remember. Timing-wise it's running between 35-41 minutes. I need to get it closer to a consistent 40 but that isn't my primary worry right now. I want all the characters to really sing and jump off the page. I think I'll get there, with Wallace's help.

Bette's advice regarding one of the most important lines in the play has paid off. The line began as a generic 'stupid' line delivered by the ex wife to our hero; then I made it a bit more caustic with a dig at his manhood . . . then, as we were talking about it, Bette mentioned that maybe insulting his family would be more to the point; that keyed into the grandmother, who he earlier said he thought highly of, so that's the direction I'm going in . . . she insults his beloved grandmother and that is definitely the last straw. I think it'll work if I can come up with the right line. I'm finessing it now and I want it to be such an insult that it leads inevitably to what it leads to.

I also went back to work on The Red Hand of O'Neill today. I went at it with a view for making it tighter; more of an emotional release than a recitation of James O'Neill's history. I think I am beginning to accomplish that. If the French accepts it for this summer, then Fran Callahan will do it and it should sail. I'm not saying I'll never do it myself, but for the time being I have enough on my plate and he was so enthusiastic for the piece I feel like he'll do it justice . . . and then some. That would really be nice . . . for him and for me. I like his work and feel like his initial connection to it, when he read it cold, was exceptional. Not sure when we find out about the plays accepted into the festival . . . but like everything else . . . it's hurry up and wait. Should know in the next couple of weeks about the NYFA grant and some competitions as well . . . heaven forbid anyone should make a quick decision about anything!!!!!

Three hours

We rehearsed for three hours Thurs. night. It was exhausting work, but it's the kind of exhausting that leaves a smile on your face. We really worked the Catfish scene, which was fun. Now the most challenging and important part of the play, the big confrontation. It feels really good; and as I said to Wallace, via email; it is the most fulfilling thing I have ever done in theater.

Sorry for brevity, but we're going into the city today and I didn't want to wait another day before posting something. More tomorrow, promise.

Do you know where the knives are?

The call came to me in West Virginia while I was visiting my parents: 'Do you know where the knives are?'

I had to admit it; they were with me, there in Charleston. I had taken our three best knives with me, along with the whet stone; as they are the primary props in Old Hickory, and I thought I might work up nerve to suggest that I might do it for my folks. Anyway, my wife was looking to cut something up for dinner, and couldn't find any of our really good knives. I'm not sure what she ended up doing, but I did end up performing OH for my folks.

I was nervous about it. After all, one of the key elements of the play is based on their having taken a dog in to save it from being put to sleep for no good reason. I thought it might be a tad close to home . . . at any rate, I did the piece on the last night there, in their living room, with Laurette on book, just in case. I did edit a bit on the fly, cutting the bit about being seduced while driving . . . and a later line as well; I know I know we're all grown ups, but still . . . talking about blow jobs, no matter how indirectly seemed a tad uncomfortable in my parents' living room. (a little side bar: it also drove my daughter crazy as she later told me she had drifted for just a moment right when I did the cut, and it took her a while to find her place again! She thought she had really spaced out!)

I guess I needn't have worried: my parents both loved the piece. They hadn't known what to expect, but it sure took them by surprise. I just focused on the text. I put a little table out with the knives, and started and ended with the sharpening, but other than that I mostly sat and acted the piece that way. It was a good rehearsal and it made me feel . .. I don't know how to describe it . . . it made me feel fulfilled (for want of better term) to share this with them. To bring a little light into their world. I hope that doesn't sound pretentious, but they mostly sit at home and watch TV. It was nice to take them to another world for forty minutes or so. Plus, they hadn't seen me act in almost twenty years! They saw everything I ever did in Charleston, of course. And they even came up to Nyack for The Trip to Bountiful, in 1993. That was pretty special: they were gonna leave at intermission after I was done, because they had a long ride home that night, but they were so engrossed in the story that they had to stay to the end; even though I was no longer in the play. That's about the best feedback a play could get, and I shared as much with Ellen Burstyn.

At any rate, it was another feather in the cap of Old Hickory, and if nothing else happens with the piece, I'll always carry that with me. Oh, and by the way, they weren't at all put off by the dog story. Of course, they knew where it came from, but since they were the heroes of that story in real life, they were fine with it.

I had wanted to play my radio broadcast for them, but for some reason it would't play on my daughter's laptop. I don't understand it since I had it on a disc and it played just fine when I tried it at home, but down there her computer wouldn't play it because there was no internet service. Alas. Well I didn't need web access to do Old Hickory!

So today is April 1, that means four weeks from today is the production! I got an email yesterday about tech times, and it looks to be Wed. night the 28th, time to be determined, hopefully as early as possible. I also got the invite to the meet and greet/tour the theatre party on the 18th. I ran the lines yesterday morning and it went just fine; and did it again with Bette on book last night and again, no problems. I'm beginning to feel ready, but there's a way to go yet; of course that's where Wallace comes in. We have a rehearsal at 7 tonight. For the next four weeks I want to focus on intentions and beats and the like . . . transitions . . . development of the other four characters, not just our humble narrator . . . it's a big job . . . but it's fun . . . and it's why I'm here in the first place.

Oh, and as far as the knives go? That is gonna be one sharp son-of-a-bitch when this is whole thing is done!