Culture is cosmetic . . . Cries and Whispers at BAM

The song from 'Passing Strange', 'What's Inside is Just a Lie' has a refrain from which I copped the heading of this entry: Culture is cosmetic. One thing I take this to mean is that we use culture: theater, music, literature, as a salve to distract us from the unpleasant realities of being alive in the world . . . we will at some point die.

'Cries and Whispers' does not fit into the 'culture is cosmetic' mode. There is nothing salve-like about it. The film is a beautiful piece that stares life in the face without flinching. It's a film about death, painful and brutal and about the ones circling the dying and how they live on; it is beautiful, rich and evocative. According to the playbill, Bergman saw the film as a 'comfort film'.

After seeing the production at BAM of the Toneelgroep Amsterdam, the line from 'Passing Strange' has been resonating a lot in the last couple of days. A lot of theater is cosmetic; and there is nothing inherently wrong with that, people want to be entertained and distracted for a couple of hours so they don't have to think about things like aging parents or paying bills; which makes a production like 'Cries and Whispers' even more stunning. It was a pretty wild ride. The director made very interesting use of video (in fact making the main character, the dying Agnes, a filmmaker and painter); some of the images from this production I will never forget, though describing them would not do them justice.

The performances were brave and for the most part right on target. These actors were not afraid to strip themselves bare, in some cases literally. Was it a perfect production? No. Some of the music choices were out of left field and the director (Ivo van Howe)let some of his performance art inclinations get in the way once or twice. I left thinking I'd seen something interesting if not 'great'; but it has been in my head for a couple of days now and the more I think about it . . . the more I think about it. And that is a sign of greatness I think: that a piece gets under your skin and lives there, and the more you consider it the more it reveals itself.

This is the second of four pieces we are seeing as part of the Next Wave festival at BAM (first was Berliner Ensemble's Threepenny Opera). Next up is John Malcovich as a serial killer . . . wonder how cosmetic that will be!

A wake-up call!

I have been feeling pretty confident about Old Hickory, recently as to knowing the lines and being able to reactivate it when needed. The reason this came up is that there are some potential opportunities on the horizon and I may need to dust it off soon (I sure hope so; I would love to do this in the city for more than the one performance you get with the One Man Talking festival).

This came up the other day after a rehearsal for the Poe readings Bette and I are involved in . . . ok . . . maybe I'll blog about this in a day or two. At any rate, Bette and I were wondering about doing OH in the space in Nyack, a nice little fifty seat theater . . . and she asked me how hard it would be to get the lines together again. I told her I was still in decent shape; the last time I drove to WV I ran the show in the car and, aside from a transition or two, had no problems . . . or so I thought.

I looked at the script again today and realized that there was some new material I had added after the Woodstock run, in anticipation of the two performances that were to have happened last spring but didn't. At any rate, this was something of a revelation as I had completely forgotten about the new stuff! And I like it too!

So you should never get too cocky. I'll need to brush up on my Siler and make sure this thing is ready to rock when I need it to be!

Damage Control

So I figured, since I wrote about the genesis of Dead Authors last week, I should continue on an irregular basis, to write about where some of these plays came from and have been. So Damage Control next.

Damage Control has had more readings and has come closer to production than any of my plays except Where the Rain Never Falls (which was broadcast on WBAI to boot!). Ironically, as things have turned out with my emphasis recently on solo pieces, DC started as a solo piece. I wrote it originally in pretty much one blast of energy in a spiral notebook and saw it as a new age kind of guy who was forced to kidnap someone to pay a debt, the twist at the end (which I will not give away) was in there and I thought it had potential.

But then, I don't know where the impulse came from, but I decided on its current form: the kidnapper: no longer a new age guy but a gambler in over his head . . . way over . .. and has to kidnap this girl to pay off a debt; and his 'mentor' for want of better term, the enforcer who is there to make sure he does what he is supposed to do. There is a third character as well, their drugged victim who is tied to a chair and eventually wakes up.

We never know their real names, the novice is Bro, the killer is Blade. Blade is now the new age guy, into meditation and the like, he does what he does and disappears. He is also a Vietnam vet and learned some valuable lessons there.

As I remember it, the writing went pretty quickly on this one and rewriting was minimal at first. I sent it to my friend Jerry Davis, who had just started Burning Coal Theatre in Raleigh (we had done The Trip to Bountiful together some years before) and he offered to do a reading of the play. So. He flew me down there, and it was a pretty amazing experience. The critic from the Raleigh paper was writing a story about readings and I was interviewed for the first time . . . that was pretty cool . . . and the audience response was very good. I'll never forget one fellow saying he had been 'praying for a happy ending'.

Another reading followed some time after that, in Nyack, at the Elmwood Theater; they had a competition for short plays and the three finalist were all read one evening. DC finished second, though I thought it was the better play; it's too much of a love or hate thing . . .people can get turned off to violence especially if the other choice is a typical light comedy.

At some point after that a friend of mine who was in real estate and wanted to produce got involved. I wanted to have a reading somewhere in the city and he offered this room in a building he owned on Rivington St. on the Lower East Side. It had at one point been a butcher shop. To make a long story short: the Yankees were playing that night and not many people showed. My buddy Kurt Lauer played Bro and he was wonderful, we found some young actress to play the victim and Eric Goche playe Blade.

At any rate, Michael stuck with it, we were gonna be partners in crime and he even ended up producing when DC was accepted for the TRU reading series. We had an excellent director in Jules Ochoa who asked the right questions and guided me through some light rewrites. The guy who played Bro was excellent as well, Jimmy something; who was very edgy and right on. Amazing how the girls who have played the victim have always done so happily, with no lines (I think I added a scene where she did have some lines for the TRU reading). And the reading was in a 99 seat theater with a full house! It was amazing and people really responded.

Then things started going kablooy. We did a reading at the Rattlestick Theater, hoping to produce it there, and Michael had met a film director who came to that reading and became something of a Svengali for Michael, leading on the path to a film rather than a play. Since no money changed hands I was the third part of the triumvirate, equal partners: Micheal producing, me writing and the director directing. I wanted to work to make it happen and kept asking for notes from the 'director'. I had written a screenplay which mirrored the play but with an intro scene leading up to the actual kidnapping . . . pretty good I thought. Finally we convened in Michaels office for a reading of the script . . .and the director said: I've made a few changes. He then proceeded to tell me that Blade was now crippled with a fused spine or some shit and a bow and arrow came in to play as well(he also didn't think people would buy a fast acting tranquilizer, which I thought they wouldn't question if they bought the premise of the movie) Oh, and there were two actors who had been flown up from wherever the director was from to read the parts (the guy playing Blade had a, guess what, fused spine and was an archer) . . . I . . . blew . . . up. I felt bad for the two actors who must have thought this would be their big break. I used language I shouldn't have used and barely kept it in control . . . to get to the point: that was the end of the line for Damage Control, the movie.

It was also the end of the line with my friend Michael. Though we can still be civil it has never been the same. The crowning blow was when he had an assistant write a form rejection letter to me . . . that was worst of all . . . he couldn't bring himself to tell me to my face what I already knew.

Well . . . sometimes you have to stand up for your work, otherwise why bother. I would do the same thing in the same circumstance right now. As my friend and another writer, Angelo Parra said: Better that it sits on a shelf gathering dust than to be made into a film that is an embarrassment.

Right on.

When will I learn . . .

On Sunday, which was a beautiful, 80+ degree October (?) day; I got done what needed to be done and sat in the back yard to read through this new/old piece I'm thinking about going back to. I had started it years ago, but left it to percolate for a while. It really was two stories trying to live as one, and one of them had to go, so I had gone through the script and removed vast sections of it that didn't have anything to do with the main story that got me started on the piece in the first place. So I wanted to read through it to see if it was really something I wanted to commit to. As luck would have it, I liked what I read . . . and even had some ideas while I was reading . . . and nothing to write them down with!

Some day the concept of keeping a writing utensil close by will seep into my brain . . . because one thing I have learned: no matter how good the idea, if you don't write it down it may just go back where it came from, never to be seen again.

So I have to get cracking on this thing and see where it takes me. A drama this time, we'll see what happens.

Of course, I had an idea for another two hander the other day, but I may just write that one down somewhere for later because finding time to work on one play is hard enough, trying to give two the attention they require means that neither one is getting enough quality time . . . sounds like kids don't it?

My three cents worth: The Threepenny Opera at BAM

I'm not above writting about something that impresses me, theater or otherwise. Well . . . last night my wife and I shared a theatrical experience that was well worth spending some time writing about. We saw the Berliner Ensemble's production of The Threepenny Opera at BAM. It floored us both.

Every aspect of the piece was amazing. The voices were superb, and the set design, while minimal, was evocative and artful. The acting was as deep and rich as anything I've seen, ever; and the singing voices were stunning.

The only mild hang up was having to watch the translation on supertitles above the stage, so you had to steal glances upward quickly so as not to lose anything that was happening on stage. At first I was considering just watching without translation, it was that gorgeous to look at and to listen to . . . if what was happening on stage wasn't enough for you, you could have had a nice evening just closing your eyes and listening to the music . . .

I wish I could have taken notes; some of the lines in the play about art, and war and economic injustice were timeless . . . in fact this play, first performed in 1928, rang very true for today.

That, kiddies, is what theater is all about!

The curtain calls were long and rapturous; they did a group call, then by ascending order of characters, then each individual actor got the chance to walk on stage and soak up the love, then one more ensemble call. I had to wonder if, since this was the closing performance, they gave the actors the individual calls as a treat . . .

A special shout out here for the actors. Every single person in the Ensemble was right on target. Their acting and singing was topnotch and their physicality was mindblowing; not that it was Cirque Du Soleil or anything, but the movements were precise and each character had their way of carrying themselves (not as easy as it looks) . . . many many gorgeous stage pictures. (My first Robert Wilson experience, I'm a believer now)

Of course, the Berliner Ensemble was Brecht's creation way back when; so you had to figure whatever they do vis a vis one of his pieces is going to be pretty damn worth seeing . . . I was in hopes that it would wash the taste of the embarrassing production that the Roundabout did a few years back out of my mouth. It's so nice that now, whenever I think of Brecht, or Weil, I will immediately see images from last night's stupendous production.

This was the first of four productions we have tickets for at BAM this fall. And what a way to start!

Dead Authors

Could writing in my blog be my way of avoiding working on my new piece? And if not avoiding, at least putting it off?

Maybe.

But this is something I've been thinking about doing anyway, so here it is. You may recall that when I began this thing, it was a way of having a diary for Old Hickory, from the beginning of the rehearsal process through whenever . . . and here I am still doing it . . . a bit more aimlessly perhaps, but I'm enjoying it. At any rate, one reason for doing this with Old Hickory was because I have often thought that's it's a shame that I didn't have that kind of record for some of my plays, what impulse started them and some of the changes that happened along the way. Those same synapses have been firing away vis a vis Dead Authors since I've been revving it up again recently (entered it into a competition and taking it to the Fringe).

DA, as I shall call it to conserve precious keystrokes, began with a convergence, sort of: I wanted to write a piece for Bette and two of her buddies (both women), and up to that point, fairly early in my writing career, must have been '98 or so as it's copyright reads '99, I hadn't written much in the way of women's roles; so while that was boiling around in my noggin, I was commuting with our neighbor, Janet, who told me on the bus one day that she didn't read any living authors, and as we talked the idea of a kind of 'Eating Raoul' thing popped into my head, where the lead character found a living author she wanted to read so she killed him (or her) so she could read the book, she found out she kind of liked it so she goes on a killing spree, killing contemporary authors so she could read their books and maintain her status.

Something else happened though when I started to write it, and I wish I could identify the moment when the current form of the play took hold. I do know that I never got very far with the original impulse, instead making it a story of a lonely woman who has her favorite authors come to her with little hints at what may happen in the play. Somewhere I have a 120 page version that preceded the current 84 page form; I'll have to read it some day to see if it holds up.

How did I decide on which authors to use? Part personal favorites and part opportunities for theatrics. The play opens with Hemingway and kind of spoofs his macho-ness but leading to a very dark place. Kerouac because it seemed like it could be fun, and it was. For the Kerouac scene I just 'let it rip' to quote the play and sat at the keyboard and tried to channel his energy; I think the scene is a lot of fun and can't wait to take it in. And of course Truman Capote . . . well . . . he ends the play on a note that is as light as Hemingway's is dark. A fun piece.

It was only after the first reading that I had of it, that I added the fourth title character. Mara Mills, the AD at the Newman Theater in Pleasantville, suggested during a discussion after, that maybe there should be a lady among the dead: hence, Dorothy Parker of course.

It really is one of my favorite pieces and we have had some adventures with it. It's a tad ironic that the three women I originally had in mind for the piece never got to read it together, they all did their parts in various combinations, but never all three at the same time. The one constant has been Bette reading the lead and myself as Kerouac and Capote (though I may let someone else read Kerouac at the Fringe).

At one reading one of the three leads called to say that her son was in the emergency room and she couldn't come; I took her script to the reading and crossed my fingers that someone would show who could read cold. Cheryl Pryzby came (she was Mara's assistant at the Newman) and as she walked in the door I said 'Here's a script, you're reading'. And she did, and she nailed it. That same reading was the first time I met the late Heather Duke. Heather was a producer who was a friend of Lewis Chambers at the Bethel Agency. After the reading she said, in front of the whole audience mind you 'I go to a lot of readings, and this is one of the best ones I have ever seen'. She became a real friend and supporter, producing a reading at TRU and another in Haverstraw . . . always a big supporter of mine.

Anyway, Dead Authors has spent a lot of time on the shelf and it's wonderful to brush it off and see how it flies. It's holding up quite well thank you.

Something new!

So a lot has happened since the last post . . . amazing how quickly things fly by . . . at any rate, one of the CDs my daughter got me for my birthday is 'Come on Feel the Illinoise' by Sufjan Stevens, and one of the songs is a haunting ballad about John Wayne Gacy. It got me thinking about a play I had started years ago and then abandoned, about a husband and wife whose daughter has been murdered. At any rate, hearing this song made me think that perhaps the time is right to return to it . . . so I found the piece and spent a little time taking out one of the story lines (it was shaping up to be way too complex) and decided to focus on the parents . . . another of the characters is an older man, whom we find out later is the killer; or maybe we find out that he isn't or just that he may be . . . not entirely sure but it will be fun working on it. I started this morning . . . we'll see.

Also did a bit of addition to the new solo piece and now it can sit for a spell . . . in the meantime I'm continuing to take Dead Authors in to the Fringe . . . though people liked the set up last time, I want to see how it plays to the end . . .

As for acting: I'm participating in this Poe related poetry reading and we had our first rehearsal on Sat. I'm reading The Raven and others, should be fun . . .