A couple of the reviews are out. Backstage and LA Weekly.
http://www.laweekly.com/2011-01-27/stage/padraic-duffy-s-puzzler-and-joshua-schmidt-and-jason-loewith-s-adding-machine-a-musical/
http://www.backstage.com/bso/content_display/reviews/la-theatre-reviews/e3ieac0be2e21d77772bab17b7986a48879
I'm pleased. Not because the reviews are so astounding, they're not. They're good, and I think fair, but because a week ago today I was certain we were going to be eviscerated in print. And I was sad, because I'd worked so terribly hard on this show. I had given up some other gigs, high paying ones, and I was thinking I'd made a dreadful mistake. Just being honest here, not blaming, just saying how I felt. In this particular case it feels really great to be wrong. It turned out to be the right choice, after all.
My co-stars fared well, too. Kelly and Rob and Christine all received nice mentions. That pleases me very much. Kelly and Rob both exhibit some vocal pyrotechnics in this piece that simply can't be ignored and Christine has, to be perfectly honest, one of the purest, simplest, most haunting voices I've ever heard. In addition, they all happen to be very fine actors, too. Our ensemble - Travis, Greta, Nick and Mandy are so letter perfect as to be sort of stunning. They got a nice mention, too. So in those regards, I'm really happy so far.
Still waiting for the big one - The LA Times. That, I think, should be out today. Aside from that, a bunch of smaller publications, local ones. But, as I've said before, all theatre, like politics, is local.
Speaking of the ensemble, apparently one of them (Mandy) has seriously hurt her foot and I'm going in a bit early today to make the necessary adjustments in blocking. Live theatre.
Reviews are a funny thing. Some actors don't read them. I went through a period where I didn't, in fact. As goes the old adage, 'if you believe the good ones, you have to believe the bad ones.' My teacher of note, the tremendous actor, Michael Moriarty, once told me he hadn't read a review in twenty years. He's also the first person to recount the old line to me, "Critics are like eunochs at an orgy, they can watch but they can't join in."
Personally, I've been very lucky throughout my career with regards to critics. I've only gotten a few sticky ones. And frankly, I didn't even mind those. The ones that have bothered me are the ones that treat my work with indifference. You know the ones...'Also in the cast...'
One of the above notices referenced Carrol O'Connor (Archie Bunker from All in the Family). I can see that, I suppose. Actually, if truth be known, my initial image for Mr. Zero in Adding Machine was James Gandolfini with his intense yet odd, nasal readings. Of course, that was merely a starting point. It quickly morphed into something else. I'm not really a very good impressionist (although I do a pretty good Brando) so usually I'm in no danger of being accused of copying anyone.
One of the three Camelots I've done (King Arthur) was cited once in print. I decided to play the role as if Peter O'Toole were doing it - pigeon-toed, eccentric vocal choices, unexpected volatility, etc. So I was amused when one of the reviewers wrote, "Mr. Morts as Arthur appears to have channelled Peter O'Toole in his portrayal." Hm.
Early in my career I did the role of Clifford Anderson four seperate times in the play, Deathtrap. The fourth time I did it, I was, quite frankly, getting a little bored with the character. So I decided to give him a slight stutter. I thought it would liven things up a bit for me. When the show opened one of the notices said, "If Mr. Morts had bothered to learn his lines..." Clearly they had mistook my intentional stutter for unintentional line faltering. That one amused me more than bothered me, though.
Some years back I was in Toronto doing a play, a Eugene O'Neill piece, and the critic had written something to the effect of, "if the whole play could be recast with better actors, keeping only Mr. Morts..." It hurt a lot of feelings. One night a few weeks into the run, I encountered that critic in a bar. I'd had a few by then. He came up to me and said, rather smugly, "Did you like what I wrote about you?" I said, "Listen, you gob of spit, you have the right to voice your opinion because that's your job, but you don't have the right to be cruel, so fuck off." Back in the days that I spent time in bars I often said things like that. I regret them now. But at the time it seemed like a good idea.
A buddy of mine, a very good actor on the East Coast, was once doing a play with me at Arena in DC. He got a lousy notice for the new play we were doing. He, too, encountered that critic in a bar (in fact, I was there, too, just not at the same table). He became so enraged he took his wallet out and threw it at the critic. We've laughed about that for years now. Who throws a wallet at someone? He said, "I was between beers and didn't have a bottle in front of me, the lucky son of a bitch."
In any event, for better or worse, the notices are trickling in for The Adding Machine. I hope they help because The Odyssey spent a bunch of money on this show.
Back on the horse today. Another run at this extraordinary material. I'll probably never get it exactly right, but I'm having oh, so good of a time trying.
See you tomorrow.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Misconceptions of 'method' acting.
I was once again impressed with the eloquence of our President last night as I listened to his State of the Union address. Now, I realize it is entirely due to his speech writers, but nonetheless, he appears to have better writers than W. ever did. Of course, Bush's writers were working under a handicap in that they were apparently instructed not to use big words or complicated ideas.
I'm the first to admit I'm not only idealistic when it comes to politics but naive to boot. I tend to reference The West Wing a lot, I blush to confess. I remember one episode (I've seen them all many times - I consider it to be the finest network television show in the history of broadcasting) in which the staff spent the entire show arguing over a word in the SOTU address and whether it was too 'elitist' for the public. It was finally decided quickly at the end of the episode when the president simply said, "They can look it up if they don't know what it means." I liked that.
Which brings me to my point today. Never pander. It's the basis for my approach to the craft of acting. Naked Face, I call it. Actually, I don't call it that, Michael Moriarty and John Gielgud did. I stole the phrase from them. Anyway...
I discovered early in the rehearsal period for Adding Machine that my personal take on acting didn't fit with this piece. I had to adjust. I had to find something that did work. Naked Face work is predicated on the idea that the audience does most of the work in any given performance, be it onstage or on camera. It discards what I like to call 'parallel storytelling.' That is to say, the actor indicating through his work what the playwright has already said. For example (and I'm purposely being simplistic here), if the line is, "My cat died today" the grief or joy or shock or whatever is inherent in the line itself and there is no need for the actor to emphasize it by ACTING the grief or joy or shock or whatever on top of the line. The audience is being cheated out of the experience because the actor is up there emotionally flailing away at what is self-evident. It's 'lowest common denominator' acting. In other words it is always more interesting to watch an actor try NOT to cry than it is to watch him cry. And yet, this is exactly what 'method' work espouses.
There have been a few times in my career, however, that this (Naked Face)approach simply doesn't hold water. This play is one of those times. Others have been some Shakesperean stuff (not all) and once when I played a severely retarded man in a play called 'Boys Next Door.' In that play, I realized there was no 'editing' process for the actor. No subtext. The lines were exactly what they were...the lines.
The same is true, for the most part, in this piece I'm doing now. It's highly stylized work (although I don't remember that word ever being used in the rehearsal process). It's slightly beyond hightened realism. It didn't take me long to realize that 'indication' was not only acceptable in this play, it was almost demanded. And I also realized that it wasn't a form of 'pandering' to the audience, but rather an integral part of the flow of the play. It is, after all, still a musical theatre piece regardless of its sophistication in terms of composition. To be honest, it's exhausting, much more difficult than Naked Face work. That's a huge misconception about acting, in my opinion: actors think it has to be 'difficult' to be 'good.' It doesn't. One doesn't have to work up a sweat to be doing the best they can do. Although in this piece I most certainly do work up a sweat and that is due, in part, to the fact that I AM working my ass off in it.
This is one reason I don't trust acting teachers who are not themselves actors. Also why I rarely trust directors who don't themselves act. Their direction becomes theoretical. They don't understand the importance of GETTING from A to B. They only know they want to somehow GET to B.
In thirty five years of doing this professionally, I've only met one director that didn't act himself that was worth a tinker's damn. And he's out of the business now and raising a family in Colorado. Pity.
The problem seems to be that most young actors look upon the craft of acting, especially in their formative years in academia, as a 'right' and 'wrong' pursuit. It is not. Never has been. Never will be. It is not math. There are no clear and true answers. There are guidelines, yes. But solutions? Rarely. What works for one actor will not necessarily work for another. The young actor's inability to grasp the ambiguity of the craft is mostly to blame. Like anything else, as one gains experience, one becomes more proficient at something. Yet that's not always true, either. Some actors, sadly, hang onto the dictums and rules of a small bunch of egocentric American acting pioneers from the 30's - Strasberg, Lewis, Adler, even Kazan - who, though well-intentioned, completely misinterpreted the common-sensical approach to the craft as outlined by the oft-misunderstood Constantine Stanislavski. Even today, sixty-some years later, it is widely unknown that these 'pioneers' took Stanislavki's first book and used it as a basis for an entire revolution in acting. The uncomfortable truth is that he wrote THREE books on the subject, all available today but not then. The second two books had yet to be translated into English and thus were not taught. This single event crippled and thwarted countless thousands of otherwise very talented actors, the ramifications still readily apparent even today.
Of that bunch of misguided teachers from that era, perhaps Stella Adler was the only one to adjust to the idea that there are no obvious answers to many applied acting problems. She is the only one on record as saying, "Talent is talent and learning the 'method' doesn't make a bit of difference." Brando, of course, is the prime example of this. He hated being catagorized as a 'method' actor. He wasn't. Yes, he used what he could from that school of thought, but he also discarded as much as he used. In fact, Adler said of him, "I taught Brando nothing. He was a brilliant actor long before I met him. I simply nudged him in the right direction."
The truth is the 'method' is a system of REHEARSAL, not performance. The two are as widely disparate as singing scales are from performing the lead in an opera. And yet some actors stubbornly hang on to the teachings of 'method' well into their sixties or seventies. They resolutely cling, like struggling swimmers holding onto a bouy, to antiquated ideas like 'motivation' and 'intentions' and 'clarity of action.' No real human being in the history of the world acts or behaves with unquestioning motivation or intention. The fascinating thing about human behavior is decidely contradictory to this train of thought, in fact. The interesting thing about human beings is that half the time we have NO IDEA why we do what we do. Ambiguity. Indecision. While it might be comforting for an actor to go through his or her script and paranthetically reduce every single utterance and action to these lowest common denominators, I contend that it is, in the final analysis, simply not very exciting. And I've always thought the only real sin in acting is being boring.
I am well aware that many, many, MANY very fine actors completely disagree with me. So be it. As Johnny Cochran once said, 'If it doesn't fit, you must acquit.'
So...going back to the script and the music to ADDING MACHINE today. Best not to let this stuff get too far out of my head before I tackle it again this weekend.
Rumor has it the L.A. Weekly review of the show is coming out today. And furthermore, rumor has it that it is a good one. I hope so.
I've barely spoken for the past two days because my voice needed rest desperately. It feels much better today. By Thursday night I suspect it will be back to a hundred percent, which is good because it's been months since I've performed this stuff with a healthy voice. I've been doing a lot of compensating onstage because of it.
This Friday is a 'pay what you can' night at the theater. Hopefully this will bring in some patrons who otherwise would not be able to see it. I hope so. Theater, by its very definition, should never, ever be too expensive to enjoy.
See you tomorrow.
I'm the first to admit I'm not only idealistic when it comes to politics but naive to boot. I tend to reference The West Wing a lot, I blush to confess. I remember one episode (I've seen them all many times - I consider it to be the finest network television show in the history of broadcasting) in which the staff spent the entire show arguing over a word in the SOTU address and whether it was too 'elitist' for the public. It was finally decided quickly at the end of the episode when the president simply said, "They can look it up if they don't know what it means." I liked that.
Which brings me to my point today. Never pander. It's the basis for my approach to the craft of acting. Naked Face, I call it. Actually, I don't call it that, Michael Moriarty and John Gielgud did. I stole the phrase from them. Anyway...
I discovered early in the rehearsal period for Adding Machine that my personal take on acting didn't fit with this piece. I had to adjust. I had to find something that did work. Naked Face work is predicated on the idea that the audience does most of the work in any given performance, be it onstage or on camera. It discards what I like to call 'parallel storytelling.' That is to say, the actor indicating through his work what the playwright has already said. For example (and I'm purposely being simplistic here), if the line is, "My cat died today" the grief or joy or shock or whatever is inherent in the line itself and there is no need for the actor to emphasize it by ACTING the grief or joy or shock or whatever on top of the line. The audience is being cheated out of the experience because the actor is up there emotionally flailing away at what is self-evident. It's 'lowest common denominator' acting. In other words it is always more interesting to watch an actor try NOT to cry than it is to watch him cry. And yet, this is exactly what 'method' work espouses.
There have been a few times in my career, however, that this (Naked Face)approach simply doesn't hold water. This play is one of those times. Others have been some Shakesperean stuff (not all) and once when I played a severely retarded man in a play called 'Boys Next Door.' In that play, I realized there was no 'editing' process for the actor. No subtext. The lines were exactly what they were...the lines.
The same is true, for the most part, in this piece I'm doing now. It's highly stylized work (although I don't remember that word ever being used in the rehearsal process). It's slightly beyond hightened realism. It didn't take me long to realize that 'indication' was not only acceptable in this play, it was almost demanded. And I also realized that it wasn't a form of 'pandering' to the audience, but rather an integral part of the flow of the play. It is, after all, still a musical theatre piece regardless of its sophistication in terms of composition. To be honest, it's exhausting, much more difficult than Naked Face work. That's a huge misconception about acting, in my opinion: actors think it has to be 'difficult' to be 'good.' It doesn't. One doesn't have to work up a sweat to be doing the best they can do. Although in this piece I most certainly do work up a sweat and that is due, in part, to the fact that I AM working my ass off in it.
This is one reason I don't trust acting teachers who are not themselves actors. Also why I rarely trust directors who don't themselves act. Their direction becomes theoretical. They don't understand the importance of GETTING from A to B. They only know they want to somehow GET to B.
In thirty five years of doing this professionally, I've only met one director that didn't act himself that was worth a tinker's damn. And he's out of the business now and raising a family in Colorado. Pity.
The problem seems to be that most young actors look upon the craft of acting, especially in their formative years in academia, as a 'right' and 'wrong' pursuit. It is not. Never has been. Never will be. It is not math. There are no clear and true answers. There are guidelines, yes. But solutions? Rarely. What works for one actor will not necessarily work for another. The young actor's inability to grasp the ambiguity of the craft is mostly to blame. Like anything else, as one gains experience, one becomes more proficient at something. Yet that's not always true, either. Some actors, sadly, hang onto the dictums and rules of a small bunch of egocentric American acting pioneers from the 30's - Strasberg, Lewis, Adler, even Kazan - who, though well-intentioned, completely misinterpreted the common-sensical approach to the craft as outlined by the oft-misunderstood Constantine Stanislavski. Even today, sixty-some years later, it is widely unknown that these 'pioneers' took Stanislavki's first book and used it as a basis for an entire revolution in acting. The uncomfortable truth is that he wrote THREE books on the subject, all available today but not then. The second two books had yet to be translated into English and thus were not taught. This single event crippled and thwarted countless thousands of otherwise very talented actors, the ramifications still readily apparent even today.
Of that bunch of misguided teachers from that era, perhaps Stella Adler was the only one to adjust to the idea that there are no obvious answers to many applied acting problems. She is the only one on record as saying, "Talent is talent and learning the 'method' doesn't make a bit of difference." Brando, of course, is the prime example of this. He hated being catagorized as a 'method' actor. He wasn't. Yes, he used what he could from that school of thought, but he also discarded as much as he used. In fact, Adler said of him, "I taught Brando nothing. He was a brilliant actor long before I met him. I simply nudged him in the right direction."
The truth is the 'method' is a system of REHEARSAL, not performance. The two are as widely disparate as singing scales are from performing the lead in an opera. And yet some actors stubbornly hang on to the teachings of 'method' well into their sixties or seventies. They resolutely cling, like struggling swimmers holding onto a bouy, to antiquated ideas like 'motivation' and 'intentions' and 'clarity of action.' No real human being in the history of the world acts or behaves with unquestioning motivation or intention. The fascinating thing about human behavior is decidely contradictory to this train of thought, in fact. The interesting thing about human beings is that half the time we have NO IDEA why we do what we do. Ambiguity. Indecision. While it might be comforting for an actor to go through his or her script and paranthetically reduce every single utterance and action to these lowest common denominators, I contend that it is, in the final analysis, simply not very exciting. And I've always thought the only real sin in acting is being boring.
I am well aware that many, many, MANY very fine actors completely disagree with me. So be it. As Johnny Cochran once said, 'If it doesn't fit, you must acquit.'
So...going back to the script and the music to ADDING MACHINE today. Best not to let this stuff get too far out of my head before I tackle it again this weekend.
Rumor has it the L.A. Weekly review of the show is coming out today. And furthermore, rumor has it that it is a good one. I hope so.
I've barely spoken for the past two days because my voice needed rest desperately. It feels much better today. By Thursday night I suspect it will be back to a hundred percent, which is good because it's been months since I've performed this stuff with a healthy voice. I've been doing a lot of compensating onstage because of it.
This Friday is a 'pay what you can' night at the theater. Hopefully this will bring in some patrons who otherwise would not be able to see it. I hope so. Theater, by its very definition, should never, ever be too expensive to enjoy.
See you tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Another Good Day. They're All Good Days, These Days.
Well, the Oscar nominees are in. Can't say I care for this 'ten best picture nominee' thing. Hollywood only makes about 12 pictures a year these days, so it's become a thinly veiled marketing thing. Boo to that.
Very pleased, however, to see John Hawkes from 'Winter's Bone' nominated. Unquestionably the best piece of film acting I've seen this year. Incidentally, (name dropping here) Beth Domann, our friend from Missouri, was in that film and did a fine job in a small role. Although Beth lives in Missouri (actually she's the artistic director of 'Landers Theatre' there) and it won't help her much in Springfield, if she were in LA she could ride that kudo for several months. At the very least she'd get a few invitations to some cool parties awash in pretty girls.
Also glad to see 'True Grit' nominated. Thought the Coen brothers did a top-flight job with that remake.
I'm always a little amused to see kids nominated for Best Something, however, like what's-her-name from 'True Grit.' I once worked with the eighty year old, amazing Chicago actress Marji Bank who once lost a 'Jeff' award for Best Actress to a seven year old. At the ceremony I happened to be sitting with Marji. She turned to me and said after the announcement, "What do I say to her? Nice choices?" Funny lady and someone I miss a great deal.
I have been resting my voice since Sunday night. No talking (well, not much) and certainly no singing. That part wasn't hard because I rarely break into song around the house anyway. When I do it's usually to the tune of 'Hello, Dolly!' to one of my dogs and I sing quite loudly, 'Hello, Franny! Well, Hello, Franny! It's so nice to see you back where you belong!!!' much to his confusion.
I also sing to the tune of 'Nobody Knows the Trouble I've seen...' to Zooey...'Zoeberry knows the trouble I've seen...' Another is to the tune from 'Flipper' - 'They call him FRANNY, FRANNY, king of the ocean, king of the sea...' Or from The Brady Bunch: 'Tis the story of a puppy named Franny!' Angie's favorite is an old jazz standard I adapt called 'Joey.' I sing, 'Zooey. Zooey, Zooey. It's been TOO long since you BEEN gone...'
Anyway.
I felt good about Sunday's performance of ADDING MACHINE. At the risk of sounding a little hoity-toity, I felt very much 'in the moment' that night. I had some friends in the audience and of course that always tends to notch my energy up a bit because I'm a show-off. But honestly, in retrospect, I rather enjoyed myself that night.
The composer of the piece, Josh Schmidt, is flying in to see the play this weekend. A couple of weeks ago when we found this out, my co-star, Kelly Lester, turned to me and asked what I wanted to say to him. I said, "Well, first, I wanna slap him and scream, 'WHAT WERE YOU THINKING! WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS, DAMN YOU!'
Actually, I want to tell him that, in my opinion, he's crossed the oh, so nebulous line of 'good work' into 'genius.' I've done about sixty musicals or so in my career, all professional, all Equity productions, and only once before have I been so stunned by the composition - Sunday in the Park with George. Mr. Schmidt is in good company.
I think my wife has been energized by the recent passing of Jack Lalanne. She's nearly physically dragging me out for long 'hikes' now with the puppies into Griffith Park. Personally, I never understood the difference between a 'hike' and a 'walk.' I guess maybe it's the outfit. For a 'hike' we tend to don a more safari-influenced ensemble; boots, khaki vests, lots of cotton, a rifle flung over our shoulders, binoculars, pith helmuts. For a 'walk' we generally just go as we are.
I was talking to a buddy of mine, a very successful actor out here in LA, yesterday. He said, "Try as I might, I can't get that damn show out of my head. (referring to ADDING MACHINE) I've been thinking about your performance and the music all day. It's kind of annoying, really." Hearing that I could only smile and think, well, we did our job, I guess.
Our musical director, the freakishly good Alan Patrick Kinney, wants to bring me in for some 'cleaning' today or tomorrow. He's a perfectionist (which is one of the reasons he's so good) and is not quite satisfied with some of the liberties I take within some of my songs. Actually, calling them 'liberties' is my way of being in denial about the fact that I can't seem to count to four in front of a crowd. In any event, I'm all for it. I have never understood (see posts about PRAYING SMALL earlier last year) why a show is abandoned simply because it opens. I'm completely in favor of continuing to demand the best of ourselves even if it means a rehearsal on closing night. So...I'm going in to work on it some more.
Angie and I finally relaxed a bit yesterday after about three weeks of high stress because of the play. I played Madden (my new, great addiction) all day and she went shopping (her lifelong addiction). Later she made me a dinner fit for The Ponderosa: Pan seared sirloin with sauteed onions, fresh Italian bread, spinach with balsamic and roasted, new potatoes. Just incredibly good. She is, and I say this with complete sincerity, the best chef I've ever known or seen.
I have to go in soon for more blood tests related to my 'silent killer' of a disease, stage two diabetes. Not looking forward to that. I'm comforted, however, in the knowledge that the last time I went in for my check-up, my 'numbers' were all well within the manageable zone. Considering the 'numbers' were all so high when I was first diagnosed, it is not as frightening as it once was. I'll remember my doctor saying to me upon that first visit, "It's a wonder you're not dead" for the rest of my life.
Good news, I think: a major casting director was in the crowd Saturday night and gave his card to Ron Sossi (our director) and asked that I call him today. He's a TV casting director (has three network shows within his auspices at the moment). He told Ron, "I can get this guy tons of work." We'll see. I am learning that Hollywood is not always as truthful as one would like.
That's about it. Off for our 'hike.' Just waiting for the aborigines to show up that we hired to 'beat the bushes' for slinking, feline predators. Yes, their calypso-inspired singing as they form a great, long line in front of us, clothed only in dusty, but revealing loin cloths, is a bit unnerving for our neighbors, but I find it somehow soothing.
See you tomorrow.
Very pleased, however, to see John Hawkes from 'Winter's Bone' nominated. Unquestionably the best piece of film acting I've seen this year. Incidentally, (name dropping here) Beth Domann, our friend from Missouri, was in that film and did a fine job in a small role. Although Beth lives in Missouri (actually she's the artistic director of 'Landers Theatre' there) and it won't help her much in Springfield, if she were in LA she could ride that kudo for several months. At the very least she'd get a few invitations to some cool parties awash in pretty girls.
Also glad to see 'True Grit' nominated. Thought the Coen brothers did a top-flight job with that remake.
I'm always a little amused to see kids nominated for Best Something, however, like what's-her-name from 'True Grit.' I once worked with the eighty year old, amazing Chicago actress Marji Bank who once lost a 'Jeff' award for Best Actress to a seven year old. At the ceremony I happened to be sitting with Marji. She turned to me and said after the announcement, "What do I say to her? Nice choices?" Funny lady and someone I miss a great deal.
I have been resting my voice since Sunday night. No talking (well, not much) and certainly no singing. That part wasn't hard because I rarely break into song around the house anyway. When I do it's usually to the tune of 'Hello, Dolly!' to one of my dogs and I sing quite loudly, 'Hello, Franny! Well, Hello, Franny! It's so nice to see you back where you belong!!!' much to his confusion.
I also sing to the tune of 'Nobody Knows the Trouble I've seen...' to Zooey...'Zoeberry knows the trouble I've seen...' Another is to the tune from 'Flipper' - 'They call him FRANNY, FRANNY, king of the ocean, king of the sea...' Or from The Brady Bunch: 'Tis the story of a puppy named Franny!' Angie's favorite is an old jazz standard I adapt called 'Joey.' I sing, 'Zooey. Zooey, Zooey. It's been TOO long since you BEEN gone...'
Anyway.
I felt good about Sunday's performance of ADDING MACHINE. At the risk of sounding a little hoity-toity, I felt very much 'in the moment' that night. I had some friends in the audience and of course that always tends to notch my energy up a bit because I'm a show-off. But honestly, in retrospect, I rather enjoyed myself that night.
The composer of the piece, Josh Schmidt, is flying in to see the play this weekend. A couple of weeks ago when we found this out, my co-star, Kelly Lester, turned to me and asked what I wanted to say to him. I said, "Well, first, I wanna slap him and scream, 'WHAT WERE YOU THINKING! WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS, DAMN YOU!'
Actually, I want to tell him that, in my opinion, he's crossed the oh, so nebulous line of 'good work' into 'genius.' I've done about sixty musicals or so in my career, all professional, all Equity productions, and only once before have I been so stunned by the composition - Sunday in the Park with George. Mr. Schmidt is in good company.
I think my wife has been energized by the recent passing of Jack Lalanne. She's nearly physically dragging me out for long 'hikes' now with the puppies into Griffith Park. Personally, I never understood the difference between a 'hike' and a 'walk.' I guess maybe it's the outfit. For a 'hike' we tend to don a more safari-influenced ensemble; boots, khaki vests, lots of cotton, a rifle flung over our shoulders, binoculars, pith helmuts. For a 'walk' we generally just go as we are.
I was talking to a buddy of mine, a very successful actor out here in LA, yesterday. He said, "Try as I might, I can't get that damn show out of my head. (referring to ADDING MACHINE) I've been thinking about your performance and the music all day. It's kind of annoying, really." Hearing that I could only smile and think, well, we did our job, I guess.
Our musical director, the freakishly good Alan Patrick Kinney, wants to bring me in for some 'cleaning' today or tomorrow. He's a perfectionist (which is one of the reasons he's so good) and is not quite satisfied with some of the liberties I take within some of my songs. Actually, calling them 'liberties' is my way of being in denial about the fact that I can't seem to count to four in front of a crowd. In any event, I'm all for it. I have never understood (see posts about PRAYING SMALL earlier last year) why a show is abandoned simply because it opens. I'm completely in favor of continuing to demand the best of ourselves even if it means a rehearsal on closing night. So...I'm going in to work on it some more.
Angie and I finally relaxed a bit yesterday after about three weeks of high stress because of the play. I played Madden (my new, great addiction) all day and she went shopping (her lifelong addiction). Later she made me a dinner fit for The Ponderosa: Pan seared sirloin with sauteed onions, fresh Italian bread, spinach with balsamic and roasted, new potatoes. Just incredibly good. She is, and I say this with complete sincerity, the best chef I've ever known or seen.
I have to go in soon for more blood tests related to my 'silent killer' of a disease, stage two diabetes. Not looking forward to that. I'm comforted, however, in the knowledge that the last time I went in for my check-up, my 'numbers' were all well within the manageable zone. Considering the 'numbers' were all so high when I was first diagnosed, it is not as frightening as it once was. I'll remember my doctor saying to me upon that first visit, "It's a wonder you're not dead" for the rest of my life.
Good news, I think: a major casting director was in the crowd Saturday night and gave his card to Ron Sossi (our director) and asked that I call him today. He's a TV casting director (has three network shows within his auspices at the moment). He told Ron, "I can get this guy tons of work." We'll see. I am learning that Hollywood is not always as truthful as one would like.
That's about it. Off for our 'hike.' Just waiting for the aborigines to show up that we hired to 'beat the bushes' for slinking, feline predators. Yes, their calypso-inspired singing as they form a great, long line in front of us, clothed only in dusty, but revealing loin cloths, is a bit unnerving for our neighbors, but I find it somehow soothing.
See you tomorrow.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Adding Machine - The Musical is now open and ready for business.
Well, we opened this behemoth of a show, Adding Machine, this past Saturday. For good or ill, it's on the books now. Los Angeles has now seen and heard Adding Machine - the musical.
I haven't weighed in here on the blog for awhile...in fact, I think this may be my longest extended absence since I started. Several reasons for that, the most obvious being that I've been simply overwhelmed with the final couple of weeks of mounting this thing. Another, not quite so tangible reason, was that I was sort of struggling for something good to say. I wanted very much to keep in a positive state of mind for this show because, well, because I cared so much about it. Like nearly every play I've ever done, this one got to be a bit nerve-wracking as opening night loomed. The tech wasn't coming together. The director was making choices that concerned me. And most notably, one of the actors was seriously trying my patience.
I'm pleased, and I suppose, not terribly surprised, however, to say all has ended reasonably well. This silly business has a way of doing that. Like the line in 'Shakespeare in Love,' it is a mystery. Not to say it simply 'came together.' It did not. In fact, some of it is still not 'together.' However, we did make it through the play without anyone losing an eye, which is saying something, I guess.
The piece is polarizing, to say the least. I didn't go out and make chatty with the opening night crowd (one of the above mentioned problems was still terrorizing me and frankly, I was in a bit of a snit) but I did go out to the lobby last night and hear some opinions. This music is either loved or hated. I loved it upon hearing it. Others, clearly, don't. My agent, for example, didn't care for it all. Yet he really enjoyed the performances. It's that kind of stuff.
So...for the first time in about 18 days...I can relax. And I have every intention of doing so. I'm taking my dogs for a long walk, I'm reading and resting my voice, I'm watching a Netflix...all the things I haven't had time for or cared to do lately.
And I'll begin blogging again after a conspicous absence. I have been rather shocked at the response I've gotten from people about it. In fact, even last night a gentleman (no idea who he was) came up to me in the lobby and instead of saying 'Good show' or something to that effect, said, 'Love your blog.' Hm.
Now we wait for the reviews. Honestly, I have no idea whatsoever which way they'll go. It's quite possible we will get our asses handed to us on a platter. Or they might be really glorious. I really don't know. One of my closest friends came last night and said he thought the piece 'brilliant.' But, he offered as a disclaimer, 'I like weird shit.' So there you have it.
It's good to work in a real theatre again, I have to say. The last one, over in NoHo, was really more like a Judy and Mickey movie...'Hey, I got a barn! Let's put on a show!'
No, I've enjoyed The Odyssey Theatre Ensemble very much. It comes as no surprise to any LA actors out there that the reputation is somewhat lofty and, at the same time, daunting. Ron Sossi, the artistic director of that institution for some 41 years, either strikes fear in one's heart (I've heard from others) or bolsters one's confidence. Personally, I've had a really warm and constructive relationship with him.
I'm sure Angie is pleased this long and emotionally bumpy ride has ended. She, as usual, has been the picture of patience itself. There was a moment awhile back, last week, in fact, that even she thought perhaps I was into a project that was possibly doomed. The technical aspects were overwhelming her (she sat in on the first invited dress and was, um, mortified). Plus she had to contend with the fact that I was coming home nightly in various states of despair.
And, as I alluded to earlier, rather than write negative things about the piece, I chose instead not to blog for awhile. Probably for the best.
In any event, we're up and running. For better or worse. The only thing to do now is to see what the press has to say about it all and that, like so many other things in my life, is out of my hands. All I can continue to do is my best.
See you tomorrow.
I haven't weighed in here on the blog for awhile...in fact, I think this may be my longest extended absence since I started. Several reasons for that, the most obvious being that I've been simply overwhelmed with the final couple of weeks of mounting this thing. Another, not quite so tangible reason, was that I was sort of struggling for something good to say. I wanted very much to keep in a positive state of mind for this show because, well, because I cared so much about it. Like nearly every play I've ever done, this one got to be a bit nerve-wracking as opening night loomed. The tech wasn't coming together. The director was making choices that concerned me. And most notably, one of the actors was seriously trying my patience.
I'm pleased, and I suppose, not terribly surprised, however, to say all has ended reasonably well. This silly business has a way of doing that. Like the line in 'Shakespeare in Love,' it is a mystery. Not to say it simply 'came together.' It did not. In fact, some of it is still not 'together.' However, we did make it through the play without anyone losing an eye, which is saying something, I guess.
The piece is polarizing, to say the least. I didn't go out and make chatty with the opening night crowd (one of the above mentioned problems was still terrorizing me and frankly, I was in a bit of a snit) but I did go out to the lobby last night and hear some opinions. This music is either loved or hated. I loved it upon hearing it. Others, clearly, don't. My agent, for example, didn't care for it all. Yet he really enjoyed the performances. It's that kind of stuff.
So...for the first time in about 18 days...I can relax. And I have every intention of doing so. I'm taking my dogs for a long walk, I'm reading and resting my voice, I'm watching a Netflix...all the things I haven't had time for or cared to do lately.
And I'll begin blogging again after a conspicous absence. I have been rather shocked at the response I've gotten from people about it. In fact, even last night a gentleman (no idea who he was) came up to me in the lobby and instead of saying 'Good show' or something to that effect, said, 'Love your blog.' Hm.
Now we wait for the reviews. Honestly, I have no idea whatsoever which way they'll go. It's quite possible we will get our asses handed to us on a platter. Or they might be really glorious. I really don't know. One of my closest friends came last night and said he thought the piece 'brilliant.' But, he offered as a disclaimer, 'I like weird shit.' So there you have it.
It's good to work in a real theatre again, I have to say. The last one, over in NoHo, was really more like a Judy and Mickey movie...'Hey, I got a barn! Let's put on a show!'
No, I've enjoyed The Odyssey Theatre Ensemble very much. It comes as no surprise to any LA actors out there that the reputation is somewhat lofty and, at the same time, daunting. Ron Sossi, the artistic director of that institution for some 41 years, either strikes fear in one's heart (I've heard from others) or bolsters one's confidence. Personally, I've had a really warm and constructive relationship with him.
I'm sure Angie is pleased this long and emotionally bumpy ride has ended. She, as usual, has been the picture of patience itself. There was a moment awhile back, last week, in fact, that even she thought perhaps I was into a project that was possibly doomed. The technical aspects were overwhelming her (she sat in on the first invited dress and was, um, mortified). Plus she had to contend with the fact that I was coming home nightly in various states of despair.
And, as I alluded to earlier, rather than write negative things about the piece, I chose instead not to blog for awhile. Probably for the best.
In any event, we're up and running. For better or worse. The only thing to do now is to see what the press has to say about it all and that, like so many other things in my life, is out of my hands. All I can continue to do is my best.
See you tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Step Up to the Plate...
George S. Kauffman once said, "Every human being has four basic needs in life: the need for clothing, the need for shelter, the need to procreate and the need to rewrite someone else's play." I was thinking of that last night as I we were all collaborating to make every single moment work in this play.
More Q2Q last night. I know Q2Qs are considered intensely boring (but needed) by most actors, and I suppose they are in some ways, but it's also very exciting to see what's shaping up. Our director, Ron Sossi, is a 'detail guy' when it comes to tech. The lighting especially. Personally, when I direct, it's the one time I sort of relinquish control for a bit. This is because I'm color blind. Really color blind, I mean. So I have no choice but to completely trust the lighting designer when it comes to that.
So we continue today with our Q2Q rehearsals.
There is also a very detailed make up design for the show. I haven't had a chance to meet yet with the make up artist but I've seen what she's doing with some of the other actors. Very gothic, very pronounced. Almost Sweeny Toddish in it's concept.
More solidification on the lines today. I've been working like a house-a-fire these past few days on them. And yesterday, as Angie and I trudged through them all yet again, lo and behold, they began to stick. A lovely moment. But I must fight the temptation to get too confident about them so we're attacking them again all day long.
I've turned down a lot of other projects in order to do this play and finally, I'm beginning to remember why I've done so. In short, it's starting to look, feel and sound like the masterpiece I initially perceived it to be. Very exciting shit, folks.
My co-star, Kelly Lester, just received word she's doing a role in the new Clint Eastwood/Ron Howard film. Very excited for her and I'm not just a little envious. Mr. Eastwood is getting up there and who knows if this will be his last movie. One of my dreams when I was young was to work with Clint Eastwood.
My friend and mentor, Michael Moriarty, did 'Pale Rider' with him way back in 1987. He has nothing but kudos for Eastwood as a director and person. And Michael is one of those actors who, to put it mildly, does not suffer fools gladly.
Watching Eastwood's career arc is fascinating. From episodic TV to Spaghetti Westerns to existential westerns in this country to bold, simple, powerful films ranging from UNFORGIVEN to MILLION DOLLAR BABY to LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA. He has become an iconic film maker over the years, with a unique eye toward telling stories that erupt in the color grey rather than easily identifiable good and evil stories. Along with Scorcese he may be our finest, long-term film maker.
Angie and I have been invited to see a new play this afternoon at The Falcon Theatre in Burbank. I don't think we can make it, unfortunately. The Falcon is Gary Marshall's theater and our dear friend and former college chum, Sherry Santiliano, is the managing director over there. Actually, I say 'over there,' but it's really only about five minutes from our house. We saw Matt Walker's critically acclaimed organization, The Troubadour Theater Company, at that theater last year. One of the best things I've seen in LA to date, in fact. It's a beautiful 99-seat theatre where lots of Marshall's TV and film actor/friends have worked.
There was a moment last night when I looked around at the gigantic stage pieces, the highly dramatic lighting, with the impossibly eloquent music playing, and I thought to myself, "Good Lord, we're actually doing this." As an old buddy of mine used to say, "It's time to either step up to the plate or get the hell out of the way."
This is such a high calibre cast doing this thing, that sometimes our schedules have made it nigh impossible for everyone to be at the same rehearsal at the same time. Last night, for the first time since early November, we had everyone there. Sometimes it's like central casting in rehearsal with nearly everyone in the cast fielding 'industry' phone calls during the breaks. Of course, the material itself is the reason for this. My agent told me early on that nearly every actor in Los Angeles who could carry a tune wanted in on this thing. At the time I considered his comment a little daft. Now, though, I understand what he was talking about. I can say, without any hesitation, this is truly brilliant stuff and honestly, I feel blessed to be a part of it.
So. Back at the lines. Say 'em. Say 'em again. And again. And again. As I look around in rehearsal and see the scores of people working on the execution of this thing, the sound people, the lighting people, the backstage crew, the designers, the make up people, the musicians, the staff, the administrative people, the publicity people, the artistic honchos...I can hardly allow mayself to let up now. So. Lines. Say 'em. Say 'em again. And again. And again. Say 'em.
See you tomorrow.
More Q2Q last night. I know Q2Qs are considered intensely boring (but needed) by most actors, and I suppose they are in some ways, but it's also very exciting to see what's shaping up. Our director, Ron Sossi, is a 'detail guy' when it comes to tech. The lighting especially. Personally, when I direct, it's the one time I sort of relinquish control for a bit. This is because I'm color blind. Really color blind, I mean. So I have no choice but to completely trust the lighting designer when it comes to that.
So we continue today with our Q2Q rehearsals.
There is also a very detailed make up design for the show. I haven't had a chance to meet yet with the make up artist but I've seen what she's doing with some of the other actors. Very gothic, very pronounced. Almost Sweeny Toddish in it's concept.
More solidification on the lines today. I've been working like a house-a-fire these past few days on them. And yesterday, as Angie and I trudged through them all yet again, lo and behold, they began to stick. A lovely moment. But I must fight the temptation to get too confident about them so we're attacking them again all day long.
I've turned down a lot of other projects in order to do this play and finally, I'm beginning to remember why I've done so. In short, it's starting to look, feel and sound like the masterpiece I initially perceived it to be. Very exciting shit, folks.
My co-star, Kelly Lester, just received word she's doing a role in the new Clint Eastwood/Ron Howard film. Very excited for her and I'm not just a little envious. Mr. Eastwood is getting up there and who knows if this will be his last movie. One of my dreams when I was young was to work with Clint Eastwood.
My friend and mentor, Michael Moriarty, did 'Pale Rider' with him way back in 1987. He has nothing but kudos for Eastwood as a director and person. And Michael is one of those actors who, to put it mildly, does not suffer fools gladly.
Watching Eastwood's career arc is fascinating. From episodic TV to Spaghetti Westerns to existential westerns in this country to bold, simple, powerful films ranging from UNFORGIVEN to MILLION DOLLAR BABY to LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA. He has become an iconic film maker over the years, with a unique eye toward telling stories that erupt in the color grey rather than easily identifiable good and evil stories. Along with Scorcese he may be our finest, long-term film maker.
Angie and I have been invited to see a new play this afternoon at The Falcon Theatre in Burbank. I don't think we can make it, unfortunately. The Falcon is Gary Marshall's theater and our dear friend and former college chum, Sherry Santiliano, is the managing director over there. Actually, I say 'over there,' but it's really only about five minutes from our house. We saw Matt Walker's critically acclaimed organization, The Troubadour Theater Company, at that theater last year. One of the best things I've seen in LA to date, in fact. It's a beautiful 99-seat theatre where lots of Marshall's TV and film actor/friends have worked.
There was a moment last night when I looked around at the gigantic stage pieces, the highly dramatic lighting, with the impossibly eloquent music playing, and I thought to myself, "Good Lord, we're actually doing this." As an old buddy of mine used to say, "It's time to either step up to the plate or get the hell out of the way."
This is such a high calibre cast doing this thing, that sometimes our schedules have made it nigh impossible for everyone to be at the same rehearsal at the same time. Last night, for the first time since early November, we had everyone there. Sometimes it's like central casting in rehearsal with nearly everyone in the cast fielding 'industry' phone calls during the breaks. Of course, the material itself is the reason for this. My agent told me early on that nearly every actor in Los Angeles who could carry a tune wanted in on this thing. At the time I considered his comment a little daft. Now, though, I understand what he was talking about. I can say, without any hesitation, this is truly brilliant stuff and honestly, I feel blessed to be a part of it.
So. Back at the lines. Say 'em. Say 'em again. And again. And again. As I look around in rehearsal and see the scores of people working on the execution of this thing, the sound people, the lighting people, the backstage crew, the designers, the make up people, the musicians, the staff, the administrative people, the publicity people, the artistic honchos...I can hardly allow mayself to let up now. So. Lines. Say 'em. Say 'em again. And again. And again. Say 'em.
See you tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
The Nature of the Beast...
As is par for the course, I was the only one still carrying the book in our final run-thru before we began the difficult Q2Q process this past weekend. In my defense it is a rather large role. Nonetheless, after some serious and highly concentrated work all day yesterday I think I'm now book-free. And today is all about solidifying that. Angie, as usual, has been the portrait of patience during this.
This is shaping up to be a huge production. The sets are massive, the lighting impossibly complicated, the costumes detailed and slyly period, the orchestration (although still not in the mix yet) unbelievably powerful. It's turning into quite a to-do.
I slept very little last night after stuffing the lines into my head ad nauseum all day. Just couldn't turn it all off. That's par for the course, too. The most dreaded time of rehearsal for me, the time when the book is not within reach and the lines are in my head, but self-doubt is constantly rearing its ugly head. It's a time for performance modulation. After 100 plays, give or take, on the professional stage, I've long learned to trust my instincts at this juncture.
As is often the case when one is doing a 'big' one, the focus now is centered primarily on 'transitions.' That is to say, getting from one scene to the next with as much fluidity as is possible. The book doesn't make this terribly easy: it goes from a bedroom to an office to a prison to heaven itself in a matter of minutes. The design team is pulling twenty four hour shifts in an effort to make it all work.
As is the recurring theme in the film 'Shakespeare in Love' somehow it all works. Usually. There was one time it didn't work in time. Some years back I played Horace in a very large production of 'Hello, Dolly!' and the opening night actually was delayed an hour to put the finishing touches on the tech aspect of the show. Only time that's ever happened to me, in fact. Oddly, the audience is usually very appreciative and forgiving in moments like that. They certainly were that night.
Now, I don't foresee that happening with this show, but nonetheless, it is painfully apparent that the focus is now very much on the transitions. I was talking to a buddy of mine, an actor that's been in many, many musicals, in fact carrying some of them on Broadway, and he said, oddly, that he LIKED Q2Qs. Said he found them calming. I asked why. He said, 'Because for just a few hours, the pressure is off me.' Hm.
I remember talking to Nathan Lane, an actor who's done a few musicals in his time, about Q2Qs once. He said he always takes a silent vow beforehand to not say a single word during this time unless spoken to. He said he just turns his mind off and allows himself to be a puppet for about two or three days. He told me the Q2Q for 'Guys and Dolls,' which he did on tour and on Broadway in the early nineties was a particularly long Q2Q for him and it was then that he realized how important it was for the actors to stay placid and let the designers do their thing. Tension was running high in that one, he said.
I hate it when tension is running high. I hate the feeling it creates. Understandably, everyone is jostling for his or her own specific piece of the puzzle. The poor director is in the middle trying to stay true to a vision and yet at the same time manipulating the staging like a crazed traffic cop. Tried and true business is sometimes casually tossed aside in favor of necessity. It's simply the nature of the beast.
Having said all that, however, ours is going quite smoothly, albeit somewhat slowly. Again, just the nature of the beast.
This play opens with a long 'interior monologue' featuring myself and the wonderful Christine Horn, playing the role of my long-suffering, never-fully-realized mistress. The lines are written in such a way that often they make no sense in a linear way of thinking. Those are the lines that trip me up the most often. And it's absolutely crucial that they are all said. They kept me up last night. I finally just got out of bed in the middle of the night and opened the script again and started working. Oy.
The rest of today is set aside for more repitition. The nature of the beast. Can't be helped. Must be done.
There are some stunning moments in this play, simply stunning. Musically and otherwise. At the risk of cliche' I really do simply buckle up at the first chord of music and simply hold on. Do the next action in front of me. Don't think ahead. Stay in the moment. Serve the text. Yada yada yada. It's the best I can do.
See you tomorrow.
This is shaping up to be a huge production. The sets are massive, the lighting impossibly complicated, the costumes detailed and slyly period, the orchestration (although still not in the mix yet) unbelievably powerful. It's turning into quite a to-do.
I slept very little last night after stuffing the lines into my head ad nauseum all day. Just couldn't turn it all off. That's par for the course, too. The most dreaded time of rehearsal for me, the time when the book is not within reach and the lines are in my head, but self-doubt is constantly rearing its ugly head. It's a time for performance modulation. After 100 plays, give or take, on the professional stage, I've long learned to trust my instincts at this juncture.
As is often the case when one is doing a 'big' one, the focus now is centered primarily on 'transitions.' That is to say, getting from one scene to the next with as much fluidity as is possible. The book doesn't make this terribly easy: it goes from a bedroom to an office to a prison to heaven itself in a matter of minutes. The design team is pulling twenty four hour shifts in an effort to make it all work.
As is the recurring theme in the film 'Shakespeare in Love' somehow it all works. Usually. There was one time it didn't work in time. Some years back I played Horace in a very large production of 'Hello, Dolly!' and the opening night actually was delayed an hour to put the finishing touches on the tech aspect of the show. Only time that's ever happened to me, in fact. Oddly, the audience is usually very appreciative and forgiving in moments like that. They certainly were that night.
Now, I don't foresee that happening with this show, but nonetheless, it is painfully apparent that the focus is now very much on the transitions. I was talking to a buddy of mine, an actor that's been in many, many musicals, in fact carrying some of them on Broadway, and he said, oddly, that he LIKED Q2Qs. Said he found them calming. I asked why. He said, 'Because for just a few hours, the pressure is off me.' Hm.
I remember talking to Nathan Lane, an actor who's done a few musicals in his time, about Q2Qs once. He said he always takes a silent vow beforehand to not say a single word during this time unless spoken to. He said he just turns his mind off and allows himself to be a puppet for about two or three days. He told me the Q2Q for 'Guys and Dolls,' which he did on tour and on Broadway in the early nineties was a particularly long Q2Q for him and it was then that he realized how important it was for the actors to stay placid and let the designers do their thing. Tension was running high in that one, he said.
I hate it when tension is running high. I hate the feeling it creates. Understandably, everyone is jostling for his or her own specific piece of the puzzle. The poor director is in the middle trying to stay true to a vision and yet at the same time manipulating the staging like a crazed traffic cop. Tried and true business is sometimes casually tossed aside in favor of necessity. It's simply the nature of the beast.
Having said all that, however, ours is going quite smoothly, albeit somewhat slowly. Again, just the nature of the beast.
This play opens with a long 'interior monologue' featuring myself and the wonderful Christine Horn, playing the role of my long-suffering, never-fully-realized mistress. The lines are written in such a way that often they make no sense in a linear way of thinking. Those are the lines that trip me up the most often. And it's absolutely crucial that they are all said. They kept me up last night. I finally just got out of bed in the middle of the night and opened the script again and started working. Oy.
The rest of today is set aside for more repitition. The nature of the beast. Can't be helped. Must be done.
There are some stunning moments in this play, simply stunning. Musically and otherwise. At the risk of cliche' I really do simply buckle up at the first chord of music and simply hold on. Do the next action in front of me. Don't think ahead. Stay in the moment. Serve the text. Yada yada yada. It's the best I can do.
See you tomorrow.
Friday, January 7, 2011
The Big Picture.
You know, if I were to be entirely honest with myself, I'm not exactly sure what this play I'm doing, Adding Machine, is about. I mean, I know what it's 'about' but I'm not really, really sure what it's 'ABOUT.' I was thinking about it last night and I finally came to the conclusion that it's really not my business, in the capacity of an actor, to know what it's about.
'Well,' one might say, 'It's about reincarnation. It's about the Hindu philosophy of returning to the physical plane of earth over and over until one gets it right. It's also about the inherent greed in big business - capitalism trampling the little guy.' Okay. How do I play that? Because that's really all that matters. How do I play it?
You see my point? Actors can't play 'ideas.' Actors can't play 'philosophies.' But what actors CAN play is moving across the stage to pick up a fork. Or crossing down center to make the bed. Or covering one's face to avoid a punch. That's what actors can play.
I've been asked to do a radio interview in a few hours to talk about the play. It's somewhere over in Hollywood. The director, the venerable Ron Sossi, and myself.
I suspect this is why some of out better film actors don't do interviews. Angie has been in the business, the film business that is, for a long time and she tells me that sometimes major film stars don't have a choice. It's in their contract to promote the film. Of course, I knew this. But some actors, the DeNiros, the Streeps, the Pacinos, the Hackmans, the DiCaprios, the Malkoviches...these guys only do it if a gun, figuratively speaking, is at their heads. And I really think it's because they understand that it's not their business to know what a film or a play is about. They may know what it's about, but it's not their job to comment on the big picture. I don't know. That's just a thought. For all I know, Robert DiNiro may not do interviews often because he just hates talking about his work. I suspect that's partly true. But I also suspect it's because he doesn't feel comfortable talking about the whole house when he's only been in the bathroom.
So, as I said, I'm not entirely sure exactly what the play's about. Naturally, I won't say that in the radio interview. I'll pretend to know what the play is about. I'll offer my own high-falutin' ideas about what it's about. I may even yammer on a bit about these ideas. But ultimately, Gentle Reader, it's really just whistling past the graveyard.
Early in the rehearsal one of my co-stars, I think it was Kelly Lester (the brilliant actress playing my wife in the show) but I don't really remember, began talking about the original play by Elmer Rice that the musical is based upon. The source material, as it were. She said something like, "Oh, wait, I'm confusing what happens in this script with what happens in the play." She then asked me what I thought. I said something akin to, "I haven't read the play. At least not for about twenty years." She was a little confused. "Why not?" I said, "Because it has nothing to do with what we're doing here."
And I meant it.
I am reminded of a wonderful quote from Stephen King in an interview I once read. The interview took place in the study of his home, apparently. He was asked if he was angry or resentful about what Hollywood has done to his books over the years. He said, "Hollywood hasn't done anything to my books. See? There they all are." He pointed to the bookshelf. "They're fine."
I liked that very much.
My job in this play is to make the next moment in front of me come alive. To play it as honestly as I can. To execute the next action in order to move things along. To speak clearly and with enough volume so that everyone can hear and understand me. And therein lies the mystery to acting in this play or any other play.
Adding Machine - The Musical paints on a very, very large canvas. A massive canvas. I'm only in charge of, say, the blue shades. That's all. The canvas itself, the whole painting, the big picture, the 'meaning' of the play, well, that's somebody else's job.
Understanding this, I'm always a little amused when I hear an actor waxing poetically about the awe-inspiring ideas in a play or television show or film. Now, don't get me wrong, the actor has every right to have an opinion about all of that. But is it relevant?
Brando was on record as saying he had no idea what 'Last Tango in Paris' was about. He said he enjoyed the movie very much and thought it was probably important, but in the end, he really didn't know what it was about.
Olivier once wrote he was 'not an actor but rather a purveyor of plays.' I think he meant that he was not there to BE the story, but rather to TELL the story. An astute remark, that was.
So, off to do the radio thing. Should be fun. I'll write about it tomorrow.
See you then.
'Well,' one might say, 'It's about reincarnation. It's about the Hindu philosophy of returning to the physical plane of earth over and over until one gets it right. It's also about the inherent greed in big business - capitalism trampling the little guy.' Okay. How do I play that? Because that's really all that matters. How do I play it?
You see my point? Actors can't play 'ideas.' Actors can't play 'philosophies.' But what actors CAN play is moving across the stage to pick up a fork. Or crossing down center to make the bed. Or covering one's face to avoid a punch. That's what actors can play.
I've been asked to do a radio interview in a few hours to talk about the play. It's somewhere over in Hollywood. The director, the venerable Ron Sossi, and myself.
I suspect this is why some of out better film actors don't do interviews. Angie has been in the business, the film business that is, for a long time and she tells me that sometimes major film stars don't have a choice. It's in their contract to promote the film. Of course, I knew this. But some actors, the DeNiros, the Streeps, the Pacinos, the Hackmans, the DiCaprios, the Malkoviches...these guys only do it if a gun, figuratively speaking, is at their heads. And I really think it's because they understand that it's not their business to know what a film or a play is about. They may know what it's about, but it's not their job to comment on the big picture. I don't know. That's just a thought. For all I know, Robert DiNiro may not do interviews often because he just hates talking about his work. I suspect that's partly true. But I also suspect it's because he doesn't feel comfortable talking about the whole house when he's only been in the bathroom.
So, as I said, I'm not entirely sure exactly what the play's about. Naturally, I won't say that in the radio interview. I'll pretend to know what the play is about. I'll offer my own high-falutin' ideas about what it's about. I may even yammer on a bit about these ideas. But ultimately, Gentle Reader, it's really just whistling past the graveyard.
Early in the rehearsal one of my co-stars, I think it was Kelly Lester (the brilliant actress playing my wife in the show) but I don't really remember, began talking about the original play by Elmer Rice that the musical is based upon. The source material, as it were. She said something like, "Oh, wait, I'm confusing what happens in this script with what happens in the play." She then asked me what I thought. I said something akin to, "I haven't read the play. At least not for about twenty years." She was a little confused. "Why not?" I said, "Because it has nothing to do with what we're doing here."
And I meant it.
I am reminded of a wonderful quote from Stephen King in an interview I once read. The interview took place in the study of his home, apparently. He was asked if he was angry or resentful about what Hollywood has done to his books over the years. He said, "Hollywood hasn't done anything to my books. See? There they all are." He pointed to the bookshelf. "They're fine."
I liked that very much.
My job in this play is to make the next moment in front of me come alive. To play it as honestly as I can. To execute the next action in order to move things along. To speak clearly and with enough volume so that everyone can hear and understand me. And therein lies the mystery to acting in this play or any other play.
Adding Machine - The Musical paints on a very, very large canvas. A massive canvas. I'm only in charge of, say, the blue shades. That's all. The canvas itself, the whole painting, the big picture, the 'meaning' of the play, well, that's somebody else's job.
Understanding this, I'm always a little amused when I hear an actor waxing poetically about the awe-inspiring ideas in a play or television show or film. Now, don't get me wrong, the actor has every right to have an opinion about all of that. But is it relevant?
Brando was on record as saying he had no idea what 'Last Tango in Paris' was about. He said he enjoyed the movie very much and thought it was probably important, but in the end, he really didn't know what it was about.
Olivier once wrote he was 'not an actor but rather a purveyor of plays.' I think he meant that he was not there to BE the story, but rather to TELL the story. An astute remark, that was.
So, off to do the radio thing. Should be fun. I'll write about it tomorrow.
See you then.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Getting close. Getting ever so close.
We trudged through the first third of the play last night without stopping. Well, sort of without stopping. Actually, we stopped a lot. But the point is, theoretically, we could have done the first third of the play without stopping.
I came home utterly exhausted, constantly re-doing certain moments in my head that could have been better, clearer, more interesting. I've reached the point now where I'm always applying my own personal litmus test to each moment I'm onstage, which is, if I were in the audience, would I find this moment fascinating? If this were a TV show, would I find the clicker and move on to something else? Or would I stay on this channel and see what happens next?
There is a song, of sorts, early in the show that's more like precise, timed, perfectly counted dialogue. It's enormously difficult, thank you Mr. Schmidt. Actually, my part in the song/exercise is relatively simple compared to the others, but I'm still screwing it up. What's more, I don't know how to fix it. This is the thing that drives me batshit: I don't know how to do it better.
Stuff like this keeps me up at nights. Almost every conceivable obstacle I encounter onstage while I'm doing a role is usually not something I concern myself with too much. That is to say, if the director puts me behind a pole to say my lines, I'll find a way to make the pole work for me. I'll find a way to make the pole interesting. But if it's just me, standing naked onstage, figuratively speaking, without the slightest idea when to say my line, well, that's an altogether different scenario.
Stuff that doesn't bother me is interpretive stuff. Even if I'm given a direct order, as it were, to say a line or shade a thought differently from what I envisioned, well, that's just the way the game's played. Doesn't bother me. And I'm certainly not one of those actors that simply waits until an audience is present to do it another way. That's just being unprofessional. Not to say any of that is happening in this play. It's not. The two problems that stretch out before me are 1) memorization (which will happen, so there's nothing I can do about it) and 2) counting. Yes, counting. Getting to the point that I can sing this stuff at the drop of a hat without thinking about it. Making it second nature. Making it so much a part of me that I don't have to waste time and energy on the execution part of it.
Frankly, it's been a long while since I encountered problem number 2.
On the other hand, after so many years of doing this, I can sense when something is going to work. And there are dozens of moments, maybe more, in the first twenty minutes alone that are breathtaking.
One is the opening number. At some point in every piece we, the actors and creative team, find ourselves through sheer repetition, unable to remember how shockingly good something is. I've seen this happen before. And then opening night rolls around and we're all somewhat dismayed at the reaction to something. Well, in this piece, my co-star, Kelly Lester, has to sing an impossible solo number right out of the gate. It really is sort of stunning. She soars to improbable heights vocally and then a measure later grunts and growls and screams like a keening peasant. A few seconds later, once again, she's singing up and down the scale like Beverly Sills. It's a funny, gruff, moving, empathy-filled number and Kelly attacks it like a pro. The thing is, we've seen her do it so much. We're no longer awed by the work. But it will be dazzling. It's astonishingly good stuff. And months ago, the first time she did it for us all in the confines of our little, cramped, claustrophobic rehearsal space, we ourselves were dazzled and awed. It's important we remember this.
There are lots of segments in the play like this. Rob Herring and Christine Horn both have the same sort of jaw-dropping moments. I don't really hand out compliments too often, but the truth is these guys are as good as it gets. I simply can't imagine two actors more suited to these roles.
It would be easy to start negatively reinforcing the execution of this piece at this point. This is the time when tempers become frayed, expectations heightened, demands become critical. Of course, our director, Ron Sossi, has been in this business a long, long time. He's been here many times before. He's learned, I'm sure, over the years that the whip never works with creative actor types. This is the precise moment in a play that one must fight one's initial instinct. That is to say, rather than despair over near-perfection, one must delight in how close we are to the goal, the finished process, the mountain top within view. In short, more than any other time in the rehearsal process, now is the time for nurturing. For unsolicited pats on the back.
I once had a long talk with one of the finest stage directors in the universe in my opinion, Mike Nichols, about this very thing. His entire directing approach is based on positive reinforcement. And he says it's something he learned from Elia Kazan, also not a bad director to say the least.
Personally, I saw this particularly gentle approach while working with the brilliant actor and acting teacher Michael Moriarty. Michael's way to get more from an actor in class was very surpentine. Following a piece of work he would start with a long explanation of what he found wonderful. And then, almost as an afterthought, he would steer the actor toward the areas that weren't so wonderful and offer intensely specific ways to improve. One always walked away from one of Michael's classes thinking he or she was just a hair away from brilliance and that it was most definitely within reach.
It's a tricky thing, this working with actors business. Fortunately for those of us involved with this particular piece, Adding Machine, the creative team is tremendously positive. Our music director and our director all but leap with joy when a specific piece of work is nailed. I love that about them. As odd as it may sound, it's not terribly common in professional theatre.
Off to an audition today for a video game. Yes, a video game. Something about two planets fighting each other. Or two planets quibbling over the sun. Or maybe it's two planets trying to lose weight. I don't know. All I know is I have the lines in front of me and for a few minutes this afternoon I'll take the idea of playing a talking planet very seriously.
As an old buddy of mine used to say, "So...you wanna be an actor, huh?"
See you tomorrow.
I came home utterly exhausted, constantly re-doing certain moments in my head that could have been better, clearer, more interesting. I've reached the point now where I'm always applying my own personal litmus test to each moment I'm onstage, which is, if I were in the audience, would I find this moment fascinating? If this were a TV show, would I find the clicker and move on to something else? Or would I stay on this channel and see what happens next?
There is a song, of sorts, early in the show that's more like precise, timed, perfectly counted dialogue. It's enormously difficult, thank you Mr. Schmidt. Actually, my part in the song/exercise is relatively simple compared to the others, but I'm still screwing it up. What's more, I don't know how to fix it. This is the thing that drives me batshit: I don't know how to do it better.
Stuff like this keeps me up at nights. Almost every conceivable obstacle I encounter onstage while I'm doing a role is usually not something I concern myself with too much. That is to say, if the director puts me behind a pole to say my lines, I'll find a way to make the pole work for me. I'll find a way to make the pole interesting. But if it's just me, standing naked onstage, figuratively speaking, without the slightest idea when to say my line, well, that's an altogether different scenario.
Stuff that doesn't bother me is interpretive stuff. Even if I'm given a direct order, as it were, to say a line or shade a thought differently from what I envisioned, well, that's just the way the game's played. Doesn't bother me. And I'm certainly not one of those actors that simply waits until an audience is present to do it another way. That's just being unprofessional. Not to say any of that is happening in this play. It's not. The two problems that stretch out before me are 1) memorization (which will happen, so there's nothing I can do about it) and 2) counting. Yes, counting. Getting to the point that I can sing this stuff at the drop of a hat without thinking about it. Making it second nature. Making it so much a part of me that I don't have to waste time and energy on the execution part of it.
Frankly, it's been a long while since I encountered problem number 2.
On the other hand, after so many years of doing this, I can sense when something is going to work. And there are dozens of moments, maybe more, in the first twenty minutes alone that are breathtaking.
One is the opening number. At some point in every piece we, the actors and creative team, find ourselves through sheer repetition, unable to remember how shockingly good something is. I've seen this happen before. And then opening night rolls around and we're all somewhat dismayed at the reaction to something. Well, in this piece, my co-star, Kelly Lester, has to sing an impossible solo number right out of the gate. It really is sort of stunning. She soars to improbable heights vocally and then a measure later grunts and growls and screams like a keening peasant. A few seconds later, once again, she's singing up and down the scale like Beverly Sills. It's a funny, gruff, moving, empathy-filled number and Kelly attacks it like a pro. The thing is, we've seen her do it so much. We're no longer awed by the work. But it will be dazzling. It's astonishingly good stuff. And months ago, the first time she did it for us all in the confines of our little, cramped, claustrophobic rehearsal space, we ourselves were dazzled and awed. It's important we remember this.
There are lots of segments in the play like this. Rob Herring and Christine Horn both have the same sort of jaw-dropping moments. I don't really hand out compliments too often, but the truth is these guys are as good as it gets. I simply can't imagine two actors more suited to these roles.
It would be easy to start negatively reinforcing the execution of this piece at this point. This is the time when tempers become frayed, expectations heightened, demands become critical. Of course, our director, Ron Sossi, has been in this business a long, long time. He's been here many times before. He's learned, I'm sure, over the years that the whip never works with creative actor types. This is the precise moment in a play that one must fight one's initial instinct. That is to say, rather than despair over near-perfection, one must delight in how close we are to the goal, the finished process, the mountain top within view. In short, more than any other time in the rehearsal process, now is the time for nurturing. For unsolicited pats on the back.
I once had a long talk with one of the finest stage directors in the universe in my opinion, Mike Nichols, about this very thing. His entire directing approach is based on positive reinforcement. And he says it's something he learned from Elia Kazan, also not a bad director to say the least.
Personally, I saw this particularly gentle approach while working with the brilliant actor and acting teacher Michael Moriarty. Michael's way to get more from an actor in class was very surpentine. Following a piece of work he would start with a long explanation of what he found wonderful. And then, almost as an afterthought, he would steer the actor toward the areas that weren't so wonderful and offer intensely specific ways to improve. One always walked away from one of Michael's classes thinking he or she was just a hair away from brilliance and that it was most definitely within reach.
It's a tricky thing, this working with actors business. Fortunately for those of us involved with this particular piece, Adding Machine, the creative team is tremendously positive. Our music director and our director all but leap with joy when a specific piece of work is nailed. I love that about them. As odd as it may sound, it's not terribly common in professional theatre.
Off to an audition today for a video game. Yes, a video game. Something about two planets fighting each other. Or two planets quibbling over the sun. Or maybe it's two planets trying to lose weight. I don't know. All I know is I have the lines in front of me and for a few minutes this afternoon I'll take the idea of playing a talking planet very seriously.
As an old buddy of mine used to say, "So...you wanna be an actor, huh?"
See you tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Lines
I despise memorizing lines. If one did not have to memorize lines, being a professional actor would be the best job in the world (with the possible exception of Postmaster General).
I've tried everything to cut corners, to find a softer, easier way to do it. I've tried writing them. I've tried taping them and listening to them while I sleep. I've even tried sleeping with the script under my pillow (osmosis, you know). None of that works for me. The only thing that works, after years of experimenting with daring new approaches, is pacing and saying them over and over and over and over until I hate them.
I'm at the point now that I hate them.
At the risk of cliche, it's getting harder as I get older. Some years back I did a national tour of a play called 'Give 'em Hell Harry.' It's a one-person show about Harry Truman. I traveled with a make-up guru, a stage manager, a lighting guy and a tour manager. Like all national tours, after the first month or so, I usually had no idea where I was half the time.
The play was two and half hours of me as Harry Truman. Fortunately, I had about six months to learn that one. And I learned something about myself, too. I learned that I have exactly five hours of memorization in me. After that, say, at five hours and one minute, my mind shuts down. I can't stuff, push or squeeze one more sentence into my brain. These days it's probably more like three hours.
Olivier was legendary for coming into rehearsals with the script memorized. Geoffrey Marshall, a fine British stage actor who worked with Olivier on his famous Othello at The National in the mid-sixties, recalls Sir Larry acting the role full-out without opening the book at the first read-thru of that play in London. Admirable. Especially considering Olivier at never assayed this particular role before.
On the other had, Brando probably stopped memorizing lines around 1970. Of course that's film, a different animal altogether, but Brando claimed knowing the line beforehand destroyed the actor's 'spontaneous instinct.' So Brando would write his lines all over the set, sometimes even on the actor he was playing opposite. Probably best not discount the possibility that Brando was just lazy, too.
In his book, 'Songs My Mother Taught Me,' he writes about the thousands of actors that have lamented his not going back to the stage and doing 'the classics,' the Brandophiles that claim he was the best actor of the century and he sold out by not fulfilling his destiny on the stage. He says he knew his limitions as an actor even though others did not. He says, "I did not have the vocal equipment or the mental discipline to become a great stage actor." He may have been right. He is our great American film actor of the twentieth century. I think he knew that film was his medium. Frankly, I don't blame him for not going back to the stage.
But back to this memorizing lines business.
Whenever I've done the 'big' roles, the ones that require heavy and substantial memorization, I always have a moment of panic the instant before I step onstage. "You don't know the whole play," my brain tells me. Of course, I do, but I don't have it on a computer screen right in front of me. One says the first line, stays in the moment, and before one knows it, one is saying the last line. That's the long and short of it. Now, of course, it's an enormously complicated thing to describe to non-actors, but actors understand exactly what I mean. The trick is to not allow yourself to get one second behind or one second ahead. This is what the often misunderstood Uta Hagen always wrote about. 'Staying in the moment.'
In one of those 'Actors on Acting' books out there Kevin Kline is the focus of one of the segments. He recalls working on his first film, 'Sophie's Choice,' and Meryl Streep asking him privately if he'd memorized the entire script. Kline said, somewhat surprised, "of course." She said, and I'm quoting from the book, "Kevin, you don't have to do that in film. Just get the 'idea' of what the script says." Hm. That's from Meryl Streep, one of the finest actors alive today. But, as I said, film is the apple to the stage's orange.
So today it's back to the drawing board, memorizing lines. Angie helps me as much as possible, but it's such a mind-numbing experience I hesitate to ask her to help too much although she doesn't seem to mind.
Last night's rehearsal held some pleasant surprises. I was very encouraged. Although at one point I had some serious music issues (my own), the early part of the rehearsal went a long ways to set my mind at ease.
It's going to get tricky from here on out because it's soon going to be all about the tech. The actors are going to be let loose to fly on their own. The 10 out of 12s are soon to start, the lighting and sound and design people are about to take over. For better or worse, the inmates have now been given the keys.
See you tomorrow.
I've tried everything to cut corners, to find a softer, easier way to do it. I've tried writing them. I've tried taping them and listening to them while I sleep. I've even tried sleeping with the script under my pillow (osmosis, you know). None of that works for me. The only thing that works, after years of experimenting with daring new approaches, is pacing and saying them over and over and over and over until I hate them.
I'm at the point now that I hate them.
At the risk of cliche, it's getting harder as I get older. Some years back I did a national tour of a play called 'Give 'em Hell Harry.' It's a one-person show about Harry Truman. I traveled with a make-up guru, a stage manager, a lighting guy and a tour manager. Like all national tours, after the first month or so, I usually had no idea where I was half the time.
The play was two and half hours of me as Harry Truman. Fortunately, I had about six months to learn that one. And I learned something about myself, too. I learned that I have exactly five hours of memorization in me. After that, say, at five hours and one minute, my mind shuts down. I can't stuff, push or squeeze one more sentence into my brain. These days it's probably more like three hours.
Olivier was legendary for coming into rehearsals with the script memorized. Geoffrey Marshall, a fine British stage actor who worked with Olivier on his famous Othello at The National in the mid-sixties, recalls Sir Larry acting the role full-out without opening the book at the first read-thru of that play in London. Admirable. Especially considering Olivier at never assayed this particular role before.
On the other had, Brando probably stopped memorizing lines around 1970. Of course that's film, a different animal altogether, but Brando claimed knowing the line beforehand destroyed the actor's 'spontaneous instinct.' So Brando would write his lines all over the set, sometimes even on the actor he was playing opposite. Probably best not discount the possibility that Brando was just lazy, too.
In his book, 'Songs My Mother Taught Me,' he writes about the thousands of actors that have lamented his not going back to the stage and doing 'the classics,' the Brandophiles that claim he was the best actor of the century and he sold out by not fulfilling his destiny on the stage. He says he knew his limitions as an actor even though others did not. He says, "I did not have the vocal equipment or the mental discipline to become a great stage actor." He may have been right. He is our great American film actor of the twentieth century. I think he knew that film was his medium. Frankly, I don't blame him for not going back to the stage.
But back to this memorizing lines business.
Whenever I've done the 'big' roles, the ones that require heavy and substantial memorization, I always have a moment of panic the instant before I step onstage. "You don't know the whole play," my brain tells me. Of course, I do, but I don't have it on a computer screen right in front of me. One says the first line, stays in the moment, and before one knows it, one is saying the last line. That's the long and short of it. Now, of course, it's an enormously complicated thing to describe to non-actors, but actors understand exactly what I mean. The trick is to not allow yourself to get one second behind or one second ahead. This is what the often misunderstood Uta Hagen always wrote about. 'Staying in the moment.'
In one of those 'Actors on Acting' books out there Kevin Kline is the focus of one of the segments. He recalls working on his first film, 'Sophie's Choice,' and Meryl Streep asking him privately if he'd memorized the entire script. Kline said, somewhat surprised, "of course." She said, and I'm quoting from the book, "Kevin, you don't have to do that in film. Just get the 'idea' of what the script says." Hm. That's from Meryl Streep, one of the finest actors alive today. But, as I said, film is the apple to the stage's orange.
So today it's back to the drawing board, memorizing lines. Angie helps me as much as possible, but it's such a mind-numbing experience I hesitate to ask her to help too much although she doesn't seem to mind.
Last night's rehearsal held some pleasant surprises. I was very encouraged. Although at one point I had some serious music issues (my own), the early part of the rehearsal went a long ways to set my mind at ease.
It's going to get tricky from here on out because it's soon going to be all about the tech. The actors are going to be let loose to fly on their own. The 10 out of 12s are soon to start, the lighting and sound and design people are about to take over. For better or worse, the inmates have now been given the keys.
See you tomorrow.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Grocery Shopping in the Fernando Valley.
Good rehearsal last night...particularly the music portion of the evening. I worked very hard on the music over our break. Even though I kept the score in front of me last night, I rarely looked at it. To non-performers this may not seem like such a big thing, but to performers it is a massive thing...the day you don't need the script. An auspicious day, indeed.
We did a bit of the non-musical stuff last night, too. Suffice to say I'm not nearly as optimistic about those. But I'll leave that alone for a few days. It might fix itself.
Angie and I are off to do our grocery shopping. Grocery shopping is a battle royal in this house. A day of high duress. The Waterloo of our marriage. The moment I enter a grocery store I instantly become eight years old. I want Twinkies, pie, eclairs and candy. I also argue vigorously for chips and dip. Angie, much to her chagrin, must don her drill instructor persona and deny me everything. I can't help myself. I try and be an adult about food purchases but I don't have it in me. Grocery stores bring out my inner nihilist.
There's a place up the street from us that we call 'The Armenian Market.' That's not really the name of the place, in fact I don't know the actual name of the place, but that's where we go to get meat and fresh produce. It's much less expensive than, say, Von's or Ralph's, and they have really good stuff. That's the upside. The downside is it's like entering the DMZ everytime we go there. It seems to me the Armenians, an otherwise proud and noble people, I'm sure, become domestic terrorists in a shopping environment. The last time we were there a near fist-fight had errupted in the coffee section of the store. Medium dark roast was on sale and the Armenian women were pushing, shoving, sassing and threatening each other at frightening volume. Security had been called. Women were being held apart. The coffee guy behind the counter had a look of terror and fear on his face. At first I thought perhaps a gun-waving lunatic was lurking somewhere (everyone was yelling in the 'mother tongue, so I couldn't understand all the brew-ha-ha). But no, it was simply a typical 'sale day' at the Armenian Market. This also happens when chicken is on sale. The dogs of war are let loose. I can't help thinking if they'd shown this level of ferocity in WWI, the Ottoman Empire would have taken Europe.
So it's our usual shopping trek. After the horrors of the Armenian Market, our nerves shot, our faces twisted in shock and awe, trembling uncontrollably, we head over to Pavillions. It's a bit of an upscale grocery place and it is here that my real psychological troubles begin. I immediately break ranks and do a quick-step to the frozen pizza aisle. Angie goes about getting healthy products. She catches up to me in the frozen pizza aisle where I'm standing stock-still and gazing worshipfully at the mind-boggling selection of pizzas: Hawaiin pizzas, spinach and goat cheese pizzas, barbeque pizzas, Mexican pizzas, Supreme pizzas, five-cheese pizzas, Tombstone, Tony's, Red Baron, California Kitchen...it's simply overwhelming. By the time she catches up to me in that aisle I can't speak. I've gone into a sort of halcyon overload. The most I can do is point and salivate. I grunt prehistorically. Angie ignores me. She pretends not to know me. She carries a Canadian Mounted Police baton and pokes me hard in the ribs. This is usually all that pulls me out of it. Sometimes this goes on for up to an hour. When I finally snap out of my fugue state I quickly jog to the chips aisle. The chips aisle in Pavallions is long. About a half mile, I'd say. I stare at the chips for awhile, bouncing from one leg to another. I quietly beg innocent passersby to purchase a bag for me. Any bag. Doesn't matter. They run from me. I don't care. I descend on the next one. My pride and self-respect evaporate. Sometimes I take a hand-written sign. "Will work for chips." I just want chips. My mind won't focus on anything else.
Eventually Angie catches me in this aisle. We repeat the baton routine. My ribs are sore and bruised but I don't care. Out of respect for the play I'm doing, she doesn't strike me in the face. After a bit, I'm beaten back to normalcy.
Once we leave Pavillions sometimes, very rarely, we head over to Trader Joe's.
'Trader Joe's' has become Angie's code word for 'No.' I'll say, "Let's get those frozen burritos." She'll say, "We'll get those at Trader Joe's." This way she avoids a scene in the grocery store. She used to just say, "No." But she discovered that simply makes me fall to the floor and throw a fit. I kick and cry for about an hour. I sometimes do coffee grinders. She's wily, Angie is, so she finally started saying, "Let's get those at Trader Joe's." I fell for that line about 173 times before I realized that we never go to Trader Joe's.
So we head out soon for the grocery shopping. It's an ordeal but necessary. Angie has tried leaving me behind for these trips but I only run after the car until she stops and lets me in.
It's hope that keeps me going. The hope of the damned. The slim, almost impossible chance that one day she'll give up. I'll exhaust her into saying, "Oh, for God's sakes, just get the damned frozen pizza." It's never happened. But I hold out hope that it might one day.
I don't sleep much on the nights before we go. I discard my agnostic beliefs and pray to a kind and benevolent Christian god. One day a month I become Oral Roberts. It hasn't helped.
See you tomorrow.
We did a bit of the non-musical stuff last night, too. Suffice to say I'm not nearly as optimistic about those. But I'll leave that alone for a few days. It might fix itself.
Angie and I are off to do our grocery shopping. Grocery shopping is a battle royal in this house. A day of high duress. The Waterloo of our marriage. The moment I enter a grocery store I instantly become eight years old. I want Twinkies, pie, eclairs and candy. I also argue vigorously for chips and dip. Angie, much to her chagrin, must don her drill instructor persona and deny me everything. I can't help myself. I try and be an adult about food purchases but I don't have it in me. Grocery stores bring out my inner nihilist.
There's a place up the street from us that we call 'The Armenian Market.' That's not really the name of the place, in fact I don't know the actual name of the place, but that's where we go to get meat and fresh produce. It's much less expensive than, say, Von's or Ralph's, and they have really good stuff. That's the upside. The downside is it's like entering the DMZ everytime we go there. It seems to me the Armenians, an otherwise proud and noble people, I'm sure, become domestic terrorists in a shopping environment. The last time we were there a near fist-fight had errupted in the coffee section of the store. Medium dark roast was on sale and the Armenian women were pushing, shoving, sassing and threatening each other at frightening volume. Security had been called. Women were being held apart. The coffee guy behind the counter had a look of terror and fear on his face. At first I thought perhaps a gun-waving lunatic was lurking somewhere (everyone was yelling in the 'mother tongue, so I couldn't understand all the brew-ha-ha). But no, it was simply a typical 'sale day' at the Armenian Market. This also happens when chicken is on sale. The dogs of war are let loose. I can't help thinking if they'd shown this level of ferocity in WWI, the Ottoman Empire would have taken Europe.
So it's our usual shopping trek. After the horrors of the Armenian Market, our nerves shot, our faces twisted in shock and awe, trembling uncontrollably, we head over to Pavillions. It's a bit of an upscale grocery place and it is here that my real psychological troubles begin. I immediately break ranks and do a quick-step to the frozen pizza aisle. Angie goes about getting healthy products. She catches up to me in the frozen pizza aisle where I'm standing stock-still and gazing worshipfully at the mind-boggling selection of pizzas: Hawaiin pizzas, spinach and goat cheese pizzas, barbeque pizzas, Mexican pizzas, Supreme pizzas, five-cheese pizzas, Tombstone, Tony's, Red Baron, California Kitchen...it's simply overwhelming. By the time she catches up to me in that aisle I can't speak. I've gone into a sort of halcyon overload. The most I can do is point and salivate. I grunt prehistorically. Angie ignores me. She pretends not to know me. She carries a Canadian Mounted Police baton and pokes me hard in the ribs. This is usually all that pulls me out of it. Sometimes this goes on for up to an hour. When I finally snap out of my fugue state I quickly jog to the chips aisle. The chips aisle in Pavallions is long. About a half mile, I'd say. I stare at the chips for awhile, bouncing from one leg to another. I quietly beg innocent passersby to purchase a bag for me. Any bag. Doesn't matter. They run from me. I don't care. I descend on the next one. My pride and self-respect evaporate. Sometimes I take a hand-written sign. "Will work for chips." I just want chips. My mind won't focus on anything else.
Eventually Angie catches me in this aisle. We repeat the baton routine. My ribs are sore and bruised but I don't care. Out of respect for the play I'm doing, she doesn't strike me in the face. After a bit, I'm beaten back to normalcy.
Once we leave Pavillions sometimes, very rarely, we head over to Trader Joe's.
'Trader Joe's' has become Angie's code word for 'No.' I'll say, "Let's get those frozen burritos." She'll say, "We'll get those at Trader Joe's." This way she avoids a scene in the grocery store. She used to just say, "No." But she discovered that simply makes me fall to the floor and throw a fit. I kick and cry for about an hour. I sometimes do coffee grinders. She's wily, Angie is, so she finally started saying, "Let's get those at Trader Joe's." I fell for that line about 173 times before I realized that we never go to Trader Joe's.
So we head out soon for the grocery shopping. It's an ordeal but necessary. Angie has tried leaving me behind for these trips but I only run after the car until she stops and lets me in.
It's hope that keeps me going. The hope of the damned. The slim, almost impossible chance that one day she'll give up. I'll exhaust her into saying, "Oh, for God's sakes, just get the damned frozen pizza." It's never happened. But I hold out hope that it might one day.
I don't sleep much on the nights before we go. I discard my agnostic beliefs and pray to a kind and benevolent Christian god. One day a month I become Oral Roberts. It hasn't helped.
See you tomorrow.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
"It's time to stop being afraid..."
I was talking to a close friend yesterday about Adding Machine (we go back into rehearsals today). I was yammering on about the songs, the memorization process, the transitions, a couple of my frustrations, etc. And he said something quite perceptive. He said, "Yeah, well, all of that is fine and good, but it's time to make it your own now." I thought for a moment I'd misheard him. "What?" I asked. He said, "Any good actor can memorize this stuff, although it's clearly very complicated. But the reason I go to see you perform is to see what you do with it. It sounds to me like you're being really polite and trying to give the directors what they want to see and hear."
It gave me huge pause.
He's right, of course. It's really the reason I act. I remember a while back when I was living in New York going to see Ian McKellen do Richard III. I have seen a lot of Dicky 3s in my life. A lot. It's such an enormously complicated play on a political level...all those references to family ties, former royalty, warring factions, Yorkists and Lancastrians. Most remember it solely for the central character, the humpback king, and not all of that other falderal. It is tantamount to doing a play about Nixon and Watergate about four hundred years from now...it gets very detailed about who is who and I'm sure it would be terribly difficult to follow.
So I go to see Sir Ian do it at BAM. The whole thing is done in NAZI garb, not terribly origninal but quite fitting. Apparently someone had taken the time to tell McKellen the same thing. His Richard was far different and far superior to any I'd seen. The story was just as complicated and difficult to decipher for the uninitiated, but Sir Ian, in the middle of it, had a whole new take on absolute evil. Unlike Olivier's Richard, McKellen didn't concern himself with playing a 'bad guy.' He played it with true eccentricity and tons of charm. It brought to mind Gary Oldman in his best bad guy film roles, very charming and almost impossible not to watch. Clearly, Sir Ian was not the least bit interested in what people 'expected' to see.
Another time was watching Stephen Lang do the role of Colonel Jessop (the role Jack Nicholson did in the film) onstage. It was so terribly different than what I'd expected. Brilliant and razor's edge performance. I later read that Lang (a singularly eccentric man in real life, I can say from personal experience) spent hours and hours watching the alpha gorilla at the Brooklyn Zoo in preparation. And that's exactly how he played it. Utterly riveting.
So during the six weeks of rehearsal we've had for Adding Machine I often found myself saying to myself, 'I have a great idea here, something out of the ordinary...hm...I guess I'll wait a while to try it.' I'm a little surprised at myself. I suppose there are two reasons I haven't been following my instincts. One is because of the tension in rehearsals. Early on we had a bit of a revolt from a few of the ensemble and I simply didn't want to make more waves. Not like me at all. The other is because the music, the actual score, is so precise and our brilliant musical director so dedicated to encouraging us learn it perfectly (as he should, that's his job and he does it beautifully) that I've been leery of taking any liberties with it. But after my buddy said that to me yesterday I realized he was right. No one walks away from a play thinking, "I loved the perfect counting in bar 58 and 59 in that song." No. They walk away saying, "I loved that moment when..." As I do so often, I remind myself that this business is not about the artist, it's about the audience. No one gives a shit how I feel as a character. It's entirely about what THEY feel. After all, I didn't shell out 30 bucks for the ticket, they did.
Many years ago I saw the late and wonderful actor Raul Julia do Quixote in Man of La Mancha on Broadway. Many don't remember that Julia was a fine singer, too. Anyway, I came away a little underwhelmed. I'd long admired Mr. Julia as an actor. And I've actually done Quixote myself. He did a very professional job with it. But he took no liberties. There was not one moment in the play when I thought, 'Wow. I didn't expect THAT." It was a flawless rendition of what's on the page. Exactly what's on the page. And it bored me.
So starting today, I enter some serious negotiations with this role. Trying things, making second and third choices, find the unexpected, playing with the pace and rhythm (not with the music, but the dialogue), unafraid to be eccentric for eccentricity's sake.
Now, to be fair, I haven't done a lot of that yet simply because learning what is on the page itself has been so difficult. It's tough stuff.
I also remember some years back seeing an actor do a lightweight little comedy called Charley's Aunt in Chicago. Even in that simple piece of theatre I was sort of appalled at this actor making no choices whatsoever that weren't inherent in the writing. In fact, I very clearly remember saying to the girl I saw it with, "That's not acting, it's memorizing." To paraphrase Truman Capote.
In essence, it's time to start playing. It's time to start exploring the unpredictable. It's time to forget what past Mr. Zero's have done. It's time to give less weight to what's on the page and more to what's fascinating. Any actor can memorize a part regardless of how tough it is to do so...Hamlet comes to mind. I have seen dozens of very fine, experienced, highly reputed actors play that role from Kevin Kline to Daniel Day Lewis. But the best Hamlet I ever encountered was a 17 year old high school actor in Roanoke, Virginia, of all places. The young man's name was John Beard (odd that I remember that) and I had just done a new play with him at Mill Mountain Theater. I stuck around to do another play there and one morning John called me and invited me to an 'assembly' in which the play would be done in truncated form. I was dreading it. But I went to see him in the role and of course the production was laughably horrible. But John, right smack in the middle of it, as Hamlet, was electrifying. Absolutely wonderful. He played it with such rage and borderline pathology that I couldn't take my eyes off him. Later he told me, "This Shakespeare guy really knew how to write." I smiled. That's it. That's absolutely it. Play the role, in fact EVERY role, as though no one has ever done it before. He instinctively knew at 17 what it took me nearly a decade to learn.
So I have a new perspective going into rehearsal today. Not to say there will be any earth shattering changes. There won't be. But it's the idea of looking at the play from a different angle that will make it interesting to me now.
My buddy (a very fine actor himself) was right. It's not the role, it's the actor. The role will take care of itself. The actor needs to do the same.
Years back I did a play with the incomparable Elaine Stritch in New York. One day, late in rehearsal, Elaine finally had the text in her pocket, she had at last memorized the play. She said, quietly, almost under her breath one day, "It's time to stop being afraid. It's time to make THEM afraid." I think, although I'm not sure, she was referring to the audience. I have always remembered that comment. She was, of course, unimaginably wonderful in the role.
See you tomorrow.
It gave me huge pause.
He's right, of course. It's really the reason I act. I remember a while back when I was living in New York going to see Ian McKellen do Richard III. I have seen a lot of Dicky 3s in my life. A lot. It's such an enormously complicated play on a political level...all those references to family ties, former royalty, warring factions, Yorkists and Lancastrians. Most remember it solely for the central character, the humpback king, and not all of that other falderal. It is tantamount to doing a play about Nixon and Watergate about four hundred years from now...it gets very detailed about who is who and I'm sure it would be terribly difficult to follow.
So I go to see Sir Ian do it at BAM. The whole thing is done in NAZI garb, not terribly origninal but quite fitting. Apparently someone had taken the time to tell McKellen the same thing. His Richard was far different and far superior to any I'd seen. The story was just as complicated and difficult to decipher for the uninitiated, but Sir Ian, in the middle of it, had a whole new take on absolute evil. Unlike Olivier's Richard, McKellen didn't concern himself with playing a 'bad guy.' He played it with true eccentricity and tons of charm. It brought to mind Gary Oldman in his best bad guy film roles, very charming and almost impossible not to watch. Clearly, Sir Ian was not the least bit interested in what people 'expected' to see.
Another time was watching Stephen Lang do the role of Colonel Jessop (the role Jack Nicholson did in the film) onstage. It was so terribly different than what I'd expected. Brilliant and razor's edge performance. I later read that Lang (a singularly eccentric man in real life, I can say from personal experience) spent hours and hours watching the alpha gorilla at the Brooklyn Zoo in preparation. And that's exactly how he played it. Utterly riveting.
So during the six weeks of rehearsal we've had for Adding Machine I often found myself saying to myself, 'I have a great idea here, something out of the ordinary...hm...I guess I'll wait a while to try it.' I'm a little surprised at myself. I suppose there are two reasons I haven't been following my instincts. One is because of the tension in rehearsals. Early on we had a bit of a revolt from a few of the ensemble and I simply didn't want to make more waves. Not like me at all. The other is because the music, the actual score, is so precise and our brilliant musical director so dedicated to encouraging us learn it perfectly (as he should, that's his job and he does it beautifully) that I've been leery of taking any liberties with it. But after my buddy said that to me yesterday I realized he was right. No one walks away from a play thinking, "I loved the perfect counting in bar 58 and 59 in that song." No. They walk away saying, "I loved that moment when..." As I do so often, I remind myself that this business is not about the artist, it's about the audience. No one gives a shit how I feel as a character. It's entirely about what THEY feel. After all, I didn't shell out 30 bucks for the ticket, they did.
Many years ago I saw the late and wonderful actor Raul Julia do Quixote in Man of La Mancha on Broadway. Many don't remember that Julia was a fine singer, too. Anyway, I came away a little underwhelmed. I'd long admired Mr. Julia as an actor. And I've actually done Quixote myself. He did a very professional job with it. But he took no liberties. There was not one moment in the play when I thought, 'Wow. I didn't expect THAT." It was a flawless rendition of what's on the page. Exactly what's on the page. And it bored me.
So starting today, I enter some serious negotiations with this role. Trying things, making second and third choices, find the unexpected, playing with the pace and rhythm (not with the music, but the dialogue), unafraid to be eccentric for eccentricity's sake.
Now, to be fair, I haven't done a lot of that yet simply because learning what is on the page itself has been so difficult. It's tough stuff.
I also remember some years back seeing an actor do a lightweight little comedy called Charley's Aunt in Chicago. Even in that simple piece of theatre I was sort of appalled at this actor making no choices whatsoever that weren't inherent in the writing. In fact, I very clearly remember saying to the girl I saw it with, "That's not acting, it's memorizing." To paraphrase Truman Capote.
In essence, it's time to start playing. It's time to start exploring the unpredictable. It's time to forget what past Mr. Zero's have done. It's time to give less weight to what's on the page and more to what's fascinating. Any actor can memorize a part regardless of how tough it is to do so...Hamlet comes to mind. I have seen dozens of very fine, experienced, highly reputed actors play that role from Kevin Kline to Daniel Day Lewis. But the best Hamlet I ever encountered was a 17 year old high school actor in Roanoke, Virginia, of all places. The young man's name was John Beard (odd that I remember that) and I had just done a new play with him at Mill Mountain Theater. I stuck around to do another play there and one morning John called me and invited me to an 'assembly' in which the play would be done in truncated form. I was dreading it. But I went to see him in the role and of course the production was laughably horrible. But John, right smack in the middle of it, as Hamlet, was electrifying. Absolutely wonderful. He played it with such rage and borderline pathology that I couldn't take my eyes off him. Later he told me, "This Shakespeare guy really knew how to write." I smiled. That's it. That's absolutely it. Play the role, in fact EVERY role, as though no one has ever done it before. He instinctively knew at 17 what it took me nearly a decade to learn.
So I have a new perspective going into rehearsal today. Not to say there will be any earth shattering changes. There won't be. But it's the idea of looking at the play from a different angle that will make it interesting to me now.
My buddy (a very fine actor himself) was right. It's not the role, it's the actor. The role will take care of itself. The actor needs to do the same.
Years back I did a play with the incomparable Elaine Stritch in New York. One day, late in rehearsal, Elaine finally had the text in her pocket, she had at last memorized the play. She said, quietly, almost under her breath one day, "It's time to stop being afraid. It's time to make THEM afraid." I think, although I'm not sure, she was referring to the audience. I have always remembered that comment. She was, of course, unimaginably wonderful in the role.
See you tomorrow.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
"Quite a party, Woodrow, quite a party." Those are the last words of Gus McRae to Woodrow Call in one of my favorite books, Lonesome Dove, and they encompass exactly how I feel about 2010.
I was settling into my desk this morning, adjusting things after I'd been away for almost two weeks, and I ran across a calendar for January, 2010. I noticed that I was having the first read-thru of my play, From the East to the West, in a couple of days from now this time last year. And, of course, it got me thinking about the year that was.
I can say, I think, that 2010 has been the best year in recent memory. So many wonderful things came to fruition: Performances of three of my plays, From the East to the West, Praying Small and Bachelor's Graveyard. And then there was that little thing called getting married. And saving Franny, my Norfolk Terrier puppy, from the 'joint' up in Bakersfield, bringing him home and making him a part of our family. Accepting the lead role in Adding Machine at Odyssey Theatre here in Los Angeles. Also making a couple of independent films. Signing to two agencies, Pinnacle Talent for commercials and Schiowitz and Clay for theatre. Renewing lifelong friendships with my my buddies Jim Barbour and John Bader. Starting a new theatre company with the former of the two called 'theGathering.'
But, without going into too much detail, it is Angela, my wife, that has changed everything. She has single-handedly given me a life of unimagined happiness.
So we flew in last night to LAX from Springfield, MO, where we'd just spent 11 wonderful days and nights with Angie's parents, four of the nicest, most accepting, loving and supportive people in the universe. I say four because we alternated time between Angie's mom and her stepfather and her dad and her stepmother. They are my family now, too, and I couldn't have picked four more generous and loving people if I tried.
I'm still not entirely sure they 'get' what it is I do, but I was talking to a good buddy of mine, a major Broadway star over the past decade or so, and he said the same thing. He said his family didn't entirely 'get' what he did either until he started making about ten grand a week on B'way. Of course, I'm not making ten grand a week on B'way at the moment, so it's a little harder to define my passions to them. Nonetheless, in the final analysis, I don't think they really care one way or another. As long as Angela and I are happy, which we are beyond words, it's all just fine with them.
And we got some goodies over Christmas, which was really cool. It has been many years since I'd done a 'family' Christmas, so I was humbled, overwhelmed and filled with gratitude all at the same time. It was the best Christmas morning I've had in decades, maybe ever. I've spent so many Christmas mornings either alone or on the road, I wasn't even sure how to act. And watching two beautiful little girls (Angie's brother's kids) unwrap presents that morning was truly the highlight.
We came home to our puppies, Franny and Zooey, going bonkers at seeing us again. In fact, they still are. I'm sure they thought we'd deserted them forever.
So today it's all about final touches on the script for Adding Machine. I didn't work on it as much as I'd anticipated over the break so I've got a little catch-up work to do today. I have been waffling a little about the piece. That is to say, it's either going to be magnificent or slightly out of reach. I've decided it will be magnificent.
Josh Schmidt, the brilliant composer of the piece, contacted me a few days ago and asked if he could get seats for the January 28th performance. I think that can be arranged. As a playwright, I've often flown in to see various productions around the country of my own work so I'm a little nervous. I long ago decided that I wasn't so much an actor as a 'purveyor of plays,' as Laurence Olivier once described himself. My job is to tell the story on the page, as honestly as I can. That's the long and short of it.
So as I start 2011, which I'm convinced will be even more wonderful than 2010, if that's possible, I've decided to list the ten best things that happened to me over the past year. Just as an academic exercise, really. I've thought about it a lot over the past few days. Here they are:
1) Angie
2) Angie
3) Angie
4) Angie
5) Angie
6) Angie
7) Angie
8) Angie
9) Angie
10) Franny and Zooey
That pretty much sums it up.
See you tomorrow.
I was settling into my desk this morning, adjusting things after I'd been away for almost two weeks, and I ran across a calendar for January, 2010. I noticed that I was having the first read-thru of my play, From the East to the West, in a couple of days from now this time last year. And, of course, it got me thinking about the year that was.
I can say, I think, that 2010 has been the best year in recent memory. So many wonderful things came to fruition: Performances of three of my plays, From the East to the West, Praying Small and Bachelor's Graveyard. And then there was that little thing called getting married. And saving Franny, my Norfolk Terrier puppy, from the 'joint' up in Bakersfield, bringing him home and making him a part of our family. Accepting the lead role in Adding Machine at Odyssey Theatre here in Los Angeles. Also making a couple of independent films. Signing to two agencies, Pinnacle Talent for commercials and Schiowitz and Clay for theatre. Renewing lifelong friendships with my my buddies Jim Barbour and John Bader. Starting a new theatre company with the former of the two called 'theGathering.'
But, without going into too much detail, it is Angela, my wife, that has changed everything. She has single-handedly given me a life of unimagined happiness.
So we flew in last night to LAX from Springfield, MO, where we'd just spent 11 wonderful days and nights with Angie's parents, four of the nicest, most accepting, loving and supportive people in the universe. I say four because we alternated time between Angie's mom and her stepfather and her dad and her stepmother. They are my family now, too, and I couldn't have picked four more generous and loving people if I tried.
I'm still not entirely sure they 'get' what it is I do, but I was talking to a good buddy of mine, a major Broadway star over the past decade or so, and he said the same thing. He said his family didn't entirely 'get' what he did either until he started making about ten grand a week on B'way. Of course, I'm not making ten grand a week on B'way at the moment, so it's a little harder to define my passions to them. Nonetheless, in the final analysis, I don't think they really care one way or another. As long as Angela and I are happy, which we are beyond words, it's all just fine with them.
And we got some goodies over Christmas, which was really cool. It has been many years since I'd done a 'family' Christmas, so I was humbled, overwhelmed and filled with gratitude all at the same time. It was the best Christmas morning I've had in decades, maybe ever. I've spent so many Christmas mornings either alone or on the road, I wasn't even sure how to act. And watching two beautiful little girls (Angie's brother's kids) unwrap presents that morning was truly the highlight.
We came home to our puppies, Franny and Zooey, going bonkers at seeing us again. In fact, they still are. I'm sure they thought we'd deserted them forever.
So today it's all about final touches on the script for Adding Machine. I didn't work on it as much as I'd anticipated over the break so I've got a little catch-up work to do today. I have been waffling a little about the piece. That is to say, it's either going to be magnificent or slightly out of reach. I've decided it will be magnificent.
Josh Schmidt, the brilliant composer of the piece, contacted me a few days ago and asked if he could get seats for the January 28th performance. I think that can be arranged. As a playwright, I've often flown in to see various productions around the country of my own work so I'm a little nervous. I long ago decided that I wasn't so much an actor as a 'purveyor of plays,' as Laurence Olivier once described himself. My job is to tell the story on the page, as honestly as I can. That's the long and short of it.
So as I start 2011, which I'm convinced will be even more wonderful than 2010, if that's possible, I've decided to list the ten best things that happened to me over the past year. Just as an academic exercise, really. I've thought about it a lot over the past few days. Here they are:
1) Angie
2) Angie
3) Angie
4) Angie
5) Angie
6) Angie
7) Angie
8) Angie
9) Angie
10) Franny and Zooey
That pretty much sums it up.
See you tomorrow.
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