"It's All in the Movies..."

I've been getting a lot of helpful suggestions on how to adapt Praying Small into a screenplay, particularly from my friend and very fine actor, Michael Catlin. Michael recently moved to Denver and is already teaching classes and networking with The Denver Theatre Center, the big boy on the block out there. His suggestions are helpful for a couple of reasons. First, he clearly knows what he's talking about, certainly more than I do, and second, he's been down this road a few times before.

I've decided to back up and take another run at this thing. By that I mean, I'm going to throw all convention out the window and just write it as I SEE it. Because that's what film is, right? How we SEE a particular thing? So I'm gonna write it as a big Point of View kinda thing. The play is written entirely in first person. All of it from the perspective of Sam, the lead character. So I thought I'd approach the screenplay as I might approach a first person novel. Starting that today.

Also, was chatting with my buddy, Kyle Puccia, yesterday. Kyle is writing the entire score to the stage production of Praying Small. At one point Kyle mentioned it would be cool to do the whole thing much as P.T. Anderson had done Magnolia...all Aimee Mann music throughout. Only it would be all Kyle Puccia music throughout. I like that very much. In fact, Kyle sent me a song that was dead-on for it. When I listened to it (Kyle is so fucking brilliant, folks), I was re-energized about this project all over again.

Now, of course, I'm getting quite obsessive about the whole thing. I was watching Forrest Gump last night on AMC...and instead of enjoying a movie I've seen a dozen times (and still love), I was watching each scene and trying to visualize it on the page. I was thinking I really don't wanna get so close to the movie business that I lose my love of the movies themselves. This is sort of sophomoric of me, but I really don't. I love movies. I don't want to ever get to the point that I'm dissecting them as I watch them. That's no fun.

I remember many years ago, movie theatre on 33rd and 2nd Ave in NYC. John Bader, Jeff Wood, Robert Fiedler and myself. Matinee performance. A movie called Name of the Rose. Back then you could still smoke in the balcony of a theatre. You may remember there's a particularly hotsy-totsy sex scene in the movie when Christian Slater and the deaf girl go at it. We were all on the edge of our seat, not a peep from us. When it was over, I glanced around. All four of us had lit a cigarette and were leaning back, contented, in our seats.

I remember being about 12 years old, Fulton Movie Theatre, Saturday afternoon. Movie called Count Yorga - Vampire. A scene where the vampires invade a house while a dinner party is in progress. They kill all the people there. I was scared out of my wits. Dreamt about it for weeks. Still the scariest moment I can remember while at the movies.

I remember being home, sick from school, probably just playing hooky, watching the afternoon movie in the basement, rec-room of my childhood home in Fulton. The show was called "Dialing for Dollars" and at the commercial break they would call someone and if they answered, give them some money, I think. Anyway, the movie that day was called The Ugly American starring an actor named Marlon Brando. It is not a very good movie, sort of slow and dull. But that afternoon was singularly responsible for a great chunk of my life. I was mesmerized by this guy, this Marlon Brando fella. I was only about 16, had a done a few high school plays, was starting to get interested in "acting." But this guy, wow, I'd never seen anything like it. I knew, in some deep, very dark, dusty, claustrophobic section of my brain that this is exactly what I wanted to do the rest of my life, what this guy was doing.

I don't want what I'm doing now to corrupt all those remembrances. I don't want to analyze a movie while I watch it. I want to accept it all, suspend my disbelief, be scared of Count Yorga, mesmerized by Brando and vicariously excited by whatever scene I'm watching. I don't want to stop believing in movies. They've meant too much to me. They've informed too much of my life. They've taught me how to react to life. And I owe them, all of them, my trust.

See you tomorrow.

To Write a Script...

I've been asked to turn my play, Praying Small, into a screenplay. Now, I am not a screenwriter. Never have been, doubt I ever will be. As I mentioned before, everybody and their grandma has a screenplay out here. I suppose that's only natural, since this is the film capital of the world. I was chatting with a neighbor, nice lady, retired, used to be a secretary, I think. She came to see my last play. She liked it, I think. So, I'm out on the front lawn bringing in the trash barrels (LA has some strange "trash pick up" laws). And she sees me and wanders down to tell me about her screenplay. Actually, she's "pitching" me the screenplay. Like I might have the power to greenlight it somewhere. I think it had something to do with evil alien secretaries.

Hemingway said everyone has at least one great novel in them. He was, of course, saying that everyone can tell their life story. Out here everyone has at least one great screenplay in them.

This weekend, Angie and I picked up a low-budget film starring our friend, John Bader. It's a western. Not very good, really. But John is good IN it. But what struck me is this: someone spent a lot of time and money and passion on this thing. And it's simply not very good. Hackneyed, unoriginal, uninspired. I told Angie, "Why would someone take so much time out of their lives, when life is so short and immediate, to do this?"

Before I left Chicago, I was offered a chance to do the lead in The Scottish Play. It's my favorite Shakespearean role, even more than Hamlet or Dicky III. And I considered it, I really did. But finally one night I thought, "Do I have anything new to say about this guy?" The answer is no, I did not. So, the next day I called back and said, "You know, I'd love to play The Dark Scot. And I think I might even have a good one in me. But in the final analysis, it would take about five months out of my life. And I'm not ready for that kind of trade-off at my age."

The same John as mentioned above said to me after he'd seen From the East to the West, "It made me remember why I rarely do plays anymore. It's just too much damn work."

There is a story of Joe Papp running into Brando in midtown back in the mid-seventies. He rushes over to him and says, "Marlon, come back to the stage, you're the greatest American actor, come back to the stage and do Lear. I'll produce it. What do you say?" Brando smiled and looked off into the distance, you could see him considering it, his eyes lit up. Papp said later he was shocked; what was this? Brando was actually considering doing this? Oh my God, he said later, Marlon Brando is actually thinking seriously about doing King Lear at Shakespeare in the Park! Finally after a bit when Brando hadn't said anything, Papp said, "So, what do you think?" And Brando said, "I just did it in my mind, Joe. I just saw it all. It was great. But that's as close as I'll ever get to another stage role. In my mind. It's just too hard."

Today, I start adapting Praying Small into a screenplay. Like I said, I know zip about screenplays. But I went to the library this weekend and picked up a bunch of shooting scripts: four by Woody Allen, Magnolia by P.T. Anderson, a few others. So like everything else in my life, I'll teach myself how to do it. I don't care what anyone says, the greatest education to be had on the planet is in your nearest public library.

The big thing to remember is advice from Hitchcock, though. Film is about imagery. Theatre is about words. Praying Small is a very wordy script. So that's my job. Turn the words into images. Because here's a truism: A picture IS worth a thousand words. At least in the film business.

See you tomorrow.

Graumann's Chinese Theatre.

I saw Frank Sinatra in concert five times. One of those times, I think it was at Radio City Music Hall in New York, Sinatra finished with his signature song, New York, New York, and then strode off stage. He doesn't come back on. That is to say, Sinatra did not do encores. When the concert was done, the last song sang, Sinatra left. So while watching him at Radio City Music Hall, the crowd lingered a little longer than usual, thinking Sinatra was gonna come out and sing again. Finally, a booming announcement in a somewhat peeved voice said over the loud speakers, "Mr. Sinatra will not be doing an encore."

Angie took me to see Graumann's Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. I wanted to see John Wayne's footprints. I wanted to see them for two reasons. One, I loved John Wayne. Two, in Katherine Hepburn's book, ME, she says, "John Wayne had the smallest, daintiest, little Irish feet." I never believed that sentence. So I saw John Wayne's footprints at Graumann's Chinese Theatre today. He had tiny, dainty, Irish feet. If I had to guess, I'd say about size 7. At the most.

The stars down Hollywood Blvd. are terribly disappointing. First of all, Ange tells me that anyone can have one, practically. You just have to pay $2,500 and have someone from the Hollywood Walk of Fame Committee nominate you. It wasn't always like that, but it is now. That became painfully clear when I saw Erik Estrada's star right next to Tyrone Power's star. Almost made me throw up a little in my mouth.

But what stuck with me, what made me saddest, were the blocks of cement with the handprints and footprints and signatures and little comments. To have your name and feet and hands commemorated at Graumann's used to be a big deal. Actually, I suppose it still is. There are some modern-era folk there; Spielberg, Harrison Ford, Robert Downy Jr., Travolta, a few others.

But, not surprisingly, it was the old ones that fascinated me. And for a different reason than you might expect. I was really mournful looking at them all. Sunny day, crowds of people, Asians snapping photographs like crazy, and I was unexpectedly sad suddenly. And after a bit, I realized why. There was Humphrey Bogart, he's written, "Sid, don't you dare die till I kill ya'!" I could imagine the night he wrote that. It said 1946. Guffaws from an adoring crowd, more drinks when he got to the restaurant, congratulations, Sid Graumann picks up the tab, laughter all night, he stops on the way out, sees what he's written again, laughs, into the car, a wonderful night, memorialized forever at Graumann's Chinese Theatre.

Twelve years later he died an unimaginably painful death at the hands of a cancer that ate his insides out.

I kept looking. Gable, who I will always remember turning, smirking, lighting perfect, thirty feet high, eyes flashing, Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. He'd signed, "Thanks, Sid. What a night!" Died 21 years later from a massive heart attack, his chest so painful he couldn't speak, his assistant said his mouth was open in a silent scream for over a minute.

Myrna Loy, Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Rock Hudson, John Huston, Fred Astaire, Jackie Cooper, Paul Newman, Yul Brenner, George Burns, Jack Benny.

All living, laughing, breathing, happy. Stepping onto the wet cement. Cameras clicking, flashbulbs popping. Cocktails flowing, women grinning.

All dead now, some in particularly violent and gruesome manners. Others just getting old and slipping away.

I stood there in that large, patio-type area, surrounded by tourist outlets, and imagined the cameras, the smiles, the suits, maybe tuxedos, the bright kleeg lights, the beautiful women, furs, high heels, laughter, brill cream, cologne, perfume, cigarettes, cigars, booze, breezy, Santa Anna weather, names shouted from the crowd, wisecracks, quick explosive laughter, smiling.

And they're all gone. That moment, that night, that great night at Graumann's Chinese Theatre. Dead people now.

All glory is fleeting.

I was saddened by the footprints. The signatures made by sticks or index fingers. The comments there forever, witty at the time, I'm sure, now just sort of quaint. Reminded me of my own mortality and the mortality of my friends and of Angie. Made me think of wonderful nights I've had and how they are really just old, black and white photographs with girls laughing in the background, a little out of focus, holding drinks in conical, plastic cups.

Made me realize how important it is to absorb when we're in the very exact precise complete total unaware midst of happiness.

Mr. Sinatra will not be doing an encore.

See you tomorrow.

Back to the Present...

Well, back to a semblance of routine now. Happy about that. Today we're going to shop (by "we," of course, I mean Angie and I) for some groceries since all we have in the house after a week of theatah is dog food and saltines. Last night was a well-deserved night of decompression for us. Had some pizza and pie. I wanted the pie first but Angie put her foot down.

Heading to the library later to pick up "Screenwriting for Dummies." Can't really go into it, but there is some interest, much to my surprise, about turning Praying Small into a film. Hm. Personally, I don't want to get involved in the screenwriting business. Every schmo on the street out here has a screenplay. Also, I don't want a bunch of hackers and suits getting hold of my words. The screenwriter is treated like a janitor out here. At least in the theatre, the playwright is still held in SOME regard.

Also heading over to Hollywood to see the footprints. I know that's a tad plebian but I'm curious.

From the East to the West is full of references to feet and shoes. Most think it comes from one of the lines in the play. Actually, it doesn't. It's one of dozens of Christian references, including the title, which comes not from a line in the play, but from Psalm 103...As far as the east is from the west, that is how far God will go to forgive our transgressions. Beautiful piece of writing there allegedly from King David.

I don't believe a word in the bible, personally. It's been hacked and sawed and mistranslated for thousands of years. What we have left is a religion by committee...mostly the Catholic Church and the counsel of Constantinople. Most people don't realize, and oddly, the pulp fiction novel Da Vinci Code touched on it, that a bunch of Catholic bigwigs got together in the fifth century to VOTE on the divinity of Jesus. All documented. It's a little piece of history the Christians conveniently forget.

Nonetheless, there is some clever writing in the book. The whole thing is fraught with foot images. Up to and including Jesus getting his feet washed and dried by a prostitute and her hair.

By the end of the play, there are shoes all over the stage, dozens of pairs of shoes. The symbolism is left up to you, although of course I know what it means.

I worked for several years as a drug and alcohol counselor for The Salvation Army in Chicago. Went back to school at De Paul, got my C.A.C.D. and threw myself into work that "matters." Gave up the stage, secure in the knowledge that "hands on" work was far more important. It was noble experiment in my life, but, alas, wrong-headed. I'm reminded now of something Michael Moriarty once told me. He said he was planning on becoming a priest when he was younger until, quite accidentally, he happened to see A Man for All Seasons on Broadway. He said it was an epiphany for him and he realized that the only thing "nobler than the priesthood was acting." Wow.

My excursion into drug and alcohol counseling was a terrible time. Not because what I was doing wasn't important. It was. But because I had the horrible misfortune of working for The Salvation Army.

Someday soon, I'm going to blog extensively about this nefarious organization. For for now, suffice to say, they are the most extraordinary scam of the twentieth century. A truly evil group of people that have hoodwinked the American public into actually believing they are doing something helpful. A religious right organization that believes, among other things, that gay people should be put to death, that black people are less than human, that unwed mothers should be imprisoned. I'm not making this up, folks. Look it up for yourselves. These are very dangerous people and this is a very dangerous organization. Working for them forever changed my views on Christianity.

A little off-message here today. Forgive me. But the show is done for a second, the next one hasn't started yet, I have no information as to when it WILL start again or even if it will. I have a plan B and C, but I'm hoping for plan A. Until I find something out, I'm out here in left field wondering.

So today, I cherish the idea of doing absolutely normal, wonderful, mundane things. As long as I'm hanging with the sig other (Angie), it's all good. We tend to make each other laugh a lot. And that's a pretty cool thing. Grocery Stores and Libraries. Two places in which I like to hang out anyway.

See you tomorrow.

"What's next?"

We finished up our three day benefit last night. I think we made a little cash for the theatre. I'm pleased about that. After all, that's what we set out to do, originally.

So, what next? That's one of my favorite lines in The West Wing (in my opinion, the single finest show ever done on network television). Martin Sheen, as President Bartlett, always said it. "What next?"

Well, the play will run. Somewhere. I hope at NoHo Arts. That's my first choice. With the cast intact, the set, the support people, everything. That is my first choice.

Last night was a really wonderful night for the cast and the play. Not that this matters much, but I was mildly surprised to hear the whooping and yelling at the curtain call last night. That sort of reaction is generally reserved for big, splashy musicals. Not for a deeply introspective, savage, blood-letting drama. Kind of amused me. Not to say I wasn't pleased. Just an odd moment for me.

Had my buddies, Theo Marshall, Ken Still and Jamie Kelsey in the audience last night. All three have done my words in Chicago and are now out here. They liked the show, I think. Always nice to hear good things from people with which I have a history. Theo, especially, seemed to "get" it. He's a good actor. Look for him on television and film screens near you. He's also a nice guy. And these days, that goes a ways in my book. I'll take a nice guy over a brilliant fuck-head any day of the week at this point in my life. Didn't always feel that way.

The NoHo group, some 40 actors, artists, musicians, writers, designers, composers, singers...they all came out in droves to support my little skit. You are all deeply appreciated.

Chad Coe, playing the lead role in the show, rose to unimaginable artistic heights. About a week before the opening, maybe even less, he plugged into something personal. Don't know what it was, don't care really. But it was staggeringly obvious. He went from good, young actor to troubled, writhing, raging, gentle demon right before our very eyes. Nice, Chad. Be proud of this, no matter what happens next. For the rest of your life, know that these three days were great, even life-changing, acting. The next time some dim-witted casting director looking for a guy to sell Tide detergent doesn't cast you...think of what you did these past three days. Guaranteed to make you feel instantly better.

Nickella Maschetti and JR Mangels were both white-hot last night. Even though JR stole my whiskey bottle onstage and refused to give it back. I am forever a fan of these guys. For one thing, they constantly reminded me of the passion of the young actor. They were like racehorses every night, jittery with excitement to come flying out the gate. Your passion made my passion. You made me remember why what we do is important. Nickella just leaves me aghast. JR had some moments so funny and immediately after, so touching, well, that's why we do this stuff.

Alex Robert Holmes, Malcolm Devine, Mary Evans, Teal Shearer...all stunningly talented, all blazing with ambition, all perched on the edge of something extraordinary. All my friends now.

Four months ago I was trudging daily to my acting studio, teaching all day, enduring the dirt and boredom of Chicago. Teaching while the sun was out, writing at night, wondering if anyone would hear or see my words someday from a dozen or so plays I had tucked away in my imaginary theatre trunk. Occasionally, I'd send one out for a reaction. Never heard a word. Well, they did this week. They heard my words and some of them liked them.

I really can't expect much more from life than that. I am content and relaxed this friday morning. I...we...did the best we could. And that's what it's all about. And I think we did okay.

See you tomorrow.

On Chad, Nickella and JR...

Second night of the play down. Good show. Great work from an amazing cast. Chad Coe, Nickella Maschetti, JR Mangels, all young actors to watch. Blazing talents. I am so lucky to have them saying my words.

Good response last night, generally. Nearly full house. A few bucks for the theatre. Had my lifelong buddies, Johnny Bader and Jim Petersmith and James Barbour there. That was a thrill for me. Apparently Bader and Petersmith were plotting to throw BBs onstage at some point. The plan never came to fruition, thank god.

Jimmy Barbour, one of the most talented stage actors I've ever seen, liked the work. That meant a lot to me. Can't go into details, but look for Jim to play another lead on Broadway in the not-too-distant future. I was hanging out in the lobby afterwards, schmoozing donors, chit-chatting, laughing, and I took a moment to glance over at Jim. He's a presence to be reckoned with even in the most casual of settings. What's great about Jim that most people don't know is that trapped inside that tall, imposing, leading man is a ten year old boy with a really silly sense of humor. Love that about him.

I honestly believe as I get older I am experiencing a mild case of agoraphobia. It is an effort for me to be in a room full of people. But, hey, it's LA and one has to do these things. Fortunately, Angie has a keen eye for my discomfort and graciously whisks me out of uncomfortable situations in a heart beat. She always "has my back."

I am now in a position, oddly, of not being able to comment on the play that much. I'm in the middle of it and quite frankly, don't see much going on around me. I'm too busy trying to save my own ass on stage. The scary and cool thing about working with actors like Nickella and Chad and JR is that they don't let me coast. They are so good, that if I start digging into my bag of "acting tricks" too much, I just get overwhelmed by them. Nickella, especially, does not allow me to be dishonest. She is, quite possibly, the most honest actress I have ever worked with. I feel just a little phony every time we have a scene together. That's good for me.

Years ago I was doing Tom in The Glass Menagerie. Every night I would get this card, or a flower, or sometimes candy from a secret admirer in the audience. Still remember the name - Delores. Finally after a few days, she asked the House Manager if I wouldn't mind coming out to the lobby following the show to meet. She wrote me a short note that said, "I love watching you perform. You remind me of my favorite actor!"

So I said, "Of course, I'll come out." She wanted some pictures of us together. Out I go to the lobby after the show and there she is, a matronly woman, cheery, very polite. We pose for some pictures together. She's really complementary and delightful. But I can't resist, being the actor that I am. I say, "So, Delores, I remind you of your favorite actor?"

"Oh, yes!" She says.

I'm bracing myself for someone like Brando or maybe Pacino or DeNiro. Maybe Harrison Ford. I'm thinking quite possibly Kirk Douglas.

She says, "Every time you walk onstage, I say to myself, 'There he is...Buddy Hackett. I love Buddy Hackett."

Long pause from me. "Really."

See you tomorrow.

Look, We Made a Hat...

The play opened last night and exceeded all of my expectations. The cast was spot-on. The light and sound excellent. The energy and commitment wonderful. The audience reaction both during and afterwards at the reception, for the most part, quite satisfying. Naturally, there are those that want to suggest rewrites (see George S. Kaufman quote). But that's good. My executive producer, Teal Sherer (an amazing actress currently playing the lead in the best production of PROOF I have ever seen - and I've seen a few) mentions in the curtain speech that we are accepting critical comments from audience members, and I guess we are. So I got a few. It's all good.

Several things went through my dim-witted mind last night as the curtain approached. One, we did a goofy speed-thru before the run last night. I purposely was going to set the tone of silliness but JR and Chad beat me to the punch. I wanted the cast to get loose. Not treat it so seriously. It is, after all, just a play. So I thought I'd get really irreverent during the speed thru. I needn't have worried. By the time I made my entrance, the adlibs and general disrespect of the play was in full gale. I liked that. I didn't want a bunch of tense, nervous actors waiting to go on. Instinctively, the cast realized this and we all just played. I think that element alone was incredibly helpful.

One of the NoHo company members mentioned, in the midst of all the embarrassing accolades coming my way, that is was, "a good first step." My first reaction was, "First step!? We acted the shit out of this piece tonight!" But after a night's sleep, I think she's right. Still some rewriting to be done, still some moments to be found, some editing to take place. It's a meandering kind of play at times and that's okay because that's what I wanted.

I travelled down to Wichita, of all places, some years back, to do James Tyrone in Moon for the Misbegotten. The first readthru at the table and I'm thinking, "You know, this play is really overwritten. What was O'Neill thinking?" I smile at that thought now. O'Neill is O'Neill for a reason. At first glance it may seem he writes a lot of accidental stuff. Seemingly veering off here and there, sort of wandering off into territories that don't have anything to do with theme or plot. But eventually, it all makes sense. O'Neill does not write haphazardly, I discovered. Every line, every utterence is there for a reason. It may not be clear at first, but eventually it is. It is not the tight, pushed kind of writing that, say, Mamet or Rabe or Kushner are famous for. But once the ribbon is tied at the end of the play, one realizes it is ALL there for a reason.

Now, I'm not nearly so egotistical as to compare myself to Mr. O'Neill. But I can say that From the East to the West borrows that quality from him.

My buddy, Tracy Letts, back in Chicago, and I used to talk about O'Neill endlessly. We are both great admirers.

Another thing I thought both during the first act and after I make my entrance, is that the humor works. I was worried about that. I'm not especially known for my comedic writing. My humor as a playwright tends to be dark and character-driven. I'm not good at writing "jokes." That's not to say I don't LIKE that kind of writing. I don't care what anyone says, Neil Simon is a friggin' genius. That brilliant man churned out thirty years of plot and jokes. If I were to pick up RUMORS right this very instant, I'd be guffawing in minutes. I don't get that. I don't write like that. Wish to god I could sometimes.

Had my good buddy, Joe Hulser, in the audience last night. A very fine director, Joe is. He directed me many years ago in a Sam Shepherd piece that was really exciting and surreal. Anyway, Joe just kept shaking his head and saying, "Brilliant, absolutely brilliant." In an evening of nice things being said, that was what I liked the most. Not sure he's RIGHT, but it was nice to hear anyway, especially from him.

Also my dear friend, Kyly Puccia, was there. Musician, composer, singer, actor extraordinaire. Kyle didn't have a lot to say about the writing (albeit we only spoke briefly) but seemed to like the acting a lot. His is another opinion I listen to unreservedly.

I have hopes for the piece. Not really at liberty to share those hopes yet. But I can say this...it will run in a full production very soon. Although some may disagree, when it runs, it will run very close to as it is written now. Writing a play is not a democracy. Just like writing a novel is not a democracy. Or painting a painting. Or composing a song. I don't recall Hemingway ever 'workshopping' a novel. I have no intention of workshopping this play. I don't believe in it.

Tonight another good house, I'm told. A few more friends in the audience. Once again we shall endeavor to do the words "by lightning flash."

Whatever happens next with the play, we did something very cool. We made a hat where there never was a hat.

See you tomorrow.

To Tell a Story.

We had our final dress last night. Two people in the audience. One of them gave us a standing ovation. Either that or he had to pee.

We worked hard to get here. Very hard. And a huge amount of dedication from a really solid cast.

I was off, personally, but that's because I was thinking of a ton of other things onstage.

My buddy, Jim Petersmith, came to see it last night. I think he liked it. Talked to him briefly afterwards. He had no preconceptions coming into the play, in fact had no idea whatsoever what it was about, even. Jim is notoriously closed mouth about things like this. Doesn't really give criticism. That's just Jim. He tends to find little moments he likes and latches onto them. I'm sure five years from now, out of the blue, he'll recreate something he saw last night and catch me completely off-guard. Jim is quite possibly the most unaffected charismatic actor I know. When we were younger I hated being onstage with him because audiences tend to look nowhere else. It is not something that can be taught.

My next play, probably in the late summer, at NoHo will be Praying Small. I think Jim would be great in that play. Maybe I can entice him to do it. He has a long history of waffling back and forth before committing to a project.

So it was okay last night. First time we'd done the whole thing with everything - lights, sound, props, costumes, non-stop.

Tonight is a full house. A few close friends in the audience, too.

We have dubbed Wednesday night "celebrity night." A few old friends, Michael Moriarty, Joe Mantegna, George Wendt, Charlie Sheen and a couple of others are allegedly attending. Joe and George I know from my Chicago days, Charlie and I worked with Naked Angels in NYC, and Michael, of course, was my teacher of note for many years. The wonderful actor, John Schuck, who originally read the character of "Harry" will also be there. Older readers of this blog will remember John from M.A.S.H. (the movie) and a long stint as Sgt. Enright opposite Rock Hudson in McMillan and Wife in the seventies.

Had some new things happen last night, which is always good. I was hoping some unexpected things would happen just to catch my cast and I off-guard. Final dress is always sort of a test drive. See if the car shakes in the wrong places or makes the turns tight enough.

I once stopped a show in the middle of a final dress. It was (and I blush to confess this) The Music Man and I was playing Harold Hill. This was in Pennsylvania about 15 years ago. I completely went up (forgot the lyrics) in the middle of the song TROUBLE. I simply stopped, cut the orchestra off, said to the audience, "This is what final dress is for..." and started over. Petrified the cast, but hey, whatcha' gonna do?

That's what live performance is all about. I was watching David Mamet's Speed the Plow years ago on Bway...it's the famous production that Madonna did with Joe Manegna and William H. Macy (both Mamet stalwarts). In the middle of the first act, some crazed Madonna fan simply climbed up to the stage and began walking toward her. Joe was closest to the idiot and, without missing a line, grabbed him by the arm and guided him offstage into the wings. Although Madonna was clearly shaken by this and sort of stumbled through her lines for the rest of the act, Mantegna and Macy, pros that they are, were completely non-plussed. I later asked Joe about it and he said, "Well, my first thought was that he might be armed. My second thought was 'How dare this guy interrupt my monolgue?'" Now that's an actor.

As I mentioned before, Actors Equity is making us carry scripts during the show. At first I was disappointed with this. But we're getting used to it and the actors don't seem to mind. The exact rule is that the scripts, "...must be on the actor's person." So everyone (except me, that is) comes on stage with their script and then just tucks it into their pocket.

My assistant director, Mary Evans, is a godsend for this play. Last night, knowing I can no longer see anything on stage, she gave some wonderful notes to myself and the cast. I was really pleased.

Many years ago I saw the iconic actor James Earl Jones onstage. I was way in the back. Apparently there were some older ladies in the front row conversationally chatting throughout the entire first act. I couldn't hear them but obviously Mr. Jones could. At one point he stopped acting, turned and looked at the geriatric offenders and said, in that God-like voice of his, "Would you PLEASE shut the fuck up?" Loved that.

Speaking of Jones, I once remember Moriarty telling me, "I once had a chance to play opposite Jimmy Jones. I told the casting lady that called me, 'Are you out of your friggin'mind? No one 'shares' the stage with Jimmy Jones.'" Loved that, too.

So, here we are, fight fans. Opening night. The first time the public has heard these words, ever. To be honest, I'm not sure how to feel about it all. I hope it's good. I lost the ability to judge that about a week ago. Just too close to it. I hope people like the story...because in the final analysis, that's why we're here: to tell a story. Ultimately, that's why the actor exists. To Tell a Story.

In Lord Olivier's book he says, "I am not an actor, I am a purveyor of plays." I think that pretty much says it all.

See you tomorrow.

On Quirky Choices...

Last night we did a moment to moment run and then went back and did a full run. Not a bad night overall. I enjoy sitting back and watching the other actors work and coming up with quirky little behavioral things to do. We found a few last night. A lot of people don't like this sort of thing, other professionals, that is. They don't understand why it is being done.

I remember acting and directing a play by Lanford Wilson called Redwood Curtain in Rochester, NY, about a decade ago. I was directing it and acting the role of Lyman Fellars, the disenchanted Vietnam Vet in it. At one late rehearsal we were going from moment to moment trying to find some quirky things and the AD, a dimwit administrator who had no business being in charge of a theatre company, said to me, "Well, you can't just be eccentric for eccentricities sake." And I remember turning to him and saying, "Ah, contraire. We can and will do that. People spend their lives being eccentric for eccentricities sake." All anyone has to do is walk out their front door right now, right this very instant, walk down the block, see a few people outside, watch them closely for a few minutes, and see that people are mind-bogglingly odd. Their behavior patterns, even when dealing with the mundane, are often times just incomprehensible. Every character in every play ever written should reflect exactly that.

Here's a truth. The moment the audience gets ahead of the actor and director, the play is dead. And by "gets ahead," I mean the moment they can subconsciously guess what is coming next, it's all over. Why watch anything you know the ending to? We do it all the time when we watch TV. We call it getting bored with the show. Nope. What is happening is, we're ahead of the writers. We know, more or less, what is going to happen next.

It is the job of the writer, director and actor to NEVER let that happen.

Well, after picking some quirky, behavioral moments, we ran the show. Not a bad run, still some technical stumbles, easily fixed. My lead actor, Chad, is carrying a ton of weight. It is an enormously difficult role and he is straining mightily with it. But he's good and smart and I'm not worried. We "froze" some moments. That is to say, we liked them, ran them, worked them and I said, "Freeze it." Cause that's the best we could hope for.

I've added a line here and there. At the suggestion (a very good one, I might add) of the AD we actually cut the last line of the play. We're getting used to the music in the piece - I'm a HUGE fan of LOTS of incidental music in theatre. This play is using everything from Johnny Cash to Nick Cave to Tom Waits to Glen Campbell.

So I'm not too worried. Tonight we have a few invited guests. Tomorrow we open.

Oh, and doing my first camera gig today since coming to LA. A short thirty second industrial thingee over in Culver City. Should take me about a half hour. That might be fun.

All is exactly as it should be. I'm rather odd when it comes to impending plays. Rather than get introspective and nervous, the closer opening night looms, the more relaxed and loose I get. There are actors that like to isolate, concentrate before a show, lose themselves in thought. I've never felt that way, even with the big, dramatic roles of theatre. I've always felt if I didn't have the damned role under my belt by opening night, all the druid-like isolation in the world won't help me.

This is gonna be so cool.

See you tomorrow.

On Realism and Naturalism...

The last few days my cast and I have been playing around with the "no obligation" rehearsal. That is to say, there is no obligation whatsoever to the audience. It is only a technique thing. Obviously not to be used in performance. But it was suggested to me by my buddy, the veteran actor John Bader. It was a good suggestion.

We work the beats, the moments, with no concern about being heard, or getting a laugh or finding a dramatic moment. Instead, we work for each other. It is only necessary that the actors hear each other. It is a serious step toward absolute naturalism.

Now, naturalism is a double-edged sword. It is a really tough thing to do, sometimes. On the surface it seems the easiest way to work. But mostly what happens is that the actor simply retreats inside himself and the volume drops and, well, it just isn't very exciting. Remember, we're talking about a play, not a movie. Not a TV show.

Naturalism reached a zenith in the fifties. Strasberg taught it as though it were the savior of American acting. He had, long before, read the first book written by Stanislavski and was convinced a new era of acting was upon us. Of course, in reality, Constantine S. had written THREE books about acting. American teachers had only the first one translated into English at the time, so that was the one they taught. And, as I've mentioned before in this blog, the first one was specifically about teaching the actor how to rehearse, not to perform. So, in typical American fashion, we got only a part of the information and made our choices based on that.

I remember years ago, my buddies John and Jeff and I would sit around the living room of their big house in Brooklyn, near the promenade, and tape our conversations with each other. We were young enough and naive enough to think our conversations would make good theatre. After an hour or so of talking (usually accompanied by a LOT of beer), we would transcribe it and then try to recreate it live. A noble thought. In fact, other actors have done this very same thing and it has been documented - we were not terribly original about it.

What we learned, of course, is that we were boring. We were completely on the wrong track in trying to find a way to act absolute naturalism.

We even went further. Jeff Wood, one of the handful of great directors I've worked with, was making a short film. It was about two bums that made their money singing in the subway. So, as a rehearsal project, John and I, the two lead actors in the film, stayed up all night once, with Jeff watching eagle-eyed from a safe distance, and played a broken guitar and put out a hat for change and sang all night in a midtown subway station tunnel. True story. We were intentionally very bad. John was playing the guitar and singing, as I recall, and I was sort of his half-wit second banana. John could neither sing nor play the guitar. I don't remember exactly, but I think we sang the song, "High Hopes" all night.

At the end of the long night, in which John and I never once broke character (ah, youth), I think we had exactly one dollar and sixty one cents in the hat. People would hurry by and toss off comments, mostly stuff like, "You guys need to do something else for change." Or, "That's the worst subway act I've ever seen." Or "Jesus, shut up." The buck sixty one was entirely sympathy money. But that was what we wanted, that was the point.

I don't remember what became of the project. I know Jeff never got around to actually making the film. But, even now, all these years later, I think it was a fascinating exercise.

For me, anyway, the entire evening (and we're talking about ALL night), was about naturalism. Could passersby ascertain that we were not really bums, but actors pretending to be bums? I don't think they could (John and I were dressed rattily and had smeared some grime on us). Although the exercise was naive and tiring (I would never in a million years do that today) it taught me something - naturalism is boring and requires intense concentration. And not especially effective.

Now REALISM...that's a different story. And HEIGHTENED realism, well, that's something I've been striving for for a quarter of a century. The Steppenwolf boys used to do it better than anyone I've ever seen. If you don't know what heightened realism is, just watch John Malkovich do ANYthing. That's it.

It is something I'm exploring while doing Harry in From the East to the West. Quite literally a heightened sense of everything on stage.

Tuesday night I'll see if I'm on the right track.

See you tomorrow.