Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, picking the right people for a cast, that is to say, people that actually get along, is nearly as important as picking the right people for the play itself. A bad apple or two in a cast over a long run can really disrupt morale. Been there, done that.
Of course, it's nearly an impossible thing to do. It would be nice if people came into the auditon and said, "Listen, I'm putting on my best face here today because it's an audition. But once you cast me, I'll do everything within my power to poison the show and make the other actors miserable." No, hardly ever see that.
It's a roll of the dice. On the other hand, sometimes, quite accidentally, a show is cast in such a way that the cast almost immediately becomes a sort of self-supporting family. I've seen that, too, and when it happens it's truly a beautiful thing.
Over the years, I've learned the best thing to do is stay out of it. It's easier to do this if one can go home every night after the show. If one happens to live in the same city, that is. For years, I would be jobbed out from NYC to various cities up and down the East Coast. In those situations, it's a little more difficult to rise above the bickering and silliness inside a cast because everyone is always together. And a national tour, of which I've done a couple, too, is even harder.
There's an old and tired one-liner in the business, mostly repeated by stage managers, I've found, that goes like this: "Wanna hear an actor bitch? Hire him." Unfortunately, it's all too true sometimes.
Case in point...I once did a two-show summer season with a very good LORT Theater in Virginia. The first show of the Summer was the Kaufman and Hart Pulitzer Prize-winner, 'You Can't Take it with You.' Strangest damn thing - the cast, almost immediately, was at each other's throats. Nearly everyone hated the director (not me, however, because the director was one of my oldest and closest friends), they didn't like each other, they found the show itself tedious. Three actors, over the course of the rehearsal period, were shipped back to NY and replaced. By the time the play opened and started running, it was the most flagrant case of 'upstaging' I believe I've ever seen. Absolute chaos on stage. A nightly, ego-laden horror show. I was very unhappy during that run. I would go back to my hotel room every night, uncork a bottle of scotch and try and forget the play I was doing.
As it turned out, I was the only 'hold over' into the next show of the summer, which was the wonderful musical, '1776.' This was the first time I'd done it (I later did it again in Florida). Twenty three actors hauled in from NYC, Chicago and Los Angeles to do it. Twenty one guys, two girls (the wives of Jefferson and Adams). One would think this would be the show that had internal strife because of the number of people and the disproportionate ratio of guys and girls. Not so. This cast turned out to be one of my favorite casts of over 100 professional shows I did over my career. Everyone got along famously. The guys played poker nearly every night. We took trips to Civil War Battlefields on our dark days. We hung out for drinks after the show. Several love affairs blossomed. To this day, I remember that cast and show very fondly.
So it really is a crap shoot. Hopefully, regardless of the interactions among the cast, the audience is blissfully ignorant. Unfortunately, that's not always the case. That ambiguous term 'chemistry' comes into play. It's not tangible but an audience can sometimes feel it.
Okay. Done with that. Last night I suffered a bit of insomnia, a recurring theme in my life since I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes some months back. Doesn't happen often anymore, but it still does now and then. So I stayed up and watched, back to back, 'White Christmas' and 'Holiday Inn.' And was happy as a clam. Bing Crosby was one charming mofo. Big ears and all. There I was, sitting on the couch with Franny and Zooey on either side of me, choking up at the end of both movies. Fortunately, Angie had already gone to bed so I didn't have to pretend to drop something on the floor so I could wipe my eyes.
Another long rehearsal today. I'm chomping at the bit. I love this play. I'm awed by the music. I'm entranced by the talent surrounding me. I adore the director's approach to it. Great musical director. Wonderful staff all around. This one is going out of the park, folks.
See you tomorrow.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
More on Process, et al.
I often tell my students this truism: a play is only as good as its weakest actor. I believe that, too. I had a college acting teacher, the late Howard Orms, whom I was constantly challenging. Howard had been in academia a long, long time. He'd studied at Yale around the same time Paul Newman was there (a story Howard related many times) and came from what can politely be called an 'old school' approach to acting. I was pretty hard on Howard as a student because I was young and stupid and didn't know what I know now, which is, process has virtually nothing to do with talent. These days, a hundred years later it seems sometimes, I have no respect whatsoever for academic acting classes. But even though I didn't always agree with Howard (he was a devotee of Uta Hagen's book 'Respect for Acting') he did, now and again, say something that stuck with me. One of those things was this: 90 percent of the actors in this country are unemployed. And 90 percent of THAT 90 percent, deserve to be.
The main reason I have problems with academic acting teachers, however, is their complete disregard for how the business actually works. Now, I realize this is a sweeping generalization and it doesn't always apply. I'm sure there are some dandy college acting teachers out there somewhere.
I love Stella Adler's statement about Marlon Brando, in my opinion the finest American actor of the 20th century. She said, "I taught him nothing. He already knew how to act. Better than anyone I'd ever seen, in fact. I simply nudged him in the right direction." And therein lies my general feeling about acting teachers. Brando is always held up as the poster boy for the American 'Method.' And yet, aside from his early work with Adler, he really didn't subscribe to that process. The famed Actor's Studio to this day holds him up as an example of their teachings. The truth is, Brando only attended a few classes there. And he abhored Strasberg. Thought he was windbag. Now, others - Newman, Dean, Winters, Page, Pacino - did, in fact, worship at the feet of Lee Strasberg. But not Brando.
Brando at some point very early on realized what most actors take a lifetime to discover: theatre is Machiavellian. That is to say, the ends always justify the means.
By this, I don't mean to say that bad behavior is encouraged, but rather that process is, ultimately, not so terribly important. The very best of our ilk, actors, that is, realize that great acting is about great moments. And in any given script, one is given only a few great moments. Even Hamlet and Willy Loman are only given a few really startling moments. The rest is just plot and exposition. One of the primary jobs of the actor is to realize and capitalize on those moments.
But not at the expense of the play. In Lawrence Olivier's famous post-war Hamlet, the Hamlet that many actors measured themselves against for decades, there was a moment towards the end of the play in which Olivier would vault himself some 20 feet off a ledge into the arms of a half dozen soldiers during a daring sword fight. He would then throw himself into a forward roll and come up slashing his rapier. Early in his career, Olivier was an extremely physical and athletic actor. The critics raved about the leap. The audience got to the point where they would actually applaud it. Apparently, it was breathtaking. A few weeks into the run of the play Olivier cut it. He later said he couldn't continue to do it because audiences were coming to see Hamlet not because it's one of the greatest stories ever told, but because they wanted to see him make that death-defying leap. A tremendously brave decision. In that very same play, Shakespeare writes slyly, "The play's the thing." In other words, the play itself, not the actors, not the direction, not the special effects, not the music, not the process, is what the evening should be about. David Mamet writes about this very same thing in his two books on acting called 'Truth and Lies' and 'THEATER.' Although Mamet is a bit cantankerous about it, I could not possibly agree more.
But back to this 'weakest actor' statement. There's a new movie out right now called True Grit, a remake of the original John Wayne film in which The Duke won a surprising Academy Award. If you've seen that original film you'll know what I'm talking about. It's a good picture. Wayne is at his very best. And only one thing keeps it from being a great picture, a classic film: Glen Campbell. He's terrible. Just embarrassing. The weakest actor in that film keeps it from being great. And plays are no different.
Off to rehearsal in a couple of hours. I've made a lot of sacrifices to do this role, turned down other projects, adjusted my life around it, essentially. And I don't regret it one moment. To quote my acting teacher of note, Michael Moriarty, again, "If you turn down Hamlet for a buck fifty to do Rosencrantz for a hundred bucks, you're a fool." The play is going through a bit of off-stage drama right now, but I'm in it to the end. I'm sticking with the girl who brought me, as a buddy of mine used to say.
See you tomorrow.
The main reason I have problems with academic acting teachers, however, is their complete disregard for how the business actually works. Now, I realize this is a sweeping generalization and it doesn't always apply. I'm sure there are some dandy college acting teachers out there somewhere.
I love Stella Adler's statement about Marlon Brando, in my opinion the finest American actor of the 20th century. She said, "I taught him nothing. He already knew how to act. Better than anyone I'd ever seen, in fact. I simply nudged him in the right direction." And therein lies my general feeling about acting teachers. Brando is always held up as the poster boy for the American 'Method.' And yet, aside from his early work with Adler, he really didn't subscribe to that process. The famed Actor's Studio to this day holds him up as an example of their teachings. The truth is, Brando only attended a few classes there. And he abhored Strasberg. Thought he was windbag. Now, others - Newman, Dean, Winters, Page, Pacino - did, in fact, worship at the feet of Lee Strasberg. But not Brando.
Brando at some point very early on realized what most actors take a lifetime to discover: theatre is Machiavellian. That is to say, the ends always justify the means.
By this, I don't mean to say that bad behavior is encouraged, but rather that process is, ultimately, not so terribly important. The very best of our ilk, actors, that is, realize that great acting is about great moments. And in any given script, one is given only a few great moments. Even Hamlet and Willy Loman are only given a few really startling moments. The rest is just plot and exposition. One of the primary jobs of the actor is to realize and capitalize on those moments.
But not at the expense of the play. In Lawrence Olivier's famous post-war Hamlet, the Hamlet that many actors measured themselves against for decades, there was a moment towards the end of the play in which Olivier would vault himself some 20 feet off a ledge into the arms of a half dozen soldiers during a daring sword fight. He would then throw himself into a forward roll and come up slashing his rapier. Early in his career, Olivier was an extremely physical and athletic actor. The critics raved about the leap. The audience got to the point where they would actually applaud it. Apparently, it was breathtaking. A few weeks into the run of the play Olivier cut it. He later said he couldn't continue to do it because audiences were coming to see Hamlet not because it's one of the greatest stories ever told, but because they wanted to see him make that death-defying leap. A tremendously brave decision. In that very same play, Shakespeare writes slyly, "The play's the thing." In other words, the play itself, not the actors, not the direction, not the special effects, not the music, not the process, is what the evening should be about. David Mamet writes about this very same thing in his two books on acting called 'Truth and Lies' and 'THEATER.' Although Mamet is a bit cantankerous about it, I could not possibly agree more.
But back to this 'weakest actor' statement. There's a new movie out right now called True Grit, a remake of the original John Wayne film in which The Duke won a surprising Academy Award. If you've seen that original film you'll know what I'm talking about. It's a good picture. Wayne is at his very best. And only one thing keeps it from being a great picture, a classic film: Glen Campbell. He's terrible. Just embarrassing. The weakest actor in that film keeps it from being great. And plays are no different.
Off to rehearsal in a couple of hours. I've made a lot of sacrifices to do this role, turned down other projects, adjusted my life around it, essentially. And I don't regret it one moment. To quote my acting teacher of note, Michael Moriarty, again, "If you turn down Hamlet for a buck fifty to do Rosencrantz for a hundred bucks, you're a fool." The play is going through a bit of off-stage drama right now, but I'm in it to the end. I'm sticking with the girl who brought me, as a buddy of mine used to say.
See you tomorrow.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Day of the Actor.
Yesterday was a pure actor's day. Shot all day long on 'From the East to the West' in a dirty tack room surrounded by horses and then drove over to West L.A. for rehearsal for Adding Machine. Exhausting, but it's a kind of exhausted I like.
Rehearsal went well. It was entirely book work, no music. My bailiwick. Ron is a calming yet decisive director. A cerebral director not given to hyperbole. I like that very much.
The night before was rough, however, and I left for the night fairly frustrated. Mostly at myself. The process is very specific now and writing about it in a blog is a bit difficult. Suffice to say we are heading into a really rough time in the rehearsal period now. The 'don't quite have the lines but have some of them, but can't quite put the book down' period. Nerves get frayed.
But the real fun yesterday was shooting the tack room scene in 'From the East to the West.' Just my buddy, Chad Coe, myself and the director, the cinematographer and the sound crew. All crammed into a very small, smelly, dusty room with the pervading horse fumes. Nonetheless, spirits were high and we got some great footage. Watched some of the 'rushes,' although I'm told they're not called that anymore, and it looked great.
The film goes into 'post' now and my job is officially over. I'm sincerely looking forward to seeing it.
So I had to switch gears and go from playing a bigoted, angry, volatile redneck on film to a bigoted, angry, volatile blue-collar guy on stage. I guess not that big of a stretch after all.
Although at this point I can only see the play, Adding Machine, in my mind's eye, I am beginning to suspect it will be brilliant. Much of it is squarely on my shoulders, there's no getting around that. I am surrounded by consumate professionals, really astonishing talents. Naturally, I'm nervous. But I'm also uncharacteristically optimistic. I'm not one, at least I hope I'm not, given to unearned superlatives, but I think I can say this is the single most difficult piece of theatre I've ever done.
So...a rare night off. Angie is cooking an amazing dinner for us, stuffed chicken breasts, asparagus, baked potatoes. I'm salivating even as I write this because my office is adjacent to the kitchen and the aromas are wafting through the French doors. What's more I've Netflixed a new documentary on the third Ali-Frazier fight, The Thrilla' in Manilla, and I can't wait to watch it tonight.
A great dinner with my beautiful wife, a great fight on DVD, Franny and Zooey at my feet...Jesus Christ, I'm a lucky guy some days.
See you tomorrow.
Rehearsal went well. It was entirely book work, no music. My bailiwick. Ron is a calming yet decisive director. A cerebral director not given to hyperbole. I like that very much.
The night before was rough, however, and I left for the night fairly frustrated. Mostly at myself. The process is very specific now and writing about it in a blog is a bit difficult. Suffice to say we are heading into a really rough time in the rehearsal period now. The 'don't quite have the lines but have some of them, but can't quite put the book down' period. Nerves get frayed.
But the real fun yesterday was shooting the tack room scene in 'From the East to the West.' Just my buddy, Chad Coe, myself and the director, the cinematographer and the sound crew. All crammed into a very small, smelly, dusty room with the pervading horse fumes. Nonetheless, spirits were high and we got some great footage. Watched some of the 'rushes,' although I'm told they're not called that anymore, and it looked great.
The film goes into 'post' now and my job is officially over. I'm sincerely looking forward to seeing it.
So I had to switch gears and go from playing a bigoted, angry, volatile redneck on film to a bigoted, angry, volatile blue-collar guy on stage. I guess not that big of a stretch after all.
Although at this point I can only see the play, Adding Machine, in my mind's eye, I am beginning to suspect it will be brilliant. Much of it is squarely on my shoulders, there's no getting around that. I am surrounded by consumate professionals, really astonishing talents. Naturally, I'm nervous. But I'm also uncharacteristically optimistic. I'm not one, at least I hope I'm not, given to unearned superlatives, but I think I can say this is the single most difficult piece of theatre I've ever done.
So...a rare night off. Angie is cooking an amazing dinner for us, stuffed chicken breasts, asparagus, baked potatoes. I'm salivating even as I write this because my office is adjacent to the kitchen and the aromas are wafting through the French doors. What's more I've Netflixed a new documentary on the third Ali-Frazier fight, The Thrilla' in Manilla, and I can't wait to watch it tonight.
A great dinner with my beautiful wife, a great fight on DVD, Franny and Zooey at my feet...Jesus Christ, I'm a lucky guy some days.
See you tomorrow.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Last Tango in Los Angeles: John Lennon and Robert Fiedler.
Last Tango in Los Angeles: John Lennon and Robert Fiedler.: "Robert Fiedler (bending, middle of photograph) in How The Other Half Loves, Springfield, Missouri, 1981. Thirty years ago today I was getti..."
John Lennon and Robert Fiedler.
Robert Fiedler (bending, middle of photograph) in How The Other Half Loves, Springfield, Missouri, 1981.
So, on this particular day, Robert looked more agitated than usual. "What's wrong?" I asked.
And that's how I discovered John Lennon had been shot and killed outside his Dakota apartment on the upper west side of New York City. Later that night Robert and I got very drunk together and he cried inconsolably for a long time.
Later in my life I was to live a few blocks from that very spot and often walked past it. I'm a bit ashamed to say John Lennon was never a super hero for me. At least not then. Later, of course, as I matured and began to do a little thinking on my own, he became a hero. But not then. But he was Robert's hero. Robert loved and adhered to everything John Lennon stood for. So, now, all these years later, when I hear a Lennon song or think of John Lennon in any context, it is Robert I think of.
Robert lived a doomed, painful and incredibly difficult life. He was destined to live a life of 'adolescence prolonged' as the poet Louise Bogan once wrote. He left college early and moved to NYC to be an actor. To be honest, he had a real shot at it, too. Robert was a gifted performer. I was still in college but would write to Robert in NY every now and then. I had naive visions of Robert conquering that city overnight. I envied him his courage for leaving the safe cacoon of education and pursuing his dreams in the big city. He landed a job at a small restaurant on 36th and 3rd called Lilly Langtrees. Later when I moved to the city it bacame a regular drinking spot for me as I waited for Robert to get off work from his waiting job so we could go out and find trouble together. And we usually did.
Strangely, I don't remember Robert ever auditioning for a single thing in New York. He may have, but I don't remember it. But it didn't matter or seem particularly worrisome back in those days because we were far too busy drinking and doing every drug know to man. I've never been too circumspect about that period of my life, so I think this comes as no surprise. The difference between Robert and I was that I eventually (took me a while) pulled out of that abyss. Robert never did. I don't know why, but I managed somehow to pull the diving plane up at the last minute. Robert didn't. He, like so many others I've known, plunged deeper and deeper into the lifestyle of the doomed. Like myself, he came from a background of addiction and fell into it as naturally as breathing.
A few years later I found myself visiting Robert in a program for the 'mentally unbalanced.' We got some laughs from that one. He would pull himself together there and then go back out and do it all over again. He spent a lot of time on any number of couches in any number of apartments I had throughout the eighties and nineties in New York, newly released from the hospital and promising he would never drink again. Of course, he would, and the cycle would start all over again. Once, it appeared, he'd had enough. I gave him plane fare to get to Alabama where his family had moved. I lost track of him for several years then. Late one night some time later I got a call from him. He was in Los Angeles. He was very drunk. Said he had just been cast as the 'head Klingon' on the new Star Trek movie, I forget which one. Said he'd changed his name and the make up would prevent me from recognizing him in the movie, but it was him. Not a bad fantasy, I thought later. Not bad at all.
A few more years went by. Got a call from Boston. He was very drunk. It was late at night, of course. Said he'd found the girl of his dreams and was going back to school to become a professor of American literature. Said he was very happy now and then fell asleep holding the phone. In the background I could hear John Lennon sincerely singing, "Imagine there's no countries...it's easy if you try."
A couple more years went by. Late night call. He was back in Mobile, Alabama. Very drunk. Said he had bought a lot of land there and was working as a DJ on the radio. In the background I could hear John Lennon screaming the song 'Mother.'
A few years ago I got an email from him out of the blue. He was in Florida. Said he was clean and sober and working as a columnist for the local paper. I looked it up online. And you know what? He was. He had several journalistic essays online from that paper. He was a featured political columnist. We began to talk now and then on the phone. He was deeply involved with AA. Knew all the catch phrases, all the jargon, all the inside dope from that sometimes noble, sometimes crippling organization. He sounded good. He was married. Had a little girl. She had down syndrome and was the light of his life. He seemed happy.
Then the emails stopped. I lost him again. And last year, quite accidentally, I discovered from a mutual acquaintance, he had put a needle into his arm in a dingy hotel room in Springfield, Missouri, a few miles from that coffee vending machine where on this day, in 1981, he'd told me about the death of John Lennon.
Today I'm thinking of my doomed friend, Robert Fiedler. He was a good guy. He tried hard. It wasn't enough. I think of him everytime I hear John Lennon sing a song.
See you tomorrow.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Theatre is not a democracy...
A long reheasal yesterday...I must admit, as we moved into hour six I hit the wall. Just sort of stopped thinking. It was an unwelcome reminder that I don't have the power to concentrate for long periods of time like I did as a youngster. Nonetheless, a great deal was accomplished.
This play has so many arresting, startling moments and images in the first three quarters of the show, it's difficult to top these moments. And yet, it's necessary to take the show to higher and more interesting places as the play progresses. It's just common dramaturgical sense.
In a sense, it's the fault of the play itself. It achieves so very much throughout that the ensemble (and by this I mean the music, the direction, the acting, the actors, the plot, the theme) is sorely pressed to top itself. It's kind of like watching Death of a Salesman all the way to the end and finally, Willy says, "That darned Biff, why, he makes me a little crazy sometimes. Oh, well, back to work." Just doesn't quite do the piece justice.
To be fair, I was really tired by the time we reached the blocking for the end of the show, so I may have been a bit cynical by that point. In any event, I can't help but think we're missing something. Something big. Something unexpected. A completely new, 'out of the box' way to look at it. I'm carefully not going into specifics here because it just wouldn't make a lot of sense to anyone who isn't involved in the piece. And of course, there's the impossibly complicated music, too. Haven't even begun to try and add that to the mix yet.
Ron is a surprising director, thriving on the unexpected. He never does what I think he might. That's a compliment of the highest order, incidentally. I love that.
Maybe today's rehearsal will shine a new light on the stuff we're tackling at the end of the play. Most likely it will.
In any event, the play is so explosive. Yesterday we'd be shuffling along, connecting the dots, being sort of pedestrian about the work and then suddenly and without warning a moment would come along and the piece just soars. It reaches a level of drama usually reserved for high opera. At this point in the process we still just get glimpses of it, brief moments of 'AH, HA!' And then, like a young bird trying to take flight, we're back to the hard work of actually mounting it. But the cool thing is we all feel it, we all see it, we all hear it, however quickly.
Sometimes I have a low threshold of tolerance for myself. I am frustrated when I don't have the tools to do what I want when I want it. It's entirely my fault. I see a moment that I want, an image I'd like to portray and yet I know I can't get to it yet. And then I get a little pissed off at myself. I know that sounds a little nebulous, but it's the best I can explain it.
There is a piece of music in the latter part of the play, a song that the character of Daisy (being performed by the wonderful Christine Horn) carries, that is giving me fits. I simply can't hear it yet. Today is all about that piece of music. I plan on listening to it about 1,000 times. I can't make a contribution to the play in this section unless I'm completely secure with the music. It's making our musical director a bit frustrated, too, and I can't blame him one bit. It's a classic example of looking for the softer, easier path rather than just buckle down and do what it takes to get it under my belt. A character flaw of mine, to be sure. So after a little whining to myself last night, a little blaming other people, a little kvetching, I finally realized it's squarely on my shoulders, no one else's. I have to work harder. I have to do more. I have to give it the time it deserves. If something isn't working for me, it's my fault, no one else's.
In early today for costume fittings and then back to the drawing board. No excuses.
So...alright...hm. Enough personal flogging. Gonna have some breakfast and dig in. It's time I took my own advice (something I tell my students all the time), "Theatre, ultimately, no matter how we try and dress it up, is not a democracy." So I've been given my assignment. It's up to me to do it.
See you tomorrow.
This play has so many arresting, startling moments and images in the first three quarters of the show, it's difficult to top these moments. And yet, it's necessary to take the show to higher and more interesting places as the play progresses. It's just common dramaturgical sense.
In a sense, it's the fault of the play itself. It achieves so very much throughout that the ensemble (and by this I mean the music, the direction, the acting, the actors, the plot, the theme) is sorely pressed to top itself. It's kind of like watching Death of a Salesman all the way to the end and finally, Willy says, "That darned Biff, why, he makes me a little crazy sometimes. Oh, well, back to work." Just doesn't quite do the piece justice.
To be fair, I was really tired by the time we reached the blocking for the end of the show, so I may have been a bit cynical by that point. In any event, I can't help but think we're missing something. Something big. Something unexpected. A completely new, 'out of the box' way to look at it. I'm carefully not going into specifics here because it just wouldn't make a lot of sense to anyone who isn't involved in the piece. And of course, there's the impossibly complicated music, too. Haven't even begun to try and add that to the mix yet.
Ron is a surprising director, thriving on the unexpected. He never does what I think he might. That's a compliment of the highest order, incidentally. I love that.
Maybe today's rehearsal will shine a new light on the stuff we're tackling at the end of the play. Most likely it will.
In any event, the play is so explosive. Yesterday we'd be shuffling along, connecting the dots, being sort of pedestrian about the work and then suddenly and without warning a moment would come along and the piece just soars. It reaches a level of drama usually reserved for high opera. At this point in the process we still just get glimpses of it, brief moments of 'AH, HA!' And then, like a young bird trying to take flight, we're back to the hard work of actually mounting it. But the cool thing is we all feel it, we all see it, we all hear it, however quickly.
Sometimes I have a low threshold of tolerance for myself. I am frustrated when I don't have the tools to do what I want when I want it. It's entirely my fault. I see a moment that I want, an image I'd like to portray and yet I know I can't get to it yet. And then I get a little pissed off at myself. I know that sounds a little nebulous, but it's the best I can explain it.
There is a piece of music in the latter part of the play, a song that the character of Daisy (being performed by the wonderful Christine Horn) carries, that is giving me fits. I simply can't hear it yet. Today is all about that piece of music. I plan on listening to it about 1,000 times. I can't make a contribution to the play in this section unless I'm completely secure with the music. It's making our musical director a bit frustrated, too, and I can't blame him one bit. It's a classic example of looking for the softer, easier path rather than just buckle down and do what it takes to get it under my belt. A character flaw of mine, to be sure. So after a little whining to myself last night, a little blaming other people, a little kvetching, I finally realized it's squarely on my shoulders, no one else's. I have to work harder. I have to do more. I have to give it the time it deserves. If something isn't working for me, it's my fault, no one else's.
In early today for costume fittings and then back to the drawing board. No excuses.
So...alright...hm. Enough personal flogging. Gonna have some breakfast and dig in. It's time I took my own advice (something I tell my students all the time), "Theatre, ultimately, no matter how we try and dress it up, is not a democracy." So I've been given my assignment. It's up to me to do it.
See you tomorrow.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Busy, busy, busy...
More blocking yesterday. All day. Although, I must admit, it was a great rehearsal. We're getting into 'crunch time' despite the inordinantly long rehearsal period. This is a show that swings every club in the bag. High comedy to kitchen sink drama to flat-out farce. It's quite a journey, to say the least.
Yesterday was especially beneficial to me (aside from the very necessary blocking, of course) because it gave me a place to start, physically speaking, with this very long and very hard song, Zero's Confession. Until yesterday, I didn't quite know what Ron had in mind for it. Now I do, and I must say, it's absolutely riveting. In fact, it's such a powerful image, I won't even write about it. Don't wanna ruin the sight of it if someone comes to see this.
Also got to sing it while blocking it, which was very helpful.
Long day today. Meeting with the director and producer of From the East to the West this morning, we're blocking out one of the scenes for the cameras. Then an audition for a short film this afternoon and then, of course, rehearsal all night.
I was asked to send, via email, some photographic images of myself to our graphic designer for the show this past weekend. She is in Europe and yesterday sent back our flyer/poster for the show. She's done a very striking, yet unflattering likeness of me for it. I'll post it as soon as it's completed.
Tons more to write about today, but I'm afraid I'm pressed for time. I'll catch up tomorrow.
See you then.
Yesterday was especially beneficial to me (aside from the very necessary blocking, of course) because it gave me a place to start, physically speaking, with this very long and very hard song, Zero's Confession. Until yesterday, I didn't quite know what Ron had in mind for it. Now I do, and I must say, it's absolutely riveting. In fact, it's such a powerful image, I won't even write about it. Don't wanna ruin the sight of it if someone comes to see this.
Also got to sing it while blocking it, which was very helpful.
Long day today. Meeting with the director and producer of From the East to the West this morning, we're blocking out one of the scenes for the cameras. Then an audition for a short film this afternoon and then, of course, rehearsal all night.
I was asked to send, via email, some photographic images of myself to our graphic designer for the show this past weekend. She is in Europe and yesterday sent back our flyer/poster for the show. She's done a very striking, yet unflattering likeness of me for it. I'll post it as soon as it's completed.
Tons more to write about today, but I'm afraid I'm pressed for time. I'll catch up tomorrow.
See you then.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Ah, Blocking.
After a long blocking rehearsal yesterday, Angie and I came home and behaved quite shamelessly infantile by eating hotdogs and tater tots and watching cartoons.
Now, make no mistake, when I say 'cartoons' I don't mean The Jetsons or Josie and the Pussycats. Oh, no. We had netflixed a few films that we'd never seen, only heard about. The first was an absolutely wonderful little movie called 'Up.'
The film is unapologetically manipulative. And that's not a knock. I like films that are unapologetically manipulative. Serious film people apparently don't. I think that's a Scorcese-influenced line of thought, however. I don't see anything in the world wrong with manipulating an audience.
'Up' is a small film, animated, of course, about an old man who has lost his wife, his passion for life, his reason for living in the complicated world of today and so decides to take a trip to South America in memory of his daredevil, late spouse. He ties thousands of balloons to his house and just floats there on the winds. He accidentally takes a young boy scout with him. Zaniness ensues. And that's about all I can say about it without spoiling the whole thing. Except to say I cried three times during the movie. That's a lot for me. And I laughed out loud a lot, too. It's a quirky little movie and I recommend it highly.
Back in rehearsal today. Not a lot to say about these rehearsals. We're blocking. And blocking is blocking. Not terribly exciting. Certainly necessary. But it is what it is. Everybody does it differently. Ron tends to veer toward the 'trial and error' approach. When I direct, I like to speed through the blocking and then start fixing, molding and shaping. Others I know have an 'organic' approach. That is to say, let the actors do what 'feels' right. That can be a bit risky because sometimes you have actors that don't like to work that way.
I have, on occasion, worked with a group of top-flight actors who, quite literally, block themselves. And if one is blessed with the right actors, often times they come up with blocking that's better than what was initially planned anyway. Usually takes some real veterans to make that work, however.
Back to the drawing board today. Blocking and discussing. I was a little amused yesterday because Kelly (playing my wife in the play) was offering lots of input (all quite sensible, I might add) and at one point looked at me and said something like, "Do you have an opiniion on any of this?" I had remained silent up to this point. The truth is, I did have an opinion, but what I didn't have was an insight into Ron's overall concept yet. So to add my two cents would be entirely based on what I wanted to do. So it's all moot at this point. It doesn't matter what I want.
So more of the same today. It's all part of the process.
Angie is sitting in temporarily as AD (assistant director) until someone can be hired for that job. The former AD had to step out of the project because of conflicts. I think she's having fun doing it. She's been out of the theater biz for a long time (she's been a casting director for film and TV for many years now) so I think she's kind of amused to be doing it again. When she first moved out to Southern California a couple of decades ago, her first professional job was with The Old Globe Theater in San Diego. I don't think she's really dabbled in theater work since then.
So...
See you tomorrow.
Now, make no mistake, when I say 'cartoons' I don't mean The Jetsons or Josie and the Pussycats. Oh, no. We had netflixed a few films that we'd never seen, only heard about. The first was an absolutely wonderful little movie called 'Up.'
The film is unapologetically manipulative. And that's not a knock. I like films that are unapologetically manipulative. Serious film people apparently don't. I think that's a Scorcese-influenced line of thought, however. I don't see anything in the world wrong with manipulating an audience.
'Up' is a small film, animated, of course, about an old man who has lost his wife, his passion for life, his reason for living in the complicated world of today and so decides to take a trip to South America in memory of his daredevil, late spouse. He ties thousands of balloons to his house and just floats there on the winds. He accidentally takes a young boy scout with him. Zaniness ensues. And that's about all I can say about it without spoiling the whole thing. Except to say I cried three times during the movie. That's a lot for me. And I laughed out loud a lot, too. It's a quirky little movie and I recommend it highly.
Back in rehearsal today. Not a lot to say about these rehearsals. We're blocking. And blocking is blocking. Not terribly exciting. Certainly necessary. But it is what it is. Everybody does it differently. Ron tends to veer toward the 'trial and error' approach. When I direct, I like to speed through the blocking and then start fixing, molding and shaping. Others I know have an 'organic' approach. That is to say, let the actors do what 'feels' right. That can be a bit risky because sometimes you have actors that don't like to work that way.
I have, on occasion, worked with a group of top-flight actors who, quite literally, block themselves. And if one is blessed with the right actors, often times they come up with blocking that's better than what was initially planned anyway. Usually takes some real veterans to make that work, however.
Back to the drawing board today. Blocking and discussing. I was a little amused yesterday because Kelly (playing my wife in the play) was offering lots of input (all quite sensible, I might add) and at one point looked at me and said something like, "Do you have an opiniion on any of this?" I had remained silent up to this point. The truth is, I did have an opinion, but what I didn't have was an insight into Ron's overall concept yet. So to add my two cents would be entirely based on what I wanted to do. So it's all moot at this point. It doesn't matter what I want.
So more of the same today. It's all part of the process.
Angie is sitting in temporarily as AD (assistant director) until someone can be hired for that job. The former AD had to step out of the project because of conflicts. I think she's having fun doing it. She's been out of the theater biz for a long time (she's been a casting director for film and TV for many years now) so I think she's kind of amused to be doing it again. When she first moved out to Southern California a couple of decades ago, her first professional job was with The Old Globe Theater in San Diego. I don't think she's really dabbled in theater work since then.
So...
See you tomorrow.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Last Tango in Los Angeles: Singing as Zero.
Last Tango in Los Angeles: Singing as Zero.: "We sang/read thru the entire show last night. 'Twas not bad. Not great, but not bad. I'm speaking for myself, of course. Others may have..."
Singing as Zero.
We sang/read thru the entire show last night. 'Twas not bad. Not great, but not bad. I'm speaking for myself, of course. Others may have felt differently. I wasn't quite prepared to do so, but Ron wanted to hear the whole thing out loud and so...well, that's what we did. I made a decision to do the whole thing in character, that is to say, not to worry about my voice and its peculiarities, but to go ahead and sing the show, as much as possible, anyway, in the persona of Mr. Zero. I think it may have been a good decision.
I'm sitting here trying to think of how to explain the difference, for the lay reader, between 'Clif's voice' and 'Zero's voice.' Musically speaking, of course, there is no difference...either I know the notes, the rhythms, the meter, the tone, the placement, the harmonies, etc., or I don't. But mentally, there's a difference. Now, admittedly, I'm light years away from 'finding' Zero. (Quick insertion here for those just tuning in - Mr. Zero is the character I'm playing in the brilliant new musical Adding Machine at The Odyssey Theater in Los Angeles.)
Anyway, back to the difference in my mindset last night. I made a thousand mistakes, most small, some large. But I kept moving on. At the most I'd get a quick 'eyebrow raise' from Alan (musical director). But the thing I'm trying to convey here, I suppose, is that I was not struck by lightning, the beams of the theater didn't fall on me, Alan or Ron didn't shoot me straight away with a concealed revolver, the other performers didn't get up and walk out in disgust, none of that. We just moved on. Now, I know this sounds like a rookie observation. But honestly, it was enormously beneficial for me to sing and act through the whole damn thing without stopping or grieving over what I'd just done wrong.
And on the bright side, I did a few things right. Not many, but a few.
And also, I found some things. Moments, beats, thoughts that don't occur to me as "Clif" came to me last night as "Zero." Nebulous, to be sure. But it's true. All of this sounds terribly 'actor-y,' I know, but it was a real epiphany of sorts last night for me.
And, as I suspected all along, I was exhausted by the end of the show. And that's just standing there and singing and acting...not even doing it full out.
Today the blocking continues where we left off. I still don't have a full visual idea of how some of it is going to work. Which is odd, because usually I can 'see' the whole thing in my head almost immediately and thus plan my performance accordingly. Not so with this this piece. There are some transitions and musical interludes in the show that quite frankly I have no idea what's going on.
In any event, I'm having a really great time doing this. The next hurdle will be memorization and I suspect it's going to be really difficult. We have a ten day break over the holiday and I'll be working on this piece every single day.
Angie and I are heading back to Missouri for the break. I love hanging out with her family. They're good people. It will be a very 'family' kind of Christmas. My own childhood Christmas memories usually involved lots of whiskey and shouting and drama, so it will be nice to establish new Christmas memories with her and her family. This 'being married' gig is turning out to be pretty cool.
See you tomorrow.
I'm sitting here trying to think of how to explain the difference, for the lay reader, between 'Clif's voice' and 'Zero's voice.' Musically speaking, of course, there is no difference...either I know the notes, the rhythms, the meter, the tone, the placement, the harmonies, etc., or I don't. But mentally, there's a difference. Now, admittedly, I'm light years away from 'finding' Zero. (Quick insertion here for those just tuning in - Mr. Zero is the character I'm playing in the brilliant new musical Adding Machine at The Odyssey Theater in Los Angeles.)
Anyway, back to the difference in my mindset last night. I made a thousand mistakes, most small, some large. But I kept moving on. At the most I'd get a quick 'eyebrow raise' from Alan (musical director). But the thing I'm trying to convey here, I suppose, is that I was not struck by lightning, the beams of the theater didn't fall on me, Alan or Ron didn't shoot me straight away with a concealed revolver, the other performers didn't get up and walk out in disgust, none of that. We just moved on. Now, I know this sounds like a rookie observation. But honestly, it was enormously beneficial for me to sing and act through the whole damn thing without stopping or grieving over what I'd just done wrong.
And on the bright side, I did a few things right. Not many, but a few.
And also, I found some things. Moments, beats, thoughts that don't occur to me as "Clif" came to me last night as "Zero." Nebulous, to be sure. But it's true. All of this sounds terribly 'actor-y,' I know, but it was a real epiphany of sorts last night for me.
And, as I suspected all along, I was exhausted by the end of the show. And that's just standing there and singing and acting...not even doing it full out.
Today the blocking continues where we left off. I still don't have a full visual idea of how some of it is going to work. Which is odd, because usually I can 'see' the whole thing in my head almost immediately and thus plan my performance accordingly. Not so with this this piece. There are some transitions and musical interludes in the show that quite frankly I have no idea what's going on.
In any event, I'm having a really great time doing this. The next hurdle will be memorization and I suspect it's going to be really difficult. We have a ten day break over the holiday and I'll be working on this piece every single day.
Angie and I are heading back to Missouri for the break. I love hanging out with her family. They're good people. It will be a very 'family' kind of Christmas. My own childhood Christmas memories usually involved lots of whiskey and shouting and drama, so it will be nice to establish new Christmas memories with her and her family. This 'being married' gig is turning out to be pretty cool.
See you tomorrow.
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