Back in the late eighties I studied with the brilliant actor/writer/pianist/composer, Michael Moriarty for several years. Right up until Michael started doing Law and Order, in fact. After that he no longer had time to teach. Which was a shame because Michael was a very gifted and gentle teacher. Not to mention a brilliant actor. One of the reasons Michael was so good as a teacher, I think, is because he had been there himself, under fire, on the front line of artistic combat, suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Many times. And what's more, he has a shelf full of Tony's and Emmy's to prove it.
So over the time I worked with Michael I got a lot of opportunities to pick his brain, listen to stories and anectdotes. Michael has worked with everyone from Katherine Hepburn to Tennessee Williams to Robert DeNiro to Jack Nicholson to Meryl Streep. He has wonderful memories of them all and is a great storyteller.
One of the stories I remember him recounting to me one night was about doing 'Bang the Drum Slowly' with DeNiro. He said there was a scene, I believe it was set in a public bathroom in the film, where DeNiro's character had to vomit into a toilet while Michael was standing outside the stall. Michael's character could hear it all happening. For those who don't know the film, the DeNiro character is dying from some disease (never actually named). Both play big league baseball players.
In any event, DeNiro wanted, as was his usual approach in those days, absolute realism. So when it came time to shoot that scene he came in with one of those long, iced tea spoons. And just before every take of him throwing up, he would jam the spoon into the back of his throat to instigate his gag reflex. Over and over. Quite a few takes to get just the right one, Michael recalled. And, as he stood there watching this he thought to himself, 'I'm just not that serious about all this. It's only a movie, for Pete's sake.'
Another time, years back, I was doing the wonderful Lanford Wilson play, Fifth of July. I'd done it once before way back in college and was doing it again in an off-broadway revival at Circle-in-the-Square in New York. Wilson himself was on hand for a good part of the rehearsal period and actually wrote some new dialogue for our production. Marshall Mason was directing again.
In the play, two of the characters come very close to a fist fight. One is holding some gardening shears and uses them as a weapon to ward off the other character. It's a great moment and very tense. Anyway, during one late rehearsal, the moment got out of hand quite unexpectedly and the two actors actually threw some punches before the rest of us could get between them. Their relationship off-stage was never the same which was sad because they had been friends. In the aftermath of this little incident I remember thinking the same thing Michael had thought in that bathroom years before...'I'm just not that serious about all this.' Certainly not serious enough to lose control of myself and throw a punch in rehearsal. Not only does that violate nearly every acting instinct I have, it's just plain counter-productive. What is to be gained from something like that?
A moment like that comes from the passion of the artist. I honestly don't think these two guys (I've long since lost touch with both) had any sort of anger against each other, they just got lost in the moment.
Trying to churn out a perfect product is a myth that we who work on the stage chase relentlessly. And, I might add, without success. But we can't help ourselves. We're too passionate about it. And we'd certainly never do anything less than our very best.
That moment in Fifth of July never worked again because the actors wouldn't let themselves go that far again. They were both quietly ashamed of it. They later apologized and went out for drinks together and laughed about it, but the damage was done. There was an unhealthy tension between them for the rest of the run. It was an intangible thing, but there.
I love artists. People who are not only passionate about what they do, be it painting or acting or music or sculpting or dancing, but also good at it. I adore that passion. I thrive on it. It inspires me.
I recently played the lead role in one of my own plays. It was a tremendously difficult process. Egos ran rampant, my own included. A loggerhead was reached, of sorts, between myself (not only the actor but the playwright) and the director. We disagreed vehemently on our respective visions of the play. In the end we had a tremendously successful product, but it was really tough getting there. I sincerely regret some of the arguments we had about the play. In the final analysis, it didn't matter. The material soared anyway.
I was reminded of the passion of the artist last night as I stood aside and watched all of these unbelievably talented artists doing what they do best. I felt and feel terribly fortunate to be involved. There's nothing quite like the feeling of knowing the material is as good as the work. It's the same feeling I get every time I've worked on a piece of Shakespeare. There is a genius there that we all find ourselves trying to match. Everyone wants perfection. And that's how it should be.
I can't even begin to relay to you, Gentle Reader, the jaw-dropping talent involved in this piece: Ron Sossi, Alan Patrick Kenny, Kelly Lester, Rob Herring, Christine Horn, just to name the principals. The ensemble is every bit as extraordinary. During one of the breaks last night, I was listening to our musical director (Alan) and one of our ensemble members (Travis Leland) casually sing through some music from another show. I was stunned. These guys are just so, so good at what they do. Even when they're just playing around.
Back at it today. Music is out, script is out, pouring over it first thing in the morning. As a playwright I know how volatile the process of creating can be. And as an actor I know how very much it means to try and do justice to a good piece of writing. And I recognize and appreciate the fine line between passion and frustration. On one hand it makes for some sleepless nights. On the other hand it makes for a truly indescribable feeling of accomplishment. And the journey, bumps and all, is a beautiful and worthwhile thing.
See you tomorrow.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Adding Machine, a Musical. Opens January 22, 2011, Odyssey Theater, Los Angeles.
A long weekend of rehearsal. Wednesday we have our 'designer run thru.' To the uninitiated, this is not a run for Calvin Klein and that ilk, but rather a run of the show for the set, lighting, sound and costume designers. It is their first opportunity to see the piece translated from page to stage.
Thursday, if I'm not mistaken, we have our 'sitzprobe.' This is our first opportunity to sing all the music while sitting around the full orchestra.
Josh Schmidt, bless his heart, has written a musical so dense, so complex, so perfectly melded together as to be mind-boggling at times. And difficult. So difficult. I actually stopped a music rehearsal briefly yesterday to ask our music director, the stalwart and always good-humored Alan Patrick Kenny, if he didn't think Josh was perhaps having a bit of fun with us at times. It's hard to describe without hearing the music, but there are moments in the score which seem simply random. Alan assured me he didn't. I could only smile and push on.
I'm reminded of the apocryphal story about Shakespeare and his leading actor, Richard Burbage. It is oft repeated in the acting world. The story is that Shakespeare and Burbage were getting drunk together one night and Burbage, known to be a huge egoist, claimed that Shakespeare could not write a part he couldn't play. Shakespeare then wrote Hamlet. The inside joke is that Hamlet is a character that, as Olivier says in the opening of his film of the play, 'cannot make up his mind.' The one thing an actor cannot play, at least for long stretches, is indecision. The reason being that generally speaking the most important thing an actor does is make choices, make decisions. It is at the very heart of an actor's 'intentions' and 'motivation.' So there's Hamlet, unable to do so.
The reason it reminds me of this story is because there are moments, musically speaking, in the play that seem completely haphazard, intentionally random. Yet they're not. They fit together perfectly. It's just not readily apparent.
So all of us, not just myself, but all of us - Kelly Lester, Christine Horn, Rob Herring - all of us that have some solo stuff, find ourselves occasionally just stopping the proceedings now and then and saying..."Is that right? Is this a misprint? Do you actually want me to sing a C there instead of a D?"
Josh, if you're reading this, you've written a slice of sly genius. God forbid an actor should try and get comfortable singing one of these songs. If the others are like me, just when I start to think I've got this, I realize I don't. It's maddening.
But brilliant.
After a marathon couple of rehearsal periods this weekend, I'm back at the drawing board all day, listening to this stuff, singing along with it, making notations in the score, doing it again, trying to shove it into my muscle memory, trying once more. Repitition is the soul of art.
Sometimes, after a show, I get this question from an audience member: How do you remember all of those lines. Well, I'll tell you how. I say them 10,000 times before you ever hear them for the first time. It's that simple.
Due to complications beyond anyone's control, we've added a couple of new ensemble members into the show as of yesterday. They're both very good. The show just notched up a bit because of their contributions. Very exciting.
Two of my best friends, John Bader and Jim Barbour, are both off doing gigs of their own right now: Jim in NY doing his Christmas Concert to full houses at the historic 'Birdland' club in that city and John is doing a flat-out, no-holds-barred holiday farce over at the Hudson Theater here in LA. Angie and I are going to see John this Friday on my one night off. Unfortunately, we weren't able to see Jimmy this year. We saw his holiday concert tour last year, however, and it's astonishing. James Barbour has one of the finest voices in the world today. Not America, not NYC, not LA...but the world. If you haven't seen him do it, do so immediately. It's awesome. There's a reason Jim is one of the most highly sought-after Broadway leading men around today, and it ain't because he fits the costumes. He's amazing. And Johnny is back on stage after a long absence (John does a ton of film and commercial work these days). It'll be good to see him back doing what he does so well.
Sorry. Had to plug my buddies there. I don't plug mediocre stuff, though. Both Jim and John have more talent than is usually thought humanly possible. I am very lucky to have such talented friends. For one thing it makes it so much easier to talk to them after I see them perform. I don't have to say things like, "You know, I couldn't see anyone else in that role but you." Or, "Boy, you got close this time, didn't you?" Or, "You were wearing the nicest hat I think I've ever seen tonight."
So...back at it. Turn off the TV, put on the headphones, crank up the CD, pull out the score, dim the lights, concentrate, George, concentrate...see a perfect tree...
See you tomorrow.
Thursday, if I'm not mistaken, we have our 'sitzprobe.' This is our first opportunity to sing all the music while sitting around the full orchestra.
Josh Schmidt, bless his heart, has written a musical so dense, so complex, so perfectly melded together as to be mind-boggling at times. And difficult. So difficult. I actually stopped a music rehearsal briefly yesterday to ask our music director, the stalwart and always good-humored Alan Patrick Kenny, if he didn't think Josh was perhaps having a bit of fun with us at times. It's hard to describe without hearing the music, but there are moments in the score which seem simply random. Alan assured me he didn't. I could only smile and push on.
I'm reminded of the apocryphal story about Shakespeare and his leading actor, Richard Burbage. It is oft repeated in the acting world. The story is that Shakespeare and Burbage were getting drunk together one night and Burbage, known to be a huge egoist, claimed that Shakespeare could not write a part he couldn't play. Shakespeare then wrote Hamlet. The inside joke is that Hamlet is a character that, as Olivier says in the opening of his film of the play, 'cannot make up his mind.' The one thing an actor cannot play, at least for long stretches, is indecision. The reason being that generally speaking the most important thing an actor does is make choices, make decisions. It is at the very heart of an actor's 'intentions' and 'motivation.' So there's Hamlet, unable to do so.
The reason it reminds me of this story is because there are moments, musically speaking, in the play that seem completely haphazard, intentionally random. Yet they're not. They fit together perfectly. It's just not readily apparent.
So all of us, not just myself, but all of us - Kelly Lester, Christine Horn, Rob Herring - all of us that have some solo stuff, find ourselves occasionally just stopping the proceedings now and then and saying..."Is that right? Is this a misprint? Do you actually want me to sing a C there instead of a D?"
Josh, if you're reading this, you've written a slice of sly genius. God forbid an actor should try and get comfortable singing one of these songs. If the others are like me, just when I start to think I've got this, I realize I don't. It's maddening.
But brilliant.
After a marathon couple of rehearsal periods this weekend, I'm back at the drawing board all day, listening to this stuff, singing along with it, making notations in the score, doing it again, trying to shove it into my muscle memory, trying once more. Repitition is the soul of art.
Sometimes, after a show, I get this question from an audience member: How do you remember all of those lines. Well, I'll tell you how. I say them 10,000 times before you ever hear them for the first time. It's that simple.
Due to complications beyond anyone's control, we've added a couple of new ensemble members into the show as of yesterday. They're both very good. The show just notched up a bit because of their contributions. Very exciting.
Two of my best friends, John Bader and Jim Barbour, are both off doing gigs of their own right now: Jim in NY doing his Christmas Concert to full houses at the historic 'Birdland' club in that city and John is doing a flat-out, no-holds-barred holiday farce over at the Hudson Theater here in LA. Angie and I are going to see John this Friday on my one night off. Unfortunately, we weren't able to see Jimmy this year. We saw his holiday concert tour last year, however, and it's astonishing. James Barbour has one of the finest voices in the world today. Not America, not NYC, not LA...but the world. If you haven't seen him do it, do so immediately. It's awesome. There's a reason Jim is one of the most highly sought-after Broadway leading men around today, and it ain't because he fits the costumes. He's amazing. And Johnny is back on stage after a long absence (John does a ton of film and commercial work these days). It'll be good to see him back doing what he does so well.
Sorry. Had to plug my buddies there. I don't plug mediocre stuff, though. Both Jim and John have more talent than is usually thought humanly possible. I am very lucky to have such talented friends. For one thing it makes it so much easier to talk to them after I see them perform. I don't have to say things like, "You know, I couldn't see anyone else in that role but you." Or, "Boy, you got close this time, didn't you?" Or, "You were wearing the nicest hat I think I've ever seen tonight."
So...back at it. Turn off the TV, put on the headphones, crank up the CD, pull out the score, dim the lights, concentrate, George, concentrate...see a perfect tree...
See you tomorrow.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
This one's going out of the park...
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.
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.
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.
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