Oedipus Complex
adapted and directed by Frank Galati
Corporate Sponsor Partner Fifth Third Bank
The Goodman Theatre
Side note: I love going to the larger theatrical venues in Chicago. It feels like an event. People are a little more dressed up and there seems to be a slight air of reverence for what we are about to see. There's a decorum, which I appreciate.
(A beef I have with Columbia College is that the students act like they're at a high school football game when they're attending a show. I dig a certain amount of energy and rowdiness if it's for the production and the story being told. Not because your bud's on stage.)
Note note: Oedipus Complex is a retelling of Sophocles' Oedipus Rex through Sigmund Freud, the father of psycho-analysis who dubbed the condition of falling in love with one parent and hating the other as an Oedipal Complex. So, there's a natural connection here worth mining. Plus, both Oedipus and Freud share a common outlook on life - no matter what you do, you're fucked.
The good news is that Oedipus Complex is performed in a full one act that passes rather quickly. I was stunned to look at my watch and see almost two hours had passed. The set is elegant and evokes a sparse Victorian setting. Most everything, from the costumes to the set and the checkered floor, is in black and white, adding an unexpected dream-like quality. There's some very interesting staging and who doesn't love a good eye-gouging?
For all the potential of having Freud and Oedipus on the same stage together, the play falls short. Galati never takes these two iconic characters and makes them his own. He sticks to Sophocles' and Freud's words, thus Freud and Oedipus are stuck in their own scripts, with Freud often showing up in Oedipus's story as a bit player. They never interact as Freud and Oedipus. As a result, it's just Oedipus Rex done in the style of a Victorian melodrama with some cool images. Freud tells us a little bit about his mother and his dreams, but they never pack an emotional punch and seem to exist separate from and unaffected by the Oedipal story. Freud never has anything at stake in telling us this story and his character goes unchanged at the end. So, if you're familiar with Oedipus Rex, you don't leave learning or thinking about anything new.
Storywise, the first third of the production is very slow with lots and lots of dramatic yakking. Galati could really use some editing here. We really don't need the annoying prophet in the wheel chair to almost leave and then wheel back in to tell, Oedipus, again, for the umpteenth time, that he's in for a lot of misery. He already made his point. This actor chose to base his character on a cross between Simon Bar Sinister and Dr. Strangelove with a dash of Mr. Potter. An odd affected performance that grows weary. The production doesn't really kick in until the entrance of the Corinthian Messenger who's there to give Oedipus good news and offer hope to him and his wife (er, mother, Jocasta - theater's first MILF)that the Oracle was wrong. This scene through to the end is full of many twists and turns and inventive staging. Even though I knew better, it had me hoping for a happy ending. That's the best thing I can say about this production. It made me forget a well known story and had me cheering for Ol' Oedie.
As for Freud, he comes across as a quiet, gentle scholar when he was really a jackass. The premise is fraught with possibilities that are tossed aside and is simply used as a way to dress up an old Greek Tragedy. It's worth seeing, but sometimes a Greek Tragedy is just a Greek Tragedy.
satire, social commentary, sketch comedy, writing, stuff
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Sheldon, the Savage
Last night, my Acting III: Comedy Workshop class performed a sketch revue called Savage Breast at Donny's Skybox at The Second City. I've been around Second City and the Skybox for so long, I sometimes forget what a huge deal this is for people. Students had family and friends - local and from out of town - there. The place was full to capacity. (A huge shout out to Jay Macintosh, the manager of the Skybox, and Jason Flowers, the technical director of the space. These guys went above and beyond to set up the evening and make it work as best as possible for the show. These guys are saints and I would bend over backwards, or forwards, for them.)
Even though it's a student show, I was a little nervous, too. My girlfriend came to the show. Julie's not in theater, but she's an excellent critic. Her input has been very helpful to me in "course correcting" a show or two.
But the person who really makes me nervous is Sheldon Patinkin. Sheldon is the Dean of the Theater Department at Columbia College and one of the founding members of The Second City. He's an artistic consultant to Steppenwolf Theater, as well as an author, playwright and well-respected director. He also knows a lot about vaudeville and has a book coming out on musical theater. He's a walking piece of Chicago theater history and I'm very aware of it.
This semester is my first teaching Comedy Workshop. It's been a lot of fun and taken a lot of my time and energy. We develop a sketch revue through improvisation, writing and performing previews. We do four shows throughout the spring term. And while I've thrown myself in to teaching this class, I've also dropped the ball in keeping Sheldon informed on the class's show times and dates. There have been changes over the semester that I didn't let him know about. The same thing happened tonight. At one time, our show was supposed to be at 7:30pm. John Hildreth, the teacher of Improvisation 2, which performed on a double bill with us, and I decided to change it to 7pm. We told our classes. We told the Skybox personnel. We didn't tell Sheldon. He missed the first twenty minutes of my show.
I was expecting to royally be chewed out by Sheldon. I deserved it. He came in late and had no place to sit. He stood to the side and watched the show. I made an old guy stand through a student show. How bitter and cruel this must be! Oh, and The Fart Scene is up. I know he hates The Fart Scene. I was already planning my "it won't happen, again" spiel and how I'll make sure it doesn't happen in the fall. Unless he fires me. I made him come late and stand watching The Fart Scene. At intermission, I went to look for him. I thought maybe he was upset and split. Nope. He was already backstage, individually congratulating the cast on a job well done. And then he told me the same.
Here's the thing about Sheldon. He cares. The Dean of the Theater doesn't have to go to ALL the student shows. The Dean of Theater at my college certainly didn't bother. I've never known Sheldon to miss any of them (except for the one a month ago where I forgot to tell him we changed the date). He sees a lot of half-assed theater, my friends. I've sat through some of the same shows. Shows that made my skin crawl and my brain try to crack it's way out of my skull to escape the intense boredom emanating from the stage. He's either a glutton for punishment, or he really, really cares about the students and their growth as artists. He asked me specifically about a few of the students who shone very well in the Comedy Workshop show. So, I didn't get yelled at. Instead, he seemed very appreciative of my work. The bastard.
Even though it's a student show, I was a little nervous, too. My girlfriend came to the show. Julie's not in theater, but she's an excellent critic. Her input has been very helpful to me in "course correcting" a show or two.
But the person who really makes me nervous is Sheldon Patinkin. Sheldon is the Dean of the Theater Department at Columbia College and one of the founding members of The Second City. He's an artistic consultant to Steppenwolf Theater, as well as an author, playwright and well-respected director. He also knows a lot about vaudeville and has a book coming out on musical theater. He's a walking piece of Chicago theater history and I'm very aware of it.
This semester is my first teaching Comedy Workshop. It's been a lot of fun and taken a lot of my time and energy. We develop a sketch revue through improvisation, writing and performing previews. We do four shows throughout the spring term. And while I've thrown myself in to teaching this class, I've also dropped the ball in keeping Sheldon informed on the class's show times and dates. There have been changes over the semester that I didn't let him know about. The same thing happened tonight. At one time, our show was supposed to be at 7:30pm. John Hildreth, the teacher of Improvisation 2, which performed on a double bill with us, and I decided to change it to 7pm. We told our classes. We told the Skybox personnel. We didn't tell Sheldon. He missed the first twenty minutes of my show.
I was expecting to royally be chewed out by Sheldon. I deserved it. He came in late and had no place to sit. He stood to the side and watched the show. I made an old guy stand through a student show. How bitter and cruel this must be! Oh, and The Fart Scene is up. I know he hates The Fart Scene. I was already planning my "it won't happen, again" spiel and how I'll make sure it doesn't happen in the fall. Unless he fires me. I made him come late and stand watching The Fart Scene. At intermission, I went to look for him. I thought maybe he was upset and split. Nope. He was already backstage, individually congratulating the cast on a job well done. And then he told me the same.
Here's the thing about Sheldon. He cares. The Dean of the Theater doesn't have to go to ALL the student shows. The Dean of Theater at my college certainly didn't bother. I've never known Sheldon to miss any of them (except for the one a month ago where I forgot to tell him we changed the date). He sees a lot of half-assed theater, my friends. I've sat through some of the same shows. Shows that made my skin crawl and my brain try to crack it's way out of my skull to escape the intense boredom emanating from the stage. He's either a glutton for punishment, or he really, really cares about the students and their growth as artists. He asked me specifically about a few of the students who shone very well in the Comedy Workshop show. So, I didn't get yelled at. Instead, he seemed very appreciative of my work. The bastard.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Smoke 'em If You've Got 'em
Daley Says Smoking On Stage Should Be Snuffed
Mayor Richard Daley said Saturday that there should be no exceptions to the city's anti-smoking ordinance or a proposed statewide smoking ban, not even actors in Chicago's bustling theater industry.
…Daley said that if actors wanted to maintain the artistic authenticity of the performance, "they can always use fake ones."
Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune
Use fake ones? Um, no.
I don't smoke. Never could. I tried. I tried hard. I hung out with some sketchy juvenile delinquents when I was thirteen and embarrassed myself immensely trying to keep pace with them on the Marlboro's. I hacked and wheezed my way out of ever being cool with these guys. Even today, I'm unable to smoke. My body just seems to reject the notion of allowing smoke in my lungs. I have dated smokers, lived with smokers and know many smokers. I do not defend them. It's a disgusting habit. Smokers are litter bugs and walking fire hazards. I hate how my clothes smell after spending time in a smokey bar. I support the smoking ban, if only for that last part. But I don't support it on the stage. Smoking is dumb, but that's even dumber.
In 2003, I was fortunate to be involved as an actor in the WNEP production "...Let There Be Light!" It's a play written by Jen Ellison and Dave Stinton based on a documentary by John Huston about WWII soldiers being processed through a mental hospital before being allowed to return home. If these soldiers weren't smokers before the war, they certainly were afterwards. It was a part of the time. The director wanted my character - the Colonel in charge of the hospital (another asshole) - to smoke. I tried. But couldn't even fake it without having a coughing fit. I had better luck with some cheap tiny cigars called Al Capone's that had a pipe tobacco scent. The play stood on it's own, but the aroma and the clouds of smoke hanging over the stage transported us and the audience to a different time and place. We took the play to New York where smoking is banned and it wasn't the same. I can't say that it ruined the play, but it didn't feel right and didn't seem to have the same magical effect.
Use fake ones? If we were doing the play today in Chicago and the grizzled war vets had lit up and the audience smelled herbal tea, we'd be laughed off the stage. Cigarettes, cigars and pipes can all enhance an actor's performance and express many unspoken aspects of their character. If you fake it, it breaks the illusion your audience has invested in.
If theaters need to post warnings, great. Let's do that. We already do it for gunshots and strobe lights. Let the consumer decide if they want to be exposed to the dangers of a smoking actor.
Mayor Richard Daley said Saturday that there should be no exceptions to the city's anti-smoking ordinance or a proposed statewide smoking ban, not even actors in Chicago's bustling theater industry.
…Daley said that if actors wanted to maintain the artistic authenticity of the performance, "they can always use fake ones."
Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune
Use fake ones? Um, no.
I don't smoke. Never could. I tried. I tried hard. I hung out with some sketchy juvenile delinquents when I was thirteen and embarrassed myself immensely trying to keep pace with them on the Marlboro's. I hacked and wheezed my way out of ever being cool with these guys. Even today, I'm unable to smoke. My body just seems to reject the notion of allowing smoke in my lungs. I have dated smokers, lived with smokers and know many smokers. I do not defend them. It's a disgusting habit. Smokers are litter bugs and walking fire hazards. I hate how my clothes smell after spending time in a smokey bar. I support the smoking ban, if only for that last part. But I don't support it on the stage. Smoking is dumb, but that's even dumber.
In 2003, I was fortunate to be involved as an actor in the WNEP production "...Let There Be Light!" It's a play written by Jen Ellison and Dave Stinton based on a documentary by John Huston about WWII soldiers being processed through a mental hospital before being allowed to return home. If these soldiers weren't smokers before the war, they certainly were afterwards. It was a part of the time. The director wanted my character - the Colonel in charge of the hospital (another asshole) - to smoke. I tried. But couldn't even fake it without having a coughing fit. I had better luck with some cheap tiny cigars called Al Capone's that had a pipe tobacco scent. The play stood on it's own, but the aroma and the clouds of smoke hanging over the stage transported us and the audience to a different time and place. We took the play to New York where smoking is banned and it wasn't the same. I can't say that it ruined the play, but it didn't feel right and didn't seem to have the same magical effect.
Use fake ones? If we were doing the play today in Chicago and the grizzled war vets had lit up and the audience smelled herbal tea, we'd be laughed off the stage. Cigarettes, cigars and pipes can all enhance an actor's performance and express many unspoken aspects of their character. If you fake it, it breaks the illusion your audience has invested in.
If theaters need to post warnings, great. Let's do that. We already do it for gunshots and strobe lights. Let the consumer decide if they want to be exposed to the dangers of a smoking actor.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
George Clooney's Birthday
The 24 Hour New Plays Festival, Part II
One thing I noticed about The 24 Hour New Plays Festival, is that the title of the event varies from flyer to program to announcements about it! In some places, It's The 24 Hour Playwrighting Festival. In others, it's just The 24 Hour Play Festival. Minor detail, I know, but it's one of those things I noticed that made me think I was getting myself involved in a train wreck. I was very wrong.
When I couldn't open the playwright's e-mailed script attachment, I went into a bit of a scramble. I had no idea what to bring to wear! After a few panicked voice mails to the director and playwright Friday morning, I went ahead and packed my suit. It's what I would have packed if I were doing a Second City TourCo show. I figured between that and the clothes I had on my back and whatever they needed to scare up for me in the costume department, I'd be fine. If there's one thing I learned at Second City, is that it's easier to be dressed up and pass yourself off as a slob or bum than it is to convincingly play someone snooty and high class when you look like you dressed to clean the bathroom. Sam, the playwright, called me just before I left and let me know I'd be playing a lawyer in the Justice Department. Sweet! I was good to go.
At 9am, we all checked in and met up with our groups. Sam brought copies. I immediately sat down and started to read it. This is what was going to make or break my day. I didn't know this guy. Didn't get a strong feeling about him the night before about his abilities. To my pleasant relief, the script was very funny and this guy nailed my comfort zone. My character was the boss. An asshole who fires a guy for not sucking up to him enough and promotes a synchophant graduate from The Pat Robertson Law School. I was in heaven.
We were assigned a room. The first thing we did was to read the script. Then we talked about staging. One thing Scott noticed is that Sam didn't give the play a setting. There's a reference to the Justice Department, but where are we exactly? I knew exactly what he meant. It's a pet peeve of mine with writers and improvisers, alike. Give your scene a where and use it. Sam said he didn't see it taking place anywhere specific. Just on stage. (Yikes! and Uh-Oh!) Scott is a very positive guy. He really embraces affirming ideas and trying them out. Where I may have been a jerk about it and demanded a where, he said, "Let's give it a try." We did, and it worked. We each had are own area of the stage.
Now, we just kept blocking and running the script and polishing and discovering. I did end up placing my guy in a bathroom, which led to some great character stuff with dental floss and washing my hands. Pat played Maven, a good attorney trying to save himself from being fired. I berate him for never taking me up on my offers to go to Sunday brunch, never confiding in me about his personal life, and, crime of all crimes, turning down tickets to Wicked. In a desperate attempt to turn the situation around, he tells me that he has fantasized about having sex with me, even though he's straight. My character, Tylney, asks him to say more about it. "How would it go? Would it be nasty, brutish...or tender?"
After some stammering, Maven says "...tender?"
"Nope! Wrong answer. (Tylney washes his hands) I'm not gay, but if I ever had sex with a man, I'd want it to be brutish... Tom Selleck brutish."
The line was funny enough and Scott and Sam let me add the Tom Selleck part.
Because we started off with a strong script, there wasn't a lot to do other than work on lines and keep polishing. Pat didn't bring a suit, so he needed to get some stuff from costuming. Jess brought a few things, but they enhanced her look with a vest and different jacket. The only prop was the trophy of a man holding up a star, which became The Legal Prize Trophy that I give out every month for loyalty and that Jess's character Caitlin has won.
Scott has done this festival before and mentioned that this was the smoothest start he's ever had with it. He's been in situations where they had to tear the script apart or the playwright and director kept adding things. I thought that if I ever did this as a writer, I would be tempted to plug in something I was already working on. It's clear Sam didn't do that. There were too many elements from our conversation the night before. It was also my character's birthday.
The only danger with our piece, is that by 3pm, I was already exhausted. At three, we went down to the theater and did our tech. We had been rehearsing it as if it would be performed on a proscenium. We discovered that we'd have audience three-quarters round. While there was a brief freak out in my head about it, it was really good news. When we got back to the rehearsal room, we did some re-blocking that opened up the scenes more. My character now had room to prowl.
At 6pm, all the groups met in the theater and we ran the tops and bottoms (the start and end) of each piece. This allowed us to work out transitions. We were the only scene that had zero set. Everyone else had sofas and chairs and coffee tables. One scene even had to piece together a woman on an operating table with her legs up in the air. I'm glad we kept it simple. Seeing everyone scramble with their props and sets and elaborate costumes made me cocky. I knew we had the best piece and would blow everyone away.
This is where my mind was blown. The evening is structured in such a way that all the actors filled up one section of the audience and we got to see the whole show. Each piece rocked. One or two were overblown sketches that could have ended up on MadTV, but the others were really thoughtful in their characterizations and stories. We had a reverse birth, an alien with a wooden hand, a modern day Adam and Eve with Cain and Abel, a little incest, and a green goblin prince on a date. Not a clunker in the bunch. Some of the best acting that I've seen in any production at Columbia. Not a one of them needed the qualifier of "Not bad for being whipped together in 24 hours." It was a good evening of entertainment separate from the festival aspect, which is the best thing I can say about it. The house was standing room only and the energy in the room - from the nervous energy of the actors to the palpable excitement in the audience, made for a rowdy and fun-filled evening.
Our piece went well, in spite of a few stumbles on lines by everyone. My Tom Selleck throwaway line got applause.
At the end of the evening, I helped break down the set and the seats - because, dammit, I help out, like a decent actor should. I thanked Stephanie Shaw for including me. I'm glad I got to be an actor instead of a playwright this time. None of the other teachers there had ever seen me perform, so it was a kick to have Sheldon Patinkin congratulate me on a job well done.
- Thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday. It was a tricky day for me. My brothers have decided that the best thing they can do to care for my mother is to place her in a nursing home. The heart issues and Alzheimer's have become too much for them to be able handle on their own. If there's any good news in this, it's that she is aware enough to know what's happening and is okay with it. She's in a nursing home that she used to work at for several years, so the surroundings are somewhat familiar and there are probably still people there who remember her and will care for her.
- Today, George Clooney turned 46. Yesterday, I turned 46. I missed being George Clooney by one day!
- This cracked me up. I watched many a rerun of Leave it to Beaver growing up. It was, still is, a very good show. I little naive in it's representation of the late 50's, early 60's, but, for what it was, it was very well written and created some classic characters. Follow the link below for a good laugh and an example of the humor they had on the set.
A letter from Leave it to Beaver
One thing I noticed about The 24 Hour New Plays Festival, is that the title of the event varies from flyer to program to announcements about it! In some places, It's The 24 Hour Playwrighting Festival. In others, it's just The 24 Hour Play Festival. Minor detail, I know, but it's one of those things I noticed that made me think I was getting myself involved in a train wreck. I was very wrong.
When I couldn't open the playwright's e-mailed script attachment, I went into a bit of a scramble. I had no idea what to bring to wear! After a few panicked voice mails to the director and playwright Friday morning, I went ahead and packed my suit. It's what I would have packed if I were doing a Second City TourCo show. I figured between that and the clothes I had on my back and whatever they needed to scare up for me in the costume department, I'd be fine. If there's one thing I learned at Second City, is that it's easier to be dressed up and pass yourself off as a slob or bum than it is to convincingly play someone snooty and high class when you look like you dressed to clean the bathroom. Sam, the playwright, called me just before I left and let me know I'd be playing a lawyer in the Justice Department. Sweet! I was good to go.
At 9am, we all checked in and met up with our groups. Sam brought copies. I immediately sat down and started to read it. This is what was going to make or break my day. I didn't know this guy. Didn't get a strong feeling about him the night before about his abilities. To my pleasant relief, the script was very funny and this guy nailed my comfort zone. My character was the boss. An asshole who fires a guy for not sucking up to him enough and promotes a synchophant graduate from The Pat Robertson Law School. I was in heaven.
We were assigned a room. The first thing we did was to read the script. Then we talked about staging. One thing Scott noticed is that Sam didn't give the play a setting. There's a reference to the Justice Department, but where are we exactly? I knew exactly what he meant. It's a pet peeve of mine with writers and improvisers, alike. Give your scene a where and use it. Sam said he didn't see it taking place anywhere specific. Just on stage. (Yikes! and Uh-Oh!) Scott is a very positive guy. He really embraces affirming ideas and trying them out. Where I may have been a jerk about it and demanded a where, he said, "Let's give it a try." We did, and it worked. We each had are own area of the stage.
Now, we just kept blocking and running the script and polishing and discovering. I did end up placing my guy in a bathroom, which led to some great character stuff with dental floss and washing my hands. Pat played Maven, a good attorney trying to save himself from being fired. I berate him for never taking me up on my offers to go to Sunday brunch, never confiding in me about his personal life, and, crime of all crimes, turning down tickets to Wicked. In a desperate attempt to turn the situation around, he tells me that he has fantasized about having sex with me, even though he's straight. My character, Tylney, asks him to say more about it. "How would it go? Would it be nasty, brutish...or tender?"
After some stammering, Maven says "...tender?"
"Nope! Wrong answer. (Tylney washes his hands) I'm not gay, but if I ever had sex with a man, I'd want it to be brutish... Tom Selleck brutish."
The line was funny enough and Scott and Sam let me add the Tom Selleck part.
Because we started off with a strong script, there wasn't a lot to do other than work on lines and keep polishing. Pat didn't bring a suit, so he needed to get some stuff from costuming. Jess brought a few things, but they enhanced her look with a vest and different jacket. The only prop was the trophy of a man holding up a star, which became The Legal Prize Trophy that I give out every month for loyalty and that Jess's character Caitlin has won.
Scott has done this festival before and mentioned that this was the smoothest start he's ever had with it. He's been in situations where they had to tear the script apart or the playwright and director kept adding things. I thought that if I ever did this as a writer, I would be tempted to plug in something I was already working on. It's clear Sam didn't do that. There were too many elements from our conversation the night before. It was also my character's birthday.
The only danger with our piece, is that by 3pm, I was already exhausted. At three, we went down to the theater and did our tech. We had been rehearsing it as if it would be performed on a proscenium. We discovered that we'd have audience three-quarters round. While there was a brief freak out in my head about it, it was really good news. When we got back to the rehearsal room, we did some re-blocking that opened up the scenes more. My character now had room to prowl.
At 6pm, all the groups met in the theater and we ran the tops and bottoms (the start and end) of each piece. This allowed us to work out transitions. We were the only scene that had zero set. Everyone else had sofas and chairs and coffee tables. One scene even had to piece together a woman on an operating table with her legs up in the air. I'm glad we kept it simple. Seeing everyone scramble with their props and sets and elaborate costumes made me cocky. I knew we had the best piece and would blow everyone away.
This is where my mind was blown. The evening is structured in such a way that all the actors filled up one section of the audience and we got to see the whole show. Each piece rocked. One or two were overblown sketches that could have ended up on MadTV, but the others were really thoughtful in their characterizations and stories. We had a reverse birth, an alien with a wooden hand, a modern day Adam and Eve with Cain and Abel, a little incest, and a green goblin prince on a date. Not a clunker in the bunch. Some of the best acting that I've seen in any production at Columbia. Not a one of them needed the qualifier of "Not bad for being whipped together in 24 hours." It was a good evening of entertainment separate from the festival aspect, which is the best thing I can say about it. The house was standing room only and the energy in the room - from the nervous energy of the actors to the palpable excitement in the audience, made for a rowdy and fun-filled evening.
Our piece went well, in spite of a few stumbles on lines by everyone. My Tom Selleck throwaway line got applause.
At the end of the evening, I helped break down the set and the seats - because, dammit, I help out, like a decent actor should. I thanked Stephanie Shaw for including me. I'm glad I got to be an actor instead of a playwright this time. None of the other teachers there had ever seen me perform, so it was a kick to have Sheldon Patinkin congratulate me on a job well done.
- Thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday. It was a tricky day for me. My brothers have decided that the best thing they can do to care for my mother is to place her in a nursing home. The heart issues and Alzheimer's have become too much for them to be able handle on their own. If there's any good news in this, it's that she is aware enough to know what's happening and is okay with it. She's in a nursing home that she used to work at for several years, so the surroundings are somewhat familiar and there are probably still people there who remember her and will care for her.
- Today, George Clooney turned 46. Yesterday, I turned 46. I missed being George Clooney by one day!
- This cracked me up. I watched many a rerun of Leave it to Beaver growing up. It was, still is, a very good show. I little naive in it's representation of the late 50's, early 60's, but, for what it was, it was very well written and created some classic characters. Follow the link below for a good laugh and an example of the humor they had on the set.
A letter from Leave it to Beaver
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Cinco de Joe
It's my birthday and it's a busy day. I have classes all day and then OLD! opens tonight at Donny's Skybox at 7:30pm. I think this show is worth seeing, if only for the musical numbers. The folk singing suburban housewives who call themselves Fem Shui rock the house. Afterwards, will pop over to Corcoran's for food and drink. Come join us, if you can. I'll write more about the 24 Hour Play Festival tomorrow. It went very, very well.
Friday, May 4, 2007
24, Sans Jack Bauer
THE FOLLOWING TOOK PLACE BETWEEN 6:30PM AND 7:30PM
Last night at 6:30pm, I started in Columbia's The 24 Hour New Plays Festival. Stephanie Shaw, who did a great job directing Urinetown for the Columbia mainstage this year, organizes this event. She will also be directing one of the pieces, stepping in for an ill director.
Here's how the whole thing works: There are six playwrights, six directors and 18 actors. The six directors were chosen by Stephanie a month or two ago. It's an even split of faculty members and student directing majors. Actors wishing to participate "wooed" the directors, mostly by hounding them or baking them cookies. Stephanie also sent out an invitation to faculty to see if anyone would like to participate. I offered up my services as a crackerjack writer and was immediately asked to be an actor. An acting slot is actually more challenging. As an actor, it's your ass on stage in the heat of the moment. You're at the mercy of the playwright and director and scene partners. There's a big roll of the dice in hoping that everything works out.
This is my first time doing this, so last night was all new to me. I've never been much of a fan of the "let's see what I can pull out of my butt" type of events. I'm all about nurturing and process. I never quite saw the point of taking years of experience and smashing them into limited number of hours and resources and, more than likely, putting up a piece of crap. I was never sure who it was for and why would anyone other than friends and people who enjoy watching NASCAR crashes want to see it? I felt this way until a few years ago when I was asked to direct an Octa-Sketch show for Sketchfest. The deal there, is that you were randomly teamed with five improvisers and had eight hours to put together a thirty minute sketch comedy revue. It was a blast. When you have such a short period of time, there's not a lot of room for mulling things over or exploring multiple options. There's a lot of making bold choices and working really hard to make them successful. It was very liberating to work that way and I enjoyed the show we put together. The whole experience was exhilarating. I've been looking to do something similar since then, so when the opportunity to do this came up, I jumped on it.
So, last night we all gathered in a room. I knew all the teachers in the mix and a few of the students. First, the playwright's pulled names of directors out of a bucket. Then the directors pulled the names of three actors out of a bucket. Totally random. My director is Scott Olson, another part-timer, like me. Our playwright is Sam Park and my fellow actors are Jess Elfring and Pat Babbitt. Scott's great. I've seen a few of his student productions at Columbia and we always seem to find ourselves in the teachers lounge around the same time. He's an enthusiastic guy who's not afraid to tell it like it is. Sam and Pat are new to me, although Pat and I know a lot of the same people through improv (he does a Friday midnight show at iO) and we share the same birth date - Cinco de Mayo (write it down). I have seen Jess perform in an Improvisation 2 class. She has a nice deadpan delivery.
We got into our groups and Brea, the stage manager, facilitated us through a "get to know you" process, mainly for the playwright's benefit. Each of the actors had to answer a specific question and spend five minutes answering it. I went first and my task was to complete the phrase "When I get caught doing something wrong, I..."
Well, when I get caught doing something wrong, I become a little kid busted. It's like an envelope of shame rises up around me. I'm embarrassed. Especially if I see absolutely no hope in convincingly lying my way out it. Everyone kept asking me for examples, and I didn't have any recent ones. Not that I don't do anything wrong, I just don't get caught. I had to reach back to what I called "The Big Stinky" when I got caught embezzling money in college. I'll save the details for another article in the future. Suffice it to say, it was a huge setback for me, emotionally and financially, and took me about five years to work it out and move on. No jail time, in case you were wondering.
Then we were asked to just tell the playwright our strengths, what we love to do on stage and what's the one thing that scares us the most - for me, it's singing. I am not a natural. I have to be spoon fed melodies. What really strikes fear in my heart is improvisational singing. I've done it. I'll do it. But I suck at it and would much rather prefer you didn't pimp me into singing. Of course, that's like having a sunburn and hoping no one pats you on the back. Your fear is a magnet for what you don't want. Consequently, I have bit large wheels of cheese singing on Chicago's finest improv stages.
Sam was asked to pick a prop from a table to use in our piece. He chose a small trophy of a man holding a star with "Best Director" written on the base in magic marker. Turns out it belonged to Scott. So, some nice kismet going on there.
Then we called it a night. Sam was up all night working on a script for us that we'll see this morning. He e-mailed it out to everyone at 1:30am. Unfortunately, he sent it in a Final Draft format, which I'm unable to open. Argh! I want to read it so bad! It was entitled Justice. I wonder if it has anything to do with embezzlement. We reconvene at 9am when we will be given hard copies of the script and work all day getting ready for tonight. If you're interested, it's at 8pm at the Classic Studio in the Columbia Theater Building on 11th Street between Michigan and Wabash. It's free, no reservations accepted, and, apparently, it's very popular. Get there early to get a seat.
And if you're doing the math, you're right. We started at 6:30pm last night and won't finish until roughly 10pm tonight. But The 27 and a Half Hour New Plays Festival doesn't have the same ring to it. So, not quite like 24. Hopefully, it won't have any bombs, either.
Last night at 6:30pm, I started in Columbia's The 24 Hour New Plays Festival. Stephanie Shaw, who did a great job directing Urinetown for the Columbia mainstage this year, organizes this event. She will also be directing one of the pieces, stepping in for an ill director.
Here's how the whole thing works: There are six playwrights, six directors and 18 actors. The six directors were chosen by Stephanie a month or two ago. It's an even split of faculty members and student directing majors. Actors wishing to participate "wooed" the directors, mostly by hounding them or baking them cookies. Stephanie also sent out an invitation to faculty to see if anyone would like to participate. I offered up my services as a crackerjack writer and was immediately asked to be an actor. An acting slot is actually more challenging. As an actor, it's your ass on stage in the heat of the moment. You're at the mercy of the playwright and director and scene partners. There's a big roll of the dice in hoping that everything works out.
This is my first time doing this, so last night was all new to me. I've never been much of a fan of the "let's see what I can pull out of my butt" type of events. I'm all about nurturing and process. I never quite saw the point of taking years of experience and smashing them into limited number of hours and resources and, more than likely, putting up a piece of crap. I was never sure who it was for and why would anyone other than friends and people who enjoy watching NASCAR crashes want to see it? I felt this way until a few years ago when I was asked to direct an Octa-Sketch show for Sketchfest. The deal there, is that you were randomly teamed with five improvisers and had eight hours to put together a thirty minute sketch comedy revue. It was a blast. When you have such a short period of time, there's not a lot of room for mulling things over or exploring multiple options. There's a lot of making bold choices and working really hard to make them successful. It was very liberating to work that way and I enjoyed the show we put together. The whole experience was exhilarating. I've been looking to do something similar since then, so when the opportunity to do this came up, I jumped on it.
So, last night we all gathered in a room. I knew all the teachers in the mix and a few of the students. First, the playwright's pulled names of directors out of a bucket. Then the directors pulled the names of three actors out of a bucket. Totally random. My director is Scott Olson, another part-timer, like me. Our playwright is Sam Park and my fellow actors are Jess Elfring and Pat Babbitt. Scott's great. I've seen a few of his student productions at Columbia and we always seem to find ourselves in the teachers lounge around the same time. He's an enthusiastic guy who's not afraid to tell it like it is. Sam and Pat are new to me, although Pat and I know a lot of the same people through improv (he does a Friday midnight show at iO) and we share the same birth date - Cinco de Mayo (write it down). I have seen Jess perform in an Improvisation 2 class. She has a nice deadpan delivery.
We got into our groups and Brea, the stage manager, facilitated us through a "get to know you" process, mainly for the playwright's benefit. Each of the actors had to answer a specific question and spend five minutes answering it. I went first and my task was to complete the phrase "When I get caught doing something wrong, I..."
Well, when I get caught doing something wrong, I become a little kid busted. It's like an envelope of shame rises up around me. I'm embarrassed. Especially if I see absolutely no hope in convincingly lying my way out it. Everyone kept asking me for examples, and I didn't have any recent ones. Not that I don't do anything wrong, I just don't get caught. I had to reach back to what I called "The Big Stinky" when I got caught embezzling money in college. I'll save the details for another article in the future. Suffice it to say, it was a huge setback for me, emotionally and financially, and took me about five years to work it out and move on. No jail time, in case you were wondering.
Then we were asked to just tell the playwright our strengths, what we love to do on stage and what's the one thing that scares us the most - for me, it's singing. I am not a natural. I have to be spoon fed melodies. What really strikes fear in my heart is improvisational singing. I've done it. I'll do it. But I suck at it and would much rather prefer you didn't pimp me into singing. Of course, that's like having a sunburn and hoping no one pats you on the back. Your fear is a magnet for what you don't want. Consequently, I have bit large wheels of cheese singing on Chicago's finest improv stages.
Sam was asked to pick a prop from a table to use in our piece. He chose a small trophy of a man holding a star with "Best Director" written on the base in magic marker. Turns out it belonged to Scott. So, some nice kismet going on there.
Then we called it a night. Sam was up all night working on a script for us that we'll see this morning. He e-mailed it out to everyone at 1:30am. Unfortunately, he sent it in a Final Draft format, which I'm unable to open. Argh! I want to read it so bad! It was entitled Justice. I wonder if it has anything to do with embezzlement. We reconvene at 9am when we will be given hard copies of the script and work all day getting ready for tonight. If you're interested, it's at 8pm at the Classic Studio in the Columbia Theater Building on 11th Street between Michigan and Wabash. It's free, no reservations accepted, and, apparently, it's very popular. Get there early to get a seat.
And if you're doing the math, you're right. We started at 6:30pm last night and won't finish until roughly 10pm tonight. But The 27 and a Half Hour New Plays Festival doesn't have the same ring to it. So, not quite like 24. Hopefully, it won't have any bombs, either.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Must Be Present To Win
Columbia College has a very strict attendance policy in the theater department. If you miss three classes, you fail the course. Period. That's a very clear policy. Not all classes at Columbia follow this. If it's a lecture-oriented course, you only need to make sure you do all the quizes, exams and assigned paper work and show up on test days. In most theater classes, roughly 80% of your grade comes from participation. If there's one major component of participation, it's that you have to be in the same room as the rest of the class to do it. You have to show up.
I've had a very challenging, and very rewarding, Improvisation I class this semester. There's sixteen students and all of them have demonstrated a degree of talent for the craft that's exciting for me as a teacher to encourage and to see grow. It pains me when students I like do dumb things, like miss more than three classes. Improvisation I is a little like gym class. It's hard to fail. The only way to fail, really, is to not show up.
If a student misses four classes, I'll give them a chance to erase an absence by writing a review of an improv show. I find that when a student sees what more experienced improvisers are doing in Chicago, it informs their skills and I usually see a tiny leap forward in their work. If someone misses five classes, they're pushing it and I begin to feel taken advantage of. I resent being put in that position. I don't want to flunk a student. Especially if it's someone I like. It feels like my failure. But as another teacher reminded me today, it doesn't serve them to do them any favors. If they're messing up now on the simple task of showing up to class, then how are they going to be in the professional world? But even at five absences, I can be had, and I'll allow you to do two reviews.
Today, a student missed her sixth class. I was really looking forward to seeing her work. She's struggled a bit in class. She has trouble with committing to the reality of the scene and being in support of her scene partner. Last week, I saw her have a small breakthrough in her work. She heightened a scene and set it on track. She did this with the tiniest utterance of "I'm not getting back together with you." Up until then, the relationships in the scene were undefined. That sentence made a click sound in everyone's head - on stage and in the audience - everything previous to that moment suddenly made sense and the scene really began to soar. I was anxious to see if she'd be able to build on what happened last week. But she wasn't in class today. So, I have to fail her.
She didn't show up. Bummer.
I've had a very challenging, and very rewarding, Improvisation I class this semester. There's sixteen students and all of them have demonstrated a degree of talent for the craft that's exciting for me as a teacher to encourage and to see grow. It pains me when students I like do dumb things, like miss more than three classes. Improvisation I is a little like gym class. It's hard to fail. The only way to fail, really, is to not show up.
If a student misses four classes, I'll give them a chance to erase an absence by writing a review of an improv show. I find that when a student sees what more experienced improvisers are doing in Chicago, it informs their skills and I usually see a tiny leap forward in their work. If someone misses five classes, they're pushing it and I begin to feel taken advantage of. I resent being put in that position. I don't want to flunk a student. Especially if it's someone I like. It feels like my failure. But as another teacher reminded me today, it doesn't serve them to do them any favors. If they're messing up now on the simple task of showing up to class, then how are they going to be in the professional world? But even at five absences, I can be had, and I'll allow you to do two reviews.
Today, a student missed her sixth class. I was really looking forward to seeing her work. She's struggled a bit in class. She has trouble with committing to the reality of the scene and being in support of her scene partner. Last week, I saw her have a small breakthrough in her work. She heightened a scene and set it on track. She did this with the tiniest utterance of "I'm not getting back together with you." Up until then, the relationships in the scene were undefined. That sentence made a click sound in everyone's head - on stage and in the audience - everything previous to that moment suddenly made sense and the scene really began to soar. I was anxious to see if she'd be able to build on what happened last week. But she wasn't in class today. So, I have to fail her.
She didn't show up. Bummer.
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