Line!

I had the actor's nightmare last night. Kind of odd since I haven't been on stage in years. While the details of the play change each time I have this dream, one thing is always the same: unlike the play of the same name, the anxiety in my dream is all when I'm off stage, looking desperately for a copy of the script so I can try to figure out when my next scene is. This time around I was in some play where I was wearing a dark suit and fedora and was involved in some early cafe scenes. I managed to fake them OK (again, this is standard in my version of the dream) but then when I went off Josh (who was working backstage) refused to let me borrow his script (bastard). I finally talked someone else into letting me look at hers, but I didn't know what my character's name was so I couldn't find the right lines in it. Amusingly, my alarm started going off, but I kept reaching over to snooze it so I could get back to trying to find out my character's name.

<i>Into the Woods</i>

I saw  Into the Woods for the first time at the Oxford Playhouse last night. In general the show was quite good, but I have to admit I'm a little disappointed by the script. In general I'm a pretty big fan of Sondheim (especially Assassins) but this time I thought the story wandered into the weeds.

Part of that sense might have been that this particular production got a little sloppy in the second act. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it felt less polished than the first half, especially for the witch, who was terrific early on, but seemed to just screech in the second part. Maybe it was because she had a tough time pulling off her "return to beauty", since the actress was better suited for playing the hideous old witch than the pretty young witch. Or maybe it was because she kept going flat (even I could tell).

A few members of the cast really shone; the princes were excellent (I think Agony is the best song in the show) and the baker's wife was awesome. In fact, she almost managed to pull the whole thing together when she sings to her husband at the very end (helped by a spine-tingling bit of lighting magic — isn't the theatre wonderful?).

The rest of the cast was largely hit-and-miss. Milky white was pretty awesome (a two-man tap dancing affair) but the wolf was pretty mediocre. Cinderella didn't have much substance and Red Riding Hood was only so-so. Finally, the big cast numbers had a little too much running around, making everybody sound kind of out-of-breath.

All in all a fun night at the theatre, but not quite as impressive as I expected.

Earnest

I went with a couple of housemates last night to see a (professional) production of The Importance of Being Earnest at the Oxford Playhouse. It was a decent production of one of the most linguistically titillating plays I've ever seen.

The acting was a bit of a mixed bag. The guy playing Algy was just a
little too stiff, especially in the first act. Jack was better, but
both of them spent a lot of time crossing back and forth aimlessly and
holding their arms behind their backs. I never got the feeling that
they slipped into character (again, especially during the first act).
Gwendolen and Cecily were both better, and both gave off a much more
continuous vibe of personality. Cecily especially seemed to develop a
real character and stayed there for the whole show.

The play's brilliance relies, however, on executing Wilde's sparkling dialog, and only Cecily managed to consistently pull it off. The gentlemen spent too much time squaring 'round to address the
audience and ponderously doling out Wilde's elaborate witticisms. What the text truly requires is a light-footed, dextrous handling akin to fencing: attack — parry — attack — retreat. Lady Bracknell was a further disappointment since she seemed to frequently get caught in mid-tirade, trying to remember what to say next. She (perhaps more than all the rest) needs to have an unperturbable cadence bred in by a lifetime of English society. The others had similar issues (where they'd lose the train of thought for no apparent reason) but not as often. One particularly bright spot was the bloke who played Lane (the servant in the first act) and Merriman (the servant in the second act). His invented story about the inability to procure cucumbers "even for ready money" was one of the few times when Wilde's text was done justice.

The staging was mostly simple and well done. Doors were flown in and out mid-scene to arrive just in time for entrances and exits. It was a nice bit, providing a mix of open space and demarcation when needed. I was annoyed that the doors were so poorly made as to shake and shimmy any time somebody touched them, however.

All told a very nice night at the theatre.

Foggy London Town

Actually, it was warm and sunny in the Southern UK today. jrandall arrived in Oxford at about 10AM this morning, having driven straight from Heathrow. We walked around the Oxford city center and I showed him Brasenose and some of the other stuff that I actually know anything about. A little past noon, we decided to drive to London and check out that scene (neither of us had ever actually been to London city proper before).

We drove to his hotel and dropped off the car. We hopped on the tube and went to the tower bridge and the Tower of London. Let me tell you, the "tower" of London is a disappointment from outside. It was built so long ago that they had much lower standards for towers. It's really a squat castle, that couldn't tempt us to pay to go inside. We grabbed lunch and then called an English friend of Josh's back in the USA (ahh, the irony of the information age; calling Cambridge, MA from London to find some tourist advice). We crossed the Thames and walked along the other side in hopes of finding Westminster Abbey and some other stuff.

While walking we saw signs for the restored Globe Theatre, so we decided to check that out. It was pretty cool to walk around inside the theatre, which is quite a convincing replica of the original (which burned down in 1613, was rebuilt, and the pulled down for good by the roundheads in 1644). Unfortunately I forgot to bring my camera along, so no pictures of the trip. After the Globe we took the tube to Westminster and saw the abbey and Big Ben. It was after closing time by then, so we didn't get to go inside.

I went back to Josh's hotel to look up the locations and times for the bus to Oxford and it turned out one of the stops was right outside his hotel. I headed over and took the bus back to Oxford. As it turns out I may have missed the best part of the day according to Josh, when he and the other FT blokes had dinner at a fancy Indian restaurant in London.

Weekend O' Fun

Saturday

LB and I decided to check out MTG's production of Tommy. It was, well, an MTG production. Dan and Nori were both great (she has a really pretty voice). The guy who played Uncle Ernie was really solid and fun to watch. The band was totally rocking and the lighting was pretty sweet.

But they ended up doing the same things that MTG always does. They didn't put enough emphasis on characterization. The director had no conception of theatricality to the point where they used these awful painted-wood guns and news cameras which gave the distinct feeling of middle school. Why do they spend a fortune on moving lights, build a set which was one of the nicest I've ever seen in Sala and then shoot themselves in the collective foot by having such amateur production values? I guess I'll never know.

Sunday

I hosted a few people at Claire's place to watch the Super Bowl in HD. And despite what a certain portion of some grim dudes might think, the Pats are definitely the reigning NFL dynasty.

<i>Democracy</i>

Sometimes I feel guilty about not writing anything in my bløg for several days. After all, I think that the people on my bløgroll who don't update regularly are Class A Ass-Pirates. Anyway, between this discomfort and my earlier promise at the end of the NYE entry, I present my thoughts on the aforementioned play, by Michael Frayn, performed at the Brooks Atkinson in New York.

One might reasonably wonder how interesting a 3 hour play about Willy Brandt could possibly be, but they managed to pull it off. It was a little "talky" as one of my friends who saw it said; the show consisted almost entirely of guys in suits standing around talking to each other. This was never something that bothered me, though, and my own writing often suffered from a similarly recumbent attitude.

In fact, I don't have a hell of a lot to say about the play itself. It's well written, as is everything I've seen or read by Frayn. The acting was mostly very solid (one or two of the smaller roles were fairly bland, but I doubt there was much meat to work with). It was just nice to be in a theatre again. It's funny how powerful certain staged moments can be that would absolutely fall flat on film. Or maybe not; I should realize, after all, how vast the gulf is between film and theatre.

Life is a highway

So I've had my mom's car around for the past two weeks in order to facilitate travelling back and forth to my parents' place to visit my recently hospitalized father. His current lifestyle of bedrest further accounts for why they don't need both of their cars right now. So far it's been nothing but a headache since I've had no real use for it and I've accrued $45 of parking tickets in my vain attempt to hide it from the Cambridge meter maids.

This afternoon, after watching a particularly depressing Sox game, my urge to get some use out of this car and my desire to get outside on the first sunny afternoon in a week plus some general wanderlust made me jump in and start driving north. I ended up taking a lazy tour of several of the nice communities of the North Shore, including Wenham, Essex and Gloucester. Just as I was crusing through my favorite nook of the lattter, Rocky Neck, I saw that the Gloucester Stage Co. had a show up tonight: To Kill a Mockingbird. "Why not?" I asked myself. I went in and inquired of the very cute box office manager (in my deepest, sexiest voice) whether any tickets for that evening's performance were to be had. After receiving an affirmative and smiling dashingly I purchased one adult ticket for the cheap-o price of $15. Even cheaper than the Somerville Theatre Coop!

The play was a part of the Gloucester Stage Conservatory, a nascent program of the now 25-year-old theatre, designed to bring young actors to the stage and help them get a leg up in that tricky industry. I had never seen this particular adaptation of Harper Lee's novel, and I haven't read that in quite some time either. Those of you who know me well will know that I usually remember almost none of the details of books or movies I've experienced more than a few months ago, so this was practically a fresh story for me. Now might be a good time to re-read the book, for this very reason.

The acting was a mixed bag. I got the sense that many of the older actors weren't professionals, but more community-theatre types who enjoyed the chance to be in a fairly well produced show in a pro theatre. The young, burgeoning pros were impressive 'cross the board. And the very young—Scout, Jem & Dill were sharply precocious. The standout performances were by Mayella Ewell, Tom Robinson and Maudie (the old neighbor who serves as narrator in the play—not sure what her role in the novel is). Mayella's only scene of substance is her testimony in the courtroom, which the actress rendered with heartbreaking authenticity (despite the actor playing Atticus bumbling through the scene as if he wasn't sure where he was). The guy playing Tom Robinson (listed in the program as "M.C. Spice") was the only one who convincingly rendered a country-folk Southern accent. The girl who played Maudie was marvelous. She captured her character's body better than anyone else, with a slight hunch that made a 23 year old girl a 63 year old woman (her face was a bit too fresh, though). Plus she managed to salvage a few of the poignant moments in the script, since the guy playing Atticus generally railroaded over all the others with the same bland disposition from start to finish.

So all in all a very nice show made fun to watch by talented actors. All the better when coming as a random distraction on a sunny Saturday.

Peformance Mode

I'm in that mode that I get in during prod week where I've constantly got lines from my play running through my mind. The abrupt increase in dramatic activity always gets a couple of speeches or scenes jumping around inside my head. So for those of you who are not involved but may be subjected to my presence in the next few days, I apologize, but:

"Because I am not so clever as you, not so quick. Can you believe it has taken me this long to realize...I am a lie? To fall headlong into the blackness and see that the temple in my mind is a construction of self-delusion and that the keystone of its central arch is a breath of air? But it has taken me this long. I have lived all these years on that single breath. Led congregations in prayer all these years on it. Now I finally taste how stale and close is that air."

And now you know the kind of ornate verbiage Max has forced me to use.

Lincoln Center

Saw King Lear on Saturday during my one-day trip to NYC. It was a lot of driving in a short period of time, but it was a fun excursion nonetheless. The show was an interesting interpretation of the play, and my Uncle Paul (who played the King of France) told me that the first thing the director said when they started rehearsing was, "This is a very funny play."

It turns out that they did find quite a bit of humor, but at the expense of some of the gravitas with which the play is usually associated. Christopher Plummer was fabulous as Lear. It's always cool to see guys who became famous in film or television return to the stage and prove they can still hack it. Something tells me that those who do come back must feel so much more at home in a theatre than a movie set.

Speaking of sets, this production was originally done in a Shakespeare festival in Canada. They recreated that set, which is a replica of the traditional in-the-round (or at least 2/3) Elizabethan stage. The costumes were wonderfully ornate 17th century but the stage was mostly bare. In retrospect it seems like it might've been worthwhile to go a little further with sets and furniture given that they made the transition from Stratford, Canada to Broadway.

I was reminded, as usual, both how hard it is to play Shakespeare and how wonderful it is when done well. Goneril and Regan were fairly flat and uninteresting, and their relationship with Cordelia totally conjured images of Cinderella and the wicked stepsisters. There were times (e.g. when Edgar is raving) when the words were so thick that all meaning was obfuscated, but there were others (usually when Plummer was onstage) where the language really danced.

Beyond the show we had very little time in New York. The weather was lovely, though, so walking around Broadway was a nice way to kill an hour before the show. I was also reminded how intimidated I feel when I'm in New York. It feels very foreign compared to other American cities I've visited. Stupid New Yorkers.

Company of Angels III: Wrapup

This show has sparked so many different thoughts about theatre that I'm hoping to put some sort of coherent thesis together out of all of it instead of just riffing in my blog. If anybody is interested in seeing it, let me know.

The only thing I wanted to post after seeing the show a second time on Saturday is how impressed I am with every performance. So if anybody in the show is reading this (Hello, Max), bravo!

Company of Angels II: Acting

I have observed two distinct acting styles both in myself and in my peers. I like to think of them as rational or systematic acting and emotional or impulsive acting. I don't necessarily think one is better than the other, and in fact I believe that the best performances are a combination of these two ideas. Different performers do their best work at different levels of mixing the parts together.

In my own work I find it helpful to begin from the analytical standpoint and try to think about what your character has experienced and try to consciously look for places in the show where you can associate with an image or action from your own life. During rehearsal different actions, movements and observations inform these analyses. You find certain 'bits' which you can reuse to add texture to your performance. The final key is something which I've always found in either one breakthrough rehearsal or the first time doing the show in front of an audience. You get into the zone and suddenly you aren't trying to associate with your character in order to play him: you are simply letting the character live on stage in your person.

In my own case, these moments when I'm saying something on stage not because it is written in the script, but because the character must say it are the times when I'm really proud of what I've done. So what does all this have to do with "The Company of Angels", which I wasn't even in?

During the entire performance I was hoping that Max would take a deep breath and let himself go. He did it as Shylock a couple of years ago and the result was stunning. He finally did it in the second to last scene, which is just a minute long and features only him and Masha (who was incredibly mature in this role). That single minute was absolutely honest and real. In that moment, those two students born forty years after D-Day were Survivors.

Ginny shone (as usual) in her role as Duna. The unbelievable thing is that as talented as she is, I don't think she's really found her stride yet. I might be wrong about this (and if you're reading Ginny, feel free to correct me) but I think her combination of preparation and technical skill puts her baseline performance well above the upper bounds of most of us. She finds the heart of the scene, figures out how she's going to nail it and then just does. Every night. In this show her character is famous for one particular part she played before the war. The other members of the company encourage her to do it again: the first time she refuses. As she starts singing the second time you can see her forget how much has changed in the last ten years. She simply wants to sing; she wants it so badly that the moment when fear pulls her back again is heartbreaking. Here's the thing, though: I'm not sure Ginny completely let go of herself at that moment, and I'm not sure she's ever done it in a show I've seen. The sky's the limit for her.

Company of Angels I: Theatricality

Saw "The Company of Angels" last night. There are comments related to specific aspects of the performance, so consider yourself warned if you'd prefer to see it with a blank slate.

First of all, the MIT design and build staffs did an outstanding job, as always. The stage picture was consistently beautiful. There's a series of three quick scenes in which Esther appears onstage in her costume from "The Lottery Ticket" and then goes off and returns with the whole cast for the boarding of the truck. As they cram into the hidden compartment (created beautifully as is only possible in theatre with just a little background sound and a trapezoid of light on a dark stage) everyone is dressed in drab greys and browns but you see the briefest flash of Esther's bright red dress under her overcoat. It perfectly reminds us of how her youth slightly separates her experience from the other members of the company. Then she runs back on stage only moments later for the next scene, wearing a new purple frock symbolic of the improving fortunes of the company.

Another example comes after a throwaway line about using a former Gestapo meeting hall for rehearsal space. One of the actors tosses a bundle of red cloth on the ground as they're setting up and nobody pays any particular attention to it. Only after a few moments does the audience notice the bundle has a white splotch in the middle and that there are some black lines there and — oh shit. If you parade the flag across the stage it looks flashy and cheap.

These are small examples of why I love the theatre and why this piece is so marvellously theatrical. The play is full of moments (like realizing what the flag is above) where you're laughing at some joke on the stage and suddenly you're gripped by something shocking and terrible. The playwright (and my personal hero, Alan Brody) tells a very simple story about people falling in love, going back to work, finding a way to start creating art again. The story works completely on its own, but the play is staged in a background of the horrible experience they all shared. The director (and another hero of mine, Michael Ouellette) found one wonderful piece of stagecraft by setting the imaginary audience upstage during the faux curtain calls for the play-within-the-play except for the ends of the acts and the Hatikvah. Only at these moments does the real audience (us) become a part of the audience of Holocaust survivors as the performers face us, downstage center, and sing. The result is breathtaking.

This brings me to another observation I made, which is how perfect the music was woven into the script. It's hard to get that feeling when just reading it (or even rehearsing it, I imagine) but the whole show is punctuated by music. A song takes words and underlines the emotion with the music and the beat. This play takes its most crucial moments and puts them in italics with songs. Finally, it all works so well because every single actor has a strong voice. I'm not one to do music critique, but they sang their hearts out and it showed.

I'm reserving another entry for my comments on the actors and acting.