Take note: That's what I'm giving*

I actually enjoy giving director's notes to the cast.

During much of the rehearsal period, as a director, you are breaking the play down into scenes, into moments. I am very vocal during this period, jumping to my feet YES! or ACK! Stop! Do it again- think about where you just were! What do you want?

Later on, however, we have to put it all back together, establish continuity, rhythm, pace, the long arcs of the characters and of the play itself. We can't stop. We run through, all the way through the scene, the act, finally the entire play.

While I, like most directors, take notes.

Sometimes, because the hour is late and actors (and I) have to go home, I type up the notes and email them to the actors after I've returned home. I don't like to do this because A) actors may not understand a specific note, B) actors may not read the notes and C) I like to give notes.

I like to give notes. I do. I make eye contact. I make jokes. I exaggerate, exhort, and expound. I prance and I posture, I prod and I praise.

From time to time, I may have to shush the actors who are starting side conversations. After all, for many years, the actors with whom I have worked have been teens.

Still, all in all, I have fun giving notes, and the actors have fun receiving the notes.

Here are some of the key ingredients for good note-giving:

• Make eye contact. Make sure the actors are listening.
• EVERY actor should receive a comment. Each actor should know that they are important, and that their work is (literally) noted.
• Use humor. I use a lot of humor at my own expense... I tease and challenge them to be bigger, bolder, more energized than this "old lady"
• Catch them doing something right; be specific about when it happened, and what it was. Comments like "you're great" or "good job" might feel good for a moment, but they don't tell the actor where they are succeeding or how to build on that success. A comment like: "I could really see you focus on the other character on your line 'Not now, darling''" tells the actor what is working and when.
• Be specific about what you want the actor to change. Comments such as "That's no good" or "I didn't like that" again do not give the actor any useful information. A comment like "When you enter in scene two, try rushing straight to the couch- remember what just happened to the character before you entered" gives the actor useful information about what needs work in the scene, and a suggestion for a new approach.
• I try to give both the "director's reason" and the "actor's reason" for a direction. For instance, in the above example, I might remind the actor that the actor's reason- the character's reason- for rushing in is that the character is escaping from an uncomfortable encounter in the other room; while I will admit that my "director's reason" for asking you to rush in and cross to the couch is that the scene needs more energy, and I need you out of the doorway!
• Be a believer. Believe in the play, believe in your actors, believe in theater magic. Keep cheering, keep watching, noting, and sharing what you see. Eventually, it all comes together- how? It's a mystery!

*This is a re-post that I re-read and re-felt today. FINAL DRESS TECH TONIGHT

Everybody ought to have a stage manager.

Stage managers are awesome. A good stage manager is beyond price. No kidding.

I really didn't realize this back when I was a young actor. I focused on the director. I focused on the other actors. I worked on my inner reality.

I heard the stage manager. I called back, "Thanks, 10!" when I heard the announcement "Ten minutes to places!"

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't rude. I wasn't one of those actors who thinks the stage managers or other techies are unworthy of notice. Not at all! I've always been an ensemble gal, so I felt keenly that every single person involved was part of our team.

However, as a young actor, who had not directed, or designed, or run lights, or plotted sound- I had NO CLUE. I was ignorant.

Now, having been blessed several times with good stage managers (and blighted a few times with poor ones), I cannot sing their praises loudly enough.

Stage managers are superheroes.

They have super powers- like super hearing. A stage manager will overhear an actor muttering about fumbling and stumbling during a scene transition, and suddenly there is glow tape on the problematic corner or an additional blue light backstage.

They have stamina and unbelievable endurance. They are with the production from the first production meeting or read through on to closing night.

They are masters of multi-tasking. They are monitoring lines from the actors, cues for the lights and the sound, tracking the props.

They are flexible and adaptable beyond belief, working with last minute blocking changes from directors or finding solutions to scenic or costume change fails during last tech rehearsals or even (Heaven FORBID) during performance.

I've directed for many years now, and I've designed, and I've crewed. I am no longer without a clue.

I know.

All praise to you, stage managers. You are the glue that keeps a production together through the battering of tech and the wear and tear of performance.

As the old joke goes:
- How many stage managers does it take to change a ligh-
DONE!

The essential ingredient

Tonight is tech.

For the past several weeks, we’ve been rehearsing in empty rooms in random buildings. Just the actors and the words.  We worked on moments and moves to find just the right interplay among these characters, when portrayed by these actors.  We made discoveries, made adjustments, made connections.

All that hard work: theatre work, but not yet theatre. Important parts of the process, but not the essential ingredient.

Tonight is another step. At tech, we bring in the props, costume changes, lighting and sound transitions. We move from cue to cue, to get the changes right. Of course, we have to let go of the flow that we so carefully crafted in all those weeks of rehearsal. We go from lights up to lights down, lights down to lights up, again and again until we get it right.

Hard work. Important work. Theatre work, but it’s not yet theatre. Important parts of the process, but not the essential ingredient.

Tomorrow night, we begin to put it back together. Lights, costumes, props, sound, changing from one scene to another to support the actors’ work as they reclaim the flow, the life of these characters. The world of the play becomes more real.

Final dress rehearsal. Theatre work, but it’s not yet theatre. . An important part of the process, but not the essential ingredient.

This Friday, we have our first preview. The house will open to admit our preview audience.

This Friday, theatre happens. Because all of the work of the weeks and months before has been theatre work, but not theatre. It is not theatre until we have the essential ingredient.

The audience.

You.

This play is not about Alzheimer’s.

Read more about Unshelved and get your tickets here.

This play is not about Alzheimer’s.

Oh, I know that Alzheimer’s disease features prominently in the articles and other promotions about the play. I know that some of the talk-backs after the shows will include guest speakers from groups that work with Alzheimer’s patients and caregivers.

I know that the struggles and pain of dealing with Alzheimer’s disease is woven into the fabric of the play. I am not minimizing the importance of this. Alzheimer’s is a critical, central element of Unshelved.

Still, ultimately, the play is not about Alzheimer’s.

Unshelved is about family. It is about how we shape our own identity, and about how those we love shape who we become, whether we will or no. It is about how we separate from those we love, and how we bind ourselves to them.

Alzheimer’s is the problem, the crisis, the rip in the fabric of this family. Unshelved asks us: how present are we in the lives of those we love? How much have we hidden from those closest to us? How much have we hidden from ourselves?

Alzheimer’s disease is a critical element in Unshelved, but it is the human response to this challenge that engages us. It is about the living through the pain with our tears and laughter. It is about our lives, not about our disease.

You have to laugh

Read more about Unshelved and get your tickets here.

Unshelved is a drama that deals with painful, often tragic struggles within a family. It does so with depth, compassion, insight.

And laughter.

You might think that a play in which a devastating disease like Alzheimer’s plays a central role would be dark and troubling. Unshelved has those moments, without question.

What is surprising and delightful about this play, however, is how often it makes you laugh. Out loud.

The family in Unshelved is like my family, like your family. There is love, and there is caring. There is resentment and bitterness, at times. That’s what happens in the hard times.

And also, there is snark.

There are moments when jokes are made, good and bad. When the wrong thing is said at just the right time.

Because, we are human beings. That’s what we do. We laugh at each other. We laugh at ourselves. It’s what helps us make it through the day.

Or the long, dark night.

As we are working our way through rehearsals, we are discovering moments of depth, moments of connection, moments that stop your heart.

And we are also laughing out loud.

At one point in the play, Bill says, “You have to laugh.”

He’s right. You do have to laugh. Because life, even at its most challenging moments, can be surprising, absurd, ridiculous. Because being human is a rich and complicated experience. Because, sometimes, you have to smile. Snort. Laugh.

* Use discount code "Audrey10" when ordering to save $10 on your ticket!

Beginnings

When, exactly, does the theatrical production begin?

With the playwright’s final draft of the script? This is a blue print only; the show itself will be a completely different production with each cast and crew. Theater is a collaborative art. Still, the playwright is the genesis of the play, without a doubt.

Does the production begin with the first production meeting? The director and the designers gather to share the vision for the production. The artists who will collaborate to shape the visual and aural impact of the production share their ideas and insights about this play. This particular incarnation of the show begins to be realized with this first production meeting.

Or does the production begin with the first rehearsal? The actors gather with the director and production stage manager to share a close reading of the script- out loud—together—for the first time.

Any of these might be considered the beginning of the production.

Our first rehearsal for Unshelved was this week. Frigid temperatures and piles of snow did not deter our intrepid cast from meeting – for the first time.

A first rehearsal is something like a first date- but you already know that you are married. You’ve already committed. There is no turning back!

For the director, seeing the actors assembled and hearing them read together for the first time is exciting—but it can also provoke a bit of nervousness. Will the right relationships happen with these actors? As a guest director, I traveled to Chicago months before rehearsals were to begin for the auditions and casting. Time constraints meant that although I saw each of my actors several times, I didn’t have the opportunity to see these actors working together. I knew, I had every confidence, that this was my Audrey, this was my Bill, this was my Rye, this was my Eloise. Yet I hadn’t seen Debra working with Mike; I hadn’t seen Johnny working with Michelle.

Will this assembly work?

I am happy to report that this assembly will work, and work beautifully.

For more information on how you can engage with this production- at every "stage" of the process- click here.

*Use discount code "Audrey10" when ordering your ticket to save $10!

I'm positive

I've been working diligently at phrasing my direction in a positive manner.

This is much harder than one might think. What we notice first, almost always, is what is not working. The tremendous temptation is to say: "Don't ______"


Don't push.

Don't drop the end of the line.

Don't rush.

In directing-- in fact, in any guiding/teaching/parenting/whatever-- what NOT to do is not especially useful information. Even if the actor (student/child/whatever) wants to follow the suggestion, what they have is what to DON'T. I haven't given the actor what to DO.


While always reminding my actor that these are suggestions or guides, I try to give more positive information:

Relax. Allow yourself to search to find the right words.


Lift the end of your line.


Take your time; allow the action to unfold.


Here's a tip shared with me by another director: Use "and" instead of "but". As soon as we hear the word "but," we stop listening because we're anticipating criticism. We are fearful of being judged; we shut down. Hearing the word "and," on the other hand, we anticipate addition, building, growth.


This:


I like the way you focus on the exchange between Fred and Mary, but try to interrupt them sooner with your line.


Or this:


I like the way you focus on the exchange between Fred and Mary, and if you interrupt them sooner with your line, it will intensify that tension.


Which would you prefer to hear?