Rereading Dutchman

 Dutchman by Amiri Baraka is a difficult read. Full of rage and violence. I read this first in the mid 1970s when I was young and idealistic. As I recall, I was horrified and also fascinated.

So much anger. 

So little hope. 

Now as then I recognize the overt religious imagery. Eve with the apple. Lula, calling Clay My Christ- 

Sex masking violence. I reread the character descriptions. Lula with long red hair. Clay, 3 button suit and striped tie.

Summer heat. The entrails of the city.

Lines capture and hold me as if they are in bold: 

Lula: And we'll pretend the people cannot see you. That is, the citizens. And that you are free of your own history. And I am free of my history...

We are none of us free of our history, personal or national. Also echoes of Ellison's Invisible Man?

Lula taunting Clay with Uncle Tom. Clay warning her to "Let me be who I feel like being. Uncle Tom. Thomas. Whoever. It's none of your business. You don't know anything except what's there for you to see. An act. Lies. Device. Not the pure heart, the pumping black heart..." 

Lula is the one who lies. She said so from the beginning. 

Clay: Bird would've played not a note of music if he just walked up to East Sixty-Seventh Street and killed the first ten white people he saw. Not a note!

Does art come only from pain and rage? Or is it only art that can capture and use the pain and rage to create rather than destroy, kill, maim?

Am I, as a white person, even allowed to ask?

 Once Clay has broken open and poured out the lava of his rage, Lula's tone changes: Business like. She goes on to the business of the ending.

The old Negro conductor. He knows Lula. And he calls out to the new young man. Tips his hat to Lula as he continues on.

His may be the most disturbing moment of all.

Outside the comfort zone part 2

I'm working with classes studying dramatic literature, and we have recently wrapped up Caryl Churchill's Cloud 9 in one class, and we're about to move on to Fences by August Wilson. In another class, we are working with Amiri Baraka's Dutchman,  which I have always found deeply powerful and disturbing and painful. 

Preparing for these discussions, I have been directed to Adrienne Kennedy's Funnyhouse of a Negro.  This play shared the Obie Award with Baraka's Dutchman in 1964. While I was familiar with Baraka's play and its award, I had never heard of Kennedy's play before this year.

Why? Some of the onus is on me, of course. I need to expand my understanding of plays outside of the standard canon, and outside of my own perspective. 

Still, I knew about Dutchman- and the two plays shared the Obie! Dutchman is included in several anthologies, while I'd not seen Funnyhouse of a Negro mentioned anywhere- not even mentioned as sharing the Obie, when the preface to Dutchman mentions the award.

 Adrienne Kennedy

Funnyhouse of a Negro is also powerful and difficult and disturbing. It is more personally poetic, I think. The play takes place in the mind of Sarah, a woman with a Black father and a white mother, seeking for a place to be, a way to be,  in a world that leaves no room for her and her complicated identity.

I'm also rereading Baraka's essay from The Revolutionary Theatre (1966), and August Wilson's essay The Ground on Which I Stand (1996). Two different voices, approaching the same issue. 

I will look for more of Adrienne Kennedy's work. I need to hear more of these voices. 

Women's voices are there,  we need to uncover them and lift them up. Black voices are there,  queer voices are there, so many voices are there. We need to uncover them, and lift them up. 

Or maybe, just listen without assuming we already know what is being said. Or maybe, just listen without defending or excusing ourselves. Just listen without trying to fix it or correct it. 

Just listen. Allow ourselves to be disturbed, uncomfortable, ashamed, afraid, moved.

Change is not going to happen while we sit back, satisfied that we have already done our parts. 

My students teach me so much more than I teach them. 

Another note: Beverly Cleary died a few days ago. She was 104. "If you don't see the book you want on the shelves, write it," Cleary is quoted as saying. 

I think it goes for plays, too. There are still voices missing. 

So we should write.

Outside the comfort zone

 I'm struggling with a few issues that circle around representation.

On the one hand, there is the overwhelming dominance of white male straight worldview in the dramatic literature, especially in the Western canon. 

This is what I grew up with. This is what I know. 

I've often said that if you read Greek and Roman mythology, the King James Bible, and William Shakespeare, you will "get" 90% of literary references in Western literature.

This is still true. However, it is changing- and it needs to change. 

We can't ignore the past. We must expand on it. Broaden our understanding of the canon. Uncover lost voices, and revisit past classics. 

 There are voices that have been lost or hidden. For women's voices, I knew about Hrosvitha in the 900s, and Hildegard von Bingen in the 1100s.

Hrosvitha

I only learned last year about Katherine of Sutton! This is England and women! I should have known about this!

 

 Also, how did I not know about Margaret Cavendish, and The Convent of Pleasure?

 

I had heard of the female playwrights of the Spanish Golden Age, but I have only recently acquired English translations of some of their plays.

Ana Caro Mallén de Soto

This does not begin to address the other gaps in my understanding and appreciation of minority voices. More on that soon.

I wrestle with these for so many reasons.

Renewal

It's time to begin again. I don't know when, or if, I will be directing again. At first, family health issues took some directing plans off the table. Then, the pandemic happened. Live theatre was ... if not dead, at least in a medically induced coma?

It is now spring. It is more than a year of pandemic pause for live theatre. Theatre artists world-wide have sought ways to remain sane, to create while we wait.

It is a time for reflection, as well. What does a director do when not directly directing? How do we keep our skills sharp when we are in isolation?

This is a great question for me. For a period of time- say, 1993-2011- I was directing at least one production, often two or three productions, each year. Then I was directing one a year- or every other year.

Now it has been over a year since I was a mentor/ assistant to a new director. More than two years since I directed a production.

I have stayed involved because I've been teaching theatre: theatre history, dramatic literature, theatre appreciation. 

None of this is the same as directing, of course. I miss the human interaction, the synergy and new insights only discovered in the moment of collaborative creativity. I miss this intensely. I hope to return to this soon. 

In the meanwhile, I'm looking for renewal and restored energy wherever it may present itself.

Early on, I watched a series of important, powerful, and painful films. Later, I binged on comedy.

 

I revisited scripts and sought out new dramas.

I've been seeking out lesser heard voices.

Now, I will set my task to reflecting on this- on what I've done, and on what I do moving forward.

Write on!

Rehearsal: Schedule it SDRAWKCAB

Putting on a play is a huge time commitment. For most of us, the greatest amount of time is spent in rehearsal. A good rehearsal schedule can make the most of the time that you have.

The rehearsal process takes time, and most of all it takes the director's time- because you and your stage manager will be there for EVERY rehearsal. Some directors call ALL the actors to EVERY rehearsal, but I think that is just actor abuse! After the first couple of read through rehearsals, I only call the actors to rehearsal who are actually needed for those scenes that we will be working on for that rehearsal.

How long does it take to rehearse a show up to performance? Obviously, a long play will take more time than a short play, a complicated play takes more time than a simple, straight forward play. The general rule of thumb is one hour of rehearsal for each minute on stage.  A full length (about 2 hours) "regular" or "straight" play- that is, modern language, not a musical- will take about 100 to 120 hours rehearsal time, spread out over 4 weeks to 4 months (depending on what hours you have available to rehearse). A more complex play, such as a musical with songs, choreography, and so on, or Shakespeare or another classical or "language" play, may take more time.

The above figures are JUST rehearsal time- not director planning time, actor studying lines time, costume sewing time. JUST REHEARSAL TIME!

How do you schedule this time? First, I work backwards from performance date.

From bottom to top: Let's say that most weeks we have 4 hours on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays to rehearse. Let's say we are going to perform on April 27, 28, 29, and we can start rehearsals in late February. I would write down the weeks like this:

Monday Feb 26

Tuesday Feb 27

Wed Feb 28

Thurs Mar 1

Mon Mar 5

Tues Mar 6

… and so on for the full length of the rehearsal period.  Then, I fill in the dates BACKWARDS, starting at the bottom:

April 27: OPENING NIGHT! SHOW TIME!

Then I know that April 26 would be final dress, and working backwards, that week would be tech week.

April 22: Tech rehearsal

April 23: Tech run through

April 24: Dress run

April 25: Dress run

April 26: Final dress

April 27: OPENING NIGHT! SHOW TIME!

The week before tech week should be run throughs. First, you will  run throughs of acts or first and second halves of the show, with time reserved for working trouble spots that arise. Then you will do run throughs of the entire show.

This will leave you a few weeks between your first rehearsal and your first run throughs.

You can start filling in from the top now .

Now that the rough schedule is ready, let’s look at the types of rehearsals in chronological order.

From top to bottom: The first few rehearsals would call everyone for read through/ talk through. Usually there will be a design presentation in that first week.  The designers will share with the actors the preliminary designs, especially for set and costumes. This helps the actors envision the world they will soon bring to life! In early rehearsals, we may do some improvisation and character work.

Then working rehearsals begin. These rehearsals are organized by groups of actors. You may choose several different scenes from different sections of the play because they share the same group of actors. So, in the example I’m currently using, a particular Monday might call Francisco, Bernardo, Horatio, Marcellus, and the Ghost at 6:00. At 7:00 Francisco is dismissed, and Hamlet is called, while retaining the rest of the actors. At 9:00, the Ghost is dismissed.

 
Monday, March 5: 6:00-10:00 pm: 6:00 - 7: 00 Act 1 Scene 1: Horatio, Marcellus, Francisco, Bernardo, Ghost 7:00 pm DISMISS  Francisco; ADD Hamlet 7:00-9:00 Act 1 scene 4, Hamlet, Horatio, Marcellus, Ghost; Act 1 scene 5 9:00 PM DISMISS Ghost 9:00- 10:00 Act 2 scene 2, from entrance of Horatio and Marcellus and Bernardo.

In these working rehearsals, we establish blocking:  the movements on stage, the entrances and exits. We stop often, review what we have done, tweak where necessary. In working rehearsals, we work. We stop and start, we make changes, we try something different. We do it again.

In a perfect world, we will work every scene in detail at least once in time for those run throughs!

Run throughs: In the working rehearsals, we stop and start. In run throughs, we run the section without stopping, and give notes after the run through. With a longer show, acts may be run before run throughs of the entire show.  In working rehearsals, we broke the play down into individual moments. In run throughs, we put the play back together, working on flow and connectivity.

A week of run throughs is ideal! It doesn’t always happen. However, I strive mightily to have at least two run throughs of the entire show before tech week.

Before the first tech rehearsal with actors, there is often a paper tech with designers, director, and stage manager. This is where the cues for lighting, sound, and scenic changes are determined.

The first tech rehearsal with the actors can be grueling. Actors begin a scene and the stage manager calls out “Hold!” at any moment for a lighting cue, scenic adjustment, sound level, or any of the myriad of technical aspects of the production that are now added. After the cue-to-cue, there is a tech run. There may still be stops and starts, but far fewer. The director may give notes to actors, but definitely gives notes to the tech team.

Costumes are added at the dress rehearsal. Actors work on keeping the flow going while now also incorporating costume changes. The director gives notes to actors and to the tech team after the rehearsal.

The final dress tech rehearsal strives for show conditions. The rehearsal begins at the same time as the performances will begin, and there is no stopping and starting. This may be the last time the director gives notes! Once it’s showtime, the show belongs to the actors and the crew- and the stage manager!

Support the arts- support the artist

I challenge you to become a proud supporter of the arts.

Support comes in many forms. You are probably like me, in that you are inundated by requests for cash support. Certainly financial support is important. I give what I can, when I can, and I'm sure you do, too. However, money is only one of the ways to support the arts.

We can support the arts by attending. We can attend plays, showcases of artists’ works, concerts. We can visit museums and galleries. We can go to festivals and conventions.

We can support the arts by participating. Take a class in pottery. Take a class in art history. Write a poem or a song. Take some photographs. Audition for a show. Draw. Paint. Dance.

We can support the arts by helping our society value the arts. Let your legislature know that the arts are important to you. You pay taxes- ask that some of those monies go to enrich everyone by promoting the arts as a valuable part of our society. Ask for local artists to be featured in our libraries, bookstores, and cafes.  Write a review of a work of art that you have recently enjoyed- whether it’s a book, a movie, a sculpture, a play. Tell a friend to check it out.

We can support the arts by supporting artists. Artists pour out their energies in the act of creation. They are investing themselves, heart, mind, and soul, in their creations. It takes a lot out of a person! So support your local artist! Offer to listen. Ask what the person is working currently. Take an artist out for coffee or a beer.

I'm an artist*. I am an artist primarily in a collaborative art- theatre. Theatre is an art that only exists in collaboration- among the artists of the theatre, and with the audience. While it is obviously true that the performing arts, to truly exist, must exist by sharing with their audiences, I believe it is also important for all artists to share with their society. Whether the artist is celebrating or mourning, calling us to action or calling us to account, each artist is a part of the larger society and in relationship with it.

With us.

Supporting the arts is more than writing a check. Supporting the arts is supporting the artists.

Including the artist in you.

 

*You can definitely take me out for coffee. Or beer ;-)

Low Hanging Fruit- Q & A

Q & A- There are a lot of questions for directors. Some of these are questions you ask yourself as you read the script. Some are questions from actors. Some are questions for research, to broaden one's understanding of the play.

Sometimes, the questions are interviews that help to market the play :-)

Here is a Q & A session for Low Hanging Fruit by Robin Bradford.

 

What is Low Hanging Fruit about in your own words?

Low Hanging Fruit tells the story of four ex-military women, broken and damaged by their experiences, who find ways to survive and cope on the streets through their friendship. Their bond is challenged when they are joined by a young teen runaway. For me, the real story is not only the shameful abandonment of the women who have served our country, but also the power of friendship to support and sometimes heal us, even when we are badly broken.

 

What was the most surprising discovery you made about female veterans during your research and work on Low Hanging Fruit?

There have been so many surprises in the research on female veterans. I was surprised to learn that female veterans are the fastest growing segment of the homeless population. I was shocked to learn of the statistics on Military Sexual Trauma (MST). MST is sexual assault or sexual harassment experienced during a person’s military service. The Veteran Administration’s own statistics, from screening questions asked of every veteran seeking health care, reports 1 in 4 women respond with “yes” when asked if they have experienced MST. Often, the sexual trauma is inflicted by another service officer, frequently a superior. As Alice says in the play, “You get sent to places like Iraq, Afghanistan, places that ain’t safe. At least we should’ve been safe in the green zone! But we got to fight there too, and that ain’t right.” Too true- it ain’t right.

Is there a part of the story you relate to or feel strongly about and why?

I identify strongly with the bond formed among the four women. There is power in friendship that grows out of shared experience. All four of these women have seen combat. They have a shared emotional vocabulary, and in creating their own bulwark in the urban combat zone, they have lived a new shared history of struggle. To a lesser degree, I have had that deep friendship and support with other women. You get to know one another, you know what will make your friend laugh, what will make her fall apart, how to help her pull it together. With just a glance, you can ask for an assist or a save from your own trials.

Another strong connection is the recognition that while we can support one another, each of us comes to healing in our own time, on our own terms.

Or not.

Before working on this play, what was your level of awareness of the hardships many women veterans face?

I have to confess that I didn’t know much about the additional challenges faced by women veterans. Of course, there has been plenty of news coverage of the many failures of our support systems for our veterans. Like most of us, I generalized these news reports and had the stereotypical male soldier in mind. However, I did not realize the extraordinary impact on our service women and their families of military service. Because military service has been overwhelmingly male, the system for serving veterans is built on a male model, with little allowance for women’s different needs. Add to this that women are more often single parents, women veterans have even more challenges when deployed, and when returning. It’s been eye-opening, to say the least.

 

What do you intend for the audience to take away with them after attending a performance Low Hanging Fruit?

I want the audience to have a greater awareness of the problems faced by female veterans. Through our performance, and also through the post-show panels, I hope that the audience will recognize that there is a need, that there is work to be done. The homeless are often nearly invisible to those of us in more advantaged lives; female homeless veterans, even more so. I also hope that the message comes across that healing is possible, and, through our performances and the engagement programs we’ve developed, that each individual in that audience can do something to help that healing.

 

What are your thoughts on working with a cast of both professional and student actors? Do you have a rehearsal anecdote to share on the subject?

I love working with both professional and student actors. I think it’s a great opportunity for both the professionals and the students! The professionals bring a great work ethic, tremendous focus and discipline. All these are great models for the students to see and emulate.

The students bring great vitality, and a fresh perspective. It’s wonderful to see those “ahah!” moments of discovery and get excited again about the magic that is the theater process!

Directing and mentoring/teaching seem a great pairing to me. As a director, I am a collaborator. I work to create an atmosphere of creative freedom, and forge an ensemble with strong connections and sharing among the actors. The root of “educate” is “to draw out, to bring out, to lead forth”- to draw out the student’s understanding, to encourage the student to make connections. In the best cases, to guide the student to find their own path, their own understanding.

Much the same can be said of directing.

Hiatus

In a way, this is a placeholder post. I haven't posted for a while here, and I don't want the lack of activity to lead to a vanishing of my blog!

It's been a year since my last directing project. I've been busy, including busy sharing my passion for theatre via teaching, but I still ache for the particular charge and energy that comes from leading a group of creative individuals in collaboration on a production!

atmosphere

When I was studying theater in Moscow at the Moscow Art Theater School*, I had the opportunity to tour churches that were hundreds of years old.

When I was in Jerusalem*, I had the opportunity to visit churches and synagogues that were hundreds of years old, sometimes on sites where people had worshipped for thousands of years.

In each of these instances, I felt a difference in the ambience, the "feel"- the atmosphere- in that space.

These are places where people have assembled and shared experiences for generations. There is human energy and intention that has been invested in these spaces.

Some museums have their own atmosphere. Some libraries, too. Some homes, too, have a special feel, a homeyness about them.

Some theater spaces are like that. 



*I just love saying that.

What do you do, exactly?

"So," my friend said. "You're the director, right? So what do you do, exactly?"

She'd just watched the play I directed. It was the first time she'd seen a play that I'd directed; I think it was the first time she'd watched a play when she knew the director personally.

Great question. It's also a tough question to answer for a theater person talking to a non-theater person.

I've written before about the value of the director. There, I noted that the work of the director is often almost invisible to the audience.

What do I do?

Often, I choose the play. Sometimes I'm invited to direct a play that has been chosen by the producer or the theater company. Sometimes, I write the play!

Usually, I cast the play. I've written about this a time or two. Casting is an important part of the director's work. Finding actors that fit the characters, and actors that work well together, and work well with the director, is a delicate and challenging job.

With the stage manager, I work out the rehearsal schedule.

I work with the designers- scenic, costume, sound, lighting, promotion- in creating a unified look, sound, feel for the production.

I lead the actors in rehearsing the play. This is the largest part of the director's work, certainly in terms of time. For me, one of the most critical, and hardest to define, elements of this process is creating ensemble. I work to create an atmosphere of trust and freedom, which I believe is essential to the creative process.

Together with the actors, we study the script in depth. Who are these characters? What are they doing? Why are they taking these actions? What does all of this mean?

Then, we "put the play on its feet." Blocking is the choreographing of the characters' movements on the stage. In my process, this is a shared discovery with the actors. Moving in the outline of our set in the rehearsal hall, we find when characters are approaching one another, when fleeing from one another. When are they embracing, or longing to embrace? When are they retreating? When are they attacking?

And why are they moving? All action on stage must have purpose.

Much of this work is breaking the action down, moment by moment, beat by beat. Then we have the task of putting it all back together. I watch while we run through first the acts, then the entire play.

I take notes. I've written about how I give notes.

These are the main tasks of the director. However, what I do is really difficult to describe. I'm the first, best, most appreciative and most critical audience eye for the production. I take a blueprint on the page, and a group of individuals, and create a unity, a oneness, an ensemble.
 

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?

well and truly done

Thank you, theater magic.

It's been a long, exhausting process. The drive is close to an hour each way. There have been actors missing rehearsals, actors missing lines, actors missing props.

Props missing.

Scenic elements unseen until literally the eleventh hour... well, not literally the eleventh hour because we were kicked out of the rehearsal space at the ninth hour, but you get the drift...

AND YET...

It happened. The actors hit their marks. The scenic elements not only set the stage but lifted the actors and supported the play.

The props functioned and gathered laughs of their own.

It worked.

Magic. Miracles.

I guess I'm still a believer.

:-)

The Good Person of Szechuan.

never enough time

We are around the corner from tech. Just a couple run throughs left.

Some things are starting to come together... little by little. But I still feel like we could use another couple of weeks.

This in spite of the fact that actually, for this play, we miraculously acquired a couple of "extra" weeks- because a performance two weeks before the actual run was canceled due to actions of another organization.

We are thrilled about the "found" weeks and have used them well.

Still, if we just had a couple more weeks... apparently, rehearsal periods are like purses. It doesn't matter what you have- you always fill it and wish for just a bit more (time/room).

artistry

     "And knowing, too, that this sort of artistry could not endure past the shaping moment, could only be spoken of after by those who recalled, or misrecalled, who had seen and half seen and not seen at all, distorted by memory and desire and ignorance, the achievement of it written as if on water or sand.
     "It mattered, terribly, and just now it didn't matter at all. Or could the fragility, the defining impermanence actually intensify the glory?" - Lord of Emperors by Guy Gavriel Kay

I like this commentary on the ephemeral artistry of performance.