Getting over myself: Lesson #672

The Fringe show I’m stage managing is a collective creation project. More on that to come. And while we don’t yet have a full show, we do have a clever little song. And our wonderful director has a vision about how that song should be performed. This vision includes a verse sung from the booth…and the person in the booth would be…me. Right.

Apparently I neglected to mention that singing in public is not in my contract (and I would sooner die).

The lovely assistant director came to my defence, to which the response was: “Oh please, she went to theatre school at NYU, I think she can handle it…”

Touché. Ok, Director, you win this round.

And really, it’s more talking than singing. I think I can handle it, too. But way to foil the plan, silly NYU theatre education, you have officially invalidated any excuse I will ever manage to come up with to not do anything for the rest of my theatrical career/life…geez.

Muskoka, film, and making my own work…

The view from my dock on Muldrew Lake.

Today I had lunch with a friend who makes films. Because we’ve been saying, “Hey, we should do something…” for at least two years now and that “something” has yet to materialize. We just haven’t both been in the right place at the right time. Until now.

We’re both feeling a bit artistically stagnant at the moment and are in need of something to keep us moving, working, and inspired. He’s got a camera, I act and I have actor friends. Get where I’m going with this?

There is “something” in the works, a little no-budget collaborative project we can both learn something from. We’re hoping for funny and character-driven. And we’re going about it in a different kind of way. My last show really drove home the importance and value of cast bonding, collaboration, and using everyone’s various talents to their fullest. As such, we’re planning to take ourselves and anyone else who cares to participate up to my lovely cottage for a few days. And we’re going to burn things, brainstorm, swim, get creative, drink beer, and film. Hopefully we’ll come up with something cool. And at the very least, we’re bound to have fun. If you’re a Toronto-based actor and you want to play, too, leave a comment. Seriously.

I’ve also contacted my sister, The Writer, to see if she can come up with some ideas for us. Because she’s hilarious. And she has a blog now. Someday she’s going to write a book like Running With Scissors and embarrass our whole dysfunctional family. But without a doubt it will be highly entertaining. And maybe I can play myself when it gets turned into a movie.

So that’s just one project currently underway (there’s a theatre one with my new Best Friend that I refuse to talk about for fear of jinxing it). Good to know that several months later I am finally taking the advice of that smart guy at Praxis and creating my own work. I have to say, this feels good.

 I did this on my dock one night with a flashlight and a long exposure. I think it’s kind of awesome.

Social awkwardness: I think the internet has robbed me of the ability to function face to face…

Sunday I auditioned. Before noon. For and with a really smart, cool group of individuals. Who know where to find this blog (hi) so I’m not going to talk too much about it, especially since what I’m interested in talking about really has nothing to do with the actual audition. In a nutshell, I managed not to psych myself out, to be present, to participate creatively, and even to have fun. I like them and I really want to know all of them. But I walked away completely frustrated. With myself.

After much thought and a careful cataloguing of all my symptoms, I have diagnosed myself with a serious and persistent case of shrinking violet-itis. And it certainly reared its ugly head at this audition. Which is completely ridiculous and, well, frustrating. Also, it’s completely by my own invention. I’ve discovered a whole new form of self-sabotage for myself.

Basically, what happens to me (and this audition isn’t the only time it’s happened, just the most recent occurrence) is that I come into a group of people where I don’t really know anyone, I only know them well enough to know I want to know them better, if that makes sense... anyway, they’re people I admire or respect or am maybe just a little bit in awe of…and I freeze up. Because I don’t know what to say or how to start a conversation or whatever. I get all shy and reserved and awkward. Which makes me freeze up even more because I’ve never been shy or reserved or awkward (socially speaking…there are many other kinds of awkward that I am an expert in) in my life and I don’t know how to handle it. Because it isn’t me. Except that apparently lately it is. I feel like I’ve completely lost my ability to articulate anything when I’m talking to people, which is so foreign to me that I don’t know what to do with it. Or how to fix it.

As a sidenote, my mom loves to tell the story of when I started French Immersion in SK. Apparently I was sick for a year. I say apparently because I was five and don’t remember. It’s all hearsay. Her theory on this is that I was so traumatized by suddenly having been robbed of my ability to communicate…because everyone was speaking a different language…that I made myself ill. This feels like an encore to that. Only minus the getting sick part. So far. Back to my point…

Eventually I end up frustrated because this stiff, unnatural version of myself that I become in these situations isn’t me. I don’t recognize myself and I would bet that no one I know outside of these moments would either. It isn’t an accurate representation of who I am as a person, or as an actress, in the case of this audition. So it’s sort of an acting problem, but I’m more bothered by it as a personal problem. It isn’t conducive to making new theatre friends. And it’s frustrating. And there is nothing more frustrating than being frustrated. Which is where I’ve been festering for the last several days.

An acting teacher once told me that “frustration is just anger without energy.” He was trying to demonstrate that playing frustration is impossible/not a strong choice. I think it’s a wonderful example of how acting lessons can cross over into real life. If you’ve ever been frustrated by something, you probably get what I’m saying. So my frustration needs some energy. Which is what I’ve been giving it for the last few days by not blaming all my issues on lack of sleep and having to be up and functional before noon on a Sunday (although I’m sure those are contributing factors to the awkward). And now I’m officially mad at myself for being so ridiculous. And in such an un-fun way. Hopefully the anger will propel me toward the solution…I’ll let you know.

Twelfth Night: The Post-Mortem

Here is the final instalment in what has been quite the saga.  In short, the show went up this past weekend, went better (for the most part) than anticipated, and closed on a high note.  Despite all the insane weather.  We did our best in the final week, as a cast, to solve as many problems as possible.  We bonded and we worked together.  Or most of us did.  And I am proud of what we eventually accomplished.

For those not in the know, a theatrical post-mortem usually happens between the heads of all departments within a production (design, direction, management, producing, etc).  They get together after a show closes and talk about everything that was done right and everything that was done wrong throughout the process and how it could all be done better in the future. 

Our SM asked mid-weekend when the director was planning to hold one.  She said she wasn’t planning to for this particular production.  In a show that has been plagued from the outset (everything that could possibly go wrong did) this seems, frankly, stupid to me.  It’s easy to throw your hands up in the air and say, “Well, the fates were against us!”  It is hard to sit down and take responsibility for mistakes and inadequacies and to really look at the issues that made this show difficult.  In the end, what this says to me is that she isn’t interested in really learning anything from this experience.  And that not only renders the experience a complete and utter waste of time, but it is an attitude that is counterproductive to doing good theatre.

So here is my personal version of the post-mortem.  Because I refuse to not learn something from this experience.  Be prepared: very little was done right in this show.  Also, this is just my interpretation of events, with a few insights from others throughout the week.  It isn’t to say I would’ve done a better job in the driver’s seat.  I’m not sure I would have.  That isn’t my purpose.  I just think trying to learn from mistakes, whoever makes them, is probably a good idea.

This does, for the most part, lack the conversational, communal aspect of the theatrical post-mortem that is so useful.  So if you happen to be reading this and you were involved with the show, comment with your version of events!  Or email me with it and I will so gladly post it here…And onward:

Getting off on the right foot is worth its weight in gold.  So is a good stage manager.  I don’t know everything what was happening before I was a part of this production, but I can say that their ducks were not all in a row when I (and the rest of the cast) came on board. 

As of casting, we had no venue, no stage manager, and, in hindsight, no real plan.  We had an idea without structure.  And by the end, all of this showed.  Our rehearsal schedule was schizophrenic, which meant none of us ever really fully grasped the show’s story arc.  Our rehearsals themselves were mediocre and seemed largely without purpose, mainly involving us reading the scene and then wandering around a tiny room whilst reciting the lines.  And our take on the production (rock ‘n roll) fell by the wayside almost immediately.  Following it into the abyss went just about all production values and design.  Except for two chairs and a car. 

My point in listing all of this right off the bat is that if you don’t start with a strong foundation, you will have to work infinitely harder to bring it all together by the end.  I haven’t directed seriously ever and at all in a long time.  But I think in order to direct successfully you need to find a way to articulate exactly why you are doing the show, how you want to do it, and what you hope to accomplish by doing it.  Every little thing that follows, including every minute of rehearsal, should be in service of this.  Write it down and keep coming back to it.  Never lose sight of it.

Additionally, we had a revolving door of stage management throughout the show.  We went through two SMs before we finally ended up with one for the show and a few rehearsals prior.  He was great, but at that point, all he could do was damage control.  For most of the show we had no one.  Except the director.  And then she became an actor in the show, too.  So the cast had to share stage management duties depending on who was present at what rehearsal.  This wasted a lot of time and was the cause of much disorganization.  SMs are the rock of a production.  They tend to be more organized, more stable, more sane than the rest of us.  We need them.  They are mediators, moms, dads, nurses, babysitters, friends, listeners, coaches, mentors, and, of course, the gods of all things backstage.  For the love of all that is sacred, find a good one and pay him/her to stick around.  If you pay no one else, give the SM a stipend (our SM got nothing, our director got 20% of the box office…).  It will pay dividends.  

  Some of this early disorganization can also be attributed to the strike at York University (our producer was a student there and should have been done before the show went up), but most of it is just the result of having no clue what you’re doing.  This happens.  It’s okay.  But own it, acknowledge it, let other people help you, and learn from it.  We won’t judge you for not knowing, but we probably will for refusing to learn.  Which leads us to…

You’re producing theatre, finding creative solutions is your job.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t directing all about finding a creative solution for turning something two dimensional (a script) into something three dimensional (a play)?  Problem solving is part of the job description, and that’s before anything goes awry.  And something will go awry.  Things go wrong even in the best, most carefully planned productions.  This is actually what makes live theatre fun (see: burning down RADA).  You have to think on your feet and find solutions on the fly.  This is the rush!

Here is one example from the list: we lost an actor (the first one…eventually two walked, both with good reasons unrelated to the state of the production) about a month before we went up.  He had been to maybe three rehearsals.  The director sent us an email asking what weekends we would be available later in April/early May because she wanted to push the production back.  She didn’t even bother to ask any of us how we felt about the situation.  We fought back and said we couldn’t do it later.  And then we put our money where our mouths were and found her another actor.  All in the space of two days.  And he was awesome.  Really, finding creative solutions is everyone’s job. 

When we lost the second one, the director put herself in the show in a large role.  This rendered directing the show nearly impossible.  We could’ve found someone else, though it was last minute.  And there were offers from within the females in the cast to reorganize the roles we were playing to solve the problem.  She still would’ve been acting, but in a smaller part so she could still direct.  None of these ideas were entertained.  Even after our success in the first crisis.  Use your resources; this is also a creative solution.

This is not about your ego.  Know your limits.  Accept help.  I feel like this could’ve been the motto of the production.  Our producer was in over his head because he didn’t know what he was doing (to his credit, he would’ve been the first one to admit this).  Our director was in over her head because she didn’t know what she was doing, she let herself get intimidated by the people who did (in their respective production roles), and she took on too much.  She was more interested in being right and being in charge than she was in having a good show.  I was in over my head because no one was listening and I’m genetically programmed to want to fix everything. 

Admittedly, I am guilty of not always knowing my limits and not always asking for help (which is how I ended up with stress-induced heartburn for a week and why I didn’t have the sense to sit down/take it easy when I had heat exhaustion).  But the only real casualty of my pig-headedness was/is myself.  And after heat-exhaustion Saturday I did decide it was time to chill out a bit.  This is something I’ll always be working on.  My personality type is ENFJ (and I fit the type to the letter).  Seriously, I’m programmed.

The real problem with getting in over your head is not knowing how to get out.  Or when to ask for help.  Or how to accept help when it’s offered (I have gotten much better at this one, I must say).  When your ego is either so big or so fragile that it can’t handle the situation.  I tried, as did several others, to help the director out.  She just was not willing to hear any of us.  And this didn’t really spell doom for us until she decided to put herself on stage.  In a sizeable role.  Prior to this things were rocky, but she still had a handle on the situation (she did start the show off sounding like she knew what she was doing).  After, she just shut down.

Most talented and experienced actors can’t direct and, essentially, star in a production.  Kenneth Branagh does it.  And as much as I love him, I would argue he doesn’t generally do both as well as he could at the same time.  Add to that the fact that she was an untrained actress on stage with people who have training (varying degrees of it, but everyone else had some).  And then she didn’t want to listen to any suggestions we (diplomatically and very gently) made.  So we had someone with no clue what she was doing onstage and no direction.  In the end, she dragged down a portion of the play by making selfish choices.  Which was sad to watch.  Especially because there were other ways out of the predicament.  But she refused to listen to us.  Which was one of the biggest problems in this production.

Your ears were put on your head for a reason.  Listening is not the same as hearing sounds and nodding your head.  It involves the thoughtful processing of information.  Suffice to say that it didn’t happen with the director.  Ever.  I could go on ad nauseam.  And in refusing to listen she alienated herself from the entire cast.  Which is unfortunate, because I think she’s a nice enough person outside of this show and, sadly, she’s walking away from this production without new friends and with a bunch of people who don’t want to work with her again. 

Finally, it came down to if you won’t listen to anything we have to say why should we listen to you?  To the point that when we disagreed with her (all of us, as a cast) on opening day, we had to send the SM to let her know what we wanted and to hash the matter out with her.  And the understanding was that we as a cast were going to do what we thought was best for the show regardless and that asking her, at this point, was just a courtesy.  Never, ever, should any production come to this.

The producer, on the other hand, did listening really well.  I won’t go so far as to say he took a great deal of action, but he understood the principles of communication.  When I called him, we spent two hours at Starbucks having a very friendly and productive conversation about what was going wrong.  And he was open, receptive, and willing to hear everything I had to say.  And I appreciated that more than any actions because what I really needed at that point was to feel like I was being heard.  And he did that for me.  So kudos to him for that.  Great example.

He also showed up at rehearsal the night of our conversation.  And in a very non-confrontational manner, he brought up some of our troubles.  Then he went around the room and asked everyone to share something positive about this show or something they were looking forward to (which is when I learned how many people in the show had never done Shakespeare before…probably half the cast) and something they were concerned about and to offer some constructive criticism.  So we went around the circle and we sat there listening to each other.  And the director sat there too.  And she contributed.  But she still did not listen to a single word any of us had to say.

I think what happens if you spend long enough not listening to people is they cut you out of the conversation.  If you aren’t interested in having a dialogue, they stop talking to you.  And they find a different way to make decisions and to have that conversation.  I think that is what happened here.  And it was the best choice for the sake of the show, but it’s a painful way to put up a production.

Cast bonding: it shows.  So sitting in that sharing circle, the one concern nearly everyone shared was the lack of community within the cast/production team.  There were people who didn’t know each other’s names because they’d never rehearsed together up to that point.  And you could tell on stage that people weren’t trusting each other.  There was no ensemble, no camaraderie, nothing.  Oddly enough, the first step to creating that was acknowledging our shared frustration over it. 

The second step was me throwing a cast slumber party that night (Dream Phone, Kings, and Strip Poker…but that’s a different blog post!).  I think it’s very important to know the people you’re working with as people first.  Theatre, acting, is such an intimate activity.  I would rather describe my sex life to someone in detail than describe to them the intricacies of how I work as an actress.  It is intensely personal.  Which is why that bond in a cast is so important.

Post-slumber party, it started to become a completely different show.  It began to look more like there were relationships on stage instead of actors talking at each other (although I don’t think we ever fully succeeded on this one).  And when you know people you appreciate the way they work more.  I mean, it was this bonding that made planting a kiss on me seem like a totally acceptable choice in our closing show.  And you start to support each other and to support each other’s choices on stage as you become friends.  Acting is a team sport.  You have to work together.  This isn’t the same as your co-workers at the office. 

I think the responsibility for getting to know each other is on everyone.  We should’ve started sooner and I regret that we didn’t.  I would change that next time out, make more efforts early on.  But I’m glad we got to it before the end.  Because now I have some new, talented friends with whom to work in the future.  Or with whom to drink beers on a Friday night.  Or both.  You know, whatever.

Time is our most valuable asset, don’t waste it.  Wasting people’s time is never acceptable.  No matter who you are.  Wasting people’s time when you aren’t paying them for it is worse.  Most young theatre people are willing to work for free.  We’re more interested in the opportunity to work than we are in the paycheque (or something to that effect).  In a good production, there are other payoffs—networking, growth as an actor, learning, exposure, etc.  If we accept the job, trust that we’re okay with the not being paid part.  We’ve made our peace with it.  Your way of paying us is making the experience worthwhile.  And if you waste our time, we will eventually turn on you.

We lost time in as many ways as there were minutes of rehearsal.  Primarily, we lost time to tardiness.  If you’re late to rehearsal, you’re wasting someone’s time.  If you’re late starting rehearsal, you’re wasting someone’s time.  In fact, anytime you don’t do something you’ve said you would, you’re wasting someone’s time.  And I think this was a vicious cycle for the most part.  Someone would be late for rehearsal and the director would therefore not start rehearsal on time.  Which meant people started showing up later, knowing we never started on time.  I say, nip it in the bud.  Start rehearsal when it’s supposed to start.  If someone isn’t there and the cast they’ve bonded with is having to rehearse without them, they will feel like a jerk.  Feeling like a jerk is generally enough to improve one’s time management skills.  At least, I know it is for me. 

Now, I have to take a moment here for the most infuriating exercise in time wastage that occurred in this run.  Because it’s a perfect example of both the poor communication and the lack of respect for people’s time that plagued this production.

The Saturday before we opened we were on site (AKA in the parking lot) for rehearsal.  The last hour of the day was reserved for our Media Preview.  Which no one came to.  Which was related to our poor publicity performance.  Instead of then using this time to really work on some of the show’s problems (see: Act V in its entirety), the director wanted to take production stills. Production stills themselves aren’t a waste of time.  I actually like them (sometimes).  But we were going to have to take them using someone’s point-and-shoot camera while setting up moments from the show out of context.  This is staging production stills.  And it isn’t very authentic.  And it shows.

So because I like nice pictures, I volunteered my awesome boyfriend, The Photographer, to come later in the week and take them during dress rehearsal.  Which he did.  He has a professional camera and could shoot during rehearsal (so the moments were authentic) and without being disruptive (because a point-and-shoot doesn’t have the same powers of zoom as a pro camera).  The director said “Okay, we can do that” to my offer and then turned around and started staging production stills anyway.  To everyone’s great confusion.  And frustration. 

Eventually we sent our poor SM over to ask about this.  Apparently she wanted to take some pictures to put on the facebook event page before the show opened.  Which was perfectly reasonable.  If she’d told us.  The simple act of speaking that sentence to us would have saved a lot of animosity.  Until those pictures never appeared on facebook.  She never put them up.  And, of course, she never explained why not.  So it’s an hour of my life I could’ve spent rehearsing or doing other things.  It’s disrespectful.  And it makes me angry.

Good publicity requires a plan. Asking your actors to put up posters does not a plan make.  Production stills are also frequently used for publicity purposes.  None of ours were.  Because there was no publicity plan.  While this show was happening Lois and I were having a Twitter talk about theatre, publicity, and the internet.  Basically, we were lamenting that not everyone has caught on to the wonderful resources at their fingertips.  Of course, if you’re reading this, you probably have. 

Anyway, asking actors to put up posters is not a publicity plan.  It can be part of one, to be certain, and should be.  But that can’t be it.  And sending out press releases for a small production in a city full of big theatrical activity isn’t terribly effective either.  You have to get in there and get personal.  Make connections, submit to people’s listings directly, use your network.  And if you don’t have a network, find one!  In fact, this production was sponsored by people who have an online presence.  And they didn’t even publicize it on their own website.  I fail to comprehend this.

Also, publicity takes time.  Ours happened at the last minute.  Giving posters to the actors a week before the show opens doesn’t leave them with sufficient time to put them up (and I’m sure most of ours weren’t posted).  Rebecca Coleman is a Vancouver publicist who specializes in the arts.  Today she tweeted about how getting exposure is challenging (she was talking about a TV appearance for the cast of a play that it took her two months to get).  And this is from someone who knows what she’s doing. 

I guess what I learned here is that you should have a serious, viable plan for publicizing a show before you even cast it.  And that if you don’t know what you’re doing, it might be worth paying someone who does.  Our show cost less than $500 to put up.  They could’ve made bank on this with five performances (one was cancelled due to weather) and $10 tickets.  They made about $100 (we were glad they at least broke even).  Do the math in terms of attendance.  This is a result of poor publicity.

Shakespeare.  He knew his shit.  You.  Don’t.  It was actually another actor in the show who pointed out that we never really worked on the text of Twelfth Night.  And “Shakespeare is 90% text” (his wise words).  At which point I nearly had a heart attack because I realized he was right: we never looked at the text in rehearsal.  Wow.  Are we a bit arrogant to assume we could put up a good production of Shakespeare without ever really examining the words?  Because Shakespeare was a very generous playwright; he gave his actors everything in the words and in the structure of his verse.  So to not have looked at that was just, well, stupid.  I actually don’t know what to say about it.  It’s such a simple step that we so completely missed.  It’s straightforward.  And there were a few moments in the show that we did finally work on text in small groups during the last week.  They showed.  These were some of the clearest moments in the show.

And then…

Respect: what goes around comes around.  This ties into not working on the text (and pretty much every other aspect of the production).  We finally had a conversation as a cast in the final week (way too late) about speaking verse.  My character never spoke in verse and it had never occurred to me that there were people in the show who had no idea where to start.  And I only realized a few days before this conversation how many of my castmates had never done Shakespeare/verse before.  Again, WHAT?!?  How could we not have worked on this right at the start?

So when the director said something that was blatantly incorrect (something about breathing in the middle of a verse line…and we can fight about throwing the rules out the window and whatnot, but you have to at least know what they are before you can throw them out) I spoke up, politely.  And I explained why you aren’t actually supposed to breathe in mid-line (which I won’t go into here because, seriously, could this be longer?).  And she said, “No.”  To which I responded, “Well, that’s just what I learned at RADA.”  It sounds worse/ruder than it was.  My point was that this wasn’t me disagreeing with her, it was RADA, and that I wasn’t just making shit up.

She studied Shakespeare from an academic and intellectual standpoint, and she understands it very well.  Better than me, from that perspective.  I studied Shakespeare from a performance standpoint.  She should know more about his obscure references and whatnot than I do.  I should know more about speaking verse than she does.  Otherwise neither one of us did our homework.  It’s not a competition, it’s about different areas of study and knowledge.  This should be an asset to a production.

And she said, “Well, fuck RADA.” 

In my shock, I ignored her and continued my explanation to the cast.  I didn’t need to prove her wrong, I just felt it would be irresponsible and unfair to teach people doing Shakespeare for the first time things that are generally accepted as incorrect by people who have a lot of experience performing/teaching Shakespeare (not just RADA, but the RSC, the National, and every good book ever written on the subject of Shakespeare in performance).  The verse structure is there to help you; learn how to use it and ignore it at your peril. 

I was actually not terribly offended by her comment.  My castmates were more offended on my behalf because they felt it was disrespectful of my training and experiences.  Which it was, but I’m not so precious as to be outraged by her comment in this context.  She couldn’t handle being wrong.  I was more shocked that she would say it.  Because, I know, RADA is a kind of a self-important institution, “the man” if you will (and they know it), but they have a track record of success and are one of the most respected drama schools on the planet.  Who are you, director? (Or who am I, for that matter?)  It was very telling of the lack of respect for other people’s experiences and knowledge.

At that point, all bets were off.  I think that was when I stopped trying to help her by being nice and decided to help the cast instead by taking charge.  And if that makes me a jerk, fine.  I can live with that.  But it made our show better.  And I couldn’t have lived with the knowledge that I could’ve helped and didn’t.  I’m not the type to wash my hands of things.

Around the same time, one of the gentlemen in the show also more or less told her to shove it.  Though not in so many words.  She spent the whole month and a half prior to this outburst treating him like an idiot.  Her notes and direction to him were, frankly, rude and incredibly condescending.  She never found (and I’m not convinced she ever looked for) a way to help him understand what he was doing or saying.  Directing is about helping, isn’t it?  And he wasn’t a brilliant Shakespearean actor, it was his first time with the Bard!  But he was a good actor and a very smart one, too.  And he made stronger character choices than anyone else in the show and he committed to them fully.  But she couldn’t (or wouldn’t) see past his troubles with the text.  The text we never worked on.  Finally, he got frustrated.  And he said to me one night, really sadly, “I feel like she just doesn’t see my talent.”  Which broke my heart.  Because he was absolutely right.  

Leadership is about more than a title.  It is generally accepted at the outset of anything that if your title is “director,” you’re in charge.  You’re the leader.  But history has shown that those who don’t use their power wisely are eventually overthrown, regardless of their titles.  In fairness, I think she just got swallowed up in trying to do too many things.  And being a leader fell by the wayside.  But we needed one.  Every project needs one.  Or several working together.  Which is more of what we ended up with in the end. 

When the traditional hierarchy broke down, I sort of became the director.  Because I was the first person to speak up.  And because my castmates respected my opinions.  Because I respected theirs.  And, you know, they listened to me because I listened to them.  And I was always willing to hear their ideas and to help them.  I wanted everyone in the show to be the best actor they possibly could be and to learn something in the process.  I think I helped to facilitate that.  And it brought out leadership qualities in them, too.  They started helping each other more and taking charge of the scenes they were in.  And the show got better.  It even became more fun.

I definitely stressed myself out more than I maybe should have in the process, but my heartburn was worth it for when they decided to make our Friday night post-show drinking cheers to me and to thank me for helping them and for taking charge.  I was also told I’d make a good director and to let them know if I’m ever directing anything.  I appreciated that, it’s all I needed.  I saw an opening, I felt like I could fill it.  So I did.  And it worked.  That’s all.  And the highest compliment you can be paid, I think, is to be respected by your peers. 

Generosity amongst actors breeds better theatre.  My stepping up caused others to do the same.  And this cemented the bonds we finally made as a cast.  This made us more generous on and off stage.  It made us playful.  As one actor who left the show (who is my new theatre best friend) put it, “This is not the show I left.  It was way better than I expected because you guys looked like you were having fun.  It’s called play, after all.” 

We started to discover things we hadn’t before.  And we were finally having fun.  We also started watching each other.  And acknowledging when people were doing really great work.  And asking each other for feedback.  Which was given generously and constructively.  We helped each other.  We were asking questions of each other, challenging each other in the right ways.  And one result was that I saw what a smart group of actors I was working with.  Another was that I was reminded that I, too, am a smart actress.

This sort of peer direction can be dangerous territory when there is a lack of trust and when people are being selfish.  It could have been mean or catty.  But in this case, it worked out really well. We all managed to set our egos aside and people were honest, constructive, and helpful.  To everyone.  It was an ensemble attitude that was really beautiful to see and that, ultimately, improved the show immeasurably.  I am sorry that it had to come at the cost of one person’s alienation, but we tried everything to make her a part of it and she refused us at every turn.  Still, this is something we, as a cast, did right.

Failure, no matter who is responsible, is collective.  We did wind up with a decent show (for an audience made up mainly of friends and family), but I think the production was, overall, a failure.  Another actress in the show really summed it up: “We, as a group of actors and characters, never really came together to tell a story.”  While the show turned out okay, I think this hits the nail on the head.  She also pointed out that it was ego was that derailed the show.  I think this is also true.  But what killed the show from an audience standpoint was the former, not the latter.  Whatever the reasons in the end, the failure to tell the story is on all of us.  We all have to take responsibility for our part in that. 

My complicity in it is that I let my character and my acting take a backseat to trying to solve all the other problems within the show.  It’s a tough call to make, which way I should’ve gone.  In the end, I think I made the right decision.  I was still good, but I could’ve done more.  I’m capable of more.  And this is unfortunate for me as an actress.  Since I have no ambition to be a director at this point, my future choices will be to take on projects that I know will make me a better actress.  This one made me better at a lot of things, but I don’t think acting was one of them.  

Finally…

Speak the fuck up.  I think this is the ultimate lesson to everyone who was part of this show.  And to anyone reading this.  If it’s falling apart, speak up.  If you have concerns, speak up.  If you think you can help, speak up.  If you think something’s great, speak up.  If you think change would be beneficial, speak up.   Whatever you think, speak up.  There is no guarantee that you’ll be heard.  But trust your instincts.  If you feel like something needs to be said, say it.  Chances are someone else is thinking the same thing.  Conversation helps all of us. 

Good theatre is about taking risks.  So take some.

So I guess that’s the story of this show…

Thanks again, everyone out there in internet-land, for your support.  It helped me a lot.  And you’re great! :)

And now it’s on to the next thing, with a parking lot tan,  several lessons learned, and a few new theatre friends.  As luck would have it, there are several “next things” simmering right now.  And it’s sunny out.  So I can’t do anything but smile…and move on.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek is a jerkface.

 

Ok, no he isn’t.  He’s actually one of my new favourite people. His name is Jordan. And he’s quite a talented actor. But for the purposes of this post, he is a jerkface.

Before I launch into my serious thoughts on this production, I thought I would share this fun little moment from yesterday’s closing…

There is a lovely moment in I.iii of Twelfth Night when Sir Toby urges Sir Andrew to “accost” Maria, accost being “front her, board her, woo her, assail her.”  Eventually, Maria wins the battle of wits and walks out of the scene, getting the better of both of them…the exchange goes like this:

Andrew: Do you think you have fools in hand?
Maria:  Sir, I have not you by the hand.
Andrew:  Marry, but you shall have; and here’s my hand.
Maria: Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink.
Andrew:  Wherefore, sweet-heart?  What’s your metaphor?
Maria: It’s dry, sir.
Andrew:  Why, I think so: I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry.  But what’s your jest?
Maria:  A dry jest, sir.
Andrew:  Are you full of them?
Maria:  Aye, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. (And she peaces out…yes, that’s Shakespeare’s stage direction)

So in our show on Sir Andrew’s second line, Jordan was supposed to take my hand, get down on his knee, and give it a kiss.  And throughout the run this turned into further molesting it until I stopped him—usually he would lick my arm.  We always had a playful little moment.  And then we carried on with the scene.

Until yesterday.

We got to our lovely little moment.  And the little shit kisses my hand, drops it, grabs my face, and plants a big one right on my lips.  And then he stands there looking at me with this giant, shit-eating grin on his face.

I am not generally caught off guard on stage, but he got me.  Good.  Really good.

I stood there shell shocked for a second, all flustered and glaring at him, walked over to Sir Toby, hit him (because obviously, within the world of the play, Maria would feel this was Toby’s fault…and it was even better because the actor playing Toby hadn’t seen what happened), walked back to Sir Andrew, stuck my finger in his face accusingly, and huffed and puffed for what felt like an eternity because I could not for the life of me figure out what the next line was.  Because it was about his hand.  Which I was no longer holding.  Because he grabbed my face and kissed me.  Which necessitated the letting go of my hand. Jerkface.

Eventually I figured it out, but not without cracking a tiny smile. I could’ve killed him.  I never go up on lines.  Although, I have been known to crack the occasional smile on stage…

Anyway, the audience never realized he wasn’t so much supposed to do that.  But the looks on my castmate’s faces (who were standing behind the audience and could see it all) were priceless.

These are the moments that make theatre fun.

And now Jordan and I have to do another show together so I can get him back…

Twelfth Night in photos

My wonderful boyfriend took pictures at our final dress, so I have a few to replace my “artist’s rendering.”  We were missing our Malvolio, so I have none of him from that night.  Also, it should be noted that I was playing with the photo editing software and The Photographer cannot be held responsible for my choices…Enjoy!

Olivia and Cesario

Feste

Sir Toby Belch

Maria (AKA Me!) and Olivia

Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Feste

Cesario and Orsino

Maria (still me…) and Sir Toby

Fabian

Sir Andrew and Sir Toby

Feste and Sebastien

Feste as Sir Topas
(Think Agador Spartacus from “The Birdcage”)

Come see this crazy show!

Artist’s rendering of the cast of Twelfth Night (AKA me and MS Paint).  Since apparently the pictures we took are not online anywhere.  Close enough.

Well, friends, the insanity comes to a close this weekend.  I’ll be sure to come back with the post-mortem on what I learned. For now I’ll just say that the producer talk went well.  And for all the chaos and madness, the show is coming together more and more and this is a talented young cast.  So if you’re looking to kick off your summer Shakespeare fun early, come check us out!

Important Details:

What:  Twelfth Night in the Parking Lot
              Bring your own chair or blanket
Where:  Green P lot at York Mills and Yonge Street
                (Southeast corner, you can’t miss it.
                And you can still park in the lot)
When:  April 24-26, 12:30 and 6:00
               Tickets $10 (April 24 @ 12:30 PWYC)
               Run time 2 hours/no intermission

Most important detail:

If you are present, come introduce yourself to me after the show! I play Maria and will be wearing purple.  If you cannot find me, I’ll be in the Miller Tavern.  And we can have a beer!

And just for the record, even if you can’t make it for whatever reason (like, say, living in Vancouver), thank you all for your support throughout this show. It’s been really helpful to me to have such an awesome online community to come to with my troubles.  I really appreciate it.

Also, if you do live in Vancouver, you should check out my friend Lois’s show, Stop Kiss.  She is playing their Stage Manager and is awesome.

The end.

Help: to give is sometimes easier than to receive…

Later today I have a coffee date with the producer of the show I’m in right now.  This is a last resort, a desperate attempt at salvaging some shred of professionalism in this production.  I’ve tried other avenues to no avail.  And so, here I am, preparing for a mid-morning Starbucks tête-a-tête...because it’s what I feel I have to do.

There comes a point in any production that’s headed south where you have a choice to make.  Either you wash your hands of it, whether that means walking away or staying without caring what becomes of it, or you figure out how to set your anger and your ego aside and do everything you possibly can to make the production a success.  I have chosen the latter.  Because I don’t believe in quitting.  And I don’t believe in doing things half-assedly, if you will.

More than any other reason, though, I have chosen to take charge and to be proactive out of respect to my fellow actors.  We have endured enough as a company, between the unforeseeable setbacks and the mishandling of the various minutiae of this production.  And we’ve stuck it out.  Because we made a commitment.  And all of our patience and work and perseverance deserves a degree of respect. 

This is what I feel we are currently lacking. 

And I know I said I wasn’t going to write about this show while it was still happening.  I’m sort of reneging on that now, but I’m doing it with the best intentions.  Which seems to be my motto this past week.  And I realize it is with these that the road to hell is paved, but good intentions are better than none whatsoever.

We had our first on site rehearsal this past weekend.  Aside from the fact that it was a holiday weekend and we were rehearsing, I want to point out that it was outside.  In early April.  In Toronto. In a week where it snowed at one point.  So, while the sun was shining, the wind was also gusting, and we were freezing.  In a six hour day, we took one ten minute bathroom break and we were given a twenty minute lunch break.  Since we were in the middle of nowhere, it took twenty minutes just to walk to and from the location of food and warmth.  We inadvertently doubled the length of the lunch break.  The director was very upset.  Some of her reasons for being upset were valid—we should have been back on time or called or pointed out before we left that it wasn’t a long enough break.  But this wasn’t done maliciously.  We literally did not think of it.  Some of her reasons were accidental on our part—everyone turned their ringers off for rehearsal and thus we did not receive her phone calls telling us to come back.  And some of it was also her fault.  She was not looking out for our health and safety on a very long, very cold, very windy day.

I think her oversight is the result of having taken far too much on.  She is directing the play.  Now she is acting a large role in the play (which is another story entirely).  Additionally, she is our weekend stage manager as our actual SM, who has been with us for about a week now, has prior commitments on the weekends.  And these are just her responsibilities in the context of the play.  I know nothing of her life outside of it.   This is too much.  For anyone.  Let alone for someone who is young and relatively inexperienced.  She is, in my opinion, in over her head.

But she won’t ask for help.

So I am trying to offer help both to her and to the cast in as supportive and non-threatening a way as is possible.  Whether this means following the script for lines, being a sounding board for people’s concerns, helping to work technical issues in our rehearsals, or just having a few good jokes at the bar afterwards, I’ve done it all this past week.  And I don’t need credit and I don’t need glory, all I ask is that you accept the help that’s being offered.  The cast has, and with a sigh of relief.  The director has not.

It is this unwillingness on her behalf that has caused me to go over her head.  Although I hate to put it that way because that wasn’t my intention.  But she won’t listen/work/acknowledge me in this respect and the reality of the situation is that outside eyes are necessary.  Someone has to help alleviate some of the pressure she’s put on herself.  I’ve tried.  But I can’t force her.  He can.

And I don’t mean to tattle or anything so juvenile, but she is harming the production and I’m concerned for her, for my fellow actors, and for myself.  We have another outdoor six hour rehearsal scheduled for this week.  The weather forecast is similar to the day of the previous rehearsal.  She has asked us to bring lunches so we don’t have to go inside at all as she feels it is a waste of rehearsal time.  I feel this is unhealthy and unsafe.  I expressed my concerns to her in a very polite, professional, and non-confrontational email (I know it was all of those things because I re-read it 6 million times to be sure it was before I hit send).  I suggested we go inside and do an Italian.  This way we have the opportunity to warm up while not wasting rehearsal time.  I felt like this was a reasonable solution that all parties could live with.  I got no response.  Not even an acknowledgement of the fact that I had concerns.

So I picked up my phone.

Because sometimes everyone needs to set aside their egos and their need to do it all (and I, too, have that ego and that need) in service of the play.  Because we are here, after all, in service of the play.  And, by extension, the audience.  Otherwise, what’s the point?

My purpose, as it were, in posting this isn’t to complain or to place blame.  It’s to point out that we all need help from time to time.  And that there is no shame in accepting it when it’s offered.  And no matter what your role in a production, you should always take ownership.  Especially when there is an issue that seems to be going unresolved.  If you see something that needs to be done, do it (of course, as respectfully as possible).  Take charge, be proactive, because chances are someone will thank you for it later.

On professionalism, or how (not) to direct a play...

I am in a show right now. One I was hesitant about accepting a role in. Partly because it seemed like an odd casting choice (it no longer does, in the context of this production) and partly because my last experience working in non-professional theatre was somewhat disastrous. But I went for it, because nothing risked, nothing gained. And because it seemed wrong and unfair to write off any non-professional production based on one lousy experience. But now it seems like every time I turn around, this production is falling apart at the seams, much of which can be attributed to a lack of professionalism.


And I should say that I think "professional" refers to people or to theatre groups who behave professionally, not necessarily just those who are being paid for their work. At heart, I was a professional actor when I was a high school student. And I have yet to trick anyone into actually paying me to act (minus one or two teensy tinsy stipends). Because I don't need a paycheque to understand what my responsibilities to a production are and to do everything within my power to fulfill those responsibilities. Apparently (and yes, I've always known this), not everyone feels similarly...


All this being said, I feel it would be in poor taste to go into all the details of this current production's shortcomings. I'm still in the middle of it. I may still change my mind. So I don't want to say anything I might later regret. And since it isn't over yet, I still have faith that it may manage to turn itself around in the next two weeks. Finally, of course, I hope you'll all come see me (!!!) and I'd like you to be able to do that with as little bias as possible.


So, instead I'm going to tell you about the first disaster, the one that made me hesitant about taking on this show...this is also the tale of why I don't talk so much about where I went to theatre school...but I'm getting ahead of myself.


Here is "How (NOT) to Direct a Play" in 7 easy steps.


A bit of background: I moved to the U.S. o' A. when I was but a wee child (read: an angry nine year old) and puzzled for many years over why my Green Card was actually peach in colour. I was eligible for citizenship about an eon ago, but for whatever reason, the fam and I never got around to it. Until I graduated from university and wanted to move back to Canada. The deal with the Green Card is basically that if you leave, you lose it. Peachy. Many frustrating and boring arguments with my parents/conversations with the lawyer later, I wound up trapped in Michigan going through the citizenship process. Because losing the ability to work on both sides of the border when I don't have to (becoming a citizen allows me to retain those rights) would be silly. And eventually I did become a dual citizen (bi, if you will) and haven't been south of the border since.


But there I was, hanging out in Michigan (where I didn't have any friends) and working at Victoria's Secret (not glamorous at all, in case you were wondering). Super fun. And totally fulfilling after spending four years away at university in New York City and abroad dreaming of becoming a working actress. When I graduated I was ready to work my tail off, to get out there and give 'er. Clearly, none of that year was what I had in mind.


And then I auditioned for and got cast in a play. A Shaw play. And life suddenly seemed better. I was over-the-moon thrilled. Not only was I cast, but I was playing the lead. I was off-stage for maybe twenty minutes out of 2 hours. And it was just a great part for me. This is what actresses dream of (okay, the role, maybe not so much the small Michigan theatre part)! So, in the two weeks between auditions and our first read through, I channelled my excitement into a dramaturgical fury. I learned everything I possibly could about the world of the play, from geography to politics to literary references...every little thing imaginable, I was an expert on all of it. And I perfected my British RP accent by renewing my love of the International Phoenetic Alphabet (sigh...). I went into that read through ready and raring to go!

But here is where we start the downhill slide...


1. Set a positive and productive tone for rehearsals, starting day one.


The first read through was on my birthday. I felt like it was a first date. I got dressed up, I scoped the site out early, I stopped by Starbucks for a Venti Mint Tea (fresh breath assurance!), and I brought chocolates for the cast...which was really because I like to have treats to share on my birthday. Anyway, I showed up early-ish (let's say 10 minutes or so because that's my standard MO) and the only people there are the producer and an older actor who I auditioned with and who is clearly playing my dad. We'll call him Pops. We make small talk whilst waiting. I realize that the producer and I have a mutual friend. I'm excited to be making new theatre friends! Then this lovely woman with short red hair shows up. This is Mama Bear. I auditioned with her, also, and we had great chemistry so I'm beyond excited to see her.


Fifteen minutes later (which puts us ten minutes past the start of rehearsal) everyone else rolls in together: four other actors, the stage manager, and the director. Clearly they all know each other quite well. We later learn they are all students in the theatre program at one of the local universities. They're friendly, but not overly. Before we've even begun there's this divide of them and us, with "them" being the students and "us" being me and the 'rents. I figure we'll get over this. Which we do. But not until dress rehearsal. No, seriously. So the mood is kind of awkward, but I'm so happy to be there I barely notice.


Eventually everyone gets situated and the director, who we will call C. (because it's his first initial and because the only nicknames I can think of are meaner than is really necessary), gets up to make a speech. He likes making speeches, we will learn. He makes at least one a rehearsal for the next month and a half, twice as many after we open. Oh, and he thinks he's funny. He isn't.

He starts out by talking about what a great cast we have and by getting all of us to introduce ourselves, which is all fine. Then he launches into this speech about how we all have such interesting stories. Of course, the most he knows about the 'rents and I is what he could glean from resumes and the standard audition form. He talks a bit about Pops, who was in the army. And then he comes to me...


2. Make your actors feel safe and comfortable with one another and within the production.


C. announces to the cast, none of whom I know, that I studied theatre at New York University. Not tells them, not mentions it, but announces it. As if he were holding a press conference. I cringe. I did go to NYU. I worked my tail off to get in, to get through, and to graduate with honours. And I'm very proud of that. But it's not something I feel the need to flaunt, especially to people who haven't yet had the benefit of getting to know me. Because it gives me a lot to live up to, all the hype. And because some people find it intimidating. Intimidation is not what I'm about. Neither is arrogance. I didn't really want to talk about it. The way that he said it just made me feel like I should be apologizing for something...and when I think he might be done and this can't possibly get any worse he adds, "You know, I wasn't sure about casting you because I really hate Strasberg..." I also studied there. Which he knows. Good-bye productive working relationship...


If you ever direct a play and cast an actor whose training conflicts with your own theatrical philosophy, either deal with it productively or don't cast that actor. Do not, I repeat NOT, ever do what he did and continued to do...


There's nothing wrong with the sentiment, the Stras and I have a troubled relationship as it were (which is whole other blog post), but there was no need to say that in front of everyone and in the way that he did. Especially when I don't know any of them and you do. I then spent most of the rest of the production convinced that all the students hated me. Especially because C. brought up how Strasberg was wrong at least once a week for the duration of the show. And I was doing nothing Strasbergian. How could I even consider it when that was the foot we got off on? And his fellow students got in on the action. So there I would be at rehearsal defending my training instead of, oh, I don't know, rehearsing. I felt like I couldn't use anything I learned at NYU. It was almost enough to make me walk. In hindsight, I probably should have. But I had no other creative outlet and I was starting to lose my mind. And I did learn many things from this particular production.


3. Directing is about exploring relationships and the world of the play.


We do all manage to survive the read through. And there are even some funny moments. Both the 'rents are hilarious and even I garner a few laughs. I don't think I'm funny. I know it's crap, but it's just how I feel about myself on stage. So laughs are good. It's reassuring. I still manage to leave feeling like this will be a positive experience.


Rehearsals get under way and it's power-blocking from the start. It's a three act play with 7 characters and we have a month and a half to rehearse. Power-blocking is unnecessary at this stage in the game. Never do we talk about who these people are, what this world is that they live in, what their relationships are, or what is even going on here. Never. Not once. I find this odd. Directing is not just blocking. Any idiot can move bodies through space. And, for the record, most of the blocking winds up being organic anyway. Minus the one or two forced crosses I had to invent logic for...but that's my job, isn't it?


Needless to say, we block half the play by the end of the first week. C. starts cancelling and shortening rehearsals. I feel this is a bit presumptuous. I feel there is a great deal we could be working on, character-wise. I'm feeling lost. It's actually a huge pet peeve of mine when directors don't work with you. I don't necessarily take criticism beautifully, particularly from people who have thus far only really insulted me, but I appreciate suggestions, questions, ideas, etc. I'm receptive to other people's interpretations; I'm all about a collaborative process. And I am getting nothing at this point. And my co-star is getting nothing productive, just a lot of line readings. C. is working endlessly with one scene between two minor characters instead. Completely necessary, without a doubt, but given that I spend 90% of the play onstage and my co-star about the same, shouldn't we get some of that attention? But what do I know...and so we blunder on.


4. The director is the leader of the production. Lead by example.


From day one to the end we had an order of arrival at rehearsal. The 'rents and I would show up about ten minutes early, always. Generally, one of the student-actors would be there at least five minutes early. The other student-actors would roll in at the exact time rehearsal was to begin. Then the stage manager and the director would show up anytime from when rehearsal was supposed to start to 10 minutes late (disclaimer: SM was reliant on director for a ride, thus she had no control over the situation. She was generally awesome and kept me from quitting on more than one occasion. She also loathed C. and managed to hide that from us all, the picture of professionalism). They had the keys, so we would be standing outside until they showed up. Really awesome on the many rainy April days. And then we would spend fifteen or so minutes setting the space up. And no mention was ever made of this tardiness.


Of course, heaven forbid one of us showed up late to rehearsal. And we had to be really late for C. to notice following his own tardiness. He would then huff and puff and run off on some tangent about how we all needed to be on time. Hypocrisy beyond measure. You know, one really valuable lesson I learned at NYU that I'm fairly certain is taught at all theatre schools is that "early is on time and on time is late." Heck, even Strasberg got that one right. No one likes having their time wasted. This one goes both ways, I don't care who you think you are.


The situation grows more and more tense with each passing rehearsal. Whilst I silently endure yet another round of "101 reasons why Strasberg was wrong and everything about him sucks," C. freaks out on my co-star for not being off book. Now, I will grant that Mr. Co-Star was a disaster on the lines, but we were still a solid two weeks from going up. We hadn't even loaded into the theatre yet. Plus, we did the show in dialect and the co-star struggled somewhat with that--it isn't everyone's thing. But instead of approaching the situation maturely, professionally, and/or productively, C. pitches a tantrum, throws his hands up, and storms out. Literally walks out of rehearsal with his car keys and doesn't come back until five minutes before rehearsal ends. And while he's gone, our SM, the champ, keeps a professional demeanor, keeps rehearsal moving, and keeps a smile on her face. And, as if by magic, the minute C. walks out the door, the tension lifts, the show becomes fun, and the rest of rehearsal is great. Which C. promptly takes credit for upon his return. Awesome.

Ridiculous though that rehearsal was, it marked a turning point. Us against them became, from that point on, the cast vs. C. It was as if we suddenly all realized that none of us could stand him and that was enough to bond us as a cast.


5. Successful productions embrace ensemble attitudes. Acting is a team sport.


We finally move into the theatre. The cast helps load in, paint sets, move furniture, set up dressing rooms, clean...run the most foul, obscene, hilarious line-through humanly possible. C. stands in the middle of the theatre and directs traffic. Which is somewhat necessary. But not lifting a finger in 5 hours is just plain lazy. And he is far more stressed than the situation warrants. He is also angry that the actors are having fun. Meanwhile, our producer is in the dressing room sewing buttons back on costumes.

Around this time, we also start the publicity push. Which was, by the way, a joke. Our posters wound up being pretty neat, although they didn't use this picture, but somehow they weren't being seen anywhere. Because everyone had an excuse about why they couldn't put up more than two or three. These ranged from "I have exams" (most of the students) to "This is not my job" (Pops). I was appalled. I get the "exams" excuse, I've been there. But putting up some posters is not that time consuming, especially when done as a team. The "it's not my job" moment was just enough to push me off the deep end. To the point of silent rage. So I said nothing. But I picked up 40 or so posters and between rehearsal and the 40+ hours at my crappy job I managed to hang each and every one of those suckers throughout the town with a smile on my face. Because hanging posters may not be my job, but being good in this play is my job. And I think most actors would agree that it is easier to be good when you have an audience. Especially in a comedy.



6. A rule for both life and the theatre: In success and defeat, one should always be gracious.


Now, by the time we're in final dress, there's not much love left for C. So when he makes a comment to Mr. Co-Star about Mr. Co-Star's personal life, all bets are off. To the best of my recollection, it was something relatively benign but Mr. Co-Star lit into him with a string of profanities that left even me speechless (and I can swear with the best of 'em, thank you, NYC). C. turns tail and gets the hell out. The most we see of him from here out is when he pokes his head into our dressing room before, during, or after performances. Literally, pokes. He comes in as if he's afraid of us. Absolutely terrified.

But we hear him. In the audience during every single performance. Laughing. No, guffawing. At his own jokes. It was the kind of laugh that was meant to say, "Oh, did you see that? Wasn't that witty and brilliant? Yes, I did that..." And even if it wasn't something he had done, if one of us had a spontaneous moment of brilliance on stage, he still found a way to take credit.

And as if the endless self-congratulation throughout the show weren't enough, we had the world's longest curtain call. In character. Honestly, it must've been 15 minutes long. And I just remember feeling it was painful. For the audience, for us. And, frankly, the show wasn't good enough for anyone to have been applauding us that long. But C. wouldn't change it...

7. A great theatre experience is one in which everyone walks away wanting to work together again. This starts from the top...

In the end, C. successfully alienated himself from every person in the show. And this is sad. Because I don't think he was a terrible person. He wasn't even a terrible director, he definitely had potential. I think he came into the show intimidated by the cast and by the production and compensated for that by being an arrogant prick throughout the experience. It didn't have to go that way; it could have been a very productive and positive working relationship if he had been honest and owned his issues from the start.

And there are maybe two people from that show I'd consider working with again. Not because the rest weren't talented, but because I want to work with people who are talented and who have respect for their fellow theatre artists and for the process. Apparently those people are harder to come by than I ever realized...I think, at least for me, when I'm in a show, I want everyone from directors to designers to actors to be as good as they possibly can be. And I will do everything I can to support everyone else. But everyone collectively has to reach out and make the effort for this kind of support to be possible...

So that is how this started. And while this show is very different, it bears a striking resemblance to the original, more and more with each week. Which isn't to say the same people are causing the same problems, that isn't so. But the same general lack of professionalism can be found creeping in bit by bit. This being said, this show is better than the last, in all ways. And the next one will be better still. It's just that sometimes people's behavior baffles me...but all I can do is stick this one out and do everything I can to make it successful. And that is exactly my plan.

I will not be parted from either my idealism or my optimism!

WTD Photo Challenge

Remember when I said Toronto didn't do much for World Theatre Day? Well, that may not be true...

It started when Ian Mackenzie took a picture of himself standing on a stack of books for World Theatre Day. Then Kate Foy did it. Then Simon Ogden did it. And then Rebecca Coleman joined in (I like her nailpolish!). Before we knew it, we had a little meme going. And Ian had the idea that maybe we could turn this a WTD09 poster. So here is the challenge:

Theatre friends, what books lift you up where you belong?

Take a picture of yourself standing on them and email to frabbaurt633[at]tumblr.com, which will add them to our World Theatre Day 2009 tumblog. Ian will be able to get his hands on them from there, I believe. Also, leave me a comment here so I can go check it out. And, being an avid little reader, you could also tell me about the books you chose...Just a thought!

I will post my own version up here tomorrow after I have a chance to take one!

And, for my purposes, I am also interested in seeing what my non-theatre friends might choose...so if you fall into that category, take a picture, post it on your blog, let me know about it, and then I will link to it from here.

Hey, I think we're having fun!?

Bliss comes from a modem...

This is my Dino-Dell, the laptop I got when I went away to university and have had ever since. It's old, it's slow, it has a broken key (but no dead pixels) and until I can afford to purchase a replacement, it is my faithful connection to the internet world.

This is my new modem. It's small and rented. I paid some man $50 to come to my apartment to plug it in (that was literally all he did) because Rogers said I had to in order to get online. But I can say, as I sit here with unlimited internet hours at my disposal, it was worth it. No longer will I have to endure the waiting and weirdos of the Toronto Public Library. Priceless.

This is all to say, I am back, my friends. Apologies for my blogging hiatus. It was really a result of the lack of internet connection. Anyway, enough about that. Now that I have the www back, I can do all kinds of important life things like blogging, banking, and pre-ordering the new Tragically Hip album to be released April 7 (I'm soooo very excited). But first, we have some catching up to do...

One of my Twelfth Night castmates commented at our first read through that February really has no redeeming qualities. I disagree. It has one: it's short. Enough said.

March is here now, though, and I am, indeed, rehearsing for an April production of Twelfth Night. I originally expressed some hesitation about this show: the last show I was in with actors still in school and a young director was nightmarish (and is a blog story for another day). Also, Maria is usually played about in her forties. But I figured I should go for it and I'm glad I did. Me as Maria makes more sense within the context of this particular production and cast. And my fellow actors are very cool (and smart...and funny...and, above all, professional) so far. And our director really does seem to know what she is doing. Look, I've been in shows where that hasn't been the case. It's unpleasant, if not damaging. But maybe this experience will redeem the last one. I will keep you posted.

This show is also an excellent exercise in how to produce theatre when you have no money. I'm learning.

Also of interest, I am playing March Break Camp Counsellor for Harbourfront Centre's TheatreKIDS camp this coming week. It should be a lot of fun. It's just me and a teaching artist/director and it's all about collaboration. The kids are going to create a theatre piece to present to their parents at the end of the week. It's quite the challenge but I think they'll come up with something really amazing. And I can't wait. This is something I know I can do well, given that I've been a sleepaway summer camp counsellor for 7 years and I have a BFA in Theatre. Although I was once told that I don't have enough experience to teach drama to kids (which is one of the most infuriating things you can hear when looking for a job). Anyway, I'm sure this will be a step in the right direction. Or at least the source of some fun (and funny) stories.

Finally (sorry this post is a series of unrelated things and a bit all over the place), the lovely Lois posted this on her blog last week about theatre communities and artists trying to break in. I think she makes some really interesting points. The best way in is, indeed, to go see things and to talk to the people doing them. This being said, I think some communities are more resistant to outsiders. When you don't know anyone, this can be frustrating. And I do think it is probably different for actors than it is for stage managers. But you have to start somewhere. And Lois's idea is a good one. So go see a show. And make a friend.

The end.

Cast at last...

I had an audition this past weekend. I didn't mention it because, while I enjoy being honest, my tenuous grip on my self-esteem requires that I not broadcast all of my failures. But it was a good audition. And my work paid off. I got cast.

But I wasn't thrilled. I wasn't disappointed either. I was just hesitant.

The production is Twelfth Night, which I think I mentioned everyone is doing right now, and the part is Maria. I just think this is an odd choice. Not necessarily bad, just odd. This is not how I would cast myself in this particular play. But, of course, casting wasn't my job. And I do trust that there was a reason that makes complete sense for the choice, I just can't see it.

After the initial shock, I thought about it. The last show I was in I played a part that was perfect for my "type" (which is a four letter word, indeed). The show wasn't good, I wasn't great, and, were it not for my determination to maintain a positive attitude, the whole thing would've been a bad experience. A few shows ago I got cast in another part I didn't think I'd ever play. And it was awesome. I felt like maybe I should stop worrying about it and embrace it. After all, learning to see yourself in a different light can be liberating. Or, at the very least, educational. Plus, this is a wonderful opportunity to work on my wonderful comedy skills. Mad comedy skills, I tell you. So, while I think it's a weird choice, I'm going to go with it. And my Twitter friends seem to agree with this choice, so it must be a good one.

I think the most damaging lesson I learned in theatre school was about "type." Because, frankly, "type" is crap. And it is really not helpful to most of us. And it's a lazy, lousy way to cast a show. Sure, it's important to know how other people are going to view you when you walk into an audition, but this knowledge can also make it far too easy to pigeon hole yourself. And really, you don't know what anyone is thinking the first time they see you. I was told I'm an ingenue. I didn't like it. I learned to embrace it. And I've been cast against it 75% of the time since. So is this really helpful? I'm skeptical.

But every weird opportunity that comes your way is probably just another opportunity for growth. And, of course, for the making of new theatre friends. I will keep you all posted on how it goes--read through this weekend, wish me the best!