7 February — THE BEST REVIEWS.

The afternoon staged-reading of THE ROBBERS OF MADDERBLOOM was done, to my surprise, with an great crowd.   The audience was fantastic to play for and George Bent and Markheavens Tshuma were great.   The actors from New York enjoyed working with them so much and the laughter was substantial.   Al Gordon, the head of the theater department when I was here, came and that meant a great deal to me.   To see him sitting in the front row was an honor.    One of the most important responses for me though was when Shawn Paul Evans’ son wanted particularly to tell me how much he liked the play.  

Last night’s show was as good again, if not better.   This cast astounds me.  At one point I turned down my row to look at my dear friend Kathleen O’Grady, who originated the role of Joanna and she was crying and laughing at the same time.

6 February — SECOND NIGHT

Tonight was sold out!  And they did it.   The cast broke the second night curse.   Second nights even in the professional theater have a tendency to be a bit lackluster.   But not this crew.  No.   The show got even better and richer.   Bravo.

5 February — WHY DO WE DO THIS? by Marquita Robinson

Why do we do this?

That’s a line in THE APOTHEOSIS. And honestly, it is a question I have asked myself throughout this process.  During “play practice”, an actor goes through so many emotions – many of them uncomfortable.  Take Lisa (who plays Joanna) for example, the spectrum of emotion she must experience before the play is over is more than many of us will feel in a typical day.  In acting, you’re forced to feel.  You’re forced to feel everything.  Not only feel, but also make others feel. Actors have to make their fellow cast members cry, get angry, feel ashamed, be happy, be grateful, etc.  Outside of the world of the play, actors go through an entire other gamut of emotions.  They have to make themselves vulnerable enough to display these emotions.  Actors must be vulnerable enough to except criticism yet strong enough to use it rather than be crushed by it.  An actor has to expose some of the most private aspects of his or her personality in order to portray a character.  So it is no wonder why many of us ask, “Why do we do this?” Why go through this?  Why torment myself with these crazy emotions I have to go through in order to put on a play?  Why make myself subject to criticisms?  

In the play, Steve (played by Dave Curran) responds, “Because it’s fun.”  That is true.  But, I think it’s only a small component of why we (or at least I) do it.  I think it is incredibly easy for me (for us as college students really) to go through life without really having to feel much of anything.  I often find myself in a routine where I am worried more about what needs to be done, than how I actually feel about doing all of this.  I can go weeks without feeling particularly angry or happy.  I can go forever without being as loving, as I should be.  In the same way, it is easy to keep from being affected by others.  

I think the reason why we do this is because the theater is as real as anything one can experience in life.  It gives us the permission to be angry, to be in love, or to be in grief.  It allows us to be vulnerable and learn through that vulnerability.  It allows us to feel and to really do so.  Sometimes we don’t give ourselves permission to do that in life.  No matter the crowd count, we do it for ourselves and for those who truly want to be a part of it.  We do it because it does matter.  It matters to us.  Oh yes.  We also do it because it’s fun.

4 February — ADVICE TO THE PLAYERS

I’ve told you that I learn to understand the plays I write over time.   It’s humbling.  I’ve learned this — the play will be your guide.  It has been mine. 

 “Nobody does it alone” 

Never forget that you do not do this alone.   Remember that Mark running sound on the grid or Charlie backstage or Kit in the costume shop are just as much a part of this play as anyone else.   “No matter how small or unseen . . .”

 “I don’t know.  Them.”

Treat the audience with respect (not reverence or fear) but also do not pander to them.  Begging for laughs or attention or approval will not garner their respect in return.   You’ll just get laughed at, attended to and indulged.  “Is that a way to be somebody?”  Treat the audience as a fellow player.  Learn to listen to them as much as you want them to listen to you.  You can do that while you’re performing without losing your truth or concentration.   That’s a big part of acting in the live theater.   “They’re just watching and listening for you to say it and make it real.” 

 “It’s me.  I blew it.”

Failure is not an option — it is inevitable.   At some point you’ll hit a banana peel — a big one or a small one.  Something won’t work or you’ll mess up.   Don’t let it stop you.   Confidently move on and, as in life, know that failure or a simple slip can be as important an experience as the greatest triumph.  “You’re brave.   Keep it up.”

 “This is what you have.”

Be present.  Engage the moment as it happens.  Embrace everything that happens as it happens, from a dropped prop to a good delivery of a line.   Don’t attempt to recreate what happened the night before or think that you can fix it tomorrow until you’re in tomorrow’s performance.  “Another minute gone.”

“You’re making it happen in a way that is just, you know, solid.”

Hold to your performance.  Don’t let an audience reaction or what someone else might say dissuade you from the path you set.   You know these characters now better than anyone else and most people have a difficult time separating their taste from what is worthy.  “Jo, you know what you’re doing.”

 “I want as much as all of you . . .”

Don’t be afraid to show your passion or intensity.   Don’t settle for the ironic remove.   That’s frankly and obviously only a mask for insecurity and not a very good mask at that. “You may go, Pavel, and walk out of this cell — this prison.”

 “I know why.  Cause it’s fun.  Right?”

Remember the cliché that it’s called a “play” for a reason.   So play.   Joyfully play.   Play for all the Steves in the world and from the past — play for all the Joannas, all the Cecilies, the Nicks, the Gabriels, the Vaclavs, the Tatiana Reigers, who acted brashly and should be recognized! — play for all the Daves, Lisas, Marquitas,  Brians, Johnnys, Kevins, Jennas.  Play for all the Nicoles, Markheavens, Charlies, Marks, Kits, Shawn Pauls, Josephs, Kimberleys, Phils, Robs, Owens, Cathys, Susans, Jills, Jessicas, Helens, Tabithas, Matts, Jennifers, Kathleens, Johns, Joes, Christines, Julies . . . Play — have a great time for all those who try and have tried to do this ridiculous and glorious thing!

 There’s more I’ve learned from watching you work on this play but . . . “I shall leave you to your work.”  

3 February — RIGHTEOUS TIRED.

I am tired.   The bags under my eyes are tired.   They like to tell me so when I pass my reflection.   They have gotten so big and dark they are capable of casting their own shadows.  

I am supposed to be preparing to perform on Sunday (THE NEBRASKA DISPATCHES) and Saturday (THE ROBBERS OF MADDERBLOOM).   I haven’t had a chance yet.   I am supposed to be preparing for classes back in New York when all this is done.  I have not.   I have to prepare for a trip to Nebraska the weekend following this one to cast the play HOME LAND and see the premiere of another commission, THE CHOIR.   I haven’t even bought my plane ticket yet.   The weekend after that I have to fly to Chicago to perform a piece for the Art Institute of Chicago that I haven’t even given a thought to.  

 I have felt I’m only surviving on breath, the support of friends and Diet Dr. Pepper.

 In the afternoon, I went down to check on Jessica Miller, the costume designer.     We’ve both been having trouble figuring out what we wanted from Joanna’s costume.   I asked for a vaguely 1930’s feel to the contemporary clothes worn in the play and Jessica has delivered in a unique and beautiful way.   I love the look of the show very much.

Jessica has been suffering with the flu or cold that’s been doing around the campus.    I knew that she had been up late into the night working after our first dress rehearsal.    There she stood in front of a mannequin with pieces of what had been Joanna’s costume.   Jessica looked worn out.   It seemed as though she had spent a long time just staring at the mannequin waiting for inspiration.  

But what I saw immediately was the inspiration she had found, but being so tired, couldn’t see.   A vest had been added and the line of the whole thing had been simplified.   The costume looked for all the world like a modern translation of a traditional Czech dress — like one of those I had seen a friend of mine wear so often at Nebraska’s annual Czech festival.   It was still Joanna — still eccentric, the way many actor friends of mine dress.   But now Joanna will have dressed (for those who note it) for her “rehearsal” in a dress reminiscent of a dress the character of Una, whom she is playing, would have worn.   That is cool.   That is the kind of detail that inspires me.

 The rehearsal tonight was inspired.  We had a handful of audience.  The actors started getting their play back.

A dear friend of mine with whom I had done a couple of shows back in the Troubadour days (a woman for those all male days) came.   She came late but she seated herself down the row from me.   She was laughing with surprise and recognition and I could see her at intervals nodding and at one point she let out a whispered “Amen.”   Afterward she said to me,  

 “Hon, you have got to know that there were moments of — I will say it — truly —moments of sustained magic.  Sustained magic. That is what theater can do!   That must make you feel so good.”

“Yes, but we’re all pretty tired.”

 “Well, if you are . . . it is a righteous tired.”

2 February — LOSING YOUR LIGHT

First dress rehearsal.   The show is coming together.   We are trying to get back the spontaneity of the rehearsals of last week.   Every night has a new element — light changes, music, costumes, etc.  Each element adds an extraordinary amount to the effect we are going for.   But each also carries a weight that transforms the show and we must account for and a new balances must be achieved.    All this is happening in a play in which a character says, “No lights.  Just act the hell out of it, so that we look like we’ve made our own light.”

We cannot lose our own light.  

 It seems easy to do at this point when it becomes about cues and fades and set pieces and costumes.   I haven’t been able to hear the show again — really hear it for all my looking at the littlest details.   So much can distract if we let it.

 At a faculty meeting this afternoon there was somber talk of the show and it’s very slim box office.   I know the title, however appropriate, is more than a little daunting.   I know, no matter how much I’ve achieved, that I am not a famous name.  I know that new plays have a difficult time drawing audiences these days.   I know how much I want an audience to see all that we’ve done and consider what it may mean to them.

 As everyone looked so concerned about how to turn things around and tried to come up with last minute ideas, I reminded myself and them that this is the very thing the play is about.    Those that will come we will have a great time with and treasure.   What could have been done is done.  

Brian Devine’s character asks,  ”This work, this play — if no one was looking would you do it still?”    The custodian is not just asking Joanna that question.  He’s asking all of us involved.

 We cannot lose our own light. 

1 February — FIRST AUDIENCE NERVES

We were all nervous for our last tech.   There were two people who wanted to review the show.    Though I don’t think it’s fair to take a look at a work still in process, I wasn’t sure of the protocol here and wanted to do anything we could to get the word out.   We invited some others to come fill in.    It seemed appropriate that we should tech the audience as well since they are an important part of the show.

The actors all walked on with the look of startled horses.   It’s one thing to conceptualize such an intimate relationship with the audience.  It’s another to be face to face with it — even when there are not many faces there.

 At one point Marquita went up on a line.   You could see her get lost.   I held my breath up in the back of the house.   We haven’t talked about recovering from that kind of stumble.   I’ve seen professionals get flummoxed.  In one instance I watched an actor decide just to leave the stage and his fellow scene partner.   Stunned and left to fend for herself, she improved a nonsense monologue until the other actor decided to return to the stage.   Though pretty funny in retrospect, it was terrifying to watch.

 Marquita took a breath and doubled back a line or two and then looked for all the world as though nothing in the least had happened.   Great work.   She made us all proud.   

31 January (12:14PM) — UNTITLED.

It’s coming on fast.  Sitting in the back row of the theater waiting for the first technical run to begin.   Sound check is going on.   Shawn Paul Evans is up on a lift changing the gel on a light.  The grips and stage managers are sweeping the stage floor and putting the props into place.   The actors are laughing and finishing their lunches in the green room. Jessica Miller, the costume designer, and the dressers are passing in and out of the room with scissors and costume pieces.   The student who’s working the light board has fallen asleep in his seat.   My job here is almost done.   The cast and crew are starting to take possession of the show.   

29 January — HAPPY DOLLARS

I got up at 5:45AM in order to be bright and scrubbed for a meeting of the Sunrise Rotary.   I was invited to speak about the show and my time here for the Flournoy.   I took a frosty twilight walk to Evans Dining Hall.   I don’t drink coffee but blearily I took a cup.   The room was filled with retirees, working businessmen and women who are committed to service and community.   Everyone was welcoming and disconcertingly wide-awake.   While I might not have been aware of quite what was coming out of my mouth, I was aware of how much the Lexington community is supportive and eager to be included in the performances at the Lenfest.

I don’t remember much else, actually.   They sweetly gave me a pen, saying it was for writing my next play.   We all said the Pledge of Allegiance and sang “God Bless America.”  I also put a dollar in a large blue piggy bank.   They call it a “happy dollar.”   I’m not sure what it means or why I did it, other than it was something the Rotarians were all doing with great good will.    I have no doubt it will be used for some happy purpose.

Oh, and by the way, last night was our first technical rehearsal.   Little details take the longest time.  It is tiring and, frankly, boring.   It is also very necessary.   I have to say, for all we have still have to accomplish, I’m happy with where we are.  

Give a “happy dollar” for the cast and crew.  

28 January — ON PAPER

“Cecily and I will plan the thing out on paper.  Get our stuff together and allow us to put the focus where it’s needed.  On finding what’s there.  You know, going deeper.”  

As rehearsals have gone on, as the cast is well aware, I have become frighteningly like the director, Nick, in the play.    I am very tired.

I arrived from an ice-slick eight-hour commute from NYC and jumped right into the paper tech.  We planned it out on paper — got our stuff together to allow us to put the focus where it’s need.  I brought fresh bagels from Manhattan for the cast and crew.  

We had our last rehearsal before the technical crew comes in.    This time is always hard for me.   We’ve worked so intensely for these three weeks and now our number will double in size.   I feel very protective of my cast and hope I have given them the confidence to handle all the new things that will be thrown at them for the next few days.   All I could say was something like . . .

“Keep concentrated and know what you have and understand that we know the tune but we’re not making music.  We need to make music.”  

I need to get some sleep.