Longenblog

Good Dog

2011-11-16T01:29:00.000-08:00

So I’m stepping aside from writing about theatre to write an appreciation of my Mom’s sweet dog Sadie, who passed away a couple of days ago. This won’t be a regular occurrence but she wasn’t a regular dog.

Sadie was a hound of unknown pedigree, but was immediately recognizable to anyone who’s ever seen one of James Thurber’s cartoons. She was the living embodiment of one of his many sad-eyed hounds, dogs that seem not just melancholy but beset by deep insecurities. Sadie’s constant demeanor was morose even when she was joyous and her tail was doing circles like a helicopter propeller.

Mom brought Sadie home from the Juneau pound almost ten years ago. I remember my sister saying that she really couldn’t understand my Mom’s choice—the dog was already grown, not much of a “looker,” and at that time anyway was given to heavy bouts of enthusiastic, and none-too-fragrant, panting. But when Mom brought her down to her book store, Sadie headed right to a back corner, curled up, and lay there through the long afternoon as various customers came in and enthused over her.

Sadie had, like Gertrude Stein (whom she somewhat resembled), a deep but passive love of company. She would look up when you came in the room, perhaps give a few thumps of her tail, and then wait to see what you were going to do. If that was skritching her ears and giving her some belly pats, she would lay back and give you a grateful look that made you feel like you weren’t just petting a dog, you were performing a useful community service.

Sadie wasn’t what I would have called a “fun” dog. On walks she could be awful, tugging on her leash, or when released, disappearing on lengthy secret missions. Walks with Mom would often include a long bout of her calling her name while we would periodically hear her romping about in the underbrush.

But Sadie was a dog with soul. I remember Mom saying when she got her that the vet had said she’d had puppies when she was younger—fate of said puppies unknown. It was easy to believe. Sadie seemed to carry some sad wisdom always about with her, even if it was just the burden of a tough past and the knowledge that in the present she had it good.

And she did have it good. Mom tends to spoil her pets—not to the point where they’re intolerable, but certainly to where they’re well aware that they have a good life. The dog got more than her share of table scraps and treats. Mom and Sadie used to do morning yoga together, Mom curling herself up with her feet in the air and the dog nibbling the treats that her mistress had placed between her toes.

When I last saw Sadie she was depressed about Mom’s absence—Mom was off on her annual book-buying and cartographer conference trip to England and the Continent, while I looked after the house and dog, and went through the vast number of books I have stored in her basement. Yet after a few days Sadie cheered up to the point where she would actually play with me in a melancholy sort of way—she’s bring me one of her stuffed animals, I’d throw it, and she’d look at me reproachfully, as if to say “is that how you treat my toys?”

This last week Sadie got out of Mom’s house late at night and went rummaging. Unfortunately the poor old girl ended up with a fatal case of garbage gut—she’d never been the most discriminating of dogs—and though she received surgery she didn’t survive it. Though she was getting stiff and was easily satisfied with a short walk and a full dog bowl twice a day, she still had a few good years left, and it’s very sad to lose her. She lived an odd and seemingly melancholy life. But she had the pleasure of being loved by a lot of people—and that’s a considerable accomplishment for a lifetime.

Hmmmm to Persephone

2011-10-09T14:11:00.000-07:00

From--"New World Under"

PLUTO

She was happy. I was happy. But up above, things got bad.

CERES

My daughter is dead!

PROSERPINA

Relax, Mom. I'm not dead.

CERES

She is dead!

PLUTO

Try yelling up through a well.

PROSERPINA

I'm not dead!

CERES

Gods! She has been buried alive.

PROSERPINA

That's more accurate.

CERES

And I will save her.

PROSERPINA

She will, too.

PLUTO

She won't. She can wail and scream and stomp around up there....

CERES

I will wail and scream and stomp!

PLUTO

But she can't come down here without a visa.

PROSERPINA

I wouldn't bet against my mother.

CERES

Knock knock!

PLUTO

I'll get it.

CERES (entering)

Abductor!

PLUTO

How did you get here?

CERES

I wailed and screamed and stomped and the earth turned gray and cold and they filled out a visa right quick, I can tell you.

Fairy tales and mythologies derive part of their great power to enthrall us because while they seem to make sense, there's always a lovely element of the irrational that is hidden there somewhere. Why "three" wishes?" Why does the Giant always announce his presence with "Fee, fi, fo, fum?" Why is it that of the three Gorgons only Medusa is mortal, and what do the other two do after she gets her head lopped off?

Since human nature also carries a lovely hidden element of the irrational (perhaps most strongly when are we trying to be our "most rational") there seems to be a correlation between these stories and our psychology. To understand people, it's worthwhile to try and understand our myths.

The myth of Persephone (the Roman's Proserpina) is one that I thought I understood. It's a very old story; the first time it shows up in Greek literature is Hesiod's Theogony, a work that predates the 5th century Greek renaissance by a couple of hundred years. It's also one of those myths that seems a straightforward pre-scientific attempt to explain natural phenomenon.

Persephone, daughter of the Goddess Demeter (the Roman's Ceres, "Mother Nature"), is abducted by Hades (Pluto), god of the Underworld, who's fallen in love with her beauty. Demeter goes on a "hunger strike" until her daughter is returned, and the world suffers death and cold. Persephone is returned, but she's eaten food of the Underworld, some seeds of a pomegranate. As a result, it's determined that she must stay for part of the year with Hades. During this time without her daughter, Demeter mourns, the world grows cold and plants wither and die, and we have winter. Then she returns, Demeter's joyful, it's Spring, and the cycle begins again.

All pretty straightforward, right?

But...as I looked at the myth again a couple of nights ago, I found myself with some questions, particularly about Persephone. In the myth as told, she's merely an object of desire to both her mother and her lover, neither of whom seem to have much interest in her own will. She's just a child placed in a time share scheme between two feuding adults. (In fact in some versions, she also has to continue to serve part of the year as Zeus's handmaiden--and we all know what HE's like with the help!)

But what about what she wants? Being Mommy's little baby gets old when you're a teenager. And while upstairs you're a minor goddess who helps out with the family business, downstairs you're the Queen of the Underworld. It's not the simple choice it first appears.

So I decided to ask these questions in a 10-minute play, "New World Under," and I was surprised by some of the answers. (I was also surprised to complete it and find it fits snugly in the Arcana cycle as the "Death" card.)

"New World Under" had its premiere this weekend at Tacoma's Doubleshot 24 Hour Play Festival. Thanks to my director Abby Dylan, and my actors James Tweedale, Ann Flanagan and Shawn Baker for bringing it all to life (and death) in front of its first audience. And thanks to NPA and especially Bryan Willis for setting up the whole event.

I like this one. With a little luck, you'll be seeing more of it.

Shepard Country

2011-09-21T18:17:00.000-07:00

I’ve missed Sam Shepard.

Back when I was in my early ’20s and still in college I acted in a pair of Shepard one acts, Action and Red Cross. Both were from his gonzo years, when he’d write impossibly uncommerical plays that would be performed in weird little fringe venues—the sort of venues that I’ve grown to know and love here in Seattle. The plays were crazy in the best and most theatrical of ways. In Action for example, a collection of strange refugees from some catastrophe make some sort of life for themselves, trying and failing to communicate with each other in a series of interlocking monologues. At one weird juncture I would instruct a fellow survivor how to clean a fish that had come up in the bucket from the well. I remember wishing I could write dialogue this beautiful, despite how ugly and strange the world of the plays.

Later I went on to direct a production of True West at my home town community theatre—and since only one male actor came to the audition (and then backed out), it was cast with my cousin playing Lee, me playing Austin and our aunt playing our Mom. Despite the incestuous casting it was a hit in small town Alaska. I think a lot of people who came to saw it, who had ended up in this weird isolated island town instead of choosing to move there, understood the character of the dangerous grifter Lee better than I did.

Now Collektor Productions has staged Shepard’s play A Lie of the Mind in ACT's Bullit Cabaret, his mid-career epic from 1985, right at the height of Shepardmania (just after True West and his bravura performance as Chuck Yeager in The Right Stuff). I can’t in all honesty say it’s my favorite of his works—its length and the repetition of thematic elements work against it. At times it comes dangerously close to self-parody. (Can't anyone in this play remember anything about anything?) But it sure is great to get a passport back to the strange world of Sam Shepard, if just for an evening.

I wonder if the reason that his plays have lost some traction with our zeitgeist is that his characters always seem to partly inhabit the irrational world of symbol—the sheaves of corn brought in throughout Buried Child, the Father’s ghost in Fool for Love, and virtually everybody and everything in earlier plays like Tooth of Crime or Angel City, which take place in landscapes constructed entirely of symbols. Back in the ’70s and ’80s it was hip and enjoyable to deconstruct uniquely American symbols like cowboys, farmhouses and honky-tonk bars, to take them back from the ad campaigns, country western songs and half-baked "American mythology" and make something new.

But for the last decade we’ve watched a corrupt series of politicians use one symbol of "American mythology" after another in a largely successful attempt to gain our support for their klepocratic economic practices and two longstanding wars, one of which we were lied into. So when a character like Ray Tagavilla’s Jake wraps a flag around himself in A Lie of the Mind and sets out on a journey across state lines, it seems less resonant, more dingy somehow.

The other issue, perhaps, is that in the last decade the gulf between the people that Shepard writes about—the grifters, the dispossessed, the uneducated, the poor—and the people who go to theatre has become wider than ever. We have lost faith and covenant with these people and they with us. Let’s face it: the people who live in the trailer parks, isolated farm houses and dingy motel rooms of his imagination look an awful lot like the people who voted for George W. Bush not once but twice. (That is, if they voted at all.) Shepard cares enough about these people to elevate their language to poetry. But what writer today believes in turning the stage over to the wisdom and beauty of the poor white hick? “Curse of the Starving Class,” indeed.

Still, it sure was a blast going back to Shepherd Country for an evening. The show’s cast attack the material with fervor and conviction, and I’m reminded of just what delicious parts he writes for both men and women. The term “aria” is overused when discussing all sorts of plays, because it often means that the writer has stopped the play so that one of his characters can go all poetical on us. But Shepard’s characters sing out in beautiful language because they’ve climbed as far as prose will take them. Even though I find “Lie’s” extra running time diffuses Shepard’s material instead of elevating it, it is still a wonder to hear a speech about a man’s shirt like Aimee Bruneau’s Beth delivers, where the act of putting back on a borrowed shirt becomes an astonishing riff on the weight of the masculine persona.

So cheers to director Rob West and all of the actors of Collektor for revisiting Shepard. It would be grand if it kicked off a revival or two. Believe it or not, Shepard’s written no fewer than 10 plays since Lie of the Mind back in 1985—and some of them, including Simpatico and God of Hell, are pretty good. (As far as I know, only one, God of Hell, has received a local production.) Let’s see what that rangy old guy’s been doing in the last twenty years, Seattle.

2011-09-13T17:19:00.001-07:00

(This is not a Gregory Award. It is a very big trophy though.)

Back in April, something brought the Gregory Awards to my attention—I think it was the annual call for nominations.

I’ve attended the awards a couple of times in the past, but this year, my thoughts went something like this: “why the hell should I care? This is precisely the sort of thing that I’m never nominated for, and I’m tired of toiling away like an unappreciated ant in the world of Seattle theatre while being asked yet again to celebrate my more illustrious peers. Besides, awards like this mean absolutely nothing.”

Then last month I learned I was nominated in the 2010-2011 Playwrights Category.

“On the other hand,” I said to myself, “the Gregory Awards are an important way for Seattle’s theatre artists to recognize excellence in their ranks. It’s good to have events like this when we can come together as a community and celebrate our achievements.”

“And you know? It’s an honor to just be nominated.”

Okay, I’m being facetious. Really though, it IS an honor to be nominated. I can’t really speak to the work of Scotto Moore or Kelleen Conway Blanchard (the People’s Choice and Member’s Voice Nominees, respectively); to my regret I haven’t seen any of Scotto’s work and not enough of Kelleen’s to form an opinion. But the three other playwrights who were initially nominated with me, Elizabeth Kenny, Neil Ferron and Yussef El Guindi are all real talents.

I was fortunate to check out Kenny’s Sick on its closing weekend, and was delighted by its innovative narrative structure, where her autobiographical story of medication-induced mental illness was repeatedly yanked back to a linear form by her collaborator Tina Kunz. It perfectly mirrored the infinite parsing of a mind struggling in the shifting realms of schizophrenia. Neil was a student of mine, believe it or not, a couple years back in my 10 Minute Play Class at Freehold. His work wasn’t that of a student. Instead it was an undeniably mature voice that was already grappling with sophisticated technical issues of form and voice, and I looked forward to every exercise he turned in.

And then there’s Yussef El Guindi. We’ve worked together on several projects over the years, and were both members of a long-running playreading group. In the last decade it has been a sincere pleasure to see a man whose work I have respected and admired for such a long time being given the attention he deserves. He also happens to be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, even though his self-deprecation often reaches comic proportions. (At the opening night of Pilgrims Musa and Sheri in the New World, he told me at intermission that he thought that the show was off and the audience seemed distant and not very involved. After the show received a rapturous standing ovation, I told him that these were precisely the words I would have used to describe the audience.)

Awards, like critical reviews and productions, are arbitrary. We all know this. And individually, by themselves, they really don’t matter. But in my case, I’m sincerely grateful for being included this year, because as a theatre artist I’ve often felt outside of the main theatre community, and this is a reminder that I’m not. I couldn’t ask for better company in this year’s Gregory Awards—and that’s not even mentioning all my friends nominated in other categories, like Charles Leggett (Best Actor) and Billie Wildrick (Best Actress). It’ll be a real pleasure to put on a tie on October 17^th and head down to ACT to share in the pride of working with great artists in a great theatre town.

Regarding 9/11/01

2011-09-11T11:46:00.000-07:00

So today I hope is not about "remembering 9/11," but the letting go of such memories. This is not to say that a tragedy doesn't deserve mourning, but in the last ten years we've seen this particular event used for a whole series of very bad decisions by our leaders that have led to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people who had nothing to do with it.

Like every playwright I know, I took a crack at a 9/11/01 piece. It was staged at Babylon's "9 Holes" short play pieces in 2003. Here it is, a monologue entitled "After/Before."

(Sound of a door slamming. Then Julia begins speaking.)

JULIA

I’ve been going through a bad patch lately. I’ve been wanting to sleep past the point where I can actually sleep. Maybe being cryogenically frozen for a couple of years or so. Like a bag of frozen peas shoved to the back of a grocery store freezer.

I’ve had time on my hands, On my feet, my back, my belly, my head. Manacled in minutes, shut up in hours, and walled up in Castle Time, where the only sound is the tick-tock of the guard’s walk.

I needed to kill time. To slaughter it. To waste it.

So I borrowed a friend’s TV.

I’m really a radio kind of person. I don’t own a TV. Haven’t for years. So at the time I didn’t see it.

I heard it. NPR. I loves me my NPR. Doesn’t matter how bad things get. “As the earth spins out of control and towards the heart of the sun, commentator Bailey White has some thoughts about how the unseasonable weather is affecting her tomatoes.”

So I heard everything.

But I didn’t see anything.

I didn’t want to see anything.

It was good to not see. Really. Some people say, “I had to watch.” But I didn’t. I felt like that’s what was expected of me.

Like that was the whole point of it, to make us watch.

A friend said, “I had to watch. Because my imagination would have made it much worse.” Not me. I pictured them as simply…gone. There one minute, the next not. I’ve got a tidy imagination.

And I had no real connection, you know? Been to New York twice, never fell in love with the skyline, never paid to go up the elevator and take a look. I had no friends working there. I knew no one on any of the planes.

It pissed me off how immediately everyone wanted a piece of the experience. Hungry to link themselves, somehow, to what had happened. They knew someone, they’d had their picture taken there, they’d almost been on that flight. Like some Media Event, like the new Star Wars installment, that they HAD to be a part of, waited in line for days to see it, could recite lines from it, had the action figures.

Not me. I thought it was bad and sad but I didn’t want it in my life. So no thank you. I had permanently abstained from a viewing.

And our leaders! Like they care. Like that little tinhorn dictator in the White House gave a damn about janitors or firemen or even stockbrokers. Like he thought anything at the time except “Jesus Christ! They’re coming after me next!”

So I borrowed this TV for the weekend. Because TV is a great waste of time. And sometimes that’s exactly what you want. Another friend loaned me a couple of bags of videos. She records TV somewhat randomly. Which is great. Tapes with labels like “Tuesday” or “Pizza Guy Episode!” or “Law and Order and Will and Grace.” I came straight home from work, made up some Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, and got ready to spend the next three days in sweet oblivion.

I put an unmarked tape in the machine. But nothing happened. So I pressed the remote.

On the tape was smoke, and fire. Billowing clouds, but all cascading inwards, like being sucked up by a vast dragon’s mouth. Then, as I watched, I could see debris falling into the smoke, flying into it. Then more and more falling into the space, growing into a shape, dark and filled with fire. Then finally it was whole, and I could see the people flying up, into the sky, as if on wires.

I had hit rewind. By mistake.

I was watching it all go up again. Rising from the pillars of smoke, glass and metal and concrete shooting back to reattach itself to the sides of the buildings. Little figures flying up like souls called by the Rapture.

But it wasn’t the end of the world. It was a voyage back to innocence.

Okay, that’s bullshit. We weren’t “innocent.” We were naïve and complacent. We were the strongest, most powerful, DUMBEST nation in the world, and that includes the Australians so that’s saying quite a lot.

Nothing of consequence changed because of these events, only that everyone liked to say that everything had changed. And also the Republicans get away with all sorts of crap because they’ve got another monster to scare us, and the Democrats’ new tactic is shutting up and letting them do whatever they want.

But still, it was hypnotic. Watching it. Build themselves up. Construct themselves into a boring pair of office buildings out of fire and pain and smoke.

Up it goes. And up. And up. Reclaimed by the ordinariness of a typical Tuesday. Vanishing like a nightmare into blue sky and morning.

And Kennedy’s head snaps forward, expelling the bullet. And the battlefields of Europe and Asia are vast maternity wards for boys about to be sent home, the Great Wars becoming vague grumblings. Every vast mistake we’ve ever made is a peace born from chaotic and inexplicable implosions of blood and matter and clouds of smoke. The history of the human race reveals itself as sensible, but only when, only when, only when we run the tape backwards.

There are still villains in this revisionist history. Lincoln wakes up while watching a play and goes out to start a war that enslaves a race. But even this story ends happily, as hundreds of years later benevolent sea captains take the chains off and pack ex-slaves into their ships to sail to Africa, picking up some sick passengers mid-journey from the middle of the ocean.

We have a glorious future behind us. We will save the whales and the rainforests and the passenger pigeon and the dodo. We’ll ban the bomb, and the gun, and eventually even the sword and shield, in our race towards smaller wars. Countries will become quaint and charming, languages more diverse and richer, and we’ll finally get rid of TV, movies, and the novel and get back to poetry and drama. We will all adopt, voluntarily, the simple living movement. People will be gracious on a grand scale to each other, settling border disputes, leaving whole continents rather than disturb the indigenous people, and eventually the Romans will build up the Temple as a gift to the Jews and the Chinese, confident and industrious as ever, will dismantle the Great Wall. We will head back towards one race, one language, one country. Eden.

But I don’t need to see all of this. All I want to see is the towers go up again.

And for you to unslam that door and walk back in.

(the doorslam sfx from the beginning is played again, backwards.)

THE END

Thrillsville 2011

2011-08-09T13:34:00.000-07:00

Tonight's the first public reading of my new play "The Sound in the Next Room" down in the PONCHO space at the Seattle Rep, as part of Northwest Playwrights Alliance monthly reading series. It's a comedy thriller, this draft anyway: some co-workers take an out-of-town trip for a "Mystery Weekend," and then discover that their own secrets might turn out to be not only dangerous but deadly.

It's envisioned as a fun light entertainment.

And it only took me eight years to write.

Usually I write quickly. Working as a journalist, I've had a lot of experience with deadlines, and believe that there's a valuable heat added to your writing when you're up against the clock. A good number of my shorter plays were written overnight, for 14/48, Doubleshot or other short plays festivals. Even when a play of mine has had a long development period--"Sherlock Holmes/Christmas Carol" had two and a half years of drafts and improvements--I usually write the initial draft in a few weeks, not months.

So what's up with this one?

To be honest, I forgot about it.

2003 was one of those times when I was up to my elbows in theater. Productions, scripts, parties--somewhere in there I was dating an actress. I was also time and again running into actresses who I had big talent crushes on. There were four that I particularly wanted to work with, and so as a playwright, I came up with a cunning plan: I'd write a play and have them read it for me.

The plan worked. All four participated in three developmental readings, and since I'd chosen four women who were not only talented but whip-smart, the post-reading discussions were invaluable. I really felt like things were humming along.

But theatre is always of the moment, and the moment when these four women were available went away. Two left Seattle, and the other two went on to other projects. I shelved the play and headed on to other shows as well.

Then earlier this year I noticed the play sitting on my computer. I had remembered it as being about 18 pages long but promising. So when I took a look, I was surprised to find 73 pages that seemed better than promising. This play looked almost done.

Well, it wasn't.

When I started work trying to finish the play, I found myself arguing with the playwright. Because the guy who wrote plays back in 2003 doesn't really write like me. He was way more wordy, pop-culture centered, and his plotting was clever but a little dull.

(I know I'm being hard on him. Whatever. He can take it.)

I just read a piece in Salon about "continuators," those writers hired by estates to continue the adventures of James Bond or Jason Bourne or some other valuable post-mortem franchise. That's what I feel like that in completing this play. A lot of what I was trying to do with the original script is now lost to me. And the world's moved on: thankfully there's even greater acceptance of open lesbian relationships now than there was back in 2003, and sadly all my jokes about "Stella Got Her Groove Back" are no longer funny--though maybe they never really were.

It's been a rough process. Sometimes I've cursed my younger self for leaving so many problems--unexamined motivations, plot snafus, jokes that almost but don't quite work (the worst kinds of jokes, really). But he didn't know any better.

The one thing that's been working for me in the last week has been the actresses I'm working with this time. It's rare that one EVER gets one's "dream cast," but that's what has happened. Frankly, any director in town would probably give their right arm to work with actors like Jesse Notehelfer, Susy Schneider, Nikki Visel, and Billie Wildrick--let alone all four. And the best part is that they're also all whip-crack smart, and their feedback has improved the script exponentially.

At this point my thriller is just missing one thing: thrills. That's generally provided by an audience. We'll see what the folks who come along tonight to the Rep (7:00 PM) feel like contributing.

Exit David Mamet, Stage FAR Right

2011-05-25T11:49:00.000-07:00

Remember David Mamet, America's greatest playwright? The guy who dominated the stages of the 1980s with plays like "American Buffalo," "Glengarry Glen Ross," and "A Life in the Theatre" and who wrote such wonderfully intricate screenplays as "House of Games" and "The Spanish Prisoner?"

Of course I'm really not talking about the man who wrote the largely unfunny satire "November," the oh-for-cripes-sake-stop-being-so-obvious social screed "Race," or the mediocre films "State and Main" and "Redbelt." That guy is clearly just trying to ape the brilliant dialogue and dramatic construction of the younger, more talented and much more subtle playwright who shares his name.

Great playwrights write bad plays. Every would-be Shakespeare has a "Two Noble Kinsmen" or "Henry VIII" in his past or in his future. And while the decline of a brilliant talent is a sad thing, it's the way the world often works. Success breeds success, but it also breeds complacency and intellectual arrogance.

But the saddest thing about David Mamet is that it's also bred intellectual vacuity.

If you doubt me, check out this article in The Weekly Standard subtitled "A Playwright's Progress."

Yes, that Weekly Standard. The Conservative mainstay who's calling the lackluster Republican presidential field "formidable" and continues to champion the Paul Ryan "Kill Medicare" Budget even as every Republican up for reelection flees from a vote on it.

And the "progress" they celebrate is the descent of a once whip-smart social critic and superbly gifted artist into the sort of conservative bobble-head who says things like this:

“...I saw the liberals hated George Bush. It was vicious. And I thought about it, and I didn’t get it. He was no worse than the others, was he? And I’d ask my liberal friends, ‘Well, why do you hate him?’ They’d all say: ‘He lied about WMD.’ Okay. You love Kennedy. Kennedy didn’t write Profiles in Courage—he lied about that. ‘Bush is in bed with the Saudis!’ Okay, Kennedy was in bed with the mafia.”

Or on where he gets his political opinions: '“I drive around and listen to the talk show guys,” he said. 'Beck, Prager, Hugh Hewitt, Michael Medved."'

Like many overprivileged Republican white guys, the roots of Mamet's conversion are apparently a strange mix of fuzzily-perceived larger social issues (the 2007 Writer's Strike) and the petty and personal (an ordinance in his privileged Santa Monica neighborhood to keep hedges trimmed low enough so that neighbors could see each other's properties). Somehow this all has been brewed into the sort of potent conservative elixir that turns a man's mind to mush.

When I read this article (and depressing as it is, it's worth the read), I remembered an American Theatre profile of Mamet in the '80s, around the time of "Glengarry Glen Ross." The interviewer's question was something like "why do you just write about white men?" To me Mamet's answer was brilliant. He said that he found the American white male fascinating because he was going insane. He'd gone from this position of unthinking power and prestige into a tailspin because it was all going away, and the more he realized this, the crazier he got.

Poor David Mamet. How ironic that he should age into the same crazy white guy syndrome that as a younger, more talented and thoughtful man, he was so astute at portraying on stage.

4 Culture: Positively Final Appearance?

2011-05-24T17:13:00.000-07:00

So I’m having coffee this morning with Jim Kelly, the head of King County’s 4 Culture, on the eve of what may very well be the vote that sinks the organization. He’s filling me in on the complicated politics that have resulted in this state when he stops, laughs, and runs his hands through his hair. “I didn’t start this year with this much gray hair, did I? I swear this is turning me gray.”

You know, he may be right. And if you care about the arts in Seattle, 4 Culture’s current dilemma will probably give you some gray hairs too.

As Kelly outlines it, the political fate of 4 Culture, King County’s arts funding agency, has always navigated around some fairly treacherous shoals from both Republicans and Democrats. The current crop of Republicans, emboldened by the neo-libertarian codswollop of the Tea Party, repeat the old trope that the government has no business funding the arts—or health care, food safety, transportation or any other “non-essentials.” Though they’re not the majority in our state legislature they’ve done an admirable job in voting as a block—which is where our Democratic legislators inevitably fail. It’s far too easy to peel off a few Democratic votes on any issue, even one like arts funding, where they’ve long been the standard bearers.

In this case, one of the greatest obstacles to arts funding has been caused by a Democrat, Speaker of the House Frank Chopp. Though on paper Chopp’s a good liberal, like many long-time politicians (he was first elected back in 1994 and has been Speaker since 2002) he’s got some strange and immovable ideas about how things should be funded. Specifically, he’s made it clear that he’ll have nothing to do with arts funding that isn’t linked to funding low-income housing.

While both issues are good liberal causes, it’s baffling why they should be linked, but there you go: politicians don’t necessarily think like you or me. The result of this odd tic is that funding for 4 Culture has to be wrapped around a package of legislation that has little to do with it. In fact the most recent bill for funding 4 Culture, SB 5958, was described as “providing local government funding of tourism promotion, workforce housing, art and heritage programs, and community development.” Funding improvements for the Convention Center and low-cost housing might be necessary, but danged if I can see why the hell they have anything to do with funding what’s probably the most efficient and effective arts funding source in Washington.

SB 5958 missed by one vote last week. Here’s our best chance of getting SB 5961, the replacement bill that dropped on Saturday, to make it through the session TOMORROW (which is set as the last day of the session):

You can go here: http://www.advocate4culture.org/ and e-mail ALL of the folks in the Legislature.

Or you can e-mail and call the following three key Senators.

Phil Rockefeller (D, Bainbridge): he’s been on the fence and needs to hop off.

Phil.rockefeller@leg.wa.gov

(360) 786-7644
Fax: (360) 786-1999

Same goes for:

Jim Kastama (D, Puyallup)

jim.kastama@leg.wa.gov

Olympia Office: (360) 786-7648
District Office: (253) 840-4701

And here’s another strategic thought:

Pam Roach, Republican (Auburn), has shown independence and a willingness to vote against her fellow Republicans often enough to really annoy them. Contact her at:

Pam.Roach@leg.wa.gov

Office Phone: (360) 786-7660

Toll-Free: 1 (800) 562-6000

Fax: (360) 786-7819

All of this will take 10 minutes—and it’s really easy. No salesman will call, no one will yell at you, you don’t even have to mail in anything. And it just might save one of the best arts organizations in Washington.

Is Failure an Option?

2011-05-20T12:39:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday night I saw Mike Daisey’s How Theatre Failed America at the Seattle Rep, a delight on several different levels. I’d seen Mike deliver it about three years ago at the CHAC (which itself "failed" a year or so later), and at that point I’d found its thesis a bit simplistic and the various story threads straining to achieve inner coherence. No wonder: as Mike told me afterwards, that performance at the CHAC was the second, third and fourth times he’d ever said the work out loud. (A couple years prior to this, I was honored to have been one of five people in the room when he performed the first draft of The Ugly American to its first audience in a hotel room across from Intiman.) Since then, he’s performed this piece many times, and it’s a lovely work now—funny, provocative, moving and ultimately very honest about the strange state of the modern American regional theatre, which does indeed seem to be either very sick or in its death throes.

Mike did the show as a benefit for the artists of Intiman who had their jobs disappear when the theatre was recently forced to close its doors. That was a classy move, and he (and the Rep staff who helped him put it up and publicize it) managed to raise almost $10,000 in a night where there was a healthy turnout from the Seattle theatre community. This was another part of my delight, watching actors and artists who were with us in the trenches of this town’s fringe scene with Mike laugh, applaud and ask questions at the roundtable afterwards.

Talking with Mike afterwards over drinks at Solo, I told him that for me the power of his piece is in focusing on a particular sort of theatre that is suffering, the regional theatre model that really only got started in this country after World War II. While it’s easy to conflate this model with all theatre, this is a mistake. I’ll bet in the late 1700s you could find sad companies of commedia dell’arte players sitting around bars saying to each other, “No one comes to our shows anymore, no one understands the great traditions of our craft—the theatre is dead.” And for them it was.

But really, this is self-defeating nonsense. Yes, the regional theatre may indeed headed for extinction. But theatre? Stand-up comedy, improv, poetry slams and literary readings—these are all doing very well for themselves. The effort to again redefine what is or isn’t theatre creates endless schisms—improv, musicals, sketch comedy OUT, Shakespeare, multiculturalism, performance art IN—of no interest except to the artists who make it. Sometimes I think we artists are so full of self-importance about what we do that we purposefully de-legitimize any theatre that isn’t the sort we produce. (Mike admitted that there are various critics and commentators who repeatedly tell him that what he's doing--unscripted monologues from behind a big desk--isn't really theatre either.)

A side effect of this—and it’s a very Seattle attitude—is that as soon as something begins to become popular with audiences, the suggestion arises that it’s not real theatre. Hell, I know plenty of actors who turn up their noses at musicals, and I suspect it's principally because their singing and dancing skills are not at a level where it’s possible for them to perform in them.

I often enjoy shows at The Rep, ACT, The 5^th, and other large Equity houses. I appreciate the sheen that a dedicated crew of career artists can bring to a show, even when for various reasons it’s not art of the highest order. And I’ll try to support these companies with my art, my time and my (paltry) income. But whether they stand or fall in my lifetime, theatre will continue. It’ll be dying long after I’m dead.

Lies, Damned Lies and Theatre Criticism

2011-05-08T21:29:00.000-07:00

I almost never comment publicly on another reviewer’s criticism. Yes, I’ve sent the occasional snarky note to a critic about a negative review, but having been a critic myself for five years, I know that it’s all just opinion. And arguing with someone about their opinion rarely accomplishes much.

(“I like Earl Gray!”

“Earl Gray sucks! I like Lapsang Souchong!”

“Well clearly, we both can’t be right!”)

But while I dislike arguments about opinion, I was always happy to get factual corrections. Misspelled names, misattributed quotes, wrong dates and places—while a theatre review is an aesthetic reaction to a work, and therefore personal opinion, it still has the fundamental journalistic requirement of getting its facts right.

This Saturday I was finally able to make it over to The Agony and Ecstasy of Steve Jobs, the most recent of Mike Daisey’s monologues, now playing at The Seattle Rep. I’ve been fortunate enough to see most of Mike’s pieces over the years; in fact, I was in the opening night crowd at Wasting Your Breath, his first-ever monologue, back in the old Open Circle Space on Boren. (Fun fact: as part of the show he gave me a lap dance. I still gave him a great review.)

Agony combines a hilarious overview of the career of Steve Jobs, Mike’s own tech-geek fascination for all things Apple, and the story of his trip to the Chinese factory city of Shenzen, where all things Apple are made. This portion includes details gathered from multiple interviews that he did with workers at the factories, many of whom are as young as 12 or 13, and all of whom work in conditions that are frankly appalling and inhuman. I loved the show, and not just because of the content. In the last decade Mike’s abilities as a performer have grown exponentially. To see him hold 900 people as skillfully in his hand as he once did a dozen or so in a black box theatre is personally inspiring.

After the show, I saw him and his wife and director Jean-Michele briefly. I congratulated him, and he thanked me, then said it’d been a tough week. Though I asked what he meant, I knew straightaway: Brendan Kiley’s review in The Stranger.

Now, Brendan says a lot of nice things about Mike in this review. He calls him a “master storyteller” with “a comic precision and conversational eloquence that should be universally envied.” But in the midst of all this, he also essentially calls out Mike for being a liar.

Here’s the passage.

“…Daisey alone knows this truth; Daisey alone has emerged from the heart of darkness of Asian industrialization to bring us the horror. In Shenzhen, he says several times, "there's no journalism." The "BBC fixer" who was supposed to help him out? Useless. The New York Times? It merely reprints press releases from Shenzhen boardrooms. Thank god Mike Daisey has crawled from the maw of capitalism to tell us the truth.

“Except that he's not telling us the truth. After getting home from the show, opening up my MacBook, and wiping the blood off the keyboard, I did a little Googling. In under a minute, I learned some things: The New York Times that Daisey derides as being nothing more than a mouthpiece for Shenzhen corporate interests? It's been writing about labor abuses in the city—child labor, days-long shifts, etc.—for at least five years. The BBC has written several stories about Shenzhen, including the suicides that Daisey talks about. Looks like there's journalism about Shenzhen after all.

“That wouldn't be damning—every good storyteller builds on the foundation of forebears—except that Daisey is extremely disingenuous about the story, his relationship to it, and what his forebears have said about it. And if he's disingenuous with the most basic, verifiable facts, why should we trust him with the complicated, unverifiable facts—like those of his trip to Shenzhen, for instance?”

(a link to the whole piece is here.)

Now, Brendan is entirely welcome to his opinion—in fact, as a critic his opinion is requested. But he’s not welcome to his own facts.

I saw the show on Saturday night. Having read his review, I was listening for the section that Brendan refers to. It doesn’t, in the form that he criticizes, exist. When Mike says there’s “no journalism” in China, he’s referring specifically to a crackdown on Chinese-run media regarding the suicides in Shenzen, not a complete absence whatsoever of journalism. He does have harsh words about a Wired article, written by a “blogger journalist” who conducted some PR-assisted tours of the Foxconn factories and did absolutely no interviews with any of the workers. But to say that Daisey ever gives the impression that he “alone knows this truth” is a grievous and frankly slanderous misinterpretation of what he says.

As Mike said to me in an interview for my Seattle Weekly profile, he assumes that the basic facts about Chinese sweatshops aren’t a complete surprise to anybody. “I don’t think anyone leaves the show saying ‘and here I thought that China was a Worker’s Paradise!’” he said. “Everyone knows this on some level. But we’ve all kept ourselves from thinking about the details.”

While it is true that Mike does extemporize his text each evening, and therefore there may have been slight textual changes between the show Kiley saw and the one I did a week later, according to Daisey himself the script that I heard was the exact same one, regarding this issue anyway, that Kiley refers to. (It's also telling that not one of the commentators on The Stranger website agrees with Kiley's version of events.)

It’s tempting to speculate on Brendan’s motivations. Certainly it’s common for The Stranger to attack an artist that they themselves have helped turn into a star, particularly once they’ve achieved some measure of fame. Daisey’s been a darling of The Stranger for years; hell, they actually supported his recent show How Theatre Failed America by publishing an article by him on the same topic! Or perhaps Kiley’s own recent forays into investigative journalism have made him suspicious of the “professional blundering” that characterizes Daisey’s own work—showing up at the gates of the factory complex with an interpreter and wearing a Hawaiian shirt smacks of a Michael Moore stunt, even if he (as Moore routinely does) mined serious journalistic dirt in doing so. Or maybe he’s jealous. Or a closet Apple fanboy. I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. The only thing that does matter is that in the middle of a review he makes a serious allegation about a performer’s veracity, and as near as I can determine, he’s 100% factually wrong.

But why does this matter? Again, let me pull a quote from my interview with Daisey, which didn’t make it into the Weekly article—but at least I can guarantee that it’s an accurate quote. Mike at this point was drawing a distinction between the people who’ve come to the show, and those who’ve just read about it in media. “To be clear, this is theatre. If they actually come to the show and I get them into the room, then almost invariably what I hear from them is positive. There’s the war in the room, and the war in the media that speaks about what’s in the room. The war in the room is largely lost or won based on my ability to create and who’s there. The war outside is about how I’m perceived and in sound bites.”

Kiley, knowingly or not, has just provided ammunition to the war outside the room. Not only is he helping the wrong side, but he’s doing so with a review that is factually incorrect. As a result, the person who should be concerned about their professional career here isn’t Mike Daisey. It’s Brendan Kiley.

Lady's Night

2011-04-07T11:57:00.000-07:00

It's opening night for My Time with the Lady, the show that I've directed (and gave a bit of assistance in writing) based on the stories of the writer/performer Ron Richardson.

When Ron and I first started to work with these stories almost a year and a half ago, the Lusty Lady was still in business. We actually made a couple of "field trips" down to the place so he could talk me through what had changed and what had stayed the same since his days as a janitor/cashier/bouncer in the late '80s and early '90s. Actually seeing the narrow hallways and tiny booths that were the setting for Ron's reminiscences was a bit like walking through an archaeological site and trying to reconcile the history you've read about with the actual fact that living people had been involved in creating it.

At that time we were still lacking two vital elements: an ending to the show (which, alas! we got when the Lady closed that summer), and a company to create it. I suggested to Ron that what we really needed was a female perspective. When you're doing a play about a peep show that's narrated by a guy, you've got a pretty good chance at alienating approximately half your potential audience if you're not careful. So when we were still doing table work I asked my friend and past collaborator Mary Cutler to come on board. I've worked with Mary several times in the past, including as a co-director, and I have always appreciated how she's both completely non-judgmental about subject matter (even when certain details make her squirm) and has an acute eye for what makes a script work.

The next person to join the company was our dancer/choreographer Kirsten Lauzon. I say "dancer" because her shadow work will be what most people remember from this show, and yes, Kirsten's an amazing performer. She not only dances but creates 20 different characters during the course of the play, ranging from staff (men and women) to customers. But Kirsten's also been our graphic and web designer, script consultant, and enthusiastic collaborator since joining the project. I can't imagine what the show would look like without her.

The first techie we brought onto the team was Laura Ulmer, our sound designer. I'd heard her work at an "Erotic Shorts," and was impressed by both the nuance and the complexity of her creations. When I approached her she made the reasonable request for a copy of the script. I sent it to her with some concerns--after all, the stories that Ron tells aren't for everybody. But her response was enthusiastic, and she leaped into the creative process immediately, including creating complex atmospheric beds of sounds that perfectly evoke the muffled world of private passion of The Lady.

Also returning from our first production is Jayme Markham as our light operator, a woman who, as Ron recently said, you'd want next to you in a bar fight. There's something bewilderingly tough about Jayme, who combines a personal sweetness with a techie's no-nonsense attitude. And joining the crew this time round is our Stage Manager Eleanor Pawley, who's proven to be an absolute dream of organization, good humor and practical knowledge. She also knows how to drink.

I highlight all of these women because while we also have men supporting this run (virtuoso producer John Ullman, the unfazeable and unstoppably imaginative set/light designer David Baldwin, the dedicated and resolutely cheerful sound op Dave Lydon), it was always the women that I felt were key to the success of this show. Neither Ron nor I are equipped to tell the story of the Lusty Lady from the perspective of the women. And we weren't trying to; that's already been done to critical success, in books like Erika Langley's "The Lusty Lady" and Elizabeth Eaves' "Bare." What we've put up on stage is the story of a young man who fell in love not with a woman but with an entire business, a peep show where the dancers were fairly paid and well-treated, where the Show Managers were women and the attitudes were enlightened. It's the story of a community of powerful women. And as we open the show on this tempestuous April evening, I want to thank all of the smart, critical, beautiful and strong women who helped us bring these stories to the stage.

Family in Mourning

2011-03-23T13:00:00.001-07:00

On Sunday night I had a friend in from out of town and we caught a preview at the Rep of "Of Mice and Men." It was grand seeing so many friends up on the stage tearing the hell through one of the undisputed masterworks of American theatre, and it was even more fun catching up with them at drinks afterward at Solo, which has become one of Seattle's Actor Bars. (I hope they know what they're in for!)

My old friend Charles Leggett, who as Lenny had spent the evening politely tugging the entire production away from his fellow actors, had some choice comments on the process of creating his role and I'm looking forward to seeing how audiences respond to the show.

Actors and artists in Seattle are given to the occasional rant about their status in the local theatre ecosystem, and this evening it was the turn of Mr. Basil Harris to take the floor. Basil, who I chiefly know from his days in sketch comedy troupe Bald Face Lie, was fresh from closing his own show "Go Dog, Go!" at the Seattle Children's Theatre, and I suspect a combination of closing night euphoria and whatever he was drinking were what led to his passionate rant about the necessity of local artists to actively pursue their own destinies. He enumerated the well-known reasons for why NOT to be an actor, and then said "really, the only reason to continue doing this is to be part of this community. The only 'career' you end up with in theatre is entirely based on working with your peers and colleagues. It's not about getting larger and larger roles until you're suddenly a star. It doesn't work like that in this town. The pay-off, the success, is the opportunity to do the work, and to do it with people who you respect."

Basil's comments have been going through my head today as I read the many tributes to actor Mark Chamberlin, who died unexpectedly this morning after a bike accident on the weekend. I knew Mark only slightly off the stage but had been watching his performances for years. I always carried a small amount of guilt that the first show I'd seen him in, Hospitality at the old ACT, was frankly atrocious and my review said so. (He played a crack-smoking corrupt Immigration officer. I doubt it was his favorite role either.) Whatever; when we last talked, at the opening night of "The Odyssey" at Taproot, it was again clear that he wasn't carrying any ill-feeling about my unkind words of 15 years ago.

Regardless of how little we actually knew each other, Mark and I were both members of an artistic community that's still small enough to consider itself family--albeit the sort of loud, cantankerous and argumentative extended family that spends as much time feuding as celebrating. I feel honored to have seen so many of his performances over the years. He brought a quality of substance to his work that's rare. The eye was naturally drawn to his slightly craggy good looks, the ear to a voice--what a voice!--that he used like a musician his instrument or a carpenter his toolbox.

Thanks for your work, Mr. Chamberlin. I'm sorry we never had a chance to work together, because you were the sort of artist I aspire to collaborate with. We were distant relations but family nonetheless, and I join the rest of Seattle's artists in mourning your loss.

"A Highly Developed Set of Ethics"

2011-03-02T14:11:00.001-08:00

I was once fired from a job—long ago, I might add. During our exit interview, I asked the reasons for my dismissal. After waffling around about this and that (the truth was a higher-up just didn’t like me), my new boss said, in a frustrated tone, “let’s just say you have a highly developed set of ethics.”

I will always treasure that comment.

I was a theatre critic for The Seattle Weekly and Backstage Magazine from 1995-2000. I really don’t miss it all that much. Poorly paid, flattered by some artists and hated by others, a punch-line to half the theatre jokes out there, being a critic had few positive aspects aside from the free tickets. But I do actually miss working in a profession with some ethics. Aside from don’t punch your co-workers and don’t steal from the petty cash, a lot of jobs out there really don’t have a professional code of conduct. Theatre criticism has a whole host of rules, formal and informal, that a critic is supposed to follow—particularly if, like me, you’re also simultaneously a theatre artist.

While some of these rules came from my editors, others I developed on my own. Here’s a few of them:

If you receive cash or a production from a company, you don’t review their shows. (I set this as a one-year ban and wonder if it should have been longer.)

You try to get your facts right. If you get them wrong, you print a correction.

You don’t puff your friends, and you don’t disparage your enemies—you write about the work. If you can’t do that, you don’t review the show.

You don’t nominate your own work for awards. (Yes, I actually knew a critic who did this.)

You don’t “get back” at companies that don’t produce you or artists who publicly criticize you. (I remember the discomfort of being evoked by name from the stage of the Re-bar during Dan Savage’s production of The Misanthrope. Being insulted in rhyming verse in public was an unwelcome novelty—but the show was undeniably good. After I gave the show a positive review, I got a call from the company letting me know that after they’d read it, they’d subbed in another critic’s name instead.)

When you have lunch with the artistic director at The Rep to discuss the new season, you don’t turn the conversation into a pitch meeting for a play you’ve just written. (The boon and curse of being a critic: access to everyone, artistic respect from no one.)

You don’t leave halfway through a show and not acknowledge it in your review, if you write one. (While I never took the same relish in doing this as Brendan Kiley over at The Stranger clearly does, I’ll admit that when I was a critic I did do this a couple of times. And I would do it again: those shows were horrible.)

But the greatest ethical requirement of a critic is that she or he gives a truthful reaction to what they’ve just seen. If you love it, even if you personally dislike the playwright, you praise it. And if you hate it, even if the company is a wonderful group of artists who’ve flattered you and bought you drinks, you say so.

One of the phone calls I treasure most during my time as a critic was from Kevin Joyce, who at the time was still with UMO Ensemble. Despite this being one of my favorite theatre companies ever, I’d just given their latest show a lacerating review. He told me that he’d just read the review, completely agreed with it, and thanked me.

Theatre artists give critics a lot of stick, mostly because we fear their opinion of our work and the effect that might have. But while theatre criticism might not necessarily be an art, it is an ethical profession. So to every critic out there who takes ethics seriously: thank you. Even if I disagree with your opinion, particularly of my work, I respect you working a job that asks you to behave in a morally responsible way. It’s not always easy hanging onto a set of ethics in the modern world.

Seattle Theatre Round-Up--From a Safe Distance

2011-02-24T13:53:00.001-08:00

Greetings, snow-bound Seattle, from sunny (though chilly) Santa Fe! I'm at a writer's retreat organized, operated and funded by me, though props to my Mother for providing the cozy condo where I sit and think and write.

Mostly what I've been reading are mysteries to give me some insight into a new play. And mostly what I've been thinking about is how ridiculously blessed, and maybe cursed, we are in Seattle to have so much theatre going on.

Santa Fe's reputation as an arts community is certainly justified. If you're in the mood for visual art, opera and lots and lots of tango (why tango?), this is the place to come. It's also got a theatre scene that seems...well, I'd call it proportionate. There's a good-sized venue for visiting companies (The Lensic), a couple of mid-sized companies with an interest in new work (Santa Fe Playhouse, TheatreWorks), some companies connected to local colleges and universities, and a scattering of fringe companies. That's pretty good for a town this size, and from what I read in the local media, audiences considered themselves pretty fortunate.

But Seattle has SO much theatre going on ALL the time. In the past couple of weeks I went to no less than half a dozen shows at venues ranging from the gargantuan (The Paramount, Rock of Ages) to the very large indeed (Seattle Rep, The Brothers Size) to the mid-sized professional (Taproot, The Odyssey; Seattle Shakespeare, Cymbeline, Second Story Repertory, Much Ado About Nothing) to the fringe (Theater Schmeater, Crooked; Man Alone, Three Screams). I had invites to three or four other shows that I simply couldn't make it to, despite my best intentions.

During my years as a critic, it was routine for me to see three or four shows a week, and still receive complaints from companies that I was ignoring them. While there's not as many productions going on now as in those glory years of the late '90s, there's still more theatre going on than any sane person could expect to see--though I appreciate the bloggers out there who, following in the footsteps of the legendary Seattle theatre collector Joe Boling, post gargantuan lists of all the shows they've seen in a month or in a year.

Every time I get out of town for a few days, it becomes clear to me that the story we all too easily forget is that Seattle is one of the most theatre-rich communities in the country. Even after the multi-species extinctions of the past 10 years (most notably the Seattle Fringe Festival and The Empty Space), the variety of live performance offered in venues across the city is astonishing, and I'm a fortunate man to get a chance to see so much of it. As an audience member it's exhilarating, and as a theatre artist it's the best continuing education in how to write, produce and direct that I could ask for.

But since I'm no longer a critic, what do I say about these shows? The way that I experience theatre these days is so much more about particular moments that fascinate me, not a whole production. What I look for and often find are ways of engaging an audience that are different and unexpected. Sometimes this lasts an entire production--from the moment the lights go up on that big stack of tires and that slab of concrete in The Brothers Size, I was aware that I was watching something performed in a wholly original theatrical language. Tarell Alvin McCraney has a confidence and fluency in not only his dialogue but his themes that is little short of gorgeous, and raises what seems a small story of the conflicts between two brothers into the realms of dream and myth. At other times it's a fleeting observation in a well-known script--why, I kept asking myself in watching Second Story's Much Ado, did Shakespeare create a clever and witty character like Mary, Hero's serving girl, but then make her silent when she surely realizes she's been tricked into the machinations of the evil Don Juan against her mistress?

At other times my delight and exasperation with a work continue their argument long after the show's over. How can an author create characters so real and with such subtle insight as Catherine Trieschmann does in the Schmee's Crooked, whose mother and daughter spar in ways that are as authentic as a transcript, yet seemingly lose interest in these same characters three quarters of the way through her own script? Or what was it about Three Screams that seemed so even-handed on the page, where three different monologues fit together with the detailed intent of a triptych, yet felt so oddly lopsided in performance? (Although hats off to all three actors in the show, particularly my past comrades-in-arms Brandon Ryan and Erin Ison, and big smooches for presenting a World Premiere by a gifted Seattle playwright.)

And can a man who owned every Styx album truly give an unbiased report on the merits and demerits of Rock of Ages? (Oh lord the book was a mess, oh my the performances were uneven, and oh yes I had a smile on my face through practically the entire three hours.)

I was a theatre critic once--a paid professional, and according to people I trust, I was good at my job. But these days I feel like that mechanism is broken. Maybe I've seen too many shows, or written, directed and produced too many of them. All I know is that while I know what I like and usually even why I like it, I no longer believe I know what you will like or why. My objectivity is out the window. And really, is that a bad thing? In the blogger age, not only is everyone a critic, but everyone now has the means of publishing. What I hope for a theatre-stuffed town like Seattle is that we could actually receive coverage of everything that's out there. It won't be as easy to sort through the blogs, postings and reviews as it was when there were four papers in town and maybe five critics. But the effort might sharpen up the reader's own critical opinions a bit. And when you become a critic of criticism, you're on the way to a deeper understanding of the art itself.

Intiman and Its Critics--Which For Once, Ain't Me

2011-02-15T22:12:00.000-08:00

Seattle brews its schadenfreude potent.

For a city that has a reputation of being overly nice, I'm often taken aback by how mean the dialogue can get here. Take for example the current blogging frenzy over the report from Intiman Theatre that they're a million bucks in the hole and need to raise some cash fast or they're going under.

Here's Misha's take over in the Times:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/entertainment/2014200013_intiman12.html

Now, I'm not a true blue fan of Intiman. In truth I was never all that crazy about Bart Sher's work (which generally struck me as intellectually slick but empty), and I haven't seen enough of Ms. Whoriskey's productions to really give an opinion, though it sort of seems as an administrator she's probably in over her head. Since I've been in town they've had the worst track record of any of the mainstages when it comes to local hire, and as for their present woes it's clear that there has been financial mismanagement, even if it's not at all clear as to who mismanaged what--though I'm guessing there's plenty of blame to go around.

But.

Every day seems to add yet another blogger exuberantly cavorting around to their own version of the "I told you so!" dance. Comparisons to police shootings, banking bailouts, and practically every other contemporary villain are evoked, usually with a few potshots reserved for poor programming choices or the age of Intiman's audiences. Occasionally there's also a gruff line of social Dawinism included to the effect of "I'm glad they're dying. Now there will be space/audiences/funding for a real Seattle theatre."

What's really tiresome about all of this is that it's the same ridiculous line that was being voiced when the Seattle Fringe Festival went down in 2003 and the Empty Space in 2007. And neither of these valuable institutions have in any way, shape or form found a replacement.

The reason's simple: artistically, financially, and in all other ways, it's a LOT harder to start a theatre or a theatre festival than it is to maintain one.

When a theatre dies, in this town anyway, there's not some sort of magical opportunity to "recreate Seattle theatre." The goods are sold off, the staff are laid off and a good number leave town, the Equity contracts evaporate, the audiences head elsewhere (and not always to other theatres), and what was, for all its flaws and faults, an actual operating non-profit theatre company becomes another unnecessary rental.

So if you don't want to support Intiman's attempts to pull itself back from the brink, fine. No one is demanding that you do so. But really, is it too much to ask for an end to this unseemly gloating? This isn't good news, friends, no matter how bitter you might be that you didn't get asked to audition for Bart or that they never got around to reading your play. And your kicks at an institution that's already on its knees don't reflect well on you.

The Hit, and the Review

2010-12-04T20:43:00.000-08:00

So two things happened this week with "Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas Carol:"

We just sold out every show for the rest of the run, and it runs till December 30.

--and--

We received several more reviews, including one from Misha at the Seattle Times.

As to point one: having a show sell out with four weeks left in its run is frankly amazing. On Wednesday night, Nikki over at Taproot sent me a note that they had 900+ tickets left for the run of the show. Thursday around noon, I got another note: there were less than 250 tickets left. By the time I went to the show Thursday night, they were completely sold out.

This is the textbook definition of a Hit.

As to the review: I'm grateful for Misha giving this show a full-length review in The Times. One of my concerns has been that since this is a Christmas show, we weren't going to get a thoughtful, full review of this show from a paper.

Theatre artists like to say that reviews are good for selling tickets, but that's it. I respectfully disagree. Good reviews can help you sell a play to other producers, so that your work can be performed with other companies across the country. They can reflect to your peers that you know what you're doing, and help build your local reputation. (If it's a bad review--let's not go there.)

And every once in a while, there's something that the reviewer says that can actually help you improve your show.

My rule with reviews is that I read them once, take a pull quote if it's useful, and then do my best to forget about them. Good or bad, reviews are one person's opinion, and if you start to believe your press, you're in trouble.

Misha's review is here:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/thearts/2013580063_sherlock03.html

It's not a rave, but I'd say she gives the show a B, B+.

There are several things I disagreed with when I read it. But again, it IS one person's opinion--even though in this case, you have to respect that she's done this for years and makes a living at it. I often disagree with Misha, but there's no question that when it comes to theatre critics, she's the most influential in Seattle.

If you're interested in what she has to say, I say read it.

Then come see the show and see what you think.

(If you can get tickets. There may be additional performances added. Stay tuned.)

The First Review! (and a lot of blogs...)

2010-11-30T21:32:00.002-08:00

Here's the first actual publication review Sherlock Holmes/Carol has received--a shortish blurb but it's a good review. Give it a read.

“Taproot’s got good news: a brand new mashup of the Dickens classic.” - Mark D. Fefer, Seattle Weekly

That was the first publication review. But it's the seventh review for this show.

Just five years ago I used "blogging" as a punchline in one of my plays, where an obsessive theatre critic starts publishing his journal online after he quits his job. But now? Bloggers are all over the place, and not a punchline. Increasingly they're becoming part of the necessary press coverage theatre uses to spread word about a show.

Bloggers vary widely, as do blogs--not just professional or amateur status, but in their fundamental approach to their writing. Many of these folks, like myself, are writing about a variety of subjects, including but not limited to theatre. Sometimes these reviews mix a lot more personal narratives in, and there seems more interest in offering opinions, not an overall critical response.

“my biggest gripe was the fact that the show was eventually going to end.” - Steven Gomez, The Russians Used a Pencil

“For some reason, the holidays are never complete without a good performance or two. Thankfully, I was able to locate just the right diversion this Christmas – Taproot Theatre is performing ‘Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas Carol.’” - Kim Martinez, Kim Martinez Staying Focused

Others are community-based blogs with multiple writers that mirror the fast-disappearing neighborhood newspaper.

“Stephen’s interaction throughout the performance is a stunning display of American theater at its best.” - Andrew Davis, Seattle P-I Greenwood-Phinney

“It’s the best of Dickens and Doyle. … You won’t want to miss this cheery, insightful and hilarious journey with some of literatures best.” - Meredith Pechta, Examiner.com

There are even magazines that have a blog element.

“It’s elementary, really. … it works seamlessly. … Holmes aficionados will find numerous delights.” - Machelle Allman, Seattle’s Child

What's interesting about all of these reviews is that with the exception of The Seattle Weekly and arguably The Seattle PI, these are are new voices that weren't writing about theatre just five years ago.

Which leads me to what is my favorite review, even though the reviewer probably liked the show less than anyone else:

http://teentix.blogspot.com/

Emma M. didn't like the show as much as most of the other writers. Some bits bored her and she's got some other criticisms. But right there at the top of the blog, you know what it says?

"Teenagers write this blog. Deal with it."

There are teens out there who actually want to go see theatre? And write about it? It warms the cockles of my ex-critic heart.

"...Quote..,"

2010-11-28T19:17:00.000-08:00

"Sherlock Holmes/Christmas Carol" got its first pair of reviews already, from a couple of different bloggers.

Here's the link from blogger Gomezticator:

http://gomezticator.livejournal.com/1679979.html

"...my biggest gripe was the fact that the show was eventually going to end."

And here's the one from the Phinney Ridge website:

http://www.phinneyridge.org/2010/11/taproot-theater-debuts-a-sherlock-holmes-christmas-carol/
Referring to Stephen Grenley's portrayal of Watson: "a stunning display of American theater at its best."

See what I did right there? I cherry-picked a couple of key quotes from these two reviews, each short, under a sentence. They make it seem like the reviewers absolutely loved the show and thought it was one of the best things they'd ever seen.

As a PR person, I'm wary of using this technique. The thing is, you can take a pretty mixed review and make it sound like a four-star sensation.

So: "the directing was far from brilliant, in fact hum-drum, and the production overall delivers none of the excitement you'd expect from a professional company."

Can become: "the directing was...brilliant...the excitement you'd expect from a professional company."

When I was reviewing plays back in the '90s I was called one day by the artistic director of a local fringe company. At that time of theatrical bounty, there were many groups in Seattle that produced sub-par work, but under this man's leadership this one ambitiously managed to produce mediocre productions across all genres, from Shakespeare to musicals, from improv to new writing.

He wanted to talk about the scathing review I'd given his most recent effort, a promising play that he'd managed to sink through his poor casting, desperate costuming, abysmal lighting and sound, and above all terrible direction. He was angry, but as we discussed each element he agreed that it wasn't very good.

Finally, exasperated and needing to end the conversation, I said, "Can you please tell me if there's anything inaccurate in my review?"

Gathering up his outrage, he answered, "I've read through this twice, and there is NOTHING here that I can quote!"

So: those reviews right above? The ones with the killer quotes?

Ah, go ahead and check. They're both raves.

Thanks, reviewers. I appreciate you taking the time to see shows and to share your thoughts about them--particularly when you had such a good time!

A Wary Holmes Companion: Sherlock on the Radio

2010-11-24T13:50:00.001-08:00

Cold enough for ya?

It is for me. This is one hardy Alaskan who prefers his Seattle winters gray and wet instead of icy and treacherous. The cold snap and mini-blizzard that's shut down half of Seattle has me abandoning portions of my house to the cold and retreating to a couple of rooms where closed doors and some weatherized windows make baseboard heating adequate.

But there's an upside to all of this. Being housebound is a great opportunity to listen to some radio theatre. I've long been an Old Time Radio enthusiast (read: dork), and these days you can track down thousands of these radio shows for free download.

Given my other interests, you're probably not surprised to learn that I'm a big fan of Sherlock Holmes radio shows, which began while Conan Doyle was still alive and are still produced by both American and British radio producers to this day.

The quality of these shows are variable. My personal favorites are the John Gielgud/Ralph Richardson versions from the 1940s. But here's a link to a charming 1948 adaptation of Conan Doyle's "Christmas Tale" The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle starring John Stanley as Holmes and George Spelvin as Dr. Watson, that I think is just as fun.

http://www.archive.org/details/SherlockHolmes-1948-12-26-TheBlueCarbuncle

Perfect entertainment on a chilly November night!

Hamlet: Good Grief, Sweet Prince

2010-11-15T15:05:00.000-08:00

I saw Seattle Shakespeare’s excellent production of Hamlet this last week, and all of the good press the show’s gotten is richly deserved. Great cast, crystal clear directing, funny and somber and illuminating—a fine opportunity to reacquaint yourself with one of the best plays ever written.

But it also shows what I’ve long thought about the Prince of Denmark: he is absolutely the worst revenger in the history of Revenge Tragedies.

To recap: Hamlet is told by no less of an authority than the Ghost of his own dead Father that his Uncle is a murderous villain. On top of this, Claudius has married his mother, dispossessed the Prince, and shoots off the Royal Cannons whenever he gets drunk. Simple answer, right? Request a private conference with the old souse, run your sword through his gut, make excuses afterwards.

Instead he hatches several Cunning Plans, and the result is a stage littered with corpses—including his own.

You can blame Hamlet or his philosophy professors at Wittenberg or the Oedipal complex or the effect of Renaissance ideas on the medieval mind. Personally, I blame Horatio, the least effective sidekick in literature.

After painstaking research, I’ve reconstructed the following pages from Horatio’s private diary.

8 October: I met with H. again today to discuss his plans for revenge. He showed up with his stockings foul'd, ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ankles. He also had stuck some straw in his hair.

“What’s with the down-gyving?” I asked.

“I merely seem mad,” he said. “When the wind’s southerly, I can tell a hawk from a handsaw.” He then crossed his eyes and shook his cheeks with a “wubba wubba” sound.

“Uh-huh.” I replied.

“My antic disposition shall confound mine enemy.”

“It’s certainly confounding me,” I admitted. “Along with Claudius, Polonius, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Horatio, Marcellus, Ophelia and everyone else in the castle.”

“That’s my purpose!” he said triumphantly.

“Why Ophelia?” I asked. “Do you think she had something to do with the murder?”

“No.”

“Then why are you acting crazy round her?”

He looked ashamed for a moment. “She’s great, really, but you know? All we ever talk about is her gardening and whatever hey-nonny-nonny song she's listening to. It’s just not working for me, so I thought I’d let her down easy.”

“By pretending you’re insane?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, far be it for me to give unsolicited advice, but if your Uncle murdered your Father, just kill him! Claudius is a loudmouth drunk who’s always cadging drinks and hitting on lords’ wives at official functions. You’re the rightful heir.I can create a distraction so his guards aren’t looking. I’ll say something like ‘Help! Help! I see a ghost!,’ while you run him through.There probably won’t even be an official investigation.”

H. looked confused. “The time’s not right. What’s today, Tuesday? It’s bad luck to kill your Uncle on a Tuesday. I read that somewhere.” He suddenly spotted Polonius. “Ah-ha! Off to confound the old man!” He hitched his right stocking down a couple of inches further and raced off.

I miss Wittenberg.

10 October: Talked to H. again, who’s in a fevered excitement about the arrival of some strolling players. Hey, I love theatre as much as the next guy (particularly comical-historical-pastoral—I go nuts for that stuff!), but that’s not what has him so goofy. “My plot is laid, Horatio!,” he said, brandishing some pages he was scribbling on. “I’m going to interpolate a scene I’ve written into tonight's performance, replicating my father’s murder!”

“Wow!” I said.

“I know, right? Stuck in the middle of this old Italian tragedy like a petard in a punch bowl.” He made a “KA-BLOOIE!” sound and thrust out his hands, fingers waving, in imitation of an explosion.

I smiled. He smiled.

Then, I had to ask. “Why, exactly?”

“I’m going to watch Claudius. I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench, I’ll know my course.”

“To cut him down while he’s distracted?”

“Absolutely!” he said. Then he looked a little shifty. “Or really soon, anyway.”

“So the ghost wasn’t enough?” He looked at me mysteriously.

“Maybe it wasn’t a ghost. Maybe it was a trick.”

“A trick?”

“Maybe it was a sprite disguised as a ghost, trying to get me to kill Claudius.”

"A sprite? Like a brownie?"

"Or a hobgoblin."

“That's pretty convoluted, even for a hobgoblin.”

“There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio….”

“I heard you the first time. Look, if your plan works Claudius will know you put the players up to it. Won’t you lose the advantage of surprise?”

He looked confused, then shouted “I don’t have time for this!” and angrily rearranged his head straw. “I’ve got to go find those players and give them some acting advice!”

“Well, I’m sure THAT will go over well." I said.

He ungyved his right hose a bit, and was off.

This afternoon I updated my resume. I’m applying for a job with the Swedish Royal Court.

Dammit, Mamet! A Review of Mr. Crankypants' New Book "Theatre"

2010-11-11T15:13:00.000-08:00

Is David Mamet, one of the greatest playwrights of the American stage, now its crankiest commentator?

I've just been finished his new book, modestly entitled Theatre. The answer is an unequivocal “yes.”

That doesn't mean that Theatre is not occasionally a fun read. When his earlier book True and False came out in 1999, I discussed it with Freehold’s director (and UW Professor) Mark Jenkins. That book was a radical and thorough attack on the Stanislavski-inspired system of acting training, with Mamet lambasting just about every central tenant of “the Method,” from “sense memory” to textual analysis. His objections were vituperative but seemed informed; Mamet had studied with Meisner and was a friend of Harold Clurman, among other original pioneers of The Group Theatre. He certainly sounded like he knew what he was talking about.

When I asked Jenkins, himself a graduate of The Actor’s Studio, what he thought, he said he strenuously disagreed with almost everything in the book. “But look at where Mamet is: he’s won the Pulitzer and has come close to an Oscar. He’s got a hit film out (at that time it was The Spanish Prisoner) and is married to a beautiful actress. He’s on top of the world and he knows it. Of course he’s going to write a book like this!”

But having railed from the top of Success Mountain against Theatre’s “false prophets,” a decade later Mamet’s provocative thoughts have calcified into list-making curmudgeonliness.

In Theatre, it’s not just theatrical training that gets bludgeoned. Practically every element of the art is savaged, including actors, directors, the rehearsal process, the cost of theatre tickets, subscribers, arts funding, political theatre, poetic theatre, and “victim theatre.”

Mamet’s value as an essayist is his pugilistic prose which declares, in short powerful sentences, his positions. But when you start to pull them apart in search of the meaning of the maxims, what’s there is at best bewildering and at worst fraudulent.

Take this paragraph, from the chapter provocatively entitled (but what isn't in this book?) “On the General Uselessness of the Rehearsal Process:”

“The better the play, the easier it is to stage. Why? A good play is clear. It is clear who wants what from whom. Knowing this, the director can merely stage the actors such that, scene by scene, their intentions are clear to the audience. Let the actor learn his lines and open the damn thing.”

Let's leave alone the grumblings about ease of staging, which sound like the exasperated yowl of a playwright who’s become convinced that the real problem with his wonderful scripts is that his stupid directors keep overproducing them.

Instead, let's examine this contention: “a good play is clear. It is clear who wants what from whom.” Since Mamet evokes Aristotle, Oedipus, and Shakespeare, I'll evoke Hamlet. Now, Hamlet's fundamental "want" is obvious: avenge his father, and kill his Uncle. Then why doesn't he do it? In the original history that Shakespeare used as his source, the Prince learns about the murder, hunts down his uncle, kills him, and then reigns happily in Elsinore to a ripe old age. Now that's clear. So why does Shakespeare’s Hamlet spend five acts assuming an “antic disposition,” breaking up with Ophelia, bewildering his friends, and even staging a play in court just to see Claudius’s reaction? The only thing that’s “clear” is that he's conflicted--he wants to kill his Uncle at the same time he doesn't want to, for reasons that he can't articulate and we can't fully understand. That's what makes Hamlet not just a good but a great play.

Theatre’s short chapters are filled with a laundry list of the dislikes of Mamet. Actors need to understand the “fact” that no one wants to see people crying on a stage. (Hey Electra! Get a room!) Plays about “victims,” and here Mamet means "social message" dramas about the dilemmas of gays, women, and people of color, are reminiscent (for reasons that aren't entirely clear) of Stalinist show trials. Subsidized theatres insulate artists from the healthy tonic of the marketplace. Subscribers feel conned because they've been sold on a season, not a play’s individual merits. Directors are simply unnecessary, an obstacle between the actor and the play.

After laying waste to so much of the theatrical landscape, what’s left? A paying audience; a few actors who can speak clearly, look up from the floor, and pick up their cues; and a good script—preferably, one infers, one written by David Mamet.

Whatever truth is here, these brisk unsubstantiated opinions sound like a crotchety old-timer less interested in sharing wisdom than on sounding off.

But just when his crankiness gets to be too much, he’ll come out with something like this: “Who are the correct teachers of writing? There are two….The speaking one is the audience.” Here he suggests that the greatest classroom for the playwright is sitting in on a performance and watching not just the show but how it goes over—the jokes that fall flat, the endings that don’t end, the scenes where an audience collectively rustles. From personal experience, I affirm: he couldn't be more right.

And the second great teacher? “…the silent teacher is the empty page.” I’m not even entirely sure I understand what Mamet’s saying here, but as a playwright, I feel it. And it’s beautiful.

There are two other things I unequivocally enjoy about this book. The first is that it’s not Mamet’s last word on Theatre. Thankfully, he’s still writing plays, not just sour essays, and I believe that there might be another masterpiece or two in that graying bespectacled head. The second? The spelling of the book’s title. In the great “Theater” versus “Theatre” debate, I've always been a “re” man. And like Mamet, while I have no solid basis in fact for this position, I am willing to argue passionately for it.

Me and the SOBs

2010-11-08T23:08:00.000-08:00

Tonight was a particular milestone for me. I presented a paper to the local gathering of The Baker Street Irregulars, known in this region as The Sound of the Baskervilles.

The paper, which was a study of fictional pastiche using the oft-repeated literary meeting of Sherlock Holmes and Jack the Ripper, was warmly received by the SOBs, several of who gave me invaluable corrections and suggestions. I only wish back when I was working on my MA that I had such a friendly and sympathetic audience.

Now, while I am tolerant and even admiring of much of what you might call geek or fan culture, I am not really a member of any of that tribe. Yes, I know how to role a 20 sided die and know what "armor class" is, I know both the first and last names of Bruce Wayne's butler, but particulars of the worlds of Star Trek, Star Wars, Battlestar Galactica and even Lord of the Rings baffle me. The intricate creation of imaginary universes is occasionally fascinating to visit, but I rarely stay for extended periods of time in the worlds of Stan Lee, Gene Roddenberry, or even J.R.R. Tolkien (who I think we can agree was a better writer than even Stan or Gene).

BUT---

It turns out I like being a Sherlockian.

Not enough to put on a deerstalker or pick up a pipe. I was invited tonight by the SOB's President David Haugen to consider taking a Canonical name, and I have no idea where to even begin. (Though I always liked the character of young Lord Baskerville, come to think of it.)

But when the trivia started flowing tonight around the book of the meeting, in this case "The Adventure of the Reigate Squires," while I was entirely unable to answer any of the questions, I was still fascinated.

Sherlockians (or in Britain, Holmesians) are the original fans. One of their most esteemed members, Vincent Starrett (author of the essential Holmesian critical work The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes) practically invented the oddly enjoyable game of treating a literary character as if he had a real life outside of the pages of fiction. He wrote seminal essays on Conan Doyle's stories not as the fictions of a sly and eccentric Scottish writer, but as if Holmes was a living, breathing person whose adventures had been captured by his best friend, Dr. John Watson.

At this late date the rules of Starrett's game have become baroque and astonishing. Errors in the stories of dates, places and names that a literary critic would suggest came from a hurried Conan Doyle skipping his proofreading duties are attributed to Watson's faulty memory or other accidents that negate the need for a "real world" author entirely. There are books like Pierre Bayard's Sherlock Holmes Was Wrong that uses narrative implausibilities in Conan Doyle's The Hound of the Baskervilles to argue that Holmes didn't actually solve his famous case.

It's all very silly.

And engrossing and charming and fun. I'm grateful for the SOBers for being such warm-hearted and enjoyable people. I'll be seeing a good gathering of them at the December 8th production of "Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas Carol." You should come too.

And if you find yourself interested in a meeting of the SOBs, here's a link to their website:

http://www.soundofthebaskervilles.com/

Sherlock and Me

2010-10-31T18:09:00.000-07:00

Misha Berson writing in The Seattle Times has a great article about the latest incarnations of the Immortal Sherlock Holmes, including my upcoming play Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas Carol.

You can read it here:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/television/2013275881_sherlock31.html

I agree with Misha: the new BBC series Sherlock is one to watch. Unlike the not-so-bad-when-you-think-how-bad-it-could-be Robert Downey Jr. film last year, the writers of the show pull off something wonderful: a completely faithful and relevant Holmes. That they can do this while transposing the characters to contemporary London is even more wonderful. (Though I'll confess: as much as I love the way London looks now, I get the occasional nostalgic yearning for a few hansom cabs and a pea-soup fog that the new show can't supply.)

But that's not to say that I'm not in constant ecstatic surprise at just how good Terry Edward Moore is going to be in the Taproot show. I sat in on a rehearsal on Saturday and it was an intense pleasure to see how the cast, led by Moore, has already mined more ore out of the script than I consciously knew was there. Lucky me, to have such wonderful actors and such a great company as Taproot willing to take a chance on a world premiere--a dodgy proposition in this economic climate, even for a Christmas show!

Happy Halloween, all. I'm spending mine providing a bowl of candy to trick-or-treaters and rereading a couple of my favorite stories from Conan Doyle's original--often imitated, never bettered.

(by the way, for more information on the Taproot show, go here: http://taproottheatre.org/holmes/).

McDonagh's Gift of Gab...And Gore

2010-10-29T00:25:00.000-07:00

“It’s incidents like this does put tourists off Ireland.”

That’s Donny (drolly played by the habitually wonderful Sean G. Griffin) speaking to his friend Davey in his rundown cottage in rustic Inishmore, Ireland in The Lieutenant of Inishmore, currently playing at ACT till November 14. The incidents he’s referring to involve a catalog of horrors that begin with the death of a cat, and don’t end until said rustic cottage is strewn with blood and corpses—a conclusion that won't surprise anyone familiar with the writing of Martin McDonagh.

McDonagh’s reputation as a playwright was made through a series of plays set in rural Ireland, which he depicts as having a cultural life similar to how most Americans think of the Ozarks: the sticks, the backwoods, hillbilly country. Whether or not there’s any relation between McDonagh’s rural Ireland and reality is a subject of some debate, but there’s no question that his gleeful mix of lyrical dialogue with graphic violence has made him a name to be reckoned with.

His meteoric career as a playwright seems to have stalled slightly as of late. His most recent play A Behanding in Spokane, playing now on Broadway, is apparently an adequate vehicle for Christopher Walken, but critics have found it a thin excuse for some predictable violence. Like Tarantino (to whom he’s often compared), McDonagh seems trapped by his early success as a shockmeister.

While I have usually found McDonagh a morally bankrupt artist, he’s talented enough to do what any good playwright should be able to do: get your interest in the story, and hold it right to the end. We often talk of Grand Guignol as if any hack can pull off on-stage blood and guts, but the dramatic sense of how far you can go with your mayhem is a subtle craft. In certain works (Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus naturally comes to mind), scenes of torture, rape, murder and worse are used to illuminate actual truths of the human condition.

But that’s not this play.

Lieutenant is revenge tragedy as farce, where the death of psychopathic freelance terrorist Padraic’s pet cat leads to a tornado of death and mutilation. Shots are fired, humans (and cats) are killed, and what starts as a slovenly home devolves into an abattoir. But really, the structure of the play is no more sophisticated than an extended joke.

In McDonagh’s defense, this was an early play that was only dusted off and produced after the success of the superior Beauty Queen of Lenane and A Skull in Connemara, among others. As to its somewhat hyped “political commentary,” that’s pretty slim, mostly reduced to some caricatured names of IRS splinter groups that recall the “People’s Judean Front” scene from Monty Python’s Life of Brian.

For me the sole line in the play that carries some actual philosophical weight is when Mairead (Elise Hunt), sister of Davey and romantically inclined towards Padraic, says near the end of the play “I thought shooting fellas would be fun, but it’s not. It’s dull.”

Over drinks after the show with actor Jeffrey Frace (who plays Padraic), he mentioned to me that during a few months in Ireland back in 1989 the young people he spoke to on both sides of the religious divide echoed this thought: they were simply bored of the violence and wanted it to stop. I recall similar conversations with my Irish friends around the same time—the violence wasn’t just horrific, it was dull. The younger generation frankly had little interest or passion for its causes.

And this points to one pleasant aspect of this play: it’s already something of a museum piece. The most significant thing about The Lieutenant of Inishmore as a play is that we’re far enough away from the horrific violence of “the Troubles” that it’s possible to conceive laughing at it. And, perhaps, that there is indeed a way of dealing with terrorists: you don't declare an unending "War on Terror." You stop killing them, and you sit down and talk with them.

Audience Reactions to Arcana: A Favorites List

2010-10-03T14:34:00.001-07:00

Arcana actor Brandon Ryan accosted me on Friday night after the performance. (He likes to accost people.) "You've been coming to this show too many times!", he said, before feigning a kidney punch and vanishing backstage. (He also likes to do this.)

It's probably true. I saw the show at least once a weekend during the run, and a couple of additional times too. I saw it both Friday and Saturday this week, trying to discreetly show up just before the curtain so I didn't look like one of those sad playwrights who shows up for ego stroking before his own show or to loudly clap and laugh during it. (Okay, I enjoyed a certain amount of ego stroking.)

While it was fascinating to watch the show develop, I got just as much of a kick out of watching the audience. One of the reasons I think people enjoyed this show so much was that the effect of eight individual pieces was particularly varied. They got a chance to laugh, to think some, and to hopefully feel something--and isn't that the definition of a Good Night Out?

Because the evening was such a smorgasbord, it led to some interesting reactions from the audience. Here's a short list of my favorites, either witnessed by me or related by others:

1) The man sitting in the front row during "The Picnic" with eyes fixed determinedly several inches above Katherine, who was sitting just a few feet away splendidly naked.

2) The man sitting in the front row during "The Picnic" who fell asleep several feet away from Katherine while she was sitting there naked. (To which I say--"Dude--maybe you found all 10 minutes of the play dull, but are you really that blase' about having a beautiful woman sitting naked eight feet away from you?") Weirdly enough, he was awake and laughing by the next piece.

3) The two women who sat next to me and started loudly sighing with dissatisfaction during the comedy of "Petting Sounds," and then gave exasperated shakes of their heads at the top of "Affairs with the Moon." They seemed personally affronted by the idea of the Moon talking, and left during intermission.

4) The man who told Anthony, one of the actors in the show, "Man, I loved that. It held my attention every minute. And that's amazing, because I have ADD."

5) The prim older couple who sat disapproving through the first twenty minutes of the show then exploded with guffaws when Brandon revealed just who that was on the tape he was listening to in "Petting Sounds," and were still giggling through till intermission.

6) The delighted smile of the pretty young woman who received a wave and a wink from the Moon.

7) The collective intake of breath the night that Katherine staggered back to sit in her chair in "Balance" and almost missed it, catching it at the last moment with a desperate grab of her fingers. (And then delivered the rest of the monologue the best I'd ever seen it done.)

8) The expectant attention every night as the lights started coming down on Anthony's Priest at the end of "Wild River," and the laughs that would explode when he contemplated the "hotness" quotient of his new boss and gave a small secretive smile.

Thanks to all--actors, artists, and audiences--for an amazing run.

One Last Chance for Some Arcana Love!

2010-09-30T15:21:00.000-07:00

So this weekend we close Arcana. It's been quite the ride, and one that wouldn't have been possible without some wonderful artists collaborating with a greater degree of generosity than I think I've ever seen on a single project.

(FIVE Directors. FIVE people sitting in the dark, watching the work, finding props and costumes for each other, giving each other advice on everything from exits and entrances to sound cues. And even now we're all still talking to each other. How is this possible?)

The individual plays of Arcana have all been performed before at various venues; several of them, including "The Picnic," "Affairs with the Moon," and "Stardust" have been published as well. I feel sure that there will be further productions of these scripts. But I wonder if I'll ever see them all brought together like this again. That makes it a very bittersweet event, because while each work does stand on its own, it'd be a feat to recapture the particular resonance that they have when produced in this way.

Ah well. The last rose of summer, the treasured LP now scratched and unplayable. So many pleasures in life are fleeting, and that's of course the beauty of theatre--like a wonderful meal you can only eat it once. If you've been meaning to, but couldn't, but still could, come see this show.

And get your tickets NOW. Seattle Weekly just made us a weekly pick and we'll probably be selling out our final two performances. (They're on sale at Brown Paper Ticket here: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/123293)

The Belles! The Belles!

2010-09-25T10:17:00.000-07:00

Last night I headed off to see "Wedding Belles," the new play at Taproot. It's a simple--maybe too simple--tale of life in small-town Texas in 1942, where the four middle-aged members of a garden club adopt a young waif on her wedding day when they discover she's planning on getting married at the courthouse. In a frenzy of maternal goodwill they commandeer her life and plan everything from the cake to the ceremony, momentarily managing to ignore their own feuds and discontent.

I won't go into a review here, mostly because I swore off reviews many years ago. But I did enjoy myself--there's nothing like a committed veteran cast having a great time with a comedy to let you relax in your seat and forget about your troubles for a bit.

What really struck me though was a short conversation I had afterwards with Scott Nolte, Taproot's Artistic Director. Scott's an old friend, and to me a near-perfect template of what an AD should be. After every show, even the ones he doesn't direct, there he is at the front door, smiling, chatting and getting updates on everyone's life and opinions. "Now, is Susan still in high school?" I'll hear him say. "Marvelous! And how's your mother doing?" Scott seeks, and more often than not finds, a personal connection with every one of his individual subscribers.

I complimented Scott on his choice of the show, and he thanked me, then continued, "What really made this script work for me is that it's about how these four women are able to rise above their own somewhat petty concerns and help a stranger. That's been the focus of so many of the plays we've chosen this season, the gift that we can give of rising above ourselves and extending a hand. We're in tough times, economically and socially, and now's the time that we need to reaffirm our charity and our sense of community."

And here I thought I was watching a slight comedy about Texas hospitality....

It put me into a cheerfully reflective state of mind. And it again made me glad that this is the theater that will be premiering Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas Carol on November 26!

(Photo by Erik Stuhaug: Karen Nelsen, Charissa Adams and Kim Morris in Wedding Belles.)

Back to Cool

2010-09-23T15:40:00.001-07:00

One odd thing about having a "body of work" as a playwright is that you constantly have to make an assessment of which of your creations is calling to you. You're a parent of a dozen kids, and you're always listening to which of them is screaming the loudest--and which really mean it, instead of just making noise for attention.

As we count down to 2012 and the 50th Anniversary of the Seattle World's Fair, I've been hearing more from Eugene Wright, the protagonist of my 2003 play How to be Cool. Eugene is far too polite to scream or yell--he stands there smiling, waiting for me to notice him so that we can begin a conversation.

I met with Eugene's co-creator, actor Evan Whitfield, last night for happy hour and drinks at Il Bistro. (Which has, let me just say, one of the best Happy Hour menus in the city. Their calamari? Their goat cheese bruschetta? I purr.)

We're plotting a short film to introduce Eugene to the people at The Next Fifty, the group that's organizing the 50th Anniversary of the World's Fair. For those of you who haven't seen Cool, it's in an affectionate look at life back in 1962, a time when there was optimism about the future and the ability of our society to improve ourselves into it. Eugene acts as a guide to modern audiences to that time, when for a few months anyway Seattle was very possibly the coolest place in the entire world.

Although I've been feeling run down with all of the projects I've been involved in for the last couple of months, talking with Evan about Eugene was a joyous trip back to a delicious wellspring. I don't so much write dialogue for Eugene as listen closely, and out of the air it comes, always in Evan's tones of scarcely-contained enthusiasm.

We'll be shooting the film in the next month or so, and if I can overcome my technical illiteracy, we'll post it here. Maybe we could wait longer to do it--we've got over a year to pull this together, right? But neither of us wants to. Working with Evan on this show and this character is one of those few theatrical experiences that always gives me more energy coming out of it than I did going in.

Aww...I blush. Seattle Times review

2010-09-17T12:25:00.000-07:00

Here's the review from The Times, written by Tom Keogh:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/thearts/2012919273_arcana17.html

"The result is a vibrant, sometimes bracingly satirical, often deeply moving production of grace and imagination. With Longenbaugh's narrative and tonal variety, the malleability of an exciting ensemble of actors and the unique approaches to eight short pieces by five directors, the two-hour program feels constantly fresh."

Wow. It's been a very good week for reviews. Modesty precludes me cutting these all out, laying them on my bed, and rolling around in them--but only just.

Now let's hope that audiences agree with the critics!

KSER Review of Arcana

2010-09-16T10:16:00.001-07:00

For those keeping track, here's a transcript of my most recent review from Douglas Bailey, who runs the "Behind the Mask" radio reviews at KSER 90.7:

"Welcome to the KSER program "Behind the Mask"- Dramatic criticism of live performance in and around Snohomish County.

"Open Circle Theatre, who is now located in Belltown by the way (in case you missed their move from south Lake Union like I did), has just opened a clever and creative play. Arcana was written by local playwright John Longenbaugh, and is guaranteed to surprise and delight.

"As background, the Major Arcana are the special cards in a Tarot deck. You know, those mythic figures like Death, the Fool, that sort of thing. The play Arcana is comprised of stories inspired by eight of these cards. What playwright Longenbaugh does that makes this idea so fresh is he puts these characters into today’s world, then stands back to see what will happen to them.

"Take 'The Empress' for example. Our royalty lets us know she is the Empress of the Holy Roman Empire, but she looks like the girl next door and is dating in a bar. Trust me it makes for some extremely humorous dialogue. April Davidson does an outstanding job of conveying a lot of information with very few words. By the time she’s introduced herself and said the new guy’s name you pretty much know exactly what kind of guy he is, and it’s very funny.

"'The Moon' card takes a different approach, albeit one just as successful. Several people lounge around at night watching the moon, remembering, falling in love, dreaming...each in different places. While the moon, sharply dressed in white tux, weaves around each one relating to them in their own unique way. It created a wonderful sense of magic on stage.

"Perhaps my favorite was built around 'The Star' card. On one side of the stage a young couple in love lays on the grass watching the falling stars in the night. Across the stage two stars sit and talk about their past, all the joys they have had in life, and what they can take on this journey that is about to begin. It isn’t difficult to figure out they are about to take a glorious but career ending trip through the night sky themselves. It is surprising how much empathy you can have for a star, believe me.

"Not all these short stories are as successful however. For example 'The Sun' is built around a visual recreation of Manet’s painting of the picnic. But The Sun is relegated to such a secondary role it had more to do with grass or clouds than it did the solar orb. It just missed an opportunity to create more.

"Beautifully acted all the way around, this is an extremely strong cast. Open Circle is a small but clearly dedicated theatre group given the quality of actors they brought together. I mentioned April Davidson’s impressive talents as the Empress, but she was brilliant every time she walked on stage. It is always so rewarding to attend any theatre, no matter the size, and see someone like April that knows how to create fully three dimensional characters and get you to love them immediately. I hope to see a lot more of this talented actor on stage.

"Brandon Ryan is a familiar face to theatre goers around town. His many roles in this production showcased the outstanding skill he brings to acting. Brandon is able to build characters with such quirky idiosyncrasies that you can’t help but be amused watching him. His reporter for the Rolling Stone magazine in one of the pieces was just about as good as theatre gets. Anywhere.

"Set design by Eric Gordon was sparse but totally appropriate for the small stage. He created a framework the actors would use effectively without it getting in the way through the use of a few simple platforms and props. With so many different scenes too often the designer feels a need to clutter it up with set pieces that have to be drug on and off every time. Eric uses just the right restraint and we all benefited from it.

"Arcana plays at the Open Circle Theatre through October 2nd. Performances are Friday and Saturday with a 7:30 curtain, and a Sunday matinee at 4:00. The theatre is located upstairs at 2222 Second Ave in the heart of Belltown. As the cool days of fall return we all start thinking of more indoor activities. I can say without reservation one of those activities should be the witty and totally enjoyable production of Arcana. Get out to see this one before it closes, you’ll enjoy every moment."

And just a short comment from me: it's always interesting when a critic interprets a play in a way that I didn't intend, but clearly delights them. I can't say I ever imagined the meaning of "Stardust" that Doug attributes to my play--but who am I to take away from his interpretation? There's an anecdote about T.S. Eliot being asked at one of his readings what the three white leopards sitting beneath a juniper tree in his poem "Ash Wednesday" meant. "It means that there are three white leopards under a juniper tree," he said. Meaning in literature occurs somewhere between writer and reader, playwright and audience. When it comes to metaphor, no one gets to claim the ultimate authority.

My Favorite Review so Far...

2010-09-15T21:15:00.000-07:00

Is here. It's by Margaret Friedman in the Seattle Weekly:

http://www.seattleweekly.com/2010-09-15/arts/arcana/

And here's my favorite quote.

"Longenbaugh & co. shamelessly heist your heart when you least expect it. You should let them."

On top of this being a wonderfully generous review, I love how Margaret isolates every moment in the show that worked for her, and then tries to figure out who made it happen so she can give them credit: David Baldwin's lighting in "Stardust," for example, or Anthony's protean appearance in "Moon."

It is rarely a pleasure to be reviewed. Even a positive review normally has something to annoy. Not this one. (Though to give credit where it's due: the "stunningly naked" actress in "The Picnic" is Katherine Suttie-Graham.)

Thanks, Margaret!

The Saddest E-mail Ever

2010-09-14T23:48:00.001-07:00

Or at least, the saddest I've seen in a very long time:

Valley Community Players is sad to announce that it has become necessary to cease operation after forty-six years of producing quality theatre for Renton and the surrounding area.

We are having a “Final Curtain” Sale

Saturday, September 18^th and Sunday, September 19^th, from 9 AM -5 PM.

VCP office 231 ½ Main Ave S. Renton.

Items for sale will include stage props, costumes, tools, furniture, doors, flats, set pieces and fabric.

**Cash Only Please

Sigh. I've never seen a single show produced by the Valley Community Players, but they've been doing shows for apparently a bit longer than I've been alive.

RIP, VCP. May your final sale attract a dozen local fringe theaters who'll take your costumes, tools, furniture, doors, flats, set pieces and fabric, and recycle them into wonderfully cheap sets of a hundred more plays.

And may all of your theatrical memories be happy ones.

Audio Arcana

2010-09-14T15:29:00.001-07:00

Last month I did an interview with Marta Zekan over at Classical KING's Arts Channel.

Marta's one of the good ones. At a time when arts coverage has been steadily shrinking everywhere else, the Arts Channel is one place that not only features in-depth interviews with artists, but has its feet firmly planted in the Seattle Arts Scene. And a lot of their success is due to the passion, smarts and laid-back interview technique of Marta, whose genuine enthusiasm for the arts translates into some fun radio.

Classical KING is in the process of making the switch from for-profit to public radio, a move that everyone agrees will eventually be great for their listeners, but is of course fraught with anxiety about what and who will be carried over. Personally, I hope that they bring over the Arts Channel exactly as is--only with a larger budget. If you want to know why, try them out--makes for some great at-your-leisure listening, and you'll learn more about what's going on in the Seattle scene in an afternoon than you'd believe is possible!

Here's a link to the interview: http://www.king.org/pages/7367807.php. Just scroll down to the bottom of the page and press "Play." And check out some of the other interviews as well--some of which are my colleagues, and a couple of which I engineered via my day job at The 5th!

Opening Weekend Magic

2010-09-12T20:45:00.000-07:00

Arcana opened on Friday to a sold-out house. The next couple of nights we've had smaller crowds, but they've been equally enthusiastic, and we're getting good word of mouth. We'll see what the reviews are like, but in some ways it doesn't matter--everyone involved knows we have a really good show.

This hasn't been a trouble-free experience. There were a lot of cracks. Misunderstandings, scheduling nightmares, last-minute substitutions and late additions. But a little bit of theatre whiffle dust drifted into the cracks and it all has worked out well.

Fringe theatre has a lot of challenges. Everyone's working a day job (except for these days, when, alas, some of us are unemployed), there's little money for sets and even less for artists, and as for getting the word out, you're mostly reliant on free publicity because for advertising you have absolutely no money whatsoever.

But somehow, none of that feels like such a big deal when you've got a good show.

We've got a really good show, folks. You can wait till you hear about it from someone else, but I'm telling you, this one's special.

Man, I've been tremendously lucky during this whole project. Thanks not only to all of the artists and theatre staff who made this possible, but thanks to all of the friends and loved ones who supported me during an exhausting but rewarding summer.

I'm keeping away from rehearsal rooms now for a couple of months.

But I'll be back seeing "Arcana" next weekend. It's too much fun not to.

Our Audience Member

2010-09-09T23:21:00.000-07:00

We had our dress rehearsal tonight.

In the house were five directors and one audience member. Which means that if he didn't like the show, we could have beaten him up.

But he did, and we didn't.

My good friend Yussef El Guindi did us the courtesy of being our audience this evening. I've known Yussef for over a decade and it's been a delight watching his fame grow. He's always been one of my favorite playwrights, and now there are a lot of people who agree with me.

Yussef's probably best known for his political plays. As an Arab-American, he's had an interesting decade. I remember him talking about what it was like to fly in the weeks and months after 9/11/2001, and it's been fascinating watching his plays turn from clever thrillers and neo-Shavian comedies into pieces that take on dark issues like interrogation of Americans of Arab descent (Back of the Throat, Language Rooms) and politically adept comedies that take on issues like Hollywood stereotypes (Jihad Jones and the Kalsnikov Babes) without becoming bitter.

He is a man of scrupulous manners, outstanding conversation and a laser-like critical eye. I, and more specifically several of my plays, owe him much.

After the performance one of the actresses, Sarah Rose Nottingham, came up to me. "I loved our audience!" she said. I laughed--she knew that aside from the directors there was an audience of one. But she was serious. "He watched. He really focused on us. I could feel him in the house."

It's true. If you've got the right person as your audience, even if it's just one person, theater happens.

Of course, we're hoping for better houses most nights. Let's see how this weekend goes.

The Healing Power of Pizza

2010-09-09T10:27:00.001-07:00

Pizza is perfect food.

This was explained to me once by a 10 year old, and I happen to agree with him. No one dislikes pizza. Friends who are lactose intolerant scrape off the cheese, and those who can’t eat gluten seek out non-wheat recipes. To say “I don’t like pizza” is not just un-American, it’s oddly inhuman. (I think it’s the first question that they should have asked the replicants in Blade Runner: “do you like pizza?”)

At Tuesday night’s rehearsal the directors came in to see our stage partially covered in a series of sponged gold wedges. This, it turns out, was due to a miscommunication between our stage manager and one of the set designers about the need to “texture” the stage. It was a worthy attempt, but coming late in the game it was a surprise and not a particularly pleasant one. “What’s with all the pizza slices on the set?” said one of the directors. Some low-key grousing began, and at about the third mention of “pizza” one of the actors wandered out.

“Pizza?” he asked.

“We were just talking about the set,” I answered.

“Pizza! That’s what I want!” said another actor, peering out.

“Where’s the pizza?” said another, appearing.

The rumors of pizza were starting to become critical, so we had to explain that no, there was no pizza, and yes, we were continuing on with the tech as soon as we got the current sound dilemma solved.

Last night I ordered two big pizzas from Mad Pizza to be delivered to the theatre. It was still Tech Week, and our rehearsal still didn’t finish till nearly 10:30. But there were no more pizza slices on our stage, and thanks in part to the healing power of cheese, meat and vegetables covering a disc of cooked dough, the general mood transformed from somewhere between “Desperate” and “Despairing” to “Hopeful” and “Helpful.”

Thanks, pizza.

Accidental Audiences at Bumbershoot

2010-09-07T11:34:00.001-07:00

We had a performance of my short play “Wild River” up last night at Bumbershoot, with Brandon as the priest and Anthony as the journalist, as part of our “Best Of” designation for the “Eat My Shorts” Play Festival. Mary Cutler, the director of “Wild River” for “Arcana,” has switched the boys in their two roles, so when the show premieres on Friday at Open Circle as part of a full evening of short pieces, it’ll be significantly different.

“Wild River” originally premiered on the Center House stage about three years ago as part of 24 Hour Theatre and it was a blast bringing it back to the same venue. It was also fun, though challenging, to see it in front of a Bumbershoot audience. As anyone who’s taken a fringe theatre show to Bumbershoot can tell you, it’s a whole different experience. Fringe theatre audiences consist of fans of the theatre company, friends of the actors and artists, and those brave members of the general public who enjoy unconventional work in small black box venues. (In marketing meetings we call these people “early adapters” and “innovators” and we covet them mightily.)

But Bumbershoot theatre audiences are, near as I can tell, made up of people who have grown bored of waiting in line for music and stand-up comedy and have just wandered in looking for something different. It’s an accidental audience, by and large, and you never know quite how they’ll react to anything. They’ll leave mid-show. They’ll laugh at drama and talk through comedies. And more than anything, they seem generally interested in the novelty of real live people just a few feet away telling a story.

That’s not to say that they weren’t a good crowd: they were, laughing at the appropriate moments and giving enthusiastic applause afterwards. But I always leave Bumbershoot thinking that as theatre artists we’re still not doing our job well enough to make these accidental audiences our audiences. We can and should do better at making theatre something people seek out, and not just stumble across.

Just How Many Chefs IS Too Many, Anyway?

2010-09-04T10:58:00.000-07:00

Last night's rehearsal of "Arcana," my collection of short pieces that goes up at Open Circle next week, went well. Which was great, even though it defies common sense.

What makes this show different from any other production I've ever been involved in is that we've got not one, not two, but FIVE directors working on it. This came about partially through necessity and partially because I get bored of doing theater the same way time after time.

When Open Circle Theatre offered me their September/October slot for a production of eight short pieces in my "Arcana" cycle, I was of course excited. But I was also terrified. Not only was the decision for this made waaaaaay back in July (that's right--one month to plan, one month to rehearse, one month to run), but I had already committed to produce/direct "My Time with the Lady" with Ron Richardson in August. There was no way that I was going to be able to direct this show too.

But when I asked around, I couldn't find another director who was available, or at least available to direct a full production. BUT....I did know several folks who like me have full-time jobs and summer commitments, yet who could probably eke out enough hours to direct a 10-minute play or two.

So after some work on both my part and Open Circle, four other directors were found: Mary Cutler, Evan Tucker, Nikki Visel and Rob West. Not only are all four smart and versatile, but they're four of the most level-headed and pleasant people you could hope to share drinks with.

I won't lie. There have been problems. Scheduling has been a nightmare. Rob's got a kid, Mary had a couple of trips planned, Nikki's dialect coaching, and a couple of weeks ago Evan asked for a later production meeting on Saturday because he was going to a bachelor party the night before: his own, as it turns out. (Mazel tov, Evan!) We also all work with our own processes, and the cast occasionally look somewhat dazed and are probably suffering from directorial whiplash.

But last night was an example of how somehow this can, and will, all work. We delegated Rob to be the "Director's Director" for a rehearsal where we created transitions between the different plays. For the first time, what we saw was the beginning of not eight separate plays but an evening of theatre, with its own rhythms, themes and ritual. It was collaboration of the absolute best sort, with the actors stepping up as well and offering great ideas and suggestions. After three and a half hours, it was done.

As we head into the horrors of tech week, we do so with renewed confidence. A show with five directors shouldn't work. It defies logic and all of the experience I've had with theatre. But even though I've been doing this for 20 years, it turns out that there's still a lot I can learn.

One Down....

2010-08-30T11:13:00.000-07:00

My Time with the Lady closed last night with a second sold-out house. For a two week run with not much in the way of reviews (though plenty of previews, I'll admit) that's extraordinary. Thanks to all who made it happen--particularly the audiences!

Ron and I have already had enquiries about what's next for the show, and we're still working all that out. I can tell you that you can expect an expanded web presence, and most likely a remount in 2011, with the venue still TBD.

There's a pride, and a special responsibility, that comes from producing a brand new piece of theatre. Unlike all those worthy productions of Sam Shepard, Teresa Rebeck, Arthur Miller or even Shakespeare going on at theatres across town and across the country, only one theatre in the world was playing "My Time with the Lady," and only those folks who made it during our two week run saw the show. Interesting thought, huh? It makes both the performers and the audiences feel like they're members of an exclusive club. And come to think of it, we are.

But it also means that the responsibility of taking this show towards its next incarnation is all down to us. This is a great show that deserves a longer life and more audiences. So we gird our loins and get out our calendars and start calling venues. And hopefully when we open the show again, we'll have a line out the door of people who missed it this last time round and have figured out that they really missed something special.

I am Omnipresent!

2010-08-25T09:55:00.001-07:00

An article in the Seattle Examiner cracks me up:

http://www.examiner.com/theater-in-seattle/three-longenbaugh-plays-premiere-seattle-this-season?render=print

My favorite line:

"Fans of John Longenbaugh have multiple opportunities to enjoy the Seattle playwright’s work over the next few months. And anyone who hasn’t attended a Longenbaugh play in a local theater will be hard pressed to avoid him now." (italics mine)

I love the image of some poor theatregoer who can't stand my writing fleeing from theatre to theatre pursued by marquees burning with my name.

Thanks to Rosemary Jones (one of the hardest working arts journalists out there) for the recognition and the laugh.

Theatre Ate My Life

2010-08-23T23:38:00.000-07:00

If I haven't seen you recently, forgive me. I stumbled into a huge mass of theatre and I'm doing my best to climb out.

"Wild River," my short play about an interview with the Pope, just took audience and jury awards and so is being revived this weekend at Open Circle for their final weekend of their short play festival. Then it goes on to Bumbershoot.

This weekend is also the final weekend for "My Time with the Lady," the play I co-wrote with Ron Richardson and co-directed. We've had a blast so far and audiences have been warm and generous. It's a great show, particularly since we added Kirsten Lauzon to it. Rarely has a one-man show benefited so much from an additional performer.

Then AFTER Bumbershoot, "Arcana" opens. It's six short plays and two monologues all inspired by Tarot cards, including "Wild River," where the lovely Keridwyn Deller who's played the role so far will be swapped out for Erin Del Rosso in a crucial role. (Erin will also play the role at Bumbershoot.)

This is all wonderful and very exciting. But I hope those of you who may have thought that I was laying low will realize I've just been lying low.

(Possibly comatose. You might want to check my pulse.)

Special Guest Appearance!

2010-06-16T23:57:00.000-07:00

Help me. I'm doing a cameo.

This week I'm playing the surly bartender in a short play for the Little Red Studio's "Erotic Shorts." I have about eight lines.

Which means over the course of an evening of nine plays, I have over two hours to think about my minute of stage time.

That's way too much time to think.

I'll admit--I'm not doing this for the acting experience, but as a favor to the director, who I love dearly and who has done me many favors in the past. But I should have learned by now that cameo roles have strange and significant challenges.

I once had a slightly larger role--though still "supporting," as we like to say--about 17 years ago as "Actor #2" in a production of the very odd play "The Protagonist" by Georg Kaiser. It's probably best known for its music by Kurt Weill, which is quite lovely for those that like Weimar-era dissonant string music, and sort of "Psycho-lite" for those that don't. The show was produced at the Southwark Playhouse, a small fringe theater in London.

My friend the director had some inventive and clever ideas about the staging. The theatre was a converted warehouse, and towards the back of the stage was a trapdoor that led to a tiny little storage closet under the stage, about four feet square. At the top of the play, I and Actor #1 would enter with the Protagonist, and he would send us off to stable the horses or something. We exited not to backstage but down the trapdoor, where the two of us would wait for the start of the "play within the play."

There we crouched. I timed it out once at 37 minutes. In a 4x4 box. With another actor. "No talking down there!" the director had yelled at an early rehearsal--the lead actor, the one walking around over us, loved dramatic pauses, and if he heard us he'd complain to the director, and we'd get yelled at again. So we couldn't speak above a whisper. Not that there's a lot to talk about when you're crouched with another actor in a dark hole under a stage.

Once we emerged, we had a nice scene where I got to put on a silly dress (which really looked good with my full beard) and move seductively against a window, until the lead actor went nuts and knifed someone or took poison or something else very angst-driven and Weimar-era. But this was only for about 15 minutes.

The play ran three weeks, Thursday-Sunday, with me spending more time sitting under the stage than on it. At times while I sat there I fantasized that the show would be picked up by a West End producer, and of course I would follow the show into a professional theatre, where it would enjoy a year-long run. Where I would sit. In a box. For 37 minutes a night.

This time? I can always wander back to the bar.

Closing Night at The Lusty Lady

2010-06-13T13:09:00.001-07:00

Last night I went down with my friend Ron to the final night of live dancing at The Lusty Lady, Seattle's last remaining peep show.

It was a research trip. Really.

Ron and I are pulling together a solo show about his experiences working the cashier's desk at The Lusty Lady in the late '80s and early '90s. He's got amazing stories about the people--the dancers, the managers, the backstage staff, and of course the customers. As he likes to say it was his dream job--when he was 18.

Final night was a carnival--an early arrival of "Playday," a Lusty Lady annual tradition where the dancers take the place over entirely for the night and amateurs dance with the professionals. The place was filled with a lot of curiosity-seekers. Plenty of women in couples and larger groups, which Ron said was unheard of during its usual times of operation. (At one point a short-haired lesbian couple headed to a back room for a four-dancer lapdance, and exited ten minutes later beaming.) Dancers stood out on the street in swimsuits and lingerie coaxing in passersby, just like they used to do back in the days when First Avenue was filled with porn theatres and stripclubs. Dancers wandered the halls chatting with customers, including old-timers back just for the night, wearing little tags like Ron's saying "Lusty Lady Alumnus." And dancers filled the red carpeted stage ringed by the booths, giving it their all through the glass for whoever was willing to step into a booth and put in a quarter.

The place was packed with the old, the young (lots of students) friends and those who consider themselves family. Film crews would circle around outside, and at one point someone dressed as an Imperial Stormtrooper wandered in. A dancer near the door gave a shriek of delight and ran up to a manager. "Can I give the Imperial Stormtrooper a free lap dance?" she pleaded.

Sweet, strange, erotic, and melancholy. As the night wore on Ron repeatedly flipped between sadness and anger. "I keep thinking I'm looking for someone to beat up," he kept saying. (I suggested the Stormtrooper, and pointed out that even though he'd actually not done anything worthy of a beating, you could say the same for a lot of guys dressed like that in the Star Wars movies. Wrong place, wrong time, and the wrong white armor.) But then his anger would ebb away and we'd again leave the club to get another drink in a nearby bar.

Ron requested the microphone from the young woman at the front of desk, and when she handed it to him he put on in his best barker voice and reminded the customers that a smile is always appreciated and so are the tips. We drifted about and he talked to old friends, strippers who stood with grown daughters that Ron remembered as babies in strollers. He'd stood on the sidewalk minding those strollers while their Moms ran in to collect their paychecks and grab laundry from their lockers. He chatted with the current door guy, who'd brought out the baseball bat that the Lady had recently retired. Ron turned the worn brown wood over in his hands. "This bat was here when I came," he said. "It might be older than I am." He pointed to names and initials carved into the wood, laughing in recognition of old friends. He couldn't find his own name, but as the cashier pointed out, the bat was so scarred, worn and taped that it wasn't a surprise.

All things change--that's the only constant.

More on "My Time with the Lady" in the weeks to come.

A Producer's Eye View of a Show

2010-06-10T11:33:00.000-07:00

Ah, the theatrical producer as God. I've always loved this picture of famed British producer "Binky" Beaumont, placing the last touches on some undoubtedly well-made play of the West End's golden age.

As much as it may gall us creative types, professional theatre is only partly the result of talented artists and technicians. There's ultimately a Suit (or several Suits) looming above the stage, and when we call them "Angels" it's with a mixture of love and fear. Those puppet strings Beaumont is holding are made of money. Without them, we may still have a show, but we won't have ushers, stagehands, posters, a theatre bar, or probably even a theatre for that matter.

Having met a fair number of theatrical producers, I'm usually struck by how pleasant most of them are--more than they need to be, considering how much power they actually wield. Almost anyone who works in theatre--artists, tech staff, administrators--could be making more money doing the same job someplace else, and that certainly includes those who raise the money and make the deals.
We're fortunate that so many of the God-like figures sustaining theatre are benevolent. Because whether they are or they aren't, they're the ones who are holding the strings--and when they cut us loose, though it's still possible to stand and support ourselves on our own, there's no denying that it's a lot harder.

Shamed Into Blogging!

2010-06-09T16:48:00.001-07:00

Welcome to the early days of Longenblog. Before we get too far into this, here are a few thoughts about what I’m trying to do here.

Eventually, I’d like this to be a semi-regular look at Seattle’s theatre scene, with occasional “think pieces” about theater and its role in society, the give-and-take between artists and critics, and the importance of playwrights in the middle of this whole mish-mash of art, commerce and opinion. I’m hopeful that as someone with over twenty years of experience in theatre in different forms (director, playwright, former critic, semi-retired arts journalist, current PR professional), I can explore these issues from some complementary and unusual angles.

But right now what I’m doing is working through my ambivalence about blogging.

Consider: my last blog, an interview with the tremendously personable and talented Montana von Fliss, was completed over two months ago, but I only posted it when I realized with a shock that von Fliss had just opened “Cancer: the Musical!,” a project that was but a gleam in her eye when we’d last spoken. The prospect of avoiding Montana for the rest of our lives so that she didn't ask me, quite reasonably, whatever happened to that lengthy phone interview she gave me finally forced me to action, and with a grimace I went ahead and posted the piece.

Yes, that’s right: I was shamed into blogging.

Why? What’s the big deal about posting some thoughts on the Internet?

There are three things that really bug me about blogs.

1) No editor. Editors catch small and stupid mistakes that I’m prone to, like misspelled names and the occasional ungrammatical construction. What’s more, once you've experienced a good editor, unedited writing feels flabby and half-baked. (For example, a good editor might have told me that this entire post was a bad idea.)

2) No deadlines. Usually provided by editors, these largely arbitrary dates have the magical ability to put actual writing on an empty page when nothing else will.

3) No pay. Since the mechanics of actually making money from blogging are esoteric and involve such loathsome apparatus as selling ads and self-promotion (I kid—somewhat), the whole effort feels like a hobby. I moved from writing as a hobby to a profession about 15 years ago, and it’s strange and a little annoying to take this step back.

So there you go! Add these to all of the other reasons for not writing—and like any writers I have an impressive list—and you can see that keeping this regularly updated is going to be a struggle.

A little encouragement goes a long way though. If you've come across this blog and want to give me some feedback, please comment below or drop me a note. It’s always grand for a writer to know that one’s work isn't a proverbial tree in the silent forest, and that someone, somewhere, has taken a look.

Big Sky State, Small Intense Actress: A Profile of Montana von Fliss

2010-06-07T15:31:00.000-07:00

At 5’4”, Montana von Fliss—blonde and pretty but with some surprising muscularity—packs a disproportionate amount of power into a compact frame. In this season’s WET production of Hunter Gatherers, Peter Sinn Nachtrieb’s new play about survival of the fittest among a quartet of 30-something friends, she literally went toe-to-toe, via some elaborately choreographed fight scenes, with fellow actors Patrick Allcorn and Hannah Franklin, each of whom is a six-foot-something. She more than held her own.

I was first introduced to Montana by Artis the Spoonman at a late-night cabaret years ago, and it turns out that’s no surprise: she’s spent a good portion of her life on the neo-Vaudevillian circuit. When she was 12, the house she and her mother had been staying in burned down, and the friend that they moved in with belonged to a performing troupe. “I just started going to rehearsals,” she recalls. “Pretty soon I was performing at places like the Pike Place Market and Bumbershoot and Folklife. I’ve been a part of that group ever since, singing dancing, skits, acrobatic stuff.” This same group of musicians and performers, neo-Vaudevillians and acrobats run the annual Moisture Festival now.

The eclectic training suited her. “I just wanted to do it all, right? I’d get up on the trapeze, get in tap shoes and be in the chorus line, play flute in the band, juggle, whatever they would let me do. But acting was the thing that really stuck. It was my favorite part.”

Before she went on the UW’s Professional Acting Training Program, she worked at “a lot of fringe companies, Annex and some companies that no longer exist. I would self- produce stuff in the Fringe Festival. Not much professional work, some stuff at Taproot.” Since graduating from PATP in 2008, she’s been in a couple of shows at Equity houses in town—The Three Musketeers at The Rep, Rock and Roll at ACT, and understudying for their Christmas Carol.

Since then there have been “numerous corporate training videos and Microsoft videos that I’m proud of,” she says, with a cheery voice that might be sarcasm—von Fliss is very good at cheerful sarcasm. But she’s sincere about the excitement of working at the big theatres. “I went to those theatres as a kid. Seeing shows on those stages while on school trips, that was what I aspired to as an actor. It’s a huge note in my tiny book that I’ve acted on some of those stages.”

I asked her about how she’d gotten involved with WET. “I was asked to audition for their first production, Laura’s Bush, and I wasn’t available. I was actually heading off on a cross-country road trip right after my Dad died. Then when I went back to school at the UW, I wasn’t able to be a member. So I was a fan for the first four years, and saw practically everything they did. After school when I decided to stay in Seattle, I realized this was my favorite company in town. If I had the opportunity to make work, this is where it should be. So I asked, and they invited me to join.”

As a company, WET slammed onto the scene in 2004 with productions that began winning critical acclaim practically from the moment they opened their doors. Founded by a group of ambitious young UW grads, they took original works and unconventional scripts and created the sort of theatre that fringe is reputed to be but seldom is: experimental, risk-taking, defiantly physical and subversively funny. But after a couple of years, company members began drifting off, the company’s critical reputation took a hit, and its audiences drifted to even newer companies like Balagan and Satori. (The problem with being Young Turks is that eventually you aren’t so young anymore.) I asked Von Fliss if she felt that “WET 2.0” is back to being philosophically and artistically sound.

“I do,” she answered firmly. “And it’s not back to being something great, it’s gone forward. I was always a fan of this company, and loved all of their productions. When I saw Crave [Sarah Kane’s harrowing play, produced by WET in 2005], I thought ‘this is what I need to be doing.’ But we’re not that group any more. In this kind of organization turnover is natural and positive. Even though I wanted to be a member of that company as it was, we’re coming to a new high point artistically.”

It’s clear that von Fliss has a big crush on WET, so we discussed what elements of the company had drawn her to working with them. “There’s the complete open courage. I remember thinking they were so brave. And I was really attracted to this idea of highly collaborative theatre. Everyone in the room has a voice. An actor might have an idea about lighting, and a lighting designer might contribute something like a directorial concept without a feeling of transgression. As I got to know them I realized that it may move slower and it’s not perfect, but having the openness of everyone’s creative input can make some amazing stuff. What you see on stage isn’t just the director’s vision; it’s the company’s vision.”

Von Fliss says that her great challenge with Hunter Gatherers was that the character of Pam was so tremendously different from herself, particularly in her passivity. “It’s easily one of the toughest roles I’ve ever played. I hope I’m a nice person but I’m not a Pam. She’s optimist where I’m pessimistic, she’s earnest where I’m sarcastic. One thing I focused on was Pam’s priorities. It’s more important to her that other people are happy and that things go well than anything else. Creating that as her strongest desire is really helpful. It results in a list of responses and expectations and reactions that made it seem plausible to me.”

Surprisingly, the fact that she had to spend the last 20 minutes of the show in her underwear wasn’t a challenge. “I’m not particularly modest in that way,” she laughs. “I thought of it as Pam’s superhero underwear. If she was a superhero outfit, this would be it. It’s more of a costume than vulnerability.”

Given all that Hunter Gatherers asked from its actors—the script mixes up comedy, drama, slapstick and stage fighting, I asked her where her comfort level was, and she had to mull that a bit before she answered. “Comedy. I like the structure of a joke—where does the funny live?” And that’s an easy segue into talking about her next project, which takes on the comedy question full-on. “It’s a solo show that I’ve written called Cancer: the Musical. It’s based on the true story of my Dad getting cancer, quitting my job to take care of him, and his subsequent death and what followed.” She says that the result is a show that deliberately mixes genres and tones. “Sometimes it feels like being in a lab trying to measure loss, Sometimes it feels like a musical. But there’s a lot of comedy. My family’s first response to anything is a joke.”

“This show is really an attempt to show that we really don’t have a lot of time here,” she continues, “and if you haven’t experienced something like this, you will, so seize the day. If your Mom always wanted to go to Paris take her now, because she won’t always be around. And at the same time it’s for people who are trying to navigate the awful map of grief. It is possible to get through it and laugh about it.”

Finally I ask if WET has become for von Fliss what so many artists want from a theatre company: a home. “Having been here for almost two years now—it does feel like home,” she reflects. “It feels a lot like the place I’m actually living, my apartment. It is absolutely perfect for right now. Since watching the closest person in the world to me die, I’ve just gotten out of the habit of planning too far ahead. I work at being in the moment every day, being here, now. I am actively practicing very hard.”

For more info on "Cancer: The Musical!" playing now at WET, go to:

http://www.washingtonensemble.org/category/current-season

Hello World

2010-01-07T00:13:00.000-08:00

This is a test of the emergency blogging system. This is only a test.

If I am ever to tweet, I've figured out my first message:

Out of water--no food for a week. Air is getting stale. Dear God, please let someone take my messages seriously!

Longenblog

Good Dog

Hmmmm to Persephone

Shepard Country

Regarding 9/11/01

Thrillsville 2011

Exit David Mamet, Stage FAR Right

4 Culture: Positively Final Appearance?

Is Failure an Option?

Lies, Damned Lies and Theatre Criticism

Lady's Night

Family in Mourning

"A Highly Developed Set of Ethics"

Seattle Theatre Round-Up--From a Safe Distance

Intiman and Its Critics--Which For Once, Ain't Me

The Hit, and the Review

The First Review! (and a lot of blogs...)

"...Quote..,"

http://gomezticator.livejournal.com/1679979.html

"...my biggest gripe was the fact that the show was eventually going to end."

And here's the one from the Phinney Ridge website:

http://www.phinneyridge.org/2010/11/taproot-theater-debuts-a-sherlock-holmes-christmas-carol/Referring to Stephen Grenley's portrayal of Watson: "a stunning display of American theater at its best."

A Wary Holmes Companion: Sherlock on the Radio

Hamlet: Good Grief, Sweet Prince

Dammit, Mamet! A Review of Mr. Crankypants' New Book "Theatre"

Me and the SOBs

Sherlock and Me

McDonagh's Gift of Gab...And Gore

Audience Reactions to Arcana: A Favorites List

One Last Chance for Some Arcana Love!

The Belles! The Belles!

Back to Cool

Aww...I blush. Seattle Times review

KSER Review of Arcana

My Favorite Review so Far...

The Saddest E-mail Ever

Audio Arcana

Opening Weekend Magic

Our Audience Member

The Healing Power of Pizza

Accidental Audiences at Bumbershoot

Just How Many Chefs IS Too Many, Anyway?

One Down....

I am Omnipresent!

Theatre Ate My Life

Special Guest Appearance!

Closing Night at The Lusty Lady

A Producer's Eye View of a Show

Shamed Into Blogging!

Big Sky State, Small Intense Actress: A Profile of Montana von Fliss

Hello World

http://www.phinneyridge.org/2010/11/taproot-theater-debuts-a-sherlock-holmes-christmas-carol/
Referring to Stephen Grenley's portrayal of Watson: "a stunning display of American theater at its best."