Waiting for Guffman

I was recently approached by a small, fairly new theatre company out in the ‘burbs. Possibly the ‘burbs of the ‘burbs. I couldn’t really tell you. I tend to rarely leave the city, and when I do get past the inner ring things quickly look all too much the same and I feel lost. I had been recommended to them as a director. They were apparently looking for new blood and fresh ideas.

That all seems fine, but upon re-reading the email I received I became wary. Started seeing flags. And became a bit annoyed. In the email I was asked to respond with my interest, resume (and apparently any scripts I’d like to direct for them) by four days from now, because in five days there’s going to be a board meeting and this person would like to come prepared.

I don’t think I’ll respond, but if I did it might be with a bunch of questions, rather than with my curriculum vitae (as requested) and my analysis and vision of Streetcar or Virginia Woolf.

It might include….

You’ve done three productions in the past year? Great! This shows gumption and promise and planning. I noticed you pointed out that you’ve discovered the need to produce things that people in your community will want to come out and see.

Really? It took you three productions to realize this little fact?

OK…moving on….

You want to get away from doing shows whose rights are held by a certain publishing company (a company I’ve not heard of before, and that’s fine) because, as you claim, the quality of the scripts available are below the caliber for which you’re aiming, but are the least expensive you could find.

Umm….what?

I wonder what exactly it was that made you choose the scripts you had? Least expensive and….what? Most relevant to your audience? No, doesn’t sound like it. Most relevant to our times? No…not that either. Just what was it that made you choose the lousy sounding schlock that I saw on your “website” (which was not impressive, although I realize that’s redundant of me to point out in the context of this note.)

However, kudos to you for trying to improve the quality of your work. I admire anyone or any group who strives to do better. Except….

You tell me you’re looking for input from directors? Fine, but you’re contacting people who are not necessarily familiar with your audience or your community. I’m not so sure that’s the way to go about improving things. Yes, I realize that you’ve identified “plays people have heard of” as being a criteria for things you choose, and I’ve probably “heard of” more scripts than you and may even have an inkling of what your townsfolk have “heard of” but….I guess while I could come up with a suggestion list of productions that might work (in a community I’m not familiar with) they’re likely not the shows I’m even interested in directing.

How about Genet’s The Balcony?

oh…never mind.

Also, thank you for pointing out that the only director who was paid in your last season (or at least only was implied) was someone who was a “board member” and was paid because you had received a grant  and who has agreed to direct again for free (thus implying you don’t have another grant.) I notice you don’t mention any fee, salary, stipend or other verbiage that indicates payment.

And….remind me why you started a theatre company out there in…where is it again? Can you [even remotely] explain your vision to me, or just why it is that you thought a theatre was warranted, desired or the right thing to fill the void in your life, er I mean your town’s cultural milieu? And after you explain that, tell me why you think I, or those other directors you’ve contacted, who has never been to your town (as I suspect the others may be) are the right people to take you in a new direction? It’s probably because someone said to you, “Oh, so-and-so is really talented and works all the time and you should contact him about shows you should do or people to get involved” and you did that.

So-and-so is a dear friend who wouldn’t go near you with a 10-foot pole and said to himself, “Well I don’t want to get involved, but maybe these people do” and hence you ended up with my email address.

Honestly, I was tempted because turning down opportunities is not easy.

Then I saw the red flags and remembered the last time I ignored red flags. So…thanks, but no thanks.

Good luck, and have a pleasant day.

PS: This response sounds sort of nasty and sarcastic. That’s why you haven’t actually been sent it. Want my advice? Find scripts and stories that speak to the people in your town, and that are of the caliber and quality you desire, and do them. Raise some money, pick your scripts, hire..ahem, hire your directors and crew and actors, and take a risk. If your town has a need for a theatre the people will come, and you’ll build your audience.

Have, Have Not

I think I’ve successfully layed out at least some aspects of the next six or seven months of my schedule. This involves some more writing and further development of the project that’s already consumed most of 2009, and workshopping and directing someone else’s script with a production next spring. There’s still room in the schedule for other things (like day-job…er, day-job hunting, and some family plans, and hopefully some acting work) but I’m usually sitting with a void of time in front of me. Not knowing when the next opportunity will land. This ain’t so bad. It kind of makes things easier to plan for and deal with.

The weird thing is the acting part. Something made me think of it last night. Most all the work I’ve done in the past…16 months?…has been writing and directing. Not acting, with the exception of a few occassional staged readings. I miss it. It’s a long time to go without a real acting gig. I mean, I’m enjoying my work opportunities, but I miss being on stage, and hope I can find something to be in during the upcoming season. There’s always the fear it won’t come again.

While this may not be typical for me—that is, having theatre work planned for numerous months ahead—it seems like it’s rather common to many, many folks I know. Actors (and certainly directors) often are either booked for the next several months or more, or have nothing at all and seemingly no hope of getting something. A friend of mine from NYC was in town earlier this year doing a show at a the big G, and when someone approached her with the question “Are you available next March?” she thought he was crazy. She thought no one who does stage work knows where they’ll be in 12 or 13 or 14 months! (Or mostly no one.) I had to tell her that in this city if you don’t have work in the next six months, you’re not likely to get any. Everything is scheduled very far advance.

It didn’t used to be this way. It used to be audition on Monday and start rehearsals the following week. Practically.

So I guess if I want an acting gig….I better start keeping an eye out for it.

A Delicate Watercolor on Stage

The other night I was treated to a night at a theater and we saw The Syringa Tree at The Jungle. This one woman show, about growing up in South Africa during apartheid, was….astounding.

Dear Sarah Agnew – How do you make it look so easy? How do you make it seem so seamless? How do you dig so deep down and anchor yourself in a character at the turn of a dime? Where did you find that sharp focus? Also, how do you portray 22 distinct characters in 90+ minutes without a stop, without a drink of water and without looking like a sweaty wet mop at your curtain call? I think I love you. Sincerely, your new fan.

Now, this is not to say she did it all alone. First off, there’s this wonderful and complicated script. Honestly, I have a few issues with some of the script, but their very minor. It certainly made me want to learn more about a topic that I feel woefully inadequate in discussing. I need to know more about the history. But the human toll – the hatred, the discrimination, the anger. It’s heart breaking. And then, hopeful.

Furthermore, there was the brilliant directing. Joel Sass has never been a slouch, and is one of the most creative people I know. Back in the day, when he was often producing his own work, his directing style and his shows were wickedly on the edge, with artfully exaggerated images and twisted elements. It was bold, brash and exciting. This too was exciting, but I described it as “very delicate” – to which he said that it was like a “watercolor.” Exactly.

A complicated, multi-layered story, presented with ease and beauty.

As the famous Frenchman sitting behind me yelled during curtain: “Bravo!”

Bravo, indeed.