Showing posts with label Boomerang Theatre Company. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boomerang Theatre Company. Show all posts

Thursday, January 26, 2012

PUTOVANI S URNOU & JANUS

Two things to tell you about today.  First, a production of Burning the Old Man just opened in Pardubice, Czech Rebpublic, produced by Divadlo Exil.  This is the second production I've had done in the Czech Republic- and I am thrilled.  They have been fantastic, and by all accounts, the production is awesome.  Just check out this trailer they've made:


Burning the Old Man is probably my most successful play to date.  It won the 2005 NYIT Award for Outstanding Full Length Script, has been published by NYTE, Applause, and Smith & Kraus; and has been produced in Boomerang Theatre Company, Divadlo na Zabradli of Prague, and the aforementioned Divadlo Exil.  This past fall, Harvardwood did a reading of a screenplay based on the script, and it looks like there will be another production sometime this year in Brazil.

I am of course very proud of that.  I also encourage you to buy your own digital copy of it from Indie Theater Now, for about a buck fifty!



The second thing I want to tell you more about my play Some Unfortunate Hour- which is also available from Indie Theater Now for the same low price.  The play is a funny, savage, and sad story about love and desire and being lost.  There is a monologue at the end of the play that I think would be a great audition piece for an actress.  In it, Janus- the smart ass bartender, finally comes clean with how she feels to Tom, the guy who comes to her bar every night to complain about pretty much everything.  Janus has loved Tom for a long time, and they even made love one drunken evening.  But she has never told him the depth of her feelings- hoping that he would figure things out and come to her.  Here's the monologue, with a little bit of Tom.  I hope you dig it:


JANUS
You are such a fucking stupid asshole!  Just shut up and let it go.  Come over tonight.  Come home.  You can just sleep.  I don't care.  I'll take care of you tonight.  You owe me that much.
 TOM
What do you mean, I owe you?
 JANUS
I love you, you stupid son of a bitch!  Okay?  Get it?  You're it.  What did you just say about love?  I care about you more than anything in the world, mother fucker.  In the entire world.  Me.  Anything.  Including- especially me!  I worship you. I don't know why- you're an asshole. But I do.  I fucking hate it, but I absolutely adore you.  We're meant for each other, you stupid motherfucker.  Open your eyes!  Who listens to your crazy shit?  Who takes care of you?  Who was there when the shit hit the fan and your so called friends couldn't be bothered?  Me, you colossal asshole! I'm good for you.  God damn it, I'm fucking great for you, and you know it!  You know I am.  I'm hope.  I'm your only fucking hope, you stupid asshole!  Grow a pair, you fucking Mary!  Oh my fucking God!  God Damn you!  You parade your stupid shit, your bullshit little boy bullshit, in front of my face like I'm not there.  Do I like her line?  Do I like her fucking line?  Fuck you!  Fuck you twice and stick it in your ass.  You're hurting me.  I fucking hurt.  We were good that time.  We were! How can we have had that and not be? You cried on my stomach!  You cried on my stomach and I knew.  I saw it clearly.  I'm- I'm home.  I'm your home.  Let me be your home.  I love you.
 TOM
(pause) I know.
 JANUS
Why can't I be your home?  Why can't you come home?  Tell me.  Tell me right fucking now!

Well, that's all I have to say.

Now GET YOUR THEATRE ON





Tuesday, January 24, 2012

MADISON'S LAMENT

My description of Fenway: Last of the Bohemains continues with the character of Madison.  I named the character Madison after the VJ from MTV Kennedy, who was this right wing, hipster that was all the rage for a while back in the day.  Get it?  Madison and Kennedy are both former presidents.  Oh, the cleverness of me!  Anyway, Kennedy always seemed a little nutty to me- like she was trying to prove something, and was sort of pissed off at the left for some unknown, personal reason that had nothing to do with politics.



Madison is the beautiful trophy wife of a right wing pundit named Big Jon.  Their marriage is not exactly the portrait of marital bliss   She once was a headstrong young woman in love with her college professor, Moss- but that was seven years ago.  She has since rejected the politics and idealism of the left for the supposedly more down to earth thinking of the right.   Now, Moss has come into her life again.  And to make matters worse, her step-daughter Sunny has just confessed to being in love with Moss.   Here she is talking to herself.


MADISON
This is hopeless.  Of course he wouldn't think of her like that, she’s just a kid...Why don't people ever end up with the ones who'd make them happy?  Why am I talking to myself?   It's this place.  Drives everyone crazy. A crumbling commune full of faded hippies and forgotten dreams.  Then along comes Moss- the passionate artiste who quotes Wordsworth by heart and actually lives in the real world...I bet he makes love with his entire being.  Oh my God.  What the Hell am I talking about?  This is nuts - I'm crazy! What am I thinking.  No! No!  NO!  (pause) He does something to me, though. Fenway's right.  I should do something wild.  Shake things up. Who am I kidding?  That'll never happen.  Will I tell my husband how I feel?  Of course not.  Do I go to Moss and confess that the last seven years of my life have been a complete and total disaster?  Never.  So what will I do?  Fearless modern woman that I am, I stay in my little cage.  Brilliant.  Fear may be over-rated, but it scares the shit out of me.  But then again, sometimes he looks at me, and...God Damn it!  I wish I had never heard of Moss or this island or Big Jon Humphrey!


That's Carrie Brewer as Madison and Jack Halpin as Moss in the production of Fenway staged by Boomerang Theatre Company and Impetuous Theatre Group.

You can buy a digital copy of Fenway at Indie Theater Now for less than two bucks- 
so what are you waiting for?  

GET YOUR THEATRE ON

Thursday, January 19, 2012

FENWAY- AN AMERICAN VANYA

My play Fenway: Last of the Bohemians, just got published online by Indie Theatre Now. This is the fifth play I've had published on that most indispensable site, and I couldn't be happier.  Of course, the voices told me to cut an entire scene last night.  Woke me up, in fact.

What voices?  The ones that tell me what to do from time to time.  I know, that makes me insane.  I'm cool with that.  It's not like they're  telling me to go on a shooting spree or anything like that.  No, they just wake me up from time to time and tell me what to write.

What scene did they tell me to cut?  The first scene of the play.  The entire freakin' scene.



What's left?  A leaner, faster show- the product of several readings in NYC, a reading by Seattle Playwrights Collective, a production by Boomerang Theatre Company & Impetuous Theatre Group, and a workshop reading by the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.  As I wrote in my last entry, it's based on Uncle Vanya, by Anton Chekhov- but it's one hundred percent American- dealing with the rise of conservatism, and the struggle of the liberals to cling to their ideals in an increasingly hostile world.  It's also kind of funny.

Here's an excerpt- Moss, the local environmentalist who also works as a doctor at the methodone clinic is talking with Rita, hippie chick with pot brownies, about how old he feels:




MOSS
I fight the good fight, try to stop them from destroying the planet- they lock me up.  You know what I am?  The Lorax.  I speak for the trees- and it's made me little and ugly and alone.

RITA
Have a brownie.

MOSS
I don't want a fucking brownie! (pause) I pulled a triple shift at the clinic last week.  Junkies to the left of me, junkies to the right...this one- he was fourteen.  Isn't that crazy?  We live in a world that has fourteen year old junkies.  He went into cardiac arrest.  Fourteen years old, addicted to junk, and going into cardiac arrest. And I...I did everything right- everything!  I shot him up with adrenaline- pounded his chest, blew air into him...I just wanted to force him to stay alive, to maybe somehow become a normal little boy...but he was more determined than I was.  Fourteen years old.  You should have seen his face-  his sweet, sad, dead little innocent face. Like a fallen angel. (pause)  I don't think I was ever fourteen.

RITA
Have a brownie.




Yes, I want you to buy a copy.

And yes, more excerpts will be coming soon.





Friday, January 13, 2012

LAST OF THE BOHEMIANS


So Fenway: Last of the Bohemians, is set to be published online by Indie Theatre Now.

And I dig that.  As soon as it's up, I'll put the link up here.  Of course, you already can go there and buy Last Call, Muse of Fire, Burning the Old man, and Some Unfortunate Hour- all for less than a buck fifty.  

Anyway, below are my author's notes for Fenway.  No doubt, there are names missing that I will add as soon as I get them. 



AUTHOR’S NOTES – The inspiration to write Fenway came on the night that George W. Bush got re-elected.  I was at The Magician, a bar on the Lower East Side of NYC, watching the returns with some friends, and I wondered what happened to all those people from the 1960’s who were supposed to change the world?  Where were those lost idealists and protesters? It seemed like they had all vanished, died, or sold out.  I started to think about how liberalism had seemed to be on the decline in America since about 1980, when Reagan got elected, and how hippies were now pretty much a joke, a mostly forgotten stereotype.  And somehow, I got to thinking about Uncle Vanya.
I have loved the play Uncle Vanya ever since I saw a production of it done at The Western Stage of Salinas directed by my friend Jon Selover.  It’s so funny and sad and pertinent. I remember watching Julian Lopez-Morillas as Astrov in Act Three going on about the shrinking forests and thinking maybe the speech was an insert, penned by a modern writer.  But no, turns out old Anton was an environmentalist.  This particular production was brilliant- fast and furious and thought provoking- not unusual for that theatre company.  If there was one part of the play that I didn’t completely relate to, it was how Vanya was so mad at Serebryakov.  I got that Vanya was in love with the professor’s wife- but there was a deeper sense of betrayal at the professor.  I don’t know if it was that version of the script (Mamet’s), or where I was in my life at the time, but it just didn’t quite click for me.  But then, watching George W. Bush on the screen, it clicked.  Serebryakov was a sell-out, the equivalent of all those people from the 1960’s who had once stood for peace, love and understanding but had decided to instead become staunch defenders of the status quo.  And I could see in my mind’s eye Uncle Vanya set in the 1980’s, during the Reagan Revolution, on an old hippie commune.  Astrov could be a Greenpeace type who works at a methadone clinic, Vanya a burnt out ex-hippie, and Serebyrakov a former radical turned conservative.  Often, when I get an idea for a play, it’s like that.  I see the whole world, and several of it’s characters.  I don’t sleep much, and become sort of annoying to people, as all I can talk about for weeks is the story.  I wrote the first draft quickly.  I would have friends over to read scenes as they were being written- including Jack Halpin, Christine Goodman, Heather McAllister, and Tim McCracken.  I told Tim Errickson about the idea.  He had directed a production of Vanya at Expanded Arts in which I played Astrov, and I knew he would dig it.  He did, and soon there was a reading as part of Boomerang Theatre’s First Flight, and it felt pretty groovy.  Re-writes were done, and another reading/lab was done up at Lincoln Center, using the talents many fine actors, including Julie Congress and Dan O’Neill.   The next draft was given a reading by BeaconNY Productions, and used such talented wonders as Christopher Grabowski, Tara Falk, and Diane Buglewics Foote.   One of the great joys of writing plays is all the talented artists you get to work with- each with a unique perspective that adds to the soul of the show.  I wrote and re-wrote, and the wrote some more.  Many rewrites- with so much help from Lisa that she became co-author- and it was ready for a full production, which happened in the fall of 2006 as a co-production between the Boomerang Theatre Company and Impetuous Theatre Group, with Jack Halpin, Carrie Brewer,
Reyna de Courcy,
Margaret A. Flanagan,James David Jackson,
Tom Knutson,
Paul Navarra and was directed by Tim Errickson.
In 2009, there was a workshop reading of the play at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, in their Black Swan Lab run by Lue Morgan Douthit with a cast that included Gregory Lingington, Richard Howard, Jeffrey King, Derrick Lee Weeden, Terri McMahon, Vilma Silva, Catherine E. Coulson, Miriam A. Laube, Ryan Anderson and Tyrone Wilson.  In early 2010, a reading was given by the Seattle Playwrights Collective directed by Dan Tarker with Alysha Curry, Gene Thorkidsen, Sherry Narens, Gary Estrada, Griffith Kadiner, Dolores Rodgers, and Richard Hawkin.   Several re-writes came about from those two readings, and the version you have is the latest draft, based on all three productions/workshops.


I would encourage people doing this play to seek the comedy as much as possible.  And look up all the songs they mention in the script.  In this day of the interne, Youtube and Google, it is inexcusable to not research all references in a play. 
Enjoy! 

Friday, November 18, 2011

DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING?

I do.  I hear them all the freaking time.  Of course, most of it is in my head, a sort of movie soundtrack/music video to go along with all the images passing before me at the speed of life, but what can I say?  I've always been a sort of geek, musical theatre speaking- and there are often moments when I will see something, experience a feeling or observe people, and some song from one play or another pops into my head, and boom, the soundtrack/playlist continues.  When I was first seeing my wife, we would often take walks in the park early in the morning, and it felt to me like there was a bright, golden haze on the meadow, and the sounds of the world were like music, so I'd sing, loudly and probably not so much on key, Oh What a Beautiful Morning.  How could I not.  It's a great song.  Just ask Wolverine.





It made total sense to me.  And Lisa, my wife, smiled.

But I don't just hear and/or sing happy songs.  This very morning, I got news that the mother of an old friend passed away, and in my mind I Kristin Chenoweth singing to a green Idina Menzel:

"I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you."




Geeky and lame, I know, but what can I say?  That's how it goes with me.  

And of late, the musical that keeps playing in my mind the most is Les Miserables, the mega hit show from the '80's that has been parodied, reviled, and beloved by people since it first opened.  What makes me think of Les Mis?  Occupy Wall Street.  

In Les Mis, the world is unfair, and the powerful don't really take care of the less fortunate- the ones who work in their factories and fields.  The rich keep getting richer, and the poor keep getting poorer.  The lower ranks, the 99% of pre-revolutionary France, sing "at the end of the day your another day older, and that's all you can say for the life of the poor... and the righteous hurry past, they don't hear the little ones crying".  Eventually, a large group of mostly students get pissed off and start camping out in the biggest city in the land, demanding equality and justice and a new way of doing things.  The voice of the law, a dude named Javert, thinks the lord is on his side, and that somehow Jesus wants the wealthy to stay wealthy and the poor to stay poor.  Can you imagine that?  Anyway, the students build a bunch of barricades, and sing "do you hear the people sing, singing the song of angry men?  It is the music of a people who will not be slavess again.  When the beating of your heart, echoes the beating of the drums, their is a life about to start when tomorrow comes".  

Why don't the rich and powerful ever pay attention to history and/or musical theatre?  Don't they get it?  People are angry, and if they don't change their nasty, greedy way, things are going to get ugly and uglier.  



Here's a suggestion for you, wherever you are.  Get a copy of Les Mis, listen to it, and then go to your local Occupy movement (seems there's one in every town now) and see if it doesn't provide the perfect soundtrack for what's going on.

That's about all I have today- please remember, if you're in NYC, I have a reading of my latest play RIDDLE LOST  Saturday Nov. 19 at 5pm at ART/NY.  For more info, go here:

Also, we're about 75% of the way to our goal for the short film STRONG TEA.  For more info on that, go here:
http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/169962067/strong-teahttp://www.kickstarter.com/projects/169962067/strong-tea



Tuesday, November 15, 2011

I AM THE MOST OFFENDING SOUL ALIVE

So, as most of you know, I've been working on several projects of late.  A short film , a screenplay reading, and a new play called Riddle Lost.  As such, I've been busting my ass promoting, begging, borrowing, and stealing.  And there have been times when I've just felt tired and alone and confused.  I think most of us have moments like that in life- you know, those times when you think your only true supporter is your dog, and you're starting to suspect that his so-called unconditional love has more to do with you feeding him every day than with your inherent worth as a living being in this universe.  Those days when you keep checking your inbox- hoping that at least a couple of folks from the dozens you have emailed about whatever it is you're doing will write back telling you to be strong, fight the good fight, and to believe in yourself because they always have and always will.  It's pathetic, really.  I am one of the luckiest people I know.  To have something to strive towards, to have several projects ongoing in which I get to create theatre and film- my God, it's what I've always wanted.  Still, despair tries to get a toe hold.

Too bad for despair.  My dog does indeed love me- I mean, look at him.


On top of my dog Padfoot, I have an amazing group of friends and family who have supported me time and time again.  I mean, I always cry at the end of "It's a Wonderful Life", when all the people of Bedford Falls come to George's aid in his hour of need, because I can relate- I know what it is to have friends and family like that- and it's beautiful.

The three projects I'm working on now are huge- daunting, really.  Let's face it, success in the arts, at least on the superficial but important level of finance, is tough.  And I have run into the occasional old friend or colleague who has doubted my chances.  Which can be a drag.

But then, I think of what good old Will Shakespeare said in Henry V, and I feel better.   In particular, I think of the St. Crispians Day speech, which in part goes like this:


I get that.  Who cares about money?  I want glory- to kick it in the ass and know I did something special and unique and real.  And if you don't want to get on board with me, then I proclaim:


I had the great fortune of playing Henry a while back in the fabled early days  of Shakespeare in the Park(ing) Lot.  It was glorious and fun and one of the experiences that has served me well these many years.  We were a rag tag group of lunatics and artists, with little to no resources.  And we shook the Lower East Side of New York.  

What I'm saying is this- to all who doubt- God bless you, and good luck.  

To those who believe, and you know who you are:


Last night, my screenplay Burning Man was presented in a reading put on by Harvardwood in NYC.  It was well received, and we shall see what comes of it.  This Saturday, Riddle Lost will be given a reading at ART/NY at 5pm.  I just did a mini-interview about it that you can read here.  Strong Tea, the short film I'm making, has a Kickstarter campaign that so far is doing great- to check that out, go click here.  



I have gathered my forces, and the sun is rising on Agincourt.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

MAKING MOVIES, ON LOCATION, DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS

Of late, I'm working on movies.  Two to be exact:  Strong Tea and Burning Man.



Strong Tea is a short about Thanksgiving, family, and murder.  And what is really weird is that when I tell people the basic plot, they all say "oh, that sounds like my family on Turkey Day!"  Weird in that, in the movie, people get killed so that other people in the family can move from the kids table to the adults table.  Apparently, most families have the dreaded two table system at Thanksgiving- the nice table for the adults, and the not so nice table for the kids.  In my family, the kids table was usually a card table, or on one infamous night, a ping-pong table in the garage.  It's one of those things that we laugh about now, but at the time was a source of tension.

And fodder for drama.

About a year ago, I needed to write a new one act for the Humana Festival.  My play Hela and Troy was just a finalist for the Heideman award there, and I wanted to enter something new.   It was around November, and the kids table came to mind, and in about a day, I wrote the play version of Strong Tea.  People liked it, one thing lead to another, and I decided to make  a short film of it.  And it's been really fun, so far.  We shoot in about a month.



Burning Man is the screen adaptation of my most successful play to date, Burning the Old Man.  This too is one of my stories that people say they can relate to- and that's weird, because this one is about some really messed up brothers stuck in the middle of the Nevada desert shortly after their father commits suicide.  The brothers fight, hate and love each other in equal measure, and can't seem to get where they want to go.   First produced by Boomerang Theatre Comapany, it won the 2005 NYIT award for Outstanding Full Length Script, went on to a production in Prague at Divadlo na Zabradi, and has been published in Plays and Playwrights 2006, several scene and monologue books, and is now available online via Indie Theater Now.

And on top of that, this Monday, Nov. 14 at 6pm at Solas, Harvardwood is presenting a reading of it.  If you're in NYC, I hope you come see it.

I don't know what any of this means, other than than when I write about sad, strange, lost people- the public seems to respond.  And that I think the movie gods are trying to tell me something about where I am going and what I should be doing.


Monday, October 31, 2011

BOO


Twenty-one years ago today, I went to New York City for the first time in my life.  I had just finished a cross country trip with a friend I had made that summer doing summer stock at the Barn Theatre in Michigan.  He was from a little town in Jersey called Peapack.  We spent about a week traversing the country, and had gone to places like Ashland, Oregon to see the Shakespeare festival, and Twin Falls, Idaho to see where Evel Kneivel tried to jump the Snake River with his rocket/motorcycle thing.  I even saw my first moose when we drove through Yellowstone days before it closed for the winter.  Somewhere, there is an old box full of old photos of that trip- I don't know where, exactly, and hope to come across it before I kick- but until then, I have to rely on my mind's eye.  Anyway, we ended up in Peapack on October 30, and on the next day we took the train into NYC, crossing under the Hudson River and emerging from Penn station like ants crawling out of their colony.  I remember thinking of the Hopi, and their belief that when they were created, they came into this world from an older one via a hole in the ground.  Here I was, a neo-Hopi, coming out of a hole in the ground from my old world and into a new one.  It was exciting, strange, and a little scary.  We walked all over town, first going up to Hell's Kitchen, then down to the Village, ending up near Union Square where a my buddies girl friend from the summer- a drama major at NYU- lived.   We watched the Halloween parade, which to me looked like a cross between Mardi-gras and a zombie apocalypse.  It was glorious.  From there, we proceeded to Rock Around the Clock, and bistro near St. Mark's Place, and drank a lot of raspberry kamikazes.  A lot.  At one point in the evening, after things had become fuzzy, my buddy's girl made a pass at me- which was shocking and flattering and uncomfortable.  The three of us staggered back to her place, and crashed.  Well, I crashed- they got into an argument.   I was awoken at dawn by my friend, who informed me that he and his lady friend were breaking up, and it was time to go.  I was exhausted, somewhere between hung over and still drunk, and not in the mood to go anywhere.  But he was insistent.  So off we trudged, through now mostly empty streets, which were full of the remnants of the nights revelries.

That's NYC to me- dramatic, strange, and intriguing.  She's been very good to me over the years.  I've had the great fortune of having most of my plays produced there, and for several years wrote reviews for nytheatre.com - one of the best sites for theatre in the country.  I can't think of another city in the world where you can go to a show every day of the year, and never repeat yourself.  

And this November, Gotham is treating me kindly again, with two readings.  First, on November 14, Harvardwood NYC is presenting a reading of Burning Man, a screenplay based on my play Burning the Old Man, at 6pm at Solas 232 E. 9th St.  And then on November 19, Boomerang Theatre Co. is presenting a reading of my latest play, Riddle Lost, at 5pm at ART/NY 520 8th Ave. 3rd floor.  If you are around NYC, I really hope you can make it.  I don't know if it'll be as amazing for you as that first day in Manhattan was for me, but it just might be.

Friday, October 7, 2011

HAPPY ACCIDENTS

I think the Occupy Wall Street movement is amazing, and exciting, and historical.  And on top of that, it has a shining example of how Necessity is the Mother of Invention- something which I hope every theatre artists recognizes as fact.



I'm talking about the whole method of the group acting as a chorus, repeating what each speaker says, as a way to work around not being allowed to use bullhorns or amplification by the NYPD.  As I understand it, they have what is being called a General Assembly everyday, where people are given two minutes to speak.  Whomever is speaking will say a sentence or two, then the crowd nearest the speaker repeats what  was said in unison- sort of like a Greek chorus or something.  I've seen several snippets of them doing this on different news shows, and it's fascinating.  And by the look on the people's faces, it seems to be unifying them in their cause- which is probably not what the NYPD had in mind when they said no to any sort of electrical amplification.  It also makes what is being said more important than any individual speaker.

I have seen, in my experience in the theatre, so many examples of brilliance coming out of necessity- times when "happy accidents" occur which necessitate some quick thinking resulting in  better work.

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I once worked on a screenplay for Zeuss' Thigh Films written by a group of writers called "Places".  It was a sort of Rashomon like story about the final week of rehearsal of an indie theatre production in New York City, told from various viewpoints (Mick the actor,  Kate the actress, Jason the writer, Whitey the director, and Damiana the director).  Each writer was in charge of one of the viewpoints, and as such had final say in what their character did in all sections.   I had the section dealing with Mick, and in my first draft, I had Mick get yelled at by Damiana during rehearsals.  And Damiana, in that first draft, swore.  A lot.  Now, this bad case of potty mouth did not fit with Katharine Clark Gray's vision of Damiana, and as that was her main character,  I was told I'd have to change it as per the rules of this writing experiment.  What to do?  At first, as sort of a joke, I went through my draft and replaced all Damiana's bad words with the word "golly".  And it seemed kind of funny.  What if a person in this day and age, and in the vulgar land of indie theatre, used words like golly as opposed to words like fuck?  I kept the golly, and it was funny, and cool, and one hundred percent the product of dealing with an obstacle.

Here's some of the script:


Damiana goes through her notes, while the cast listens, jotting notes down in their script, nodding in agreement, looking at each other.  She looks at her notes, which are a jumble of hieroglyphic sketches.  Her eyes comes to a large skull, with the words “ WE’RE DOOMED!” written underneath.

DAMIANA
Ah, yes. Listen up, people.

Damiana looks out at the cast.  Mick, late twenties, looks up from his notebook.  

DAMIANA (CONT’D)
I think we have something pretty special here. Know that this is going to be a great show.  Own it.

Mick writes in his notebook “worst show ever”.  He looks over to Kate, mid-twenties, and when he catches her eyes, makes a face, which makes her laugh.

DAMIANA (CONT’D)
Feel free to listen up, people.  Mick, what happened in the skeleton monologue?

There is a sudden hush in the room.  Everyone looks at Mick.  He feels the pressure.

MICK
Uh, I’m not sure.  I just wasn’t feeling it.

Damiana stares at Mick for a moment as if he were an idiot.

DAMIANA
Golly!  That makes me angry!  Golly, Golly, Golly!  Feel it!  Feel it, for Pete’s sake!  How can you say you didn’t feel it?

The cast and crew laugh.  Kate draws a picture of a witch in her notebook screaming “FEEL IT, MUTHA FUCKAH!”.


DAMIANA (CONT’D)
This isn’t a joke, people.  It’s serious business.  Mick- no more excuses.  Find you’re feelings.




By the way, the other writer's on Places were Mike Folie, Steven Gridley, and Francis Kuzler.  These are all outstanding writers, and I encourage you to look up their stuff, see it on stage or screen whenever possible, and write them long, full of compliments, fan letters.  Yeah, and hand write them, so that the Post Office can get some work.



Also, looks like the date for the reading of Riddle Lost in NYC by Boomerang Theatre Company is going to be Saturday November 19.   I'll post more info when I have it.  I have to keep this short, as I am heading down to the Denver capital to witness Occupy Denver firsthand.





Monday, October 3, 2011

EAT A BAG OF WHAT?

So I had just finished directing Muse of Fire, my second full length play, for hope theatre, inc. as part of the 2003 New York International Fringe Festival, and feeling really good about all things theatre.   The play had gotten a rave review from Martin Denton, sold out most its performances, and everyone involved in the show had kicked ass.  On top of that, I had just gotten cast as Boxer the Horse in a puppet version of Animal Farm being produced by Synapse Productions and directed by David Travis- and it was a really shaping up to be a cool, cutting edge, brilliant show.  And on top of that awesomeness, Tim Errickson, old friend and the Artistic Director of Boomerang Theatre Company, asked me if I wanted to write a play for the Boomerangs.


I said yes before he had finished his sentence.

So, now I had to find a play.  At this point in my writing, I wanted to set all my plays in California.  I'm not sure if it was a sense of loyalty of where I came from, a severe belief in the dictum "write what you know", or just something that struck my fancy.  In any event, the new play would be set in California.  So I started thinking about the Golden State, and what would make a good play.   And I came across an article in the SF Gate, the online version of the old newspaper The Chronicle, about Burning Man.  It was a brief history of the festival- how it had started on a Baker Beach in San Francisco one summer solstice night in 1986, and had grown into this huge festival held every summer in the desert outside of Reno, Nevada that culminated with a bonfire where a huge figure would be burnt in effigy.  According to the article, people are supposed to bring things to the festival that want to be rid of- bad feelings, old wounds, etc.- and symbolically toss them in the fire and move on with their lives.

This sounded like a good thing to have in a play.  And Reno is very close to the California border- in fact, I spent a fair amount of time near there when I was a kid, as my Uncle Donald had a ranch near there.  So cool, Burning Man would be part of the story.  And I thought, what is someone was trying to get to Burning Man to toss some past wound into the fire, but got stuck on the way?  That would be a good obstacle for someone to try and overcome.  And while trying to get there, lots of juicy stuff could come out.



Now, my father had recently died- and it really sucked ass.  And I had been thinking a lot about how when people die, you are left with a lot of unresolved issues- unspoken grievances, unanswered questions, un-cried tears.  So I would have someone trying to get over a death.  No- why not have two people?  Brothers, who are opposite in almost every way, bound together by blood, constantly at each other's throats?  Yeah, that sounded good to me.  I often have two opposites stuck together in my plays- yins and yangs, order and chaos...and Bobby and Marty.  That would be their names- and they would sort of represent two aspects of me.  The slacker and the worrier.   Of course, once I started writing, they took a life of their own, and did what they wanted.  Which is how it usually goes with me- I'll come up with some idea for a story, and start writing, and all of a sudden the characters take on a life of their own, and do and say what they want, and I just write down whatever it is I see and hear then doing.  Which might make me a little crazy, but I think it was Zorba who said a man needs a little craziness in his life.

Now, I would be lying to say that there is not a lot of me in this show, a lot of my issues with death, and my father, as well as my mom and my step-dad.  I grew up in a rather dramatic household- a world of fathers who had left long ago, alcoholism, and denial.  And a lot of that is in Burning the Old Man.  But I'd also be lying if I said this is an autobiographical play.  It is a story, told by me, about people who are sort of crazy.

Anyhow.  I let all these ideas run around in my head for a day or two, and then sat down, and started writing...and it came out in a torrent.  I mean the whole thing.  I couldn't type fast enough.  I'd write until two or three in the morning, fall asleep, then wake up an hour later with a new bit of dialogue that demanded attention.  It was pretty freaky, and liberating, and exciting.

The play starts with Marty and Bobby on their way to Burning Man.   They are taking their late father's ashes, with the intent of throwing them on the fire at the end of the festival.  This is per their late father's dying wishes.  To up the stakes, I make it the day before the bonfire.  They're running late.  And then, their car explodes.  Well, first it catches fire, they pull into a run down motel in the middle of nowhere, and then it blows up.  And there's no cell phone reception.  And the explosion has taken down the phone line.  And the only person at the motel is Jo, a sort of Stepford Wife wannabe who has no car and whose husband works far away and won't be home until very late.   And figuring all that out took about as long as it did to type this paragraph.

It just poured out, pre-formed and beautiful.  I named the motel The Delphi, after the famous oracle of Greek mythology who people went to for wisdom and guidance.  In the opening scene, Jo is at the counter in the lobby, singing show tunes to herself, when Bobby runs in, screaming at his brother "Eat a bag of dicks, fuckhole!", a phrase I had once heard Brett Christensen say.  In my mind, Brett was Bobby, and indeed ended up playing him in the first production, so I figured what the hell?

I wrote the first draft in less than a month, and Boomerang did a reading of it as part of their First Flight series, directed by Tim Errickson.  The cast included Tim McCracken as Marty, Brett Christensen as Bobby, Siobhan Mahoney as Candy, Philip Emeott as Earth, Mac Brydon as Eddy, and Sara Thigpen as Jo.

And with that reading, we were off to the races.

To Be Continued...

Burning the Old Man is currently available in the anthology "Plays and Playwrights 2006", available here:
http://www.nytesmallpress.com/pp06.php

It also won the 2005 NYIT Award for Outstanding Full Length Script.   For more info, go here:
http://www.nyitawards.com/

It also went on to a long run at Divadlo na Zabradli of Prauge.  For more info, go here:
http://www.nazabradli.cz/repertoar/repertoar/kelly-mcallister-cesta-horiciho-muze/

And next month, it opens at another there in the Czech Republic, Divadlo Exil.  For more info, go here:
http://www.divadloexil.cz/?page_id=12



Thursday, September 29, 2011

WHY IS A RAVEN LIKE A WRITING DESK?

So my latest opus is going to have a staged reading this November as part of Boomerang Theatre Company's First Flight series, and I thought I'd tell you a little about it.  It's called Riddle Lost.  The reading is going to be directed by Philip Emeott- who originated the role of Earth in Burning the Old Man.



About ten years ago, I read the book Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown.  It's basically a history of what happened to all the native people here in North America after the Europeans arrived and said "Hey, this is our land, provided by God, and you all have to go away".  It's brilliant, depressing, and should be required reading for every citizen.  Let's face it, we stole this country from other people- and were pretty nasty about it.  I have always been fascinated, saddened and inspired by native American culture- not that I am by any stretch of the imagination a specialist on it.   I just think they were and are a group of people who got the short end of a very large, dangerous stick.  And that's putting it nicely.


Anyway, one of the chapters in Bury My Heart is about the Modoc War of 1872, which took place in Northern California.  The central figure in that war was a man called Captain Jack by the settlers, Kintpuash by his own people.  And the story is amazing- Shakespearean in scope, full of characters and situations that don't seem quite real but which, according to the history books, were.  Aside from being history, it's a story of one person sticking to what they believe to be right, when everyone around them, on all sides, do bad things.  Like really bad, killing babies, betraying your people, murder under a flag a truce bad.

I started researching online.  Found a book, The Indian History of the Modoc War, written by a guy who was half Modoc, half Honkey.  The author had lived through the war.  He was a Riddle, and not just in the figurative way.  I mean his name was Jefferson C. Davis Riddle, which seems perfect.   Actually, when he was a boy his name was Charka.  But his parents, a Modoc woman named Winema and a white settler named Frank Riddle,  changed it after the war.

I thought I'd write a sort of historical play, an American Henry V or something.  But that's not what came out.  Often, when I write, I set out to do one thing, and something entirely different comes out.  I've learned to just go with it, not try to force my original vision on what comes out when I'm at the keyboard.  I think my subconscious is a better writer.  Either that, or I'm hearing voices, spirit guides who tell me what to write and I don't really have a say in my work.  In any event, when I finally found that first scene which let me into the world of the play, it was nothing like the historical tale I originally envisioned.  No, it was a metaphysical hodge-podge set somewhere in Limbo, and populated with characters like the Hel, Norse Goddess of Death;  the trickster Raven; an animated cigar store Indian named Ziggy;  and the decapitated head of Mimir, another figure from Norse mythology.  Basically, the play is populated with historical and mythological figures from both Europe and North American, all hanging out in a side show tent run by Hel.  Into the tent walks Riddle, who has just died, and the story begins.  It's big and weird and totally different from anything I've done, and exactly like everything I've done.  I used the Goddess Hel once before- but that was when she went by the name Hela- in a one act called Hela and Troy, available from Playscripts, inc.  I liked her in that show, and I think she wanted to stick around for awhile.



If you are in the New York City area in November, I really hope you come to the reading- I promise it won't suck.   And not only will you hear a new play, you might just learn the answer to the age old riddle, why is a Raven like a writing desk.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

BACKWARDS AND WRONG

Love is evil, spelled backwards and wrong.

So says Earth, neo-hippie and seeker of truth in my third play, BURNING THE OLD MAN.  It's a great line.  People quote it often, and I've seen it used by others on blogs, aritcles, etc.

I stole it.




There's a saying that I first heard from Richard Parks, one of my teachers at San Jose State University.  Richard was a mad man, a genius, and one of the most memorable people I ever met- one of those teachers who would say something in such a way as to make it funny, revelatory, and pertinent all at the same time.  He also had a wicked temper, which would show up now and then, usually during rehearsal for something he was directing and which wasn't going well.  One memorable night during dress rehearsal for Lysistrata he shouted out "Change your majors!" and marched out of the building.  At the time, it was both hilarious and embarrassing.  But he also was brilliant, and knew how to get the best out of us.    Once, I think it was during rehearsal for A Midsummer Night's Dream,  somebody mentioned how Shakespeare had taken a lot of his plot lines from other sources, and somebody else opined that that meant Shakespeare was just a copy cat.  Doctor Parks raised he eyebrows dramatically, and pronounced to us all that "great artists don't copy, they steal", meaning that if you aren't that good at what you do, then you will often imitate other peoples work- but if you're a true artist, you can take that idea and make it your own- improved, or at least different, and unique.

And that's why I feel okay about stealing Earth's line, and indeed, the character of Earth himself.

Let me explain.  Long ago, and far away, my brother Jerry and I worked for a children's theatre company in Pleasanton, California.  The money was good, and that job was fun- but we had a lot of extra time on our hands, and needed an extra outlet for ourselves.  Somehow, we convinced the local cable company to give us a cable access show- and not only that, but to provide us with cameras and editing room time- all for free.   We named the show Pleasantonland, and basically just shot hours and hours of ourselves goofing around, drinking beer, and talking with other theatre people about life, art, and whatever else came to mind.   It was self-indulgent in the extreme- and we had a blast.  During one of our shoots, we decided that the show should have a guest poet- a sort of fake, over the top, new age gone bad kind of poet- and my buddy Brian Faraone volunteered for the job.  But he didn't want to be called Brian- he wanted to be called Earth.  We thought that sounded perfect- so, while filming, I looked at the camera "And now it's time for a poem from our guest today, Earth!"  Brian walked up, wearing a beret and lots of attitude, looked at the camera and said in perfect deadpan, "Love is evil, spelled backwards, and wrong", and walked off.  It was friggin' brilliant.  We laughed our asses off.



Cut to ten years later.  I'm writing a play for Boomerang Theatre Company about two brothers on their way to the Burning Man festival who get stuck in the desert and run into, among other things, a couple of neo-hippies.  Somewhere in my brain, I remember Brian as Earth, and write him into the show- and it's a perfect fit.  

And that's how I stole Earth from Brian for my show.  Not that I feel too bad- Brian had stolen the idea of Earth from an actual neo-hippie he met in Santa Cruz who would say ridiculous things like "I don't wear shoes- they're a rule of society I find silly".  So fair's fair.

To Be Continued...

Burning the Old Man is available in print in the anthology Plays and Playwrights 2006 and will soon be featured on Indie Theater Now.
http://www.nytesmallpress.com/pp06.php
www.indietheaternow.com

Thursday, September 22, 2011

WHY NOT MAKE HIS HEAD EXPLODE?



SOME UNFORTUNATE HOUR, now available at INDIE THEATER NOW, and how it came to be.

I was stuck.  I had a big chunk of a new play written, and had hit a brick wall.  The opening was great, characters all clear in my mind, dialogue crisp and clean and all that jazz- but there was something wrong.  I couldn't quite find out what it was, or why whenever I sat down to write nothing really happened- I mean nothing.   I'd sit and stare at the screen and it all seemed weary, stale, flat and unprofitable.  Up to this point, my plays had come fast and furious, born fully formed like Venus on the shell- but not this one.


The play itself was a simple premise- one scene, written in the style known as "realism", following a guy named Tom's slow realization that he's an asshole.  It began as a whim, but now had a life of its' own- and there was no way in Hell I wasn't going to finish it.   So I did what any brave person would do.  

I ran away.

I was living in New York City, but my mom still lived in the house I grew up in out in San Jose, California.  I hadn't been home to visit for awhile, and so off I went, into the wild blue yonder.   I visited old friends, went to say hello to the Pacific, and hoped my subconscious would work things out as far as the play was concerned.  And then I got a phone call from a friend.  Thank God,

The friend was Harry Newman.  He's a fellow playwright, and was running The Pool at the time, and was one of those people whose opinion I trusted- and still trust to this day.  He had read the play, and had a  simple question- why does it have to stay in the land of realism?  Why not have his head explode, so to speak?



And like that, it all fell into place.  Yeah, why not have his head explode?  Why not have him slip back and forth between reality and his imagination?  I mean, Old Tom is drunk and getting drunker, and his mental state is not what you'd call stable- why not have his world be askew, ruled by unseen spirits, and all that good stuff?  

For me, there are times when I'm writing when all of a sudden, I see the piece as a whole- the world it inhabits, the characters, the color and sound and even the smell of it.  The Eureka moment, if you will.  I don't know why, but I do.  And usually, it happens after working on it for awhile.  I'll be plodding along from point A to point B to point C, with a rough idea of what's supposed to happen and who the hero is and all that, and then someone says something, or I hear a song on the radio, or I see a sunset, or a couple fighting in a store- and BLAMMO, the play is there, and from that point on I usually can't type fast enough.  

I dig that part of the process the most.  

So I dive back into the play.  Tom is still in the bar, but now and then, the lights change, a spotlight shines on him, and he goes into these strange soliloquies about She Who Shall Remain Nameless, or what the settlers meant when they said they "saw the Elephant", or how he's like a baseball that's been hit by Bugs Bunny and has traveled all over the world.  It fit- all of it.  Time to enter the show in the New York International Fringe Festival and hope it gets in.  And if it doesn't, put it up somewhere anyway.



Then I had one more idea.  What if I had a score written for the show, like how Simon and Garfunkel did the music for The Graduate?   I mean, Aristotle did list music as one of the basic elements of theatre, didn't he?  On top of that, I had a friend, Robbie Gil, who knew my work, liked this particular play, and writes really groovy music- in fact, if you don't know his stuff, you need to go to his web site, download some tunes, and get with the program.  I ask Robbie is he'd be OK with that, he says yes, and we are off to the races.  



I name the play "SOME UNFORTUNATE HOUR", which in my mind is a variation on the old Rogers and Hammerstein song "Some Enchanted Evening", but no one ever picks up on that but me.  It gets accepted into the Fringe.  I finish the play- which includes a really great monologue by Janus about unrequited love that, if you are an actress looking for a good audition piece, I highly recommend.  I get Tim Errickson, Artistic Director of the Boomerang Theatre Company, to direct- cast Dan O'Neill as Tom, Jodi Dick as Janus, and Ashley Wren Collins as Charity, and off we go.  The show is received well- go here for a review- and then gets a run in Denver - go here for really nice review from Variety.  And now, as part of the Fringe Collection offered on Indie Theatre Now, it's available online for less than $2.  Life is sweet.

Anyhow, that's the very basic story of Some Unfortunate Hour.  Stay tuned for more on me and my shows- up next, my biggest hit yet, BURNING THE OLD MAN.




THE LOST WHELM

 Waking up and not sure what to do. Sometimes, oftentimes, I wake up feeling totally unprepared for anything at all. The world seems a mess,...