The Voice of the Play and the Artist

     For this entry, I'd like to take a moment to consider just what the artistic "voice" of a production is, or rather, exactly who is communicating to us as an audience.

     As many of you might have done, I just finished the entire first season of HBO’s new series, “Westworld.”  I may or may not be giving spoilers here - just fair warning.  While I originally lauded the show for a semi-original concept and absolutely superb acting, I had no idea that the show was going to be an existential plunge into the meaning of individual consciousness and identity.  I marveled at the difference in the styles of acting between the actors playing robots and the actors playing humans, fascinated by how the actors playing robots were much more presentational in their delivery (the viewer could see almost every thought and inspiration going through their heads).  Meanwhile, the actors playing humans were much more subtle in their performance; their drives and objectives veiled in many subversive and tantalizing ways.  Of course, a director could be credited with this specific distinction in the acting, but nearly each episode had a different director, and very rarely did the same director appear in the credits of any episodes in sequence.  So, the conclusion could be made that this specific choice to have two very different overall categories of delivery and performance must have been fully understood by everyone responsible for the delivery, from the writers (also different per episode) to the directors, to the actors, who ultimately deliver the final product.

     While film, television, and theatre are different media in which performed stories are presented, they usually have the same hierarchy of who is really the most original “voice” in the production team.  The most obvious place to start is with the author of the work.  Many teachers and artists I’ve worked with have said that the writer is the artist that has the most freedom with the work, and therefore is the “voice” of the work.  However, in regards to contemporary theatre production, the director is able to interpret the work of the playwright in a myriad of ways.  While some will suggest that, for example, setting Hamlet in post-apocalyptic America might be extraneous, the director making that choice probably had a relevant reason to do so, in order to reinterpret the work for a different audience.  I’m just now imagining Tom Hardy and Charlize Theron in their “Mad Max” regalia as Hamlet and Ophelia respectively, simultaneously rolling my eyes and thinking, “I’d pay to see that.”

    In addition, we must not forget the technical elements of this “voice.”  Last year on Broadway, director Ivo Van Hove and scenic designer Jan Versweyveld reimagined Arthur Miller’s “A View from the Bridge,” to have a virtual blank canvas, as the actors performed in the round on an internally lit white floor with very little furniture or decoration, and the entire color scheme of the production was in very dull or stark tones. The entire play represented what looked like a boxing ring; appropriate given the very confrontational nature of that play.

     But, of course, the actors seem to be the obvious vessel when considering the play’s voice, as they are the ones speaking the words for the audience to hear.  I am getting ready to begin rehearsals for the Civic Theatre Guild’s next production, “Bakersfield Mist,” about an art expert called to a trailer park in Bakersfield, California to see if an out-of-work bartender has purchased an authentic Jackson Pollock painting.  Through analysis of the lines and stage directions, the suggestion is that my character - the art expert - is somewhere in his 60s. I am nowhere near that.  That said, I don’t believe it is wrong to cast a younger actor in the role.  Sure, we can put on makeup and I can suggest in my performance that I am near that age.  But, the director and I may come up with something different, as we cannot see in the script that the story requires that character to be someone of that age.  It may be much more interesting to play that character somewhat younger, giving new voice and perspective to the play.  So, now my challenge is, what voice is heard when the art expert is someone with vast scholarship and clinical expertise, but limited life experience?  An unusual challenge, to be sure, and I’m drawing inspiration for this character from many different and unusual sources.

     All in all, I would suggest that the artistic voice is malleable. Artists in all roles of production have the opportunities to bend their particular gifts in many different ways.  While some develop a very signature style (and, there’s nothing wrong with that), others work to diversify their abilities so that the individual voice remains somewhat constant, but also allows it to have many different attributes.  “Westworld” inspired me to watch a few interviews with Anthony Hopkins, who still is not sure he knows how to deliver words as an actor.  Sir Ian McKellen toured his “King Lear,” for at least two years, and in an interview given right after the production ended, he suggested he’d like to try it again, as he still didn’t think he got the hang of it.  The voice is unique - almost on a production-by-production basis - and can be as diverse or consistent as is needed.

     I hope to see you at “Bakersfield Mist” in late January (there’s some adult language - be advised) to see what I’ve come up with for my art expert.

     I’ll see you at intermission!

The Creation of a Classic Horror Film Series at the WYO Theater in Sheridan

You may have seen the posters.  You may have heard the radio ads.  You may follow us on Facebook, Twitter, or have seen the posts on our websites.  But, the WYO Theater and my company, Trident Theatre are presenting a series of classic horror films on the big screen at the WYO in September and October.  However, one of the more prevalent questions I get about this series (besides "Why is a theatre company presenting horror films?" - more on that in a moment) is "How did you pick the films you picked?"  Trust me: there is something a of a method to this madness.  Regardless of the level of your horror film fandom, I believe that this series has something for everyone.

Earlier this year, WYO Theater Executive Director Erin Butler and I sat down to come up with some ideas that might not have been tried at the WYO before.  Inspired by the Western Film Series that the WYO has presented for the past several years, I suggested several new film series, all based upon genres or sub genres.  One of these was a horror film series, and as true horror fans know, it's somewhat difficult to experience many of these films on the big screen any more, as the horror genre has found a following with on-demand streaming services.  So, to show something new, to appeal to a potential new audience, and to give frequent WYO patrons yet another reason to attend WYO events, the first classic horror series was created.  The WYO is acting as the producer for the series, while my theatre group, Trident, has created the lineup and the particular presentation of these films.

So, the obvious question: Why is a theater company presenting horror films?  Well, we're not just showing ANY old flicks.  Check out our website: www.tridenttheatre.com, and in our "About Us" section, you can see our mission statement.  Part of that statement includes the following phrase: "...To produce theatrical works written by and inspired by playwrights who are turning the tide of the theatrical landscape, or that have changed the course of theatre history."  Now, many could argue that film has taken on traditional storytelling that first developed on the stage, and has been able to adapt it to better suit the medium.  But, for thrills, it's hard for the stage to compete with the sheer terror that film can produce (I'm working on that, though).  So, to keep in line with our mission statement, these films helped either re-launch the genre, strengthen the genre, or have helped develop the genre in many unexpected and beneficial ways.

I suppose now would be just as good a time as any to discuss the lineup and how it was chosen.  When thinking of "classic" horror films, it's easy to conjure up images of Dracula, Frankenstein's monster, The Phantom of the Opera, etc.  Call it de-sensitization if you will, but most of these films might not be as thrilling to today's audiences, although they terrified the audiences of their respective times.  So, I originally thought to have a film that could still be relatively suspenseful and exciting to a contemporary audience, but still representative of a certain decade.  Initially, I figured to pick one film each from the 70s, 80s, 90s, and 2000s, and while the 2000s might be a little recent to be considered "Classic," there are still a few franchises from that decade that have significantly altered how horror films are created.

However, early in the planning process, we heard from a friend of the WYO that asked if "Psycho" would be one of the films presented.  This particular patron described how that was one of his favorite memories of the WYO: how his parents had taken him to see that film when the WYO was still the Orpheum, when he was 10 years old. While Erin and I were a little unnerved by the idea that parents would take a 10-year-old to such a film, it cannot be denied that Hitchcock made the release of "Psycho" a significant cultural event, so much so that parents would disregard general ideas of ratings systems in order that their child could experience something that would be so impactful.  At that moment, "Psycho," originally released in 1960, made the series representative of the 60s, 70s, 80s, and 90s (perhaps, a little more true to the term "classic.")

The 80s and 90s were pretty easy to pick, as "A Nightmare on Elm Street" and "Scream" could easily be considered THE horror film representative of their decades, simply based on what they spawned thereafter; not to mention the fact that they are spectacular films.  The 70s, though, gave us some trouble. We had thought that we needed one film to be a break from the common theme in the remaining three films - each had a "psychotic killer."  So, initially I thought of "The Exorcist," but even reviews anymore waver as to whether or not it's actually scary to today's audiences.  Some say absolutely, some say not at all (really - the reviews are online).  "The Shining" was unavailable for royalties.  "Halloween" would have made the entire series about "psycho killers."  It was almost epiphanic, but "Dawn of the Dead," just simply became the answer.  Not only is it still relatively spooky, and absurdly fun, but its impact on culture is undeniable (any "Walking Dead" fans out there?), and its almost accidental theme of the destructive tendencies of capitalism make it quite artful in many ways.

So, there you have it.  "Psycho" on September 10th, "Dawn of the Dead" on September 17th, "A Nightmare on Elm Street" on September 24th, and "Scream" on October 1st.  All shows will begin at 8pm.  There are prizes for contests at each screening, and co-hosts to give audiences a deeper look at the film or subject matter for each screening as well.  You can get more info at www.tridenttheatre.com, www.wyotheater.com (pick up some tickets while you're there), or our respective Facebook and Twitter pages.

I'll see you at intermission!

Not All Stories End Happily … And That’s Good!

Recently, my wife and I took our two young boys on our first Disneyland vacation.  For those of you that have not been there, Disney’s imagineers have created several rides that allow riders to “live through” the Disney adaptations of many storybook adventures.  To pass the time while waiting in line for one of these rides, a frequent topic of conversation between my wife and my oldest boy centered on how many of the Disney shows had a less-than-happy ending.  While this would seem somewhat uncharacteristic of the Disney brand, the list kept growing as they came up with titles.  Tucked deeply in the wealth of memories made on this vacation, the idea of the unhappy ending stuck with me, or at least why not all stories - or for purposes of this entry,  plays - end with “... and they all lived happily ever after.”

In fact, at one point in theatrical history, after eras in which federal academies enforced extremely strict rules on exactly what made plays either comedic or tragic, the conventional standard was that plays should almost always have a pleasurable ending.  In fact, during the era of Romanticism, many classic tragedies - including “Hamlet” - were rewritten to have happy endings.  While this more accurately reflected a major philosophical/artistic trend to focus on a general triumph of virtue over vice resulting in the rise of the melodrama, sentiments such as these can be seen today.  When I attend theatre, or talk to people about it, quite a few folks prefer to have a play end with a smile.

Please don’t misunderstand me.  I’m not some sort of theatrical Eeyore that only prefers to attend theatre with dark little rain clouds hanging over the stage.  Rather, as I’ve said in previous columns, I practice theatre with the idea that the stage is a laboratory in which we experiment with human situations, and watch humanity view through a “microscope”.  In many cases, things turn out well for the characters onstage.  However, if the stage is to be a laboratory, and meant to experiment with the breadth of the spectrum of human experience, the less-than-happy places on that spectrum must be explored, as well.

I’m not suggesting that we must ONLY attend the theatre to feel uncomfortable, or to experience feelings that are not immediately “happy.”  What I’m suggesting is that the entire canon of dramatic literature would be nearly empty if not for the “non-happy” plays.  In fact, in order for theatre to grow and progress at certain points in theatrical history, it could only be advanced by the exploration through more somber plotlines and genres.  Graduate students have used the genre of tragedy as the focal point of dissertations for decades, as it has contributed so much to the health of theatrical literature.

Recently, I’ve been reading a lot of “downer” plays.  It only took me about an hour to devour David Harrower’s “Blackbird,” which is legitimately one of the darkest and most necessary plays I’ve ever read.  Last summer, I pored through the stage adaptation of the Swedish film “Let the Right One In,” about an adolescent vampire who befriends a young boy, which ends up being a horrifying fable on the depths of co-dependency.  I’m embarrassed to admit that it’s taken me years to read Tracy Lett’s “August: Osage County,” which centers on the turmoil in a large rural Plains family that all gathers together with the family patriarch disappears.  I haven’t really selected these from a list of suggested plays that Amazon might create: “Total bummer plays.”  Rather, each of these plays either received immense critical acclaim over the last decade and/or many awards and nominations.  I plan to finish the summer reading several Tennessee Williams plays that I haven’t gotten to yet.

At the beginning of this fall, my theatre company, Trident Theatre, will present a series of classic horror movies on the big screen at the WYO.  As I’ve been preparing for this event, the question often comes up: “Why do we subject ourselves to this kind of fright?”  Some of these films are some of the most psychologically terrifying stories ever committed to celluloid, and have stayed so for decades.  So, why do we submit our psyches to that level of stress?  I would suggest that it is for the same reason we go to see “downer” plays: in the laboratory of humanity, we must exercise all emotional response in order to be able to understand and appreciate the fullness of what humanity can present.

So, in the long run, I’m not advocating only seeing sad plays.  Rather, that while happy endings are a necessary device in the playwright’s toolbox, I hope that you, as the audience member continue to consider plays that may not exactly have a happy ending just as enriching as those on the bright end of the spectrum.  You might come out surprised to have explored very necessary territory that you may not have even known that you needed to explore.  I suggest that, in order for us as a society to use theatre effectively, sometimes that means dragging a skeleton or two out of the closet.

I’ll see you at intermission!

Expect the Unexpected in "Yankee Tavern."

The epigraph of Steven Dietz’ play “Yankee Tavern” is taken from John Kennedy Toole’s seminal novel “A Confederacy of Dunces.”  It reads: “Once a person was asked to step into this brutal century, anything could happen.”  Many of us might be able to sympathize with that perspective on our current circumstances. If you’ll allow me to paraphrase: “In this day and age, expect the unexpected.”

“Yankee Tavern” has been one of my favorite productions to direct so far, mainly because of the unexpectedness of the in-depth conversations that crop up during rehearsal.  I’ll give you a recurring example: we’ve just been rehearsing a scene, at the end of which, an actor with a furrowed brow asks, “Wait … exactly WHAT did we just theorize, here?”  You see, the play deals mainly with conspiracy theory, and our ability as individuals to take two (or more) items that seem obviously disconnected, and be able to bridge the two concepts.  But, not just in a “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” way, with loose connection based on coincidence.  Rather, conspiracy theory demands that the two concepts are attracted with such strong and malicious magnetism that the connection of the two concepts implies a legitimate and decidedly credible connection.  

In the end, as an audience member, you can expect that “Yankee Tavern” is an examination of the crossroads where concrete and inexplicable circumstances collide, and how we as individuals interpret the fusion.

So, why do some of these theories seem so credible to us?  Well, as a civilization, isn’t this something that we’ve been doing for centuries: trying to legitimize the world around us?  We are a people that seem to demand explanation.  Often, when observable phenomena seem to be wholly incredible to us, despite being absolutely crystal clear through observation, we want to suggest that there could be something be easier to believe.  For example, many who have worked in the theatre are familiar with the superstition that every theater has a ghost (or several).  Even as we’ve been rehearsing the last few weeks, the Carriage House makes odd “bumps in the night.” Now, we know that, on a scientific level, the temperature fluctuates in the building making the wood in the building expand and contract, resulting in these strange sounds.  Yet, we still blame it on the ghosts.  In a way, it’s an easier method to explain strange phenomena: the path of least resistance, and easiest connection to complicity. “The ghosts did it.”

For years, I’ve been wanting to utilize fear and/or suspense on the stage as a tool to pull the audience even further into the story.  As I’ve mentioned in previous installments, I consider the theatre to be a place that exercises otherwise sedentary emotions, and I don’t think I’d be too bold to suggest that suspense or fear are emotions that the general population will have reason to sense on a daily basis.  In “Yankee Tavern,” (and I’m not giving any spoilers here), the suspense is drawn from an unsuspecting “innocent bystander’s” unforeseen connection to complicit actions.  The play is centered around a civilian perspective of the aftermath of 9/11, and all of the loose ends that seemed to crop up.  The play’s central “innocent bystander,” Janet (played with gusto by Jennifer Reed) is - for lack of a better term - assaulted by a deluge of conspiratorial suggestions of complicity from the remaining three members of the cast.  The script demands that it is her function to synthesize all this complicit data, determining her own connection to it all, or defending the lack thereof.  I also don’t think I’d be too bold to suggest that we, as “innocent bystanders” might be able to sympathize with Janet on a daily basis: we balance and justify the unexpected, no matter how unbelievable it may sound.

“Yankee Tavern” will run at the Carriage House Theater April 29, 30, May 6, 7, 12, 13, 14 @ 7:30pm.  There will also be two Sunday matinees at 2p on May 1, and May 8.  Tickets will be available soon at the WYO Theater Box Office, or at www.wyotheater.com.

I’ll see you at intermission!

Truth: Universal or subjective? Explorations in "Yankee Tavern."

“People will believe anything they have not been given a reason to disbelieve.”

This statement occurs regularly in the graduate thesis of one of the characters in CTG’s upcoming production of “Yankee Tavern.”  The thesis revolves around conspiracy theories, and their ability to be proven or conversely disproven, using both empirical evidence and reasonable doubt to affirm a stance on either side.  This production will be focusing specifically on the concept of what is easier for Americans to believe - what can be legitimately observed, or what can be proven, regardless of evidence.

I know, pretty heavy, right?  Well, I promise you that it will be entertaining as well.

I’ve been pretty jazzed to direct this play, or at least be a part of a production since I saw it done in Seattle in 2010.  Steven Dietz is a pretty prolific American playwright and director, even though he may not be a household name.  He hasn’t really won any major awards, but has received multiple commissions for writing new plays.  While some new plays are commissioned for the purpose of being as commercial and entertaining as possible, Dietz is more representative of the playwrights commissioned in Ancient Greece, who were asked to develop plays about current social phenomena that need to be explored. After reading this and other plays he’s done, I think I can safely say that he obviously has his finger on the pulse of undercurrents in American culture.  In “Yankee Tavern,” Dietz explores the the concept of truth, and whether there can be a universal truth, or whether truth is subjective.

Okay, still pretty heavy.  Give me a little more time, and I’ll show you the entertaining side.

Dietz offers his observations on truth by putting them into a relative context: our collective perception of the attack of 9/11.  Now, I’m going to offer a promise that this play will not be directed to firmly pronounce any political stance, much less show any preference to either side of the aisle.  More than anything, the play is written to address our ability to believe what we would prefer to believe, rather than what is more representative of the truth, based on empirical evidence.  Long story short: as Americans, we tend to believe what we want to, rather than what we can observe.  We see that the sky is blue, but still call it something other than blue; whatever might tickle our fancy that day.  And, rather than only accepting it as truth, we almost zealously defend it, because any other way would be impossible.  Isn’t this why Galileo was excommunicated from the church: because he suggested the earth was not the center of the universe?  And, what do we know now?  Just that little dose of doubt, even though a tough pill to swallow, changed the world, and for the better, I would think.

Okay, get to the “entertaining.”  I got it.  Here you go:

The play is mainly put into motion by Ray, played by John Goodell.  Ray is a staple patron of the Yankee Tavern.  Literally, there is not a day that goes by in which Ray sits at the bar, divulging his encyclopedia of conspiracy theories to anyone willing offer even a modicum of interest.  Seriously, he can connect Yoko Ono to the Bay of Pigs, has evidence that we didn’t land on the moon but somewhere else, and that Kleenex has the inside scoop on a lab-created germ designed to force the American consumer into forking over loads of cash on over-the-counter meds and products.  Anyone that kooky would be worth sharing a few drinks with, right?  So, why not belly up to our bar, and be entertained for a couple hours while we explore this concept together, through some humorous lenses, but also some pretty thrilling ones as well!

“Yankee Tavern” will play at the Carriage House Theater April 29 & 30, May 1, 6, 7, 8, 12,13, & 14.  Tickets will be available soon at the WYO Box office, or at www.wyotheater.com.

I’ll see you at intermission!