Theatre is Territory

Archive for the ‘10 questions’ Category

10 questions: Ryan McMahon

Friday, January 11th, 2008

1) What the fuck is going on?
Not too fucking much, you?

2) How have you developed as an Artisitic Director since starting MooseGuts Theatre in 2003?
I think my vision is very different than it was. I started the company five years ago, with the dream of producing ‘ground breaking spectacle theatre’ that featured Native performers, directors, technicians, etc. That vision changed to wanting to do guerrilla theatre/performance art so that I could show ‘the man’ exactly what I thought of him. Right now the vision sits somewhere in between. Right now MooseGuts Theatre Company is more of a production company than anything. MGT is just me right now. I have chosen to not register as a non-profit, and I am going to go with more of a traditional business model for the company.

When I open my doors to the MGT Company’s home, it will be a black box space with workshop/rehearsal space, an office, and working bathrooms. I want MGT to more about the work than the space. I don’t want to be a landlord to my own company, I want to be an artist. So, for now, MGT is all about the youth training I do, the small, local comedy shows I put on, and the writing/performance I do. The vision is very fluid and will always change – I think.

3) What is Improv Boot Camp?
The IBC is a model for Oshki-Biimaataziwin (the Good Life). The Improv Boot Camp is a training program that I have worked on for a number of years to empower, challenge, and engage youth in their communities. When I graduated from theatre school I started teaching youth theatre workshops around the Toronto area and more often than not they would be an afternoon long, or at best, a day long and that was simply not enough time to work with the kids. Couple that with my utter distain of our “Indian Celebrities” that charge communities huge cash for “empowerment and leadership” workshops and I knew that I had to develop something that could and would make a difference in young peoples lives.

The workshop itself is a mixture of Augusto Boal, Viola Spolin, Keith Johnstone, and generic theatre school exercises mixed with Anishinaabe cultural teachings and world views, Anishinaabe singing and dancing teachings, and a deeper look at how young people impact their communities. The IBC is all about re-connecting youth with their communities in a real, tangible way by using theatre as empowerment.

4) How would you characterize Winnipeg’s theatre scene?
Safe. Grossly safe – if grossly safe is even a real term used by humans.

5) How does your background in standup comedy inform your approach to making theatre?
I think it’s the other way around for me – my background in theatre informs the way I approach doing comedy. I’ve only been doing standup comedy for two years and in that two years I’ve achieved some amazing things. People in Winnipeg see me as a ‘guy just starting out doing standup’ and not a lot of people here in Winnipeg realize that I’ve been working as an actor/director/writer/improviser/sketch performer for 10 years now. People see me as a ‘comedian’ now because I get so much work doing comedy, whether performing or writing, but I’ve trained in theatre for a long time and that truly is where my heart is.

I still write plays, read plays for people, dramaturge, etc. but I’m not out there chasing theatre work. When I was in Toronto auditioning for stuff, chasing whatever my agent sent me, I was never brown enough for casting people, and never white enough for casting people. I vowed early not be ‘the Indian’ and so I stopped caring about ‘being an actor’. I was always writing, so, it was a natural thing to start producing my own shows, speaking with my own voice on stage, and essentially begin my path of being more of an ‘alternative theatre/comedy/performance artist guy’ rather than try to fit into a mold I simply couldn’t fit in.

My performance goal is to examine and deconstruct everything that pisses me off, write some funny shit about it that doesn’t come off as vitriol, and somehow add some multimedia elements to it (puppets, video, masks, sound, movement, etc.). People see me as an alternative comic because I treat my act as theatre in terms of how I present the shit I write/perform, and to me, it’s all part of the same thing – letting the shit out of my head.

6) From your experience working with First Nations Elders, have you noticed anything particular about they way they approach comedy?
Honestly that changes in every community. Some people believe you shouldn’t tell stories in the summer (traditionally a time for work), so they refuse to hire a comedian (storyteller) for their events. It is different everywhere. A lot of the people I run into on my travels tell me how refreshing it is to hear from “my generation” in a funny way.

In general, there are 10 working Native Comedians in North America. Native Comedy is not even in its infancy yet, and that is very clear to me based on reactions/responses I get after I do my act. One young guy in Alberta told me I was like the “Indian Chris Rock” and I guess I was flattered. My elders have always told me to be myself, to not lie. It’s my personal belief that that is where comedy comes from – truth. There are still a lot of taboo things that we, as Native Peoples, don’t talk about. Those are things I take aim at right away. NOT JUST to talk about them, but, to show our old people that we’re going to be okay. I want them to believe that, to know that, and to trust that.

In general, Native people love to laugh – laughter is medicine is an old cliche thrown around the teepee a lot, so, more often than not, the places I play too have already been sharing food, company, and laughter before I even step on stage. It is hard for me though, obviously looking at me – I look more cowboy than Indian. The first 10 minutes of my act is getting them to believe I’m an Indian. When I do mainstream shows, I have to do an entirely different act – I’m too white to be their Indian, and too brown to be their funny white man. I’ve learned that I need to be funny no matter who I’m playing for.

7) What’s funny?
The truth.

8) How much of your work is informed by a sense of anger?
All of it. Every last consonant and mother-fucking vowel bleeds anger. Every shitty fucking sound cue and half-assed piece of shit lighting change in my shows are chosen while very angry. All the fucking posters and handbills and shitty little websites I make on my stupid fucking MacBook are all pieces of shit but apparently necessary to promote the dumb fucking shows I have chosen to . . .

9) What is your fondest memory of being on stage?
My favourite memory of being onstage would have to be bombing at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre in New York City during the Del Close Marathon in 2003. The marathon itself is the ‘big show’ of improv and I was there with my troupe, Tonto’s Nephews.

Leading up to the festival we had been getting some interest from CBC and the Winnipeg Comedy Festival, as well as some other television development stuff. The fact that we were an all-Aboriginal Comedy Troupe was appealing apparently and there had been talk that some NBC Diversity people were going to be watching us at the festival to see what the hype was about.

To make a very long, boring story short, we went and we sucked. We had an amazing time slot, the theatre was full,

“. . . in the first row of the audience sat
half of the cast of
Saturday Night Live.”

and in the first row of the audience sat half of the cast of Saturday Night Live. We went out there and made ourselves look like fools. No one was listening onstage, two of our ‘stars’ bullied and trudged their way through their storylines, and the whole show crumbled – it was 30 minutes of shitty improv. I don’t even remember if we got any laughs.

When I got off the stage, I went straight to the back of the room, and by chance I ran into Horatio Sanz. He knew I was steaming mad about being bullied off stage during the improv set and he pulled me aside and for about an hour he told my what he liked about my style, we talked improv and where it’s going, and we teased a bunch of drunk UCB ‘chicks’, or, ‘groupies’, and it was an incredible time.

Sucking that badly onstage at such a huge comedy festival was a humbling performance moment for me. Everything I had worked for to get to that day exploded in my face. After I left the theatre I went for a walk to Central Park, sat under a tree, and started to think about what would become MooseGuts Theatre.

10) Any tips for non-comedians on how to be funnier, generally?
My general advice is to not be funny. Some of my best comedy coaches/directors have told me time and time again when you try to be funny, you’re probably going for a gag (cheap joke/laugh) and when going for the gag you take yourself out of the scene, or the moment. A lot of players/actors that don’t know what improv/sketch/standup is about – their instincts immediately take them to the gag. However, an attentive audience is usually in the moment as well, so when a player goes for the gag – the audience should either groan loudly at you or throw shit at you. It’s cheap.

The best way to get laughs (if that is your goal) is to be yourself. Stay open physically (body and voice), spiritually, and emotionally and your truth will always come out on stage. Truth in comedy, follow the fear because that is where the laughs are.

10 questions: Alison Croggon

Friday, January 4th, 2008

1) What the fuck is going on?
I’ve stopped for the year (it’s summer holidays here), so as far as I’m concerned, a wonderful lot of nothing. Except that I’m a bit obsessed with translating Beowulf.

2) What’s the best thing about being a theatre critic for The Australian newspaper?
What’s brilliant is that it allows me to straddle mainstream and alternative worlds (my favourite position – one of my mottos is that a moving target is harder to hit). When I was asked to be Melbourne theatre critic, I was very anxious that it not affect the blog, which is my first priority; if it had meant that I had to change my modus operandi, I would have declined the position. But The Australian was very accommodating.

The Australian is the only national daily newspaper here. I like working for them. They have all the usual print limitations – not enough space and not enough money – but they are the only print arts section I’ve worked for (and here in Australia, because of the concentrated media ownership, I’ve worked for practically everybody) that always consults you about cutting your copy. And where the arts editor is actually interested in art.

It’s also a bit of a return to my beginnings for me, because I started off my professional life as a journalist on daily papers.

3) Ideally, what would you like theatre artists to get out of your reviews of their work?
On the blog, which is where I do what I consider my “real” reviews, my main aim is simply to provide a response. I.e.: “I was there, and this is what I experienced and what I thought.” Whether that’s useful I guess really depends on the artist involved: I am one member of an audience, and that may be handy or not. I hope that my response is useful in the way that good conversation is useful. Especially in the case of artists whose work I admire, I hope my responses are encouraging and interesting.

Also, I do provide a record of an ephemeral event, which in the end is perhaps the most useful thing I do.

4) How do you navigate the tricky political waters of being a theatre critic and a theatre maker in the same city?
I don’t make theatre. I have in the past, but that hasn’t been the case for several years, and never when I was working as a theatre critic. Over the past few years I’ve been mainly writing poems and fantasy novels. I don’t have a problem with knowing and speaking to theatre artists (I’m even married to one), and friendship has never been a barrier to honesty for me. (My friends are all very patient people.) But I think it would be ethically dodgy territory to, say, offer someone a text, and then head off to review their shows. It would put the artists themselves in a difficult position, and would be difficult to handle my end. I know earlier Melbourne mainstream print critics have done just that, and I always thought it was a bit suss.

Mind you, such ethical difficulties don’t pertain in the literary world, where novelists review novelists and poets review poets all the time.

5) When you look at the landscape of contemporary Australian theatre, how much of it seems to be built on (or make explicit reference to) the country’s Aboriginal performance traditions?
Not much. There are some excellent Indigenous theatre companies and artists: Stephen Page’s Bangarra Dance Theatre is probably the best known internationally, and there is a strong contemporary tradition of Indigenous theatre, with shining talents like the director and playwright Wesley Enoch. But it doesn’t integrate with the mainstream theatre conventions as much as you might expect.

Why that is so is extremely vexed. Some of it is about the understandable sensitivity Indigenous people feel about cultural appropriation, and the reluctance of white artists to step on those sensitivities. To say this is a complex area is somewhat understating it…!

6) How have your experiences as a theatre blogger influenced your ideas about theatre?
I think seeing and writing pretty well constantly about theatre for almost four years has simply allowed me to evolve my ideas. I’m not sure that my basic feelings about art have changed much since I first started thinking about it; but blogging has exposed me to a lot of work that has made me challenge or refine or extend my thoughts. Which might well have been – for me, anyway – the best thing about it.

7) What does feminism mean to you?
Feminism is the real F-word. Women tend to deny they’re feminists, it has had a lot of bad press. I think that’s a shame. Like those who oppose racism, feminists simply protest against the idea that a certain class of human beings is less than fully human.

I became a full-on feminist after I had my first baby. As a young woman I was free to choose my behaviour, free to pursue a career, free to be what I liked. As a young mother I hit the social machinery head-on, and that’s when I began to understand how women were forced into limiting roles by virtue of their sex alone. Motherhood is the mother of all roles, and I refused point blank to conform to any of them. I was what is known as a “bad mother”. (You can imagine that my high achieving children cause me considerable private pleasure, in the light of the dire predictions made when they were younger.)

Feminism is the recognition that women have the right not to be considered inferior just because they were born female. It doesn’t imply any sort of superiority. The thing is that there are many kinds of feminism, it’s hardly a singular entity. I get impatient with some kinds of feminism, especially the single-issue-type that ignores factors like class and race. I don’t like the victim mentality that goes with some strands, and I do get tired when it seems that feminism always seems about beginning again from the basics, as if it’s one of the outer circles of hell. But, sadly, I do think it’s as necessary as it ever was.

8) What’s the most memorable complaint about one of your reviews you’ve ever come across?
I can’t remember!!

One nice thing about doing the blog is that I haven’t had much hate mail. When I was theatre critic for The Bulletin (a national weekly magazine, our version of Time) in the early 1990s, I got mail that had to be opened with asbestos gloves. Maybe I’ve mellowed, though I do think the culture has changed since then. I was sued once over a review. That was pretty memorable.

9) How does your background in poetry inform your approach to making theatre?
It’s profoundly important, though in ways that are hard to track. I am sometimes criticised for being too word-centric as a critic. I’ll admit that one, though I don’t see anything wrong with it. I think words are important, and are as important in theatre as any other aspect of the art.

I think probably the most important thing is that years of writing poetry means I have a finely attuned ear, especially for rhythm. I suspect that a lot of how I experience and respond to theatre is predicated on its rhythmic structures.

10) As a writer, what are you better at now than you were when you were younger?
I don’t make so many embarrassing mistakes as I did when I was younger. Or at least, I don’t make the same mistakes. That’s about it, really. Writing is always about starting at the beginning, and that means that you never actually know what you’re doing. I used to think that one day I would grow up and everything would be clear at last: I still remember when it dawned on me that growing older just meant that I was more aware of my ignorance. I have often thought of consciousness as a light spreading over a dark sea: the wider the light grows, the more it reveals the depths beneath.

But on the other hand, if I wasn’t learning all the time, writing would be a very dull way to spend my life.

10 questions remixed: Unifying theories – Part I

Thursday, December 13th, 2007
David Cote

1) Do you have any unifying theories about the artist-critic relationship?
They are both in league against the idiot public and every form of authority pope, president, CEO. They just don’t know it.

Brendan Gall

2) Do you have any unifying theories when it comes to acting?
I think good stage-acting is more like good film-acting than people want to think, especially in smaller venues. Also, when you play a role I think you should use as much of yourself as possible, because you’ve had your whole life to work on the character and it’s probably going to be more interesting than a limp or a stutter. Unless you already do those things; then by all means, incorporate them.

Omie

3) Do you have any unifying theories when it comes to comedy?
I also do sketch and improv so I have seen things that can work across those types of comedy too. Two things stand out for me:

1. Be specific with detail.
2. Surprise with the obvious response.

Detail makes a scene more real to people and gets their imagination involved. People’s imaginations are funnier than you are. A really good example of this was in the movie The Aristocrats. The movie is all about a single joke. When George Carlin tells it he sets the bar with funny because he gets into such detail that you can see, smell and taste what he is talking about even though you would rather not.

Using the obvious response works well in improv and clown as you are often put on the spot to react to something that you did not expect. If you respond with the most obvious thing that character would do it makes people laugh. Sometimes they laugh because they expected and wanted the character to do that and sometimes they laugh because they did not think of it themselves but in retrospect it was obvious that that’s what the character would actually do.

4) Do you have any unifying theories when it comes to acting?
I don’t mind talking about or trying to theoretically analyze acting on my own time, but it’s way more efficient when you’re actually doing it. Amid a rehearsal process or when a film is in production, ‘theorizing’ as opposed to ‘doing’ will impede the project. In a theatre school, it’s dangerous for students to pay too much mind on theory of ‘how to act’ because when they finally get down to playing a role, their minds will be fixated on recollecting what Stanislavsky or Hagen said instead of practicing being alive in a moment. Acting is an emotional sport that needs to be practiced at all times and acknowledging your life experiences.

Josh Bloch

5) Do you have any unifying theories when it comes to art?
It’s political whether you like it or not – either you choose to challenge the status quo or you support it.

Jacob Zimmer

6) You’ve written a lot about theatre, do you have any unifying theories that have risen to the top?
Right now, “curiosity” is a key word. As long as curiosity is there I think we have a chance. Also curiously doesn’t demand a specific style, which is good, since everyone making the same work would be very boring. Also a dedication to the “same time, same place” features of live performance – that we share time and space with our audience. This, in these times of mediation, seems remarkable and perhaps a trait we should focus on and articulate.

L-R: Dusan Dukic, Martin Julien and Dragana Varagic. Photo by Cylla Tiedemann.
Martin Julien

7) Do you have any unifying theories about performance?
No. The time of the great “isms” has passed. The great 20th century art movements. The only thing that unifies performance activities is political repression, and we don’t have enough of that in our soft society. Not overtly, anyway. It’s still about the actor and the audience in real time, I guess. New media and digital experimentation – well, we’ll see. Maybe we’re in the middle of a revolution. It’s hard to know when you’re in the middle of it.

Scott Walters

8) Do you have any unifying theories about the role of formal education in shaping theatre artists?
The key word in that question, in my opinion, is “artists.” Most theatre educators, unfortunately, aren’t trying to create artists, they’re trying to create replacement parts for the current creaking theatre machine, which, as my answer to question #1 implies, is about as responsible as teaching kids how to do punchcard data entry as a means of getting a high-paying job.

Have you ever noticed that all the ads for theatre programs in American Theatre magazine brag about “training”? Training? Dogs are trained, not artists. But that should give you a clue that most theatre education is about obedience, not artistry. What’s my unifying theory? See the answer to question #3.

Simon Rice

9) Do you have any unifying theories that inform your approach to directing theatre?
Always go into rehearsal with lots of ideas and be prepared to throw them all in the trash within five minutes. Try not to work too directly towards the outcome that you desire, in fact don’t be afraid to work far off in a different direction, before slowly making your way back towards your original idea. Always be highly suspicious of something that comes very quickly and easily in rehearsal. If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.

Christopher Stanton

10) Do you have any unifying theories when it comes to directing?
It’s good not to blow all your screaming at the beginning of rehearsals. That way you still have some fury left in the bank come dress/tech day.

In real life, though – just this: Listen. There are so many forms of creation that are strong due to a single artist’s voice or vision. Theatre ain’t one of them. When I direct, I look at my role as being a co-creator, an outside eye, and a facilitator.

10 questions: d’bi young anitafrika

Friday, November 23rd, 2007

1) What the fuck is going on?
life in 3s. I turn 30 in december. I have a 3-year-old son. I have my 3rd book (rivers and other blackness between us) coming out before my birthday. finishing up a trilogy of plays (3 faces of mudgu sankofa – last play is a commission from soulpepper, a dub opera called word! sound! powah!). I am currently resting my soul in akra ghana. everything about my life is changing. I am deeply content.

2) How does your background in dub poetry inform your approach to writing for theatre?
dub is rooted in oral storytelling tradishuns that enslaved afrikan peoples brought to the americas. the main elements of dub are 1. language 2. political content (simply meaning ‘of the people’) 3. musicality 4. orality. when I write for theatre, these are the elements that make up my foundation, therefore my work is rooted in issues that concern the many communities that I belong to as a womban, as an afrikan, a mother, as an artist, as a queer-identified person, as a working person, an able-bodied person, etc. engaging the audience is essential in communicating the story with them so it permeates the head and eventually rests in the heart. music and rhythm and humour and honesty are good for that. the elements that I use to engage the audience as a dub poet are the same elements I use to engage the audience as a playwright. 


3) How have you developed as an artist since joining the Soulpepper Theatre Academy as artist-in-residence?
the biggest lesson I learnt was how to sit still and listen. how to be disciplined and listen. how to be in a group and listen. listening, I have realized is one of our most integritous revolushunary tools and if your aim in life is to be a part of inevitable social change then listening is one of the biggest assets you can have. during my time in the academy I learnt both to listen to the community we created there and to listen to myself.

4) How well are Black Canadians being served by and represented in contemporary Canadian theatre?
what is contemporary theatre? If you mean the mainly publicly funded, mainly media supported, medium-to-large theatre houses, clearly there are not many black people (meaning womben and men, however womben especially), or first nations people or many other people of colour or differently abled people). the reason for this is clear – longstanding legacies of colonialism and imperialism (racism, sexism, classism, etc) dating back to the very stealing of canada from first nations people.

that being said, my own understanding of contemporary theatre is theatre that is being created now, today, which is happening all over; which does get some media support. If this is what you mean then I definitely feel that black canadians are both being served and represented because we are creating our own theatre and have been since we have been in canada, both as enslaved afrikans brought over on ships and as new immigrants choosing to come here voluntarily.

I am becoming less pre-occupied with being served by the former definition of ‘contemporary canadian theatre’ and more concerned with creating it. I feel that that is one of the solutions I can offer. therefore I feel that indeed in creating the stories that I am telling, I am serving canadians and am representing myself.

a major part of the reality is that as human beings we seldom relinquish power or share it simply because that is the ‘right’ thing to do. usually something has to be at stake or a gain on the part of the power-holder has to be identified. for me this has always meant removing myself from scenarios that may compromise my ability to have power over myself. Self-determination is essential in identity, self-esteem and community building.

I feel that as people in general we are responsible for telling our own stories and creating the means by which to tell them. there are some serious concerns around funding and access, however like I said these will not disappear over night so what do we do in the mean time? wait? no. we create. we live. we dialogue. we change ourselves and our families and our lovers and our friends. and we do not give up our power over self by waiting for power holders to share power. we simply create another reality in which we can find self-empowerment and positive self-reflection and collective dialoguing about change; tell our own stories. I am also less concerned about having these dialogues in the vacuum of acting/writing for theatre and more concerned with having them across broad socio-political-economic circles because these systems are old and entrenched so changing them needs a complex inter-connected circular approach.

5) How important is it for artists to be actively challenging systems of oppression with their work?
artists are responsible for honouring the sacred in our present-day societies. people and our livelihoods are sacred. I feel that if the work we create is truly for the people then we can’t avoid asking questions about our present state of being (globally, nationally, locally, personally). No-one likes to be hurt, left out, disregarded, disrespected, used, abused, not celebrated, etc. being loved, admired, celebrated, challenged, inspired, having food, a roof, safety, etc. that shit feels good. so if this is true, and we look around at our world, it’s inevitable that some serious questions will be asked. the artist decides what questions, what style to ask the questions in, what characters through, etc. but the questions will be posed and maybe even some answers. this is largely how I choose as an artist to get involved in challenging systems of oppreshun. however it is crucial that I enjoy my life; my own happiness and the work that I do go hand in hand. I do not enjoy working in an environment that does not help me to feel inspired and to feel that life is worth living, so this kind of work needs to stoke the fire of life and for me, it does that.

6) How much of your work is informed by a sense of anger?
anger is very important in my work, especially when it can be transformed into inspiration. anger is an emotion that can tell you when a situation is very wrong and if channeled carefully can lead to some amazing questions. for my own process, anger has always been a gem. in my most angered moments I have learnt so much about myself, so much about the ways in which I am growing and all the room I have left to grow. I have also learnt about my ability to be courageous in the face of ostracization. mostly, when I have looked deeply at my anger I have realized that it masked a deeper hurt and pain. so my anger has also taught me about my humanity. and in turn about other people’s humanity. as artists it is also our business to deeply investigate the ways people’s humanities (womb)manifest. I use anger in my work both to inform characters and to inform subject matter.

7) What is your fondest memory of being on stage?
at 13 I was cast as one of the soldiers in kamau braithwaithe’s adaptation of antigone titled odale’s choice. about 2 weeks into the rehearsal process I was recast as odale (antigone). I remember praying over my brother’s dead body on the mountain-side and trying so hard to do him justice, do the performance justice, and also to project my voice for the thousands of Jamaican secondary-school-aged children in the audience. I ended up screaming and loosing my voice. that was the happiest moment of my childhood life. It’s when I knew I was to be a storyteller.

8) What does the word “womban” mean to you?
we are all from the womb of someone. me too, I am from the womb of my mother and I never want to forget that. as opposed to the creation myth of being from the rib of someone.

9) If you could change just one thing about theatre in Canada, what would it be?
the proscenium box stage approach with the ever-present fourth wall. we’d all do it in the round or do it in the triangular with the tip to the audience, like the passe muraille stage we used for blood.claat. that was a brilliant and poetic concept. and we’d have to acknowledge the audience at some point during the story. maybe this approach could be a constant reminder that theatre is storytelling for and about the people. us.

10) What can North American theatre makers learn from the way artists are working in Ghana?
one of the adinkra symbols from ghana is called sankofa, which translates to ‘return and get it’ or ‘learn from the past’. for us as canadian theatre makers, to move into the future we must learn from the past. there are some dialogues we need to have about canada’s past that we are unwilling to have. but if we don’t have them how can we hope to do different, do better for our children’s future and the seven generashuns to come?

10 questions: Chris Abraham

Monday, November 19th, 2007

1) What the fuck is going on?
I have no idea, I’m too busy rehearsing.

2) Why is Crow’s Theatre’s upcoming play called Eternal Hydra?
It is the title of a lost manuscript by a lesser known modernist named Gordias Carbunkle.

3) Does the play arrive at any conclusions about the nature of recorded human history?
It does reflect on the ways in which power, class and race influence the way stories are created and then make their way in the world.

4) What does post-modernism mean to you?
Revealing the sometimes-hidden content in form and vice-versa.

5) Since joining Crow’s Theatre as Artistic Director in June 2007, what have been some your biggest challenges with the company?
There are no challenges. It’s incredibly easy.

6) Are there any overarching themes or ideas that are common to the work being presented in Crow’s Theatre’s current season?
They’re all stories about identity, conscience and the struggle to be a grown up in the world.

7) What’s the secret behind the success of your ongoing collaboration with Anton Piatigorsky?
Our shared interests, our friendship and our ability to challenge each other.

8) How much of your work is informed by a sense of anger?
None.

9) How do you feel about celebrity culture and its relationship to the craft of acting?
I don’t really spend any time thinking about that specific relationship.

10) Do you have any unifying theories that inform your approach to directing theatre?
I like things to feel really real.

10 questions: Allan Teichman

Friday, November 9th, 2007

1) What the fuck is going on?
Life.

2) How did you make the transition from being a Stage Manager at the Shaw Festival to being the President of the Canadian Actors’ Equity Association (CAEA)?
I haven’t. I’m still a Stage Manager at the Shaw Festival. Being President is not a paid position in the same way that staff positions are paid.

It’s actually not much of stretch, when you think of it. The President is the Stage Manager of Council, not “in charge” of Equity. That is Council’s job, as a body. I make certain that Council has what it needs in order to do its governance work effectively, efficiently and creatively. Sound familiar?

3) Do you feel that the CAEA is currently living up to the spirit of its mandate?
For Council, that is the most important question of all.

Our mandate comes from the owners of Equity: its members. The mandate is not a static thing. Theatre changes, the world changes, and members’ needs change. The only way for us to keep on top of a living mandate is to regularly consult with the members.

To that end, we have just concluded a major survey of our membership. This will tell us what our mandate is going forward, how we are living up to it so far, and what we need to do to improve.

Although complete results are not in yet, what we have seen so far suggests that we are living up to our mandate in the areas that the members commonly regard as the most important. Beyond that, they would like us to improve in providing some of the “soft” benefits of membership, such as advocacy, advice, and various resources. Please be aware that I have just condensed 1,500 pages of results into two sentences. It is a much, much more detailed picture than that.

4) What do you see as the single-largest benefit of being a member of the CAEA?
This, too, was part of the survey. Preliminary results suggest that the highest-ranked benefits are:

Excellent working conditions; enforceable contracts; protection from abuse; regular, secured payment; fees no less than scale.

Personally, I don’t think there is any point in choosing just one. Many of them are tightly interwoven. We did an exercise in advance of the survey, where we asked four focus groups of randomly chosen members to start discarding benefits, beginning with those least important to them. It wasn’t too difficult at first, but it invariably got to a point where there were 6-8 benefits left – beyond that, it was very challenging for the focus groups to choose which were expendable.

5) What are some of the common contract-related mistakes being made by CAEA members?
I don’t deal with member contracts on that level, so I’ve turned to staff for some assistance on this.

The most common contract-related mistake is that quite often members have not familiarized themselves with the agreement or policy in which they are being engaged, prior to signing the contract. As a result, they are sometimes taken aback by the termination provisions under the agreement, or by other contractual obligations to the engager.

6) Do you have any unifying theories about labour unions and their relationship to the arts?
Your timing is impeccable. I just got back from a conference of the Fédération Internationale des Acteurs. Meeting with artist union representatives from a dozen countries, I realized how different artists’ needs are. There are actors across Europe struggling to retain employee status as we fight to retain independent contractor status, and there are theatre artists in other parts of the world who only dream of the kind of problems we in Canada worry about.

So, my unified theory is that the union is there to support the artists – to find out what their group needs are, and to assist them in achieving them.

7) What can independent theatre companies do to better inform themselves about CAEA-related matters?
Call one of our business reps. They are the expert source.

8) Any tips for how cash-poor theatre companies can make sure they are compensating their creative talent fairly?
I’m not the right person to be giving advice to cash-poor anything, and I have never run a theatre company.

9) If you could change one thing about the performing arts in Canada, what would it be?
30 million people would have the idea, at least once per year, to go see a show. Perhaps not all on the same day, though.

10) What do you know about stage management now that you wish you knew when you were younger?
Not what to do, but what to not do.

The Master doesn’t talk, he acts, and when his work is done, the people say, “Amazing: we did it all by ourselves!”
– Tao Te Ching, C. 17

10 questions: David Oiye

Friday, November 2nd, 2007

1) What the fuck is going on?
So much is going on that it’s hard to know where to begin. ArtHouse Cabaret just closed and in three days we’ve turned around the space to put up Hysteria, Canada’s largest multi-disciplinary festival of women’s work. Our Queer Youth Program is going gangbusters. And we’re reading Rhubarb submissions. And I just got back from two weeks in Japan. (Oh, and my whole house needs a general clean . . .)

2) How have you developed as an Artistic Director since first joining Buddies in Bad Times Theatre in 1999?
I came to Buddies as pretty much a neophyte, having run only one company before, and that (Cahoots Theatre Projects) was a much smaller organization and only for two years. So the learning curve has been tremendous since I got here. The company itself has grown and shifted, most notably from our focus on script and play development towards supporting the creation and presentation of more form-based theatre. My development continues as I work to catch up my training with the current trends in theatre, away from scene- and character-driven drama, and more towards a looser depiction of what theatre and theatre creation might be.

3) Are there any overarching themes or ideas that are common to the work being presented in Buddies’ current season?
I think there are themes of interactivity and interfacing that pervade works like Gay4Pay, Art Fag and The Beauty Salon, and notions of playfulness that permeate all of the work that Buddies is producing within the season. We jokingly called it our “playful, play-less” season. We’re forcing the audience to re-evaluate how they perceive theatre, and we want to make it an enjoyable experience.

4) Do you ever feel restricted by Buddies’ mandate of promoting queer Canadian culture?
We have turned what some might perceive as a restricting label into something much more liberating by approaching the term queer as two-pronged. As such, we’re pursuing work which is queer in an LGBT sense, but also queer as in work of challenge, which counters mainstream habits and conceptions.

5) How well are queer Canadians being served by and represented in contemporary Canadian theatre?
I think LGBT Canadians have a fair amount of representation in contemporary Canadian theatre. Most mainstream theatre companies will include at least one show within their season that features an LGBT character or theme. Many LGBT playwrights are being produced by major companies. That being said, I think a lot of LGBT work gets “whitewashed” as it goes through a process of dramaturgy, direction and presentation in the hands of non-LGBT artists. Queer work, on the other hand – alternative work that challenges the norm – is often still marginalized by the larger companies, often out of a fear of disturbing their crucial subscriber base.

6) What qualities do you look for when committing to the development of an emerging artist?
For me personally, I look for someone who has something different to say and can articulate what it is they are striving towards. I look for someone who is at a point where interactions with other artists or with dramaturgy or direction are welcome and not struggled with. And finally I look for originality in ideas, in voice, and in presentation.

7) At the independent theatre level, what should members of a theatre company expect from an Artistic Director?
If you are referring to members of a theatre company and their own AD it is difficult for me to answer since Buddies is not an ensemble company. We bring creative members on in a show-by-show basis. If you are referring to the broader sense of what should independent theatre artists expect from the AD of a company like Buddies, I think they should expect to be seen, and listened to. Their ideas heard, if not acted upon. And I think they should expect an element of leadership in that theatre’s involvement in the community. But they should also expect that each company has a focus that is more specific than the breadth of their mandate, and although their idea may fit the mandate, they should expect that it does not always fit the company. (I’m not sure I got that one right . . .)

8) What can theatre makers learn from cabaret that they might not get from other forms of theatre?
I think one of the great things about cabaret is the versatility that can be presented within a single program. How often do we go to the theatre for an exciting evening, only to be disappointed by the same “flavour” all the way through? I also think one of the great advantages of cabaret is the ability to more easily extract what doesn’t fit or doesn’t work. Wouldn’t it be great to be able to simply lift out that scene or that character that just doesn’t work in a drama?

9) If you could change one thing about theatre in Toronto, what would it be?
I think I would want to shake up the audiences. And the theatres for that matter. To both be more challenging of each other.

10) What is ArtSexy?
ArtSexy is an attitude. It’s a state of mind. It’s a sexy new website for Buddies in Bad Times Theatre.

10 questions: Charles Nolte

Friday, October 26th, 2007

1) What the fuck is going on?
What the fuck is going on? Everything and nothing. The Royal Shakespeare from Stratford is in town giving us The Seagull and King Lear in repertory at the Guthrie.

What the fuck does Trevor Nunn think he’s doing, casting Nina with a novice who plays Nina as a spastic high school twit in Acts One, Two and Three, and then compounds the problem by presenting her in Act Four as even more spastic and twittish? Is this condescending snobbishness on his part? Does he think we don’t know what the fuck this play is all about? Or what?

He compounds the problem by casting the wrong actor as Trigorin, giving him the wrong costumes and facial hair, and requiring him to be even more the juvenile hippy than Constantine. You can’t have two rabid teenagers in The Seagull competing for Nina’s affections, let alone Mother’s. What a travesty. Thank God one of our local critics took the Great Unassailable Nunn to task. Don’t encourage me. I could go on for hours . . .

I see Lear tonight. Sir Ian gave his usual performance as Sorin, more or less demanding our laughter with his full range of ticks and fruity asides. Has he been dieting on his reviews? Vide The New Yorker piece by John Lahr. His onetime lover gave up on Sir Ian, complaining it wasn’t much fun living with an animated theatre poster.

What the fuck else is going on? George Grizzard is dead. I told him a year ago he should give up smoking. Broadway now more than ever has abandoned itself to high schoolers, mostly female and quasi-female.

“George Grizzard is dead. I told him a year ago he should give up smoking.”

I first went to New York at Christmas time in 1942/3 as a kid of 20. In six days I saw Howard Lindsey and Dorothy Stickney in Life With Father, the Lunts in The Pirate, Katherine Cornell, Judith Anderson and Ruth Gordon in The Three Sisters, Tallulah Bankhead, Fredrick March, and a kid named Montgomery Clift in a brand new play Skin of Our Teeth, William Prince in Eve of St. Mark, Ezio Pinza in Boris Godanov at the old Metropolitan Opera . . . Then I went to war. And you ask me what the fuck is going on today?

Charles Nolte (as Billy Budd) April 18, 1951.

2) What’s your fondest memory of your 1947 Broadway debut in Tip Top Valley?
Tin Top Valley did not appear on Broadway. It was presented at The American Negro Theatre in a hall on 126th Street, Harlem. I didn’t have an Equity card, and the reason I got the part was because I was just down from Yale where I’d been in the play at the Yale Drama School with a young graduate student named Julie Harris. The play ran for several months. Fredrick O’Neill played a major role. He later became head of Actors’ Equity, or was it The Players’ Club? My memory is hell. I used to traipse uptown several times a week to appear in that play, and I got a nice review from Brooks Atkinson in The New York Times. Of course I was sure I was destined to be the greatest star in the history of the earth. But perhaps my fondest, most endearing memory of that run was the night Butterfly McQueen came to a performance. Everyone remembers her performance in Gone With The Wind. (“I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout birthin’ babies . . .”). She was fun, giggled a lot, despite the dire nature of the play.

Playbill from Paris’ Medea Theatre in with Judith Anderson,
Christopher Plummer and Charles Nolte.

3) How different is Broadway today than it was in the 1950s?
How different is Broadway today? Oh good lord. Is there any comparison (see above)? I remember New Year’s Eve, Broadway, 1942/3, standing in the alley near the stage door, waiting for the stars to come out so I could get their autographs. Of course I was stage struck, and this was The Three Sisters, and there were stars: Katherine Cornell, Judith Anderson, Gertrude Musgrove, Ruth Gordon. Little did I dream THEN that one day I’d make my Equity debut supporting Cornell in Antony and Cleopatra, or that I’d play the Slave in Medea in Paris at the Sarah Bernhardt in support of Judith Anderson! That was what the theatre meant to me, icky school kid that I was.

The Broadway stage today is more or less a playpen for juveniles. Economics have wrecked what used to be a serious enterprise.

“The Broadway stage today is more or less a playpen for juveniles.”

This is too huge a topic for your quiz, at least for me, in this setting. Suffice to say I left the New York stage in the mid-50s, having seen the handwriting on the wall, having by then experienced theatre in major European capitals, etc., etc. I’m glad I decamped for the groves of academe when I did, as I was spared living in New York and trying to make that living in an institution already on life support. I was not on-site to watch and be part of the demise of “theatre as we knew it.”

4) Through your career first as a theatre student (1942-) turned Broadway performer (1948-), turned drama professor (1966-), what are some of the major changes you’ve noticed in the way the U.S. is educating its theatre artists?
Major changes in how we educate theatre artists? In 1941 when l first went to the University of Minnesota I took courses in theatre and appeared in a dozen or so productions before I went to war. Back then the only ‘theatre’ was in New York, and if you wanted to be a professional actor that’s where you headed. The professional theatre in America was located between 40th street (the National) and 52nd street (The Alvin).

That was the American Theatre, and in the middle was Shubert Alley where J.J. still kept his office, his two brothers being dead. At the time J.J. and the Shubert Cartel owned almost all the Broadway houses and a great many in London as well. Of course there was no such thing as off-or-off Broadway. And most crucially of all, no such thing as Television! That was all in the future.

So insofar as educating kids to be ‘in theatre’ as performers, your sights were set on that tiny sliver of Manhattan Island. And you played in shows that were old Bway hits, or now and then Chekhov and Shakespeare. Not much imagination, because the New York stage didn’t go in for imagination. Whoever saw a play by Brecht, Pirandello, Maeterlinck, etc., back then on Broadway? Even GBShaw was dicey. And in any case there were precious few departments of Theatre Arts in colleges or universities back then. Yale didn’t have a department of theatre arts for undergrads. Much too suspect, too perverse. They did have a Graduate Department, something Harvard didn’t have, and doesn’t have even today if I’m not wrong. It wasn’t just a matter of aesthetics, but more like a matter of sanitation. I could go on for hours, but you must be tired of all this rant . . . .

Henry Fonda (L) and Charles Nolte (R) in The Caine Mutiny Court Martial (1954).

5) From your experiences working on stage with Jack Palance, Charleton Heston and Henry Fonda, who was to you the most interesting actor and why?
I love this question. My experience with Jack Palance is nil, except for my days with him on the set for Ten Seconds to Hell, a film made in Berlin in the 50s in which I played an insignificant role. I tried to get Jack and Jeff Chandler who was also in the cast to join me in going over to East Berlin to see the Berliner Ensemble in their old theatre on the Schiffbauerdamm. Living in Berlin much of that year, I had been a constant theatregoer. Brecht had died recently and his widow Helene Weigel ran the company with an iron fist. And acted in his plays as he had directed them: No nonsense. Those productions were revelations, as the world came to realize when the company began to tour. They swept through London like a cyclone. She was the ultimate mother in Mutter Courage, and the primal force in many other Brecht plays. But do you think I could get Palance out of the hotel bar for an evening of theatre? Not bloody likely. Stupid fraud. Martine Carol was also in that film, and even she, French as she was, couldn’t quite bring herself to see a play while in Berlin, even though I considered Berlin the Mecca for Modern Theatre.

Charles Nolte, Charlton Heston and Martha Scott in Design for a Stained Glass Window.

What can I say about Heston? Oh dear. We were roommates in two plays en route to Broadway: Antony and Cleopatra, with Katherine Cornell, and Design for a Stained Glass Window, with Martha Scott. I liked Heston, even as a roommate. He had a very large cock. (This was pre-NRA). Miss Cornell called us “the two Chucks.” I think I really liked Heston’s wife Lydia Clark better, and once helped her get an acting job, which she never forgot. I have many stories about Heston over the years. They surface in my journals, which make interesting reading, or so I think. I’ve kept those journals over 50 years now. During the rehearsals and entire run of Caine Mutiny Courtmartial, a period covering three years, I kept the journal daily. It says a whole lot about how a gay man survives in the theatre and in life in the 40s, 50s and 60s, before Stonewall, etc.

Should I publish those sections which are not irreversibly candid, and/or libelous?

The Caine journal material, of course, includes extensive entries dealing with Henry Fonda. I was in the cast of Mr. Roberts for about a year, much of that time while Fonda was still playing Mr. Roberts (before John Forsythe took over the role). And of course I was in Caine with Fonda from the beginning.

I consider Fonda the most interesting actor with whom I worked for many reasons, but maybe I shouldn’t burden you with more of this right now. I did study his acting technique because I was witness to it at first hand, and close up. it struck me as highly professional when it wasn’t frighteningly demonic. This is a love/hate relationship.

The Caine Mutiny Court Martial (1954).
L-R: Bob Gist, James Garner, Charles Nolte, Henry Fonda, John Hodiak.

6) Do you have any unifying theories that inform your approach to making theatre?
What are my unifying theories that inform my approach to making theatre? Having acted, directed and written for the theatre, I am now more or less in the position of jaded adult audience member, and one obvious and unifying theory presents itself, now more than ever: It is incumbent upon the actor, first to be heard, and second to be understood. The director must help, of course.

I mention this because we have just had the R.S.C. here at the Guthrie Theatre giving us their Seagull and King Lear. Seated in the second row facing directly front, and with excellent hearing in my two ears, I heard about sixty percent of Seagull, and considerably less of King Lear. And to compound the difficulty, I had great trouble understanding much of what I did hear in the Shakespeare as well. What gives?

Sir Ian is OK and almost entirely understandable as Sorin in Seagull, but alas he lacks the fundamental gravitas for a successful King Lear, and falls back on crotchety vocal tricks and mannerisms, and odd inflections and text readings. These would prove more effective in the later stages of the play if at the beginning he hadn’t already spent his wad of ‘old man tricks,’ failing to suggest the regal imperatives his office requires. But what are we to say when the supporting cast is distinctly second-, in some cases third-rate? A lot a dicey acting on that stage. Ought the R.S.C. be sending these boys and gals to do men’s work? So, making Mr. Shakespeare’s language even more difficult to comprehend by their vocal habits and ‘make-work’ acting ill served the play.

I could go on but won’t tire your patience; only to admit to severe disappointment, not in the size and plumpness of Sir Ian’s “member,”

“Don’t they
call this
stealing
focus?”

as a Roman critic might have called his cock, which was on display for some moments during one of Sir Ian’s many antique tantrums. Of course the audience was distracted. Don’t they call this “stealing focus”? And from some of the more choice lines in the text? And then of course it must occur to the audience as we ruminate on the size of his equipment that Sir Ian would never have made such an artistic choice if his cock had not been reasonably visible from the last row of the theatre.

There were other troubles with these productions. Nina in The Seagull was asked to act very oddly indeed, giving the impression the poor girl was not only a spastic but had disordered emotional problems as well. Oh dear. If Nina is such an oddball, why on earth are the men in that production panting after her? The casting of Nina was so weird that I heard a lot of people wondering if Trevor (Nunn, the director) wasn’t fucking her on the side. She also played Cordelia (not quite as badly). And how does casting Trigorin as just another hippy serve the play? Can you have two hippies more or less the same age on that stage? Constantine AND Trigorin? What damage does that do to Mme. Arkadina’s infatuation with her writer?

Well, you can see that your question opens a flood gate. Still, the primary consideration is to be heard, AND understood. Only then can you serve the play.

7) How do you feel about the idea that American theatre has – to its detriment – become centralized around New York City?
The American theatre and its centralized location in New York. The question hardly needs posing today. New York has been the center of commercial theatre (and vaudeville, radio, TV, even films at first) ever since the theatre was regarded as a business, which is to say from the very beginning. I don’t know why other cities ceded the distinction to New York, I only know that it has been universal, pernicious, and indefensible.

Actually, the history of our American theatre is the history of a business, the business of theatre. Only recently has this theatre tended toward any kind of rational objectivity, only since the Regional Theatre movement after World War II . . . When I started to think about a ‘career’ in theatre back in the ’40s, there was only one possible destination: New York. Broadway.

There was no theatre in Minneapolis, other than university theatres; Chicago had a couple of touring houses owned by the Shubert Organization which hosted road shows, reproductions of New York successes, produced, directed and cast in New York. New York was the theatre. Tyrone Guthrie in the ’50s had the inspirational idea of creating a not-for-profit theatre midway between New York and Hollywood. The Shuberts were amused.

Don’t call regional theatre a commercial theatre. Theatre in America then meant Broadway; it meant the Shubert houses. 80 to 90 percent of all the theatres in the entire United States were owned and operated by the Shuberts. That cartel was broken by the government, finally, but not until the ’50s, when the government told the Shuberts, “you can own all the theatre real estate, the buildings themselves, but you can’t at the same time dictate what goes into them. Otherwise you’re operating an illegal cartel.” Well, you know all that. And gradually over the past half century the theatre has made steps to disengage itself from commercial considerations and inch back into regarding theatre as a genuine art form, such as we have in the German speaking world, and to some extent in France, and even now in Britain.

Your questions stimulate me into responding with far too long answers.

8) If you could change one thing about theatre in Minnesota, what would it be?
If I could change one thing about theatre in Minneapolis/St, Paul, it would be the establishment of responsible and intelligent criticism. We are chewing on bare gums here. We had a couple of daily papers, one with a fine editorial policy, but neither now with first rate criticism in the arts. Perhaps it is getting marginally better these days. The Star/Tribune eliminated our excellent music critic’s job to avoid health and other benefits, despite the fact we have two world-class orchestras here, an excellent opera company, and numerous other musical groups, etc. etc.

They retained the job of our major theatre critic, who is not well qualified for his position, in my opinion. Most other criticism is freelance, some good, some not. The University of Minnesota at one time filled a critical need by eductating huge classes of students every year in theatre, several thousand per year, encouraging many of them into actually attending the theatre. They form the backbone of our current theatre/music audience. But we need really astute critics.

Charles Nolte (as Billy Budd) April 18, 1951.

9) What do you know about theatre now that you wish you knew when you were younger?
Everything and nothing. Youth will be served, and I would have gone into the theatre one way or another, and probably remained in it despite bruised ego, absence of security, and all the other traumas associated with our gypsy life.

Thank god I had a leg-up in academia, a position which provided the essential props for security, pensions and health benefits, etc. Academia gave me something else in the way of perspective: the fact that I spent my university teaching career mostly lecturing to large groups of students, I was able to indulge latent acting skills on a daily basis. Keep ’em amused. Attempt to generate excitement, stimulate their minds. I found rather quickly that theatre history involves not only the history of the theatre itself, with all that implies, literature, plays, productions, but also sidebars in archeology, anthropology, psychology, psychiatry, sociology, medicine, music, dance . . in fact, everything. Theatre is the one great public endeavor, it embraces everything.

What could be more exhilarating than facing 500 kids every morning and telling them about Oedipus and his mother? Or the troubles Medea had when her husband wanted a divorce?

10) When you look at the varied landscape of contemporary American theatre, what are you most optimistic about?
I can be optimistic about the theatre, the fact that it is accepted in schools, actually taught, not fought against, as it used to be. When we at the University of Minnesota finally badgered our state legislature into funding our new building, after 35 years of begging, after surviving for half a century in an old barn, we still found it necessary to remove the word “theatre” from our proposal at the legislature and substitute the phrase “Performing Arts.”

That word “Theatre” was still considered too incendiary by the dons of government. It goes without saying that you could get more money for the eradication of croup in chickens than you could for anything called a “theatre. “ Times have changed, Deo Gratia.

I am optimistic about the number and, now and then, the quality of theatre, especially here in the Twin Cities, where we have quite a vibrant theatre scene. Other cities and states are not so lucky. The Detroit area, where I am about to go to direct in the only L.O.R.T. theatre in the state, is abysmal. And New York, our vaunted seed-bed, is now a play-pen for kids of all ages.

Economics is still the major crippling factor. Broadway, Manhattan, that’s pricey real estate. We need all these regional theatres to get in the habit of nurturing their own new young playwrights, not depending on what leaks out of New York. All in all, I can be optimistic about the theatre and theatre people, but find myself less so about politics and life in general.

What do you think? Has the human race another 20 years?

10 questions: Adam Seelig

Friday, October 19th, 2007

1) What the fuck is going on?
Exactly.

2) What is
poetic theatre?
Theatre that attempts to find clarity through ambiguity. Not verse theatre. Nor prose theatre or journalistic theatre. It is theatre that treats the text as a score, and treats the gap between actor and audience not as an obstacle to bypass, but as a medium through which multiple meanings can emerge. There’s a difference between shining a light directly into the audience’s eyes, and having it pass through a prism.

3) Whats the story behind the title of One Goat Theatres latest play: Antigone: Insurgency (Sophocles Revisited)?
Sophocles’ play is the tragedy of national security. Post-9/11, it has an enormous amount to say, and by recontextualizing it for Toronto, today (as I did when rewriting the play), it couldn’t be more current.

Post-WWII, under the influence of Bertolt Brecht and Jean Anouilh’s monumental versions of the tragedy, and in the wake of Hitler, Mussolini et al, Antigone was lionized as the quintessential anti-fascist, a freedom fighter. Post-9/11, however, “freedom fighting” has become virtually synonymous with terrorism. So like it or not, Antigone and insurgency go hand in hand, regardless of how commendable or condemnable that insurgency may be.

4) What can we learn from the Ancient Greeks about contemporary geopolitical security issues?

That today’s problems of national security in “free societies” are the same problems that have plagued democracy since democracy was invented. Strict counter-terrorism laws can victimize some (like Maher Arar) while radicalizing others (especially the young: think of Toronto’s own alleged terrorists, or the car-burning rioters of Paris) . . .

5) How did you choose the cast for this play?
Very very carefully! They’re superb: Richard Harte, Earl Pastko and Cara Ricketts.

6) Through your intensive study of them, have you arrived at any unifying theories about Samuel Beckett’s manuscripts?
Beckett is remarkably consistent: he writes himself out of his texts. From following that process repeatedly in his manuscripts, I discovered – as a writer – that to write is to go, impossibly, beyond yourself. The best you can do is “fail better” with each composition.

(Looks like some Beckett-heads posted my essay on the manuscripts online: here.)

7) In terms of the day-to-day realities of working as a theatre artist, how would you compare Toronto to New York?
Exceptional talent in both, no doubt. New York, by virtue of its population, tends to have more ‘specialists’; Toronto, more ‘generalists’. But to come to your next question . . .

8) If you could change just one thing about theatre in Toronto, what would it be?
More world stage events! The one considerable advantage that New Yorkers have over Torontonians is abundant exposure to international performance of the highest calibre through venues like the Brooklyn Academy of Music.

9) What is it about Yehuda Amichai
s poetry that compels you to keep returning to it for theatrical inspiration?
It’s not Amichai’s poetry that I’ve staged, incidentally, but his barely known dramatic works, some of which rival his very best poetry. I’ve always avoided stage adaptations of poetry intended for the page. As for Amichai, I grew up with his poems, so his dramatic works struck me as a great first project for One Little Goat when I started the company, in New York, in 2002.

10) Which came first, your interest in poetry or your interest in theatre?
Music.

10 questions: Greatest hits – Volume IV

Friday, October 5th, 2007
Jennifer Norton
1) What the fuck is going on?
Well, as we choke on the ubiquity of war, pollution, crumbling social structures and global malaise I am preparing a solo show. How dandy!

Here is the more polite, less misanthropic answer. I am finishing a master of fine arts program at The University of Guelph, then will immediately embark upon a seven-month road trip that ends in the Yukon where my partner and I have an artist residency.

2) Why verbatim theatre?
The thing I love most about verbatim theatre is that it forces you to get out there and start talking to people. It also demands an outcome that is directly reflective and responsive to what the community is interested in, since it is their words that ultimately make up the play. If no one is interested in talking about it, there can’t be a play about it (and thank God for that!).

I also think it’s so fascinating to recognize and celebrate how people actually talk with the stutters, slang, incomplete sentences, how often everyone says ‘like’. And I think audiences often like knowing that what they are watching is ‘based on a true story’, especially when the material is particularly outrageous. Truth really is stranger and funnier than fiction.

David Tompa (L) and Glen McDonald (R).

3) Do you have any unifying theories that have come out of your study of the Meisner Technique?
I’ve read a slew of books of actor’s talking about the craft and the only word or concept that appears without fail is “truth”. There are so many approaches to try to achieve truth; Meisner’s just one of them. Unifying theories or comprehensive “systems” are dangerous. No technique can achieve truth if it’s followed to the letter. They’ll give you a jump start or point you in a direction that is potentially good, but it’s such a complex, yet basic thing to achieve truth, that if you try to force a system on it, it’ll disappear.

Itia Erdal

4) Do you have any unifying theories that inform your approach to lighting design, generally?
I can think of some: Don’t be afraid to try new things, always take risks. Don’t try to to cut corners. Always do what’s good for the show, remember that your design is just one element in the big picture. Try to remain practical, don’t fall in love with your own work. Trust your instincts. Be very, very organized and do your homework.

I always try to light theatre like I light dance, I use very little front light, and as much side and back light as possible. Low side light (shin busters) and diagonal backs are my favorite lighting positions. I like bold choices with colour and patterns, while maintaining a certain subtlety. I try to do precise lighting so I use a lot of specials and usually have a lot of cues. Having said all that simplicity is a real key and very often less is more.

Simon Rice

5) How has your interest in American politics influenced your ideas about theatre?
American politics have all the great elements of drama – farce, tragedy, absurdity, heroes, villains, clowns – the stakes are always high and although much focus has been put on the circus-like atmosphere of modern American politics, we all want to know what the next Act will bring. The Bush administration has felt like the usurping power in one of Shakespeare’s histories. With Donald “Rummy” Rumsfeld emerging as chief rhetorician, uttering such poetic lines as, “The absence of evidence, is not evidence of absence,” when no WMDs were found in Iraq. That’s a beautiful line!

I guess what I’m saying is that my passion for American politics deepens my understanding of theatre, and vice-versa.

Matthew Romantini

6) How important is it for theatre artists to be out there seeing lots of shows?
Oh lordy loo. You can’t not do it. Whether you spent three years in a theatre program or not, going to shows acts as a major training ground for a young artist. And as you become more established, I think it prevents you from getting too complacent about your own work. Seeing shows is the only thing that can hone your aesthetic; the only stage on which it’s possible to really test and challenge folks like Judith Butler and Richard Schechner.

I find that sitting in the audience has clarified my artistic goals more than acting on the stage itself. I am, though, an engaged audience member. I attend to a performance so actively that it can cause involuntary spasms and vocalizations. Going to shows MUST be about engaging with the piece on all levels. I also think it’s important to go outside your own discipline. It’s too easy to become enamored of a particular methodology when the creative process in theatre, dance, visual arts, music, media arts and design could be enriched by a little cross-pollination.

Kate Cayley
7) What does feminism mean to you?
An ever-changing concept. Especially since I think, for women of my generation in this country (including myself), freedom is so taken for granted that feminism is often a word to be avoided, having associations of something doctrinaire, and maybe slightly prissy.

Feminism is an extremely loaded word – so much of it has been seriously flawed through concerning itself mainly with the rights of upper-income women to uncritically wield the same power as upper-income men, in the same limited sphere. I can’t get worked up about female stockbrokers making slightly less than male stockbrokers, since the fundamental assumption that certain kinds of work can carry a grossly inflated salary isn’t really questioned. However, it’s a good word to keep (and love).

In theatre, or art in general, I used to think it meant telling stories about women. I still think that, but now I also think it means women telling stories –about women, about men, about anything – with the same creative scope and freedom as men have always had. And perhaps telling lots of stories about men, and not censoring ourselves into feeling that we must tell stories only about women in order to be good feminists – god knows male novelists and playwrights have told stories from the female perspective without being accused of neutering themselves. Gender’s a fun thing. Play with it.

STAF staff (L-R): Erica Reuter, Jackie McApline, Frances Shakov, Felicia Bana.

8) What can theatre makers do to further stretch their marketing and PR spend?
Building audiences is all about building relationships, so keeping a good database is important. Don’t only “talk” to them if you want them to buy a ticket. Keep them informed as to what you are doing year round. So, doing great e-blasts is very much OK as long as it doesn’t become intrusive.

NOW and eye weekly love to do media sponsorships and will up the buy, which allows for the advertising dollar to be stretched.

Don’t pester the press. A good clear press release goes a long way to being well received. Words like “unique” and “exceptional” and “creative” don’t cut it anymore – people like Jon Kaplan have been doing this stuff for years and know when a press release is full of shit.

Simon Ogden
9) How much of your work is informed by a sense of anger?
What kind of stupid fucking question is that? You’re lucky you live on the other side of the country Mackenzie, or I’d punch you right in the face.

Actually, my first hit was: anger? Me? Whaddya mean, I’m not angry . . . am I? And of course, a look back at my body of work to date reveals that there’s levels of anger in the genesis of all of it, which, upon further consideration, is as close an approximation to my personal definition of the true nature of art as I have ever considered. The play I’m working on right now, set in a bar, is entirely about the consequences of anger, as a matter of fact. Revelatory, thank you.

10) How has your creative process changed since you graduated from theatre school in 1986?
It’s easier and harder. That is to say, there are fewer questions but more answers. That is to say, as one ages one’s concerns narrow but the possibilities become endless. That is to say, I know what I want but I’m not sure what everybody else wants.

10 questions: Philip Graeme

Friday, September 28th, 2007
Photo by Tony Hoffmann.

1) What the fuck is going on?
Words, words, words . . . and more words. The next evolution of a rehearsal process that has been exhausting, exhilarating, fraught with discovery and failure. And now, as the ensemble bristles with the energy of the run, I can’t help thinking how wonderfully dangerous and visceral it is to perform when you’re surrounded by a group of actors, designers and directors who attack the work without fear and challenge you to rise with them.

2) What do you like about Shakespeare’s 400-year-old play Hamlet?
I think that the relationships are highly contemporary: a young man is distressed by the recent and sudden death of his father and then his mother marries his uncle; he has a girlfriend whose father and brother interfere with his relationship; he’s had to leave school to come back for his father’s funeral and now he’s stuck, out of his comfortable element, trying to reconcile how quickly people move on. I look at how fast everything moves around us and I connect strongly with where Hamlet begins – he wants time to grieve.

The play is an extraordinary unraveling of human experience, heightened to great effect by the supernatural elements, and Hamlet himself is a great deal of fun to play. He’s dense, complex, dangerous, funny, naïve – he’s everything all at once, which is, of course, unplayable and yet it opens infinite possibilities of playing to an actor willing to let the character in.

3) Why is the production called The Prince Hamlet, instead of its more traditional title, Hamlet?
The actual title of Shakespeare’s play is The Historical Tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmark, so in some ways calling the play The Prince Hamlet is no less arbitrary than reducing the title simply to Hamlet, but I like our title because it reminds us that this is a play about a person.

For me, the title Hamlet conjures over-studied ideas of the play as a literary entity rather than a performance text. A notion that is reinforced by dull English teachers and the egotism of so-called theatre practitioners who think that Shakespeare is sacrosanct and believe they provide the world a service by simply putting on the play and claiming universal relevancy.

Luckily, underneath all the crap is a good story.

4) What insights does the story offer about the nature of corruption and revenge?
I think of what Hamlet says to Gertrude in the closet scene when he tells her not to comfort herself by focusing on his behavior:

“Lay not a flattering unction to your soul, that not your trespass but my madness speaks. It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, whilst rank corruption, mining all within, infects unseen.”

Deception is constantly related to questions of honesty and authenticity throughout the story and I think in this moment Hamlet sums up the psychological cost of deceiving oneself.

He is obsessed with honesty and I think his revenge is slowed at first by his distrust of his father’s spirit (there is a much longer point here about what exactly Hamlet’s relationship was to his father – I choose to believe that his father was distant and indifferent and there is a clear hero-worship toward his father that, for me, belies a need to earn his father’s acceptance). Hamlet cannot, however, bring himself to act against Claudius until he has more proof and that leads to the play within the play. Revenge, at least for Hamlet, must be highly motivated and based on a certain conviction or “the pale cast of thought” weakens the resolution to act decisively.

Liz Pounsett and Philip Graeme in The Prince Hamlet. Photo by Tony Hoffmann.

5) Having played the character of Hamlet twice now, have you arrived at any conclusions about the character or the text that may not be obvious to the casual observer?
I haven’t actually performed the role twice, but I was in rehearsal for a production that was cancelled because of SARS. I feel incredibly fortunate to now have the opportunity to play Hamlet. The first time I rehearsed it I was very much stuck in my head with ideas about the play and who I thought Hamlet was and ultimately I’m glad to have been able to get a lot of my own bullshit out of my system in that process because it has made this rehearsal process much more free, challenging and exciting for me. This play comes with an unbelievable amount of baggage, but you can’t play ideas – the only things that matter are the story and the truth of the moment.

6) How do you feel about your time at the American Repertory Theatre/Moscow Art Theatre Institute at Harvard University?
Scarred. Rapturous. I learned the difference between art and banality and the emotional cost in pursuing this work. But I am but mad north-northwest . . .
7) What one thing would you change about theatre in Toronto if you could?
I defer to Marquez: “But when the moment arrived he realized that anything might say would compromise his destiny.”

8) How important is it for theatre artists to be out there seeing lots of shows?
Theatre is discourse. If we don’t see other people’s work or remind ourselves of what it is to be part of an audience then we are operating in a self-serving vacuum and, unless you like the sound of your own voice, I see no point in acting in a vacuum.

9) Why are the cynics wrong?


10) Do you have any unifying theories that inform your approach to making theatre?
I constantly remind myself that I have to choose to allow myself to be bold, be brash, be brave, be physical, to remember that every utterance is a character’s act of survival, and that the stakes are always life or death. In the program notes for Peter Brook’s 1968 production of The Tempest at the Round House there were a series of fundamental questions the production set out to examine. The questions are: What is a theatre? What is a play? What is an actor? What is a spectator? What is the relationship between them all? What conditions serve this relationship best? Ultimately, I believe these are the only questions worth exploring.

10 questions: Tara Beagan

Friday, September 21st, 2007
Photo by Cameron Falkenhagen.

1) What the fuck is going on?
Oh, it’s just that sometimes we fail to see our interconnectedness and that causes us to treat one another badly. Don’t worry – we’ll get better at it.

2) Does Crate Productions’ new site-specific play, The Fort at York, arrive at any conclusions about the importance of the 1813 Battle of York?
The prospect of creating the show excited me in the first place because I think there is a woeful lack of awareness as to our shared history in Toronto. Every person who lives here today has that one thing in common – the place we live – and yet we seldom take time to honour the people who kept the land before us. Learning some historical stuff, and putting that in human terms, increases our sense of community. The importance of the Battle of York is in the learning of it and the recognition that even if your ancestors were not directly involved, it is a part of your history if you live here now. We are accountable to the place we live and to each other – The Fort at York explores how and why that is a powerful thing. It makes our history relevant to our lives today, which makes us all a little more familiar to one another.

3) Seeing that mainstream historians often neglect First Nations histories in their cataloguing of North American “firsts”, how important was it for you to explore those elements of this story?
First thing outta my mouth when I met Chris Reynolds (producer and co-director) was that any play built around the events that shaped this city must deal with the absent ones – First Nations people and female people. So little is said about these cats in history and it makes me boil.

The show we arrived at represents both contingencies as they were – present, powerful, though not great in numbers. The presence of First Nations people at the Battle of York and the presence of women at the fort were significant, though undervalued in the day and today. Art can affect change, and voicing those who have been silenced is a part of that.

4) How have the site-specific elements of The Fort at York piece influenced your approach to preparing the script?
It set me up to be a rabid keyboard monkey. More than half the content you’ll experience in the show is new to this round, while some of it is reshaped from what existed in workshop last September. Once we got into it with a rabble of wildly talented folk, I found myself utterly bunged up without them and while off-site. I ended up having to type like a bastard during our three-week rehearsal process because I held off on writing until we got back into the space with our full crew. Thankfully, the actors have been brave and generate tons of tasty stuff. The site itself inspires, the actors run with it, and then I truck home and type until we have another go. Long process crammed into a short intense time frame. Joyous and mad.

5) If you could change just one thing about theatre in Toronto what would it be?
More serving story, less serving ego.

6) Do you have any unifying theories about theatre and its relationship to community?
Theatre is a communal experience. When we embrace that, and surrender to the reality that the audience is as much a part of the collaboration as the workers are, we get theatre that shines, moves, quakes. When we try to create a solid thing and then plop an audience into the room on opening, we most often get boring, stagnant dreck on stage. A theatrical experience must be a communal one among all the people in the room, and the presenters must welcome the change that comes from new energies nightly.

Photo by Sabrina Cariati.

7) Are there any new stories being told?
Likely not, but we are telling them in new ways to people who constantly have new ways of hearing them. This makes them new to us – any new combination of people makes a story new.

8) What’s funny?
Something crass coming from someone who has no malice – my closest friends make me roar by saying the most horrible things. Barenaked honesty, such as my two-year old niece’s disgusted irritation when strangers want a hug from her. Having a loved one reflect your own idiocy back to yourself and realizing what a boob you’ve been, again, children are good for that.

Simplicity, summing up seemingly complicated things, such as the suggested tagline for this show as offered by actor James Cade: “The Fort at York . . . stupid war!” Anything that sticks out as incongruous can make me laugh on a good day.

Photo by Patrick Beagan

9) What can contemporary Canadian theatre makers do to further inform themselves about our country’s First Nations performance traditions?
We MUST have a sense of shared space and bear in mind that the first people who lived here are relevant to our lives because we all live on land that was in their care for a long fucking time. Ironically, we put so little value in the spoken word when it hasn’t been documented. Oral tradition is a huge part of all First Nations, and yet the theatre community largely thinks Canadian theatre began with imitating European structure. It’s time to stop allowing the curriculum to shape our understanding.

10) As a writer, what are you better at now than you were five years ago?
I only starting writing stuff to share in late 2003. My first play was mostly written at the back of an aisle while working front of house for the Mirvishes: I feel I’ve improved in many areas, though my ability to stop mid-thought to help Americans to the can may have weakened since ’03. Certainly I’m better at . . . making choices faster, being more concise, cutting, guiding a group of people in a rehearsal hall to make sure the story is not misconstrued. Better at making use of a workshop, at figuring out a scene without having to get up and act it out. Better at letting grammar fuck off when it does not apply. Better at organizing my drafts into wee jolly folders.

10 questions: Joshua James

Saturday, September 15th, 2007

1) What the fuck is going on?
I’ve been busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. It’s been a good summer.

On the theatre front: I had a couple plays produced, Ambivalent n Miami and A Gay Thing in Indiana that got some nice reviews.

Right now I’m co-creating a show with Bad Girl Productions that has the working title of Rage Against the Man-chine. The plan is to do it in New York later this year and later in Los Angeles, once we get it ready.

There may be more readings here and there, I’m always on the lookout for cool theatre companies interested in imbibing, with me, from that crank-pipe known as live performance. I’m in love with that abusive spouse known as theatre.

On the screenwriting front: I recently got hired to adapt Peter Biskind’s book Down & Dirty Pictures into a movie, which was a great, challenging job that I loved.

On the fiction front: The novel is done and about to be sent out, so cross your fingers. But the feedback thus far has been positive, so it’s all left to karma now.

On the personal front: Best news of all. Better than all of the above.

Seriously, this news is righteously kickass.

My significant other (known on my blog as the Samurai Lady) and I are about to have our first child. Any day now. Any moment.

Seriously. Baby be due. Just waiting. For those contractions to start. Waiting. Any minute now. Any second.

Baby might come by the time you get this email, I dunno.

Really, by the time I get done writing this sentence, the Samurai Lady could be throw a plate at my head and say, “IT’S LABOR TIME, LET’S MOVE IT! MARINES, WE ARE LEA-VING!”

Actually, she probably wouldn’t say the last part, she’s never even seen Aliens. But it’d be cool if she did say that.

Wait. Just a second. Did she –

Nope. Nothing yet.

If it happens, I’ll send you an update.

Baby. Best production ever.

2) Why do you like writing plays more than acting in them?
Hmm, I think I’m simply just built for it. Writing, I mean.

I’ve acted in some of the plays I’ve written, but most of the time, I get more pleasure in watching good actors do it.

I like acting, I enjoy it but I don’t need to do it. I like to watch, heh. Bonus if you name that movie.

I seem to need to write.

I just love creating stories. And the actual writing itself, there’s a sort of tactile pleasure from it. Just writing this email is kind of fun for me. It’s like giving something of yourself, thoughts, ideas, imaginations or sometimes just foolishness, but it’s still a gift wrapped up in words, and I kinda dig that.

Even more, there’s a real sense of giving and discovery of the self. You do it long enough and work at it so you do it well enough, you’ll find out a lot about yourself. You’ll find your own truth.

I don’t know that you can be be a good writer and hide from oneself, writing eventually communicates the subconcious to the conscious.

Pretty amazing to read Stephen King’s The Shining, written in the seventies, which covers in depth the lead character’s alcoholicism and then go back and read his non-fiction book On Writing, where he talks about how it took years and years for him to face his own alcoholism but it kept coming out in books like The Shining and Misery, the beer-monkey on his back.

It’s just hard to write fiction well and hide from personal truth.

3) Looking back on your catalogue of plays, do any recurring themes emerge that you didn’t necessarily see when you were writing them?
Hmm, wow. Good question.

I’d say a reasonable person, examining everything, could probably find three distinct thematic personalities in my work:

First, LOVE. A lot of my work deals with love, the first short plays I wrote was a trilogy called Love, Lust & Life.

Love and relationships, how people interact and navigate the truth and lies they tell each other. The first play I wrote that got attention, The Men’s Room, is essentially about how straight men love each other.

Second, DEATH. Life and death and suicide played a part in early works . . . dealing with the pain of existence . . . I’d point to The Beautiful One as an example. And my play 2 Very Dangerous People Sharing 1 Small Space Together.

There were a lot of plays like that because I had difficult times during formative years, like so many, and it’s how I channeled it.

And I think the ethics of existence is a extremely pertinent question to examine, so it’s really featured in a lot of my works, in particular Tallboy Walkin’ and Extreme Eugene and a whole lotta more.

Third. RAUNCHY HUMOR & OUTRAGE. In other words, what’s the most outrageous thing that can or cannot be said, and why can’t we say it? Plays like Spooge – The Sex & Love Monologues or The Elf, the Bunny & the Big Xmas Blowup and a whole lot of short ribald sketches to numerous to mention.

My good friend Chuck likes to tell the story of how he went to a performance of one of my plays some years ago but arrived late (also known as being “Chucked”) and wandered around the building, which was large, looking for the theatre space where my play was being performed.

He heard someone shouting, “Did you fuck her? Did you fuck her! Answer me, you lying asshole!”

And he said to himself, “Ah. That must be the Josh James play!”

Heh. The bastard.

So those are the three different thematic personalities that I can see in my plays.

Some plays, like The Penis Papers, feature all three of the above.

Lately politics has come to play, though less in plays and more in other areas of writing.

4) How do you feel about the idea that American theatre has – to its detriment – become centralized around New York City?
Ooh boy. I almost wasn’t going to touch this. But okay.

Let’s take A first, let’s break it down.

When whoever proposed this says American theatre is centralized in New York City, what are they talking about? Theatres themselves?

Theatre is centralized in New York City?

Every city and town in America has a theatre. Most have more than one. Just about every high school and junior high school and elementary school has a theatre.

I grew up in a town in Iowa that had 350 people. Had a theatre in our school. And we also put up plays in the theatre space in our church. So we had TWO.

In Iowa City, where I went to grad school, we had three theatres in our arts department, and there was a professional theatre in town and I think there was also a community theatre. All did shows all year round. Not to mention Hancher, which housed Broadway touring shows and concerts.

There are small professional companies in just about every small city, there are community theatres in almost every town across the country, there are shows done in EVERY high school all across the country, not to mention a load of shows touring.

The act of theatre, ITSELF, is not centralized in New York City.

Okay, we’ve proven that wrong.

But let’s say whoever proposed this “NYC centralized theatre” hypothesis isn’t speaking of theatre, but of theatrical content (which means, of course, they’d need to change their statement) – let’s say they’re really trying to say that the content of the theatre being produced is centralized in terms of culture, that the majority of shows produced across the country are shows set in a specific location (New York City) and specific topics (New York City topics).

Is that what we’re talking about? Content centralized in New York City Culture?

Is American theatre unfairly influenced by New York City theatre culture?

I’d say . . . I don’t think so. Not at all. Not in what I see just in New York City alone, and certainly not what I experienced when I lived outside it.

I think the majority of works produced in theatres across the country are heavily favored toward THREE things:

Free plays (shows where no fees are involved, Greek and Shakespeare), musicals (because that’s where the money is) and old plays that are proven.

Let’s look at the recent theatre season from my undergraduate alma mater, Morningside College:

Cinderella (a musical, ironically enough, I acted in this as a student at Morningside 17 years ago, I played the King). Antigone by Sophocles (old free Greek play) Butterflies Are Free (old play – I think the movie version of this play is at least 25 years old, Englebert Humperdick did the film, right?) Dancing at Lughnasa – Brian Freil . . . (how old is this play, close to 15 or 20 years old, right?)

No real modern New York culture there, right. Irish, Greek, English fairy tale . . . Butterflies is set in New York, I think, but it ain’t New York of today, not by a long shot.

I’d bet if we looked at the season lists for most universities, they’d be close to the same, right?

And I’d say the season list for most professional and semi-professional companies looks very similar . . . the bigger the company, the more often one might find a new play in there . . . but very rarely.

In terms of content, I’d bet money that if we did a statistical analysis of all the theatre produced across the country, in every theatre from high schools to the pros, you’d see that Shakespeare and old musicals outweigh everything else.

I bet we’d see hundreds of productions of Pumphouse Boys and Dinettes and Greater Tune. Both of which feature rural characters and culture far, far from New York City. I’d bet there are far more productions of those shows than of A Thousand Clowns across America currently in theatres.

And I’d bet of all theatre produced, everything, from high schools to Broadway, I’d bet less than thirty percent is by living artists.

And less than ten percent is work LESS than ten years old. I’d bet.

That’s a non-scientific guess, of course, heh. I admit it when I make those. But I’d be interested to find out how close I am. Free plays by dead writers count for a lot. And the Bard wrote a lot of damn plays.

I’d also bet there’s a FUCK of a lot of productions of A Christmas Carol, which is set in England, motherfuckers.

The whole idea that the New York City culture overwhelms all other cultures when it comes to theatre is silly, I mean, Sam Shepard has a career, right? He doesn’t write about New York, he writes about the American West (and he spent four formative years in London). Lots of American playwrights don’t write about New York. Tennessee Williams (another Hawkeye) . . . Beth Henley, Tracy Letts, Rebecca Gilman, Naomi Wallace, Robert Schenkann. Come on, the list goes on and on.

Good writers write what they want, and some are from New York, like Shanley, who’s from the Bronx, and some, like David Mamet, are not.

Most playwrights I know in New York City are not from New York City. And that’s reflected in their work.

The idea that New York City has just ONE culture is ridiculous anyway – Queens ain’t like the upper west side and Brooklyn ain’t like the upper east side and don’t even get me started on the Bronx or even the individual neighborhoods in each borough . . . you can walk ten blocks in Queens and be in a different city . . . There are hundreds of cultures here, that’s the advantage, you can take three steps and find a new cultural viewpoint, and all are welcome.

All cultures are welcome here. All. Which, in a way, makes it a good place to communicate those cultures to the world.

You can’t say that about all other places in America.

One thing that is centralized in New York City is media . . . most traditional mainstream American media is in New York, the biggest papers, the biggest news outlets, they’re here.

So if the argument was that the American media is centralized in New York City, you wouldn’t necessarily get an argument from me. But the media world ain’t necessarily the theatre world.

But that might be what gives lie to the idea that theatre is centralized here. Because the media (which I’d include publishing, the big play publishers have offices here) is here and loud and outleted to rest of the country, you hear about New York theatre in the media.

You want to de-centralize the media, I’m all for that, and let’s bring back the regulations that Reagan destroyed, which left the free press vulnerable to robber barons like Murdock. I’m all for that conversation.

But I don’t believe the theatre culture, itself, is centralized here, I haven’t seen anything to lead me to believe that. I believe some things are, media, publishing, agents . . . I don’t know that theatre is.

As far as what plays are produced here in New York City, there seems to be a lot of influence from London and from American regional theatres.

Naomi Wallace is from Louisville, Kentucky, grew up there, she had plays produced here and there, she had awards but if I recall correctly, her work had to hit in London first (War Boys) before she ever got produced at the Actors Theatre of Louisville. Even though she’s from there and a lot of her work reflects Kentucky. Even though she was known and had mad props from major writers like Tony Kushner about her plays.

And she had to hit in both places, London and Louisville, and win the Kesselman award, before she got her first major production in New York City.

If New York City had an undue amount of influence on theatre across the country, it seems it would work the other way, right? New York, then Louisville and London.

What I see as the largest influence on professional theatre in New York, on Broadway and Off-Broadway, is a Hollywood, especially Disney, especially on Broadway.

I don’t know that New York City is the hotbed of “new” and daring theatrical works that it was in the sixties and seventies, or hell, even the early nineties, when I moved here.

It’s too expensive now, and it seems a lot of shows are brought in from regionals, like Sarah Ruhl’s plays, where they’re developed in places more friendly to new artists and then, when successful, brought to New York City on a professional level.

There’s a strong independent theatre community in New York City, make no doubt, filled with great artists telling great stories and finding their audiences in pockets throughout the city, but we’re not making money off of it the majority of the time . . . and I see a sharp divide between that and what happens on the Broadway and Off-Broadway scene, I do.

The idea that theatre, as a culture, is centralized in New York City just isn’t true from what I’ve seen, and it honestly feels more like a talking point than it does anything based on true observations or anecdotal evidence. Usually when people say that, in my experience, what they’re really saying underneath it is, “Too Jewish” or “Too gay” . . . and that underlying ickiness makes me irritable, I have to say.

There are much larger problems facing the community than that straw man argument. Especially with the endless treadmill of “development” that’s killing a lot of work before it gets out the gate.

I think we should do less play development and more playwright development. I don’t believe playwrights are paid and/or respected nearly as much as their writer-peers in other fields.

Eventually, either the lack of respect or the lack of reasonable pay drives talented writers to other venues.

I just read an article recently that Brett Neveau, an acclaimed playwright in Chicago (who I knew somewhat when we were at U of I together, go No Shame Theatre!, and very respected) just pulled up stakes and moved to Los Angeles to get into television.

The article quoted him as saying, “I love theatre but I have a family to feed” or something to that effect (Brett, if you’re reading and I didn’t get the quote right, let me know).

Most respected and award-winning playwrights write for film and television these days. Because that’s where we’re wanted, appreciated and most of all, compensated. We do it for the love, true, but we’re not stupid – we know when we’re being treated like unwanted stepchildren.

Hell, I still haven’t been paid for the piece of mine that was performed Off-Broadway in the early part of 2006.

When Rent was workshopped, all the actors, musicians, stage-managers and stage-hands got paid. Jonathan Larson did not. I read that he complained about it and was told, this is how it is. You get paid after everyone else does, after the show opens.

I read later the first major paycheck for Rent arrived two days after he died.

That’s a larger problem facing American Theatre, one that really should be addressed at some point.

Can American Theatre artists make a reasonable living at their craft?

5) Among NYC-based artists, how much support is there for a rigorous and critical questioning of the official 9/11 report?
Not that I’m aware of, at least specific to that report.

What is happening is a rigorous and critical questioning of an obviously fraudulent, corrupt and incompetent Bush administration.

That’s happening. Most artist blogs reference it often, as mine does.

Listen, about NINE-ONE-ONE.

9/11 was a terrible, terrible thing. No argument.

But more tragic is what happened after it.

By that I mean our government and the EPA lying to rescue workers about the safety of the air, and then when the workers started getting sick and dying, the government claimed it didn’t have to do with the air at ground zero and refused to pay for health care (court cases still going on), at least at first.

By that I mean the fact that the man responsible for the above tragedy hasn’t been caught and isn’t a priority for this administration, in their own words, they don’t think about him too much. He sends videos mocking us.

By that I mean the over 4,000 soldiers killed and 30,000 wounded by invading Iraq to protect us from an attack with WMD that Iraq didn’t have.

By that I mean being told we had to invade Iraq and STAY in Iraq because Iraq was responsible for 9/11, when Iraq had nothing to do with it.

By that I mean the over 100,000 dead Iraqi citizens, killed when we invaded to free them from Saddam, and the millions of displace Iraqi refugees.

By that I mean New Orleans and all the people killed there, killed not when Hurricane Katrina hit, but days after when the levees broke and the government didn’t do anything because it was mainly poor black folk and staying in the abandoned stadium without water or toilets is good enough for them, according to Barbara Bush.

By that I mean George W. Bush lying publicly, twice, about breaking the fourth amendment, essentially breaking federal law.

By that I mean the dissolution of our civil liberties and Bill of Rights, as a country who once stood for freedom and democracy around the world which now has a reputation for fraudulent lies and torturing people we don’t like, throwing them in prison and keeping them there for years without trial, without due process or a lawyer, spies on its own citizens without a warrant, just like Saddam used to do.

Those above things, when added together, especially the major tearing and bending of the constitution that binds America together as a democracy, those events are more tragic, terrible and criminal than what happened on NINE-ONE-ONE, bad as that day was.

In America, every year, more than 3,000 people die on the highways in automobile accidents. And that’s tragic, too. But because they don’t die in one spot on one highway, we don’t do anything about it.

And considering what has been done in the name of the tragedy that was NINE-ONE-ONE, maybe we’re lucky no one has tried.

6) To what degree do you think substance abuse is a problem in New York’s theatre community?
I don’t see much, if any of it. Most theatre folk I know are mostly healthy, into organic food and meditation, aside from the occasional organically grown herbal stimulant smoked or baked in brownies, I don’t see any heavy stuff.

I saw more drugs back in other industries (like sales jobs, stocks and the like) than I’ve ever seen in New York theatre communities. I don’t see any of that, but maybe I’m just uncool.

Nobody really wants to work with someone who’s undependable.

7) How have your experiences as a theatre blogger influenced your ideas about theatre?
In every way.

I get to dialogue with many people that, before the Internet, I might never, ever get to meet.

As a blogger in general, not just a theatre blogger, but as a presence on the Internet, I’m able to communicate with a wide variety of folks and hear and see and learn from people from everywhere.

The nice thing about a blog is that it’s interactive and immediate. An idea pops up, good or bad, and the moment you put it up, it travels fast. It gets linked here and there and suddenly it’s in our consciousness, opened up and examined and sometimes even beaten to death, but it’s a good thing.

It’s like a round table with all the smartest people in the world (and some that aren’t the smartest) and you can speak to them and ask questions and listen to what they have to say.

I’ve had internet conversations with NY Times Bestseller authors, Oscar-nominated screenwriters and Pulitzer-prize-winning playwrights.

I’ve gotten advice and knowledge and all around life experience shared from a whole LOAD of accomplished people, and it wasn’t one way, it was a dialogue and nothing is as edifying as that.

Remember in college, when they’d bring in people like that to speak to you and it was usually one of the most exhilarating experiences of college, hearing what someone like Maya Angelou had to say about things TODAY, had to say in response to your question, at that moment (she came to Iowa) remember how thrilling that was? Now folks can do that via the Internet and blogs.

Information from those in the know is always, always a good thing.

Communication is always a good thing.

A huge influence on me, as that people I admire, smart people, I try to listen and learn from and now, due to blogs, I have access to more than I can even reasonably want in several lifetimes.

Myself, I’m always kind of surprised when I post something and hear from a lot of people about it . . . I always figured that maybe my brother and a friend or two would check in, and if maybe five people read what I write on my blog, I’ve had a good day. I always have trouble believing it’s a few hundred or more.

I see my stats, but I always figure it’s the spambots jacking the numbers up. When I blog something and folks talk about it, I’m always like, “Really? You read that? Holy shit!”

I haven’t even really told the REALLY scandalous stories yet, heh.

But it’s nice to share some of this stuff. And it’s a form of writing that’s good exercise for me, which is the main reason I began doing it.

I still get emails, even today, from playwrights who’ve been burned by directors and they read Let me explain my concept for your play or Playwright as an adult who can chew bubblegum, walk and do other things too and for me it’s nice to hear that some of this stuff doesn’t happen just to me.

Playwrights are different from actors in that we don’t meet a whole lot of our peers that often. We meet actors and we meet directors, but meeting other writers, before blogs, was harder, except at short play festivals.

Now on blogs we can really exchange ideas and experiences and it totally rocks.

Man, I love blogs.

8) Are there any new stories being told?
Absolutely.

Heh-heh.

9) What do you like about Tokyo?
It’s a great city, food is great, people are great, the subway trains all have digital clocks on the platforms and if it says the train will arrive at 10:11 AM, it pulls in at 10:11 AM on the dot.

And when it rains, the trains still run, which further differentiates them from New York Subways.

10) As a writer, what are you better at now than you were five years ago.
Everything, I hope.

I know I work harder than I did five years ago. I do know that.

The rest, I don’t know, I can only hope . . . life is a flawed work in progress.

I hope I’m smarter, more mature, more caring, more responsible and a better citizen than I was five years ago.

I hope I’m a more dependable friend to those I love and care about than I was five years ago.

If I can do those things and work hard, then the writing should take care of itself.

I can’t control whether or not someone digs my work or wants to produce it or even likes it, I have no control of that.

So I work hard as I can and try my best to speak to the truth.

That’s why writers and artists and musicians and poets exist, I believe.

To speak truth to power in a manner most excellent.

10 questions: Laura Nordin

Saturday, September 8th, 2007

1) What the fuck is going on?
Risk. At least that’s what I hope is going on right now. It’s exciting.

2) How do you feel about your time at the Institute for Advanced Theatre Training in Boston?
Awesome. I wouldn’t change a thing. I am different because of my training there. My body, voice, confidence, knowledge of self, and especially the consistency in my acting improved. All the training and rigor has ignited a sense of what is possible and what there is to explore for me as an actor. It didn’t really provide me with answers. It was about asking questions and enjoying the process. It provided me with the exploration of different techniques and has helped me to voice my questions.

3) As an actor, what are you better at now than you were five years ago?
I am better at auditioning. What I mean to say is that I am able to get excited about an audition and excited about the preparation for it instead of sabotaging myself over and over again. I am constantly searching for how to make auditioning a work of art. Progress is slow, but better than five years ago.

4) What do you look for in a director?
A director who communicates their vision with passion and generosity. One who enjoys challenging themselves and all those involved in bringing the story to life for the audience. A director who loves the audience and who loves actors.

5) What does feminism mean to you?
Wow. This is a really big question. Feminism for me is about bringing the stories of women to audiences. To create more female-driven stories and more female roles that are exciting and complex. To tell stories that haven’t been told because they were taboo or hushed in the past.

Feminism isn’t just about equality for me. It’s about the beautiful diversity that women add to this life. Women’s stories are men’s stories, children’s stories, stories of countries and cultures. These stories must be celebrated and debated. Personally, I feel that there are fewer roles for complex female characters in theatre, television, and film than there are for men. It’s getting better, but growth is slower than I wish for it to manifest.

Laura Nordin and James Murray in a workshop for an upcoming Praxis Theatre production.

6) Do you have any unifying theories about theatre and its relationship to community?
I simply feel it is symbiotic. Theatre moves and transforms as does the community around it and sometimes it’s the community that asks for the theatre to create something that speaks to the community and other times it’s the theatre that creates and ignites community. No theories here, just feelings of togetherness and opposition that make me love this constant dialogue.

7) What is your fondest memory of being on stage?
I’ve been blessed to work with amazing artists. This is genuinely how I feel. My fondest memory . . . it might be the night I went on as an understudy at A.R.T. in Chuck Mee’s Snow In June. I was given six hours notice (Thank God!) and backstage I started to pace and worry because I heard the announcement over the speakers about my being the understudy for Qian Yi (an opera singer everyone had paid to see sing six arias in Chinese – gulp), followed by silence, and then the deafening sound of the rustling of programs looking for my bio. In that moment of terror, Rob Campbell came over and put his hands on both my shoulders looked into my eyes to steady me and said with the kindest smile, “You know the blocking and the lines . . . now it’s time to tell the story. Your job is to tell the story and have fun doing it.”

The moment was off stage, but it definitely made that night stand out. It was exhilarating. When I was on stage throughout the performance I felt transported. I didn’t think. It was a wonderful thing to let go of expectations and to just be telling the story. I search for that feeling, the letting go, in every performance.

Margaret Evans and Laura Nordin in a press still for Dyad.

8) Do you have a working definition of what it means to be an artist?
Being an artist is whatever I make it to mean on any given day. I feel very vulnerable. Whether I am teaching, auditioning for a commercial, or writing a screenplay, there is this minute sense of fear. It can be difficult and wonderful at the same time. For me, it means I am working for myself and hopefully contributing to my community. I believe in entertainment, in challenging the status quo, and in sharing thoughts and knowledge. I have a lot of freedom in my life. The only restrictions are ones I create for myself, which is a lot of responsibility and can be quite sobering in the tougher times. I love that I essentially choose to play every day.

9) What could Praxis Theatre be doing better, from an organizational standpoint?
Oh. Well . . . there are lots of things that I wish I knew more about from an administrative point of view. I would like to be more organized. To have someone extremely business-focused. Someone to keep us on track financially and administratively. I think we are doing the best we can with the skill sets we all bring to the table and we are all learning a lot about how to keep things moving forward and growing, but I feel we need one person who is really focused and dedicated to the inner workings of how to support the creative work we all love to do.

10) Why acting?
Because I have always loved it. I almost pee my pants every time I’m about to go on stage. I love the adrenaline. There is nothing like being on stage and newly discovering the lines with your scene partner after having done the same scene for the past month or more and just now, right here and now, you are both finding it new again and it’s like flying or like rolling down a grassy hill together. I just feel so alive. I don’t want to do anything else. The connections I make with the people involved and, of course, the audience. When the audience is hanging on your every word and every move it’s like no other feeling on Earth. In the “dark times” I genuinely pray that if I’m supposed to be doing something else that it will reveal itself to me, but that’s when I usually land a gig or read a play that inspires me or have a great conversation with someone and I get back on track. I am thankful that prayer hasn’t been answered yet.

10 questions: Simon Ogden

Friday, August 31st, 2007

1) What the fuck is going on?
Oh, left work early to ride my bike to the farmers’ market to buy organic heirloom tomatoes and an amusing pinot on the way to the beach to smoke some hydro and debate olympic spending vs. the homeless “problem”. You know, Vancouvery shit.

2) What’s the current state of independent theatre in Vancouver?
Some crews have been taking turns pounding it on the chest and it definitely has a pulse, although it’s still a long way from running a marathon. The dangling carrot of the invading American TV/film industry and their buckets of cash keep most actors from considering the importance of creating a viable theatre, or from considering theatre at all, really. A lot of theatre that pops up here is the fed-up-with-commercial-auditions vanity piece – usually a LeBute or a Mamet – that contains the scene that they totally rocked in class, man, that’s thrown up for a week, poorly marketed, and never heard from again because, damn, theatre is hard work, man. Not that that’s really a bad thing, mind you, good on ’em, but it’s more of a diversionary exercise than a resuscitation attempt. Meanwhile there are several companies in town that have been putting a lot of time, energy, and love into edge-cutting and relevant stage. The foundation has been laid, as it were, now it’s time to start construction. If I may mix my metaphors.

3) How do you navigate the tricky political waters of being a theatre artists and a theatre critic in the same city?
Yeah, that’s a tough one, and to be honest, I’m still figuring it out. I went back and forth quite a bit on the decision to start critiquing, in the end it became another way to get theatre into the public consciousness, which is a big part of my personal mandate. The readership of Beyond Robson, the city life/news blog I work for (our sister site, Blog TO, does some excellent theatre coverage for the smoke by the way), is the same 20-35 demographic that we want to get into the theatres, so it made sense to start running play crits. I go into some detail about this on my blog, but in short it is my opinion that we need to understand that, while we as theatre artists may wish that our work be considered sacrosanct by virtue of our spent time and passion, the fact that we’re charging money for it makes it a consumer product, and as such we are accountable. So critics are invaluable to our audience, like it or not, and we need to develop a thicker skin about criticism. Be able to ditch the fragile ego bit and accept what is valuable in a review and discard what is not. It’s just an opinion anyway, and hopefully it’s an informed one from someone who loves the theatre, like I do.

And so, as a navigational aid, I have set myself some strict parameters. Number 1: complete honesty. Number 2: I will not review any production that I have professional ties to. And number 3: always be constructive, never destructive. I recently went to a play with the intention of reviewing it and honestly, it was so bad on so many levels that I couldn’t bring myself to tear it down as much as I would have in order to fulfill mandate #1. Seriously, it was the kind of theatre that stops people from ever going to theatre again, but it was free to the public and as such no good could possibly have come from the vitriol I would have spilled, so I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Maybe that’s cowardly, I don’t know, but that’s the grey area between artist and critic that I live in right now, so so be it.

4) How much of your work is informed by a sense of anger?
What kind of stupid fucking question is that? You’re lucky you live on the other side of the country Mackenzie, or I’d punch you right in the face.

Actually, my first hit was: anger? Me? Whaddya mean, I’m not angry…am I? And of course, a look back at my body of work to date reveals that there’s levels of anger in the genesis of all of it, which, upon further consideration, is as close an approximation to my personal definition of the true nature of art as I have ever considered. The play I’m working on right now, set in a bar, is entirely about the consequences of anger, as a matter of fact. Revelatory, thank you.

5) How do you approach writing dialogue?
I actually consider dialogue the easy part of playwrighting, I’ve noticed that there’s a lot of unnecessary trepidation around it for new writers. We all know how people talk, we’re immersed in natural conversation every day, those rhythms are part of our cellular structure. I just transcribe what the characters are saying to each other in my head and when I hear me talking instead of them, I stop writing. And when I’m really stuck, I simply flip to a random page of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? or check my Overheard in New York feed for a refresher course in how to write dialogue. I find the hard part to be structuring surprise, which to me is what a satisfying theatre experience is all about, at all stations: writing, acting, direction, lights, soundscape, and audience interplay. Great theatre is all about little surprises.

6) What quality in other artists do you most dislike when you see it?
I’ll give you three of them: ego, ego, and oh, I going to have to go with ego here. Show me generosity of spirit and action and I’ll show you great art. I do not care how wonderfully wonderful and beautiful and talented you are, because the story you are telling doesn’t care about those things. On stage you are in the service of the other actors, who are all in the service of the story, which is in the service of the community. You wanna know how to tell if someone is a great actor or not? Watch how well they listen when they’re not regurgitating their memorized words.

7) What have you learned about your community through your experiences as a theatre blogger?
That for the theatre community here, the internet as a marketing tool is a strange, irrelevant animal. I was inspired to start a theatre blog by this post by Darren Barefoot, a prolific local blogger and marketer who wrote and staged a fringe play on a whim a few years back. And if you google “Vancouver theatre blog” right now you’ll get pretty much . . . me. The international theatre blogosphere is fantastic, however, sharp, controversial, articulate, it’s become a brand new form of theatre in its own right, actually. But seeing that the key to a healthy theatre is local communication, that really does me no good here. I’ve heard the argument that new technology is at odds with the very convention of the theatre, but that’s kind of the point, we’re going to have to evolve to survive. Blogging is not a technologist’s medium, it’s a writer’s medium, and theatrists in this town have to embrace that, as well as internetworking (I may have just coined that), just as so many other specialized interest groups have. I wrote one post on BR about skateboarding and got 14 comments, I’ve written 10 theatre posts and gotten 4 comments. Let’s talk it up out there, people! Hey batta, swing batta!

8) How do we attract more non-artists (such as accountants, producers, lawyers and marketers) to our industry?
Well, we could – I know this sounds crazy, but hear me out – ask them? Before our first production we called up Paul Armstrong, a local indie film and music video producer, and asked him if he would consider coming down to meet the crew and hearing a pitch, and he is now not only our producer, but he shows up for every script reading and workshop session we have. He hasn’t made a dime off us yet, poor chap, but he has faith.

I think theatre is an art form that non-artists love to be identified with. Its image is one of social consciousness and commentary without radicalism (I’m speaking here of its perception, not necessarily its reality), and as such it’s perfect for organizations looking to “give back” to the community. They’re also looking for the write-offs too, don’t forget. We need to exploit theatre’s art-cool image to our fullest advantage, and professionally approach these offices in town that have expertise in necessary production areas that we, as artists, simply don’t (or shouldn’t, for that matter). If we can get stage managers, fundraising venues, and poster designers to donate their time and assets, why can’t we get an accountant to do so as well?

9) What does feminism mean to you?
As with any movement whose goal is human parity, be it gender, ethnicity, class, or sexuality based, I’m saddened that it’s still so necessary. I fancied myself a feminist playwright at one point, based on the work I was turning out, until I realized that just writing stories sympathetic to women doesn’t make one a feminist, and to wear that badge without a commitment to full advocacy is merely paying lip-service to what I in truth consider to be a self-evident truism, not a battle I chose to fight. I feel very fortunate to have been raised and educated in so tolerant a household and community that I can be a true individualist, to be able to judge each book by its story, as it were.

10) As a writer, what are you better at now than you were five years ago.
Malleability. Here’s the best advice I can offer to aspiring playwrights: find yourself a small group of actors whom you trust and consider brilliant and workshop your script with them. During this part of the process let them be loose with your lines a little and allow them to bring their honest reactions to what’s coming towards them. Give them scenarios to improv, ask them to act out stories from their own experience that relate to the work, trust them with your baby. You’ll be astonished at the universal truths that will emerge, and you have but to record them (and take all the credit in the bargain).

Confession time: I have transcribed whole monologues verbatim from actor’s improvs, magnificent material that I am nowhere near talented enough to come up with on my own. We as theatre artists are a mirror to the world around us, not within us, and as playwrights let’s face it, we’re merely keeping minutes.