I don't know if this is a legitimately interesting way to stage a piece, or just a big old gimmick, but I really wish I had found out about The Rubber Room before today. The idea (in case you don't feel like following the link) is that the same play is given to 5 different directors, each with an entirely different 5-person cast, and no communication between casts. Each night, one person from each cast goes on, never having performed with the other four before. The idea (presumably) is that each night is a fresh and totally unique depiction of five characters who really are meeting for the first time.
I would have liked to know whether it added new dimension to the text - and I think it could have - or if the concept was just that: concept-y and distracting. I'm also sort of fascinated by New York's rubber rooms and the multiplicity of two-sided stories that arise from them. The rubber room idea itself is a two-sided story. You can't just - for example - fire a teacher who's been accused of sexual misconduct without a fair inquiry, especially given how easily and carelessly a particularly manipulative child could throw around those accusations. But you can't very well keep them in the classroom around children either. So... what? What are the options there? And the concept works for the subject matter; five people with stories that can be seen from a host of perspectives merit a host of perspectives in the the interpretation of the play. Right? But did it actually work?
I'll never know. Regardless of whether it turned out to be a gripping piece of theater or a hokey gimmick, I would have loved to have seen it, would have loved to have been involved with it. Damn, damn, damn.
About Me
- Leigh Hile
- I'm an NYC-based director, and this is an outlet for my various musings about theater and about the city of New York. Sometimes the subjects run together, sometimes they are entirely separate, but between the two they comprise the most fitful, most intense, most trying love affair of my few years. They fill my head, my heart, my mouth every hour of every day; they could fill a book.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
A Note About The Interviews
I'm re-reading my notes and setting to work on writing out my interview with Jenna Weinberg, the founder and Executive Director of Mainspring Collective, and I'm finding that I'm, well, waxing somewhat exultant about her. So much so that I'm feeling like I need some sort of disclaimer before I publish the actual interview.
Although, "disclaimer" is sort of an inaccurate term, as it implies a desire to alienate oneself from the work and what I am trying to explain is the opposite: how deeply connected I am to it.
Here's the story about Jenna's interview, and the ones to follow. I won't even pretend that the interviews I'm preparing to conduct are at all impartial or happenstance. They're not plugs for anything, or bids for publicity. There might not even be anything to promote (although knowing these busy and talented artists, there probably will be). The people I intend to interview are people whom I have encountered during my brief time in the biz, and remember because their passion and creativity have inspired me, given me cause to keep moving forward. The interviews, really, aren't meant to be unbiased, multi-faceted representations of these artists and their work, as much as they are to show why I find these people so damn inspiring.
That said...
Although, "disclaimer" is sort of an inaccurate term, as it implies a desire to alienate oneself from the work and what I am trying to explain is the opposite: how deeply connected I am to it.
Here's the story about Jenna's interview, and the ones to follow. I won't even pretend that the interviews I'm preparing to conduct are at all impartial or happenstance. They're not plugs for anything, or bids for publicity. There might not even be anything to promote (although knowing these busy and talented artists, there probably will be). The people I intend to interview are people whom I have encountered during my brief time in the biz, and remember because their passion and creativity have inspired me, given me cause to keep moving forward. The interviews, really, aren't meant to be unbiased, multi-faceted representations of these artists and their work, as much as they are to show why I find these people so damn inspiring.
That said...
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Black Swan: Like Center Stage, But Sillier*
Regarding Black Swan, I have but one question. Why didn't Aronofsky just own it, and cast Zoe Saldana as Lily?
(They both wear their hair in their face because they are feisty! And they break all the ballet rules!)
I also have a few observations to share.
Observation One. In her own blog post about the movie, Mariah McCarthy says, "It’s a movie where having and acting on desires makes bad things happen... Having desires doesn’t make bad things happen.Having and acting on desires makes the world go round." True, but recognizing this on more than just an intellectual level is easier said than done. Desires are terrifying. Needs are basic (I need food, shelter, love, etc.) and wants are reasonable (I want an iPhone to get more work done on the go/play games on the subway). But desires are inexplicable and uncontrollable.
Fortunately for us, most desires fall within some range of appropriate social behavior and do indeed "make the world go round." But what about when they don't? It's perfectly good, for example, for a man to desire sex with a woman. It's even all right if, provided she's into it, he desires to tie her to the bedposts and have it a little rough. But what if he desires to string her from the ceiling with meathooks and watch her die slowly? Some people do, and the fact that I don't is not owing to any particular grace or nobility or compassion on my part. I was simply lucky enough to be born right. The understanding that something so savage, so unreasonable lurks within us and the terrifying possibilities that take shape from following that little bit of knowledge down the rabbit hole is more frightening than any paranormal spook. (This, by the way, is why TV show Criminal Minds scares me too much to watch - not the contemplation of my own abduction/torture/death). I don't think Black Swan is supposed to be some kind of cautionary tale or morality play. I think it's simply an expression of how that fear runs wild in our collective imagination.
Observation Two. While watching Nina struggle to dance the Black Swan and finding herself unable to lose control and give herself over to it, I thought to myself, "Dear God, this is why I failed as an actor - I'm Nina." In my acting days I wanted nothing more to give over control to something deeper, to "feel it," as Nina describes it with her last words. But upon further reflection, I wonder if my inability to reach that moment wasn't what made me fail as an actor but what made me become one in the first place. I wonder if the people who recognize that blind, visceral piece of the human psyche and spend their lives running toward it instead of away from it are artists. And possibly religious mystics. And maybe we're not really meant to touch it at all but for some reason, some of us believe that, frightening as it is, touching it will be as divine as it is terrible.
Observation Two Point Five. Upon finishing this post, am kind of annoyed that such a silly movie inspired such Deep Thoughts. Lame.
Observation Three. I am really, really tired of people conflating dark desires with sexual desire. Dear Puritanical America, Please grow up. I'm bored. Love, Leigh.
*This is true.
PS. Actually not an insult. I love Center Stage for its pure ridiculousness and Black Swan - while I wouldn't go so far as to say I loved it - was also enjoyably ridiculous.
(They both wear their hair in their face because they are feisty! And they break all the ballet rules!)
I also have a few observations to share.
Observation One. In her own blog post about the movie, Mariah McCarthy says, "It’s a movie where having and acting on desires makes bad things happen... Having desires doesn’t make bad things happen.Having and acting on desires makes the world go round." True, but recognizing this on more than just an intellectual level is easier said than done. Desires are terrifying. Needs are basic (I need food, shelter, love, etc.) and wants are reasonable (I want an iPhone to get more work done on the go/play games on the subway). But desires are inexplicable and uncontrollable.
Fortunately for us, most desires fall within some range of appropriate social behavior and do indeed "make the world go round." But what about when they don't? It's perfectly good, for example, for a man to desire sex with a woman. It's even all right if, provided she's into it, he desires to tie her to the bedposts and have it a little rough. But what if he desires to string her from the ceiling with meathooks and watch her die slowly? Some people do, and the fact that I don't is not owing to any particular grace or nobility or compassion on my part. I was simply lucky enough to be born right. The understanding that something so savage, so unreasonable lurks within us and the terrifying possibilities that take shape from following that little bit of knowledge down the rabbit hole is more frightening than any paranormal spook. (This, by the way, is why TV show Criminal Minds scares me too much to watch - not the contemplation of my own abduction/torture/death). I don't think Black Swan is supposed to be some kind of cautionary tale or morality play. I think it's simply an expression of how that fear runs wild in our collective imagination.
Observation Two. While watching Nina struggle to dance the Black Swan and finding herself unable to lose control and give herself over to it, I thought to myself, "Dear God, this is why I failed as an actor - I'm Nina." In my acting days I wanted nothing more to give over control to something deeper, to "feel it," as Nina describes it with her last words. But upon further reflection, I wonder if my inability to reach that moment wasn't what made me fail as an actor but what made me become one in the first place. I wonder if the people who recognize that blind, visceral piece of the human psyche and spend their lives running toward it instead of away from it are artists. And possibly religious mystics. And maybe we're not really meant to touch it at all but for some reason, some of us believe that, frightening as it is, touching it will be as divine as it is terrible.
Observation Two Point Five. Upon finishing this post, am kind of annoyed that such a silly movie inspired such Deep Thoughts. Lame.
Observation Three. I am really, really tired of people conflating dark desires with sexual desire. Dear Puritanical America, Please grow up. I'm bored. Love, Leigh.
*This is true.
PS. Actually not an insult. I love Center Stage for its pure ridiculousness and Black Swan - while I wouldn't go so far as to say I loved it - was also enjoyably ridiculous.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Director Development
I've been thinking a little more about the concerns Trisha Mead raised in her conversation with Rocco Landesman via the 2amt blog:
And the resulting brief twitter conversation I had with her (found here).
I had another thought, a thought just a trifle too long to post on Twitter, so I'll put it up here instead.
I originally put forth the idea of creating director development programs, much like some of the new play development programs in existence across the country. But now I'm suddenly wondering: why not pair the director development with the play development?
Every time I see or hear about a new new play development program, I think Oh. I would love to be a part of that. What I wouldn't give to be learning from and collaborating with all of these exciting up-and-coming playwrights. But, try as I might to deduce from its website and/or any other available information, I cannot seem to figure out how to get involved as a director. I know play-readings and workshops attached to the programs - at the Lark, for example, or New Dramatists - often have directors, but for the life of me, I cannot figure out where they are coming from. Do the playwrights bring them in? Are they resident directors with the company or the program?
The Lark does the best I've seen at setting out some general guidelines for how to become involved as a director, but even those are somewhat vague and indefinite, nothing compared to the concrete, accessible submission proccess accessible to playwrights.
Or, take the workshop-in-rehearsal process currently developing Amy Freed's Right to the Top, one of the many #newplay development initiatives provided by Arena Stage. (Strangely, the Arena Stage has producing fellows who are paired with the playwrights in residence, but no comparable program for directors - why is that?) This looks like an amazing experience, and I would kill to be a part of it. And why not? Not only would it be a learning experience just as helpful to a director as a playwright, but it would lay the groudwork for a deeper collaborative relationship between playwright and director, one rooted in creation and development rather than simply beginning in rehearsal.
That would be real benefit in this kind of approach: the collaborative energy and possible partnerships it would facilitate. Playwrights need directors and directors - oh, let me tell ya - NEED playwrights. The difference between having a collaborator with whom you work well and whose work inspires you can be the difference between creative life and death.
Just a thought.
...There is no clear path for a director to develop his or her career without founding their own theater company. Young directors found institutions in order to build reputations... Perhaps by inadvertently requiring them to prove themselves as producers before allowing them to work within our institutions as directors and artistic directors we are creating a system which rewards theater companies that are made in haste, repented at leisure?
And the resulting brief twitter conversation I had with her (found here).
I had another thought, a thought just a trifle too long to post on Twitter, so I'll put it up here instead.
I originally put forth the idea of creating director development programs, much like some of the new play development programs in existence across the country. But now I'm suddenly wondering: why not pair the director development with the play development?
Every time I see or hear about a new new play development program, I think Oh. I would love to be a part of that. What I wouldn't give to be learning from and collaborating with all of these exciting up-and-coming playwrights. But, try as I might to deduce from its website and/or any other available information, I cannot seem to figure out how to get involved as a director. I know play-readings and workshops attached to the programs - at the Lark, for example, or New Dramatists - often have directors, but for the life of me, I cannot figure out where they are coming from. Do the playwrights bring them in? Are they resident directors with the company or the program?
The Lark does the best I've seen at setting out some general guidelines for how to become involved as a director, but even those are somewhat vague and indefinite, nothing compared to the concrete, accessible submission proccess accessible to playwrights.
Or, take the workshop-in-rehearsal process currently developing Amy Freed's Right to the Top, one of the many #newplay development initiatives provided by Arena Stage. (Strangely, the Arena Stage has producing fellows who are paired with the playwrights in residence, but no comparable program for directors - why is that?) This looks like an amazing experience, and I would kill to be a part of it. And why not? Not only would it be a learning experience just as helpful to a director as a playwright, but it would lay the groudwork for a deeper collaborative relationship between playwright and director, one rooted in creation and development rather than simply beginning in rehearsal.
That would be real benefit in this kind of approach: the collaborative energy and possible partnerships it would facilitate. Playwrights need directors and directors - oh, let me tell ya - NEED playwrights. The difference between having a collaborator with whom you work well and whose work inspires you can be the difference between creative life and death.
Just a thought.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Connectivity and Possibilities
I saw Better Left Unsaid this past weekend, right from the comfort of my own couch, and it got me thinking about a lot of things.
The live-streamed play was, to put it simply, just really cool. It was a totally unique way of seeing a performance, and it was executed extremely well. The streaming was smooth and high quality, and the use of the three cameras that shot the production was engaging and dynamic, but unobtrusive enough that I never lost the feeling that that I was watching a play as opposed to another filmed medium.
The interactive features were great touches; the Twitter comments worked well, and I loved getting a tour of backstage, and watching the chats with the actors and tech people.
And, I have to admit, it was really, really nice to be able to support my colleagues from the comfort of my own home.
Watching the production ignited some flames of ideas that had been kindling since taking part in the #newplay discussions: one of the things that excited me most about the discussions about collaboration and connectivity that came out of the convening was the possibility of using new connective technology to collaborate across geographical boundaries. I touched on this briefly in another #newplay post, but Better Left Unsaid has got me considering the actual, specific ways to use this technology to our advantage as artists.
Because as exciting as internet connectivity is to me, it leaves me with a sort of conundrum. What I love about theater, what sets it apart from every other art form, is the liveness of it. There is nothing quite like actually being in a room with the art as it's being created. There's an immediacy to it, and a sense of community that is inherently lost when you put someone miles away and behind a computer screen.
It's definitely an amazing thing to join in a nationwide, or even worldwide conversation about art. But what about actual making and experiencing of the art? The question of how to reconcile the possibility of connective technology with theater's need for immediacy intrigues me, so I started jotting down some ideas.
This is all really rough - nothing cohesive or fully formed about any of it yet. But I thought I'd start thinking and sharing nonetheless.
A couple of shows I remember hearing about that have connective possibilities:
The Lysistrata Project. Does anyone remember when the Iraq war first started and, in protest, schools all over the country participated in performing Lysistrata at the same time? I remember because both my old high school and my college participated.
The recent performance of Antigone that I read about, but didn't see where they used Facebook, Twitter and/or YouTube as the chorus.
Some other ideas.
Oh man. I didn't expect it, but I'm actually really excited about a lot of these ideas. There is definitely a project in here somewhere.
If anybody has any stories of a collaboration over distance that worked out well, or other ideas to keep building on, I would absolutely love to hear them. Or, if anybody is interested in thinking more about/putting into motion any of the above ideas, I definitely want to talk to you.
The live-streamed play was, to put it simply, just really cool. It was a totally unique way of seeing a performance, and it was executed extremely well. The streaming was smooth and high quality, and the use of the three cameras that shot the production was engaging and dynamic, but unobtrusive enough that I never lost the feeling that that I was watching a play as opposed to another filmed medium.
The interactive features were great touches; the Twitter comments worked well, and I loved getting a tour of backstage, and watching the chats with the actors and tech people.
And, I have to admit, it was really, really nice to be able to support my colleagues from the comfort of my own home.
Watching the production ignited some flames of ideas that had been kindling since taking part in the #newplay discussions: one of the things that excited me most about the discussions about collaboration and connectivity that came out of the convening was the possibility of using new connective technology to collaborate across geographical boundaries. I touched on this briefly in another #newplay post, but Better Left Unsaid has got me considering the actual, specific ways to use this technology to our advantage as artists.
Because as exciting as internet connectivity is to me, it leaves me with a sort of conundrum. What I love about theater, what sets it apart from every other art form, is the liveness of it. There is nothing quite like actually being in a room with the art as it's being created. There's an immediacy to it, and a sense of community that is inherently lost when you put someone miles away and behind a computer screen.
It's definitely an amazing thing to join in a nationwide, or even worldwide conversation about art. But what about actual making and experiencing of the art? The question of how to reconcile the possibility of connective technology with theater's need for immediacy intrigues me, so I started jotting down some ideas.
This is all really rough - nothing cohesive or fully formed about any of it yet. But I thought I'd start thinking and sharing nonetheless.
A couple of shows I remember hearing about that have connective possibilities:
The Lysistrata Project. Does anyone remember when the Iraq war first started and, in protest, schools all over the country participated in performing Lysistrata at the same time? I remember because both my old high school and my college participated.
- What if you live-streamed all of the productions at the same time? Or had a website where you could access all of the productions at any time?
- You could coordinate with other productions in other areas to realize same artistic vision in multiple places.
- Or the opposite: connect w/ other creative teams in other places to make each production distinctly different. Or some combination of the two, e.g., certain ideas or design elements are agreed upon by all creative teams, but within the structure, a certain degree of creative autonomy? Or - each team charged assigned a different approach to design or given a different theme to explore within the same work.
- Really like the idea in general of presenting the same show in tandem across the country for the purpose of making a particular point or reaching a goal.
- Like! What if - if we were talking about Lysystrata, say - you could tweet to the White House or your representatives while you were watching it, or there were links shown (on the website, or even live too) about how to get involved. Or a hashtag, to create a dialogue, with a running account of the conversation?
The recent performance of Antigone that I read about, but didn't see where they used Facebook, Twitter and/or YouTube as the chorus.
- Imagine it was all scripted and taped, but is there anyway to use that as a connecting point? A greek chorus, say, streamed in from 12 different parts of the world?
- Relatedly, what about the possibility of exploring characters or story elements that that can be told/seen/experienced remotely?
- Or! The same story, told from two different points of view, in two different places - in both places you see one angle live, and other live-streamed, and vice versa... does that make sense?
Some other ideas.
- Two shows in repertory in two different places: the first one is live, the second, live-streamed.
- The same show, but some scenes or acts shown live, some streamed from different places.
- You could do it exquisite corpse style, where each creative team gets the script (or maybe just a portion of the script) w/ no communication and see what happens.
- Or the opposite: extreme collaboration - skyping in to one another's rehearsals - online production meetings - maybe even live actors communicating with streamed actors on stage.
- That last one - live actors communicating with streamed actors on stage - could also be applied to the idea of telling the same story from two points of view in two different places.
- Live-streamed play readings or workshop forums via Twitter.
Oh man. I didn't expect it, but I'm actually really excited about a lot of these ideas. There is definitely a project in here somewhere.
If anybody has any stories of a collaboration over distance that worked out well, or other ideas to keep building on, I would absolutely love to hear them. Or, if anybody is interested in thinking more about/putting into motion any of the above ideas, I definitely want to talk to you.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Looking For a Good Read?
About ten months ago, I thought to myself, hey, I can write. I have opinions. I could totally be a blogger. Then I wrote about 6 posts, said, "hey, something shiny!" and forgot about it. But the idea kept gnawing at me, and after dreadful summer of burn-out, dead-ends, and self-doubt, I came back to the project, invigorated by a need for expressive revival and new paths to creative fulfillment.
Since September, I've immersed myself in the online/blogging community at large, and I've collected an astounding amount of insight and knowledge from it. I have an exciting and ever-growing list of thoughtful bloggers whom I follow regularly (see the blogroll). But there are a few (mostly theater) blogs I want to call out specifically for having consistently engaging content that I look forward to reading week after week.
Parabasis: As thought-provoking as it is eclectic: where else can I follow an academic analysis of one of favorite TV shows, read the most incisive review of Broadway's most talked-about play a month before the critics got to it, and be challenged by bold and considered political opinions all in the same place?
2amt: If you love making theater, and you know how to work the internet, you should be following 2amt. End of story.
About Last Night: This may be an inappropiate generalization, but I often feel like theater critics - while I understand their role in the art - crave the opportunity to tear a piece of work apart, and have little understanding of or involvement with the actual creative process. Not so with Teachout. I get the feeling from him that he loves and appreciates the art form in its totality, the process as well as the product. He wants to exalt what is really good about theater, and if that means honestly appraising what's bad about theater, well so be it. And he's not afraid to make a go of it himself, which I respect and admire. His blog is thoughtful, accessible, and entertaining. I always look forward to reading it.
The Clyde Fitch Report: A wealth of news and commentary on a number of subjects, ranging from interviews to arts advocacy to current and topical theater talk. (And the fact that the three examples I pulled are the first three links on the site should be an indicator of its consistent awesomeness). A fabulous resource and good reading as well.
Since September, I've immersed myself in the online/blogging community at large, and I've collected an astounding amount of insight and knowledge from it. I have an exciting and ever-growing list of thoughtful bloggers whom I follow regularly (see the blogroll). But there are a few (mostly theater) blogs I want to call out specifically for having consistently engaging content that I look forward to reading week after week.
Parabasis: As thought-provoking as it is eclectic: where else can I follow an academic analysis of one of favorite TV shows, read the most incisive review of Broadway's most talked-about play a month before the critics got to it, and be challenged by bold and considered political opinions all in the same place?
2amt: If you love making theater, and you know how to work the internet, you should be following 2amt. End of story.
About Last Night: This may be an inappropiate generalization, but I often feel like theater critics - while I understand their role in the art - crave the opportunity to tear a piece of work apart, and have little understanding of or involvement with the actual creative process. Not so with Teachout. I get the feeling from him that he loves and appreciates the art form in its totality, the process as well as the product. He wants to exalt what is really good about theater, and if that means honestly appraising what's bad about theater, well so be it. And he's not afraid to make a go of it himself, which I respect and admire. His blog is thoughtful, accessible, and entertaining. I always look forward to reading it.
The Clyde Fitch Report: A wealth of news and commentary on a number of subjects, ranging from interviews to arts advocacy to current and topical theater talk. (And the fact that the three examples I pulled are the first three links on the site should be an indicator of its consistent awesomeness). A fabulous resource and good reading as well.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Yoga Lessons
During a recent yoga class, whilst in half-pigeon, our teacher advised us to back off the position if we felt a great deal of pain.
"Now, there's a difference between pain and tenderness," he clarified. "Tenderness we deal with - pain we don't." Oh, I thought, a tad let down. It's not that it wasn't good advice - of course it was - it was just that in this class (and possibly in the yoga world at large) there is a lot of emphasis in the connection between how we respond to our yoga practice, and how we respond to life in general. You know, calm, focus, presence of mind, even in face of painful experiences - that sort of thing. An ability to lean into the pain and accept it, rather than pushing against it.
So it was with a little disappointment that I acknowledged our instructor's advice; while very practical and appropriate for the yoga practice itself, it didn't seem to translate well to the yoga-as-life metaphor. To say that we "don't deal with pain" - isn't that completely backwards? Isn't the learning to deal with pain rather than backing away from it exactly the point?
But then he continued: "Tenderness is normal - natural. We want tenderness. But pain, pain is not natural. Pain is your body's way of saying Stop doing this, you're hurting me."
Huh.
Maybe it does translate after all. Perhaps there is a wisdom in knowing the difference between the tenderness that is simply the business living, the natural result our spirits stretching and tensing in the world, and real pain - pain that shouldn't be. And further wisdom in understanding that that pain is not an unbearable burden, but rather a way of communicating to ourselves, stop doing this, you're hurting me.
"Now, there's a difference between pain and tenderness," he clarified. "Tenderness we deal with - pain we don't." Oh, I thought, a tad let down. It's not that it wasn't good advice - of course it was - it was just that in this class (and possibly in the yoga world at large) there is a lot of emphasis in the connection between how we respond to our yoga practice, and how we respond to life in general. You know, calm, focus, presence of mind, even in face of painful experiences - that sort of thing. An ability to lean into the pain and accept it, rather than pushing against it.
So it was with a little disappointment that I acknowledged our instructor's advice; while very practical and appropriate for the yoga practice itself, it didn't seem to translate well to the yoga-as-life metaphor. To say that we "don't deal with pain" - isn't that completely backwards? Isn't the learning to deal with pain rather than backing away from it exactly the point?
But then he continued: "Tenderness is normal - natural. We want tenderness. But pain, pain is not natural. Pain is your body's way of saying Stop doing this, you're hurting me."
Huh.
Maybe it does translate after all. Perhaps there is a wisdom in knowing the difference between the tenderness that is simply the business living, the natural result our spirits stretching and tensing in the world, and real pain - pain that shouldn't be. And further wisdom in understanding that that pain is not an unbearable burden, but rather a way of communicating to ourselves, stop doing this, you're hurting me.
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