November 6, 2008
Project Introspection: Time-budgeting skills
For those of you just tuning in, I’m in the middle of a multi-part blog series called Project: Introspection. Previously, I discussed the importance of working independently. Read on for the next part in the series.
Time: our most valuable resource. Time is non-renewable, limited, and ever elusive. Large sections of our lives devour time before we even get to think about it. We don’t have a choice.
We sleep for 6-8 hours per day (ideally).
Many of us work for 8 hours a day. Factor in commute and preparation, and you’re often up to 10-12 hours gone.
Meals, bathroom breaks and other necessesities take up even more valuable time.
That leaves us very few hours to relax and enjoy our hobbies and entertainment. That leaves us very few hours to pursue theatre, art, music, or whatever your chosen medium is.
Therefore, an artist must be an expert at time management. In order to be successful, one must be able to balance the aforementioned time slices in such a way that leaves you relatively stress-free and avoid burnout.
Time management is crucial to success, and the key to time management is prioritization — ordering tasks in such a way as to maximize productivity and minimize waste.
Yesterday, I mentioned a show I performed in with my castmates Tom and Meghan, where we spent massive amounts of time devoted to memorizing our lines and perfecting our characters. That’s a great example of how we utilized time management skills to pull off an amazing show with a very limited resource — time. But since I already talked about this yesterday, I’ll discuss another example.
Three years ago, I was granted the opportunity to direct a show. I chose to direct a stage adaptation of George Orwell’s 1984. It’s actually quite faithful to the book, with only minor changes in the name of pragmatism and budget.
Since the show wasn’t on the scheduled season, I was given very limited resources — no budget, limits on who I could cast or have in my crew, and very limited time.
I was given approval on Oct 26th and told that opening night would be December 1st. The show would be performed in the studio theatre. Because of scheduling conflicts and limitations imposed by the theatre, we could only rehearse between the hours of 8 and 10pm.
It took me nearly a week to secure the rights, order the scripts and hold auditions. By November 1st, we began rehearsals. In the meantime, I was balancing graduate classes and an internship with a local high school, as well as coordinating with set, costume, light and sound designers. I slept maybe 5 hours a night.
The first two weeks were relatively safe. There were no conflicts or obstacles to getting rehearsals done. We had to rehearse hard and fast, with only two hours per night to block, rehearse and give notes. In the third week of November, the next mainstage show opened. Unfortunately, the studio theatre was also the venue for the angel reception, held in honor of our patrons. No rehearsal that night.
Saturday afternoon I received a call from a cast member. Amy, one of the other members of the cast, had been in an accident. Jogging along a bike trail, she had been hit by a driver. She was alive and going to recover, but for now she was in ICU and obviously would not be able to fulfill her commitment to the show. I called her sister to offer my condolences and proceeded to find a replacement. Enter the set designer.
The following week was, of course, Thanksgiving. School was out on Wednesday, but I asked my cast members to meet on Wednesday morning for one last rehearsal before the break. We had to perfect the show at this point, because when we returned on Sunday, we were entering tech and dress rehearsals.
The cast returned from the break invigorated and ready to work. We rehearsed long and hard those nights and opened that Thursday night with a sold out house. The entire run was sold out and we got rave reviews.
All of this was accomplished in a little over 19 days of rehearsal, not including weekends, Thanksgiving break or the Thursday night angel reception. It was a massive undertaking and the cast and crew came together in the spirit of teamwork and cooperation, worked individually to perfect their parts, and as a team, budgeted their time to make the most of every rehearsal. And keep in mind, this is on top of work, classes, social lives, and other commitments these guys had. I was and remain very proud of my cast and crew.
With proper time management and dedication, even a strenuous and limited schedule can result in a successful production that brings accomplishment, pride and a good reputation to the company.
September 29, 2008
Weathering a Brainstorm
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been a bit busy and haven’t had the time or inclination to update The Director Sector regularly, with the exception of a few “here’s what i’m up to these days” posts. Now, though, I’m getting settled into Chicago and I’m ready to start thinking theatre again.
Last night, I discussed with a friend of mine some ideas for plays that I had in my head. After I finished my explanations, she said, basically, “What’s the point?”
So here’s my question of the day for you guys:
If you have to explicity explain the reasoning behind why you did what you did, or explicitly explain the moral or the lesson or whatever it is that you want the audience to take away from the play, should you even do the play at all? If they miss the point and walk away from the show confused, have you lost them?
The two ideas that I have don’t have traditional plots, per se, but are more experiments in messing around with time, space, and possibilities. They’re not about the characters, but more about whichever element I’m messing with at the moment.
Thoughts? Do you need more specific examples?
July 2, 2008
Bitten by the Directing Bug
All of my life I’ve loved learning. From the day I realized that letters on a page corresponded to words that we could hear and speak, I’ve loved reading. I still remember the first book I ever read. A Berenstein Bears book.
I’ve already relayed my terrifying and horrible public speaking experiences in a previous post, so I won’t rehash it now. Despite my fear of speaking in front of people, I always enjoyed school. I loved being around people and stuffing my brain with as much knowledge as I could. Some classes weren’t as interesting as others (coughcalculuscough), but I still tried my best to know as much as I could.
My sophomore year of college, the summer after I switched from a Computer Science major to a Drama major, I got a job in North Carolina at the Roanoke Island Festival Park as a “historical interpreter.” In other words, I was a living history re-enactor. I spent all day dressed up in 16th century garb in 100+ degree heat, talking to visitors about the history of Roanoke Island and how life was back then. Towards the end of the summer, I had grown comfortable with explaining esoteric topics to visitors and breaking down complex historical facts into entertaining stories.
When I got back to college, I continued developing my acting chops and performed on stage every chance I could get. My best friends were techies, so I spent a lot of time talking to them about technical stuff and offering my actor point of view on some topics. I learned a little bit of everything, from set design to lighting design, from prop-making to running the sound board.
Shortly after graduating, I went back to school to get my masters. During the Fall term, there were two shows with auditions back-to-back. Of course, I auditioned for both shows. It turned out that each show had 6 and 12 people in it respectively. The first show’s cast was almost entirely freshmen, with two upper classmen, while the second show only had three majors in the entire show — the rest were made up of non-majors who happened to be taking Acting that semester. Professor McPsycho (you might remember her from “Good Things Come to Those Who Wait“) directed that one, and she almost always casts exclusively from her acting classes.
For two weeks after the casting notices went up, the actors of the department griped and complained. Out of sixty performance majors, only 9 had been cast in a show that semester. The other fifty-one didn’t have anything to do. To be fair, maybe 15-20 of those 50 majors weren’t very active in the department. Still, that left almost 30 actors without something to do!
Thomas Jefferson once said, “and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.” This is precisely what happened. Rather than fixing the problem, the actors chose to bitch and moan about not having a part. Rather than putting something together themselves, they sat around and complained.
Well, I wasn’t going to do that. I wanted to be active in the theatre and by the beard of Zeus, it was going to happen. I went to the department head and asked for permission to produce a show. He asked who was going to direct it. I shrugged and said, “I’ll do it.” He agreed and gave me instructions on putting together a proper proposal. I spent the next three days in his personal library reading through dozens of plays. I finally settled on a stage adaptation of George Orwell’s “1984″.
I received final approval of the production in the third week of October, along with a notice that opening night would be November 30th. That gave me about five and a half weeks to get together a cast, a crew, rehearse, build sets, etc.
Shit.
I got my best friend, a very experienced and knowledgeable techie, to be my stage manager, and I held auditions two days later. The show could have been done with 8 people, with doubled up parts, but in the interest of student-actor experience, I cast each part individually. I was under a lot of pressure to get this done. I had no budget, I had no help from the faculty, and I had a very limited time frame (2 hours rehearsal per night, tops).
When all was said and done, the show was a success. The cast came together and gave stellar performances to sold out houses.
That’s when I discovered I’d been bitten by the directing bug.
I enjoyed the whole learning process, researching the script, putting the set pieces together, blocking, character development, making sure the lights were perfect, the sound cues spot on, advertising. It was challenging beyond belief, but it was nothing we couldn’t handle. And in the end, we came together as a team and delivered George Orwell’s 1984 to an audience that loved it.
I loved it, too.
June 29, 2008
The Pillowman - A Question
Has anyone read the play “The Pillowman” by Martin McDonagh? I’ve never seen it performed but I read the script recently, and man, is that a fucked up play or what? I’ve always enjoyed dark plays — comedies, tragedies, whatever — but this one takes the cake. I was thoroughly horrified throughout the entire script.
What’s the point of it? Is it just to be dark? Is it to show how irrational people can be, or how artists need to be careful about the stories they tell, in case someone can’t separate fact from fiction? Is it commentary on the whole video-games-cause-kids-to-go-on-shooting-rampages thing?
Seriously, someone help me out, cause I sure don’t get it.
June 15, 2008
Tony Awards
Congrats to Patti Lupone! Took her 28 years, but she won again! Best Actress in a Musical Revival. Great job!
I had heard lots of good things about all of the plays and musicals that were up for the Tony’s this year, but I’m ashamed to admit that I hadn’t had the opportunity to see any of them. Yet I’m stoked. I think the presentations were amazing and the performances by the actors and actresses in these dozens of plays and musicals were just absolutely phenomenal.
I was especially impressed with “In The Heights”, “Xanadu” (don’t laugh), and, oddly enough, “Grease”. I was more impressed with the choreography for “Grease” than anything else.
I love the directing choices behind “The 39 Steps” with the switching of hats and such. Absolutely brilliant.
I think I may try and take a trip to NYC later this Fall and see as many of these as I can.
The 39 Steps
As I watched the Tony Awards the other night, I saw several clips from “The 39 Steps” which I had honestly never heard of. I was fascinated by the way the actors would switch characters. Sometimes they simply switched hats, other times they had intricate choreography that put one character out of sight just long enough to switch hats or masks or whatnot to change characters.
I imagine this method doesn’t take very long to get used to, much like the puppeteers in “Avenue Q”. After a few minutes, you don’t even notice the puppeteers — until they want to be noticed. The same thing probably applies for “The 39 Steps”.
So back to my original point. The scenes that I saw really got my mind racing about those kinds of possibilities. I’d often seen similar shows (like Patrick Stewart’s one-man version of “A Christmas Carol”), but I had never really considered it from a directing standpoint. It’s raised some questions in my mind.
1) Does the show need to be specifically written with those kinds of mechanics in mind, or could you theoretically adapt regular plays to fit that kind of model? Could we, say, take Romeo and Juliet and do the same thing, or would massive changes be required?
2) How much does the audience enjoy that kind of switcheroo? I imagine there has to be some sort of seamlessness in character changing so the audience doesn’t even think about it. Another Avenue Q example: Several times an actor will hand off the puppet to someone else while he leaves the stage to grab another puppet. Nearly every time, I didn’t notice the hand-off until the actor came back on stage with a new puppet. If I were to adapt Romeo and Juliet to the “39 Steps” model of switching characters with three or four actors, how do you make it seamless enough that the audience isn’t distracted by the changes?
3) How can I take these kinds of concepts and apply them to an existing (or new) play in an original or different way? I don’t want to flat out copy The 39 Steps. Their switcheroos were flawlessly executed and seamless, but I don’t really want to steal that idea or clone the show. I don’t want my Romeo and Juliet to be “The 39 Steps” in sheep’s clothing, so to speak.
I’ve been working on a play for the past year or two, and I had a transition planned for the characters, but seeing these clips from the Tony’s has given me some new ideas. I should pull out that script and see what I can do.
May 30, 2008
Honest Criticism or Feel-Good Reviews?
One thing I’ve always wanted from my friends and co-workers that I never receive is honest-to-God constructive criticism. It’s just so hard to get people to tell you what they think of the shows that I’ve done. No one will give a straight answer when all is said and done.
Your parents will always love your performance, no matter what. And even if they didn’t, they’d never tell you.
Your friends and castmates don’t want to hurt your feelings (or ruin future networking ops).
Your director doesn’t want to lower morale and/or admit that he/she screwed up in casting you.
Any random audience member is going to say SOMETHING positive to your face.
Critics’ reviews, if any, are generally going to focus on the show as a whole rather than individual things you can do to improve your own performance.
When I took my first Directing class and had to direct a one-act, one thing that Doc told us was that we were not allowed to perform in our own show. His reasoning was simple: you can’t see yourself on-stage
In film and TV, you often have directors making cameos or even starring in their own shows. This works because of the simple fact that they can see themselves on screen and see if it works or not. An actor on stage can’t do that.
As an actor, I rely on someone else to tell me what I can do to better my performance. Not a show has gone by where I haven’t asked the director on multiple occasions what I could do better — ESPECIALLY on nights when he doesn’t give me notes at all. It’s imperative to me that each performance be better than the last, and there’s no note that I hate worse than “You’re fine”.
Fine? That doesn’t help me at all. First of all, the entire performance can’t be “fine”. There’s always, always room for improvement. So what parts are “fine”, what parts are “good” and what parts are “not-so-good”? Help me out here, man.
As a director, I strive to provide as much honest criticism to my cast and crew as possible. If I’m not happy with the way something is going, I speak up. If someone is talking too fast, I slow them down. If someone keeps changing the blocking, I put them back on track. If someone is seriously misinterpreting a character or doesn’t understand a punch line or is simply reciting his lines or seems to stumble over her lines, I’ll speak up. I’m not going to be rude about it, but I’m going to be firm.
“Matt, you need to slow down.”
“Okay.”
(later)
“Matt, you need to slow down.”
“Okay.”
“No, listen. Your character is setting up all of Zoe and Adam’s punch lines, so the audience needs to be able to understand you. You’re speaking so fast that nobody will get the punch lines, because they didn’t understand the joke. Make sense?”
“Ohhhh, i see.”
“Yeah. Slow down.”
The above example is a true story from my last show. I had to tell his one guy to slow down every five minutes. It was insane. Opening night, he was still a little fast, but he had slowed down considerably — enough for the audience members who paid attention to get almost all of the jokes. He often came to me after rehearsals and said “How am I doing?”
I refused to answer with just “You’re fine.” On the nights when he did well, I told him so. “You were a lot slower tonight, which is good. You didn’t miss very many lines at all, which is good. You’ve got the personality of the character down pat, although he’s a little more sarcastic and a little less nice. Overall, good job. I have some specific notes that i”ll give you tomorrow.”
I’m pretty sure he appreciated my candor.
I want YOU to be the best actors you can be. I’m going to do everything in my power to make that happen.
So why doesn’t anyone else do the same for me?
May 4, 2008
Pirates and Ninjas: Anonymity on the Net
My friend William loves pirates. He loves them so much that every year he dresses up as a pirate for Halloween and hosts numerous “pirates vs ninjas” parties. He loves yelling “Arrrr, move ye scallywags!” while waving a beer in the air. I think if he could continue working as a light designer with it, he’d cut off his hand and put a hook there instead.
My friend Andrew loves ninjas. He’s loves them so much that every year he dresses up as a ninja for Halloween and attends numerous “pirates vs ninjas” parties. He wishes he could stalk around silently and assassinate those who displease him, like Katherine Turtle, or slink quietly into the room with nobody noticing. I think he’d be perfectly willing to never get laid if he could be a real ninja. Maybe he wouldn’t go that far.
Why should you care? Pirates? Ninjas? Have I been watching too many B movies?
Fortunately, no, I have not. I am, however, using Andrew and William as a metaphor.
Yep. A metaphor. Aren’t you proud?
There are two types of people on the Internet. Those who can whistle a tune and those who can’t.
There are also pirates and ninjas.
The Pirates love waving their swords in your face, expressing their opinion preceded by their favorite letter (arrr!). They have no fear of retaliation, because if you do, they’ll just march you right off the plank. They won’t hide or run. They’re notorious for one thing — the one thing they seek above all, even booty and beer — infamy. Or fame. Depends on how you look at it.
Ninjas, on the other hand, avoid the spotlight. In fact, you might say that’s their job. They hide in the shadows and strike when they can get away with it. You’ll never see a ninja attack in broad daylight with dozens of witnesses. They strike with little fear of retaliation because nobody will ever find them. It’s as if they don’t really exist.
Some people on the internet are Pirates. They don’t mind if you know who they are. They proudly announce their identities and express their opinions.
Some people on the internet are Ninjas. They DO mind if you know who they are. They hide behind a wall that prevents others from finding out who they are. They protect themselves from harm by hiding behind a pseudonym.
Each has their pros and cons. Pirates are infamous for a reason — they’re easy targets and they’re out in the open. They might make their points known and might score a bit of loot every now and again, but the common people don’t really like them that much. Ninjas on the other hand are very good at striking quickly and cleanly, waiting for the right moment to strike for the most benefit.
On the other hand, there are fingers.
Sorry. On the other hand, people dislike thugs who hide in the shadows and refuse to face the light of day for fear of getting hurt.
I like to think of myself as somewhere in the middle. I protect myself with a pseudo-secret identity, but I’m not making a huge effort to hide who I am. I refer to myself as “The Director” because that’s the way I see myself — a director. A rookie director, to be sure, but a director nonetheless. However, I do realize that a certain amount of… well, honesty, I guess… that is needed to run a blog such as this.
I firmly believe what I believe. However, I also realize that my musings here might not always be correct, and I am fully prepared to change my beliefs and thoughts when new evidence presents itself.
Therefore, as a searcher of truth, I am not afraid to hide behind a pseudonym. I will continue to go by the pseudonym — not out of fear, but out of identification.
I am neither a pirate nor a ninja.
I am The Director.
March 25, 2008
The Art of Interviewing
Last week, I interviewed at a school for their MFA Directing graduate program. I met the department head for two interviews, took a tour of the campus, and met several of the graduate students. The whole drive down there, I kept racking my brain to come up with some good questions to ask. I know that interviewers like to be asked questions as much as they like to ask questions. It gives an insight into the interviewee’s personality and life that they won’t otherwise get.
I racked my brain the entire way down. I couldn’t really come up with much.
The interview began, and every time I had a question pop into my head about whatever it was the guy was talking about, I asked it. I felt like I did a good job coming up with questions, and I honestly learned a lot more than I would have had I not asked those questions. At the end of the interview, though, he said “Well, we’ll set up another interview tomorrow. Think of some questions that you might have so we can talk about it tomorrow.” I was sorta disappointed. I didn’t have any more questions.
I got in my car on the way out, and I called one of my college professors, the one I always turn to when I have questions about theatre stuff. He’s pretty good with that kind of stuff. So I call him, and I ask him for some advice, for some kinds of questions I can ask that would, I dunno, make me look smart.
His response? “Ask about things you want out of a program, not just what’s required. Don’t ask about how many classes you can cut, or how much it costs, or anything like that. Ask about what you want out of the program.”
I said, “But everything I want to do is everything I’m required to do! He’s already answered every question I’ve had so far! And on top of that, he answered everyone question I didn’t ask!”
He laughed. “I guess I can’t help you then.”
Boy, did I feel stupid walking back into that interview the next day with no questions up my sleeve.
March 16, 2008
Fail-safes
I’ve been keeping my mind and my eyes on the path in front of me. I’ve chosen a set of goals, a set of plans, and I’m trying to follow them to the best of my ability. As I go, I’ve been trying to keep my eye on the big picture as well. My life should be more than worrying about my next paycheck, more than worrying about whether my health insurance payment will be on time. My life should be about making a difference and being me to the best of my ability.
I’ve been asked a lot recently about my future. My parents are bugging me to get a job, and believe me, I’m trying to find one. I’ve come up with a series of plans and back-up plans to ensure that I get the future I want, but so far, things aren’t really working out.
Plan A: Apply to graduate schools, interview, and get accepted into a program. Finish the program, get some more professional experience, and direct/work professionally. My endgame is to wind up like Scott Walters, an old fogey in a cushy theatre professor job. (Just kidding, Mr. Walters. Sorta.)
Plan B: Should I not get accepted into grad school this year, find a job of some sort (whether teaching or something different). Work to pay the bills until next year when I can apply to a new round of grad school interviews and auditions. I will, of course, endeavor to stay involved in community and any professional theatre I can.
Plan C: Roll over and die. I’m hoping it doesn’t come to this.