wednesday night fights

Whoa.

Anyone see the Republican debates last night?

I, personally, love these You Tube debates, makes it almost feel like the candidates share a world roughly similar to mine. Anderson Cooper is probably a prick, he was born rich and he's good-looking, went gray at nineteen, so he's all serious and shit, but he always does a great job, which is just another reason for him to be a prick, but my point is...

Whoa.

I mean, Jesus.

Christ Almighty. Did you see that shit?

Big Fred stepped straight out and said the main focus of the party needs to be overturning Roe v. Wade. Not at all surprising for anyone who's been watching for awhile, but fuck. Nan started quietly crying on the couch next to me. I watched, silent and struck. Anderson didn't have any follow-up. On to the next question...

Mitt and Rudy wrestled for awhile, lots of elbows and slaps. Duncan Hunter ran over and built a fence between them, right there on the spot. Very impressive.

Duncan Hunter.

Did no one say to him at any point:

"Your name is Duncan Hunter. You will never be president. Stop spending people's money."?

I guess no one ever said that to Millard Fillmore either.

Anyway, holy Jesus fuck.

We're in trouble, folks.

They're running the same "crazy as a shit-house rat" shtick on Ron Paul as they're running on Dennis Kucinich, both of them have no prayer but play well on TV, they're the eccentric comic uncles in our bad national sitcom, but Paul came on strong. His slogan, right there and out in the open is Revolution. Fuck yes, Ron. You're dead wrong on just about everything, but fuck yes. Shout and sing, you crazy bastard.

Rudy, of course, scares the shit out of me. He could win and he's smarter than anyone you've ever met. And, yes, he's a Fascist. Look it up. Not on Wikepedia, do real research and you'll see, he's a Fascist. Not empty words, not a reflexive epithet, the man is a true-blue Fascist and he could win and that scares the very shit out of me, a New Yorker that lived under Guiliani and voted for him once. Absolute scream-and-yell-and-run-for-your-life terror if Rudy takes the pledge and is our President. Buy a gun and aim for the White House. We're all dead.

God No. Not Rudy. Jesus. Holy Fuck.

Now....Mitt.

We need to talk about Mitt.

I'm going to go out on a ledge here. No one's really talking about this, but...

He is not of us.

I'm not talking the Mormon thing, which is weird, but I'm talking seriously, human to human here,

He is not of Us.

The dude ain't human. Watch him for awhile. Closely.

Not Us.

Everyone says "Ken Doll" but it's deeper than that. I watched him for two hours, watched him duck and dodge and smile and joke and make his points and attack and defend, and no, my friends, (I'm ripping off McCain with that one, he was great, "My friends, my friends..." he kept mumbling the words long past it was clear he had few in the house), my friends, I tell you true:

He Is Not Of Us.

I get a deep, cellular creep-out from this guy.

Synthetic. Programmed. Soothing. Handsome. Careful. Coiffed. Healthy. Beaming.

He's some kind of fucking robot is all I'm saying.

From some alien civilization.

Probably a civilization of vastly superior intelligence, sure, but my friends, an alien civilization.

Watch him. I am not fucking around.

So, I don't want no damned alien in the White House. Is all I'm saying.

Huckabee is all the rage, but I don't see it. Nice, Christian guy from Hope, Arkansas. Didn't we already do that?

I think it comes down to Big Fred and Rudy, maybe there's a Christian Soldier who fights it out with them, but I can't see him yet.

Fred is Freddy from Nightmare on Elm Street. He's got the charm and style and intelligence (my father will kill me for using that last word) of Reagan.

Totally dangerous dude. Just because he's good on the little screen doesn't mean you want him deciding whether or not your daughter or niece should bleed to death in some corporate park sub-basement when they've outlawed legal abortion in your state. That's not a flight of fancy. That's what will happen, to someone in your family, mine, or someone none of us knows. Doesn't matter.

This is America. Goddamn it. Hard to believe it lately, I know. But this is America. Let's please stop fucking around.

I want you to envision a sweet little female face, someone born now or a year ago. They're your blood or they're not, again, doesn't matter. They're born in America. And fifteen years later they fuck up, as we all have or could have, and that sweet little person is pregnant. And they have no choice. There is no legal, protected above-board place for them to go to do the most horrible thing they have ever done in their very young life. So they go to the guy who does the thing at the place and they give him the money.

Like it's nineteen fucking fifty five or something.

And the Guy who does the Thing is a criminal, as he would have to be, if Roe v. Wade is overturned.

Now, a word or two in defense of criminals:

Full disclosure forces me to admit here and now that I have broken federal, state and local laws in my life and I have thankfully gotten away with most infractions. My total time behind bars is only about three days if you add it all up. You can technically call me a criminal but my crimes were virtually all victim-free and can mostly be chalked up to youthful or chemical exuberance. But my life experience has allowed me to live, work and socialize with many low-level and perfectly harmless criminals, people who have to make their money beneath or outside of the law, and I can tell you this,

most criminals are simply business people providing a service who happen to be poor. And usually, they are under-educated. And usually, in my experience, they are high or not far from getting high.

So.

Is that the type of person you want to have aiming a sharp object at your niece or daughter or step-daughter or any other American's reproductive organs?

Think about it.

That's what they're talking about. It's not an abstraction. It's young girls dying. It's horrible. I know. I wish every baby were wished for and planned for and welcomed. But it's not true. We have to deal from where we are, not where we'd like to be.

So, Jesus.

Jesus Holy Fuck on High.

Vote Democrat. Vote for whatever pathetic corporate whore they nominate. I'm an Obama man, of late. If they nominate Hilary, I'll swallow it and vote. If they nominate Edwards, I'll pretend that the corn-pone horseshit doesn't physically cause me to wretch and I'll vote. If it's a write-in and it's Ronald McFuckingDonald on a platform of forced French Fries for all, I will fucking well vote for the clown.

If it's Rudy, we're all deeply, deeply fucked. Look above, we'll live under a Fascist government. It will be extremely well run. Every train will arrive on time. It will always be sunny and quiet. You will never have to see anyone who is not hard-working, tax-paying and scared out of their poor fucking mind. You will live in constant, unrelenting fear. That's how those boys play and they play like a Vegas casino. The house always wins.

If Rudy wins, goodbye U.S.A. He'll take everything the Idiot has done and run it like a corporation. He is so fucking smart.

So....

Fuck.

Had a good day on the art side. Signed a new client to consult with, had an outrageously good meeting with Eric Sanders, cast Overlord, great morning meeting with the LIT crew, all that. But, man.

Night ended heavy watching those sons-of-bitches stand there pretending to talk to me. I like and respect McCain. I voted, once, for Guiliani. I bet I'd have a perfectly enjoyable conversation with everyone who stood on that stage. But if any single one of those motherfuckers wins the Big Prize, we as a nation, we as a world, are immediately endangered. Like they talk about species.

total indifference and other great traits

Struggling through Hans-Thies Lehmann's Postdramatic Theatre. Alternately crystal clear and baffling, often within a single paragraph. Reading along, nodding my head and then stuck staring at a string of words for thirty seconds, trying to figure out which one of them is the verb. Love this bit, where he's talking about the historic shift away from drama and towards theater, sometime in the early 20th century:

The French director Antoine Vitez, someone who stages classical texts with sparse and functional theatrical means, knew what he was talking about when he said that since the end of the nineteenth century all great works written for the theater were marked by a 'total indifference' towards the problems their texture posed for scenic realization.

I know some of those writers. Used to piss me off, but mon ami Antoine has a good point. Writers should just write and leave it to the directors and designers to figure the rest of it out.

Meeting with Eric Sanders today, he wrote Ixomia which just played at the Crown Point Festival. He demonstrated absolute, total indifference to the staging and design when he wrote it. I read it, loved it, told him "I have no idea what to do with this." The production at the festival worked, his director and design team solved a lot of it. Might be another way to do it, but without having seen an attempt, I would still be clue-free.

triumph on the Bowery

Bad Christmas burned down Dixon Place last night. Stellar performances, as usual, from Urcioli and Coelius, Ayun rocked it and those Krazy Kotis Kids, India and Milo, not only nailed every line and entrance, they charmed the bejesus out of the crowd. We're bringing it back on Thursday, playing at the PIT. Seven minutes of holiday heaven.

Looks like a public reading of Captain Overlord's Folly is in the works at the Ohio Theater, some time in December. Need to hear the words coming out of actual human mouths before any more rewrites.

Real thrill last night for me, met Jeff Jones, author of Seventy Scenes from Halloween, a favorite show from my youth. Saw a production of it at the Undermain Theater in Dallas about twenty years ago and it gave me hope that the theater could be strange and funny and fast. David Lindsey-Abbaire was also in the house, got to shake his hand. And Tom Murrin, the Alien Comic and other good friends I hadn't seen in a while.

Love these short little projects, one rehearsal and then toss it up on the stage, see what happens. Hones the directing skills, you have to be clear and pay attention to the basics.

India and Milo in their little jammies! So cute.

bad Christmas

Hilarious rehearsal for Greg Kotis' Bad Christmas yesterday at the Atlantic's new second-stage space. Nice rehearsal space, by the way. The show is up tonight at Dixon Place and then again on Thursday at the P.I.T. space. Come one, come all and see Bill Coelius get smacked in the face with a pan and then get his sternum all splintered up by Paul Urcioli while Paul strides around in the full Santa regalia: wig, beard, glasses and the requisite big red suit. We got cute li'l children who know most of their lines and Ayun Halliday, wielding the aforementioned pan. Solid holiday entertainment and at seven minutes, it's over before you get bored.

Working on the Code of Ethics for LIT this week, have to show folks something by Wednesday.

Strike still going on, starting to seriously freak some people out. Nancy and I have a handful of friends, all actors, who are losing good money.

Flying to Dallas this Friday to see some old friends and pitch some shows to Kitchen Dog Theater, so it's a short week here at the Dime Museum. We shall endeavor to work industriously.

little break

We're off to the wilds of New England for the Meal of the Giving of the Thanks. Much to be thankful for this year and much to mourn. May not be posting until Monday, may start jonesing before that.

For what it's worth, why would Isherwood spend precious ink directing people to watch a television show, Friday Night Lights, instead of to the hundreds of Off-Off shows completely unaffected by the strike? And note that in his universe "downtown" is 23rd and 10th. Around these parts, East 4th between 2nd and 3rd is a considerable walk uptown.

Easy to indulge in the time-honored sport of Times-bashing. But, seriously. The second-string Times critic should have a little more sense than that.

Enjoy your bird, all. Give thanks for what you have and bitch and moan for what you don't. It's America, after all.

magic night

Spent the evening out in Red Hook with the fabulous and ever-resourceful Ben Schneider and his beautiful bride and super-chef Sohi Kim. Finally met their pride and joy, the 3 month old Jasper Dae. For all of you out there with children, I hate to break it to you, but we have a winner. She is hands down the cutest thing in jammies.

We were scrambling to find a time for a last dinner for David Calvitto, who is expatriating on Friday, moving to the Big Smoke to chase his dreams. Middle of the afternoon yesterday we realized tonight's the night and two phone calls later, Bob's your uncle and we're all having dinner together. Dave and Ben did Horse Country for me back in 2002, went on to tour the UK with the show for months.

Very sad to see Dave go, but then again we get over there often, so it just means we have another friend in London.

Maintenance day today, wrapping some things up so we can eat the big bird in peace. We're going up to Nancy's ancestral home, Greenfield, MA for the holiday. First Thanksgiving without Jane, so it might be rocky. But as Nancy pointed out, Jane always hated Thanksgiving. No prizes. We all get together, we sit around, and no presents? What kind of holiday is that? She loved her prizes, that girl.

new LIT statement of purpose

Here's what we came up with at the ungodly hour of 8:30 AM. Come on, if you were God, would you get up that early?

The League of Independent Theater (LIT) is the association of theater professionals working in New York City theaters of up to 99 seats. LIT's mission is to organize and protect its members to ensure that independent theater is economically viable for all of its practitioners. We will advocate on behalf of the decades-old tradition of off-off Broadway theater to ensure that it remains, and grows, as a thriving artistic and economic sector in New York City.

Pretty sure that's it. Please commence throwing the brick-bats if not.

On the art side, had a first reading of Greg Kotis' Bad Christmas , a seven-minute thing we're doing at Dixon Place next Monday as part of an evening called Little Theatre. Greg, being Greg, has cast his own brood as the little children eagerly awaiting Santa on Christmas Eve. India is Honey and Milo is Nick and goddamn are they adorable. Bill Coelius plays the part of the drunken (and wronged) husband, Ayun Halliday (Greg's wife) plays the wife and Paul Urcioli plays Santa, but it's a Kotis piece, so the stage directions read:

(Santa enters- a grim, avenging Santa.)

And we're off.

Lots of stage combat, Urcioli in full Santa regalia, a surprising and quite disturbing twist at the end and lots of shouting and wailing throughout. Just like any bad Christmas.

scrappy jack's random Friday thoughts

Sxip Shirey (that's Sxip with an "x") is some kind of genius. Kind of known him for years, he played at the Theatorium and we have a lot of shady friends in common, but only sat down and talked with him a few days ago. He gave me his eponymous CD, put it on late last night, left it on for about an hour. Crazy-ass musicianship. Here's my pull-quote,

If Ry Cooder were a little crazier and Tom Waits had never been discovered, they both would have been lucky to have become Sxip Shirey.

At the Mayor's Awards for Arts and Culture Wednesday night, Big Mike listed the three reasons that culture is important to New York. Look for the one that triggered an internal double-take in Scrappy's immortal soul:

Culture is central to our quality of life.

Culture is central to our brand identity.

Culture is central to New York City's economy.

That's right, folks, apparently I'm living in the great brand of New York, New York. The brand so nice they named it twice. I'm going to stop calling it "the city" when I'm out-of-town, which is a pretentious and snobby thing to do anyway. I'm going to call it "the brand".

It's going to be great to get back to the brand.

Look me up when you're in the brand.

Can you believe this brand?

Definitely has a 21st century ring to it.

In art news, C.J. Hopkins sent me his latest, America the Beautiful. Holy fuck. We might just have us a thing here. Ostensibly set in an underground interrogation room at an American airport, we see the Smiths, a nice upper-middle class American couple returning from London as they answer questions and comply with requests coming from Jack, a government official. Probably. Maybe. Jack's assistants, the beautiful Ingrid and the stolid, handsome Otis are there as well. And...

Well, it's Hopkins, so things get reliably strange, comic and ultimately just god-awful. Very excited about this one.

C.J. and I are also talking about a Woyzeck collaboration. May spend some time on that this afternoon.

That's me. New laptop just arrived, Nancy's monkeying around with it behind me. She's a monkeyer, that little monkey-girl.

Let's all pray she never reads this post, she'll hit me for that one.

cool public art project

Went downstairs to get some cigarettes at the bodega and looked across the street at the ugly plywood fence surrounding the Theatorium. Sixty feet across and about eight feet high. Blocking what was once the nicest piece of graffiti in the neighborhood. Thought about all of the shows that went up in that place once and all of the posters, postcards and other imagery associated with those shows.

Hmm...

It's a temporary surface, will only last until the demolition is over and the construction starts most likely. And it's nasty weather, so anything not securely attached will get blown off or fucked up in the rain. But still...

Imagine the color and the living history and the memorial for what the neighborhood used to be, right there on the site where they're hammering in what is pretty much the last nail on the casket.

Could be cool. And would give me something to look at when I buy my cigarettes.

I feel a draft

I think this is what we came up with yesterday as a draft Statement of Purpose for the League of Independent Theater.

My uncertainty stems from the early hour in which we drafted it and the difficulty in reading my own handwriting after 24 hours. Seriously, I have notebooks filled with writing from years ago that, without remembering the context, may as well be Arabic.

Some things we considered in the drafting of this:

1. This is for the ages, should make sense and be appropriate ten years from now.
2. Rhetoric and stirring imagery are not necessary for this document; that language is for the Manifesto and anything else the League decides to put out.
3. The Statement should make clear who (or whom, I guess) the League is being created to serve.

Here goes, draft draft drafty:

The League of Independent Theater is the association of Off-Off Broadway professionals working in New York City theaters of up to 99 seats. Its membership comprises every aspect of the theatrical trade. The League's mission is to organize and protect its members and to advocate on behalf of the artistic and economic sector they have created.

Last sentence seems a little weak and clunky when I look at it now, but like I said, big draft draft drafty. Think we're close.

wild, wild life

The Orwellian moment this week comes from President Pervez "How Do You Like My Suit?" Musharraf, our man in Pakistan.

Explaining why he suspended the Constitution, dismissed the Supreme Court, silenced independent news stations and arrested at least 2,500 opposition party workers, lawyers and human rights advocates, Prez Perv said, with what appeared to be a perfectly straight face,

"To ensure elections go in an undisturbed manner."

Undisturbed by, say, opposition.

But don't worry, Condi's on it, vowing to shake her finger at him for several minutes and then smile at him with her big weird teeth until she has blinded him with the righteousness and justice of her American smile.

So everything's going to work out fine.

Great Steering Committee meeting early this morning for the League, even though I slept through the first half, awaking to find the room shouting at me, waving their fists in the air, demanding more coffee. A spirited group.

And tonight one of those strange, dressy events. The New York Fringe Festival is receiving the Mayor's Award for Arts and Culture, along with Anna Deavere Smith and five other folks and organizations. Elena is thrilled, naturally, and Nancy and I will be there to bask in the reflected glory of our Big Monster Baby. Might shake Mike's hand, ask him for some money.

R.I.P. Theatorium

Bring down your flowers, ticket stubs and empty champagne bottles to 196-198 Stanton Street and throw them over the wooden fence. After four years of sitting empty the Theatorium is being torn down to make way for another apartment building on the Lower East Side.

We live just across the street so I was walking by yesterday and they had the roll gate open. I peeked in, hadn't seen the inside of that place for about five years. I told one of the workmen I used to work there when it was a theater. He said,

"It was a theater? We heard it was a strip club."

I thought, well, we would have made a hell of a lot more money.

Anyway, goney-gone now.

In its brief life it witnessed the first stagings of Tiny Ninja Theater, Rich Maxwell's Boxing 2000, Leigh Silverman's Brandon Teena, C-R-E-P-U-S-C-U-L-A-R ( which went on to become the 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee), Greg and Mark's Urinetown and about 500 other beautiful, shaggy shows. Usually when people talk about the place now, they talk about the rats and hell yes, there were rats, we even named one Gus we got to know him so well, but come on folks, it's Manhattan and we were always broke when we had that place. When I think about it, I think about the people who worked there and came in and out of the doors. I think of that crazy spiral staircase you had to navigate. I think of the look in a designer's eyes when they first caught sight of the large, open space. No columns? they'd ask and I'd nod happily.

But mostly I think of the good people who came and stayed and I wish I could thank them all again for their work and good humor. We never made a dime down there, but we made a lot of good shows and we almost always had a good time by the end of the day.

League meeting scheduled for Wednesday morning. General agreement that the draft SOP posted below is actually a Manifesto and should be reworked and titled as such. Working on a simple, clear SOP.

Excellent meeting last night with Dave Weems, Del Pentecost, Curtiss I'Cook and Nancy. Weems and I are going to write a multiple Emmy award-winning television show for Del, Curtiss and Nancy and we are all going to make, conservatively, eleven jillion dollars. Not bad at all.

All right. To work.

while the iron's hot

It was ugly, folks.

Citing the protection of a "vital national interest", Mayor "Gentleman" Mike Bloomberg after an all-night closed door session with Jerry Schoenfeld and Richard Frankel, ordered the New York City Mounted Division to break up the rabble and roustabouts calling themselves "Local One". The horsemen rode into the crowd, flanked by mysterious "Pinkerton" agents, all wielding batons, shouting "The show must go on!" The ragged men and women scattered, some tripping over their home-made "Mo' Dough or No Show!" picket signs as the tear gas eddied and drifted over Times Square.

The battle was fierce, but one-sided. The "stage-hands", as the strikers call themselves, could not organize a coherent counter-attack, due to what appeared to be some sort of internal disagreement about how many men should be on the left flank and for how long. One striker inexplicably pulled out a stool and sat on the sidewalk in the midst of the battle, reading a newspaper and claiming to be "leading the charge".

The producer's squadron of mounted goons were swift and brutal, using both batons and what appeared to be enormous sacks of US currency to bludgeon all who stood in their way, strikers and innocent citizens alike.

As the smoke and hyperbole cleared, the Rialto seemed to this reporter to be a deserted and damned place, a graveyard of all that once mattered to the Republic. The lights of the marquees blinked back on, hesitantly at first and then, gaining confidence, blazing in the cold November night. Hushed tourists slowly filed through the doors of the great Broadway houses and the immortal music of Mama Mia, Young Frankenstein and Legally Blonde struck up and could be heard, dimly, playing bravely once again.

Like I say, ugly.

gray day made bright

Cold and raining and the sun going down at 5:00 today. Saw it all driving back down from Albany. Safe and home on the Lower East Side.

Nancy and I both picked up the same cold last night at the Quality Inn, Nancy much worse, sneezing and hating life, asleep on the couch. I have a weaker or just earlier strain of the bug so I'm the designated caretaker.

Such are the balances of marriage.

This dark day made brighter by three anniversaries:

My little sister, Mary Anne Schwartz nee Clancy born today many years ago, bringing us all untold hilarity,

her daughter and my goddaughter Elizabeth Rader Schwartz, born today nine years ago, our miracle child

and also nine years ago, on the very day little Elizabeth came to us, Nancy and I moved into this apartment. Developers and bohos and bars have descended in the last long nine years, but we're still here.

So happy birthdays all around.

family business

My sister-in-law's house is closing tomorrow. Nancy is in charge of all things Jane since Jane died back in May, so we're driving up to Albany today. Tomorrow we'll sit in a lawyer's office and talk to strangers about money.

We miss her so much.

Probably no posts until Monday.

Everyone, call your family and tell them that you love them.

It's a simple thing to do and it's the only way to insure there will be no big regrets when somebody calls you with the bad news. It's a pretty short ride, makes no sense to waste time fighting with the other passengers.

first lap

Finished a draft of Overlord. Sat here typing all goddamned day. And now I'm typing some more, but I have a glass of Scotch next to me.

Hallelujah. It's not done, but I think I've got it finished.

On the New York Times website they have this headline:

Michael Jackson Ignores the Gossip

Isn't that the kind of headline you could have safely run any day since 1977?

Just asking.

fin

Had a breakthrough on Captain Overlord last night. May have found a way to end the thing.

Going to go deep-sea fishing in my head and see if I can haul the bastard aboard today.

Always great when you've been working on something for awhile and you catch a glimpse of the exit light.

corrupting the youth

The draft SOP below for the League focuses on funding, real estate, union Codes and contracts and a code of ethics for our territory. These are long-term issues and vital areas of interest.

I don't want to forget another one, though, which is harnessing the power of the university resources and student population of New York City and directing those resources and that audience to our theaters.

It's like we're living next to a reservoir and we're all still digging our own little wells. Imagine an organized, unified approach to the New York University theater department and the Columbia University School of Journalism. And those are just two departments in two institutions.

I'm not talking about conjuring up a hail of interns that are usually twice as much work to monitor as they're worth, I'm saying what if we could sit down with a dean or two and say we represent forty theaters and theater companies here in the city and we want to educate your students about the new works being created right now and we want to invite your class to an open rehearsal and talk-back and we want your arts administration class to use our theaters as their residencies, etc.?

This would take some serious organization and thinking through before we pick up a phone and call a professor, but man, we could catch those kids now and expose them to the good stuff and hook them for life.

draft Statement of Purpose

Just a draft, but how does this sound?

Statement of Purpose

The League of Independent Theater is the trade association for all entrepreneurs and artists working in theatrical venues with less than 100 seats within the five boroughs of New York City. "Indie" theater has an enormous cultural and economic impact on New York City and, by extension, the American Theatre; as such it is a national treasure and must be recognized as such. It is the de facto Research and Development wing of American theater, incubating and training the next generation of American masters and nurturing and sustaining the experimentations and new techniques that will perpetuate the discipline. It must be recognized, respected and funded as the vital resource it is.

Today, the indie theater artist is faced with unprecedented challenges, both economic and cultural. Practitioners of the theatrical arts have always honed their craft far from the bright lights and living wages of the commercial sector, eking out a livelihood while finding, establishing, and exploring their creative voices in basements, attics, converted lofts, parking lots, and found spaces throughout Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens and even Staten Island.

Entire neighborhoods have been saved by the contributions of indie theater artists who attracted audiences to once dangerous streets; those streets now host boutiques, bistros, and bodegas, and the indie theater artists who made possible the renaissance of the City are now transients in our own communities; from Greenwich Village to the Lower East Side to Williamsburg to Long Island City we have moved like peasants fleeing in slow-motion from the smiling, inevitable pogrom of urban gentrification.

Recent economic and political trends have decimated the public funding of the arts in America. A cultural war was fought and our side lost.

We reject out-of-hand the peace treaty offered; the League is our response.

The League is explicitly artist-centric. It is the individual artist, the writer, actor, director, designer and choreographer; that is the source of all economic activity in our industry. It exists, first and foremost, to fiercely advocate for its members.

We can no longer tolerate the incalculable loss of time, talent, and effort that is ensured by the volatile real estate environment in the city: a migrant community is a disposable one. Working with city officials and enlightened realtors we will secure the existing indie theater venues and make it stated public policy to create new arts centers whenever and wherever new residential and commercial building occurs.

In our sector the artists are more often than not, by choice or necessity, the ones doing the bulk of the producing and managing. The traditional barriers of labor and management are much more fluid and nominal than in the industry at large. Recognizing this, we call for a complete re-working of the existing union codes and contracts that operate in our sector. We call for this in the spirit of progress and with the clear vision and knowledge of how things actually work on the ground. The AEA Showcase Code is an anachronistic relic, doing far more harm than good to our community and by extension, to the industry at large. We will partner with AEA, in good faith, to address this vital issue. We see the Showcase Code as the single, most onerous burden that keeps our community, a community of both artists and producers, from flourishing

Our industry is Art; without the artists, no industry. Recognizing this, the League has introduced a Code of Ethics that all members must agree to and practice. The code ensures that artists, both union and non-union, are treated professionally and respectfully. It is an agreement between equals, a self-policing instrument to help guarantee a productive and positive working environment in our theaters and rehearsal halls.

The arts are the final fruit of civilization and a civilized society recognizes their centrality and insures their growth. The League will work with local, state and federal governments to create a $300,000,000.00 annual fund for the indie theater sector.

Three hundred million.

This fund will be used to secure and improve the infrastructure of our territory, enable the preservation of real estate so vital to our survival, subsidize the salaries and artist fees of our members, and train and support the next generation of American theater artists and administrators.

Every generation of indie theater artists has been forced to create a new network, find and build new spaces, move to a new neighborhood, adapt to mercurial and unforgiving economic conditions. Today, we come together to make a stand.

The League of Independent Theater welcomes artists, companies, venues, audience members and service providers to join us. If you are invested or interested in theater that occurs in venues of 99 seats or less, we are invested and interested in you. It is in our theaters and by our members that the future of the form will be forged. It is in our theaters and by our members that the future of the industry will be determined. An organized and unified approach is the only way to assure that that future will be a bright one, benefiting all.

tell me why

I don't like Mondays.

Actually not true anymore. Many good projects and little gigs make the start of the work week something I look forward to nowadays. I'm sure the drought will come and the cupboard will go bare again, so I'm enjoying this now. It's an Irish thing, I think. Certain of impending doom, we take the days of sunshine, skittles and beer and hold them tight.

Big League meeting at the end of the week. Steering Committee will see if we can get the thing out of the harbor and into the open seas. Incorporation, by-laws, all that sexy stuff.

Helping an old friend with a screenplay. I should be a board-certified script doctor, I am that good. I can cut and graft and make a dying story sing. In the immortal words of Alec Baldwin in Malice, the greatest B movie of our time:

"I don't have a god complex. I am God."

No problems with self-image to report on this Monday morning.

zombies

I was looking at the first act of Overlord last night and trying to figure out what I was doing.

Challenge is to build a very compelling and well-constructed play and then destroy it with the intrusion of the clowns. It's a lot of fun watching this slightly creaking but still servicable vehicle go off the rails, but like I say, I was trying to figure out what the point of it is.

Came up with this:

You have to think of it like you're in a zombie movie. Dead things still walking around have to be killed. They may look like living things, living things you used to know, but they're not. They're dead and they shouldn't be walking around. They have to be killed. It's as simple and as terrible as that.

And, like most zombie movies, sometimes it can be as funny as that, too.

Saw a preview of The Seafarer, Conor McPherson's latest a few days ago. Free tickets from Rachel, an old friend on the producing team. Amazing performances, especially Conleth Hill and Jim Norton, David Morse always great but with kind of the stiff, tough/silent role to carry.

It's at the Booth Theatre, my favorite Broadway house. And I don't go up to Broadway much, but when I do, the best part is still walking into the theater. Looking around, sitting down in the nice seat. As soon as the lights go down and the thing starts, the thrill inevitably starts ebbing away.

Seafarer should do well. Despite the zombies.

goodbye, Tom and thanks for everything

So things are starting to come to a boil with the Captain Overlord project.

Great phone meeting with Robert Lyons, the tallest man in show biz, yesterday. Might be able to throw some space at us, loves the script so far, we'll talk next week.

Hilarious and very productive meeting with my old combat buddy Elena K. Holy on Tuesday. We have seen and done things that will bind us together forever, the dark and terrifying early days of the Fringe, when financial ruin and physical collapse seemed the only plausible outcomes. Elena knows every possible stage in Manhattan, she has to score twenty or so theaters every August for the festival, so she's on the hunt for Overlord.

Going down to Two Rivers Theatre tomorrow, somewhere down in Jersey, where my old friend Aaron Posner runs the show.

We're looking for two weeks in the winter to workshop, pure development time, need to screw around with the clowns and come up with a better ending. Or any ending at all, at this point. Then a weekend or so in the spring, again some space to see what we have.

Also think I've got a workable first draft of this one-man, self-reflective, arty-as-all-hell piece. Think its funny and has a point, so I'm happy.

And in a great new development, found out last night that my old collaborator C. J. Hopkins knows how to work a video camera and might be able to help with Woyzeck. Would be great to work with Chris in a new capacity, we trust each other implicitly and he's one of the very few artists I know who actually knows what he wants to do with any given piece. Takes his shit very seriously. Might even be able to help out with the text since he's living in Berlin and speaks German now.

All very good.

League is popping as well, more on that soon. Drafted a Statement of Purpose, felt like Thomas Jefferson. Might have been the powdered wig and the big-ass quill pen I was using, don't know.

And in the news today, Tom O'Horgan, famed director and father of us all, has sold his apartment on 13th Street to Zach Braff for 3.2 million dollars and is moving to a condo in Sarasota, Florida. Tom is 83 and has Alzheimers.

Tom's gone and we get Zach. Nothing against Zach, I laugh my ass off at Scrubs, but that's a sad trade.

ripped from the headlines

Yesterday's edition, but still:

Chris Bond, Republican from Missouri (which is my home state, also the stomping grounds of our man John Ashcroft who against all odds turned out to be one of the saner of the New Crazies) was trying to defend the indefensible yesterday.

We all know we don't torture, but when we do torture, (which we don't) we don't call it torture and of course we don't torture in the first place, but sometimes there are good reasons to torture. Not that we'd ever do such a thing.

The new word is "coercion".

Talking about the information we've gained from not torturing people, Chris Bond, weak and bland as James is strong, is quoted as saying,

"Coercion has opened the dialogue."

And I was always told you were supposed to open with a joke.

And one of the great all-time obits ran yesterday, online anyway:

Khun Sa, Drug King, Dies at 73

Come on. Drug King? How cool is that? Imagine if they had to sum up your whole life and they came up with Drug King. I am the King of All Drugs! Bow before me Psylocibin! Kneel, you Narcotics and Opiates! Pledge to me, all ye Green and Leafy Herbs!

Fucking Drug King. And he dies at 73, making him Good King Drug King. And if I could get people to start calling me something like Khun Sa, I would answer without a smile.

"Is Khun Sa coming?"

"Yeah, Khun's coming, he's running a little late, but he'll be here."

"Khun! How you doing, man? This is Jim, Jim this is my friend Khun, he's that Drug King I was telling you about..."

So long, Khun, and may the heavens be empty of Feds. Guy was probably some kind of homicidal lunatic, but he scored a great obit.

More on business tomorrow, good things are popping with the League and the EIF project.

how do you drive this thing?

Good first step was achieved last night on the long journey of actually establishing the League of Independent Theater. We have a Steering Committee. So far, this esteemed group of, in my estimation, esteemed people, includes:

Me, of course. World-class equestrian and raconteur.
Paul Bargetto, AD of East Village Commedia and bomb-thrower from way back.
John Pinckard, hot-shot young producer type, winner of that big new hot-shot young producer award.
Martin Denton, He Who Knows All, publisher, editor, man behind New York Theater Experience, Inc.
Paul Adams, AD of Emerging Artists Theatre.
Erez Ziv, Hero of East 4th Street, man who runs Horse Trade Theater, twice voted Most Likely to Become and Already Actually is a Rabbi.
Michael Gardner, one of the geniuses behind The Brick and an old Theatorium Alumni.
Abby Marcus of Vampire Cowboy Theater, by day General Manager of the Dramatists Guild, by night an actual Vampire Cowboy, smartest person in any room I've ever sat in.
Steve Kovacs, Hero of the Fringe, First Class. Awarded numerous combat stars during the Battle of El Bohio, 2000, Carrier of the Soldered Screwdriver.
and
Jennifer Conley Darling, whom I'm going to start calling "Dahlling!" until she tells me to stop, runs Terra Nova Collective.

Christ, I hope I'm not forgetting anyone.

This group is still forming, so if you're reading this and thinking you should be on the list, do tell. Not a lot of glory in this one, this is a working group with a hard deadline. Goals include: write by-laws, statement of purpose, determine membership categories and secure nonprofit status, all this and more by the end of the year.

Time to dance.

sox win

I married into Red Sox Nation. Nancy grew up in Greenfield, MA, wilds of the Berkshires and her father is a stone Boston fanatic. By birth I'm a Cardinals fan, but it was good to see the boys sweep the Rockies last night. I'm just imagining someone from London trying to decipher all that.

Glorious weekend up near New Paltz at Sheila and Norma's place, perfect fall weather, smoked pork by the plateful, hi-larity abounding. Smoked pork. Deserves its own sentence.

Sheila is a brilliant actress, performer and writer and as all who know her know, also a confirmed pyromaniac. If it can be burned, Sheila has probably burned it. So when we go up to their little place by the river up there in the woods, we let it burn, baby. They have a big fire pit out in the side yard and it gets very tribal. Saturday night the women all sensibly went to bed around 11:00, leaving me and a lonely bottle of single malt to guard the fire. Sat there and stared into those flames for an hour, alone, darkness all around me. Anyone watching would have thought "Time to call the authorities. Do it now while he's still planning the rampage. Quickly now. Call the police." But I was wishing no harm or foul, I was getting down to the bottom of a few things. How much did we lose when we stopped staring into fires all night? Seriously. Settles the mind in a very distinct and beautiful way.

Sunday we took a forced march into New Paltz and fell into one of those effortless quip-fests that can occur when naturally funny people relax and start laughing. Highlights include the concept of a "front-heiney" (can't go into that here), snakes on bicycles and Norma and Sheila's tandem monkey walk. Oh man. Two good people who know how to live.

Anyway, to work. Lots of writing due this week, god help me. Meeting tomorrow with Elena to talk about the Overlord project, phone meeting with Susan out at St. Annes. Have to find a big space, ideally a proscenium theater, to work on this thing for two weeks in January/February. Any ideas, please do tell. We've got some money, but I'm really looking for a place we can use for free. Imagine that.

Also, check out Zack Mannheimer's latest post, it's a good read, questioning the idea of a meaningful"community" of New York theater artists. He's at www.zmannheimer.blogspot.com.

wow

Held a very exciting and productive nascent League of Independent Theater meeting last night. Goal is to recruit a Steering Committee to birth this beast. So gratifying to sit in a room with people smarter than yourself in so many areas and have them all nodding their heads at the same time. Feels like a good idea whose time has come. Many questions and statements and whatnots to come, I'll be looking for everybody's reaction. Watch this space as they say in the advertising bidness.

Other highlights of the week:

Jude and Ben from Grid Iron theatre are in town from Scotland, had a drink with them last night. Well, several. Known these guys for years, they won the big Carol Tambor Award a few years back, they're in town scouting for an outside location for their children's thing that New Victory is bringing over next fall. Tribal kin from another kingdom. Sitting in a bar bitching and laughing about the exact same things, knowing the ending of each other's stories as soon as we hear the set-up.

Great meeting with Audrey and Eric of Bouffon Glass Menagerie. They're thinking about Edinburgh next year, I'm pitching them to help out with the Overlord development. Need me some clowns and a good clown wrangler.

Nancy and I went out to Long Island City to see Robert Pritchard's new space, the Queensbridge Theater. Robert ran Surf Reality for years, he was a veteran when I doped onto the scene. Great to see him having a second or third act. Space is massive and Robert's business parter bought it. Oh yes. Six story warehouse in LIC, owned by the man. They are talking massive cash to make it state-of-the-art, shooting to open in the spring. From the L.E.S. to the L.I.C., Pritchard remains a pioneer, right out there ahead of the curve.

Figured out the White Stripes' Icky Thump. Start on track 6, Prickly Thorn but Sweetly Worn and you can rock right through to the end. If you have a low tolerance for faux Celtic soul nonsense, then start on track 8, Little Cream Soda. Either way, 8-13 are worth the cost of the album. Little Cream Soda, Rag and Bone, I'm Slowly Turning into You and the killer closer Effect and Cause are as good as anything these guys have done. Nancy listened to the beginning of the album a few times and said it sounded derivative. I thought, well, sure. But it's derivative of Zeppelin and AC/DC, so that's like being derivative of God. Am I spelling derivative right? Looks weird.

That's me. Hope everyone's well.

Jim Croce lives!

Singing in the shower last week (I shower every week whether I need to or not), I discovered that if I drop down into my bass register and keep breathing, I'm one of the most outstanding male vocalists of all time. I'm talking stirring, soul-lifting change-your-life kind of singing. I was doing Crash Test Dummies "Superman Song" and almost made the cat cry.

Nancy and my sisters bought me a guitar for my birthday a few years back. I learned a few chords and then put it in a corner. It's still there.

So my plan is to pick that guitar back up, keep singing low and hit the Grammys around 2012.

In other news:

Black Watch is in town, absolutely worth your time and money. Saw it in Edinburgh last year and thought, "I've got to raise my game." Really beautiful stuff.

Kinderspiel closes this weekend at Under Saint Marks. Run your ass over there.

Meeting tonight with a small braintrust to jumpstart this League of Independent Theater I've been mumbling about. It's a small braintrust, not a small brain trust, if you see what I mean. Heh heh. Small brain trust. Will let you know what comes out of that.

Meantime, I'm going to work on my scales.

it came from the vault

Something called Two Beliefs. Big essay I never finished writing.


There are two beliefs, two visions of where and who we are.

There is the belief that frankly, it’s over. The age of achievement and adventure and progress and magic and creation and power is over and done and we’re left to dust things off and try not to knock them over. We are at best custodians in the Museum of Culture, an empty and rarely visited reliquary. The clearest contemporary example of this belief is the Actors Studio, where hundreds of talented, smart, ambitious young performers stream every year and are taught a more extreme and explicit practice of ancestor worship than was ever dreamed possible in the ancient East. “These are the immortals”, the students are taught, “and how sad for you that you did not walk among them.” Class dismissed.

This belief is part and parcel of the larger, defeatist and juvenile nonsense one hears about the End of History. We are living at the End of History, we are told. This is exactly the same as an old wizened man proclaiming the End of Sex. Yes, the reply runs, for you. The rest of us, however, still plan on getting laid.

Yes, a phase is over, but, remember, text-based realistic narrative is a relatively recent and extremely provincial definition of theater. The relative exhaustion of this genre and the audience’s evident desire for something else is an enormous opportunity, not a reason for despair.

The bemoaning and funeral orations of the great producers of the past are not a contemporary phenomenon. It’s an immemorial, cyclical exercise of our profession as well as our country. Most of my generation don’t remember Sam Shubert, Max Webber, Lew Fields or any of the immortals from eighty years ago. When the rowdies and riverboat gamblers and roughriders of the past are gone, it’s an American tradition to mourn those carefree, devil-may-care iconoclasts and pronounce the current age as one of humdrum homogeneity and creeping corporatization. But those hurried and sentimental historians among us need only to read their history books again to see that the next chapter always brings a new pack of irregulars lining up on the horizon, slouching and ambling into town.

As far as new media, the talkies were supposed to kill theater. Television was supposed to kill theater. Video games, DVDs, chat rooms, whatever new Frankenstein is coming towards us, it’s supposed to kill theater too. The truth is, theater is just like a plague and only the plague can kill the plague. Theater only kills itself. Yes, our numbers have dwindled since the beginning of the last century, as have the number of horse-drawn carriages, but we’re still around. And I think the relative decline and disrepute of our profession has more to do with the lack of imagination and energy on our part than the glamour and ubiquity of our supposed competition.

Then there is the belief that is so outlandish and childish that it takes a great act of will to even begin to stutter it out in public, the belief that is actually, of course, the truth, a truth so evident and manifest that it takes an even greater act of will to deny. This is the belief that we are the geniuses, that life is creating itself right now, this moment, that we are swimming in an ocean of creation.

For those museum guards and curators among you, those whose greatest ambition is to imitate and be placed among the Immortals of time past, please do the rest of us a favor and shut the fuck up and go home.

It is hard enough to maintain one’s faith and vision in this country, in this time, but when one’s own colleagues and ostensible peers have already secretly given up the fight and have nothing to offer but empty armories and paper support, it is all one can do to gather the strength to bring pen to paper and scribble out a suicide note. So please, please, ye of little faith, leave.

Go and get jobs in marketing. Go and get jobs in sales. You are bright, you are imaginative, you are personable. Get the hell out of the way and go find your fortune. You don’t really like the theater anyway, honestly, you stumbled or drifted into it, recognized that you were smarter and more ambitious than most and a career began to appear around you without much effort or thought on your part. Imagine what you can do in a field you actually care about. Imagine how much happier you will be. Go to new media, the Internet, real estate, something for gods sake, just please get the hell off of the stage and out of our theatres.

Now for those of you that have read the following and despite all your best efforts, despite all the clear-eyed calculation you can bring to the question, there is still a flicker, still an undeniable tug towards the idea of a life spent in the theatre, a life mind you, not another few years, not until something else comes up, but a life, if there is still the dimmest sense of a calling towards the difficult, dangerous, dirty, doomed and damned theatre, then I’m sorry and overjoyed to tell you that you’re stuck. You are infected with Artaud’s plague. You must find a way to honor your whorish bride. You must track your own individual journey across the tightrope swaying ahead. I can’t help you. Your teachers can’t help you. Your friends and all your books can’t help you. It’s up to you. The future is up to you.

We change the world. Every day, with every gesture, word, breath and thought. There is no one else to change it. We change it into a place of acceptance and resignation and apathy and disquiet and resentment and mutual hostility or we change it into a place of courage, strength, risk and love. With every action. With every thought. With every word.

And for us in the theater, with every play. So, what are you changing the world into?

I am not Ronald Reagan

I've realized the phrase "Nancy and I" keeps cropping up in my writing and speech. Can't help but think of that evil old cocksucker and his terrifying undead spouse.

"Well, Nancy and I are glad you've joined us in our complete and knowing contempt for the poor. With your help, we can wreck this economy and get things back to the feudal system. Thank you my fellow rich white people. Ahh... Americans. My fellow Americans."

So, for the record, I'm not Dutch.

Missed the NYTR party last night at PS 122, but only because I miss everything. Bet it was a hoot. Those crazy kids.

Narrowed down the big Edinburgh International Festival Award project to two possibilities.

They are:

Captain Overlord’s Folly or The Fool’s Revenge (working title)

What begins as a Shavian well-made play of ideas is disrupted by the appearance, infiltration and eventual full-frontal assault of a gang of bouffou clowns. Having driven the actors from the stage, the clowns (or fools) attempt to stage the play from the beginning, only to be infiltrated and defeated by a posse of post-dramatic theater academics. A live-action history lesson of 20th century theater theory, Overlord is at the same time a funny, spooky and disturbing event, forcing an audience to question the both the reality of the stage and the artifice of everyday life.

and/or

Clancy’s Woyzeck (working title)
Woyzeck is a god-obsessed, paranoid-schizophrenic murderer. Kills his wife Maria, and then joins the Army. Goes to Iraq. He is severely disturbed, but only episodically, so during combat, (which brings on his attacks), his condition is not noticed. Everyone’s crazy and if you’re alive at the end of it, no questions asked. Woyzeck hooks up with Andy, a brilliant soldier. Andy and Woyzeck go to FOB Mercury where they meet the Expert and enter the world of torture. Woyzeck finds he’s good at this, but likes both sides. He volunteers for experiments with the Expert. Expert tortures Woyzeck. Woyzeck kills Andy, nurse (played by actress playing Maria) and Expert, drops an IED in the tent to end it all, survives, comes home a hero. Last scene, he’s among us:

“Finding some guys who’ve been through what I went through. We get together. We’re all pretty much doing the same thing nowadays. It’s good to be home.”

Play will feature live water-boarding, stress positioning, nudity, etc. As in Buchner’s Woyzeck, the lines between reality and hallucination will be blurred with an ensemble cast shifting constantly between characters and performance styles. Strong lighting and sound design will also keep the “reality” of the “world” of the play in constant flux.

Use of documentary war footage spliced with expressionistic images of scripted scenes on large screen stretching across entire back wall will also keep the hallucinatory environment active. Examples of this are footage from Falluja blending into Maria being stabbed blending into Hussein’s execution blending into company doing jumping jacks, etc.

NOTE ON TEXT
I don’t anticipate using any of Buchner’s original language, play will be “inspired” by Buchner, much as Fatboy was “inspired” by Jarry’s Ubu Roi.

Both would be very challenging and a lot of fun. More jazzed by Overlord right now, it's crazier. Doing Woyzeck is something every director wants to do, it's the director's version of the actor's Hamlet, but it's a little safer. We're going to try to develop both this year, madly looking for partners, resources, residencies, etc.

So, Nancy and I would appreciate your support. Tear down this wall. The bombing begins in five minutes. Remember that moronic mediocrity? I thought he had a lock on worst all-time President until this raging, swaggering idiot entered the field.

home cooking

Nancy and I have been working out of the house since we left the Present Company back in 2001. Takes discipline, what with the TV sitting right there the whole time, but when it works it's glorious. Sitting here in the sundrenched living room, Beethoven blaring, typing this. At work. You can make deals, respond to emails, take important phone calls, all that while wearing sweatpants and a ripped T-shirt. I'm completely naked right now. Not really, but I could be and that's the beauty of the set-up. We made some loose rules early on and when we stick to them, we get a lot done.

Rules and Code of Ethics for Working at Home

1. TV stays off except for CNN or New York 1, except for lunchtime when you can put on any stupid thing you want.
2. I get to play the stereo but shouldn't put on anything that really annoys Nancy and it shouldn't be too loud. (This is a very loose one, one we've never talked about, but I know what's good for me.)
3. I can smoke in the house but have to be standing by the window and I shouldn't abuse this privilege or be smoking in the first place because those things will kill me eventually. (Much like the previous rule.)
4. Nan works in the bedroom, I work in the livingroom. Not really a rule, just a fact to keep in mind. Separate work areas are highly recommended.
5. Work stops at or around 6:00 PM. This is important because the worst thing about working at home is that you're never home from work. Having a cut-off time is key, we also don't work during the weekends.
6. Each of us is responsible for cleaning up and organizing our respective work areas. I work at the dining room table, so I have to make neat little piles of all my shit at the end of the day. I'm not so good at this. Nan works in the bedroom, so the bed itself becomes a worktable sometimes, papers spread out across it, etc. She's very good at cleaning up, because if she didn't we couldn't get into bed at night.
7. No drinking until the 6:00 PM bell, unless you're really feeling fed up with it all or a whole bunch of money comes in the mail and it's time to celebrate.

Works for us. Will probably get an office again some day if we can afford it, for now enjoy the perks of being naked and blasting Beethoven.

random post, sadness

Trying to keep my promise to myself, bi-weekly posting, not going to happen this week.

On Sunday, October 14th, my grandmother, Margaret Mary Clancy, woke up and had some breakfast, went back to sleep and didn't wake up again. A blessed, easy end after 94 years but deeply sad for all of us still here. My father and his brothers and sister are hit the hardest, of course, you only get one Mom, but their husbands and wives and the grandchildren and their husbands and wives and really everyone who knew my Grandma feels it. She was a Titan, truly. We won't see her like again. We have the wake today and the funeral tomorrow. Been a rough 2007.

Some random notes:

1. Found this in my notebook, trying to describe the theater we try to make:

"Raising the question of a society's values is different than questioning the society's values. This is the tightrope a responsible artist walks." Deep as hell or gibberish?

2. Bought a hundred dollars worth of music on Monday, a late birthday present to myself.

New Springsteen, great if you like Springsteen, he's back with the E Street Band, amazing sound.

Stevie Wonder's greatest hits since I realized we didn't have any Stevie Wonder in the house which is a shame and a crime. Remember "You Haven't Done Nothing"? Put that on and listen to the outrage. He was so good when he was mad and then he committed the ultimate pop-out with "I Just Called to Say I'm a Big Pussy".

Church It Up, Nancy's selection, a bunch of gospel from the church of Bishop Sherman Scott Howard. Pretty good except when they get all contemporary. I used to have a tape of the Swan Silvertones and the Blind Boys of Alabama, old gospel and man, the hair on your arms would stand up when they started getting into it. That old Baptist god had a beat.

New White Stripes, not able to get into it yet, tried it twice. Might be one of those albums you have to let sit for a few months and then try again.

Something called the Great American Songbook, Bing Crosby and Perry Como and all those old white guys crooning. Haven't even taken the plastic off of that one.

And then the best: Neil Diamond Forever. Three CDs, Stones, Moods and Touching You, Touching Me. Imagine someone putting out an album today called Touching You, Touching Me. Any music purist out there snickering at Neil, I challenge you to put on Holly Holy or Crunchy Granola Suite, turn that shit up loud and if you don't start rocking, well then go quietly fuck yourself while listening to your Radiohead. Or as Neil would say, "Good Lordy".

That's my post. Lots of interesting stuff going on with the big EIF project and something else that I'm writing, a strange one-man thing that's either going to be really great or total horseshit, one of those things. More next week.

our ancestors speak

I have breakfast at the Odessa diner with my buddy Norman Marshall every couple of months and always leave laughing and enlightened. Norman used to run the No Smoking Playhouse back in the 80s, he's the guy that turned the former police horse stable into a theater, most people know it as the place Primary Stages used to work out of. Anyway, Norman is no ancestor, but he's an elder and he has more stories and wisdom and bad jokes than any one I know. We were arguing about something last week and he just said,

"Read the preface to Thornton Wilder's Three Plays."

And then he wouldn't talk about it anymore, changed the subject, insulted my clothing, something, I don't remember.

So I go home and get that same copy of Wilder's plays we all have, the Bantam Library collection of Our Town, The Skin of Our Teeth and The Matchmaker and I read the preface, which I don't remember every doing before. If you have it, turn off your computer and go read the thing, if not, allow me to scribe, and note how things never change:

"Toward the end of the twenties I began to lose pleasure in going to the theatre. I ceased to believe in the stories I saw presented there. When I did go it was to admire some secondary aspect of the play, the work of a great actor or director or designer. Yet at the same time the conviction was growing in me that the theatre was the greatest of all arts. I felt that something had gone wrong with it in my time and that it was fulfilling only a small part of its potentialities...This dissatisfaction worried me. I was not ready to condemn myself as blase and overfastidious, for I knew that I was still capable of belief. I believed every word of Ulysses and of Proust and of The Magic Mountain, as I did hundreds of plays when I read them. It was on the stage that imaginative narration became false. Finally my dissatisfaction passed into resentment. I began to feel that the theatre was not only inadequate, it was evasive; it did not wish to draw upon its deeper potentialities. I found the word for it: it aimed to be soothing. The tragic had no heat; the comic had no bite; the social criticism failed to indict us with responsibility. I began to search for the point where the theater had run off the track, where it had chosen- and been permitted- to become a minor art and an inconsequential diversion."

I skipped a big part and it goes on for another four pages, but can you feel the heat? And you can just replace "twenties" with sixties, seventies, eighties and nineties and it could be any one of us talking.

Thornton (I call him Thornton because we're pals) blames the whole thing on the box set as it turns out, which is a little like blaming a hood ornament for the depletion of the ozone layer if you ask me, but there you go.

Our ancestors speak to us every day, they're available every moment, we just have to pick up those books. So stay in school, stay off drugs, and if you see something for gods sake say something.

get out your torches

Been asked by Zack Mannheimer and Matt Wells, two young firebrands ready to storm the castle, to sit on the board of the newly-hatched National Independent Theatre Community. This is the first tangible result of Zack's summer road odyssey. He left the wilds of Brooklyn and, armed only with his quick wit and a good map, Kerouacked his way through this great land of ours. Met some tribal brothers along the way, you can check it all out on:

www.zacksblog.subjectivetheatre.org

Planning a big sitdown in January with a group of people making interesting theater in interesting towns, Nashville, Reno, Tulsa, Des Moines.

These same Big Ideas blow up every couple of years, I know, but Zack has a history of actually getting things done.

Very weird to be at the Elders Council when I turned 44 two days ago. Is that old? (I hear the faithful choir in my mind chanting "No!") Can still remember being 28 and yeah, I guess if someone told me then that they were 44 I would have thought "Grandpa Jones.".

Anyway, me and Zack and Matt and a bunch of other people are going to change the world, one small theater at a time. Will keep you apprised of all developments.

quick tour of the palace

Just got back from a meeting with Joe Melillo at BAM. Latest in a series of pitch meetings, trying to get some institutional support for the EIF project. Institutional support meaning time, space and money. BAM, of course, does no developmental work at all, they present, but thought I'd put a bug in his ear about the project anyway. Couldn't be a nicer guy and actually had some great practical advice, places to call, people to get ahold of, etc. But of course, all my quasi-Marxist ass is thinking the whole time is:

"This has to be the nicest office of anyone working in the arts I have ever seen."

Totally laid out, leather couch and nice leather chairs and all of that. The effect of the office is compounded by the journey to the office, you come into that huge marble lobby and you check in with a security guard and get a little pass and then you wait for someone to come down and get you. There's a sculpture in the lobby right now and it's made up of hundreds of old records, old vinyl LPs, like from the 30s, some sort of melted together and they're all rising up to form a frozen wave. Pretty cool. Called, wait for it, Sound Wave. And I'm thinking:

"How much did that cost? Those are some old records."

And then Joe's assistant comes down and you go up in the elevator and she's got a key card that unlocks this huge gate and you walk down another big hall and then you're in the reception area outside Joe's kick-ass office and, if you're like me, you're thinking:

"Goddamn. Am I in a theater or an investment house?"

And if you're really like me, you don't even know what an investment house is.

My obvious point is that for those of us who learned how to make our art in the funding wasteland of the 90s, that much cash makes us nervous and a bit disoriented. And if you let it, it makes you angry. You can go childish angry:

"Look at all this fucking money, I never had any fucking money, why did they get all this fucking money, fuckers."

Or righteous angry:

"The money spent on this furniture would fund two dance companies for four months."

But in the end, and maybe this is just age starting to talk through me, you accept that the big arts institutions are always going to be golden palaces, just like the Vatican is always going to be the Vatican, and if it pisses you off, then you're better off going out and finding some other place to pray.

Joe was aces, but my god, its a gilded cage.

something in the water?

I've seen three shows this week and they were all good. This, to me, is the cultural equivalent of winning the lottery three times in a row. I go to the theater with such reluctance and dread, I'm like a ten year old going to church on Sunday morning, just waiting for the boredom to club me to death, praying only that it will all soon be over. But no, brethren and cistern, I bring you glad tidings of great joy:

Misanthrope at NYTW, an easy call, but first time I've seen this guy's stuff. Out of town for his Hedda Gabler, just plain lazy and missed anything else he's done. Honestly, the video shtick didn't work for me, but it never does. The constant projected image of an actor's face begins to rob the actor of his charisma for me, some very simple voodoo that happens every time. And for the most part, I had no idea what Moliere was trying to say from moment to moment. But man alive, the performances were stellar, the food and garbage blitzkrieg is so beautifully over the top and the overall design so smart and simple, I'd go back. That good.

Wednesday I saw East River Commedia's The Magnificent Cuckold at the Connelly. This closes this weekend, so run don't walk. I've know the director, Paul Bargetto, for about a year, (he's one of the key League of Independent Theater rabble-rousers) but never seen his work. And you know how scary that can be, seeing something for the first time by someone you like. What if they suck? What are you going to say? Are you going to like them less?

Well, no fear. Paul knows exactly what he's doing and he does it exceptionally well. This is a three act, old-school farce and it goes on all goddamned night and I was rivetted. Every element, brilliant design, great, great performances, especially the lead, Troy Lavallee and a funny, disturbing and finally tragic script. Just topnotch, world class stuff. And this kid Troy, you watch him and you keep thinking "This guy is going to be so, so big in about two years, I can't believe I'm sitting here watching him." Mesmerizing.

And then last night I saw Stolen Chair's Kinderspiel at Under Saint Marks and my trifecta was complete. These are the guys Nancy and I do some consulting with, so I'm always hoping they do well. Once again, they showed me what a company can achieve when it commits to the disicipline and sacrifice of the laboratory process. Kinderspiel has all of this company's burgeoning trademarks: exquisite, surprising language, fluid, meticulous direction and mesmerizing and courageous performances from an outstanding ensemble. It is a pleasure to watch this young company grow in strength and confidence.

So something's going on. I know it's not me, I'm as bitter and burnt and cranky as ever. Is the invalid struggling back to consciousness?

my bad

Kinderspiel, the latest from Stolen Chair, plays Under St. Marks, not the Red Room. I've fired the intern (she was stealing, anyway) and made all of the appropriate apologies. We strive for excellence here at the Dime Museum and our motto, stolen from benchtours, a great company in Scotland, remains:

"Mistakes will be made. Others will be blamed."

what are you doing looking at this blog?

It's been decades since I posted. You're either a hardcore Clancy fan, my dad, or a first-timer. Welcome whomsoever you be.
Going to try to at least do a bi-weekly post this season, lots going on. Last year was mostly teaching, which paid many a bill but wore my ass down. Gained a lot of respect for those who stand in front of a classroom everyday and still manage to get other things done.
So, two things of note:

1. We won a big award over in Scotland this August. The inaugural Edinburgh International Festival Award, which they created as a way to give a company that's been banging away on the Fringe for years a little bridge towards the Big Art Circuit. We got 5,000 pounds, (which at the current exchange rate is just under fourteen million dollars) to develop a new piece to be shown in a workshop form at next year's International Festival. If they like it, they'll think about commissioning it for the main stage at the Festival in 2009. As Robert Shaw in the Sting would say, "Ya follah?" Means we have a shot at moving from postcards to bus stop posters. We're all very excited, but at the same time we're thinking, "Shit. We've got 11 months to come up with the Big Idea." Think we've decided what we want to do, but I'll save that for later posts. Gives me something to write about.

2. Stolen Chair is opening their new show Kinderspiel at the Red Room on Thursday. Everyone should see it. I'm seeing it Thursday. Full disclosure: we consult with them and part of our job is to increase their audience and industry profile, but we only consult with quality acts. Keeps us clean.

So those are two things. I'll call you tomorrow, Dad.

one idea

Here's one proposal that the League, working with Paul Adams, put together. Not a final document by any means, but begins a more specific conversation about what a new code might look like.

New York 99 Seat Theater Code

The following is put forth by the League of Independent Theater as the basis for a new code for established seasonal producers working in the 99 seat sector. These producers are defined as not-for-profit producers with a minimum three-year relationship with Actors Equity.

Health and Benefits Contribution:

A donation will be made of $500.00 to the Actors Equity Health and Benefits Fund for the first four weeks of production. A donation of $750.00 will be made for the second four weeks of production. A donation of $1,000.00 will be made for the third four weeks.

Actors Stipends:

In weeks 1 – 4 actors will receive $10.00 per performance plus Metrocard. Stage Managers will receive $15 per performance plus Metrocard.

In weeks 4 – 8 actors will receive $20.00 per performance plus Metrocard. Stage Managers will receive $25 per performance plus Metrocard.

In weeks 9-12 actors will receive $30.00 per performance plus Metrocard. Stage managers will receive $35.00 per performance plus Metrocard.

Rehearsal Period:

Projects may rehearse over a 6-week period with a maximum of 25 hours per week. Actors will receive an unlimited Metrocard for the length of rehearsal.

Performance Period:

Productions may be presented for a maximum of 5 performances per week and for a maximum of 12 consecutive weeks.

Extension/Transfer:

Productions may transfer to a new theater after the initial four-week run to a new venue if accomplished within two weeks of closing.

Ticket Prices:

The maximum ticket price for weeks 1 – 4 is $25.00

The maximum ticket price for weeks 5 – 8 is $30.00

The maximum ticket price for weeks 9-12 is $35.00

Video Taping:

Producers may keep archival videotapes of their production. In addition they may use copies of the tape for the purposes of grant making and for documentation for presenters. Up to 10 minutes of video material may be used for promotional purposes.

late breaking news

A meeting will be held by the coalition to reform the showcase code www.nyc99.org this Sunday July 8th at the the East Thirteenth Street Theater (Classic Stage) at 6:00 PM. Members of the off-off community are invited to gather to take action on reforming the showcase code and saving off off Broadway theater.

underground zero

My friend and fellow League of Independent Theater stalwart Paul Bargetto is cooking up a festival. Info below.

COLLECTIVE:UNCONSCIOUS TO PRESENT
THE UNDERGROUNDZERO FESTIVAL JULY 19 TO AUGUST 5
Festival offers new life for successful productions from the alternative theater movement.

NEW YORK, June 19 -- Alternative theater is ephemeral in its nature, but it doesn't have to be, according to Paul Bargetto, curator of the UndergroundZero Festival, and Caterina Bartha, Co-Founding Director of Collective:Unconscious. They imagine independent theater in repertory as a way to extend the life of successful "downtown" plays, and have established the UndergroundZero Festival as an artistic proof-of-concept for it. Collective:Unconscious will present the event over three weeks July 19 to August 5 at its Tribeca theater facility, located at 279 Church Street.

The festival is inviting successful productions that could be viable in a Downtown theater devoted to rotating repertory. The repertory forum for independent theater, a new model of production, is being showcased as an alternative to the current system of limited runs that consign many successful shows to oblivion.

Plays presented will range from full-cast productions to works by performer-playwrights. Companies represented include International WOW Company, The Flying Machine, Stolen Chair, East River Commedia and Pinchbottom’s Burlesque. There will also be a selection of plays that were originally developed in the Columbia MFA Program.

The festival will also feature a convening of the League of Independent Theater on Tuesday, July 31 at 7:30 pm. Independent theater producers and artists will gather to discuss the issues facing the community and draft a resolution for action. See www.leagueofindietheater.blogspot.com.

A schedule and list of participants will be available on the Collective:Unconscious website, www.weird.org, on June 19. Tickets for individual shows will be $15. The audience information number is (212) 352-3101 and online ticketing is available at www.weird.org.

AUXILIARY EVENTS
The festival will also launch "The Moxie Show," a turntable for music acts, comedians, variety acts and sections from works of theater, puppetry and dance. Hosted by Trav S.D., beginning July 24, it will continue on the second and fourth Tuesdays of each month. Door prizes will be awarded for acts showing the most moxie, chosen by the world's oldest approval device, the applause-o-meter. Curator Trav S.D. is a long-time host of American Vaudeville Theater and author of "No Applause--Just Throw Money: The Book That Made Vaudeville Famous." Admission will be $5 per night.

On the two Mondays of the festival, C:U will present its ongoing film program, "Speakeasy Cinema," hosted by Matt Kohn and presenting a mystery film on Monday July 16. July 23 will feature Jewels and Gems from the Film Makers Cooperative, the largest archive of avant-garde film in the world. Admission is $5 and the films begin at 7:30pm.

help wanted

The League of Independent Theater is an idea I’ve been curating for awhile, along with John Pinckard and Paul Bargetto. We’ve been excited and gratified by the tremendously positive community response to the idea of the League, but I want to stress that so far, it’s only an idea. I see it working as a trade organization, a vehicle to gather and propel the ideas and best practices of the community, and also as an instrument to express and amplify the collective voice of the community. I’m imagining a nonprofit membership organization with an elected staff. Initially we’d need a steering committee of some sort to create the bylaws and incorporate the thing. John and Paul and I are doing that in an ad hoc way right now, but we feel the need for much broader community input.

Below is the barest of blueprints. Please respond with any and all comments, thoughts and suggestions.
The League of Independent Theater is a membership organization dedicated to preserving and strengthening independent theater in New York City. The League’s mission is to foster theatrical productions produced in 99 seat theatres and promote the common interest of its membership. The League assists in the voluntary exchange of information among its members, serves as the collective voice of its membership, works to increase interest in independent theater throughout North America, strives to foster a sense of community among all members, and develops programs addressing the unique needs of its members.

Short-term goals include:

Advocacy of a new AEA Code allowing for longer production runs
Partnering with enlightened realtors to create affordable and secure rehearsal and performance space
Creation of an archival database of member’s productions including scripts and design images
Commissioning an Off-Off economic impact analysis

Two types of membership:
Organizational- any theater company or producing company regularly working in or operating a 99 seat theater. 100.00 annual dues
Individual- any artist, technician, administrator or producer regularly working in 99 seat theater. 50.00 annual dues

put yer hancock here

There's a petition posted on www.nyc99.org. Looking for strength in numbers.

Also just read in the Times that the director general of the International Atomic Energy Agency is warning that "the new crazies" are pushing for an invasion of Iran. Not a surprising news story, but that has to be the best name for a band I've heard in years.

summertime

The ice cream truck has begun its manic lullabye outside my window and people are walking around down there practically naked. We put in the airconditioner last week, the annual terror-inducing certainty that this time it will finally slip from my grip before I can get the window down, plummeting six solid stories down down down, the crashing, the screaming, the fingers pointing in accusation. Summertime.

This used to be the busiest time of the year for me, back when I was the Dark Lord of the Fringe. Hustling the venues, scheduling the shows, relying on sheer faith and adrenaline to get through the day. Can't say I miss it, but it was a hell of a rush.

Been away dealing with family stuff, back now and will try to keep posting.

trifecta

Just got off the phone with Guy Van Swearingen at A Red Orchid Theater in Chicago. They want to put up Fatboy in October, which means three Fatboys, three cities in three months. August we return to Edinburgh, September the folks at Brat Productions perform it in Philadelphia and October the fat man's in Chicago.

This must be what it feels like to be a playwright.

Curt Dempster

Suicide.

Jesus, that surprised and saddened me. Dempster was one of the pioneers, someone who stuck with it for over 30 years and he ends up alone in his apartment holding a rope in his hands and looking at the ceiling. That decision and the black moments that lead to it will always be private and unfathomable, but I have to admit the detail that I can't shake from the Bloomsberg article is the $40,000 he was making a year. 40 grand in New York City after more than 30 years of hard, grinding, important cultural work, nurturing artists, providing opportunities, introducing audiences and critics to new work. 40 grand.

Poverty didn't kill him, of course, but it's just another example of the real world ramifications of what Isaac is talking about over at Parabasis.

Too sad to make a coherent point here. Just thankful that Dempster was around to do what he did and sad that he's gone.

quick plug

Just got my hands on Plays and Playwrights 2007, the latest in the series put out by Martin Denton at New York Theatre Experience, Inc. Highly recommended, especially if you're teaching an acting class and looking for scenes for the students.

Also, I wrote the foreword, so I get nine bucks every copy sold. Would that that last sentence were true.

You can buy it right here on the world-wide internet web: www.nyte.org.

11 new plays, all fresh from the Off-Off/Indie rainforest.

little league

Check out www.leagueofindietheater.blogspot.com for a spirited discussion on all this Basic Showcase Code reform hoo-hah. Some great ideas and arguments.

I'm still carrying a torch for this proposed League, but here's what I'm wondering:

Is this a membership organization where you pay dues and elect chairpeople and all that?
How does this operate differently than, say, the Community Dish?
What concrete services can this League provide? If you're paying dues, what do you get?

Feels like there have been several bouts of great energy and passion around this idea, but it's getting time to figure out if there's an actual thing here.

Brass tacks and all that.

What do you think?

heating up

Even though sleet and freezing rain lash my windows as I type, the temperature is rising on the AEA Showcase Reform issue. Two items:

Paul Bargetto has started a blog for The League of Independent Theaters. Go to http://leagueofindietheater.blogspot.com. Paul's the one who first turned me on to the L.A. 99 Seat Theater Plan.

And Ben Hodges new book Commercial Theater Insitute's Guide to Producing Plays and Musicals is out and and in the preface he describes the Code as "the greatest plight I believe facing developmental theater producing in New York."

He goes on to say:

"I have been unable in over three years to find anything ultimately beneficial in the Code to either producers or actors - in fact, all aspects are strictly antithetical to the goals of all members of a production, especially actors."

This book should be hitting a lot of desks around town, so the time to form the argument and make the case is now.

from the files

Going through some old stuff and found this. Something I wrote four years ago, fresh from the shock:

Theatre in Wartime
October, 2001

I've always believed that the act of theater is a potentially dangerous, even revolutionary act. I share this belief with most members of my generation of American theatre artists. We were taught this belief mainly through books. In college we were exposed to Artaud's Theatre as Plague. We read poorly translated Brecht, brushing off the Anglicisms thick as flies, trying to taste the blood and sweat of battle. We puzzled over Fo, getting few of the references and none of the jokes. We quoted Grotowski and Brook to each other, reverent and rapt.

And then we got jobs in summer stock. Our resumes filled with Shakespeare, Stoppard and Gilbert and Sullivan. The writers among us unwittingly split between the camps of Shepard and Mamet, both honorable and interesting schools, but neither revolutionary. The directors discovered Viewpoints. And we all found our way into the existing infrastructure of the American theatre industry. The best and the brightest of us either quit early or got jobs in film and television. The rest of us, more persistent and arguably less ambitious, stayed in the living and breathing theater.

And we lived like double agents there, or more accurately like split personalities, talking revolution while walking the status quo. A simpler way of saying it is we lived like hypocrites. Our theater was not revolutionary. We were not trying to infect anyone or incite anything. We were trying to impress our elders and outstrip our peers. We were trying to get paid. We were just trying to get by, really. But we kept our battered copies of Towards a Poor Theatre and The Empty Space and The Theatre and It's Double up on the top shelf and kept quotes from them above our desks. We were like most modern-day Christians, with our favorite Gospel memorized, only accidentally applying the lesson to our daily life.

See, we grew up rich, vicariously if not in fact. We grew up in the last twenty-five years here in America. We grew up fat and happy. Not our fault, but one of our facts. We were like the rich, smart white kids who secretly or openly envy the world's oppressed for their clear targets of rebellion and overthrow.

Those of us who doggedly stayed in the theatre soon had to deal with the embarassing fact that we seemed to be working in a deeply anachronistic field. Here we were in the age of Dell selling Underwoods. We were offering jugs of water in Starbucks. We were standing next to a DJ playing a harpsichord. We were in downtown Detroit opening up bicycle factories. Live theater, when anyone thought about it, which was rarely, was either boring or quaint. Or worse, it was important. Important like those books on the top shelf, covered in dust, not important like your day-runner, not something you would ever actually need.

And then last month the world fell apart. With two buildings down, another one burning and a plane crashed in a Pennsylvanian field, our veneer of safety was stripped and we all woke up, blinking, to a new day. Three thousand dead and two hundred and fifty million changed.

The immediate reaction was survival, of course, and the frantic counting of heads. Once the planes were out of the sky, once night came and friends and family were accounted for, once the world and its prosaic, comforting details came creeping back in, we started asking ourselves what now? What do we do?

I am not a firefighter. I am not a steelworker or a truck driver or a member of the National Guard. I cannot perform the immediate, physical tasks that will rebuild the city. I work in the theater. I write, act, direct, coach, and can, if pressed, run lights and sound. The mayor did not seem to have any use for me.

Two or three days after the attacks, I began reading the reactions of my colleagues in New York. I read through the articles and then raced through them again. I thought surely there had been a mistake. They didn't say that. Why would they say that? There must be more, there must be a last paragraph saying Come to the theater. Come tonight. We don't know what we'll be doing but come. We'll be there. Come for an hour. Come for ten minutes. Come cry or argue or just sit. Come now if you wish. Our doors will be open.

There was no paragraph. There was no invitation. There was no acknowledgement or expression of the theatre's essential function, as a place of secular communion and worship. I read only admissions of inadequacy. I read self-indictments of irrelevance. It all could be expressed as one question my colleagues asked: Who want to come to the theatre now? implying that there were clearly more important activities the populace should be engaged in, such as going blind from excessive CNN exposure while drinking heavily at home.

And yes, we were all in shock here in New York. None of us can be held completely accountable for words or actions those first few days. But crisis reveals the truth. And the truth is, we were revealed as faithless. Over and over, like a demented Greek chorus, we intoned "What do we do now? What kind of theatre do we create?

May I suggest we get down the books? You know the ones, the ones we claim to be our Scripture. Read Artaud and think blueprint rather than poetry. Read early Brecht. Read the critics. Read Clurman. Read Fo. And then put the books away and get busy. Put up your initial reaction. It will be raw. It will be provisional. It will be incomplete. But the theatre, finally, is about incompletion. The theater is built on wild attempts and shots in the dark and striving for something just past your reach. It's live, it's messy, it's human. Writers, stop polishing that perfect phrase and scribble down a love letter to life, a vicious attack and smear of death, anything from your heart, not your head. Directors, stop worrying about incidental music and the staging, stop formulating your interpretation and make sure that the essential thrust and music of the the writer's words are there. And actors, the bravest of us, those that actually stand there and deliver, actors, stand there under the lights and sacrifice yourself, sacrifice your solitary fears and worries and concerns, sacrifice yourself in front of all of us, do righteous battle with your own ego and struggle and triumph and fail.

Live theater is the mark of civilization. Live theater is the most immediate expression of a culture. We can move the fastest. We work close up, hand to hand. We are the Delta Force of the arts. And we are needed now.

The communal event of the theatre, the gathering of humans to watch and listen to other humans, is the single most valuable experience anyone can have right now. We need to be together in a quiet, dark place and listen to each other breathe. We need to bump knees and brush shoulders. We need to hear each other sigh and and snort and cry and laugh. We need to feel strong and connected. Those are some of the things the theater gives us. We need to remember the glories and strengths of civilization. That's another thing theater gives. Put up Shakespeare, Marlowe, Moliere and Shaw. This is, we're told, what we are fighting for: civilization. And I put forward that civilization is more fully expressed in August Wilson than in a re-run of Friends, more intimately experienced through Chekhov than through a Jets game.

When the world falls apart, you are left with essentials. We are part of those essentials. When a Global Positioning System fails, it's helpful to have a compass. When computers crash, an Underwood comes in pretty handy. When you run out of gas, you can still get there on a bike. We are now, as we always were, important. In the sense that a jug of water is more important than a frappucino, matches more important than a Kleig light, a baseball bat more important than a security system when you find yourself in actual, immediate danger. We are important because we do it the old-fashioned way. Hand-to-hand. Face-to-face. Making it up as we go along. And that is what is needed now.

For god's sake stop arguing for our irrelevance. There are plenty of people who will do that for us, even in the best of times. And try not to complain now that it's hard. It is hard. This time it's real. This time people actually need us. Step up and speak.


That was four years ago, folks. How are we doing?

sneaking back in

Sorry, folks. Got abducted by aliens on September 28, 2006. Back now.

Things I'm doing:

Adapting my play Fatboy to the big screen.
Working with some great people on the Equity Showcase reform deal.
Still teaching down at Rowan University.
Working with Madi Distefano, kick-ass Philly artist, on her new piece Sweetie-Pie. Full-on development work, lots of raw text, open-ended conversations, deep questioning, lots of smoking and scratching of chins.
Dodging creditors.

Everyone should go out and buy Martin Denton's new book, Plays and Playwrights 2007. Everyone should go do that now.

Take care and watch out for those aliens. Decent enough folks, but they hug a little too tight.

ahoy

Sorry for the Claude Raines routine. Having a rough time getting into the rhythm of classes and the commute. It's starting to sort itself out, so...

I think the next logical and easily achievable step is to send the draft mission statement of this League idea around to all the 99 seat venue owner/operators and all of the theater companies that regularly work in those venues. Broaden the conversation and hear from the people directly working under the conditions we're talking about.

And as far as the Equity Showcase reform conversation, if you haven't yet, go to the Equity site and look at the LA 99 seat theater plan. Paul Bargetto tipped me to it way back when and I can't think of any good reason it wouldn't work in New York.

More soon.

Also, can anyone tell me how to add links to this site?

It's a wonder they let me walk around unsupervised...

and we're back

Hey folks.

I started a teaching gig down in Glassboro, NJ a week after getting back in town and it's been a true ass-kicking experience. My ass being the one getting kicked. It's a 3 hour commute, one way. So I found a room in a house off campus and I'll be living down there Sundays through Thursdays for the next six weeks while I direct the first show of the semester.

So I'm semi-back.

Let's talk about the League. Still a good idea?

I make the move down to Glassboro tomorrow, so may not re-surface for a couple of days.

Hope all's well with all.

summer vacation

Hey folks,

Long time no post. Now in Edinburgh, where Midnight Cowboy opens in two days. Early previews have been good, we'll see what the critics say.

With limited internet access and insane festival schedule, odds aren't great that I'll be posting much until I'm back home in September. Things may change, just heard rumor of a wireless connection to be had at the theater, but I can be a bit of a moron about those things, so if we don't talk, have a great August and check this space in the fall.

John