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.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
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.
"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.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, October 08, 2007
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.
"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.
Friday, October 05, 2007
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?
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?
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
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."
"Mistakes will be made. Others will be blamed."
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
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.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
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.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
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
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
Friday, June 01, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, May 11, 2007
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.
This must be what it feels like to be a playwright.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, April 02, 2007
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?
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?
Friday, March 16, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
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?
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?
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
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.
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.
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