“My life, it seems now, has been, all along, this hazy wasteland of subjective opinion.” – “Merit” in Sacrosanct
A thought just occurred to me… What if the plays are like ovarian follicles; we’re born with a predetermined number of them inside of us, and when we’ve reached the end of our reproductive life, we find ourselves wordless… And then I remember Dr. Maya Angelou…
“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.” http://mayaangelou.com/
My heart is full.
We all have teachers in our lives, teachers, who grab our imagination and never let it go. Few, however, offer up Imagination as The method for instruction. I was fortunate to have studied at the Stella Adler Theatre West back in the day before the Hollywood metro line took away the little theater that we built.
During that precious time of my youth I had the opportunity to bring up before Ms. Adler a scene from 27 Wagons Full of Cotton. Teacher Joanne Linville coached me in her inimitable fashion, and I’ll remember that night vividly for the rest of my life. I felt affirmed, finally, as an actress, affirmed publicly by the one of the greatest acting teachers of the 20th Century.
However, if you’re looking for the legendary post-Stanislaski Stella Adler as teacher, you won’t find her in Sheana Ochoa’s Harold & Stella: Love Letters at the Bliss Art House Café this week.
What you will find is arguably more enticing.
Applause Theatre & Cinema Books recently published Ms. Ochoa’s biography of Adler, Stella! Mother of Modern Acting (May 13, 2014), and she has produced this staged reading of love letters written in 1942 between the youthful Adler and director Harold Clurman.
In Love Letters, the energetic and earthy Clurman aches for Adler and the glorious Adler relays her love and expectations for Clurman, even as they strain to find direction in their theatrical lives, in this love letter to the art of theatre. I highly recommend it.
Bliss Art House Café 1249 Vine Street, Hollywood
Visit hollywoodfringe.org/projects/1654 for future dates and times.
Natacha Astuto has a habit of speaking while her hands move with the passion of her words. When she’s thinking of what to say she glances at the right corner of her face, like she’s tickling her left brain. During the hour that she and I conversed via Skype last Monday night (10 pm PST which was 7 am in Switzerland) she was eager to express as clearly as possible what I tried to draw from her.
The Last Train (La Dernier Train) is debuting in its English translation production at the Hollywood Fringe Festival this year of the Horse in Chinese Zodiac. She got connected with James Svatko through Stage32. He came upon the story, read it and called her to say he wanted to produce the play and wanted to play the lead. As a most weathered playwright she accepted his interest with politeness while maintaining an arms’ length perspective of ‘well, let’s see’. It’s a natural self-preservation reaction to wanting to be swept away with grand dreams and emotions, but wanting a cushion landing if it was only a dream.
That encounter happened last year. When January 2014 rolled around, he called her again, and this time he said it was really going to happen, and Natacha decided to invest emotionally into the project which brings us to today. It was 7am in Switzerland, and Natacha looked a little tired from last night’s performance, but she was alert and wasn’t missing a beat. I posed my first question- what motivated her to write the play with this dark and sinister theme? “To be honest” she started, and I thought this was already telling that something unexpected was coming forth. She said there was not any particular personal or newsworthy event that inspired the writing. It was simply that two actors approached her with the parameters to write a play with 4 characters. Natacha added her own curiosity to explore a setting that was enclosed, or in other words limited input and output. In French, the expression is Huis Clos, which translates to “No Exit”. Jean Paul Sartre wrote a play by the same title and told the story of three people in the afterlife forever together in hell.
So this was her spring board, and what caught my attention was the setting of a jail cell and its literal and figurative analogy to our own personal selves – the prison of our minds limited by our mentality and imagination – if we are so inclined. In a play of 4 characters the idea of lead and supporting seems to be grey. I think it’s becomes a constellation of individual characters revolving around the theme of where does evil lurk. This is my take on it, because I’ve been on the hunt on this topic. The play is not bounded by that theme alone. Art is alive. What the seer brings into the chemistry or the formula will influence what they get out of it.
Natacha meditated upon the parameters and she came up with a story of two men who had been incarcerated for twenty years in the same cell for crimes we are not privy to. She wanted to know what happens to people who’ve been removed from normal society for such a long period of time? My initial take was that she had come upon a story that touched a nerve in her soul and the catharsis of understanding the events came through in writing the The Last Train, and I found out I was wrong. Her process of creating The Last Train was internal and organic, which is what makes this story original, and the story telling so provocative.
She covers a lot of ground in 1 hour in the English version. The French version that is playing in Europe is 75 minutes long. What translation differences occurred? It was mostly colloquial references, for example, using ‘Alex Trebek’ of Jeopardy. Did she change the names of the characters? (I found that the character of Jack evoked the spirit of Jack the Ripper, and that Louise resembled Clarice (Silence of the Lambs) in sound . ‘No,’ replied Natacha, she did not even catch on to those nuances. I’m esoteric in my beliefs that storytellers are channels of a story, and this came to the playwright in her deep meditations to evoke a story of 4 people in an enclosed chamber. That is a formula for explosive cabin fever. Louise was shortened from the original form of Heloise. Historically the name is attached to Heloise d’Argenteuil who was the lover of Peter Abelard, a scholar and theologian from the Medieval period. She was also a scholar and her beauty, insight and intelligence sparked a deep stroke in Peter’s heart, who belonged amongst the ranks of the church.
Natacha created characters with whom she can relate to. There were aspects of each person that she can identify with either personally or through stories she had brushed with and absorbed into her own being. Jack and Robert are cellmates and they relate to one another similarly as a married couple. They take care of one another in their own terms. Though bound by the cell and the daily routine of prison life there are still secrets that each person carries, and neither has the willingness to expose what lies beneath the façade. But how long can each person bear the weight of the masquerade?
Secrets have a strong sinister voice that is unspoken, but yet very powerful. The idea of caching secrets into the play is a tool Natacha has used in this play and her other plays. In writing secrets into the story, she gives a loud voice to victims who have not been able to speak of the unspeakable. There have been people in the audiences who have found consolation in seeing her plays, and came to talk to her to express their gratitude for giving them a voice.
In this story, the two jailbirds are under the care of a woman, Marianne. This is an unusual compensation in a male dominated environment. As a former employee at a women’s prison, she was selected for an experimental exchange program recommended by psychiatrists during the nineties. She found she was more suited working in the all-male environment and remained in her post. Jack, Robert and Marianne had created a functional triad with the two men acting as subordinates under the authority of a motherly figure. She is kind and vulnerable, and the two men perceives this, but do not abuse it. Her language is soft. When she leaves them, she says ‘See you guys later.’ She unwittingly exposes her vulnerability by confiding that she’s worried and senses Jack’s fear, and this is the feeling-nurturing behaviors associated with women.
The men bide away their time in their own ways. Jack has a snowglobe and becomes curious about its self-contained environment. ‘Where does the water come from?’ he asks Robert who becomes exasperated with Jack’s inane conversation about a stupid snowglobe when he only wants to get out.
You don’t give a damn about anything! You don’t even look up
when I talk to you! You’re just here, waiting to leave fucking
feet first!
Act 1 has very strong overtones of Waiting for Godot, I told Natacha. She chuckled. She said that James Svatko made the same comment to her. “What?! I’m not a Samuel Beckett’, she said amused, both thrilled and humbled to be compared to a wholly alive artist/playwright.
The monotony and bubble of the cell is cracked open by a female visitor, and the hidden thoughts and motives of the men rise to the surface. The stakes are heightened and we are drawn in closer to witness the unveiling of secrets.
Natacha is a bright artist and I am very lucky that I had the opportunity to speak with her about herself and the play. One of the other questions I posed to her was if she found any disparity between men and women in having exposure as a playwright. She pondered this question deeply. Her first response was no. She explained that she already thrives in a man’s world working professionally as a mechanical engineer. Being in a man’s world she behaves simply as a person doing the work that is mostly filled by men, but it’s not about the gender. It’s about doing the work. She is aware of a common theme in comments by other people that they were surprised that a woman had written a play in a setting that was primarily male oriented and about two men in a prison. Storytelling is a vocation. It’s a job that can be done equally well by any man or woman.
Natacha has written 6 plays in total. The Last Train is the first one to be translated into English. Her storytelling and writing style is purposeful and engaging. Get curious and thrilled! Go see The Last Train.
The Last Train is playing at the SCHKAPF, formerly known as Artworks Theatre. ADDRESS: 6567 Santa Monica Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90038. tel. 323.871.1912
The schedule is:
Top 10 reasons to see plays at the Hollywood Fringe Festivals:
10. Participation in the Hollywood Fringe is completely open and uncensored. This free-for-all approach underlines the festival’s mission to be a platform for artists without the barrier of a curative body. By opening the gates to anyone with a vision, the festival is able to exhibit the most diverse and cutting-edge points-of-view the world has to offer. – That was straight out of the horse’s mouth – http://www.hollywoodfringe.org/learn/index/89
9. Theatre hopping in one night in the same theatre or just mozyin’ on down to the theatre next door to catch the next act. Two weeks of staying out late theatre-bar-theatre-bar hoppin.
8. Live entertainment with breathing, salivating, thinking, reacting and overacting people in their own skin. This is the opportunity to boycott computer animated movies for two weeks.
7. Make an artist feel appreciated.
6. Surprise yourself. If you can’t stretch your body, stretch your mind. It’s yoga for the imagination.
5. Because Theatre is the new Cool (always has and always will be). I liken Theatre to Miles Davis – a classic cool who will always be cool, because he was fearless in reinventing himself.
4. 278 shows! (I think this is about right from the search on the website) to choose from in 2 weeks
acting · american · comedy · dark comedy · hilarious · identity · los angeles · love · new york · one woman show · relationships · storytelling · adult themes · comedic · comedy · dark humor · death · drama · dramedy · ensemble · family · funny · gay · music · musical · musical theater · one person show · one-act · original · satire · solo show · storytelling · theater · women · world
3. Fancy is back! (I saw FANCY: Secrets from the Bootydoir last year, and was amazed by the talent. Chris Farah is a hot blooded story teller.)
2. A new and brave talent on the scene from Europe – Natacha Astuto wrote the thriller The Last Train. This is the first English version of the play that has played for 2 years in Europe in French. It won both the Grand Prix and the Young Jury prize at last weeks’ FESTIVAL DE CAHORS, FRANCE.
1. Women on the Fringe! This is the list of the shows that were written by women – shortened without the hashtags. Get the complete details on https://lafpi.com/about/women-at-work-onstage/women-on-the-fringe/
I am faced with the dilemma of being honest with myself about things that aren’t savory to know even about me. Once in a while, when I can no longer hold it, I pee in a bucket, in the morning, because I don’t want to intrude while my husband has his shower. Is that really so bad? Is that TMI? And that it’s really okay that I did it, and others don’t really need to know my confession. Is it that I was just being lazy? I guess it is, though I mask it with the excuse that I don’t want to intrude on my husband’s shower time. Couldn’t I just get up earlier to pee before I make the coffee? Or just knock on the door and excuse myself.
7 Deadly Sins in 365 days is a funny book with outrageous suggestions, some of which I discovered I’ve already done, or put into regular practice. A book like this makes me laugh at myself, and poke fun at my own seriousness. I think we do some things we feel ashamed of, but do not really understand that reason for the shame. Was it something bred into us by society – our family and institutions? Or is it truly a self-conscious evaluation to determine our moral goodness.
Some of suggestions are harmless fun, while others require some evaluation of the consequences. Some harmless fun (or not so harmless, but socially deviant) are fart in a crowded elevator; pee in the pool – I know I’ve done one of these before but not on purpose or malice in mind. If premeditated then I’d put them in the basket of childhood pranks; while the other prescribed actions takes some real guts, some degree of craziness, I really wanted to do it anyway: blow all your savings on the lottery; get drunk before going to work; take a 24 hour break from your relationship.
Those actions are symptomatic of problems. They are ‘acting out’ on something deeper. If I spent my savings on the lottery then it is an act of desperation – and a signal that I have lost hope. If I get drunk before going to work then it is symbolic of my avarice towards my work place, and the need to numb myself from the people and the environment. If I take a 24 hour break from my husband, carte blanche, and had a fling then I’m probably not fulfilled in my marriage. Acting out does not make me an evil person, though I certainly would feel a deep sense of guilt and shame in going through with one of the three actions above.
Boy, I would consider myself damned lucky if I did win the lottery in a big way if I spent my savings on the lottery. Can I dodge people at work to mask the alcohol on my breath? I have to weigh the odds. There is a thought process in our choices. We do a check and balance accounting of the probability and consequences. What price am I willing to pay for my choices and actions?
I’ve been curious about the nature of evil. I was raised Catholic until I was able to break away into a practice suited to my nature. In my experience, and I say this in hindsight, that the indoctrination I got from attending a strict Catholic school ruled by nuns leaned heavily upon a “too-literal” interpretation of the scriptures. Had I not had the personal conviction to explore my own spirituality and the courage to re-think by asking questions and experimenting with my ideas, then I may not have matured spiritually. Had I remained afraid of being condemned blasphemous or I couldn’t risk the possibility that my parents would disown me then I probably wouldn’t be writing this blog.
One of the most useful books I read on the subject of the nature of evil was People of The Lie by Scott M. Peck. As a psychiatrist he untangled the complex input and output between what is normal behavior and what is evil. Prior to reading People of the Lie, I read his first book, The Road Less Travelled. I chose that book because it explored the concept of “Original Sin”. My own exploration of “Original Sin” is that it is our doubt of our inherent good nature. Why do we have this doubt? My hypothesis is when we are born, we are molded to be “good” by external entities from our parents, the church (if we are raised in a religion), schools, civil governments – the gamut of organizational institutions. That we need external bodies outside of our own good judgment to measure our sense of morality removes the responsibility of aspiring to be good from the individual. It is not a conscious decision. Life happens and we act based on our abilities and the circumstances.
When I juxtapose that argument/reasoning to the author’s description of evil:
Scott Peck says, “For adults to be the victims of evil, they must be powerless to escape. They may be powerless when a gun is held to their head…Or they may be powerless by virtue of their own failure of courage…Whenever adults not at gunpoint become victims of evil it is because they have–one way or another–bound [themselves] by chains of laziness and dependency….settling for a child’s impotence.”
What I begin to understand is I go through a painful self-examination of my nature and my existence almost daily. I have many moments of deep anguish, anxiety and anger (not all at once, though sometimes yes), and how do I release the pressure to act good in the face of evil. I halt to go further to describe my own personal religious beliefs. I do go further to say that I believe I am inherently good with a bend for fun for fun’s sake, and that what is good for the goose is also good for the gander.
The wrinkles on my hands and face are threads of living the routine between work and home, along with the news absorbed from the papers, the elevators, the internets and conversations. There are plenty of situations that play out the battle between good and evil. It’s a theme that’s been played out since the first story told about Adam and Eve in the garden, passed down to the generations thru Cain and Abel to the stories that we watch on the big screen: Captain America, Spider Man, Malficent.
I read the play The Last Train by Natacha Astuto. I’ll be interviewing her this week before the preview of her play this coming Thursday at Schkapf Obsucra. Among my questions to her will be her thoughts about the nature of evil, because her play has undercurrent of the evil nature of a psychopath. The question of good and evil is simply not light versus dark as told in the most rudimentary of storytelling. I liked how the dance of evil and good is played out in the movie The Matrix, because it portrays it as a play of lights and shadows with brushstrokes of surrealism.
Morpheus: I imagine that right now you’re feeling a bit like Alice. Tumbling down the rabbit hole?
Neo: You could say that.
Morpheus: I can see it in your eyes. You have the look of a man who accepts what he sees because he’s expecting to wake up. Ironically, this is not far from the truth. Do you believe in fate, Neo?
Neo: No.
Morpheus: Why not?
Neo: ‘Cause I don’t like the idea that I’m not in control of my life.
Morpheus: I know exactly what you mean. Let me tell you why you’re here. You’re here because you know something. What you know, you can’t explain. But you feel it. You felt it your entire life. That there’s something wrong with the world. You don’t know what it is, but it’s there. Like a splinter in your mind — driving you mad. It is this feeling that has brought you to me. Do you know what I’m talking about?
Neo: The Matrix?
Morpheus: Do you want to know what it is? (Neo nods his head.) Morpheus: The Matrix is everywhere, it is all around us. Even now, in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window, or when you turn on your television. You can feel it when you go to work, or when go to church or when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.
Neo: What truth?
Morpheus: That you are a slave, Neo. Like everyone else, you were born into bondage, born inside a prison that you cannot smell, taste, or touch. A prison for your mind. (long pause, sighs) Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself. This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. (In his left hand, Morpheus shows a blue pill.)
Morpheus: You take the blue pill and the story ends. You wake in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. (a red pill is shown in his other hand) You take the red pill and you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes. (Long pause; Neo begins to reach for the red pill) Remember — all I am offering is the truth, nothing more. (Neo takes the red pill and swallows it with a glass of water)
Credit to “The Matrix” written by Andy Wachowski & Larry Wachowski)
A quote from another book for consideration:
Erich Fromm, The Heart of Man: Its Genius for Good and Evil:
The longer we continue to make the wrong decisions, the more our heart hardens; the more often we make the right decisions, the more our heart softens–or better perhaps, comes alive…Most people fail at the art of living not because they are inherently bad or so without will that they cannot lead a better life; they fail because they do not wake up and see when they stand at a fork in the road and have to decide. They are not aware when life asks them a question, and when they still have alternative answers. Then with each step along the wrong road it becomes increasingly difficult for them to admit that they are on the wrong road.
Wow
I can’t believe I’ve been in Omaha for the Great Plains Theatre Conference for 8 WHOLE days.
I can’t believe I’ve ONLY been in Omaha for the Great Plains Theatre Conference for 8 whole days.
I can’t believe how much awesome new work I got to witness and how many amazing playwrights I had the good fortune to meet.
I can’t believe how delicious the food was.
Every.
Single.
Meal.
I can’t believe how much socializing my introverted little playwright self managed while I was here, and how thoroughly I enjoyed all of the discussions, laughs, and thoughtfulness.
I can’t believe how comfy the hotel where my introverted self got to reteat to, was.
I can’t believe it’s over.
I had the pleasure of speaking with one of the conference’s FANTASTIC donors this week, and they looked surprised when I told them how wonderful it was to be treated so well. That the hotel and food and attention to every little detail made me feel so honored, because playwrights aren’t usually treated to this kind of focus and care.
She looked surprised and so I thanked her again.
I am overflowing with gratitude.
Tonight, after jam-packed days of play readings and workshops and performances, we ended things with a superbly delicious dinner, live music, and artisan s’mores. I mean, YUMM.
We also experienced the magic of Kia Corthron’s monumentally beautiful acceptance speech as she was honored this evening. It was so poignant and honest that the whole room sat enraptured.
I’m so thankful I was there to hear her words, and I’m so grateful that those were the words she elected to share with us tonight.
So tomorrow I will fly back to my everyday life and I will revel in reuniting with my fella and my furballs, and things will go back to…
Bills will go back to…
Life will go back to…
Normal.
But I will also bring this week back with me.
This week of inspiration and of creativity.
Of beautiful new connections and of palate-cleansing laughter.
I will return home with the wild little play that got invited here and get to re-tinkering with it.
I will sit down at my desk and re-engage the new play I’ve been growling at.
I will think of Kia’s words on poverty of pocket and I will compare them to her words on the richness of heart, and then I will reflect on the richness of my heart, and I will write, and write, and write.
Because writing is kind of, always, sexily, the thing I need to do. And after spending a week with others who feel the same way, I can’t wait to get to get back to it.
I also can’t wait to work on my “Something for next year.”
~Tiffany
By Tiffany Antone
So many plays!
Arriving at the Great Plains Theatre Conference on Saturday, I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. The itinerary was so intense and so interesting and my head was absolutely spinning at the week I had ahead of me – 29 playwrights, a bevy of workshops and readings, plus evening play festival shows – Oh My!
But here it is Thursday already, and I’m so bummed that this orgy of new work is coming to a close.
There are a lot of talented people here, a lot of passionate writers, and a lot of really cool, innovative, and engaging work being shared.
And while there aren’t any female playwrights in the conference’s mainstage line-up (tsk, tsk), there were certainly a host of super talented female writers showcased in the event’s Playlabs.
So, how about I give a little LAFPI shout-out to some of the fabulous female playwrights whose work I’ve had the privilege to enjoy this week? (FYI, there is no way to see every play at this conference. There are multiple readings going on at once – so what I was able to see is but a sampling of what was available.)
First up, let’s talk about Minneapolis playwright Anne Bertram. What a cool writer! Anne’s play, The Good Fight, takes place in London, 1913, and is about the women’s suffrage movement. Drawing from history, Anne colors in this frustratingly fem-closed world with panache. I was so into this play! It’s smart, funny, and poignant – Brava, Anne!
Another historically inspired piece is Nancy Cooper Frank’s absurdist play, Daniil Kharms: A Life in One-Act and Several Dozen Eggs. I so enjoyed this weird and wonderful play! I *believe* Nancy is still developing the piece, but it’s really super interesting and introduced me to the Russian absurdist writer in highly theatrical fashion.
I also got to see We Only Go Home in Retrograde, by Eva Suter, a UT Austin MFA candidate with a serious lyrical streak. She’s written a poetic and super visually engaging piece. I was particularly interested in meeting Eva and seeing her play now that I too live in Texas (I just keep moving further and further away from LA, don’t I…) – So how cool to meet a Texas artist at this conference in Nebraska!
And speaking of Texas, another cool writer I’ve had the pleasure to meet is Murphi Cook – creative mind behind the horror play, Birds of America. With Hitchcockian flare, Murphi has created a seriously creepy (in a good way) play about grief and relationships… and birds. I was super intrigued by this piece, and – now that I know she’s also a puppeteer – I’m really hoping I can see one of her shows in San Antonio!
I also had the pleasure of seeing Tira Palmquist’s play, Two Degrees – a fascinating look into one woman’s grief as she battles for the climate at a senate hearing. I was so into the metaphorical landscape accompanying this woman’s real-world battles! And it was great to meet a fellow LAFPI’er – one whose name I had seen and heard mentioned more than a time or two before. What a cool person and writer!
And last but not least, I had the pleasure of sitting in our very own Jennie Webb’s Crazy Bitch. It’s no secret I’m a big fan of Jennie’s, so I won’t spend too much time gushing, but what a cool piece! I loved her characters – one of which is an immortal jellyfish! What? Awesome! In typical Jennie Webb style, she’s given us a world in which our imaginations get to settle into something genuinely unique. Kudos, Jennie!
I’ve still got four more readings, a workshop, and one more production ahead of me – this truly is an extraordinary opportunity. Huzzah to GPTC for creating such an awesome event for playwrights, and for facilitating so many cool new creative connections!
by Tiffany Antone
I’m caressing a wall – feeling its temperature and taking notes on “all kinds of walls”. I’m listening to a stranger’s stomach gurgling (even though I’m supposed to be pressing my hesitant ear down heavily enough to hear his heart beat) – now this stranger has his head to my belly… listening. I can feel his breath on my hand which is resting just below my stomach. The sudden and unexpected closeness of this listening exchange is alarming and calming all at once.
Now I’m watching a man press a lit cigarette into a child’s painting, burning away the colors.
Now I’m shaking hands with a cardboard-obscured (and thus body-less) hand… someone else kisses the hand. I laugh, I think about germs, I think about intimacy amongst strangers, I think about chapstick and lotion and Purell and calluses.
I think about my laptop, sitting a few feet away and I feel the familiar feeling of yearning to just… write.
I’m at the Great Plains Theatre Conference (#GPTC) and this is Lisa D’Amour‘s Yoko Ono workshop. I’m learning about the occasions on which D’Amour has performed Ono’s “Cut” piece and how her work as a performance artist has influenced her as a playwright. Her experience is transformative.
There are playwrights everywhere.
It’s hard to believe that only 8 days ago I was in LA, putting up my Little Black Dress INK Female Playwrights ONSTAGE Project at the Los Angeles Theatre Center. We live-streamed last Sunday’s play readings, and I will go on to produced each of the plays in Prescott, AZ this Fall. It’s been a FANTASTIC experience, a wild ride…
But I’m exhausted.
Which is why I’m so ecstatic to be at the GPTC this week.
This week, I get to sit back and just be a playwright.
I’ve taken two workshops and seen five new play readings already, and it’s only Monday!
So while I’ve got to get to bed early tonight in order to try to sleep off the rest of last week’s Producer fatigue (in order to enjoy the accumulation of new Playwright fatigue), I can promise I’ll be blogging again soon about my time spent here on the Plains, enjoying my role in the writer’s tribe.
By Diane Grant
I discovered the LA Women’s Shakespeare Company very late in the game so for many of you, this is old news!
The LAWSC was founded in 1993 by Lisa Wolpe, to encourage, as it says on their website, “women and girls to transcend gender and cultural differences, and embrace a broader awareness of their enormous capabilities not only on the stage, but in all areas of their lives…” and “to provide a strong and positive example of an all-female, multi-cultural collaboration that is innovative, professional, and creative.”
It has produced all female, multi cultural productions of many of Shakespeare’s plays, The Merchant of Venice, The Winter’s Tale, Richard III, Romeo and Juliet, Much Ado About Nothing, Measure for Measure, As You Like It, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Macbeth – I’ve probably left some out – and Hamlet, which I had the good fortune to see at the Odyssey last year.
I was knocked out by the production. The set and lighting were superb – I jumped when the Ghost appeared out of nowhere. The costumes were excellent. But it was the performances that blew me away.
You forgot that the roles were played by women. (Two women behind me whispered, “I can’t tell, can you?” The other said, “Look at their hands. You have to look at their hands.”) Every one was convincing and right in the moment. Chastity Dotson’s Ophelia was the best I’ve seen, fresh and heartbreaking. Natsuko Ohama as Polonoius got every laugh.
Lisa Wolpe’s Hamlet moved me to tears. Every line was crystal clear and spoken to convey meaning and emotion. I’ve heard so many plummy readings of “To be or not to be,” in which the words come drippingly off the tongue and you can sense the actor’s delight in the sound of his own voice but when Lisa sat down and said, “To be or not to be,” I listened. I heard a person working through his thoughts, weighing his options, torn and tormented. But quiet about it.
And the physical work knocked me out. Almost literally. I was in the front row and the swordplay was fierce and fast close to my feet. Very exciting.
And how marvelous, I thought, that women would have the opportunity to play some of the best characters ever written and to speak that glorious language. I knew that Sarah Bernhardt had played Hamlet, and Helen Mirren, Prospero, but I don’t know if I’ve heard of another Shakespeare company composed entirely of women.
So I’ve been waiting for the next production. When I didn’t see one announced, I emailed Lisa Wolpe. A busy woman, who directs, teaches, acts, has studied at the Globe Theatre and who also has a one woman show called Shakespeare And The Alchemy of Gender, and a documentary on the group in the works, she said that Hamlet may be her last production in L.A.
I hope not. If there is one, I’ll be there.
To see a rehearsal of Hamlet, go to http://youtu.be/buUv-UQNfdg.
By Diane Grant
I opened up my email yesterday only to discover that this was my blog week. I thought, “Oh, Robin, Robin, Robin, I’m not ready, I’m not ready.” It isn’t as if I hadn’t been forewarned. Our excellent Blog Mistress posted the schedule some time ago.
But I was going to wash the kitchen floor today, do the laundry, and go grocery shopping. And I’m cat sitting. (I’m crazy about this cat but those of you who have ever cat sat will understand that it takes some adjusting. My daughter’s cat likes to sleep with me and on me and isn’t that fond of my husband, for example.)
Lately, my life seems to be so bitty – each day becoming a series of unconnected chores that once completed lead on to the next. I’ve lost the daily practice of yoga and so admire Jessica Abrams’s morning routine. (And her web series.) I don’t write in my daily diary. Not daily, not even weekly. I don’t know when I’m going to get to the Fringe.
When I do sit down to write, I stare at the screen. It stares back, emptily.
Not long ago, I was exhilarated and full of energy. I had worked long and diligently on my latest play, Rondo a la Condo, and the characters finally broke through. The plot flowed. It worked!
Then, I had a staged reading of it.
The actors were very good and it was thrilling to be onstage, playing one of the characters. The audience seemed to like it but after it was over, I sensed that the response was not overwhelmingly positive. One man said, “It was all right. It was confusing and you really couldn’t follow it. And the narrator was hard to hear.” Others said, “Umm hmm. I enjoyed it.” Etc. My husband said, “I like it but the one I really like is your The Piaggi Suite.” One friend said he thought it was great and lifted me up by saying that I wrote about “the magical in the everyday.” Well, I thought, “How nice.” And he, of course, is perceptive and highly intelligent. Then, night and silence.
I know I’ll pull up my socks. I know I’ll start sending Rondo out. Start looking for someone who adores it as much as I do. I know you can’t please everybody and every audience is different. Laughs got one night get none the next. Some say tomatoes, some say tomahtoes.
But at heart, I agree with Colin Firth who said, “You can be very susceptible to the slings and arrows. It can be one word in a review or something somebody said. Somebody can come up to you and shower you with wonderful words and the last thing they say as they walk away ….’Wait, you like everything except for what?’ That’s the one thing that sticks in your mind.”
So, for the moment, I’ll wash the kitchen floor, pat the cat, and be happy to have the pleasure of writing in here.
