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RADAR L.A.: Staging the Political as Personal

By Diane Lefer

A stirring doubleheader of RADAR L.A. productions last night at LATC gave me a lot to think about, including this: I am left wondering if it was coincidence, curators’ choice, or larger cultural influences that gave Los Angeles an international theater and performance festival at which only two plays (of 14 scripted pieces, many involving female artists) were written by women; both women are Latin American; both of their plays look at generational trauma in the aftermath of defining tragedies in their countries; both temper their documentary materials with poetic license as they explore the intimately personal in the political. Whatever. I can thank the forces – occult or otherwise – that brought Mariana Villegas and Lola Arias to town.

image-3For Villegas, in her supertitled 55-minute solo performance Se Rompen Las Olas, the disaster is the Mexico City earthquake of 1985 – evoked through video news clips –  that left tens of thousands dead, discredited the government, and briefly brought together the woman who would be her mother and the man whose absence and abandonment would shake the performer’s life to the core. Villegas holds the stage with a powerfully expressive physicality as when her exuberant and uninhibited dance shifts in an instant to a vision of abuse. At one point, a recorded song asks Where did the earthquake catch you? and goes on to answer dancing with Catalina, shaking the floor so hard, the singer explains, he never noticed the quake. (Can anyone imagine a comparable song in this country citing 9/11?) In Se Rompen Las Olas, these lyrics with their upbeat tune and danceable beat offer a compelling truth of daily life and human desire going on in the midst of catastrophe while Villegas, through her body and her words reminds us that people born in the aftermath of disaster continue to feel the reverberation in their lives.

arias01For Lola Arias, the disaster is the coup in Chile that overthrew the government of Salvador Allende and led to the military dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet. The supertitled script of El Año en que Nací (The Year I Was Born) is drawn from the actual lives of the 11 performers all of whom were born (or were infants) at the time of the coup and who seek to understand the roles their parents played during years of repression, violence, prison, and exile. Notably, the performers come from families all across the political spectrum from participants in the armed struggle on the left to the authoritarian paramilitary organization on the right along with those who had political preferences but tried to go along with the status quo. While the opening scenes of the play suggest the new generation’s commonalities, the picture becomes more complex and fractious (and comical) when the players are challenged to line up to show their political stance, their economic position – When it comes to poverty, does having a dirt floor at home trump going hungry? – and their social status as reflected in skin color. Simple yet inventive staging keeps the production lively with tonal shifts and surprise.

Arias, from Argentina, previously created a similar program exploring the post-dictatorship era in her own country and if you’re familiar with Latin American politics, her work shouldn’t be missed. Know nothing about Allende and Pinochet? The production still fascinates. It runs two hours without intermission without ever inducing fidgets.

Final performances of both productions are Sunday, and then they are gone. See the RADAR L.A. schedule here: http://www.redcat.org/festival/radar-la-festival-2013

Villegas and Arias made me think of another Latin American woman at the head of a company that uses documentary material – Claudia Santiago who writes, directs, and performs with Mexico City-based Espejo Mutable. Their most recent production, Náa-Gunaá, looks at the lives of indigenous migrants (including children) from the south of Mexico who are exposed to exploitation and pesticides as they harvest GMO crops in Baja California. The company would love the opportunity to share this work and explore the lives of indigenous migrants from Oaxaca in our own California fields.

logo_radarla_transparent_0_0And a quick shoutout to three additional RADAR L.A. offerings that have women at the helm if not in the playwright’s chair:

Puppet designer extraordinaire Janie Geiser directs Clouded Sulphur.

Franco-Austrian director Giselle Vienne chose to employ simple hand puppets to create the unnerving effect in Jerk, the story of a serial killer.

Theatre Movement Bazaar, with Tina Kronis as director and choreographer, continues its reinterpretation of Chekhov with Track 3.

 

Diane Lefer is a playwright, author, and activist whose collaboration with Hector Aristizábal, Nightwind, has been performed in LA and in 30 other countries around the globe. Also in LA, her work has been presented by Grupo Ta’Yer at the Frida Kahlo Theater, Indie Chi Productions, Playwrights Arena, Three Roses Players, and Triumvirate Pi. She is co-author with Aristizábal of The Blessing Next to the Wound: A story of art, activism, and transformation as well as several anthologized essays about Theater of the Oppressed, and she has worked with theater groups in Colombia and Bolivia. Her works of fiction include the historical novel, The Fiery Alphabet, published this month, and the short story collection, California Transit, which received the Mary McCarthy Prize. Visit www.dianelefer.weebly.com.

Elephant 15

by Erica Bennett

The best question a director ever asked me was, what animal are you?

I knew my answer before I ever walked on stage; I found my way.

 

What rhythm drives you? Can you hear it?

Is your music fully formed? Or is it a single drum beat?

 

I’ve always been drawn to music from my father’s 45s to Karen Carpenter,

From old time rock ‘n roll to Janis Joplin, balladeers to Queen, Linda Ronstadt to Pink.

 

While I don’t know the language of music, I can articulate how it makes me feel.

When I am sad, it is waves on a moonlit beach. When I am happy, it peals.

 

I am pealing tonight.

High rise

by Erica Bennett

 

I am Wo sans man

I am the Ater

I read Poe; try

My lips Tick

My bed Rocks

But I split Hairs

 

I’m writing a short play in verse using an non-rhyming 4/3/5/2 metered structure. Yet, last night, my play had no action; it was more a dialogue which was my original intention.

Most of my stuff has internal action; perhaps better suited for another medium? Anyway, I threw in a dagger and some ill-intent, the proverbial kitchen sink. The play is based upon a myth and I’m not far off the mark. In fact, it was actually a good note and relatively easy for me to address; a little polished steel waving around the Christ child should get the blood boiling this holiday season… That’s the hope, anyway. I want this experiment in language of mine to be born and born again.

My friend asked me who is looking out for my work, so when I die, it won’t end up in a dumpster with the rest of my personal belongings. That’s a good question. Are you archiving your stuff? You should.

Magic

by Erica Bennett

 

It’s Thursday

Already

And I’m late

And it’s October

Already

And it’s New Years

And spring break

And October again

And I am reminded of When Harry Met Sally

“And I’m going to be forty. When? Someday.”

Only I’ve not been forty for forty years

Because I’m eighty

And I’m dead like the rest of ‘em.

But rather than cry

It makes me smile, wonder

Where did the magic come from?

That single second of unreasoning inspiration

Fueled by adrenalin and cigarettes

Maybe sex and coffee, alcohol and emotion

That kept me up all hours of the night

Not wanting it to end

Warding off sleep = death

 

Thank You…

Written by Nancy Beverly

I decided this morning to make this my last blog for the LAFPI.  I suddenly realized late yesterday I hadn’t read the blog in over a month (okay, my home computer was in the shop for two weeks, which made my personal web surfing minimal).  I’d been religious (spiritual?) about keeping up with everyone’s posts… and now my life is so jam-packed that I unintentionally let the blog drop.  I apologize to those whose posts I didn’t read — I tried to do some speed reading yesterday to catch up but I still didn’t get to all of the entries.  Sigh.

So, I need to let some things go to make room for the new things in my life — mostly they’re connected to my movie, which now has a wonderful director, fabulous D.P., line-producer, co-producer, budget and business plan in place.  And I’ve barely begun — now comes getting investors and actors!

In my final post, I’d like to share with you the link to Shawn Tolleson’s website:

http://entertainmentcareerstrategy.com/

Shawn is a career coach, as well as a film and theatre director, and it’s thanks to her tools that I’ve been able to put this movie (and some of my other projects) together and keep moving forward.  She spoke at Fierce Backbone, my playwrights group, last night and the writers and actors got a lot out of her talk.  If you ever get a chance to hear her or have the time to sign up for one of her seminars, I can’t say enough about the strategies she teaches.

And so, thank you for letting me take up this space every few months to contemplate, to rant, to share… and to feel connected to the wonderful female playwrights of L.A.

 

Stillness…

by Analyn Revilla

I wanted to write this blog from a quiet place inside of me.  After some reflection and some practice I believe that creativity comes from a quiet place, and the by-product of creativity is a creation.

Most times, I’m too busy with being busy that I’m hardly ever quiet, so there isn’t much creativity happening.  It’s all noise, and that creation isn’t inspiring or useful to others – hardly anyway.

I had been mulling about creativity, creation and stillness in the past few days.  Then I stumbled upon the whole kit and caboodle while preparing dinner last night.  What I had been trying to understand is also something that Bruno experiences as a professional chef.  He has worked for a lot of very good charcutiers.  I asked, what makes one better than aother?  He said, for example, he is different from one his former employers, Thierry, because Thierry was a perfectionist.  Thierry had the ability to invent new products, because he’s not too concerned with productivity.  Meanwhile, Bruno was able to create something new based on parameters he is given by a client.  He admits that he didn’t invent what he’s created, but he’s able to reproduce someone else’s idea.  I followed with the question, why can’t he create something new and original?  He said he’s too busy with being productive.  He needs to have time to be quiet to inspire creativity.

I’ve been wanting to give you something worthy of your time, and I didn’t want to rehash something that has been said before or a cliché about life.  Though I wanted to remind myself that it’s good to just be still, like telling a child who fidgets to “be still.”  Being busy without being rooted to a purpose dissipates energy, and can even lead to an unwanted residue of consequences.  (I should have gone home before I deleted some report configuration from an environment which was firstly an embarrassing mistake, and also created more work in the end.  The only salvation I grant on this occassion is a Miles Davis quote, “Do not fear mistakes – there are none. ”)

Here’s another analogy.  A playwright friend of mine was auditioning actors for a new play.  His comment at the end of the auditions was, “there was too much movement of arms and legs from some of the actors, and less focus on what’s being said.”  I know what he meant, because when a person is embedded into a character there is a sense of stillness in their demeanor.  Less is more.  Like makeup, applying less brings out more of the essence rather than covering it up; and over-amplification of the action takes away from the subtext of the conversation.

On my office wall, across from my desk, is a picture of Martin Luther King from the TIME magazine cover (August 26th to September 2nd 2013 issue).  There is a remarkable stillness in this image.  I wonder what he was thinking, feeling and being.  There’s a stillness there that draws me in closer that I put the words “Role model inspire to aspire” beneath the picture.

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Play It Loud

by Analyn Revilla

I had driven around and stopped at four other pawn shops around New Orleans, before I found “the guitar”.  It had been sitting in a darkened room of the pawn shop next to a small food stand.  It was, in fact, the food stand that I used as my marker to locate the shop, based on directions from a local.

“the guitar”, covered in dust, was hidden behind other abandoned guitars, but at least it stood upright, and not on its back.  Any weight on it could’ve broken the neck or cracked its body.  The headstock was chipped, the back was falling off and it couldn’t hold the tuning, because the tuning pegs were not its original stock and the strings were gritty with dust and grease.

I looked down the neck of the guitar and did not see any serious bends.  Plus it was really too dark in the shop to study that kind of detail any closer.  I tried to tune the guitar and play a chord.  Imagine plucking a note from an electric guitar plugged to an amp in a large and empty stadium.  Hear the note.  It is true and just keeps on vibrating.  Its call brings your soul to its knees.  I was unnerved by the tone of this old soul.

“How much do you want for this?” I asked the owner.  I got the answer I expected.  Something along the lines that it’s a vintage guitar, and it’s a bargain for $125.  It comes with its own gig bag.  The guitar was worth something as it was an Alvarez and it was fabricated in Japan.  It was an old soul with a worn body.  Its back was falling out and I saw there was some damage to the heel too.  I liked the scorpion sticker on the front, and ghs guitar boomer sticker at the back.

“Ok, I’ll take it.”  My answer, without its haggling down words, made the man pause and probably wonder if he’s really given away a gem.  The gig bag was in better shape than the guitar.

After returning to LA, and having paid an extra $100 for the extra carriage of the guitar I was the owner of a vintage guitar that couldn’t be played.  You can tune it, but it begins to lose its tuning before you can finish a song.  I took it around to a few shops to get an idea of the cost of fixing it, but the answers I got weren’t too promising.  I took it on a trip to Vancouver.  I always need the companionship of a guitar when I’m away from home.  The guy at Bonerattle Music store offered to at least glue the back and change the strings.  I didn’t mind playing an out of tune guitar, as I just needed to hold it.  I could still play a melody on one string; and practice anything with simple creativity.  The guy was surprised by its sound.  “Its got great tone.”  “I know,” I told him, “that’s why I got it and I wanted to save it.”

Then the guitar sat on a gig stand around my apartment unfixed and played not often.  It was like grandpa sitting in his rocking chair, waiting for something, that I wish I knew what for.  Then one day, I found out there was a hobbyist luthier working in the office.  His day job is a technical engineer.  His office is adorned with 3 guitars and a bass he built.  All of these babies were beautiful.  His favorite is a retro-green Strat body with pink knobs.  I told him about my guitar, and he said he’d like to work on it.  Wide-eyed, I said, “Really?”

That was almost a year ago that we had that conversation.  Yesterday morning he handed me the fixed grande dame of the Mississippi.  I cradled it, and couldn’t resist strumming a few favorite chords.   In his words he said it’s the only guitar  he’s worked on that’s “live”.  Then he quickly changed his mind and said, “it is one of two… ”  He figured that “the guitar” has been played a lot by the look of the wear on the fingerboard.  The wear on the headstock looks like the guitar had been pulled out of gig bags often, the kind of guitar you just reach for.  “Imagine,” I said, “Can you imagine the hands that’s touched this guitar.”  “I know,” he enthused.  Our minds raced with stories of its own making.

Last night, while Bruno watched the news, I sat holding the guitar and warming up my fingers and noodling quietly.  At times I would stop and apologize for getting carried away.  He gently told me, it’s okay.  He liked hearing me play.  “I don’t play,” I said.  This morning, after he left for work, I picked up the guitar again.  I started gingerly as my fingers hadn’t played very much lately.  I put the metronome at a slow beat of 40.  The electronic tick tock focused my attention.  After a few minutes of that I moved to chords, then playing songs.  I was enamored with the sound.  This guitar likes to be played loud.  Its tone was so grand and deep – resonating tones and semitones like an aria.  By the time I became I aware of time it was 8:44.  I still hadn’t walked the dog, and I’m supposed to be at work soon.

I laughed at an old reminder a guitar teacher used to tell me.  “Play louder”.  This was the first and only guitar I’ve played which I could play loud.  I found my voice with this guitar.  I dressed for work, happily thinking about an idea – when one day, St. Peter, at the Gate, asks me to play a song to let me pass through into heaven I would have a song to play and I would play it loud enough.

Waiting For Guffman

by Diane Grant

This season, Theatre Palisades produced Sherlock Holmes: The Final Adventure, from the 1899 play by William Gillette and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, adapted by Stephen Dietz.

It has been produced many times and the cast, which loved the show, loved Stephen Dietz as well.

I was interested in him, too. According to Wikipedia, he has written 30 plays and adapted 11 others. “How do you do that?” I wondered. Where do you write, in your car? In the bath? While cooking? Running? When do you sleep and eat? Maybe, you don’t sleep. That’s it, you don’t sleep. You can eat and write with the other hand.

I thought, “I’d like to ask him.”

Well, one day, when I was manning the reservation line, a woman phoned and booked 4 tickets for Stephen Dietz. I alerted the producers!

How were we to handle this?

The first thing to do was to get a good house for the night. We’d serve wine and goodies before curtain and at intermission. We’d call the night something special – a celebration of the First Days Of Summer. Everyone got involved. One of the members phoned everyone on the membership list and email blasts were blasted.

When the night came, we were ready. Front of house was manned by a full staff, well prepared with a case of the best red and white (OK, the best red and white that a theater ever serves), abundant Goldfish crackers, nuts and cookies. The cast was animated and had prepared an after show feast for themselves and Mr. Dietz and his friends.

Mr. Dietz and his party arrived and the producer introduced herself to him.

He said, “I’m not a playwright.”

“Not a playwright?” said the producer.

“No, I’m a investment banker.”

“An investment banker?”

“Oh,” his wife said, laughing, “He does this all the time.”

The cast wasn’t told until after the show. Mr. Dietz did stay after to shake hands and say, “Hello,” but some of the cast felt had. And sad. Some even angry. I didn’t feel particularly popular having not asked when booking the reservation, “THE Steven Dietz?”

But the night was lots of fun. We truly did celebrate the first days of summer and brought in a huge audience, well cosseted, who saw a particularly lively performance.

THE Steven Dietz would have been pleased.

THE Steven Dietz
THE Steven Dietz

The Royal Family

TheRoyalFamily1

   Ellen Geer, Willow Geer, Melora Marshall

by Diane Grant

I work in a box office. It’s my bread and butter job. The problem with it is that it prevents me from seeing as many plays as I would like to. I’m often taking tickets at one theater when the curtain is going up in theaters all over the city.

So, when I do get chance see a production, I want to see something wonderful.

And last Saturday, August the 17th at 4 pm, at Theatricum Botanicum in Topanga, I did. To begin with, being at Theatricum on a beautiful summer afternoon is a pleasure in itself. The grounds immediately charm and relax you (and you need to relax after driving through Topanga Canyon) and sitting on the stairs (bring a pillow) amongst the trees above the wide outdoor stage makes you feel a part of magic about to happen.

The play was The Royal Family by George S. Kaufman and Edna Ferber. Written in 1927, it’s about a family of successful actors, based loosely on the famous Barrymores, and it is an absolute delight, fun for everyone and still relevant, particularly to anyone involved in theater.

Here’s what the director, Susan Angelo, says about the play: “Actors who dedicate their life to the theater are a passionate, unique and rare breed. It is hard to explain to non-theater folks the dedication that compels many actors to sacrifice lifestyle, social life and even family, in pursuit of their dream….Their world may be erratic and egocentric, but only because they seek a deeper understanding of humanity, and through their work, experience a heightened sense of their own.”

What actor or playwright would not feel her heart lift when watching a comedy about the demanding, crazy, lasting joy of life upon the stage, particularly one given such an excellent production?

The Geer family, perhaps not that different from Cavendishes of the play, was well represented by Ellen and Willow Geer and Melora Marshall. All the actors, including Ernestine Phillips and Alan Blumenfeld were delightful.

I don’t know Susan Angelo, the director, but the program says that she has been with Theatricum for many years. What I do know is that she had a cast of eighteen moving across the stage, in and out of doors, up and down the stairs, and along corridors (while fencing); all delivering lines with grace, panache and precision. They kept up the farcical pace, without ever descending into camp or forgetting the humanity of the characters.

The Seedlings program at Theatricum, [email protected], with our own Jennie Webb, who is Playwrights’ Development Director, and John Maidman, the Seedlings producer, is worth checking out, too. I had a play of mine, The Last Of The Daytons, read there a few years ago and it was a very positive and helpful experience.

In the meantime, if you are looking for fun, do go and see The Royal Family.

Gotta Have a Gimmick, Part Two

by Kitty Felde

Just want to followup on a comment from playwright Mallery Avidon:

Welcome to LAFPI! It’s a wonderful group of women writers battling it out in Los Angeles to draw attention to the work and increase the number of produced plays by women writers.

I think I need to more fully explain my inclusion of your play in my description of what I call “gimmick” plays.

As I noted, I don’t use the term as a derogatory genre. Shakespeare himself used cross dressing lovers to great effect in “Twelfth Night.” It’s a trend I’ve noticed as a genre showing up on legitimate stages all over the country. They can add an element of fun and excitement to a play. It’s what Hollywood might call a “hook” – something that will turn a curious audience member into one who will buy a ticket.

And as playwrights, it’s something we should take a look at as another reason a theatre might want to produce our plays.

Here, let me express my own personal opinion, not that of LAFPI:

I am not a fan of “Clybourne Park” for reasons other than the writing. I think Norris got it wrong. I grew up in Compton, lived through the white flight and thereafter. I just think his history is wrong in Act One. (I’m not the only one: Kwame Kwei-Armah, artistic director at Centerstage – like me – wrote a play IN RESPONSE to “Clybourne Park.”)

“Oh Guru Guru Guru, or why I don’t want to go to yoga class with you” has a terrific first act – funny, heartfelt, a story that felt specific and real. The fact that the writer used the “gimmick” of a lecture was icing on the cake. In my own opinion, the use of several other gimmicks in the next two acts – demonstrating the life in an ashram, audience participation, the surprise of “it’s only a movie!”, the conversation with Julia Roberts – detracted from the strong beginning. And from the play, which tackles a unique experience: growing up in an ashram and how that affects a person’s life.

Would I buy a ticket to a gimmick play? Of course! Would I write one? You bet.