It's after 6:30 a.m. the morning after we closed Assassins. It is also the day I am free at last from the bad mojo of the Ivory Theatre. (I haven't decided if I'm gonna blog about the insanity that drove us screaming from the Ivory.) I haven't gone to bed yet. It's one of those nights I'd rather not end, it was just that great, but sleep will overtake me soon, no doubt. In the meantime...
What a show! Not easy to watch, not uplifting, but deeply, richly satisfying, truly original, full of emotion and humanity and truth -- what else do you need? And this cast! Well, holy shit. What an amazing group of people, every single one giving such a strong, interesting, individual performance!
I have learned something Big this time. This is the fourth show in which I made all the actors watch the whole show in view of the audience -- but this is the first time I've seen the connection among these four shows. The first time was Hair, which is pretty much written that way and so no big credit to me for staging it that way. During Hair, the Tribe sat around the stage and observed all the other scenes, sometimes participating, sometimes just watching, sometimes singing back-up.
The second time I used this device was Man of La Mancha, though again, it seemed to me to be the only way the show really works. Since Cervantes is in prison telling the other prisoners the story of Don Quixote, it seemed to me those other prisoners had to be present through the entire show. Without them, the audience forgets the framing device, which is key to the central theme of the show.
The third time was The Robber Bridegroom. We had a free-standing stage, with the cast sitting in wooden chairs on three sides of the stage, and then the audience on three sides behind the actors. I wasn't consciously imitating Hair, but in retrospect I think that's where it came from.
And now I've used the device again with Assassins, with all the assassins sitting on stage framing the playing area, watching each other's scenes. Working backwards from the Oswald scene, which is the climax and "point" of the show, adding the assassins as a constant presence just seemed so right to me. The metaphor of the Book Depository scene is that Oswald shoots Kennedy because he knows about those who've gone before him and those who may come after. He sees himself as "historical." And that thought process is dramatized in the show by the actual assassins showing up in the flesh in the book depository. So, in a way, our staging device just followed the rules of the climactic Scene 16. Can you tell I'm stoned?
What's interesting is that though this is my fourth time doing this, all four shows used the device differently.
What this accomplished in these shows was to totally immerse the actors in the reality of the event. They could not leave the stage, take a pee, check on the baseball scores, or get a drink. And that brought tremendous energy to the show, and a stronger (if perhaps unconscious) link between audience and actors, since the actors were audience. It was warm and friendly with Hair, chaotic and intense with La Mancha, funny and communal with The Robber Bridegroom, and it made the already intense Assassins so much more intense, so much more uncomfortable. And even more so than the brilliant material does, our Assassins refused to give the audience even a second of relief till the final blackout. That might have asked too much of an audience, but our sold out houses tell us otherwise.
I have been truly blessed with a whole cast full of talented, dedicated character actors, the kind of artists who take every choice seriously, who consider and experiment, who surprise me with wonderful little moments of truthfullness. But I also have to say, not-so-humbly, that I think this is among the best work I've ever done. I really had a big head start this time with the brilliant writing, but I did make a show that was truly beautiful to behold, a real work of art.
I really feel like I'm getting better at my craft and that is very exciting. And did I mention that I'm free of the Ivory??
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
What Do You Want Me to Do?
What a weird night tonight! Good, bad, frustrating, wonderful. All in a single night.
It started when we got to the theatre to find someone had sabotaged the two refrigerators behind the concession stand. One had been unplugged, and the other had its setting changed to "freeze," so several soda cans had swelled up and exploded. So half of Ann's drinks were warm, the others were covered in frozen soda. She had to wash out the one refrigerator and then go get ice across the street to cool down the other drinks before patrons got there. We think we know who did it, but we don't know for sure... so I'll just say it was a real "horror"... (Inside joke; if you don't get it, consider yourself lucky).
Then we hear that on Friday night, some kid had been puking during the show. And I don't mean he puked then his parents took him home. No, he puked all during the show, into his father's coat, apparently, and also -- wait for it, wait for it -- all over a seat. Which we didn't discover until an hour before the show tonight! Thanks for the heads up, folks! Yes, this kid and his parents left his seat totally covered in barf, chunks and all, and didn't bother to tell anyone on their way out. And of course, they stayed for the whole show. Just 'cause their kid was extremely ill is no reason to miss a great show! Will someone please call Child Protective Services...?
So there's Ann, me, Trish, and others frantically trying to clean this damn seat, not only because we had a sold out house tonight, but also because it smelled! Eventually, we did get it cleaned and deodorized (thank you, Ann and Trish!), but then the seat was soaking wet. So we put a sign on the seat that it was wet and to see Vicki, the box office manager. So later the woman who had bought that ticket is yelling at Vicki because Vicki had seats for her in Row A or the balcony. But Row A was too close and the balcony was too far away. Okay, fuckin' Goldilocks, c'mere and let me slap you really hard. Eventually the woman decided to sit in the wet puke seat anyway. Whatever.
Then this couple comes in -- she's blind, he walks with a cane -- and they've bought tickets in Row P, the very last row, the row that takes the most steps to get to, and they declare to us that they can't go up stairs. It seems to me that if you can't go up stairs and you're buying a theatre ticket, you ought to ASK if there are stairs in the theatre. Does that make me a dick? Most theatres have stairs. We figured out a solution for them, but on top of everything else, it was a mite annoying...
But the show went great tonight. The audience (along with last night's audience) was more in a laughing mood than a thinking mood, laughing at pretty much everything and not catching a lot of the dark ironies and the complicated, emotional subtext, the implications of these scenes and songs and characters. But they had a really good time, so who the fuck am I with my fat ass and tongue on rye to complain that they were enjoying themselves? And they fed the actors a lot of good energy. I guess it's a show that can work in different ways for different people. So yes, I'm pretty much a dick for complaining because the show itself was outstanding tonight, and the cast totally nailed it.
And now that I've dissed our audience, I'll also mention that a bunch of our New Liner friends were in the house tonight. Who totally hate me now after reading my blog.
And tonight was also Stephen Sondheim's birthday. We sang "Happy Birthday" with the audience at curtain call (which I will NOT pay a royalty on, and those two old ladies who wrote it can kiss my ass), and then we had a Sondheim/Assassins themed sheet cake (you should have seen the people at the bakery when I ordered it) in the lobby after the show. I wasn't sure how the audience would react to all this, but they seemed to love it, with a particularly enthusiastic rendition of "Happy Birthday" and some lovely harmony from the cast. I always love it when theatre people sing that song, because it's always in three- or four-part harmony.
Then after the birthday party, a bunch of us went across the street to the Ivory Coast Bistro, which I highly recommend. The food is excellent, the prices reasonable, and it's a very cool place... and somehow we found out that Jeff has Mood Balls that change color depending on his mood. And no, I'm not talking about some kind of hip new decorative thingy -- I'm talking about testicles. Ask Jeff if you don't believe me.
So really, all in all, not a bad night, just a very fucked up one... That happens in the theatre sometimes. But things are good now, we're leaving the Ivory forever in a week (Free at last, free at least, Great God Almighty, we'll be free at last!), I had a good meal, people loved our show, and now I'm gonna relax, watch a little Twin Peaks - Season One, and smoke some primo weed. So there.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
It started when we got to the theatre to find someone had sabotaged the two refrigerators behind the concession stand. One had been unplugged, and the other had its setting changed to "freeze," so several soda cans had swelled up and exploded. So half of Ann's drinks were warm, the others were covered in frozen soda. She had to wash out the one refrigerator and then go get ice across the street to cool down the other drinks before patrons got there. We think we know who did it, but we don't know for sure... so I'll just say it was a real "horror"... (Inside joke; if you don't get it, consider yourself lucky).
Then we hear that on Friday night, some kid had been puking during the show. And I don't mean he puked then his parents took him home. No, he puked all during the show, into his father's coat, apparently, and also -- wait for it, wait for it -- all over a seat. Which we didn't discover until an hour before the show tonight! Thanks for the heads up, folks! Yes, this kid and his parents left his seat totally covered in barf, chunks and all, and didn't bother to tell anyone on their way out. And of course, they stayed for the whole show. Just 'cause their kid was extremely ill is no reason to miss a great show! Will someone please call Child Protective Services...?
So there's Ann, me, Trish, and others frantically trying to clean this damn seat, not only because we had a sold out house tonight, but also because it smelled! Eventually, we did get it cleaned and deodorized (thank you, Ann and Trish!), but then the seat was soaking wet. So we put a sign on the seat that it was wet and to see Vicki, the box office manager. So later the woman who had bought that ticket is yelling at Vicki because Vicki had seats for her in Row A or the balcony. But Row A was too close and the balcony was too far away. Okay, fuckin' Goldilocks, c'mere and let me slap you really hard. Eventually the woman decided to sit in the wet puke seat anyway. Whatever.
Then this couple comes in -- she's blind, he walks with a cane -- and they've bought tickets in Row P, the very last row, the row that takes the most steps to get to, and they declare to us that they can't go up stairs. It seems to me that if you can't go up stairs and you're buying a theatre ticket, you ought to ASK if there are stairs in the theatre. Does that make me a dick? Most theatres have stairs. We figured out a solution for them, but on top of everything else, it was a mite annoying...
But the show went great tonight. The audience (along with last night's audience) was more in a laughing mood than a thinking mood, laughing at pretty much everything and not catching a lot of the dark ironies and the complicated, emotional subtext, the implications of these scenes and songs and characters. But they had a really good time, so who the fuck am I with my fat ass and tongue on rye to complain that they were enjoying themselves? And they fed the actors a lot of good energy. I guess it's a show that can work in different ways for different people. So yes, I'm pretty much a dick for complaining because the show itself was outstanding tonight, and the cast totally nailed it.
And now that I've dissed our audience, I'll also mention that a bunch of our New Liner friends were in the house tonight. Who totally hate me now after reading my blog.
And tonight was also Stephen Sondheim's birthday. We sang "Happy Birthday" with the audience at curtain call (which I will NOT pay a royalty on, and those two old ladies who wrote it can kiss my ass), and then we had a Sondheim/Assassins themed sheet cake (you should have seen the people at the bakery when I ordered it) in the lobby after the show. I wasn't sure how the audience would react to all this, but they seemed to love it, with a particularly enthusiastic rendition of "Happy Birthday" and some lovely harmony from the cast. I always love it when theatre people sing that song, because it's always in three- or four-part harmony.
Then after the birthday party, a bunch of us went across the street to the Ivory Coast Bistro, which I highly recommend. The food is excellent, the prices reasonable, and it's a very cool place... and somehow we found out that Jeff has Mood Balls that change color depending on his mood. And no, I'm not talking about some kind of hip new decorative thingy -- I'm talking about testicles. Ask Jeff if you don't believe me.
So really, all in all, not a bad night, just a very fucked up one... That happens in the theatre sometimes. But things are good now, we're leaving the Ivory forever in a week (Free at last, free at least, Great God Almighty, we'll be free at last!), I had a good meal, people loved our show, and now I'm gonna relax, watch a little Twin Peaks - Season One, and smoke some primo weed. So there.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
Pick Your Apple, Take a Bite
The first weekend is over. And what a great weekend it was! We had a nice preview Thursday, a little rough here and there, but pretty great. Then Friday night we opened to a nice sized house (81) who were very responsive -- they seemed to really love it.
And we got a rave review in the Post-Dispatch from Judy Newmark. She said our show "is essential theater for people who disdain musicals because they think they're too pretty, too silly, or just dumb. This ugly, serious, very smart production adds up to one of the most challenging theater pieces to play here in ages." Not bad, huh?
Then Saturday night we came close to selling out -- just 14 seats short. The audience was pumped and they pumped up the actors. It was the best performance yet, fierce and funny and sad and touching and overwhelming. Just the way I like it...
What a joy that we get to share this wonderful piece of art with hundreds of St. Louisans over the next four weeks. And how lucky am I that I get to create this piece of art with such an amazingly talented, inventive, serious group of theatre artists. I wouldn't trade my job for anything.
That's all for now. I need to go smoke me some serious doobage -- it's been an exhausting week!
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
And we got a rave review in the Post-Dispatch from Judy Newmark. She said our show "is essential theater for people who disdain musicals because they think they're too pretty, too silly, or just dumb. This ugly, serious, very smart production adds up to one of the most challenging theater pieces to play here in ages." Not bad, huh?
Then Saturday night we came close to selling out -- just 14 seats short. The audience was pumped and they pumped up the actors. It was the best performance yet, fierce and funny and sad and touching and overwhelming. Just the way I like it...
What a joy that we get to share this wonderful piece of art with hundreds of St. Louisans over the next four weeks. And how lucky am I that I get to create this piece of art with such an amazingly talented, inventive, serious group of theatre artists. I wouldn't trade my job for anything.
That's all for now. I need to go smoke me some serious doobage -- it's been an exhausting week!
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
Guns Can Go Boom.
We had our preview of Assassins last night and it went very well -- a few small rough patches here and there, but nothing that the audience noticed, I don't think... It really has turned out to be a great production.
I realized watching it last night that this is not an easy show to watch. It's so easy to care about these characters, to get emotionally involved with them, but part of the brain doesn't want to care about these people. Czolgosz is such a sad, beaten man, and every reason he has for killing McKinley is true -- oppression and exploitation of workers, gross economic inequality, all the things Michigan and Ohio and Pennsylvania are experiencing today. And though he's right about his politics, it can't justify his act of murder. So what do you do with that? The same is true of Booth and Byck -- both of them describe American politics with painful accuracy, but you just can't take that last step with them and accept murder as a reasonable response to injustices.
I was talking to Amy (who plays Squeaky Fromme) last week and I was talking about our previous productions of Assassins in 1994 and 1998. I told her that, for me, the big difference between this production and our last one is subtle but powerful -- in 1998, we had a cast full of first-rate musical theatre performers, but this time, we have a cast full of first-rate actors. And that makes it different. This time the show is funnier, sadder, more aggressive, more moving, more unsettling. The emotions are deeper, truer, more complicated. As the New Line website says, we don't want our audience necessarily to feel good; we want them to feel deeply.
I think this time it's easier to see ourselves in these characters, and that makes it harder to watch...
This is truly one of the best pieces of writing I've ever worked on, and what it has to say about us and our country is more important now than ever before. It seems not a week goes by anymore without a shooting somewhere in America. We have to do something about that.
And maybe Assassins is one small way to start that conversation.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
I realized watching it last night that this is not an easy show to watch. It's so easy to care about these characters, to get emotionally involved with them, but part of the brain doesn't want to care about these people. Czolgosz is such a sad, beaten man, and every reason he has for killing McKinley is true -- oppression and exploitation of workers, gross economic inequality, all the things Michigan and Ohio and Pennsylvania are experiencing today. And though he's right about his politics, it can't justify his act of murder. So what do you do with that? The same is true of Booth and Byck -- both of them describe American politics with painful accuracy, but you just can't take that last step with them and accept murder as a reasonable response to injustices.
I was talking to Amy (who plays Squeaky Fromme) last week and I was talking about our previous productions of Assassins in 1994 and 1998. I told her that, for me, the big difference between this production and our last one is subtle but powerful -- in 1998, we had a cast full of first-rate musical theatre performers, but this time, we have a cast full of first-rate actors. And that makes it different. This time the show is funnier, sadder, more aggressive, more moving, more unsettling. The emotions are deeper, truer, more complicated. As the New Line website says, we don't want our audience necessarily to feel good; we want them to feel deeply.
I think this time it's easier to see ourselves in these characters, and that makes it harder to watch...
This is truly one of the best pieces of writing I've ever worked on, and what it has to say about us and our country is more important now than ever before. It seems not a week goes by anymore without a shooting somewhere in America. We have to do something about that.
And maybe Assassins is one small way to start that conversation.
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
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