I don't always block our shows (i.e., work out the staging) in advance. With most shows, there are certain scenes that will be physically complex that I have to block ahead, but I love letting actors find their own way when I can, mostly because the staging ends up looking more organic that way. Some shows, like Chicago or Bat Boy are just so complex and/or stylized that I have to block every moment. With Hair, it's some of both -- lots of moments that have to feel utterly spontaneous, so I will give the actors very little blocking; but other moments are so weird and stylized that I'll have to block them in great detail.
So, for the last week I've been working through the script and blocking what needs blocking. In order to do that I relied on several sources. First, I've got some Hair documentaries on video that have footage of the original cast and staging. When possible, we will use those moments of original staging -- it's not a lot, but I like reaching back and connecting with the original production, especially with a show as special and rule-busting as this one. Most of what we'll take from the original will be little tiny moments; for example, there's a moment in "The Flesh Failures," when the entire tribe puts their hands up in front of Claude's face to block the audience from seeing him. It's a tiny moment, and probably doesn't sound like much reading it here, but it's really powerful, so we'll use that. Also, the first time we did the show, one of the original Broadway cast wrote out for me a long, detailed description of the original staging for "Aquarius," which we will adapt slightly for our show.
My second source is our last production. I watched a video of our 2001 Hair and looked through my script from that show. There aren't a whole lot of things I want to use again from that staging, but a few things are really nice and seem to really nail the moment, so I'll use those. But also, as I watched the 2001 video, I realized there are moments in the show that we didn't really fully understand at the time, though I'm not sure the audiences ever knew. We'll get those right this time.
Another source is a copy of a Hair script I have (no idea where or how I got it) from 1969. It's fairly close to the script we have now, but I did get some good insights from reading it.
Another source is production photos from the original -- these don't necessarily give me staging ideas, but they do help me figure out the writers' original intentions, which is valuable. Some directors don't care about original intention -- I'm not a slave to it, but I always find it extremely valuable.
There are quite a few moments in the show that I now understand better than the last time we did the show, so I think I'll guide our tribe better into realizing those moments this time. Last time we did the show, my favorite thing to hear from audiences -- the people who were actually around in the 60s, experiencing this subculture -- was that we got it "exactly right," the look, the attitude, the mood, the relationships, all of it. Nothing is more important to me with this show than authenticity. Mostly since nothing was more important to the hippies.
This week is going to be such fun. We're really going to dive into the world of Hair. Tonight we'll sing through the entire score (all FORTY songs!). Tomorrow night, we have a "Table Talk" night. I'm gonna show the tribe a couple short documentaries about Hair (including one that I'm a part of!). And then we'll talk about the historical context and the world of the hippies. We weren't able to do this last time because these documentaries didn't yet exist, and I knew way less about all that, not having yet written my book about the show. I think all this will really help the actors. And then Thursday, we will read through the script and sing all the songs as they come up. It will be the first time the tribe will hear the show, see how it all fits together, and they'll probably end up more baffled than ever... It's a weird fucking show!
The first time we did Hair in 2000, I had no idea what I was doing. But we trusted the material and it turned out great. The second time, in 2001, I felt like I really "got it" and I think the show was even better. This time, I've written a whole damn book about the show, so I better know what I'm doing!
It's gonna take a while to get the cast memorized (these songs are a bitch to memorize), comfortable with touching each other and with the extreme emotion of the show, comfortable with the many devices from the experimental theatre world, and really tuned in to the hippie worldview that underpins the entire show. It'll take a while but we'll get there.
It's quite an adventure in front of us and I feel so strongly that the end product will be even more wonderful than the last two times. Judging by ticket sales the last couple times, you'd better call Metrotix now... I'm just sayin'...
On with the Groovy Revolution!
Kerouac
This is the Dawning
Back in early 1999, we were working on programming our next season. We knew that we were going to open with the brilliant Floyd Collins, and that the season would also include our first sequel. We had done an original revue in 1996 called Out on Broadway, an evening of theatre songs sung from a gay perspective. It was a huge hit originally (we even brought it back for additional performances a few months after its first run ended), and people had been asking for a sequel ever since, so we decided that Out on Broadway 2000 -- or OOB-2K as we nicknamed it -- would be our spring show. But we weren't sure what to put in the third slot, and almost without any forethought, we finally announced that Hair would be the third show.
Now, I didn't really know Hair. I had seen the movie in high school. One of my friends was a neo-hippie and she dragged a bunch of us to a showing at Meramec Community College. Since then I had been a moderate fan of the music. (I really liked singing "Sodomy" loud enough for my mother to hear it.) Then in college, a group from Brown University was touring New England with a production of Hair, and they stopped by our campus for a few performances. It was fucking weird! I didn't much like it. I didn't know what the fuck it was. It wasn't a musical like any I had ever seen... And that was what I knew about Hair.
Then all these years later, I blindly put Hair into our season. We held auditions, we cast the show, we started rehearsals, and I thought, "Holy shit, I have no idea what to do with this!" The script didn't make sense. The lyrics didn't make sense. I didn't know how to stage these bizarre songs. I couldn't tell if there was a story in there or whether there was a main character.
And then the heavens opened up, the Universe took pity on me, and I happened upon a national discussion group about Hair online. Luckily for me, the group included Michael Butler, who originally produced the show on Broadway, a woman who is the Hair archivist, and several members of the original cast. Thank God.
They were happy to answer my questions, explain lines and references, etc. One of them even wrote out for me a really detailed description of the original staging of "Aquarius," which we adapted for our production. As other productions have done, we gave ourselves a tribe name: the Osage. But the show still didn't make much sense. All my new Hair friends just kept saying "Trust the show, man. It will work."
And so we trusted the show. We were flying blind, but we trusted the damn show.
And then on opening night we understood. Suddenly our eyes were opened to the mystical magic of this show. I've never seen an audience more connected to a show. People were in love with it from the first moments. As we sang the finale, "Let the Sun Shine In," I looked around and saw that about half the audience was sobbing.
I mean, they were sobbing!
Like the original production, we did our curtain call without music, and then the band roared back to life playing the title song and the cast went into the house to bring the audience onstage to dance with them. To our amazement, about two-thirds of the audience came onto the stage to dance, many still sobbing, others hugging us, thanking us. It was like no experience I've ever had in the theatre before or since.
That Christmas, we had a tribe holiday party and the actors begged me to do the show again. No, I said, we kicked ass, we sold out all but one show, everyone loved it, and we were going to go out on a high note. About a month later, we announced we'd be remounting the show in August 2001. Now I know -- never say never...
The second time we did it, we took a big risk. Instead of our usual 12 shows over four weeks (the first Hair actually ended up playing 15 performances because we added some Wednesdays), this time we would run the show for 23 performances over six weeks. And so we did. And we sold out 23 out of 23 shows.
After we closed I wrote a book about the show: Let the Sun Shine In: The Genius of Hair. I understood it now.
Then, about a year ago, I was thinking about organizing another St. Louis Political Theatre Festival. I was watching early Presidential campaign coverage, and I kept hearing people compare Obama to Bobby Kennedy. Everybody was talking about how 2008 was so parallel to 1968, the year Hair moved to Broadway. And I remembered back to 2001 when Michael Butler came to see our production and he told me that he could see that the 60s were coming back and that the Hair tribes would lead the way...
I knew it was time for Hair again. I knew that we had to do it right before the election, to inspire people, to shake them, to engage them, to remind us all that we never did solve the many social and political problems explored in Hair. Forty years later, racism is still a major problem. We're back at war again. And the Youth Vote has been reborn! I wondered if maybe we were finally going to get to finish the work of the 1960s, the work that was prematurely ended by the assassinations of Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., and by Watergate. And it seemed to me it would be utterly idiotic if we didn't open the season with Hair.
So here we are. And what a goddamn fucking joy it is! Stay tuned...
On with the Groovy Revolution!
Kerouac
(my Osage Tribe name)
Now, I didn't really know Hair. I had seen the movie in high school. One of my friends was a neo-hippie and she dragged a bunch of us to a showing at Meramec Community College. Since then I had been a moderate fan of the music. (I really liked singing "Sodomy" loud enough for my mother to hear it.) Then in college, a group from Brown University was touring New England with a production of Hair, and they stopped by our campus for a few performances. It was fucking weird! I didn't much like it. I didn't know what the fuck it was. It wasn't a musical like any I had ever seen... And that was what I knew about Hair.
Then all these years later, I blindly put Hair into our season. We held auditions, we cast the show, we started rehearsals, and I thought, "Holy shit, I have no idea what to do with this!" The script didn't make sense. The lyrics didn't make sense. I didn't know how to stage these bizarre songs. I couldn't tell if there was a story in there or whether there was a main character.
And then the heavens opened up, the Universe took pity on me, and I happened upon a national discussion group about Hair online. Luckily for me, the group included Michael Butler, who originally produced the show on Broadway, a woman who is the Hair archivist, and several members of the original cast. Thank God.
They were happy to answer my questions, explain lines and references, etc. One of them even wrote out for me a really detailed description of the original staging of "Aquarius," which we adapted for our production. As other productions have done, we gave ourselves a tribe name: the Osage. But the show still didn't make much sense. All my new Hair friends just kept saying "Trust the show, man. It will work."
And so we trusted the show. We were flying blind, but we trusted the damn show.
And then on opening night we understood. Suddenly our eyes were opened to the mystical magic of this show. I've never seen an audience more connected to a show. People were in love with it from the first moments. As we sang the finale, "Let the Sun Shine In," I looked around and saw that about half the audience was sobbing.
I mean, they were sobbing!
Like the original production, we did our curtain call without music, and then the band roared back to life playing the title song and the cast went into the house to bring the audience onstage to dance with them. To our amazement, about two-thirds of the audience came onto the stage to dance, many still sobbing, others hugging us, thanking us. It was like no experience I've ever had in the theatre before or since.
That Christmas, we had a tribe holiday party and the actors begged me to do the show again. No, I said, we kicked ass, we sold out all but one show, everyone loved it, and we were going to go out on a high note. About a month later, we announced we'd be remounting the show in August 2001. Now I know -- never say never...
The second time we did it, we took a big risk. Instead of our usual 12 shows over four weeks (the first Hair actually ended up playing 15 performances because we added some Wednesdays), this time we would run the show for 23 performances over six weeks. And so we did. And we sold out 23 out of 23 shows.
After we closed I wrote a book about the show: Let the Sun Shine In: The Genius of Hair. I understood it now.
Then, about a year ago, I was thinking about organizing another St. Louis Political Theatre Festival. I was watching early Presidential campaign coverage, and I kept hearing people compare Obama to Bobby Kennedy. Everybody was talking about how 2008 was so parallel to 1968, the year Hair moved to Broadway. And I remembered back to 2001 when Michael Butler came to see our production and he told me that he could see that the 60s were coming back and that the Hair tribes would lead the way...
I knew it was time for Hair again. I knew that we had to do it right before the election, to inspire people, to shake them, to engage them, to remind us all that we never did solve the many social and political problems explored in Hair. Forty years later, racism is still a major problem. We're back at war again. And the Youth Vote has been reborn! I wondered if maybe we were finally going to get to finish the work of the 1960s, the work that was prematurely ended by the assassinations of Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., and by Watergate. And it seemed to me it would be utterly idiotic if we didn't open the season with Hair.
So here we are. And what a goddamn fucking joy it is! Stay tuned...
On with the Groovy Revolution!
Kerouac
(my Osage Tribe name)
A Hollow Bone
It's not easy living without High Fidelity these past 48 hours. It's like I'm Rob and Laura has just walked out on me. I try to comfort myself with other show tunes, but I still find myself playing Hi-Fi in the car. I try to tell myself I'll be fine, that I'll be in rehearsal for Hair next week and all my post-production depression will be behind me. But deep down, I know it's all a lie. Just a big, cruel lie. Hi-Fi is going to be with me for a while. And yes, in case you're wondering, High Fidelity is definitely on my Top 5 List now. And it won't even have to do a slutty, Pat Benatar number to secure its spot.
So currently, my Desert Island Top 5 New Line Musicals are:
Last night, Aaron and I watched a bootleg video of the original Broadway production of High Fidelity, something I had not seen since months before we started rehearsal. I remember thinking that I didn't much like it when I saw it last. I didn't think the director and designers understood the material. But watching it again last night, from a different mindset, made its chilly New York reception a lot more comprehensible.
Now, having worked on the show, having poured myself heart and soul into it, having written one of my infamous chapters about it, having worked so hard at finding the truth and the soul in this beautiful writing, having been through all of that, watching the original production made me want to go out and kill an interventionist. It just wasn't good. I now understand why the New York reviews were so terrible, and why so many people were so outraged that this was how High Fidelity was adapted for the stage. I think if I had seen the Broadway production first, before hearing the CD or reading the script, I probably would not have wanted to produce it.
What was wrong with it? Where do I begin?
First of all, Walter Bobbie's original direction was terribly misguided. It was like he was doing a different show than the writers were. Every actor raced through their lines like they were on crack. I'm not exaggerating -- I don't know if I've ever seen a show performed so fast! Some of the actors delivered their lines in almost a Joe Friday monotone, others played so far over the top that they became caricature instead of character. It was High Fidelity in the style of A Flea in Her Ear. God help the Broadway theatre if this is what they do to brilliant, original material now.
Dick, Liz, Anna, TMPMITW, and several others became nothing more objects of mockery instead of real people. The audience laughed at these characters, never with them. And strangely, Marie LaSalle, who should be batshit crazy, was played totally normal and bland. And that's such a shame when you're working with a script and score this smart, this subtle, this emotional, and this original.
And the choreography! Every number was standard-issue, assembly-line Broadway dance, like something out of The Full Monty or Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. The songs weren't rock and roll numbers. They didn't look like rock and roll and they didn't move like rock and roll. Tom Kitt and Amanda Green wrote this brilliant score in which every song evokes one of Rob's favorite music artists, but all that went out the window. It felt like the director and choreographer didn't even try to understand what the show's creators intended; they Knew How to Make a Broadway Musical, and they weren't gonna let the "concept" get in the way...
Some of the choreography was so bad I actually threw up in my mouth a little. (Okay, that's not really true, but you get the idea...)
I think what surprised me most was that the director apparently didn't understand that the whole show takes place in Rob's head, even though the dialogue makes that fairly explicit. Most of the show was staged (and designed) like a standard-issue musical comedy, and for the few songs that couldn't work that way, they expended huge amounts of effort justifying the nonreality with special effects, sound effects, stage tricks -- none of which would be necessary if they had just bothered to figure out how the show is supposed to operate. No justification is necessary if you know that this is all in Rob's head, because then the only limits are those of Rob's imagination.
Probably the most disappointing aspect of the production was the obvious lack of affection for the music at the heart of this story. Several of the numbers mocked the artists that inspired the songs, rather than paying tribute to them. And no offense to the actors, but none of them knew how to sing rock and roll; they all had these brassy Broadway voices. Springsteen didn't sound like Springsteen, Aretha didn't sound like Aretha -- every actor sounded like they should be singing Andrew Lloyd Webber. (Oops, just threw up in my mouth again.) No one on stage seemed to really love pop music. And if you miss that, what's the point?
This is a show written by people who obviously love music deeply and who understand these characters and this sub-culture. The high quality of the show's writing has been proven by the incredible reception it received here in St. Louis by both audiences and critics. Unfortunately, the people putting the show together on Broadway did not seen to share that deeply held love of pop music, they didn't understand these characters, and this sub-culture was utterly foreign to them. I recently read an early draft of the show and I can see from the video that many four-letter words were cut from the script in New York (most of which we kept in). More proof that the Broadway production staff (and/or the show's producers) didn't "get it."
After seeing the bootleg, I realized why Amanda Green had been so happy with our production. We treated the show with respect, intelligence, heart, joy. We let it find its own pace. We didn't try to hide the pain or the ugliness of the story. We didn't worry about offending people. We just tried to find the heart, the soul, and the truth of the show. And though that ought to be the agenda every single time a piece of theatre is staged, sadly, I don't think it usually is.
I don't think I've ever said this before, but I can say it now with some confidence -- I think our production was better than the original. And apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks so.
So a Big-Ass Bravo to the company of New Line's High Fidelity, and my eternal thanks to Tom Kitt, Amanda Green, and David Lindsay-Abaire. I couldn't be prouder of this show, and I owe the entire cast, staff, and band my gratitude for proving me right -- this was worth bringing back to life!
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
So currently, my Desert Island Top 5 New Line Musicals are:
- High Fidelity
- Hair
- Floyd Collins
- The Robber Bridegroom
- Bat Boy
- Hedwig and the Angry Inch
- Songs for a New World
- The Cradle Will Rock
- A New Brain
- Sunday in the Park with George
Last night, Aaron and I watched a bootleg video of the original Broadway production of High Fidelity, something I had not seen since months before we started rehearsal. I remember thinking that I didn't much like it when I saw it last. I didn't think the director and designers understood the material. But watching it again last night, from a different mindset, made its chilly New York reception a lot more comprehensible.
Now, having worked on the show, having poured myself heart and soul into it, having written one of my infamous chapters about it, having worked so hard at finding the truth and the soul in this beautiful writing, having been through all of that, watching the original production made me want to go out and kill an interventionist. It just wasn't good. I now understand why the New York reviews were so terrible, and why so many people were so outraged that this was how High Fidelity was adapted for the stage. I think if I had seen the Broadway production first, before hearing the CD or reading the script, I probably would not have wanted to produce it.
What was wrong with it? Where do I begin?
First of all, Walter Bobbie's original direction was terribly misguided. It was like he was doing a different show than the writers were. Every actor raced through their lines like they were on crack. I'm not exaggerating -- I don't know if I've ever seen a show performed so fast! Some of the actors delivered their lines in almost a Joe Friday monotone, others played so far over the top that they became caricature instead of character. It was High Fidelity in the style of A Flea in Her Ear. God help the Broadway theatre if this is what they do to brilliant, original material now.
Dick, Liz, Anna, TMPMITW, and several others became nothing more objects of mockery instead of real people. The audience laughed at these characters, never with them. And strangely, Marie LaSalle, who should be batshit crazy, was played totally normal and bland. And that's such a shame when you're working with a script and score this smart, this subtle, this emotional, and this original.
And the choreography! Every number was standard-issue, assembly-line Broadway dance, like something out of The Full Monty or Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. The songs weren't rock and roll numbers. They didn't look like rock and roll and they didn't move like rock and roll. Tom Kitt and Amanda Green wrote this brilliant score in which every song evokes one of Rob's favorite music artists, but all that went out the window. It felt like the director and choreographer didn't even try to understand what the show's creators intended; they Knew How to Make a Broadway Musical, and they weren't gonna let the "concept" get in the way...
Some of the choreography was so bad I actually threw up in my mouth a little. (Okay, that's not really true, but you get the idea...)
I think what surprised me most was that the director apparently didn't understand that the whole show takes place in Rob's head, even though the dialogue makes that fairly explicit. Most of the show was staged (and designed) like a standard-issue musical comedy, and for the few songs that couldn't work that way, they expended huge amounts of effort justifying the nonreality with special effects, sound effects, stage tricks -- none of which would be necessary if they had just bothered to figure out how the show is supposed to operate. No justification is necessary if you know that this is all in Rob's head, because then the only limits are those of Rob's imagination.
Probably the most disappointing aspect of the production was the obvious lack of affection for the music at the heart of this story. Several of the numbers mocked the artists that inspired the songs, rather than paying tribute to them. And no offense to the actors, but none of them knew how to sing rock and roll; they all had these brassy Broadway voices. Springsteen didn't sound like Springsteen, Aretha didn't sound like Aretha -- every actor sounded like they should be singing Andrew Lloyd Webber. (Oops, just threw up in my mouth again.) No one on stage seemed to really love pop music. And if you miss that, what's the point?
This is a show written by people who obviously love music deeply and who understand these characters and this sub-culture. The high quality of the show's writing has been proven by the incredible reception it received here in St. Louis by both audiences and critics. Unfortunately, the people putting the show together on Broadway did not seen to share that deeply held love of pop music, they didn't understand these characters, and this sub-culture was utterly foreign to them. I recently read an early draft of the show and I can see from the video that many four-letter words were cut from the script in New York (most of which we kept in). More proof that the Broadway production staff (and/or the show's producers) didn't "get it."
After seeing the bootleg, I realized why Amanda Green had been so happy with our production. We treated the show with respect, intelligence, heart, joy. We let it find its own pace. We didn't try to hide the pain or the ugliness of the story. We didn't worry about offending people. We just tried to find the heart, the soul, and the truth of the show. And though that ought to be the agenda every single time a piece of theatre is staged, sadly, I don't think it usually is.
I don't think I've ever said this before, but I can say it now with some confidence -- I think our production was better than the original. And apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks so.
So a Big-Ass Bravo to the company of New Line's High Fidelity, and my eternal thanks to Tom Kitt, Amanda Green, and David Lindsay-Abaire. I couldn't be prouder of this show, and I owe the entire cast, staff, and band my gratitude for proving me right -- this was worth bringing back to life!
Long Live the Musical!
Scott
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