My play opens tonight, at the 78th Street Theatre Lab, 236 78th St on the Upper West Side. The festival starts at 8 pm. If you're dying to go (c'mon, I had to have gained at least one stalker! If not, why am I even blogging?), please visit www.theatervision-playtime.com for ticket info.
It's also playing tomorrow night, and possibly Friday night (if it's chosen as the best out of the festival). Here's to hoping.
Showing posts with label Cool Plays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cool Plays. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Update on my play
My play, When Turtles Fly, opens in about a week. IF anyone reading this is interested, it's playing June 11 and 12 at the 78th St Theatre Lab (236 West 78th St, NYC). The festival starts at 8 pm, and you can get tickets at http://www.theatervision-playtime.com/
I went to a rehearsal for the play this past Sunday, and I was thrilled at what I saw - it's really something to see a piece of work you penned brought to life - like, actors were speaking and living the dialogue I wrote. Not to be too sentimental, but my heart swelled when I saw this. It's just a small form of validation, I guess.
The play will be great when the actors get completely off-book....yeah. I now know how every director I ever had must have felt when his/her actors were struggling with lines. Like, it's so close, it could be so good if these motherfucking actors would get their heads out of the clouds and remember this goddamn stuff. As a former actor, I can empathize, but I also know from experience that memorizing 20 pages worth of dialogue in two hours is entirely possible.
After the rehearsal, the director and I met and cut some more of the play. Here's the sitch: When I originally sent my play to TheaterVision, the company that is putting my play on, they intimated that they were looking for one-act scripts between 30 min and an hour long. I knew mine fell just short of 60 minutes in length, so I sent it to them.
They are now telling the director that my play, which at it's very shortest and speediest can only be performed within 45 minutes, that it can go no longer than 30 minutes. Not to mention, the director has had to eat a lot of the costs for the rehearsal space fees, and is constantly bothered by TheaterVision seeking updates on the day-to-day minutia of the play's production. At $20 a pop for tickets, TheaterVision is reaping a tidy sum on the performance of the three one-acts together (my play is part of a festival - two other one-acts will be performed the same nights).
Apart from pairing the writers with the directors, covering the fee of the spaces on the nights of the performance, and some minor publicity, I really don't know what role TheaterVision is playing, but whatever. Oh yeah, I almost forgot: I got invites printed up for the play, with the intention of inviting agents, and then I found out that I can't use them unless they have been approved by TheaterVision, and have their logo on them. Sooo, guess I won't be sending those bad-boys out to any people who can influence my career! That sucks!
What was I talking about? Oh yes, so the play can't exceed 30 minutes. We cut out some more dialogue, but odds are the play will run 45 minutes. But what can they do? Once it goes up, it goes up, and there's no way they can stop it from completion.
But let's focus on the positive. My director, Christopher Cohen, is really smart and innovative. He's my age, but I can see already that he has a promising career as a director ahead of him (despite his refusal to take my advice on a prop - if you're reading this Chris, you should know that my direction of a scene from Cowboy Mouth earned me an A in Intro to Directing! I know a thing or two about this thing you call directing!) Also: According to Chris, looks like there was a scramble amongst the TheaterVision directors to take on my script - during an initial orientation with the directors and actors, the actors got to talking, and when my actors expressed that they were doing When Turtles Fly, all the other actors and directors whined that that was the play they were hoping to get slotted with.
Did you guys follow that story? Maybe if I explained the whole TheaterVision process and how my play got a director, you'd comprehend what I am talking about....meh, but I don't feel like it.
Sorry if this post was completely incoherent, but I have a lot on my mind (oh yeah, and I'm at work, blogging on my boss's dime - makes me nervous and quick to wrap things up).
More later!
I went to a rehearsal for the play this past Sunday, and I was thrilled at what I saw - it's really something to see a piece of work you penned brought to life - like, actors were speaking and living the dialogue I wrote. Not to be too sentimental, but my heart swelled when I saw this. It's just a small form of validation, I guess.
The play will be great when the actors get completely off-book....yeah. I now know how every director I ever had must have felt when his/her actors were struggling with lines. Like, it's so close, it could be so good if these motherfucking actors would get their heads out of the clouds and remember this goddamn stuff. As a former actor, I can empathize, but I also know from experience that memorizing 20 pages worth of dialogue in two hours is entirely possible.
After the rehearsal, the director and I met and cut some more of the play. Here's the sitch: When I originally sent my play to TheaterVision, the company that is putting my play on, they intimated that they were looking for one-act scripts between 30 min and an hour long. I knew mine fell just short of 60 minutes in length, so I sent it to them.
They are now telling the director that my play, which at it's very shortest and speediest can only be performed within 45 minutes, that it can go no longer than 30 minutes. Not to mention, the director has had to eat a lot of the costs for the rehearsal space fees, and is constantly bothered by TheaterVision seeking updates on the day-to-day minutia of the play's production. At $20 a pop for tickets, TheaterVision is reaping a tidy sum on the performance of the three one-acts together (my play is part of a festival - two other one-acts will be performed the same nights).
Apart from pairing the writers with the directors, covering the fee of the spaces on the nights of the performance, and some minor publicity, I really don't know what role TheaterVision is playing, but whatever. Oh yeah, I almost forgot: I got invites printed up for the play, with the intention of inviting agents, and then I found out that I can't use them unless they have been approved by TheaterVision, and have their logo on them. Sooo, guess I won't be sending those bad-boys out to any people who can influence my career! That sucks!
What was I talking about? Oh yes, so the play can't exceed 30 minutes. We cut out some more dialogue, but odds are the play will run 45 minutes. But what can they do? Once it goes up, it goes up, and there's no way they can stop it from completion.
But let's focus on the positive. My director, Christopher Cohen, is really smart and innovative. He's my age, but I can see already that he has a promising career as a director ahead of him (despite his refusal to take my advice on a prop - if you're reading this Chris, you should know that my direction of a scene from Cowboy Mouth earned me an A in Intro to Directing! I know a thing or two about this thing you call directing!) Also: According to Chris, looks like there was a scramble amongst the TheaterVision directors to take on my script - during an initial orientation with the directors and actors, the actors got to talking, and when my actors expressed that they were doing When Turtles Fly, all the other actors and directors whined that that was the play they were hoping to get slotted with.
Did you guys follow that story? Maybe if I explained the whole TheaterVision process and how my play got a director, you'd comprehend what I am talking about....meh, but I don't feel like it.
Sorry if this post was completely incoherent, but I have a lot on my mind (oh yeah, and I'm at work, blogging on my boss's dime - makes me nervous and quick to wrap things up).
More later!
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
College - why I wouldn't go back
So my mom veni vidi vici'd NYC this past weekend, and overall her presence was quite enjoyable. She'd never been to NYC, save for the weekend she helped me move into my apartment, and even then we stuck close to Brooklyn - nary a glance of the skyline was seen.
But this time we Bob Fosse'd all over Manhattan. She took photos, but I was lazy/forgetful, and I have none to share - maybe later, when my mom sends me the thousands of bridge, bank and bum pictures she took, I will share our winsome adventure with the eager public.
We did the usual tourist stuff which included the enjoyment of the Broadway show Avenue Q. I'd never seen it be
fore, but I was familiar with the soundtrack, and it was nice to finally put the story to the songs. One song in particular, I Wish I Could Go Back to College, struck me.
The first time I had ever heard this song, I was in college, and I can remember thinking, "awww, I'm gonna really miss this place." The lyrics lament all those happy, carefree times you enjoyed during your undergrad years - sitting in the quad and dreaming about all the great things you'll do with your life, having an academic advisor to point you in the right direction, never wondering where your next meal is coming from because you have a meal plan - the things you take for granted until you're out of college and realize how good you had it.
When I saw the show this past weekend, after they sang College, reflexively I thought, "ohh college, how I miss thee." But then I pondered that sentiment, truly ruminated on my college days, and I came to the realization that in fact, you couldn't pay me to go back to college, that in fact I don't really miss it at all.
But this time we Bob Fosse'd all over Manhattan. She took photos, but I was lazy/forgetful, and I have none to share - maybe later, when my mom sends me the thousands of bridge, bank and bum pictures she took, I will share our winsome adventure with the eager public.
We did the usual tourist stuff which included the enjoyment of the Broadway show Avenue Q. I'd never seen it be
fore, but I was familiar with the soundtrack, and it was nice to finally put the story to the songs. One song in particular, I Wish I Could Go Back to College, struck me.The first time I had ever heard this song, I was in college, and I can remember thinking, "awww, I'm gonna really miss this place." The lyrics lament all those happy, carefree times you enjoyed during your undergrad years - sitting in the quad and dreaming about all the great things you'll do with your life, having an academic advisor to point you in the right direction, never wondering where your next meal is coming from because you have a meal plan - the things you take for granted until you're out of college and realize how good you had it.
When I saw the show this past weekend, after they sang College, reflexively I thought, "ohh college, how I miss thee." But then I pondered that sentiment, truly ruminated on my college days, and I came to the realization that in fact, you couldn't pay me to go back to college, that in fact I don't really miss it at all.
I suppose the schism is caused by the class dynamic in college. If you are a rich kid, you have no reason to ever want to graduate. Everything monetary is taken care of - you don't need to work a real job (like bartending, like I did) to pay your tuition, because mom and dad had the means and the know-how to set you up a college fund when you were young. If you're a rich kid, you undoubtedly have a nice car for which mom and dad pay the insurance and car payment, and you have in your possession a credit card that you use to fill up its tank, which mom and dad also make the payments for; hence, you never worry about how you're gonna run errands, make it to work on time, or deal with the degradation of begging your pals to borrow their vehicles. Need a $200 book for a math course? No probs, mom and dad will pick up the tab. And just when those beads of sweat start to form on your head because you don't know where you're gonna get the money for the coming weekend's drinking extravanganza, a tidy sum of moola appears in your bank account, courtesy of mom and dad.
If you're a poor kid, like myself, college life is much different. Much of your free time is devoted to working, and not just the rinky-dink work-study gigs that require you to sit in an office and do your homework. I'm talking bartending and waitressing, standing behind a bar counter slinging beers for locals with an allergy to tipping (some kids also strip, and I've known others who work fast-food). Your cell phone often gets shut off because you can't come up with the $40 to pay it on time. The beer you drink is the finest you can afford at $10 a case. And you are always, always aware just how much YOU are paying for college. You never really bother to call home for extra bucks because, really, home doesn't have much to give.
My college years were filled with variations on that last paragraph. As well, I was always busy - though I only partook in two extra-curriculars (acting in plays and heading an activist group), they monopolized the free time I didn't spend working, studying or excercising. Yeah, I partied, but in comparison to some of my college friends, I was a saint, mainly because I didn't always have the time and/or cash-flow to participate in said partying.
I was always exhausted. My acne got out of control because of all the stress caused by my academic deadlines, extra-curricular responsibilities, and despondent financial situation. A good-night's sleep was a rare treat. Looking back, it's amazing how I hardly let it get to me - I just took it all one day at a time and hoped for the best.
And though I miss my college friends a lot, that is the only part I miss. The life I'm living right now - answering to myself, living life by my deadlines and my standards - is better than any I have ever known. Sure, I'm not rich. Of course it sucks to pay bills, and sometimes you wonder why you even bother at all. But paying bills and being poor is nothing new, and in fact, these days my creative endeavors pay out bigger, like paving the path to a fruitful career, instead of earning an A in some retarded college course.
So, fuck you college - I'm glad I went (well, I had to), but there is no way in hell that I would ever go back to my undergrad days. Fuck the stress, fuck the homework, fuck the fucking which, looking back, I wonder what about it I found so appealing. If you are one of those people who are often nostalgic for your college days, well lucky you, you musta had wealthy parents who made the road cushy, but goddamn that sucks that you plateaued at 20, and the only thing you have going for you now is the remembrance of your glory days.
I shudder to think how pathetic I would be if all I had going on in my life were annual visits to my alma mater, where'd I'd get together with old chums and reminisce about the times we each got drunk and fucked that loser who sat behind us in FS 102.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
So this play I saw got me thinking...
Last night, I went to see a a new play by Liz Flahive at the NY City Center called "From Up Here," about the aftermath experienced by the family of a boy who brought a gun to school. It was good, with an innovative set design, capable direction, and riveting performances by the players, especially from Julie White (the mother) and Tobias Segal (the gun-wielding son).
I'm recommending it, but I'm not going to get into it. That introduction is for something, I'm guessing, Flahive wanted to facillitate, and that's a discussion about gun control.
It's amazing that in the recent debates, neither Obama nor Clinton have said much about gun control, especially considering the recent tragedy of the Virgina Tech shootings. WTF makes this discussion so off-limits? Are both of the Democratic candidates so afraid of alienating that middle-America demographic - since the current debate is who is more elitist than the other - that a reasonable approach to gun-control would be the death knell of their candidacy?
I grew up in a family that owns, uses and appreciates guns. My grandfather, father and uncle are all big hunters; I was firing a BB gun by the time I was seven; I used to regularly practice shooting targets with my father's shotgun every summer when camping on my family's private land. That said, whenever I think of the typical gun owner, that visceral image of Charlton Heston declaring in front of a crowd at an NRA convention, "From my cold dead hands!" pops into my head.
I get that. The Second Amendment was put in place for a reason, and it should be the right of any mentally-sound, responsible, crimeless-past American to own a gun reasonable for use for protection and hunting. In order to verify that a person passes all of these qualifications, yes, restrictions will have to be put in place. If you are a psycho with a history of depression, or have a police record, or are in college (sorry college kids, your track record for deadly psychosis omits you from gun-ownership eligibility), you shall not be allowed to own a gun.
SO why can't Obama or Clinton just say to all the NRA members who get their panties in a bunch at the slightest mumble of gun control, "You, who are members of the NRA and presumably responsible gun owners, should not have a problem passing the restrictions that I plan to put in place for gun ownership. The restrictions will not hinder the responsible gun-owner - they will prevent criminals, the mentally unsound, and children from getting their hands on a deadly weapon." No responsible gun-owner would balk at that, right?
I'm recommending it, but I'm not going to get into it. That introduction is for something, I'm guessing, Flahive wanted to facillitate, and that's a discussion about gun control.
It's amazing that in the recent debates, neither Obama nor Clinton have said much about gun control, especially considering the recent tragedy of the Virgina Tech shootings. WTF makes this discussion so off-limits? Are both of the Democratic candidates so afraid of alienating that middle-America demographic - since the current debate is who is more elitist than the other - that a reasonable approach to gun-control would be the death knell of their candidacy?
I grew up in a family that owns, uses and appreciates guns. My grandfather, father and uncle are all big hunters; I was firing a BB gun by the time I was seven; I used to regularly practice shooting targets with my father's shotgun every summer when camping on my family's private land. That said, whenever I think of the typical gun owner, that visceral image of Charlton Heston declaring in front of a crowd at an NRA convention, "From my cold dead hands!" pops into my head.
I get that. The Second Amendment was put in place for a reason, and it should be the right of any mentally-sound, responsible, crimeless-past American to own a gun reasonable for use for protection and hunting. In order to verify that a person passes all of these qualifications, yes, restrictions will have to be put in place. If you are a psycho with a history of depression, or have a police record, or are in college (sorry college kids, your track record for deadly psychosis omits you from gun-ownership eligibility), you shall not be allowed to own a gun.
SO why can't Obama or Clinton just say to all the NRA members who get their panties in a bunch at the slightest mumble of gun control, "You, who are members of the NRA and presumably responsible gun owners, should not have a problem passing the restrictions that I plan to put in place for gun ownership. The restrictions will not hinder the responsible gun-owner - they will prevent criminals, the mentally unsound, and children from getting their hands on a deadly weapon." No responsible gun-owner would balk at that, right?
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