The Show: the Big (unexpected) Finish

Let’s cut to the chase. “The Concert,” for reasons unknown (though hardly un-speculated), did not advance to the second weekend of the Aery Theatre’s Third Annual 20/20 Short Play Festival and Competition. You may have a moment to recover. And please, despite your best intentions, no hostile letters to the good, though misguided, organizers of said festival. Put your rage to better use. Like sending a hostile letter to a member of Congress … any one of them, I don’t care which.

Composed? Okay, let’s move on.

Well, we did it. Got there on time, enjoyed another nice afternoon along the river—with good people, pizza, and wine—and did our best. Giselle was good and Tim was on. To me it seemed slower and better executed over all. And at the end of the day, we just didn’t get the votes. I had a judge in my corner, supporting my writing and ambitions, but apparently “The Concert” was neither critically nor popularly well-received. And perhaps the worst part of all this, I had to watch all the other shows which were not good enough to automatically make the next round—and watch these dramatic travesties pass me by to that very round. A raucous band of high schoolers had thrown their show into the mix, and also went home losers. But they carried themselves with an upbeat bounce in their step, whereas I tried to ignite a smoldering rage. Youth did not carry the day, nor did my urban topic and its “Sports Night”-esque delivery. Fortunately, the long trip home—filled of course with hilarious and subversive ideas for the next play—ended with a few Hoboken margaritas and a few of Walter’s yarns featuring more than one gender-bending local police officer. God, we must get him on stage.

Time to go home kiddies. The concert is over. Please pick up your empties on your way out. Thanks for coming. Travel safe.

The Show: Opening Act

The nerves didn’t kick in until I walked out my apartment on Saturday afternoon, my steps leading me toward Garrison. My mother was in town, and would be leaving for the theater shortly after I’d schlepped my milk crate of props from Journal Square to Grand Central. Whew, on time. Where’s Tim? On the train? Ok. I’ll see him there. Found myself a window seat facing the river, and dozed in the afternoon sun. That is, until around halfway there, about 6:28ish, when a phone call woke me up. It was Tim. He’d arrived ahead of me … in Poughkeepsie. The theater is in Garrison. Hmm…fortunately, our show was the last that evening and he would have time to catch the next train to down the line (in another hour), and travel the 30 minutes back to Garrison. Fine. Can’t say that I was relieved by the news, or capable of relaxing until I saw Tim coming down that platform. Though that’s not entirely true—I did have some cake, bumped into my groupies, and ran lines with Giselle, all of which put me in a better mood for when he showed up. Which he did, a little after 8. As did Mary. So we scurried to the riverside shadows for run-thrus, and I pushed on into my second hour of pacing. The house emptied around nine for intermission. A few fireworks above West Point were a treat, and delayed the audience long enough for me to sneak into the house, catch up on the first half, and ready myself. Giselle and Tim prepared to break their legs. After an absurdist rendition of “Uncle Vanya” stumbled off stage (sorry, I mean an absurdly terrible rendition of a scene involving two “actors,” bad accents, and a shitload of hay), Tim and Giselle took the stage and I began with my sound cues. And less than fifteen minutes later it was over. Tim and Giselle bolted out the backstage door to catch the train back to New York, and I waited for the verdict on my play. The votes came in, and “The Concert” did not advance to the next round. We’d be back tomorrow afternoon for the wild card round. Seriously? Okay. Another shot. And just like that, I found myself having Taco Bell and a Modelo on my roof at 1am with my family. Ah, theatre.

TECH

Wednesday was an interesting night.

The whole cast and crew piled into Mary’s car and left from Hoboken in the early evening for a trip up the Palisades Parkway. An hour later, we found ourselves outside the Depot Theater—with an hour to wait before the tech rehearsal was to begin. Two important notes: there really is no place to eat or hang out in Garrison, and each play got a forty minute slot, with the rehearsal proceeding in the order of the show. We, who had traveled the farthest and would have to travel back the farthest, were last. So, to kill time, we left the one-horse town for some grub. And after driving along some windy country roads in the encroaching darkness, we ended up at the local watering hole in the town of Cold Springs. Relaxing to kill time, we had burgers and fries—before booking it out of there as “open mic” began.

However, when we returned to the theater, we found out that we were far from going on. So, we hung out in the chill night air along the Hudson: Tim & Giselle running lines in the moonlit gazebo, me pacing along the shore freaking out after catching a glimpse of one of the other shows, and Mary texting patiently (at the moment). It was like the existential ending to an hours-long French movie, but with less art, and fewer nude models. Not even one.

Eventually, we convened on the boardwalk porch outside the theater to run through the show again and again. By this point, I had overcome my confidence issues, but Tim and Giselle decided to question the script and explore their characters. So, although we had the time, tech night is usually not the time for changing lines or blocking or motivation. Unwisely, we deliberated. Improvements did arise from the discussion, but much remained the same.

At ten of 10, we were called in. We got to work as quickly as possible. I dressed the set, made sure the actors understood what they would need to do in the scene change, and then scurried up to the booth. With the patient help of Jen, the lighting girl, I got to work creating light looks. It was actually fortunate that no other show required as complex lighting as ours; it allowed me to create and program our cues into the board. But unfortunately, we were limited by the general lighting available in the festival plot. Actually, that’s a good thing—keep it simple stupid. But that wouldn’t stop Mary from asking for gelled light, or rave-like effects. And then we ran the cue-to-cue, Jen following right along, as I fiddled with sounds, gave cues to Jen, got feedback from Mary, and yelled at my actors. Before we knew it, it was 10:30—no dress rehearsal in the space tonight.

Back to Jersey! Or NYC? Uh…we should not have gone over the GW Bridge.

Field Trip

So, for seemingly no reason at all, I took an afternoon train trip to Garrison to visit the Depot Theatre.

Okay, so I did have a reason or two. Chiefly, I was worried about the amount of time we’d have for tech this week—that it’d be too short, and we’d be rushing along. So I took it upon myself (maybe because I wanted to take a more active role in this production, like last time; it’s a silly notion, but … I’m at a loss.) to go to the theatre a few days early to do a preliminary check of the light board, sound system, and just generally run through things, as well as build my light cues. So with yesterday afternoon free, I took off for the country.

Maybe I’m just easily impressed (not really, no), but the scenery along the Hudson was once again absolutely gorgeous. And a round-trip train ride, as well as strolling along the water’s edge in the hamlet of Garrison’s Landing, really lends itself to appreciating such a beautiful panorama.

After walking the minute from the current train station to its predecessor, I found the Depot empty and locked. “Seems as if someone forgot I was visiting today.” I called the artistic director, and sure enough, hearing him curse on the other end of the line confirmed my assumption. But, such a trooper that he is, he guided me into and around the theater over the phone. (I guess a real trooper would have shown up to let me in, but neither of us had the luxury of time.) And while he did give me the key code, and could accurately describe from memory the placement of most light switches, his knowledge of the sound system was a little more vague. However, before hanging up, he did impart with me one more tidbit of Depotrivia: the technical director had not set up the five designated lighting zones for the festival plot. Great, thanks. So, needless to say, I could play with the board’s sliders all I want (which of course I did), I really couldn’t design the looks for the show. So … how’s this trip going to save me time later? Whatever, let’s move on to sound.

Though I enjoyed the solitude of having a theater to oneself, especially in a unique and historic place like this—its musty air mixing with the fumes of burning gels—things can be a tad lonely and creepy. Especially when the answering machine in the office begins playing suddenly, and you unexpectedly hear a voice other than your own. So, to provide some comforting noise, I tried to get the sound up and running quickly. My CD failed to play, but the speakers were not on—the bigger fish to fry. Fortunately, troubleshooting this problem is as simple as running around flipping on and off random switches. Speakers on, I tried the iPod, the cable for which I discovered in the meantime. It worked, but not after sorting through the dizzying array of knobs and buttons that comprise the sound board. Then I ran my cues, focusing on achieving smooth transitions manually by moving the volume sliders. Yeah … we’ll see about that. And while doing this, I realized I might not have enough hands to manage this booth. Someone will have to operate the light board for me. Fortunately, a lighting girl (how patronizing I can be) will be provided by the organizers for me to frustrate. So, this bit of enlightenment seems almost worth it all. But not really, for what I spent on rail fare—the trip was nice, don’t get me wrong—I only was in the theater all of an hour. And what do I have to show for it?

No more whining. Tech on Wednesday. Bring it on.

A Night in the Studio

Tonight we found ourselves at Mary’s TV studio at Mt. Sinai Hospital, along Central Park East. And as the sun set on August's last Sunday, we set to work—with opening night less than one week away.

While Giselle and Tim ran lines in the lobby, Mary and I arranged our set for the night, including our props. Then Tim and Giselle continued to speed through their lines, as Mary finished her work for the day and I set up what I hoped would be the show’s music. Eventually, we all came together for a real run—straight through with sound—with the focus on character development.

Fifteen minutes later, and Mary went over her notes. (She approved the music, whew, but there’s still some work to do in that department.) And then, such pros that they are, Giselle and Tim went at it again, but with the intention of stopping and reworking parts at Mary’s discretion. And another substantive run emerged. We covered blocking, achieving a greater fluidity between memory monologues and the present scene (since lights and sound will also emphasize these two periods), additional props (hoo-ray beer!), and even…the script. I’ll admit, I made a rare concession—changing the pronouns and tense in a short paragraph to better express the idea to the audience. Ugh, if it’s to tell a better story…then I guess I can let it slide this time. But just this once!

But the focus of the night ended up being on the climax of the play (where else?): when Wayne and Marissa meld past and present, recall with different perspectives their special connection, and …oh, uh…dance together. It’s the moment (you can really have one in such a short time frame, really) and deserves this much emphasis.

And then wouldn’t you know it, just when were getting comfortable dancing and holding each other (Well, not me, no … never. I just write that stuff down and make other people do it on stage, and hope to live vicariously through their youthful wanton exuberance. How sad but true.) it was time to leave. 'Night, bitches!

We Rehearse!

One by one, we arrived at Giselle’s Hamilton Heights apartment for rehearsal Tuesday night. From a quick line-thru between Giselle and Tim (who were pretty much off-book), we transformed things into a rehearsal proper.

With pretty much all our props and costuming in order (sort of …), and Giselle’s living room serving as a fair approximation of the stage, we did a straight run-thru. Tim and Giselle organically felt out their blocking, while they put together a conversation from the seemingly random set of lines I gave them to say. Afterward, they went into a more involved start-and-stop style run of the approximately 20-minute show. Mary directed—with her keen attention to the stage picture—often injecting with blocking suggestions. And I, sitting on-book, ran our few sound cues. I kept my nose to the script—and was the more nervous for it, watching each line as I heard it performed. But when I glanced at the unfolding scene, I had one of those moments of ease, when I could just marvel at my play coming to reality, again.

While not to downplay the serious work of the runs themselves, I would say the discussions within and between the scenes were in themselves extremely beneficial to the production. As a creative collective, we touched on character and costume (whether Wayne & Marissa are true slackers or kinda hip); atmosphere (what sort of party they find themselves at); timing and structure (six hours of concert = six hour of party, all shown in about twenty minutes); music and mood; bullshit banter vs. effusive monologues and how this juxtaposition informs character and meaning; what the audience may get from this, if anything; and even the subtle art of delivering a line which includes “finger bang” as a verb. And perhaps most importantly, we hashed out a working schedule for the next week. Still … much work to do!

But it is on nights like this that shows truly come together.

Um ... yeah.

Due to some scheduling issues, the Thursday rehearsal did not take place as scheduled on Thursday. And neither will one this weekend. The next rehearsal shall be Tuesday. Subsequent rehearsals are TBA and will occur in a rapidly narrowing selection of time slots. Sorry for any inconvenience.

Supposedly, I am working on the soundtrack for this play. It’s not going well. Or much at all. Is a post about failing a failure in itself? Never mind. This has become one of my less-than-humorous posts. Forgive me.

Should’ve gone to the beach.