Well, "The Concert" is over ... almost before it really took off. Updates of the aftermath forthcoming. My bittersweet tears are only for you, my adoring fans.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Visiting the "Theater"
Okay, that’s not fair. The Philipstown Depot Theater (in Garrison, NY—more on that later) is a theater; more so than many I’ve seen in NYC.But I must add it to the list odd spaces converted into theaters that I’ve been involved with: 13th Street Rep. (a dilapidated brownstone) and Manhattan Rep. (squeezed on the third floor of an all-purpose arts center).It is a historic building, the former train station of a town whose only claim to fame is that very train station—and it does hold a real light grid and 67 seats.These features go a long way in lending it legitimacy.
But I seem to be getting ahead of myself.First, I had to make the journey to Garrison via a Metro North train from the grandiose Grand Central Terminal.The train ride through the HudsonValley is certainly the most scenic of commutes throughout the tri-state area.The tracks run right along the river, passing through towns built to the water’s edge—panoramic views abound.In an hour I was in Garrison.Everywhere I turned: trees … and not much else. Afterward, by the time the meeting finished, the clouds had passed, revealing a dying golden sun.Strolling along the platform, the scene became tranquil, perhaps even serene as I stared out over the water.Quiet.That’s what it was.The city was far behind me.Rustling leaves, lapping waves, birdsong—these small doses of sound were just enough.And interrupting all this natural sublimity (besides the occasional rumble of a commuter train), the steel-grey walls of the West Point citadel looming on the opposite bank.Lovely.
Back to the matter at hand—visiting my next performance space, and getting the gist of the competition.Yes, the organizers emphasized that this was a competition: that our fortunes would be in the hands of the audience and a few judges, and we’d advance toward additional performances according to their votes.So, I need to fill that house.I need your vote.Yes, YOU.But they assured us the structure of the festival nearly guaranteed each production two shows, either by advancing to the next round the second weekend, or in a “wild card” round.And when is all this madness taking place you ask?Ah, that was my #1 question.My play will be the last of five one-acts on Saturday, September 5—a show which begins at 8 p.m.Information on tickets will be forthcoming, as will transportation arrangements.
Other matters…I have already secured my largest set piece: a readily available couch in the men’s dressing room.Check that off.(And yes, the infamous production “to-do” list is posted on my living-room wall.)Wait, I can cross off that I went to the meeting—and started another web-log.Awesome.Be right back.
[Minutes pass.]
Whew.Sorry for that.Long story short, I had to rehearse my Partridge Family rendition of a Decemberists’ song for my insane family’s talent show.Yeah … its gonna rock.Oh, wait…I’m singing.No, never mind then.
The company manager and artistic director went over sound and lighting specs, our tech rehearsal schedule (very little time to mess around, as usual), and finished by giving a tour of the space for those of us first-timers.(“You mean you’ve never been to the Depot Theater?Oh, it’s an absolute delight.I’m a regular subscriber.”)At first I was a tad nervous considering that I am young and don’t have a local fan base, but I need to embrace all of my outsider status and use it to my advantage.And hell, if nothing else, I’ve already produced a kick-ass play, just three months ago.I kinda know what I’m doing.And I’m pretty adamant on having my productions not suck.So I might as well have fun.
And I’d say that began on my sun-drenched ride back to Gotham, with a few of my city-bound competitors.Amid stories of socially-oriented plays, colonics, professors, vaginas, and classmates, I learned that they were newbies taking a class assignment to the next level.Rock on, Mike and Katabe.At least I’m not the only one representing the city (well, technically, Jersey City.)
And soon enough, I emerged at the base of a Midtown canyon—42nd Street—looking through Times Square to the scene of my last project from the gateway to my next.
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