To allay any fears, I haven't spent the last few days obsessing. I've actually been completely focused on rehearsals.

And hoo boy, last night's was a doozy. We hadn't run the end of Act I since we finished blocking it the first time around. The first time around it was a little too loud, chaotic and confusing, but highly rambunctious. It was what I thought the end of the act should be... High Energy. But what I did last night was pull the actors back, further and further. Until the last scene became less about the acutes being excited about an imaginary baseball game, and more about a soft, quiet protest against Nurse Ratched. And that makes Nurse Ratched flipping out all the more dramatic and effective.

I can't wait to see how this helps Sarah, the actor playing Nurse Ratched, to land her big monologue in Act II next time we run it. Last night was a big rehearsal all around.

Now... lets have some more rehearsals like that and I know we'll be ready for our opening night: March 14th.

Comments?

Oh good grief. I found him. One little search query popped up 86 hits. Including a review of a Noam Chomsky book. With no effort what-so-ever I found two email addresses, a phone number, and a physical address. I'm going to refrain from sending any anonymous emails because that would freak me out. He's a Green as well. See! More proof we could have been friends. Damn this beast called the internet for feeding the obsessive monster machine that lives inside me.

I have this horrible urge to start googling people I knew back in college. Why is that a horrible urge, you might ask... Well.. let me elaborate. I have a slight tendancy to, how shall I put it... obsess... over random people. Like Magazine Boy. He was this graduate creative writing student who used to eat in the cafeteria. He would read the New Yorker every day, not speak to anyone, and then scurry on his way. I watched him. I made up grand stories about him in my head. My friends thought this was amusing and found out where he lived and worked. And they told me. And I, unable to contain my curiousity, went to where he worked. The writing center. And in going there I discovered the most amazing place to do my homework, and see more of Magazine Boy. I was obsessed with him for a year. I even made a movie about my obsession. Then, I decided it was time to move on to the next obsession.

Well, for the last two years of my college career, I had to do a lot of writing, I took a lot of writing classes, and I hung out with a lot of graduate students because they were closer to my age than most of the undergrads. All of these things combined to collide my social circle with Magazine Boys. I swear it wasn't a conscious choice. But I was friends with all of his friends. We even went to the same parties a couple times. But we never spoke. We were introduced a few times, but never said more than, "oh. hi." We were both aware of the fact that I had watched him, I think he might have even seen the short film I'd made about him, so there was a high level of uncomfortability, and we could never speak.

I never want to obsess over a real person again, ever. Because the more I found out about Magazine Boy (unintentionally, through his friends) the more I realized how much we actually had in common. I found out he loved to listen to my radio show. We shared the same political beliefs. He came and saw a couple plays I directed, and I read a couple pieces he wrote. If it hadn't been for that damn obsession, we might've been friends.

We both graduated. Me with my seven year BA in Theater, him with his MFA in Creative Writing.

It's been a couple years now, and I haven't really thought about him at all. Then, last night, I had a dream with all of our mutual friends. And there was kissing. And now I'm fighting this urge to google him because I'm afraid it might start me into a habit of goggling again.

But I'm going to do it anyway. Hopefully the man's been published and I can maybe, just find something he's written. That'll hopefully satisfy my little relapse into Magazine Boy land.

I woke up this morning filled with terror.
Something horrible and blood chilling
had invaded my dreams.
I had heard of the Actor's nightmare,
in which a person is on stage,
they don't know the play, their lines
and occasionally, they don't even have a costume.

but this...

this was

cue cheesy horror music.

The Director's Nightmare.

I was having a talk with some of my actors in Hamlet. We had just barely started blocking the show, and I didn't even have most of my minor characters yet. We were in a huge arena. This place could probably seat three thousand people. My actors and I were sitting in the upper echelons of the balcony, running lines, talking and trying to figure out where entrances should take place. Perfectly harmless.

Then a smattering of people started coming into the theater, looking at their tickets, and sitting down. I ran to find a house manager to find out if there was a show going on in the space tonight that I didn't know about. She told me, "Your show is, silly. Didn't you get the memo?"

My play!??!

Oh, Christ! I didn't even have a full cast, light cues weren't written, my main actors knew their lines, but they couldn't say them with any conviction or emotion yet. I was ready to tell the housemanager that she had to cancel the show when she spoke again...

"Aren't you excited that these critics and artistic directors from all over the country are here tonight? I think so cool!! They're all here to see you..." She keeps going on and on and my brain is absolutely blank. She babbles and I start running out of the theater lobby.

More and more people are showing up to the theater, all a-buzz and twittering about the "revolutionary" show they're here to see. With each comment, my heart drops closer to my knees. A sign above the box office reads, "SOLD OUT." I'm doomed.

Yet, I know I can't give up, I have to find some actors who've done this show before and just toss them in. I know I have to come up with a new concept that entails actors holding scripts in their hands.

I've found two actors who can play multiple parts, but we're stuck on the wrong side of a poisonous bog. We make it to the theater's parking garage and I've managed to pick up a full cast, and we've been rehearsing and doing hair while running to the theater. We're running late, but I know the actors who I left in the theater can start the play and not need the rest of the cast for another ten minutes. (I'm not quite sure what version of Hamlet I'm doing that has two lead actors just talking for the first ten minutes... but.. it is a dream)

We're leaving the parking garage and I see lines of people walking out of the theater, looking pissed off. And every single one looks right at me and glares. How did they know I'm responsible for the monstrosity they just walked out on? We get to the lobby and I see...

Banners.

Banners strung from the ceiling that say, "Hamlet... directed by..." and then my picture stands there, 20 feet tall. Not just a couple banners, but thirty, maybe fifty... The entire theater is filled with my picture.

I set my entourage of actors loose into the theater. People are booing and throwing their programs. (Also, emblazoned with my picture) The theater actually looks kinda cool, what with my picture hanging and fluttering everywhere... But, then a spotlight falls on me. The show is a bomb, I'll never work in the theater again, and now I've got an angry mob of critics circling and ready to lynch me.

... I wake up just before I am ripped to pieces.

Yeah.. I know that with only two weeks until my current show goes into tech my stress levels may be a bit elevated and I'm worried about everything coming together on time. But why was I cursed with that terrifying, soul crushing, humiliating dream? It's been haunting me all day. And not one single person understands how horrible it truly was. Could be because I've only seen family members, criminals, and co-workers today... Maybe at rehearsal tonight someone will feel my pain and give me pity.

"One of the reasons for making the movie is to find out why you want to make the movie. You know you want to, but you don't really know why. And you have to go through the process of it to find out what it was that pushed all your buttons. To me its not ever really obvious. The only thing that's obvious is that the buttons are being pushed."

David Cronenberg

Director of Spider

I've stayed up past my bedtime again.

When I was 5 or 6 years old, my bedtime was 8 o'clock. We had an enclosed staircase with two bends. You would go up 4-5 steps, there was a landing, a bend, 10-15 more steps, another landing, another bend, and then 4-5 steps to reach the top floor. Well, Thursday nights were always the most difficult for me because I just knew that Hillstreet Blues was the best thing ever and I wasn't ever allowed to watch it. It was on at 9pm. Yes, hold your collective gasps, it was on that late at night. I would go to bed, wait for my little sisters to fall asleep, then I would sneak back down the stairs to just above that first bend. Any further up and I couldn't hear the TV, any further down and someone might see me if they went to the kitchen to get a drink. I would just sit there and wait for the most amazing music in the world. That opening theme to Hillstreet Blues was magical. Nowadays its mixed up with the Law and Order theme in the mess that is my brain. But if I hear those opening chords I'm transported back to that crooked little staircase with my footed pajamas, holding my breath. Inevitably I would fall asleep on the stairs, and sometimes I woke up and made my way back up the stairs on my own, and sometimes, I'm sure, my father would find my comatose body and carry me to my bed.

Fast forward twenty years and I'm still always wondering what I might miss if I go to sleep. It's midnight, I could be reading a book, watching a movie, whatever, and so tired my eyes hurt, my head keeps bobbing up and down in this dance of "I'm not sleepy...I'm awake!" Why can't I just realize I'm tired, stand up, walk to my room, lay down, and sleep somewhere more comfortable than an armchair? I do this to myself 9 nights out of 10. But especially on nights when I know I have to be up in the morning. If my alarm is set, I have to defy my set "bedtime" and strain my ears to hear what I am missing in those minutes after I've given in to sleep.


I saw a one man show tonight called Son of Drakula written and performed by David Drake. First, let me confess that I have this strange apathetic attitude towards all things vampire, so I wasn't really intending to see the show. But Allan, one of my actors in Cuckoo's Nest saw it and told me I needed to see the show just for the technical aspects if nothing else. And he was right. It was a beautifully simple show. The set consisted of two blocks, a microphone w/stand, and a music stand. David didn't use any props to differentiate between the different characters. The lights and sound created a beautiful world that was abstract and magical. I was entranced by these sharp squares of light on the floor. Not pools of light, but little squares. It was a bold, strong choice and it worked. The sound design was just as crisp and interesting. Fingers on a keyboard when David mentioned an email conversation. People in a train station. Even a Croatian Celine Dion crooning away on that horrid sinking boat song. Beautiful design.

The show itself was mildly forgetful, but that could be because parts of it hypnotized me into my theater trance (a very similar state to the one I get when fighting with my body's bed time) and I don't remember what I missed. Sections though were lyrical and evocative. I especially liked anything that didn't have to do with Dracula. There was a section about David as a young boy, remembering the first time he saw a particular movie. (some dracula horror film) It was at a drive-in with his mother and her date. Here, Drake played with memory, and a strange attraction to the man who smelled of Aqua Velva. It was just a shard, a fragment of a memory and landed inside me with more force than most of the plot of the play. I would love to be able to go see it again, but unfortunately it leaves town tomorrow and I have rehearsal.

After the show there was a Q&A. Just a few of us stayed and we asked questions. When that was over I chatted with one of Drake's co-directors, Kathleen Brant. She showed me her awesome pen that has a light built into the tip so you can take notes during tech rehearsals and performances. yippee! She told me I can find them at scripos.com but unfortunately the link didn't work for me. It wasn't one of those pens in which the shaft lights up. Just the tip of the pen lit up. I want one. Maybe I'll send Kathleen a letter asking for more details about that awesome pen of hers.

I mentioned I was directing Cuckoo's Nest and she gave me a bit of advice. To keep it clean and simple. She had just recently seen the Gary Sinise production and she said it got very messy and bloody at the end and Nurse Ratched was flipping out. I don't think I'm going in that direction anyway, so I think I'm doin' alright. When I mentioned my idea to have the entire set and space all white she told me I really need to use colored light. I think she's right, but I also need to know what those colors will mean when I use them. And where could I use them. Red during the alarm. Blue for the Chief's river. But how else can I use those colors without being cliche or cheesy?

I guess I'll just have to sleep on it.

Comments..? email me.

I'm going to be 27 next month.

I have determined that this is an acceptable age for me and my chosen career. Directors who are 34 are considered very young, and by the time I'm 34 I should have my master's, lots of experience, and be making my living in theater and film. Right now, I've got my bachelor's, a steady stream of good gigs coming in, and I'm having fun.

Currently, I'm in rehearsals for One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest for a local community theater (ACT). Doesn't pay much, but even $100 is money changing hands which is better than nothing. The show is going up in a little warehouse. For years, this has been ACT's rehearsal/classroom space, but under new Artistic Direction, the company seems to be taking a more experimental turn. So, they're putting in seating around the edges of the room, creating an arena style stage that seats 50. Electricals will be going in soon.

I get so nervous any time I direct a show, as if I'm scared someone will realize that I don't really know what I'm doing and they'll just take it all away from me.

I'm fooling everyone!

I read the play, I see the play, I just try to get the actors and designers to make the play on stage look and sound like what happened in my head when I read the play. It's the easiest thing to do in the world. And its the most fun.

Just last Wednesday, we were rehearsing one of the group therapy scenes and I had to get the actors playing the loonies to attack each other verbally. They were just playing nice with the text. One line, following orderly after the next. I had to do something, my simply explainations of what I need weren't working. So, I got in their faces and insulted, screamed, cursed, and verbally attacked each character. (Not the actors, that wouldn't be cool) We ran the scene again, and I found myself running around the circle lobbing insults and cutting laughter into the mix. They started picking up the pace, lines came flowing out much more naturally, and finally, McMurphy was able to really feel bad for the guy they were attacking. We ran the scene again, and I was able to step back and just watch. Finished, called for a break, and everyone was buzzing. I was beaming, and I had won the trust of all the actors. They knew the play was going to work.

I dream of the day when I make my living doing this thing that I love more than anything in the world.

Comments..? email me.