http://blip.tv/file/2762759
Click on the link for an audio slide show of Paper Mill's On the Town rehearsals. When I tried to upload from blip.tv to my blog, the picture was huge. Since I'm not entirely sure if I can fix that retroactively on the blip site, I've just copied and pasted the link here. Enjoy!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
A Brave New World: Criticism in the Age of Twitter
Last week I went to an arts criticism discussion at Stony Brook University. It was formally titled: Elevating the Discourse: Artists, Critics and Audiences, A Roundtable Discussion on the State of Criticism in the Age of Twitter. (Oof, what a mouthful!) My brilliant former professor/chief theater critic for Newsday, Linda Winer, invited me to attend – she was on the panel. (NOTE: I think I might have been the only journalist in an audience full of dramaturgs. Makes sense, I suppose, as the discussion was sponsored by the Literary Managers and Dramaturgs of the Americas.)
So, one of the first questions asked was something on the order of, “How can we elevate the discourse when talking about the theater?” I'll confess, I’m not sure exactly what that means, but a lengthy discussion ensued – much of which aimed to answer the more focused, if not entirely realized, inquiry: “Are critics writing for the artists or the audience?”
When I was younger (a naïve late teen), I would always complain to my parents that criticism wasn’t in touch with its audience – it was writing for someone that knew too much. I vowed to create a criticism that maintained a regard for my subjects, but was written with my readers in mind. As I get more entrenched in the theater community, however, I fear I’m losing touch with that “audience” I once felt so indebted to. I sigh when friends ask me if they should take their parents to see Jersey Boys when their in town. Typical, I think – safe commercial choice. (Perhaps another question that should have been asked at this panel – but wasn’t – might have been: How do we get serial commercial theatergoers to make the jump to Off-Broadway and beyond?) The honest truth is that I’ve never even seen Jersey Boys, and I have a particular distaste for the jukebox musical. Yet, I turn my nose up because Jersey Boys isn’t the best “artistic” option out there. We seem to live in a society where “artistic” is just another word for highbrow, and “entertaining” is the damning synonym for lowbrow. Something “brazenly artistic” generally garners a good review, and something “sordidly entertaining” usually means a pan is in order. But why does it have to be this way? Something artistic may be a total bore, just as something entertaining can provide for a memorable, enjoyable even, night in the theater. And what’s more, can’t something be artistic and entertaining at the same time?
I’ve decided that it’s largely a matter of taste. I see at least one show a week, so I’ve cultivated a palate sensitive to nuances in performances, direction, and narration. Regrettably, many people are fooled into thinking that critics are laymen that know nothing about the theatrical craft. But the fact is, we’ve probably seen more theater than most. It is our life’s work, after all.
But the hypothetical Jones family that schleps into Times Square to see two Broadway shows a year doesn’t share that same luxury. Going to the theater is a treat for them, and they’re probably going to stick with something "safe." (Here, word of mouth from friends probably holds more sway than anything the critic has to say.) The trick then is: How do I get them trust in my informed opinion? Can you mix experts and amateurs?
I’ve spent a long time thinking about the state of criticism today, and I’ve come up with three roles that critics can play. They are as follows:
1) Scoreboard keeper – This is the worst type of critic that I can imagine. Sadly, though, as we continue to whittle down our reviews to stars and thumbs, keeping score is becoming our reality. As the scoreboard keeper, I’m asked to objectify a subjective art form, and my creative license is completely stripped away. But I didn’t sign up to take a multiple choice exam where I’m instructed to fill in my scantron for the categories of acting, playwriting, and directing. Art is rarely extraordinary, but infrequently atrocious. How do I “bubble in” the middle ground without becoming redundant? Bottom line: I lose. You lose. And 2.5 stars becomes the norm.
2) Personal shopper – So let’s assume I get paid to write 300-400 word reviews for a publication of my choosing. (What an awesome alternate universe, right?!) Now say I write multiple reviews a week. In my limited space, I can’t say much, but as an avid reader of my engaging and witty blurbs, you get to know me – Laura Hedli: theater critic. You get to know what types of theater I enjoy, if I prefer to laugh or cry, if I like this actress or another. After a while, you know where your preferences line up with mine. I can recommend things about certain shows, but you take them in stride – you’ve got your own style after all. Still, I’m a consumer reporter. You want to know if you should pay your good, hard-earned dough to go to this-or-that particular show. You may want a brief explanation of why it suits you. But essentially, the question remains, “Does it fit?”
3) Matchmaker – Okay, so perhaps I’ve got to think longer on this term, but bear with me here. In an ideal world, my reviews would make you want to go to the theater. Maybe you want to see what I see, or perhaps you want to disagree. Either way. I would exist in order to foster a love between my reader and the art form that I hold most dear to my heart. Every time I take my seat, no matter the venue, I feel that I am home. I realize this is a bold statement, and I don’t make it lightly. It’s a privilege to be able to go to the theater once or twice a week, but I can think of few better ways spend my time. You, the reader, may not enjoy the same luxury, but I can bring the theater alive to you through my writing. If my critiques foster an organic connection between reader and theater, then I have done my job. I have opened the door to another voice, a broader discourse. I have perpetuated the dialogue – and by association, the art form.
So, one of the first questions asked was something on the order of, “How can we elevate the discourse when talking about the theater?” I'll confess, I’m not sure exactly what that means, but a lengthy discussion ensued – much of which aimed to answer the more focused, if not entirely realized, inquiry: “Are critics writing for the artists or the audience?”
When I was younger (a naïve late teen), I would always complain to my parents that criticism wasn’t in touch with its audience – it was writing for someone that knew too much. I vowed to create a criticism that maintained a regard for my subjects, but was written with my readers in mind. As I get more entrenched in the theater community, however, I fear I’m losing touch with that “audience” I once felt so indebted to. I sigh when friends ask me if they should take their parents to see Jersey Boys when their in town. Typical, I think – safe commercial choice. (Perhaps another question that should have been asked at this panel – but wasn’t – might have been: How do we get serial commercial theatergoers to make the jump to Off-Broadway and beyond?) The honest truth is that I’ve never even seen Jersey Boys, and I have a particular distaste for the jukebox musical. Yet, I turn my nose up because Jersey Boys isn’t the best “artistic” option out there. We seem to live in a society where “artistic” is just another word for highbrow, and “entertaining” is the damning synonym for lowbrow. Something “brazenly artistic” generally garners a good review, and something “sordidly entertaining” usually means a pan is in order. But why does it have to be this way? Something artistic may be a total bore, just as something entertaining can provide for a memorable, enjoyable even, night in the theater. And what’s more, can’t something be artistic and entertaining at the same time?
I’ve decided that it’s largely a matter of taste. I see at least one show a week, so I’ve cultivated a palate sensitive to nuances in performances, direction, and narration. Regrettably, many people are fooled into thinking that critics are laymen that know nothing about the theatrical craft. But the fact is, we’ve probably seen more theater than most. It is our life’s work, after all.
But the hypothetical Jones family that schleps into Times Square to see two Broadway shows a year doesn’t share that same luxury. Going to the theater is a treat for them, and they’re probably going to stick with something "safe." (Here, word of mouth from friends probably holds more sway than anything the critic has to say.) The trick then is: How do I get them trust in my informed opinion? Can you mix experts and amateurs?
I’ve spent a long time thinking about the state of criticism today, and I’ve come up with three roles that critics can play. They are as follows:
1) Scoreboard keeper – This is the worst type of critic that I can imagine. Sadly, though, as we continue to whittle down our reviews to stars and thumbs, keeping score is becoming our reality. As the scoreboard keeper, I’m asked to objectify a subjective art form, and my creative license is completely stripped away. But I didn’t sign up to take a multiple choice exam where I’m instructed to fill in my scantron for the categories of acting, playwriting, and directing. Art is rarely extraordinary, but infrequently atrocious. How do I “bubble in” the middle ground without becoming redundant? Bottom line: I lose. You lose. And 2.5 stars becomes the norm.
2) Personal shopper – So let’s assume I get paid to write 300-400 word reviews for a publication of my choosing. (What an awesome alternate universe, right?!) Now say I write multiple reviews a week. In my limited space, I can’t say much, but as an avid reader of my engaging and witty blurbs, you get to know me – Laura Hedli: theater critic. You get to know what types of theater I enjoy, if I prefer to laugh or cry, if I like this actress or another. After a while, you know where your preferences line up with mine. I can recommend things about certain shows, but you take them in stride – you’ve got your own style after all. Still, I’m a consumer reporter. You want to know if you should pay your good, hard-earned dough to go to this-or-that particular show. You may want a brief explanation of why it suits you. But essentially, the question remains, “Does it fit?”
3) Matchmaker – Okay, so perhaps I’ve got to think longer on this term, but bear with me here. In an ideal world, my reviews would make you want to go to the theater. Maybe you want to see what I see, or perhaps you want to disagree. Either way. I would exist in order to foster a love between my reader and the art form that I hold most dear to my heart. Every time I take my seat, no matter the venue, I feel that I am home. I realize this is a bold statement, and I don’t make it lightly. It’s a privilege to be able to go to the theater once or twice a week, but I can think of few better ways spend my time. You, the reader, may not enjoy the same luxury, but I can bring the theater alive to you through my writing. If my critiques foster an organic connection between reader and theater, then I have done my job. I have opened the door to another voice, a broader discourse. I have perpetuated the dialogue – and by association, the art form.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
On New York Musical Theatre Festival: Installment 1
On Friday I spoke on the phone with Colin Hanlon, who’s starring as Charlie in New York Musical Theatre Festival’s Whatever Man. The show is about an uncommitted, directionless 30-something who, upon suggestion from his girlfriend, begins attending group therapy sessions. The catch is that his fellow support group members are all disturbed Superheros, and Charlie is thrown into the business of saving lives and salvaging relationships.
Whatever Man is one of 30 full productions in this year’s festival, which runs through Oct. 18. As it turns out, I actually saw Hanlon perform one summer ago in an anniversary performance of I Love You Because at the Cherry Lane Theatre. We’re also both O’Neill alums. The following are excerpts from our interview:
Stage Synapses (SS): While you’ve performed in other festivals, this is your first time doing NYMF. What's that like?
Colin Hanlon: NYMF is interesting because there’s been a lot of positives and negatives. [Whatever Man], you know, it’s really not ready to have a full production. We were making changes up until the last day, and they were changes that needed to happen. Somehow, if it was possible with the Union and NYMF, I wish that we could be on book doing this. It shouldn’t be about the actors, or reviews, or awards. Ultimately, it’s about the writers.
Besides that, though, it’s been really good. I love my cast; I think everyone is really talented. The festival brings artists together, and that’s what it should be about. People shouldn’t be in it to make money because no one makes money in the theater.
SS:I’ve read that you like to originate characters. What was it like creating the role of Charlie in such a short amount of time?
Colin Hanlon: I put more energy into this piece that I’ve put into some full productions. You want to try to make it as good as possible. I just completed the Fringe, and I had never gone to Fringe before either. And I just thought, Do I want to do another one? Am I ready?
Ultimately, though, it’s been good. I think my character has come a long way since we started. Hilary [our director] and Ben [the writer] have been really open to ideas that I’ve had, and I prefer to be doing what I’m doing now. I’ve been offered ensemble parts in Broadway shows—I did Rent for a couple of years—but I need to go get roles and originate a character.
I’ve been very lucky because I’ve always been brought in for new projects. I may not have made as great of a financial living as some of my friends who’ve been doing the same Broadway role for years. But it’s hard to replace someone because the audience is always going to compare you to whoever that last person was.
SS: So, how’d you land the NYMF gig?
Colin Hanlon: They just asked me to do it. I don’t know who in the creative team knew who I was. I know the casting director pretty well - I think it’s probably got something to do with that. I’ve been pretty lucky – I haven’t had to audition for a lot of these festival things for some time now. I’ve come out pretty unscathed both critically and artistically.
SS: How’s the schedule been? Are you happy with your showtimes?
Colin Hanlon: The schedule’s been really weird, but it hasn’t been so bad. We have a show on Sunday and then not another one till Thursday—they can’t rehearse us in between, though. I just hope we remember everything for our last show.
SS: What publications have come to review your festival shows?
Colin Hanlon: Well, I was shocked when I did the Fringe. I have a Google alert on my name – it’s the only narcissistic thing that I do. One day it came up and it said, Colin Hanlon: New York Times Fringe review. And I was like, "Oh My God!" I was on the cover of the Arts Section of the New York Times.
With regards to this show, our composer, lyricist and book writer, Ben Strouse, is the son of Charles Strouse, who wrote Annie and Bye Bye Birdie. Ben’s a very different writer than his dad. I really hope that the critics judge him on his own merits and not for what his Dad has done.
SS: So, I read in your bio that you spent two summers at the O’Neill. I loved it there. What were your experiences like?
Colin Hanlon: I did the musical theater conference, and then I did the cabaret conference. But we actually did a musical within the cabaret conference, which was Amanda Green’s new project with Tom Kitt.
It really is summer camp for theater professionals. My first time there was three years ago, and I didn’t go this past summer. In 2006 I performed in Triangle by Curtis Moore and Tom Mizer. That was probably one of the best musicals I’ve done in a while. It was directed by Bobby Longbottom, who’s currently directing the Broadway revival of Bye Bye Birdie.
This year I was supposed to do Picnic at Hanging Rock. The director, Joe Calarco, is a good friend of mine. But I was already doing tick, tick ... boom! [in Westport, CT]. I guess, when it rains it pours.
[AUTHOR’S NOTE: When I saw Picnic at the O’Neill, I found it to be hauntingly beautiful. Click here to listen to some of the songs by composer/lyricist Daniel Zaitchik.]
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Whatever Man features music, lyrics and book by Benjamin Strouse, and is directed by Hillary Adams. The next show is tonight, Oct. 4 @ 8 PM. The final performance will be on Thursday, Oct. 8 @ 1 PM.
Whatever Man is one of 30 full productions in this year’s festival, which runs through Oct. 18. As it turns out, I actually saw Hanlon perform one summer ago in an anniversary performance of I Love You Because at the Cherry Lane Theatre. We’re also both O’Neill alums. The following are excerpts from our interview:
Stage Synapses (SS): While you’ve performed in other festivals, this is your first time doing NYMF. What's that like?
Colin Hanlon: NYMF is interesting because there’s been a lot of positives and negatives. [Whatever Man], you know, it’s really not ready to have a full production. We were making changes up until the last day, and they were changes that needed to happen. Somehow, if it was possible with the Union and NYMF, I wish that we could be on book doing this. It shouldn’t be about the actors, or reviews, or awards. Ultimately, it’s about the writers.
Besides that, though, it’s been really good. I love my cast; I think everyone is really talented. The festival brings artists together, and that’s what it should be about. People shouldn’t be in it to make money because no one makes money in the theater.
SS:I’ve read that you like to originate characters. What was it like creating the role of Charlie in such a short amount of time?
Colin Hanlon: I put more energy into this piece that I’ve put into some full productions. You want to try to make it as good as possible. I just completed the Fringe, and I had never gone to Fringe before either. And I just thought, Do I want to do another one? Am I ready?
Ultimately, though, it’s been good. I think my character has come a long way since we started. Hilary [our director] and Ben [the writer] have been really open to ideas that I’ve had, and I prefer to be doing what I’m doing now. I’ve been offered ensemble parts in Broadway shows—I did Rent for a couple of years—but I need to go get roles and originate a character.
I’ve been very lucky because I’ve always been brought in for new projects. I may not have made as great of a financial living as some of my friends who’ve been doing the same Broadway role for years. But it’s hard to replace someone because the audience is always going to compare you to whoever that last person was.
SS: So, how’d you land the NYMF gig?
Colin Hanlon: They just asked me to do it. I don’t know who in the creative team knew who I was. I know the casting director pretty well - I think it’s probably got something to do with that. I’ve been pretty lucky – I haven’t had to audition for a lot of these festival things for some time now. I’ve come out pretty unscathed both critically and artistically.
SS: How’s the schedule been? Are you happy with your showtimes?
Colin Hanlon: The schedule’s been really weird, but it hasn’t been so bad. We have a show on Sunday and then not another one till Thursday—they can’t rehearse us in between, though. I just hope we remember everything for our last show.
SS: What publications have come to review your festival shows?
Colin Hanlon: Well, I was shocked when I did the Fringe. I have a Google alert on my name – it’s the only narcissistic thing that I do. One day it came up and it said, Colin Hanlon: New York Times Fringe review. And I was like, "Oh My God!" I was on the cover of the Arts Section of the New York Times.
With regards to this show, our composer, lyricist and book writer, Ben Strouse, is the son of Charles Strouse, who wrote Annie and Bye Bye Birdie. Ben’s a very different writer than his dad. I really hope that the critics judge him on his own merits and not for what his Dad has done.
SS: So, I read in your bio that you spent two summers at the O’Neill. I loved it there. What were your experiences like?
Colin Hanlon: I did the musical theater conference, and then I did the cabaret conference. But we actually did a musical within the cabaret conference, which was Amanda Green’s new project with Tom Kitt.
It really is summer camp for theater professionals. My first time there was three years ago, and I didn’t go this past summer. In 2006 I performed in Triangle by Curtis Moore and Tom Mizer. That was probably one of the best musicals I’ve done in a while. It was directed by Bobby Longbottom, who’s currently directing the Broadway revival of Bye Bye Birdie.
This year I was supposed to do Picnic at Hanging Rock. The director, Joe Calarco, is a good friend of mine. But I was already doing tick, tick ... boom! [in Westport, CT]. I guess, when it rains it pours.
[AUTHOR’S NOTE: When I saw Picnic at the O’Neill, I found it to be hauntingly beautiful. Click here to listen to some of the songs by composer/lyricist Daniel Zaitchik.]
--
Whatever Man features music, lyrics and book by Benjamin Strouse, and is directed by Hillary Adams. The next show is tonight, Oct. 4 @ 8 PM. The final performance will be on Thursday, Oct. 8 @ 1 PM.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Headlines ...
So, the blog is back—resurrected after an all-too-long hiatus, and for that I apologize. At the beginning of September, I celebrated my birthday in Disney World and then started classes at Columbia the day after I got back. It was a tough transition, for sure—traipsing around the Magic Kingdom with a tiara in hand, to sitting in my History of Journalism course at 9 AM. Oy.
Since then I’ve just been trying to get my bearing. Here are a few headlines about shows I’ve seen, or ones I’m interested in seeing as soon as I get a free moment.
Nemo vs. Mermaid
Since then I’ve just been trying to get my bearing. Here are a few headlines about shows I’ve seen, or ones I’m interested in seeing as soon as I get a free moment.
Nemo vs. Mermaid
What vacation wouldn’t be complete without a musical or two? I still need to get my fill of shows, relaxing or not. So, while in Disney, we saw Finding Nemo: The Musical at the Animal Kingdom. All I’ve got to say is that whoever designed the Nemo set did a much better job at creating a visually appealing underwater paradise than the Broadway crew that brought you the iridescently fabulous scenic design in The Little Mermaid. That plastic playground of a set looked as though the local Michael’s might have made a killing off its sale of glitter to the Mermaid creative team. The interesting thing to consider here, though, is that both shows are represented by the mouse. Curious indeed.
Let Me Down Easy
Let Me Down Easy
Time to plug a health-related play! No really, I’m quite excited to see Anna Deavere Smith’s one-woman show about our healthcare system. Here’s an interactive website launched by Second Stage Theatre on behalf of Let Me Down Easy. Happy posting!
Opening Night: A Boy and His Soul
Opening Night: A Boy and His Soul
A Boy and His Soul opened Thursday night at the Vineyard Theatre. Earlier this week I had the privilege of speaking with Colman Domingo, the writer and performer of this one-man show. His experience of growing up on soul music in Philadelphia inspired Domingo to pen A Boy and His Soul. And as he was grappling with his parents’ ailing health and the burden of selling his childhood home, writing was a way to cope. The show now features music from Aretha, Marvin, and Earth Wind and Fire, as an energetic Domingo plays 11 different characters. I won’t say anymore, but you can read my full story next month in the Philadelphia Inquirer. (It’s my first byline in a major daily!)
Talk-Backs during Oleanna Previews
Talk-Backs during Oleanna Previews
I got a press release the other day about a “Take A Side: The Oleanna Talk-Back Series,” which will occur after each preview of the Mamet revival. (Previews begin Sept. 29 and run through Oct. 10.) Oleanna concerns the power struggle between a college student and her professor, and will star Julia Stiles and Bill Pullman. I’m not quite sure why I’m excited to see this show … maybe it’s my proximity to the college experience. Or perhaps it’s because I saw two Mamet plays last season (Speed the Plow and American Buffalo), liked one but loathed the other, and now I’m curious to see where I’ll land here. Regardless, the panel for the talk back series will include notable public figures in entertainment, media, law, education and politics. Here’s a list of a few that have been confirmed:
- David Dinkins, former New York City mayor
- Dennis Walcott, NYC Deputy Mayor of Education and Community Development
- Lis Wiehl, FOX news Channel legal analyst
- Mary Schmidt Campbell, Dean of the Tisch School of the Arts
- Kathleen M. McKenna, Legal Partner of Proskauer Rose LLP
Either Judith Kaye, JD (Juris Doctor from Harvard and President of Judith Kaye Training & Consulting) or Cynthia Tornquist (President of Tornquist Productions LLC and former CNN correspondent) will moderate the series.
My guess is that you’ll be able to go on the website and see who’ll be on the panel each night. There’s no news there yet, though.
Bye Bye Birdie: Stamos and Middle School
- David Dinkins, former New York City mayor
- Dennis Walcott, NYC Deputy Mayor of Education and Community Development
- Lis Wiehl, FOX news Channel legal analyst
- Mary Schmidt Campbell, Dean of the Tisch School of the Arts
- Kathleen M. McKenna, Legal Partner of Proskauer Rose LLP
Either Judith Kaye, JD (Juris Doctor from Harvard and President of Judith Kaye Training & Consulting) or Cynthia Tornquist (President of Tornquist Productions LLC and former CNN correspondent) will moderate the series.
My guess is that you’ll be able to go on the website and see who’ll be on the panel each night. There’s no news there yet, though.
Bye Bye Birdie: Stamos and Middle School
This one’s just for fun, but I may be going to see Bye Bye Birdie tomorrow because my Mom wants to see John Stamos live, onstage. If my family ends up going, I will be sure to let you know what’s what. The show opens on Oct. 15, so in good taste, I’ll hold my full review until then. In middle school we did Birdie, and I played various ensemble roles: a screaming teen, a Happy Face girl, etc. I remember everyone having a crush on the boy (at the time he was 13!) who played Albert, and as a braces clad 11-year-old I proudly sang “Kids” in a Limited Too bathrobe. Oh, the awkward years …
PHOTO: Colman Domingo in A Boy and His Soul / courtesy of Carol Rosegg
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One last thing I’d like to say. A friend of mine from high school, easily the smartest guy I’ve ever known, passed away last weekend after falling from a third floor fire escape in Boston. It’s a phenomenal loss for both those that knew him and the medical community. Babur Khalique was in his third year of the MD/PhD program at Boston University; and I swear to you, this boy had more glial cells than the average bear. (Einstein's brain was rumored to have had more glial cells—or cells which support neurons and aid in communication and integration—than a normal brain.)
Everyday I remember the good times that we shared, how he was always there to listen and laugh. He always wanted me to read Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, but I never found the time. It was only after I had heard the news of his death that I finally got my hands on a copy.
So Babur, wherever you are, I hope you know that I’m reading your favorite play … and that I miss you.
One last thing I’d like to say. A friend of mine from high school, easily the smartest guy I’ve ever known, passed away last weekend after falling from a third floor fire escape in Boston. It’s a phenomenal loss for both those that knew him and the medical community. Babur Khalique was in his third year of the MD/PhD program at Boston University; and I swear to you, this boy had more glial cells than the average bear. (Einstein's brain was rumored to have had more glial cells—or cells which support neurons and aid in communication and integration—than a normal brain.)
Everyday I remember the good times that we shared, how he was always there to listen and laugh. He always wanted me to read Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, but I never found the time. It was only after I had heard the news of his death that I finally got my hands on a copy.
So Babur, wherever you are, I hope you know that I’m reading your favorite play … and that I miss you.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Goodman Getting Back in the Game After Rooms Closes Prematurely
Yesterday afternoon I caught up with a friend of mine, composer and writer Paul Scott Goodman. We met to share stories about our time at the Eugene O’Neill Theater Center, but we got on few tangents.
I first met Goodman following my internship with New York Musical Theatre Festival when I did a story about his show Alive in the World. Alive in the World is a post 9/11 look at the city, and the show played as a benefit concert for a few nights at the Zipper Factory. (The sad news here is that the Zipper closed earlier this year. The house was made up of scrapped car seats, and you could literally buckle yourself in if you so desired. Such a unique venue now shuttered - it's a shame, really.)
This past spring I did another piece on Rooms, Goodman’s two-person musical that played at New World Stages. Its run ended in May, and a cynical (“yet hopeful”) Goodman feels that producers may have pulled the plug prematurely. The coming-of-age romance about two kids from Scotland, he says, needed the summer to really build an audience. Hey, if Toxic Avenger managed to cultivate its following in these lazy, hazy days, why not Rooms? I am quick to remind him, though, that one of Bon Jovi’s founding members is attached to the former. (Smells like another Spidey scheme to me.)
What’s more, Goodman’s still sore about the New York Times giving him the runaround. The paper sent a third string critic to the press preview, and then the review came out three days after the show’s opening and was stuck on P.6. Meanwhile, Rooms had garnered great press during its out of town tryout in Washington D.C. and was nominated for five Helen Hayes Awards. Goodman believes that the New York incarnation really could have benefited from an Isherwood byline.
I play devil’s advocate by arguing that the power of a Times critic just isn’t what it used to be. And he later agrees, saying that there’s just too many “wankers” writing anything they want all over their self-indulgent blogs. (Dum, da, dum, dum …)
So, Goodman’s got good reason to be grouchy because his first Off-Broadway venture didn’t recoup its initial investment. But he’s incredulous that a royalty’s paycheck from a 60-second TV slot was more in his pocket than the chunk of change he made off Rooms. (This is yet another staggering example that no one goes into this business to make money.) Royal Pains used his song “Waiting”—the only recorded track from Alive in the World—and just like that, Goodman’s music was on the small screen.
But Goodman prefers live audiences, and he was pleased to have a following up at the O’Neill. His Easterhouse was a part of the National Cabaret and Performance Conference last month. And earlier in June, Goodman had been an artist in residence. While he doesn’t seem to think the place is as magical as I do, he agrees that it’s a summer camp for theater professionals and appreciates the tranquility the O’Neill has to offer. After living in the city for the past 25 years, a sandy beach and a patch of grass look mighty fine every now and again.
I walk with Goodman on his way to the synagogue as he discusses his daughter starting the University of Michigan and plans for a restaging of his show, Bright Lights, Big City. He tells me if he were a wealthy man, he would start a foundation that would pay certain individuals not to go into musical theater.
Smiling impishly, he says that it’s the only award people wouldn’t be itching to receive.
I first met Goodman following my internship with New York Musical Theatre Festival when I did a story about his show Alive in the World. Alive in the World is a post 9/11 look at the city, and the show played as a benefit concert for a few nights at the Zipper Factory. (The sad news here is that the Zipper closed earlier this year. The house was made up of scrapped car seats, and you could literally buckle yourself in if you so desired. Such a unique venue now shuttered - it's a shame, really.)
This past spring I did another piece on Rooms, Goodman’s two-person musical that played at New World Stages. Its run ended in May, and a cynical (“yet hopeful”) Goodman feels that producers may have pulled the plug prematurely. The coming-of-age romance about two kids from Scotland, he says, needed the summer to really build an audience. Hey, if Toxic Avenger managed to cultivate its following in these lazy, hazy days, why not Rooms? I am quick to remind him, though, that one of Bon Jovi’s founding members is attached to the former. (Smells like another Spidey scheme to me.)
What’s more, Goodman’s still sore about the New York Times giving him the runaround. The paper sent a third string critic to the press preview, and then the review came out three days after the show’s opening and was stuck on P.6. Meanwhile, Rooms had garnered great press during its out of town tryout in Washington D.C. and was nominated for five Helen Hayes Awards. Goodman believes that the New York incarnation really could have benefited from an Isherwood byline.
I play devil’s advocate by arguing that the power of a Times critic just isn’t what it used to be. And he later agrees, saying that there’s just too many “wankers” writing anything they want all over their self-indulgent blogs. (Dum, da, dum, dum …)
So, Goodman’s got good reason to be grouchy because his first Off-Broadway venture didn’t recoup its initial investment. But he’s incredulous that a royalty’s paycheck from a 60-second TV slot was more in his pocket than the chunk of change he made off Rooms. (This is yet another staggering example that no one goes into this business to make money.) Royal Pains used his song “Waiting”—the only recorded track from Alive in the World—and just like that, Goodman’s music was on the small screen.
But Goodman prefers live audiences, and he was pleased to have a following up at the O’Neill. His Easterhouse was a part of the National Cabaret and Performance Conference last month. And earlier in June, Goodman had been an artist in residence. While he doesn’t seem to think the place is as magical as I do, he agrees that it’s a summer camp for theater professionals and appreciates the tranquility the O’Neill has to offer. After living in the city for the past 25 years, a sandy beach and a patch of grass look mighty fine every now and again.
I walk with Goodman on his way to the synagogue as he discusses his daughter starting the University of Michigan and plans for a restaging of his show, Bright Lights, Big City. He tells me if he were a wealthy man, he would start a foundation that would pay certain individuals not to go into musical theater.
Smiling impishly, he says that it’s the only award people wouldn’t be itching to receive.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
We're All in This Together ... Newsroom, or Not.
Gawker features a little blurb that brings more bad news for young print journalists. A survey issued by the Associated Press Managing Editors said that layoffs and buyouts in the newspaper industry were particularly common for the 18-35 age group. That’s me! (*Sad face.*)
It doesn’t help that J-School keeps sending me reminders to read this article in the Village Voice. Even if you elect not to peruse its content, the headline says it all: “You Just Graduated From Journalism School. What Were You Thinking?” And that’s supposed to assure me that I made the smart choice in choosing Columbia?
We all know that the industry is transitioning, but what to exactly? No one knows. Living in the murky unknown, we seem almost immobilized by the possibility of change. What’s more, no one has come up with a viable business model for online media. (Hint: Advertising is not the answer.)
I can’t speak on behalf of other journalists, but for me, one of the most frightening things about the switch to digital media is the dissolution of the newsroom. As far as theater criticism is concerned, long gone are the days you see critics running down aisles during curtain call, hopping into a cab to rush back to the office, and pumping out copy in under two hours. (For a wonderful account, however, read the opening of Frank Rich’s “Exit the Critic.”) Now, we have the luxury of time, but also that of space. We can sleep on our thoughts about a show and then point and click our review to print. In many cases, we serve as our own copy editors.
Most of my reviews for Columbia Spectator were written somewhere between the hours of 1 and 4 AM as I was lounging on throw pillows and gulping down vitamin water. The following morning, I would make some quick edits before attaching the document in an e-mail and sending it off to our alias.
It’s no secret then that working from home takes an incredible amount of self discipline and there’s no shortage of distractions. (Before I sat down to write this post, I took a spin around town and caught up on an episode of Mad Men. Two hours of solid procrastination right there.) But with a deadline we eventually move past the fear of starting on an assignment. What we actually lose when working remotely is that essential element of human interaction.
We’re a social species, so I do believe that we’re doing ourselves a disservice by getting our daily fill of conversation on gchat instead of at the water cooler. But the internet is all-encompassing, allowing us to ignore those tips from time management disciplinarians. And let’s be real here, who actually sets aside specific slots in their day to respond to e-mails?
But new research shows that perhaps we should be more wary. A recent study found that the average worker’s IQ dropped by 10 points if she was constantly plugged into her laptop and other electronic devices that go beep in the night. I was also particularly fascinated by one scientist’s comment about how the brain responds to digital stimuli. John Ratey, an associate professor of psychiatry at Harvard, says that the brain elicits “a dopamine squirt” every time we use a device like our BlackBerry or iPhone. (Dopamine is a neurotransmitter similar to adrenaline that facilitates cognition, attention, and learning among other things.) If this dopamine release phenomenon is true, then at some level we have a neurological addiction to these gadgets—an acquired ADD, Ratey claims.
While this scientific evidence explores what’s happening in our brains when we use these devices, it doesn’t make any specific conjectures about how our office environments affect our frequency of use. But to a certain degree, by working at home, all we’ve got are these mediums through which to communicate. We miss out on that requisite office socializing, and direct face-to-face contact is eliminated. Plus, feng shui tells me it’s bad when your desk becomes your bed.
One day I do hope to get paid to work in the company of other journalists. Newsroom, or not. Call me a cockeyed optimist, but maybe what this industry really needs is a dose of camaraderie. We may not know what direction we’re heading, but we’re all in the same boat. I’d just like to know who I’m with.
It doesn’t help that J-School keeps sending me reminders to read this article in the Village Voice. Even if you elect not to peruse its content, the headline says it all: “You Just Graduated From Journalism School. What Were You Thinking?” And that’s supposed to assure me that I made the smart choice in choosing Columbia?
We all know that the industry is transitioning, but what to exactly? No one knows. Living in the murky unknown, we seem almost immobilized by the possibility of change. What’s more, no one has come up with a viable business model for online media. (Hint: Advertising is not the answer.)
I can’t speak on behalf of other journalists, but for me, one of the most frightening things about the switch to digital media is the dissolution of the newsroom. As far as theater criticism is concerned, long gone are the days you see critics running down aisles during curtain call, hopping into a cab to rush back to the office, and pumping out copy in under two hours. (For a wonderful account, however, read the opening of Frank Rich’s “Exit the Critic.”) Now, we have the luxury of time, but also that of space. We can sleep on our thoughts about a show and then point and click our review to print. In many cases, we serve as our own copy editors.
Most of my reviews for Columbia Spectator were written somewhere between the hours of 1 and 4 AM as I was lounging on throw pillows and gulping down vitamin water. The following morning, I would make some quick edits before attaching the document in an e-mail and sending it off to our alias.
It’s no secret then that working from home takes an incredible amount of self discipline and there’s no shortage of distractions. (Before I sat down to write this post, I took a spin around town and caught up on an episode of Mad Men. Two hours of solid procrastination right there.) But with a deadline we eventually move past the fear of starting on an assignment. What we actually lose when working remotely is that essential element of human interaction.
We’re a social species, so I do believe that we’re doing ourselves a disservice by getting our daily fill of conversation on gchat instead of at the water cooler. But the internet is all-encompassing, allowing us to ignore those tips from time management disciplinarians. And let’s be real here, who actually sets aside specific slots in their day to respond to e-mails?
But new research shows that perhaps we should be more wary. A recent study found that the average worker’s IQ dropped by 10 points if she was constantly plugged into her laptop and other electronic devices that go beep in the night. I was also particularly fascinated by one scientist’s comment about how the brain responds to digital stimuli. John Ratey, an associate professor of psychiatry at Harvard, says that the brain elicits “a dopamine squirt” every time we use a device like our BlackBerry or iPhone. (Dopamine is a neurotransmitter similar to adrenaline that facilitates cognition, attention, and learning among other things.) If this dopamine release phenomenon is true, then at some level we have a neurological addiction to these gadgets—an acquired ADD, Ratey claims.
While this scientific evidence explores what’s happening in our brains when we use these devices, it doesn’t make any specific conjectures about how our office environments affect our frequency of use. But to a certain degree, by working at home, all we’ve got are these mediums through which to communicate. We miss out on that requisite office socializing, and direct face-to-face contact is eliminated. Plus, feng shui tells me it’s bad when your desk becomes your bed.
One day I do hope to get paid to work in the company of other journalists. Newsroom, or not. Call me a cockeyed optimist, but maybe what this industry really needs is a dose of camaraderie. We may not know what direction we’re heading, but we’re all in the same boat. I’d just like to know who I’m with.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
On FringeNYC - installment 3
A review of The Event, but first a story ...
Two summers ago I interned at New York Musical Theatre Festival. My job description was nebulous, and sometimes I got the chance to work for our executive director and founder, Kris Stewart. But because interns are at the low end of the totem pole, here and there, he’d ask me to execute small, seemingly innocuous tasks—run down to Subway to pick up his lunch and a diet coke, or walk his blind, seriously-separation-anxiety-prone pooch. If I looked in the least bit not-thrilled by any of this, he’d wink at me and say, “You’re a legend, Laura Hedli, and don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” Might I add that he has an Australian accent.
And thus began my fascination with festival directors and how they work their magic to get people to do things they might otherwise never willingly submit to. But more than that, they have a knack for making people believe in the power of live theater.
I am reminded of my experiences at New York Musical Theatre Festival when I sit down at The Event, notebook in hand, on Wednesday night. So, you’ll have to excuse me if I find all the gloom and doom curious given its playwright.
Founding artistic director of the Fringe, John Clancy, wrote the 63 minute script, and with his words he works a different sort of magic. In the witching hour where the house is dark save for a plainly lit stage and a single man in a standard suit, he casts a spell of disenchantment. A play is nothing more than a string of rehearsed lines, the faint glow of the footlights can be achieved with the press of a button, and the entire experience is expendable to us and to its creators when the curtain falls.
But that doesn’t mean it’s any less engaging. In being so intricately connected to his craft—having played both administrative and creative roles—Clancy recognizes the strengths and limitations of this art form and draws analogies to real life. The Event tells us that we’re living a “high stakes game of charades” where we’re “good actors in a very bad play.” If our ancestors are retired actors watching our performance, they’re neither amused nor applauding.
The Event’s backstage account is by no means glowing with glitter and showgirls. Instead, a single actor, Matt Oberg—who is responsible for plowing through the challenging just-over-an-hour monologue—says that we’re sitting here due to “chance and advertising.” He invites anyone who wants to leave to do so. And for anyone who feels compelled to use this time to sleep, he sings a rendition of “Rock-a-bye-Baby.”
The words that follow achieve a sort of lulling effect, and I only start to squirm in my seat when Oberg pretends to forget his lines. It’s part of the play, of course, but still produces the effect of watching a nerdy boy wring his clammy hands, feet pacing back and forth as he tries to get through public speaking class unnoticed and unscathed. The only other moment when I emerge from my hunched position are to watch the man in front of me who is actually sleeping, head back, mouth gaping open ready to catch those flies. He’s sitting in the second row. Bold move. He doesn’t snore, but does that head bobbing thing on the words “exhausting” and “connection.” Innnnteresting.
Though, near minute 35, The Event does seem to lose some of its spark. Clancy ditches the sarcasm and theater-insider speak, and instead resorts to telling us what we know. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still impeccably well written. But as the sweat drips from Oberg’s face as he discusses the nature of a cliché or how we have a need for speed, he seems to be wasting his breath on stating the obvious.
The Event works best when it’s self-referential. Clancy lives theater, and when he writes about what he knows the results range from incisive humor to heartbreaking realities. He gives us a backstage look, but seems to suggest that there really isn’t very much there to see. It’s like one giant wink to the audience that says theater is transient, and don’t you ever forget it.
--
The Event plays tonight at 11 PM at the Players Theatre. The final performance will be on Fri 28 @ 6 PM. The Players Theatre is located at 115 MacDougal St.
The Event is written and directed by John Clancy and stars Matt Oberg. Tickets are $15. Please visit http://www.clancyproductions.com/ for more information.
Two summers ago I interned at New York Musical Theatre Festival. My job description was nebulous, and sometimes I got the chance to work for our executive director and founder, Kris Stewart. But because interns are at the low end of the totem pole, here and there, he’d ask me to execute small, seemingly innocuous tasks—run down to Subway to pick up his lunch and a diet coke, or walk his blind, seriously-separation-anxiety-prone pooch. If I looked in the least bit not-thrilled by any of this, he’d wink at me and say, “You’re a legend, Laura Hedli, and don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” Might I add that he has an Australian accent.
And thus began my fascination with festival directors and how they work their magic to get people to do things they might otherwise never willingly submit to. But more than that, they have a knack for making people believe in the power of live theater.
I am reminded of my experiences at New York Musical Theatre Festival when I sit down at The Event, notebook in hand, on Wednesday night. So, you’ll have to excuse me if I find all the gloom and doom curious given its playwright.
Founding artistic director of the Fringe, John Clancy, wrote the 63 minute script, and with his words he works a different sort of magic. In the witching hour where the house is dark save for a plainly lit stage and a single man in a standard suit, he casts a spell of disenchantment. A play is nothing more than a string of rehearsed lines, the faint glow of the footlights can be achieved with the press of a button, and the entire experience is expendable to us and to its creators when the curtain falls.
But that doesn’t mean it’s any less engaging. In being so intricately connected to his craft—having played both administrative and creative roles—Clancy recognizes the strengths and limitations of this art form and draws analogies to real life. The Event tells us that we’re living a “high stakes game of charades” where we’re “good actors in a very bad play.” If our ancestors are retired actors watching our performance, they’re neither amused nor applauding.
The Event’s backstage account is by no means glowing with glitter and showgirls. Instead, a single actor, Matt Oberg—who is responsible for plowing through the challenging just-over-an-hour monologue—says that we’re sitting here due to “chance and advertising.” He invites anyone who wants to leave to do so. And for anyone who feels compelled to use this time to sleep, he sings a rendition of “Rock-a-bye-Baby.”
The words that follow achieve a sort of lulling effect, and I only start to squirm in my seat when Oberg pretends to forget his lines. It’s part of the play, of course, but still produces the effect of watching a nerdy boy wring his clammy hands, feet pacing back and forth as he tries to get through public speaking class unnoticed and unscathed. The only other moment when I emerge from my hunched position are to watch the man in front of me who is actually sleeping, head back, mouth gaping open ready to catch those flies. He’s sitting in the second row. Bold move. He doesn’t snore, but does that head bobbing thing on the words “exhausting” and “connection.” Innnnteresting.
Though, near minute 35, The Event does seem to lose some of its spark. Clancy ditches the sarcasm and theater-insider speak, and instead resorts to telling us what we know. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still impeccably well written. But as the sweat drips from Oberg’s face as he discusses the nature of a cliché or how we have a need for speed, he seems to be wasting his breath on stating the obvious.
The Event works best when it’s self-referential. Clancy lives theater, and when he writes about what he knows the results range from incisive humor to heartbreaking realities. He gives us a backstage look, but seems to suggest that there really isn’t very much there to see. It’s like one giant wink to the audience that says theater is transient, and don’t you ever forget it.
--
The Event plays tonight at 11 PM at the Players Theatre. The final performance will be on Fri 28 @ 6 PM. The Players Theatre is located at 115 MacDougal St.
The Event is written and directed by John Clancy and stars Matt Oberg. Tickets are $15. Please visit http://www.clancyproductions.com/ for more information.
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