This Week in This Week

Contributed by Guest Blogger of the week, Neal Freeman

I decided for my last blog post for this week (and possibly ever) that I would do a little nutshell of the things I have done during the week in my capacity of Executive Director of The Gallery Players and producer of our upcoming show, What the Butler Saw. This is all while working one full-time job and two other part-time jobs. I suspect much of this will be familiar to those of you who produce at or run independent theater companies in New York. For the rest of you, it will probably be completely boring.

As things go, this was actually a pretty light week.

Monday
At 11am I met one of our volunteers at the theater who has some expertise in sound equipment and who helped me diagnose some of the problems we’d been having with our system. We trekked in the rain carrying expensive and extremely heavy sound equipment to the repair store via subway. I figured with the two of us we could save money on a car service and use public transportation. Stupid idea.

At the repair store, the guy said he would call me with a diagnosis and I told him that if the repairs exceeded $300 that I wanted to talk. More on this topic later.

Other things that happened today: Assembled text for a promo postcard for Reefer Madness, our next show, and sent to the graphic designer. Organized scheduling for space usage next weekend for What the Butler Saw. Proofed program copy for Butler.

We had an open call for Reefer Madness in the evening and while I wasn’t myself there, I felt the pain when Heather, our artistic director, texted me that 147 people had signed in to audition. That is a BIG turnout.

Tuesday
Today I found out that the guy at the repair shop had gone ahead and fixed our sound equipment at a cost of $460 without calling me with a diagnosis or estimate. I was a little mad about that and I told him so.

In any event, it was time to pick up the equipment. I started calling car services (see above – I try to be stupid only once per incident). The first one I found wanted $54 to get from Chelsea to Park Slope. I had used a car service back in March when I had to get our keyboard repaired and they charged only $20 to go from the East Village to Park Slope. I couldn’t remember the name though, so I did some detective work and went through my e-mail to find the date that I went to pick up the keyboard, and then I went to my cell phone account online and looked at the numbers I called on that date. I googled a likely number and discovered the car service I wanted. They offered me $25 for the trip. Success! Car ride back to the theater with heavy sound equipment.

At the theater, I took the opportunity to check in with the director and PSM of Butler, welcomed our brand new ASM who was attending her first rehearsal, got the mail, paid some bills, and started organizing a production meeting for the weekend.

When I got home I filled out and scanned the letter of agreement and credit card authorization forms that TDF Costume Collection requires so that our Butler costume designer could visit this week. Sent about a dozen more e-mails organizing various Butler-related things.

Wednesday

Today was mostly e-mails and no legwork. I tried to arrange a couple of e-blast trades for Butler. I did a few updates to our website. I labeled envelopes and stuffed/sealed 30 thank you letters to Materials for the Arts. I had printed these letters and labels last week right after the shopping trip and felt a little guilty that the letters were all dated August 13th and here it was August 25th and I had not yet mailed them. Overcame guilt. Mailed them.

Side note: does it not seem strange that an organization all about re-using and re-cycling should require so much paper to be wasted on these silly thank you notes?

Thursday

Received via e-mail a cut of a promo video for Butler and posted it on our youtube channel and on the show’s webpage, and inserted it in the draft e-blast we have ready to go out on Monday. Updated the website some more, and got the ball rolling on an antique wheelchair we are trying to get back to the theater to use in Butler. Scanned the headshots of the actors to send in for the program. In the evening I attended a required grants seminar with the Brooklyn Arts Council. A dozen other e-mails on various other little details relating mainly to Butler and to Reefer.

Friday

A few e-mails today on a few Butler-related details. Otherwise, a quiet day in Gallery Players land.

Saturday

Woke up thinking about Butler and fired off e-mails to the designers to check in as we are one week before tech. Then had lunch with our artistic director and our publicist to discuss strategies for the upcoming season. Then to the theater to help build the set for Butler. We had some volunteers there and progress has been excellent. Stayed until rehearsal began at 6pm. Over the course of the day I spoke with or corresponded with all five Butler designers.

Sunday

Back to the theater at 10:30am for a set/props meeting for Butler, then stayed for a designer run-thru at noon. Stuck around the theater after the run doing some miscellaneous facilities tasks and clean-up. A few more tidbits on e-mail for the rest of the day.

And scene.

Next week, more of the same. Except no more blog writing.

Thanks for reading my blogs this week. If you’d like discounted tickets to come see What the Butler Saw at The Gallery Players (Sept 11-26, very funny!) message me at neal(at)galleryplayers.com and tell me you loved my blog. If necessary, lie.

Guest Blogger of the week: Neal Freeman

A HUGE Thank you to Mariah MacCarthy for re-invigorating Full of IT last week! What a great topic - one we should be talking more about, I think.

We are very excited to announce next week's guest blogger - Neal Freeman!

Neal J. Freeman is a director, producer, writer, sound designer, and former actor who currently serves as Executive Director of Brooklyn's The Gallery Players. He has directed nine shows for that theater, including last season's IT-nominated new musical Top of the Heap. Other companies in the city he has worked for include Ensemble Studio Theatre, Sonnet Rep, Naked Angels, and Epic Theater Center, in addition to serving as an assistant for a half dozen shows with OBIE-winning Ridge Theater. Neal wrote, directed, and produced Fatboy Romeo for FringeNYC in 2006, and produced and directed in Week 38 of Suzan-Lori Parks' 365 Days/365 Plays in NYC with a showing at New World Stages. He is currently at work on a new play based on a family WWII story called A Letter from Bataan, which was workshopped at the 2010 Lincoln Center Directors Lab and is the recipient of a 2010 Seed Grant from The Drama League Directors Project. Neal is a proud graduate of the Cornell University Department of Theatre, Film, and Dance and holds an MFA in Directing from Brooklyn College. Member of SDC and Lincoln Center Directors Lab. www.moatedgrange.com

Guest Blogger of the week: Mariah MacCarthy

I'm excited to announce our Guest Blogger of the week: Mariah MacCarthy!

Mariah MacCarthy is an OOB playwright and sometimes director/dramaturg/producer. Her plays include Dismemberment (Player's Theatre), A Man of His Word (San Diego Old Globe with Playwrights Project), Ampersand: A Romeo & Juliet Story (Looking Glass Theatre, winner of 20 Looking Glass Forum Awards), and The All-American Genderf*ck Cabaret (sold-out run at UNDER St. Mark's with Rapscallion Theatre Collective). She has a blog, A Rehearsal Room of One's Own, and is in the process of incubating an OOB theater company with fellow playwright Larry Kunofsky.

The Question or, Really I just wanted to be Diane Keaton

Hi everyone! Off-off Broadway superstar, Kevin Townley, here! If you’ve never heard of me then you’ve just proved my point, so the laugh’s on you.

I am honored to have been included in the illustrious roster of guest bloggers here.

I’ve been listening to the new Laurie Anderson album, Homeland, a lot this week. In the track Another Day in America she references Kierkegaard’s idea that life can only be understood backwards, but must be lived forwards.

This resonated with me a lot the night I wrapped up a five-hour photoshoot with my dear friend and collaborator, Hanna Cheek, where we had to simulate sex and a stabbing in our underwear. As an isolated moment in time this made absolutely no sense at all, but in retrospect my whole life had been leading up to this moment.

I grew up in Boulder, CO, and after graduating from high school I had decided to pack my Teletubby luggage and move to New York City. To prepare myself for the move I decided to rent movies about swinging city life. I watched every Woody Allen movie (this was 1996, so they hadn’t nosedived yet) and dreamed of being invited to the lush dinner parties of Upper East-siders where we’d all be wearing high-waisted chinos, deriding Heidegger and listening to Bix Beiderbecke records. Really I just wanted to be Diane Keaton.

On one of the last days before I moved, I was at the Boulder Public Library, leafing through a big hardcover book called something like The Paramount Story, all about the film studio. On one page about midway through the book there was a huge black and white photograph of Diane Keaton smoking a cigarette on the steps of a brownstone, wearing a trench coat over a plaid button down shirt and tight jeans tucked into a pair of knee-high boots. It was a still from a movie called Looking for Mr. Goodbar and she was the coolest person I’d ever laid my eyes on. This movie seemed essential arsenal in my quest to become a sophisticated New Yorker and Diane Keaton. I rented it that night and was completely traumatized…for life you might say; the one poster in my house is an original one-sheet of Looking for Mr. Goodbar. Those of you who have seen this troubled and troubling film will understand why; everyone else, go watch in on Netflix Watch Instantly (it’s not available on DVD).

The film was based on the best selling novel of the same name by Judith Rossner and tells the story of a young woman tangled up in a double life. The Netflix film description says:

Diane Keaton plays young teacher Theresa Dunn, whose initially innocent search to find the man of her dreams escalates into increasingly promiscuous and dangerous encounters with men she meets at bars. An outwardly caring nurturer living a banal existence by day, she thrives on the thrill of her evening trysts, which eventually involve drugs and violence. As she's spinning out of control, she vows to clean up -- but not before one final rendezvous.

Pretty grim stuff.

A few years ago I joined a rock band called Bambi as a singer and was asked to try my hand a writing lyrics. I had no idea what to write about, so I just decided to write about things that I liked: Jane Goodall, The Bride of Frankenstein and…Looking for Mr. Goodbar.

My good friend, Jimmie Marlowe, the band’s guitarist, took my lyrics summarizing the Goodbar story and turned them into a plaintive rock ballad inspired by Barry Manilow’s 'Mandy'. We performed it a lot over the next few years and it was always very popular at our shows. After completing an album we were all trying to decide what to work on next and Jimmie suggested we try our hand at a concept album. “Why not try adapting Looking for Mr. Goodbar into a concept album?” he suggested. The story resonated with all of us; we’d all had our share of wild nights in New York, made some fun but stupid choices and were all lucky enough to live to tell the tale. We spent the next few months tinkering around with the idea, making some headway, but, as with many artists, with no real deadline to keep us in check nothing concrete really came of it.

Then one day I got a call from Tom Ridgely, one of the co-founders of my theatre company, Waterwell, asking me if Bambi would like to collaborate with them on a project. “You guys are so theatrical already, it might be fun to put what you do into a more narrative structure; something that’s not quite a rock show and not quite theater.” I was excited by the idea and told him about our Goodbar project. There were a few moments of silence and then he said, “Well I’m not sure if that’s quite it, but let’s talk about it more.”

Before we could really discuss other options, Tom called to let me know that our friend Freedome from the City Parks Foundation had contacted him wondering if Waterwell had any ideas to pitch for SummerStage’s 25th Anniversary season. Goodbar was a go. We held an eight-song presentation for Freedome and he booked us. “I don’t know what you guys are doing, but I love you and trust you. See you in August.”

If we were going to crack open our hearts and skulls for this project we were aiming for a life beyond August, but this was the lighted rag we needed under our asses to kick this project into gear and completed.

I really had no idea why we were choosing to re-imagine this old chestnut from the ‘70s, aside from a dark teenage fixation. If we were going to expend the required amount of time and energy into hauling this project into being, there ought to be a reason. To paraphrase Victor Hugo, material that is not universal and timeless isn’t really worth exploring.

Whenever Waterwell embarks on a new project we try to find a central question that we can continuously come back to in order to make sure we’re on the right track. For Goodbar I had stumbled upon a proverb that the Buddhist nun, Pema Chodron, used in a lecture I’d head: “Death is certain; the time of death is uncertain; what is the most important thing?”

We all reread Judith Rossner’s strange third-person-omniscient novel, fired up my old VHS copy of the movie and wrote fifteen new songs in under eight months.

As is often the case when you collaborate with a bunch of creative kooks, the project you each hold so dearly begins to take on a life of its own, dictating to you what it wants to be and your job is to hold on; not too loosely and not too tight.

One thing we all seemed to agree on was that we did not want this to be Looking for Mr. Goodbar: The Musical! Any source material from the ‘70s has the potential to become a kitsch-fest, and there was something deep, dark and timeless about the material, which kept calling us back to it. Plus, we’d all seen our share of Off-Broadway and Broadway “rock musicals” which had missed the mark; just more showtunes played on the electric guitar, sung by trained conservatory voices with stick-on faux-hawks. We had something more along the lines of Kte Baush’s Hounds of Love or The Who’s Tommy in mind.

Bambi is an actual rock band and we wanted to revisit the lost art of the concept album. What we aim at is closer to a classical oratorio than anything else; something with deep, resonant themes that‘s all music all the time; no contrived scenes, just rock and roll with enough abstracted holes in between songs so the audience can fill in the blanks with themselves.

We did want to be true to the story though, which had a few plot points and six main characters, so we enlisted the help of the stellar video artist, Alex Koch. We decided that we’d need a feature-length video element to help us clarify the story and characters we’re portraying. It seemed a logical next step to enlist the help of actor friends to appear in the video and through a few crafty emails we were able to get Ira Glass, Bobby Cannavale, Dave Hill and other New York notables to lend their time and talents to the project.

For the roles of the main character, Theresa, and her killer Gary, however, Hanna and I decided to step up to the plate. We figured if we were going to take on such dark material we ought to put our money where our mouths were. This meant recreating the final, blood-curdling murder scene.

So I grew a creeper moustache and met Hanna and the crew at a friend’s apartment this past Sunday night. In keeping with the story, I simulated a sex scene with my dear friend, tied her up with a phone cord and stabbed her to death (Hanna’s currently alive and well performing another show in Canada). The cameraman suggested that he shoot the actual stabbing from her perspective. He didn’t want to get fake blood on his nice shirt though, so he stripped down to his undies (I was already in mine) and I straddled him with a switchblade in hand while our director, Arian Moayed, stood by, flinging fake blood at me from a jam jar with a tablespoon as I pretended to stab him to death.

My life is weird.

We still have a few weeks of rehearsal; choreographing and staging the show, which will premier at East River Park on August 20th.

It’s interesting to see how little seeds unknowingly planted in the past begin to spring up years and years later.

The show will continue to grow and change, and who, really, can say what will happen to our baby? Who can really spend too much time worrying about what will happen next when we’re all having such an amazingly fulfilling time creating something together?

Death is certain; the time of death is uncertain; what is the most important thing?

Guest Blogger of the week: Kevin Townley

Thank you to last week's blogger Michael Criscuolo.

We are happy to announce next week's Guest Blogger: Kevin Townley

Kevin Townley is a writer, singer, improviser and actor who has performed in elementary school cafeterias, Hollywood blockbusters and everywhere in between. A mainstay of the downtown New York theatre scene, he has worked with such legends and notables as John "Lypsinka" Epperson (My Deah), Harry Koutoukas (Ring of Death), Wynn Handman and Suzanne Shepherd. He’s performed his one person show Let’s Get Lost: Ameila Earhart Sings the Blues at Joe’s Pub, Ars Nova and The Gershwin Hotel. As a member of the acclaimed theatre company Waterwell, Kevin has written and performed in the off-Braodway shows Marco Millions (based on lies), The/King/Operetta and #9. Along with the British cult band, The Tiger Liliies, he appeared in the international hit Shockheaded Peter. He can be seen on your TV screen in several episodes of Law & Order, not to mention playing a young Eddie Izzard in Ivan Reitman's My Super Ex-Girlfriend. He sings in the band Bambi, who, in collaboration with Waterwell, are developing a rock adaptation of Judith Rossner's Looking for Mr. Goodbar for SummerStage. Kevin also co-hosts and produces The Talent Show, a monthly variety show, which has showcased the talents of Ira Glass, John Hodgman, Dave Hill, Paul Dinello and Jeff Garlin, to name just a few. The Associated Press has called him "Magnetic" and "Fabulous".

A Wishlist for the New York Theater Community

Contributed by our Guest Blogger of the week, Michael Criscuolo

Theater fans, if you're like me then you've probably experienced one (or more) of the following:

• You've seen a bad show
• You've been in a bad show
• You've felt like your time was wasted by said shows
• You've felt frustrated by all of this and powerless to do anything about it

And, if you're like me, you've daydreamed a million times about how you'd change things (for the better, of course) if you were in charge.

Today, because I can, I'd like to indulge the side of myself that fantasizes about such things (thank you, NYIT Awards blog). It's been a while since I've had a blog of my own where I could hold forth on such matters. And my friends are sick of listening to me natter on about the following.

So, without any further ado, I give you my wishlist for the New York theater community. Just a little missive outlining some measures I'd take if I had a say in anything.

• I wish that actors would take their bios more seriously. For real. I know that most actors would rather be caught dead than write their bio. And when forced to do so they often come up with something my grandmother would've sharply called "smart aleck-y." But hear me out on this. Read the following totally irreverent bio that I just made up and tell me what you think:
  

Jane Smith has appeared in numerous Off-Off Broadway productions you probably haven't seen at a plethora of theaters that are mostly defunct. She doesn't have an MFA but still thinks she's a good actor. She owes everything, especially her ass, to Hamster.

You've read that bio countless times. Maybe you've even written it. And yeah, it's funny. When you're drunk at a party. But, in every other context, you know what I think whenever I see a bio like that? That the actor who wrote it doesn't take themselves very seriously. And they're not interested in having other people take them seriously. You see, I think bios are as important as your headshot and resume. They are another way of presenting yourself to the public. And more people will see your bio than will see your P/R.

So, with that in mind: what would you want a total stranger – who’s possibly going to see you act for the first time – to know about you? That you like cheese? That you’ve been in a bunch of stuff no one’s seen? That your cat’s name is Buster? I think not. Next time you’re about to write “that bio,” take a minute to think about the kind of impression you really want to make on people. You might reconsider.

Personally, I always try to write the kind of bio I like reading: one that tells people what I’ve done. In terms of acting and the biz, what you’ve done is who you are. And, as far as I’m concerned, if you don’t present yourself professionally, no one’s going to treat you that way.

• I wish that actors and directors would take curtain call more seriously. I know you’ve seen this one before. You’ve just spent two hours watching a really good show: good acting, good directing, good everything. Lights fade to black. You take a deep, edifying breath. Rapturous applause starts. The lights come back up, and...

The entire cast ambles back on for the sloppiest, most lackadaisical curtain call you’ve ever seen in your life.

Nobody knows who to take the bow off of, so everyone just kind of bows when they feel like it. It’s all very slapdash and hasty. The actors look embarrassed and eager to get it over with. Then they walk off in all directions without uniformity. It’s obvious to everyone that the director threw the curtain call together about two minutes before the house opened.

To which I say: unacceptable.

I know. You’re probably thinking I’m a crusty old crank right about now. But listen to what I’m about to say: the show deserves a good curtain call. Why? Because it’s part of the show. And it is as indicative of the show’s overall quality as anything else in it.

The actors deserve a good curtain call too. Why? Because they earned it by going onstage that night and putting their proverbial ass on the line in front of a roomful of strangers. The curtain call is the only chance most of those audience members will ever get to show their appreciation for the actors.

The audience wants to show appreciation (usually). The actors like to be appreciated (no matter how embarrassed they are by it). Everybody needs the curtain call. And a good one reflects well on the show. Don’t shortchange everyone by throwing it together at the last minute. Put it together during the last week of rehearsal and practice it at every run-through up to opening. Going the extra mile on this will put you head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd. (And individual bows for the leading players aren’t a bad idea either – I’m just saying...)

• I wish more theaters would open the house at 7:30. This one is more for all the Indie Theater companies out there since, for the most part, their Broadway and Off-Broadway counterparts already do this. To me, this is a simple thing that conveys a powerful message: opening the house at 7:30 tells people that you’re prepared and ready to do the show.

Remember all the times you’ve gone to see your friend’s show, only to arrive at 7:45 to find the house not opened yet and all the actors and crew people running around trying to get ready in time for an 8:00 curtain? Sure you do.

And do you remember what you thought every time you saw that? I’ll bet you do.

I know what I think every time I see that: Uh-oh.

As in: God only knows what the hell we’re in for tonight. This is not a good way for any audience member – or cast member, for that matter – to start the show.

Now, I know what you’re going to say: Listen, Mr. Crusty Old Guest Blogger! Things happen before a show sometimes. Things go wrong. Equipment doesn’t work. Actors are late. You can’t plan for these contingencies – you can only address them when they happen!

Yeah, yeah – I know. But that doesn’t mean you can’t open the damn theater and let people in. Its part of the accepted social contract of doing theater: audience members expect the house to be open when they show up. So they can take their time settling in, going to the bathroom, reading the program, doing whatever. If the house opens at 7:55 and the show starts at 8:00, the audience has to rush to do all of these. Or even worse (as I’m sure they would tell you): they have to figure out which of these they have time for before the show starts and which one can wait for later.

And let me tell you: if they choose to wait until after the show to go to the john, it’s going to be a long night for everyone.

Plus, it’s a good thing to do for the cast and crew. Once the house opens, they all have a chance to settle themselves in for some pre-show quiet time, focus, prepare, and just generally be calm before the show starts. If everyone is running around doing this, that, and the other right up to curtain, there’s very little time left for anyone to focus on the task at hand. Dare I say that’s totally unfair to one’s cast and crew? I will dare.

I could go on like this for hours, but you get the gist of what I’m saying: I’m basically a crank.

Seriously, though. I’m a detail guy. Because, to me, little details are always what make the larger whole more interesting and memorable. And I think that everyone who does theater should pay more attention to details like the one’s I’ve mentioned above. Because ignoring them only makes the unattended gaps in the larger whole more obvious.

Interesting and memorable will always bring audiences back to the theater, as well as theater artists and practitioners. Unattended gaps will not.

Thanks for letting me bend your ears a bit, theater fans. I now return you to your regularly scheduled guest blogging.