Office Drama

Fired Up

2010-08-01T23:15:00.001-07:00

Theatre has the power to do something strange. It happened to me on Saturday.

I was house managing that evening. The first act had begun, and I was sitting up at the front of the house, behind the counter, staring out through the window at the train tracks across the street. I had already organized the money, straightened up the snacks, locked the front door, and assisted the lizards with their costumes. I had nothing left to do until intermission except sit and wait. It was dark inside and getting darker outside every minute, but the lights highlighting the "Now Playing" sign in the front window gave the theatre a pleasant glow.

I was sitting still to avoid making unnecessary noises that might be overheard by the audience. The stage is in the space immediately adjacent to the lobby, so I sat there quietly, in secret, in the dark, feeling as though I was eavesdropping on the people out on stage.

And without realizing it, as I looked out through the window waiting for another train to pass, my eyes stopped wandering, and I became completely engrossed in the words I heard the next room over. I no longer stared hard at the train tracks but instead looked through them, focusing on a point out in space where I could sit and concentrate on the words being spoken, as if to me, in the next room over. Charlie was quietly describing the feeling of sitting underwater and letting the sand and seaweed and silence fall and settle all around while the ocean stretched out infinitely before him. I realized I felt the same thing, waiting in the darkness of the lobby, letting the sounds from the stage find their way out to where I sat, staring out the front window - a goldfish looking out at everything behind the glass of its fishbowl. And without warning a world of possibilities erupted in that window.

It's difficult to describe, but that moment was utterly peaceful and completely electrifying. Amidst the dim lights and the quiet and the smell of coffee from the coffee machine, I was quite suddenly invited to be a part of it all. And what a reassuring feeling it was for a lonely eavesdropper waiting for intermission.

Mutate or Perish Part II: Glass Half Full

2010-07-30T16:34:00.000-07:00

What are you going to tell me about? Slaughter and pointlessness? Come on up here. Stay. The optimists say you mustn't look just yet, that it's all going to work out fine, no matter what you've heard. The pessimists, on the other hand . . .

-Charlie
Edward Albee's Seascape

I've been house managing a couple of nights a week during the run of Seascape at Dragon, so I've heard the show aloud a number of times from my where I guard the cookies and wine at the concession stand. Hearing the play - and being denied the visual counterpart - is such a unique experience. If you recall one of my earlier posts, "Mutate or Perish," I discussed a quote that peaked my interest when reading the script. Now, when I hear the play, I find myself continually struck by the lines quoted above. Once again, Charlie's got me thinking.

I've decided that this post deserves its "Part II" title because I'm starting to "hear" the bigger picture Albee is painting with Seascape. In short...

Charlie has already established that we have an important choice to make - to "mutate or perish" - two pages prior to considering the difference between a pessimist's and an optimist's world views (as quoted above). Charlie has already revealed that evolution is an active process: one that we must take responsibility for in our own lives and for our own survival. Charlie notes, with not a little urgency - that evolution of the self is a necessary part of the natural flow.

It's interesting, then, that when Charlie turns to the lizards and discusses their decision to change - in this case to try living on land - he ignores the victory of choosing evolution over the status quo. Rather, he acknowledges the necessity of that choice and then directs his full attention to the (somewhat limited) circumstances of that choice.

For Charlie, as he himself reveals, the world exists in one of two opposing realms: rosy or rainy.

1. If you're an optimist, you adapt to the world until it becomes a more pleasant place to live. As long as we don't "look just yet," we can hope for the best.

2. If you're a pessimist, you also adapt to the world. You simply do it with the knowledge that the world won't change.

What I find so interesting here is that both of these world-views support the idea that the world is entirely beyond our control. So I suppose the real question we should be asking ourselves at this point, given our revolutionary insight into evolution (compliments of Charlie), is whether or not personal evolution is simply a matter of adaptation. As far as I can tell, Charlie seems to think so. And how limiting this perspective is! In my last post I was thrilled by the possibilities presented by the script. It now seems genuinely strange and an honest shame that it should also condemn us to exist either as ignorant (and apparently blind) idealists or hardened cynics.

With the help of Charlie's suggestions we have looked at evolution - a force well beyond immediate control and often beyond comprehension - and seen our own active place in it. And in another instant we can forget it all, scrambling to identify with either the optimists or the pessimists. Unfortunately, Charlie could not see the real potential or appreciate the real power of his own argument.

What Albee ultimately revealed to me at my seat behind the concessions counter is that if we can give ourselves the opportunity to actively evolve, then we don't have to be prisoners to what might seem to be "the natural order." We can change ourselves, and we can change the world. Instead of waiting for the arrival of better days (or denying outright the possibility they will come), we have the chance to make better days. We are empowered by our options.

The characters in Albee's play face plenty of unknowns throughout the production: the lizards meet the entire air-breathing world - seagulls, jet planes, and humans included - while Nancy and Charlie are introduced to creatures from a world to which they simply do not belong. And, although fear and passion dominate moments of these interactions, neither party resorts to a quick-change act to survive. And despite Charlie's fear, nobody dies. It's not that adaptation is unnecessary, only secondary. In other words, choosing to evolve and deciding to survive are active measures, but are only as effective as we allow them to be. The choices we discover in life are not empowering if we allow them to ultimately strip us of our identities and forces us to be what our environment demands.

[side note: I realize that the world is not made of rainbows and that the world can't be exactly what we envision. At times we do have to adjust to difficult situations and unfortunate circumstances. Still, I think the somewhat radical point Albee makes is valid: there is value in being open-minded and being prepared to take ownership of one's own life and experience. It's all well and good to choose change, to find a new perspective, to be creative...but what good is expanding ourselves if we limit the scope of our experience?]

And this is what Albee proves with the help of two giant lizards and an aging couple facing the retirement years: change yourself and then change your world. Nancy doesn't have to wait around for Charlie to have adventures. Charlie doesn't have to die to encounter new ideas. Sarah and Leslie don't have to fear the unknown and hide away underwater. We don't have to be optimistic unrealistic, idealistic, or pessimistic.
If we're willing, we can find the alternatives.
If we're willing, we can be whatever we want.

Behind the Scenes

2010-07-15T02:25:00.001-07:00

A dynamic group of photos from rehearsal...

A Lesson in Design

2010-07-12T15:09:00.000-07:00

Theatre is all about creation. A play produces a wide range of concepts which allow for the generation of tangible, living manifestations of the text. I am intrigued by the possibilities inherent to this. People read a script and create an experience of it, showing us, the audience, how to react and perceive the moment. Before coming to Dragon (and arguably since arriving), my greatest interests lay with performance. And I will never tire of acting. Actors have an enormous challenge, but also a great deal of power. Plus, actors are active and variable. There is an endless list of possibilities in terms of what an actor might do on stage, creating an element of surprise and a certain degree of honesty that I believe is unique to live theatre and important to the experience of the text.

However, I've been reminded since beginning to work that actors act on a set - they exist in a given space and are conceptually limited by the world into which they're dropped. Sets are often the first thing an audience sees on stage, and sets enhance (or maybe disrupt) the resulting experience. To be honest, I am not a visual artist, and I have admittedly never given set design much thought. I understand that sets are important, and I have appreciated good set design in the past, but I have not until now recognized how incredibly vital a set is to the life of a play. In other words, I thought that the stage and props and backgrounds were where the text came to life. I have since learned that the set is simply another way that the text lives.

I had the opportunity to work on the set construction for Seascape with a fantastic set designer, artist, one-man crew, (and on an unrelated note, musician) Gavin Sanchez. For something I have traditionally seen as a static element (and often simply technical challenge) of stage productions, this set proved not only incredibly difficult to create but also surprisingly unpredictable and very much alive.

If nothing else, I now have a genuine appreciation of the work it takes to design and build a set. As it turns out, there are a tremendous amount of layers existing beneath what the audience will ultimately see on opening night, and I have recorded some of the progress the Seascape set has made over the last couple of weeks:

The Dragon Theatre is a small, black-box theatre, which means that Gavin had a fairly small space to fill and dress. But don't be fooled - the size of the stage made up for what was perhaps saved in paint and materials with an entirely new set of challenges and difficulties. After all, the play is called "Seascape." That, in addition to four actors, is what we are fitting into this space. Scale is incredibly important to how the play is perceived, and Gavin noted more than once that putting people on set would make it shrink. Not only this, but the amount of space the actors would need to move had to be taken into consideration. Plus, the actors are often climbing - that's right, climbing - on the set pieces during the play. All of this, and we haven't even gotten started on aesthetic appeal... This photo shows the skeleton of the two main set pieces, the pier and the dune, that Gavin already had in place when I began giving a hand on set.

I personally put in a lot of work on the pier, which needed to look like old wood. I started by priming the entire piece and then layering paint on top to give it depth and texture. Gavin taught me how to use two colors and a cup of water to produce what you see here. I started by giving the pier a base layer of brown paint and then, while it was still wet, adding streaks of black. With water I was able to blend the colors just enough so that the surface of the pier would look like individual planks of wood with a lot of dimension and age. I came back with a stiff paint brush and a very small amount of black paint to generate a wood visible wood grain effect. This layering process occurred over the period of about a week and will hopefully leave the pier looking like it's been sitting on stage for years.

Gavin also had me measure out and tape lines about every six inches across the painted surface. We eventually filled these lines with black paint to emphasize the separate "planks" used to construct the pier.

What you see here are shadow lines drawn between "planks." Apart from sealing the paint job and giving the pier a good beating (aka "antiquing"), this was the last step. This layering is about creating depth and tricking the eye when it's viewing the set from the audience's perspective.

As for the dune, it was covered in chicken wire (to make it look like a rounded dune), padding (to help protect the actors required to climb it), and muslin. After that, and with much spilling on ourselves, Gavin and I coated the entire piece with a water and paint sealant mixture. This would eventually dry hard and leave a stiff surface onto which Gavin could paint.

You can see here what Gavin constructed behind the crest of the dune. Notice that this space is invisible to the audience but crucial to the actors' accessibility to the dune, to their blocking, and to their safety on set. It is construction like this that makes the environment on stage so versatile. The actors, in many ways, must adapt to these spaces and allow their characters to occupy them in a realistic way, even when the audience can't see.

What followed was paint. Everything was primed, allowed to dry, and then coated with beige. The rock at the base of the dune was given a gray base.

Later, a variety of colors were speckled across stage along with white streaks to give the floor some color and texture so that it might look more like wind-blown sand. On the far left you can see a close-up of the detail given to the floor.

Hands down the best skill I gained over my weeks of set work -grommeting. Because the play is in a black box theatre, a large panel of beige curtain was needed to break up the black walls and provide a backdrop for lighting.Ultimately, this curtain will help create the illusion of sky and add brightness to an otherwise incredibly dark space.Gavin found the fabric - all 190 square feet of it - you can see the full effect of the panel in this photo.

And with a few finishing touches - rocks, sticks and shells to dress up the stage, additional color and texture on the large rock at the base of the dune, a crooked fence - the set takes on a life and personality of its own.

And with a few finishing touches - rocks, sticks and shells to dress up the, additional color and texture on the large rock at the base of the dune, a crooked fence - the set takes on a life and personality of its own.

Take note, this isn't quite the finished product. I didn't think I should reveal the completed set online when it's begging for an audience. The best I can do is strongly suggest you come and see it for yourself during the run of the show. I can say, with a certain amount of authority, that you won't be disappointed.

Things to Look Forward to...

2010-07-08T16:04:00.000-07:00

I connected with my artistic self and designed this flyer announcing Dragon's 2011 Season. You can pick one up at the Los Altos Art and Wine Festival July 10th and 11th (or until the season brochures come in...).

You can also check out the new season line-up at the website: http://www.dragonproductions.net/activities/2011season.html.

Lizards. A Brief and Incomplete Overview.

2010-07-01T10:28:00.000-07:00

Dragon is in the process of preparing for its next show, Seascape, a play by Edward Albee.

Two of Seascape's main characters are lizards.

As dramaturge, I was asked to research lizard behavior.

I now know more about lizards than I ever thought I would.

So I thought I would share some of my knowledge with you.

LIZARDS:

Movement and body language are extremely important to lizard communication:

front leg, lizard “push ups”

attention getting tactic preceding some vocal or visual messages (often in noisy environments or in the presence of lizards some distance away) – also possibly a territorial display

Straightening legs and arching the back displays territorial dominance

Male lizards of some species bob their heads forcefully, fight other males, or display bright colors (such as those found on the throat sack or skin flap) to attract females

Flicking of the tongue allows a lizard to smell its surroundings and get a sense of its environment (Lizards do have ear holes but lack ear flaps; their sense of hearing is inferior to humans’)

Some lizards open their mouths wide and hiss to display annoyance or to appear aggressive

Many species hibernate during the winter

Lizards are cold blooded – most species are active during the day and bask in sunlight

Lizards have scales and shed their skins

Defense mechanisms vary by species – some have tactics to appear larger to predators, one species can emit blood from its eye sockets, one species will roll into a tight ball to protect its soft underside, and many species can drop their tails

Some lizards are herbivores, others carnivores – the majority of species eat insects

Not satisfied? Watch lizards in action!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKyapVMPikA

Sources (in case you just have to know more):

Mutate or Perish

2010-07-01T10:11:00.000-07:00

Mutate or perish. Let your tail drop off, change or spots, or maybe just your point of view...It's called flux. And it's always going on; right now, to all of us.

- Charlie
Edward Albee’s Seascape

Seascape opens at Dragon in less than two weeks, and I’ve had my hands full with a variety of Seascape related tasks: set work, postcard distribution, etc. But despite all of the things keeping me occupied, these lines won’t leave me alone. Seascape is a fantastical play. It’s thought-provoking and curious and all of the things that make for a pleasant theatre experience – two human sized lizards crawl out of the ocean and engage in meaningful conversation about life with an aging couple. It screams whimsy. But these lines leave me surprisingly uncomfortable. Albee’s language is memorable in its poetic quality, and I appreciate his style. But there is urgency to these words, and each time I read them I’m caught off guard…

"Mutate or perish."

The problem, I’ve decided, is that I’m almost certain I would perish. I just know flux wouldn’t choose me. So I decided to stop thinking about it. But writing like Edward Albee’s is not easily forgotten, so I was forced to take a moment to take seriously what Charlie says at this particular point in the play (in this case, to two human-sized, English-speaking sea creatures).

CHANGE or DIE.

That’s what it says to me, and for a comical, quirky, whimsical play, this is horrifying subtext. And it's not even subtext - it's dialogue!

CHANGE or DIE.

Now, if we make an extremely condensed (and I imagine according to many scientists, watered down) statement about evolution and survival, this makes some kind of biological, or at the very least, historical sense. Creatures face changes in the environment, they adjust, and they live to procreate another day. If not, they face extinction. This concept is not some great, recent discovery (believe it or not, I managed to get through 10th grade biology without my world shattering all around me). What proves so disconcerting with Charlie’s discourse is less the general content than it is his attitude. In other words, Charlie looks at evolution and treats it as though it is any other part of his life and not just a chapter in his high school biology textbook. I knew evolution was real before, but Charlie made it real to me.

As it turns out, I’m extremely uncomfortable with this new perspective. Evolution has always seemed to me to be something like a reflex or an involuntary muscle spasm - it just happens, starting at the smallest molecular level. But when it suddenly has a say in my life, it doesn't seem particularly fair. So some animals don't adjust fast enough to keep up with what the universe has planned. What their molecules were up to wasn't any of their business anyway. Why should they die for it? Why should I?

And the words just keep ringing in my ears…but this time they ring differently. “Mutate or perish.” These are active verbs. Things we do. Ultimately the reason Charlie can make it so real is because he takes ownership of it. He accepts the possibility that we're not actually on the sidelines, rooting on our molecules to get in the game and make survival happen. He recognizes the choice.

As in, Make a CHANGE or DIE.

But is it really better this way? With difficult choices come difficult decisions: you can abandon what you know yourself to be or just cease to be. Clearly the only choice you really have is to accept the "flux," which is still terrifying. After all, there's a very good reason we can't feel the earth spinning beneath our feet. If we kick stability to the curb we'd probably kick ourselves in the process.

But maybe the alternative is worse. Maybe we are biologically engineered to be open-minded, creative people. Maybe preserving life isn’t a matter of finding new fuels to feed it, but thinking of brilliant new ways to live it. Maybe our species was born with the gift of flexibility and patience. Maybe we have the unique ability to adapt by shedding old perspectives. Maybe we are designed to survive.

Or maybe we’re not.
I just wonder how long we have to die before we know we've made the wrong decision.