Poetry & Blindfolds

 

In 2009, I’ve had only two dalliances with the theater, both as part of the “24 Hour Plays”, a show that is created and performed in roughly 24 (not consecutive) hours.  The schedule was: actors, writers and directors all came together on a Saturday, then the directors and actors left, leaving the writers to construct ten-minute shows based on their few seconds meeting the various actors (and reviewing the show-and-tell of props that were volunteered).  On Sunday, the directors arrived at 2pm, read all the plays (pre-cast) and picked their favorites.  At 3pm, the actors arrived and were herded by their directors into various obscure locations (parking lots, coffee houses, basements, etc.) to rehearse until 8pm, when everyone re-assembled for tech rehearsal.  The next night, Monday, saw the full show open and close. 

 

The show, originally a product of New Yorkers, was fronted by producer Brian Cohen, a guy I watched intently.  He ruled with an iron fist, but one with velvet lining.  Very firm, but very nice about it.  I learned a lot off him. 

 

For my first show with “24”, I was a director, which I freely admitted was a way to dip my toe in the water as it seemed the easiest of the jobs (the other two being writer and actor).  Of the five pieces written for that week’s performance, I picked the oddest: two demons fighting over a just-deceased soul while eventually being trumped by a seemingly well-intentioned Angel of God.  The actors were an interesting hodgepodge of talents and abilities, so I thought it best to encourage them all not to act at all while they were doing their lines.  That approach worked pretty well, as they all shone well as a result, especially an actor named Liz Chase, who was brilliantly comic – despite having no lines and spending the performance tied up and behind a hockey mask.   How did she do it?  I don’t know.   My only theory: she’s got a bit of the Gilda to her. Scriptwise, I don’t think we had the strongest, but we got the most honest laughs for the night’s performance.

 

For the second show, I was recruited by Brian to be an actor.  I wasn’t able to attend the Saturday “meet and greet” and offered to do a video that Brian could show to the writers, but he said it was fine, that he would describe me.  And he did a good job, as I found myself in a three-person scene, playing a grumpy, been-there-done-that 40something with a bad attitude.  I was directed by Erik Wagner.  It is difficult for me to describe having a real director (and indeed, it’s hard to describe being an actor in a show I had no hand in directing, writing or producing, as that’s all I’ve done in the last 15 years), but suffice to say, if I only worked with Erik as a director going forward, I would be dead pleased.  Whereas as a director, I tend to guide and push, Erik pulls and suggests.  Our biggest difference is that Erik showed compassion and encouragement for all three of us equally; I tend to give more to the actors who want more.  Erik pulled from me some really sorrowful and dire characteristics, which were, by coincidence, honest feelings.

 

And I was funny.

 

I don’t often claim I am funny, as I always feel a struggle onstage.  However, for “Training”, written by Hope Rehak, I was funny.  Erik and I hugged after the performance and he and I both met Hope, and hugged her as well.  This was gross animals apart from my experience in the prior week as a director, when the cast dispersed instantly and I neither did meet nor had inclination to meet the writer.  I don’t think either way is better or worse than the other, but if there is a defining difference to my directing style and Erik’s, hugs afterwards may be it.

 

I got involved with the “24 Hour Plays” because 2009 has been many things, but it has not been my most creative.  After “The Tearful Assassin”, I wrote three (or three and a half) plays back-to-back and, while all are good, none are brilliant.  “24” gave me a chance to see a small cross-section of what was out there.  I did walk away from the experience grateful and enlightened, but also a bit more charged up on the writing side.  On the acting side, I was charged up for a while, but I’m just not sure I have much of a range.  However, the experience did make me think about doing stand-up.

 

No idea how that came up.  I can equate the idea of stand-up with the idea of herpes; it’s not there for months, even years, at a time; and then, poof, I’m red and splotchy.

 

To be continued, as always.