Poetry & Blindfolds

 

When I finally sat down to write “The Observatory”, I decided to continue my trend of writing myself a small role in order to add some laughs and punch to the play.  If nothing else, I know how to twist scripts and get laughs.  So I wrote the part of Victor, the charming and sadistic government agent (not from the FBI, as one reviewer suggested, and not in the future, as claimed by another – I’m all for reviewers projecting their feelings, but when they project my plot points, they’re piss poor at their job).

 

Having myself in mind for the role of Victor allowed me to have quite a lot of fun at the expense of one of the main roles, that of David Lockwood.  Even with Victor offstage, I still relished in Victor-izing David throughout the show, tormenting him with his own weaknesses, foibles and vulnerabilities until he is crushed under the weight of them.

 

In early 2011, I had a breakfast meeting with a couple of fellow creative types and we ruminated on the idea of combining our powers under one umbrella.  This unnamed entity was to be used to promote each other’s works and be on hand for each other to work with.  It was decided that, to launch this none-too-ambitious idea, we would remount “The Observatory” to capitalize on the very positive reactions we received from the December 2010 run (and – this should be underscored – we all liked the play anyway). 

 

Like most garage band philosophies, the idea of the creative umbrella didn’t survive long after our french toast, pancakes and omelettes made their way back into the public water supply.  However, by this time, I was financially committed to remounting “The Observatory”, so that was that.  From the first run came Angela Jo Strohm and Kasey O’Brien, both of which have outstanding talent, infinite charm and magnificent noses.  In line with creative evolution, we all took on more ambitious roles this time around: Angela, who had understudies the role of Marissa, took on the principal role of Sally Lockwood, as well as became the main director.  Kasey, who had understudied Sally in the first show, moved up to take on the principal role of Marissa, as well as assistant director. 

 

Right around this time, I heard an interview with Ken Finkleman, a particular hero of mine, in which he was asked why he chose to produce, direct, write and star in his various TV shows.  He responded, “would you ask a painter why he decided to paint the entire canvas?”

With that, I decided to take on the lead role of David Lockwood.

 

Now, as I mentioned above, I did delight in torturing our poor David when I wrote the script, but what I didn’t realize is that the tools I used to create a mental Guantanamo Bay in David’s mind – the insecurity, the vulnerability, the loss of worth, the fear of being mediocre – are exactly my fears.  And David and I get to share them with everyone for an hour and fifteen minutes.  Oops.

 

Over the last six weeks, it’s been a circle of hell that Dante didn’t even think of.

 

There were two saving graces to being so emotionally naked in front of the rest of the cast: (1) no one was aware I was really terrified and vulnerable and (2) Angela and Kasey were always there.  I have grown very reliant on their opinions and have come to trust them implicitly.  This is not a common thing in theater, no matter what anyone says.  I cannot hug them enough. 

 

Love is the cast member with the longest resume.  And she’s not even Equity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1. The moment Angela Jo Strohm came into rehearsal and introduced a completely original and clever angle to a character we had been struggling with (Tony).

 

2. The first few moments Kasey O’Brien and Colin Fewell shared a stage together and seeing how she immediately inspired him. 

 

3. The style of the review in Chicago Stage Review.  Good and bad reviews are easier to learn from when one knows the reviewer is a good writer.
http://www.vincenttruman.net/observatory/observatory1.htm

 

 

4. The Meisner night.  The first time I made note of Angela’s and my very different – yet very complimentary – directorial styles.

 

5. Quoting Tom Waits lyrics back and forth with Stephen Ruppel.

 

6. The first read.  I knew the casting and chemistry was just about right.

 

7. Meeting Colin’s parents.

 

8. Broadcasting the rehearsals via UStream, making the online audience “observers.”

 

9. Reviewing the filmed bits.

 

10. Closing night, attended by one of the biggest influences of the piece, Melissa Malan.

 

11. No meltdown. 

 

12. The first moment Angela really had my back and I really had hers.

 

13. Nerds.

 

14. Any time the actors weren’t texting in the middle of a rehearsal.

 

15. Being introduced to Drew Cohen, the Sound and Vision Man.

 

16. The kind promotions from friends all over the US.

 

17. The December 11 performance with friends who came in from Michigan and Oregon – and liked each other to boot, even before they all got stuck in Chicago due to snow.

 

18. Picking the cast, with a team I trust.

 

19. Getting to know Kyle Waddle again, after a three- or four-year pause.

 

20. Realizing whatever I do next has to be better than this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had to tell the cast last night that it might not be a good idea to be late to rehearsals.

 

Stuff like that guts me completely, I admit.  After making strides, not to mention the usual compromises and shifts that go along with anything important, to ensure everyone was comfortable, valued and safe, it is so sad to me personally to have to say, ‘hey, let’s not be late.’  I’m just not good leadership material when it comes to stuff like that.  My fight-or-flight instinct sticks in my throat, making my voice all wobbly and ridiculous, and getting the words out is a personal challenge I’ve yet to conquer.

 

What am I afraid of? 

 

Well, that people will reject what I say and take off, or worse, defriend me on Facebook.  By way of example, just prior to ‘The Observatory’, I had an individual on board with me who was to function as assistant director.  Not being terribly fond of directing, I was hoping to elevate her to director mid-run.  And this was an individual who I had championed for two years running since she auditioned for ‘The Tearful Assassin’ in 2008.  I certainly wanted her in the ‘family’ (my loose term of folks I routinely work or nearly work with).  I recommended her be cast in a friend’s play; we had dinner and discussed her play; I was one of two from the ‘family’ at her birthday; I was one of two of the ‘family’ who attended her play’s workshop.  So my support was clear and obvious.  However, as soon as she was onboard, she had two modes: sarcasm and WTF-style criticism.  I found myself doing more work with her onboard than not.  After a few weeks of that, I wrote her to say that it might be best if we parted ways on this project, as I legitimately feared what sort of environment she would create for the cast.  Additionally, although she said she wanted to direct, she admitted she had no interest in the ‘business’ side of ‘show business’.  She wrote back – “okay” – and then promptly defriended me on Facebook. 

 

And that’s what I’m afraid of. 

 

If I can be an advocate of someone for two years, only to be shut out completely, what can I do with these strangers I work with on ‘The Observatory’?   That’s why I feel gutted by having to say, ‘hey, don’t be late’.  In addition to feeling silly saying it, I also fear that one of these strangers will bolt.  Stranger things have happened (see above).

 

It’s a weakness, for sure, but one that I’m not terribly motivated to change.  For me, theater is still about collaboration and understanding and making contact with people; I fear, if I was a better businessman, I wouldn’t care about hurting anyone’s feelings, but then might lose sight of falling in love with the people I work with and what they can create.  I guess that’s the trade-off.  Don’t know.