Poetry & Blindfolds

Steve Ruppel and Kasey O'Brien rehearse "The Observatory"

Last night at rehearsal, I felt like my heart was breaking.  Steve Ruppel and Kasey O’Brien, understudies who play a married couple in “The Observatory”, have a confrontation.  Arguing couples are a mainstay of any theatrical show, of course, but Steve and Kasey made it so layered with offers, rejections, old tricks, compromises, demands and resentments that it felt nothing short of real.  It was the first time that neither Angela nor I had, or could even come up with, any notes whatsoever.  All I could say was, ‘it sounded like someone trying to make a joke at a funeral.’

What makes this all the more remarkable is that Kasey and Steve are understudies for the married couple, who are “mainly” played by Whitney LaMora and Colin Fewell.  I have never opted to have understudies before (and admittedly have no experience being one), but the auditioning folks were so remarkable, it seemed like this play would be the one to experiment with.  Because of my complete lack of knowledge of what you’re supposed to do with understudies, we’ve opted to (a) have our stage manager/assistant director Angela Jo Strohm lead them in one direction while I lead Whitney and Colin in another and (b) give the understudies their own feature night in the middle of the show run (on December 12).  The end result, as Colin has noted, is that both couples are influencing and informing each other. 

I am very lucky to finally work head-to-head with Angela.  We have been part of an extended family of theater folks for at least eighteen months.  It’s been sort of like an elegant ball, and each time one of us has thought to ask the other to dance, the band has taken a break. 

We did a short bit for a video series I did with fellow comic Rick March, called “Today Is Stupid”, in which I played a psychologist type and she played a nut.  And then we came closer to working together when we both were performing in a film over the summer, in which, by contrast, I played a psychologist type and she played a nut.  We had two scenes together, and I was struck by the fact that we fell into our own groove instantly.  It was so natural and charismatic that, when I had to re-shoot a bit of dialogue two weeks later, not a single person could tell there was a fortnight gap.  Finally, by a few strokes of luck – and, by ‘strokes’, I mean the kind that impairs brain function – we connected a few days before the audition for “The Observatory” and we’ve been a team since. 

Which leads me back, or forward, to “The Observatory.”  Angela and I both like the Meisner method, though our approaches are gross animals apart – which, as it turns out, works beautifully.  At the beginning of rehearsal, I ran a quick exercise and had Kasey and Steve face each other, touch each other’s hands, look into each other’s eyes and imprint upon each other and themselves their personal history leading up to the play.  Angela conducted the same exercise later on, only her approach was to take them from the start of the play to the moments before Scene 5 started.  I think it was these disparate but complimentary methods that helped Kasey and Steve break my heart.  To be clear, these exercises are simply nudges; Steve and Kasey had to make the leap themselves.  And they did.  Even as I think of their Scene 5 now, it hurts a bit.  And that’s fantastic.

* * * * *

“The Observatory” premieres December 3, 2010.

http://www.thecharnelhousechicago.com/upcoming.html

Admittedly, I am not fond of the audition process. It’s like speed dating for the arts.  In the dozens of auditions I’ve held, I’ve always cringed at the thought of contrasting monologues (most actors have a few monologues up their sleeve, usually one funny and one deeply serious), in the same way a woman cringes when a man sidles up to her and says, ‘if I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?’  At the very best, this shows that an actor (or a man on the prowl) can actually memorize lines.  For me, though, any CV that has more than one theater credit tells me an actor can memorize.  As a result, the thought of re-re-re-re-re-re-living Willy Loman’s ‘business’ monologue in “Death of a Salesman” makes me run a slight fever.

In my auditions, I tend to lean towards lukewarm readings of the play itself – a variance on cold readings, in which I give Actor A and Actor B the script, tell them to go read it in a corner somewhere and return in a couple minutes to perform it as best they can. 

I also find that improvisation is a helpful tool with a lukewarm reading.  As time permits, I encourage the auditioneers to continue after the scene is over and “make up” where they think the scene is going.  This usually results in my favorite moments of an audition: free from a script but given some guidance, it permits actors to really shine and release all that tension that naturally accompanies the audition process.

Another tool I like to use is the actors themselves.  Do they know they have something good and want to share it?  Do they need to be coaxed or told most things?  Do they consider themselves a star already, with all of the unattractive connotations that come with it?  Body language and eye contact says it all.  Allowing my attention to naturally be drawn to the most confident and ambitious performers permits (a) me to see more quality work and (b) the actors to get what they want – a chance to perform, recognition of their craft and effort – so it’s a win/win scenario.  This tends to piss a few performers off – at “The Observatory” auditions, I can think of at least three people who were notably irritated by this artistic survival-of-the-fittest approach.  Each actor has an arsenal at their disposal; this paragraph’s exercise clearly reveals the difference between a pop gun and Hiroshima.

This is why I will not refer to a cast as actors; I choose to call them instead, “artists.”  They must have craft, skill, talent, ambition, open-mindedness in order to be a part of my production.  And that’s an artist.  Those that haven’t these skills are simply excised like a bad tooth.  This is by no means to say that I consider my director/writer skills to be beyond reproach; to the contrary, and to hearken back to the speed-dating analogy above, I just don’t want to “date” any more losers.  Art is like Loreal, and I’m worth it.  And so is the newly cast ensemble that makes up “The Observatory” – more to follow.

EXTRA BIT

Because of the frenetic nature of the audition, I was not able to take very coherent notes about the folks auditioning.  Instead, I resorted to a dismal shorthand, often with meanings known only to me.  From my notes:

sculpty hair

started line with a sigh: 7

rode the words well

plastic but good shoes

hey!

mary ann from gilligan

darlene from roseanne

can she let go of her hair?

back to audience – nice slacks

could be murderer

large happy heart

no. stiff. angry. no.

As the audition for “The Observatory” draws near, I find myself feeling sexy.  I know I have a good piece of work, I know the venue will suit the play, I know my ratio of good press v. bad press is right where I want it, I know I will get to work with a great cast (due to the sheer volume and quality of those who have expressed interest so far), I know I will save tons of money by holding rehearsals at my house, I know the eventual DVD will be brilliant and I know I’ll get to pay everyone when all is said and done.  To me, this is the sexy.

These last few days, I have reviewed and re-reviewed the CVs and headshots that have poured into the email inbox I set up for the show.  Several things have struck me, but most of all, I am struck by how many women are interested in auditioning.  In days gone by, I would get lucky if I had half a dozen women auditioning for a piece; the ratio has completely reversed itself for this show.  This I find very encouraging; I often like writing for women, as I find women to be more complex than my half of the species, but I have filed away so many pieces because I didn’t think I could cast them properly.  Perhaps that’s worth revisiting now.

And yet, despite all this sexy sexiness, I do feel like I’m in a bit of a mourning period.  My fab friend, Melissa Malan, who helmed “The Tearful Assassin” two years ago and has been a frequent collaborator on other projects (including Suspicious Clowns’ last show, “Today Is Stupid” and “Gless”), is off to Los Angeles.  I’ve said goodbye to dozens of folks who were LA-bound, but it was Mel’s party that I went from stoic well-wisher into burbling, crying idiot.  It is no coincidence that the most complex character in “The Observatory” is a woman named Marissa, so profound has Melissa’s influence been on me.

When I was a kid, my favorite Christmas song was “Little Drummer Boy.”  I liked the fact that this poor bastard could play his drum as a gift and have it accepted as such.  As I’ve grown into adulthood, I’ve always leaned towards my own work as being presents for the ones I love.  A short story called “The Thin Pink Line” was written for my friend Tina; my first book, “Ugly Bungalow”, was written for my wife, Jennifer; “The Observatory”, however unintentional, is my present to Melissa.  I hope I do her proud.