Cyrano de Bergerac UPSTAGE Guide
Friday, October 5, 2012
Writing for UPSTAGE
Okay, the evidence is clear that I am anything but consistent blogger. But thought I'd share some of the work I've been doing over the year, working with a team at Roundabout Theatre on their UPSTAGE guides. I love writing these articles and working with my colleagues to help our students and teachers understand our plays. You can check out some of the recent guides here:
Cyrano de Bergerac UPSTAGE Guide
Cyrano de Bergerac UPSTAGE Guide
Sunday, November 16, 2008
What's important?
Nov 15, 2008
I spend a lot of my weekend sitting in the dark. Friday night, a high-tech, all-star new production at the Metropolitan opera: I sit in up high in the balcony -- without much back support -- for nearly three hours of sweeping music, some moments of luminous singing, and hallucinatory dreamlike images. Not every minute is gripping, in fact I’m sometimes nodding off. I’ve paid no small amount on this full-price ticket even though sitting quietly and still for this long is not always easy, I want to be here. I feel it must be important to be here.
Saturday afternoon, while it pours outside I sit in the front row at the Public Theatre, witnessing a dexterous, passionate solo performer evoke diverse New York citizens suffering from the impact of gentrification. He’s angry and the piece isn’t shy about that. He starts by saying, point blank, “white people, I want you to get out,” and while he’s talking about the neighborhoods (not the theatre), I’m sitting on the hot seat, feeling more guilty and more helpless for the next two hours. And while I didn’t spend as much as for this as the opera ticket, I still shelled out, and instead of being out at the gay rights rally downtown, I’m giving my afternoon to be here and feel bad. Why? It must be important to be here.
Sunday evening, I turn down a last-minute invite to what will be a spectacular gourmet seven-course tasting meal (with wine) in order to attend an hour-long evening of performances by high school students sharing their perspectives, hopes and wishes. Their writing is rough, performances untrained, and I don’t know a single person on that stage... Honestly, the dinner would be much more satisfying. But somehow, I believe this must be important.
The time between the performances is mostly spent doing production-related emails or attending production meetings in a variety of Starbucks for the show I am now producing: a show that I hope many other people will choose to give a little bit of their time and money to see...hopefully because they will feel for some reason it will be important.
But why is this live theatre thing so important? Is it just about being a good New York cultural consumer, wanting exchange critiques over coffees and cocktails? What about the actual experience of being there? I was one of thousands at the opera. Robert LePage and Susan Graham didn’t need me to be there. Yet on a Friday night, attending a display of such virtuoso talent and imagination felt sacred. There were moments where the surging feeling of the music moved through my ears, my mind, down into my chest and heart. Maybe just those few moments of feeling lifted above the minutia of my weekly worries and concerns are what makes this important. Saturday’s solo performer basically declared he didn’t want me there, and his anger made me uncomfortable... but though I don’t feel quite as angry about the gentrification (after all, I’m one of the people benefiting from the injustice), I really do feel the suffering. As he drew me in with his boisterous, vibrant, often hilarious characters, I had to really listen to the perspectives of people I wouldn’t normally talk to. And I learned to listen through the filter of his rage. That strikes me as important. And those kids, worried about their future, everything from gang violence to the impact of President Obama to who they want to date... not the first such youth performance I’ve seen (or created myself). But this show will have only two performances before it’s gone. Some of them may never again stand on a stage, speaking their own truths from their own voices. And so maybe just being there listen to them is important.
It’s not always easy affording to go to the theatre, getting there, sitting in uncomfortable seats squeezed next to strangers, paying attention. And it’s really not easy making theatre. But I guess the fact that I, and so many of my friends and colleagues and the professionals admire, keep going, keep trying, means that it still must be important. Somehow, it still matters to some of us.
I spend a lot of my weekend sitting in the dark. Friday night, a high-tech, all-star new production at the Metropolitan opera: I sit in up high in the balcony -- without much back support -- for nearly three hours of sweeping music, some moments of luminous singing, and hallucinatory dreamlike images. Not every minute is gripping, in fact I’m sometimes nodding off. I’ve paid no small amount on this full-price ticket even though sitting quietly and still for this long is not always easy, I want to be here. I feel it must be important to be here.
Saturday afternoon, while it pours outside I sit in the front row at the Public Theatre, witnessing a dexterous, passionate solo performer evoke diverse New York citizens suffering from the impact of gentrification. He’s angry and the piece isn’t shy about that. He starts by saying, point blank, “white people, I want you to get out,” and while he’s talking about the neighborhoods (not the theatre), I’m sitting on the hot seat, feeling more guilty and more helpless for the next two hours. And while I didn’t spend as much as for this as the opera ticket, I still shelled out, and instead of being out at the gay rights rally downtown, I’m giving my afternoon to be here and feel bad. Why? It must be important to be here.
Sunday evening, I turn down a last-minute invite to what will be a spectacular gourmet seven-course tasting meal (with wine) in order to attend an hour-long evening of performances by high school students sharing their perspectives, hopes and wishes. Their writing is rough, performances untrained, and I don’t know a single person on that stage... Honestly, the dinner would be much more satisfying. But somehow, I believe this must be important.
The time between the performances is mostly spent doing production-related emails or attending production meetings in a variety of Starbucks for the show I am now producing: a show that I hope many other people will choose to give a little bit of their time and money to see...hopefully because they will feel for some reason it will be important.
But why is this live theatre thing so important? Is it just about being a good New York cultural consumer, wanting exchange critiques over coffees and cocktails? What about the actual experience of being there? I was one of thousands at the opera. Robert LePage and Susan Graham didn’t need me to be there. Yet on a Friday night, attending a display of such virtuoso talent and imagination felt sacred. There were moments where the surging feeling of the music moved through my ears, my mind, down into my chest and heart. Maybe just those few moments of feeling lifted above the minutia of my weekly worries and concerns are what makes this important. Saturday’s solo performer basically declared he didn’t want me there, and his anger made me uncomfortable... but though I don’t feel quite as angry about the gentrification (after all, I’m one of the people benefiting from the injustice), I really do feel the suffering. As he drew me in with his boisterous, vibrant, often hilarious characters, I had to really listen to the perspectives of people I wouldn’t normally talk to. And I learned to listen through the filter of his rage. That strikes me as important. And those kids, worried about their future, everything from gang violence to the impact of President Obama to who they want to date... not the first such youth performance I’ve seen (or created myself). But this show will have only two performances before it’s gone. Some of them may never again stand on a stage, speaking their own truths from their own voices. And so maybe just being there listen to them is important.
It’s not always easy affording to go to the theatre, getting there, sitting in uncomfortable seats squeezed next to strangers, paying attention. And it’s really not easy making theatre. But I guess the fact that I, and so many of my friends and colleagues and the professionals admire, keep going, keep trying, means that it still must be important. Somehow, it still matters to some of us.
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