You guys!
I can't believe I haven't written about this earlier. I tweeted about it, or maybe I posted about it on Facebook. I can't remember. That's not the point. The point is, a few weeks ago I totally met China Miéville.
For those of you who haven't paid any attention to me for the last six months or so, I'm writing a play called The City & The City. We're just over a week into rehearsals, and start performances in the middle of February. The play is an adaptation of China Miéville's book of the same name. The story follows the tropes of a classic crime novel through a setting that is anything but ordinary. I'd explain more but even a description of the setting is kind of a spoiler. The first time I read the book, I made a series of assumptions about the setting based on the first couple of chapters. By the end of the book I was gobsmacked by just how wrong I was. At first I thought, Ah there is this interesting magical thing happening here. But it turns out it's much stranger than that.
Mr. Miéville himself was in town a few weeks ago and did a little reading/Q&A at Roosevelt University. An administrator there had gotten wind of our production and tipped us to the event. I and a handful of our crew and cast attended. For about the first half hour he read from a new story he was working on, then took questions from the audience for the rest of the hour. I would tell you what he said, but I haven't finished looking up all the ginormous words he used. One that stood out was "heuristic." I have only heard that word used in one other place: It's what the "H" stands for in HAL 9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey. I have a vague understanding of the word, but I'm not going to embarrass myself by attempting to define it here. (I could look it up. I probably will at some point. But it's 12:30 in the morning and I'm tired.)
After the Q&A the audience politely held back while Mr. Miéville collected his notes before trying to wedge in some one-on-one time. That is, everybody held back but me. Seeing my chance, I ran forward and introduced myself. As soon as I got out the name "Lifeline Theatre," he grabbed my hand and said, "My collaborators!" He asked about how the show was going, which was only slightly awkward for me due to the fact that rehearsals hadn't actually started yet. But I told him we had a great cast in place, and I thought the script was in good shape for the start of rehearsals, and that we'd have a lot of revisions by the time we opened at the end of February.
The most exciting news? Schedules permitting, Mr. Miéville is coming to see the show. Or at least he's going to try to come. I don't want to make promises for him. But he seemed pretty excited about it. I can assure you he was not nearly as excited as me, though.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Dream Role
This weekend we close The Woman In White at Lifeline Theatre, in which I had the great fortune to play Count Fosco. As anyone who has read the Wilkie Collins novel will tell you, Fosco is one of the great villains of Victorian literature. He is charming, charismatic, arrogant, and evil, and one of the best characters I've ever had the opportunity to play.
I first read the book about a year ago, when the company was seriously discussing producing an adaptation. We had recently had great success with an adaptation of another Collins book, The Moonstone, and we knew we wanted to explore that world some more. The Woman In White, as Collins' most famous book, was the obvious choice. About halfway through reading the book I knew I'd discovered a dream role.
The Woman In White is an epistolary novel, meaning it is written as a collection of letters and diary entries and other documents. The specific moment that sold me on the character of the Count comes near the midway point, at the end of a lengthy section of diary entries written by the book's heroine, Marian Halcombe, in which she describes her efforts to uncover the Count's duplicitous schemes. Her last entry reveals that she risked her life to spy on the Count and his accomplice, Sir Percival Glyde, and in doing so she managed to catch a fever and cannot leave her bed. While that is Marian's last entry, it is not the last entry in the diary. Count Fosco, after finding and reading the document, adds his own postscript, revealing his admiration for Marian, proudly admitting to all the sinister deeds of which she accuses him, and daring her to try and stop his grand scheme.
I put the book down after reading that part. I was in awe of the balls on this guy. I was about twenty or so years too young, but I didn't care. I needed that part, and I got it. And I cannot even begin to describe how much fun it has been. Everything about this production has been a joy. I will miss coming to the theater every day and spending time with this extraordinary cast. And of course I will miss my mouse co-stars Fanny and Hester, who stole the show every night.
I will be off-stage for a while. In fact, for the first time in a long while I am closing a show without knowing what my next acting gig will be. Frankly, I do not like the sensation. But I can console myself with the knowledge that in about a month my radio play Comparing Notes at the End of the World will be presented in WildClaw Theatre's annual Deathscribe competition, and rehearsals for The City & The City, my next adventure as a playwright, begin the day after that. In fact, I've got some work to do between now and then, so I'd best get to it.
I first read the book about a year ago, when the company was seriously discussing producing an adaptation. We had recently had great success with an adaptation of another Collins book, The Moonstone, and we knew we wanted to explore that world some more. The Woman In White, as Collins' most famous book, was the obvious choice. About halfway through reading the book I knew I'd discovered a dream role.
The Woman In White is an epistolary novel, meaning it is written as a collection of letters and diary entries and other documents. The specific moment that sold me on the character of the Count comes near the midway point, at the end of a lengthy section of diary entries written by the book's heroine, Marian Halcombe, in which she describes her efforts to uncover the Count's duplicitous schemes. Her last entry reveals that she risked her life to spy on the Count and his accomplice, Sir Percival Glyde, and in doing so she managed to catch a fever and cannot leave her bed. While that is Marian's last entry, it is not the last entry in the diary. Count Fosco, after finding and reading the document, adds his own postscript, revealing his admiration for Marian, proudly admitting to all the sinister deeds of which she accuses him, and daring her to try and stop his grand scheme.
I put the book down after reading that part. I was in awe of the balls on this guy. I was about twenty or so years too young, but I didn't care. I needed that part, and I got it. And I cannot even begin to describe how much fun it has been. Everything about this production has been a joy. I will miss coming to the theater every day and spending time with this extraordinary cast. And of course I will miss my mouse co-stars Fanny and Hester, who stole the show every night.
I will be off-stage for a while. In fact, for the first time in a long while I am closing a show without knowing what my next acting gig will be. Frankly, I do not like the sensation. But I can console myself with the knowledge that in about a month my radio play Comparing Notes at the End of the World will be presented in WildClaw Theatre's annual Deathscribe competition, and rehearsals for The City & The City, my next adventure as a playwright, begin the day after that. In fact, I've got some work to do between now and then, so I'd best get to it.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Deathscribe!
Check one more item off the bucket list: My ten-minute radio play Comparing Notes at the End of the World
is a finalist for WildClaw Theatre's Deathscribe 2012 International
Festival of Horror Radio Plays. This is the fifth year writers have
competed for the coveted Bloody Axe award and I am thrilled to have the
chance to throw my hat in the ring.
WildClaw's annual Deathscribe event has become a holiday tradition for Mandy and me. Aside from the Jeff Awards, I cannot think of another annual event at which you can find so much of Chicago's theatre community gathered in one place. The five finalists' plays are performed live with foley artists contributing sound effects. There is a live band, musical acts, a panel of celebrity judges, and a whole lot of alcohol. It has never failed to be a riotous good time.
This year's festival takes place on December 3rd at the Mayne Stage. I am all kinds of excited.
WildClaw's annual Deathscribe event has become a holiday tradition for Mandy and me. Aside from the Jeff Awards, I cannot think of another annual event at which you can find so much of Chicago's theatre community gathered in one place. The five finalists' plays are performed live with foley artists contributing sound effects. There is a live band, musical acts, a panel of celebrity judges, and a whole lot of alcohol. It has never failed to be a riotous good time.
This year's festival takes place on December 3rd at the Mayne Stage. I am all kinds of excited.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Stress-Filled Ramblings at 1:00 AM
I can't sleep.
I have been staring at my computer for about an hour, bouncing between Facebook, Twitter, job listings, and various news outlets. I have this feeling that I should be doing something. Something important. Something productive. Something that might, some day, be worth money. And I could be doing that. "I have projects and plans in my head." That's a line in a play I'm in right now. One of my lines, in fact.
I recently made a list of due dates for myself. They are somewhat arbitrary, these dates. Nobody has told me that such-and-such thing must be done by such-and-such date. I just wanted to set some goals for myself. The first of those dates is today, Friday, August 17th. I was going to finish the first draft of a play by today.
I am not going to finish the first draft of a play today. At least, it is highly unlikely. The play in question is well on its way to having a completed draft. I have been working, believe me. But while I'm pleased with the progress I've made in the last few days, I don't see me cranking out the final thirty or so pages needed to finish this thing. But it's okay, because, like I said, it's my deadline. If I miss it, nobody is really going to notice except me.
Of course, one of the reasons I picked this date to finish this particular project is because I wanted to finish it before I moved on to the next project. This is a different draft of a different play. This deadline is a little more serious, because this play is really officially happening, and at some point in the nearish future people need to read this thing, and I need to get another draft done before that happens. So that means Project #1 has to go on the back burner until Project #2 gets sorted. Which is okay by me, except what does that mean for the deadlines I set for Projects #3, 4, and 5?
And then there's #6 and #7, for which I haven't even set dates yet. Because that would be crazy.
So I'm awake at 1am and I'm bored and I'm worried that I'm wasting my time and I'm wasting my time worrying because I'm awake and bored at 1am. It has been a long year and I'm waiting for things to start going right again, and I'm wondering if there's something specific I've forgotten, something I was supposed to do to make that happen. I've put on fifteen pounds this year. Can you believe that? How did I find room for it?
But I'm a fairly positive sort of guy, and there are some things that have gone right this year, and I'm going to try and think about those for a little while. And I'm going to stare out the window a little, because I have a great view of downtown, and it is a very clear night.
Good night.
I have been staring at my computer for about an hour, bouncing between Facebook, Twitter, job listings, and various news outlets. I have this feeling that I should be doing something. Something important. Something productive. Something that might, some day, be worth money. And I could be doing that. "I have projects and plans in my head." That's a line in a play I'm in right now. One of my lines, in fact.
I recently made a list of due dates for myself. They are somewhat arbitrary, these dates. Nobody has told me that such-and-such thing must be done by such-and-such date. I just wanted to set some goals for myself. The first of those dates is today, Friday, August 17th. I was going to finish the first draft of a play by today.
I am not going to finish the first draft of a play today. At least, it is highly unlikely. The play in question is well on its way to having a completed draft. I have been working, believe me. But while I'm pleased with the progress I've made in the last few days, I don't see me cranking out the final thirty or so pages needed to finish this thing. But it's okay, because, like I said, it's my deadline. If I miss it, nobody is really going to notice except me.
Of course, one of the reasons I picked this date to finish this particular project is because I wanted to finish it before I moved on to the next project. This is a different draft of a different play. This deadline is a little more serious, because this play is really officially happening, and at some point in the nearish future people need to read this thing, and I need to get another draft done before that happens. So that means Project #1 has to go on the back burner until Project #2 gets sorted. Which is okay by me, except what does that mean for the deadlines I set for Projects #3, 4, and 5?
And then there's #6 and #7, for which I haven't even set dates yet. Because that would be crazy.
So I'm awake at 1am and I'm bored and I'm worried that I'm wasting my time and I'm wasting my time worrying because I'm awake and bored at 1am. It has been a long year and I'm waiting for things to start going right again, and I'm wondering if there's something specific I've forgotten, something I was supposed to do to make that happen. I've put on fifteen pounds this year. Can you believe that? How did I find room for it?
But I'm a fairly positive sort of guy, and there are some things that have gone right this year, and I'm going to try and think about those for a little while. And I'm going to stare out the window a little, because I have a great view of downtown, and it is a very clear night.
Good night.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Skip
I have never been what you might call a "good" student. I have never been comfortable in classrooms. I've never been good at taking notes. I tend to freeze up when called upon. I usually did better when I could do the reading on my own time, and writing papers was always preferable to in-class tests. Seventh grade through senior year of high school was basically a six-year block of frustration, except for a single bright spot that appeared when I was a junior: Choir class.
My high school had an enormous choir program. And by enormous, I mean that our Christmas show was such a big deal that it was featured on Good Morning America. I'd seen it each holiday season and thought that I would love to be a part of something like that one day. It wasn't until my junior year that I finally got up the nerve to sign up for the class. I'd never sung before. I had no idea if I could sing at all, but that didn't matter. The program took all comers.
The class was taught by an exuberant, charismatic fellow named Guy "Skip" Frizzell. At some point during the first week of class he had each of us get up one by one and sing scales as high and as low as we could go. I recall being more excited than scared, which was an odd sensation for me at the time. When my turn came I did my best, although I wussed out at the high end - like most of my fellow newbies I was too embarrassed to attempt falsetto. But when I finished, some other kid in the class said, "He sang a lot of notes." And Mr. Frizzell responded, "Yes, he did." And suddenly I had a sensation I had not experienced since my family moved to Michigan the summer before seventh grade: I was good at something.
My first year in the choir class turned out to be Mr. Frizzell's last year at my school, but what an extraordinary year it was. That fall I took my first trip to Stratford, Ontario, with a group chaperoned by Mr. Frizzell and a few other teachers. We saw Kiss Me Kate and The Merchant of Venice. With Mr. Frizzell's encouragement I tried out for my first, and what would end up being my only, high school play. And of course I got to be in the huge Christmas show. But to top it off, the summer after my junior year I joined the choir on a trip to Europe, and saw Leningrad while it was still called Leningrad. I partied on a boat on the Neva River. I strolled the grounds of the Summer Palace. I ate homemade borscht and drank vodka with local music students and their families. I took a ferry ride across the Baltic Sea, and rode a bus through Finland and Sweden. I performed at the Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen. I celebrated my sixteenth birthday in Berlin on the same day as the economic unification of East and West Germany, and witnessed the mania in the streets when West Germany won the World Cup.
I stuck with the choir during my senior year. The new teacher was lovely. But Mr. Frizzell was still a presence. He took over the choir at my parents' church, and frequently suggested I should join. I found lame excuses, not having the nerve to tell him that I just really wasn't a church kinda guy.
We lost touch, like people do. Mr. Frizzell moved on to other opportunities elsewhere, and so did I. I had heard that he was teaching again in Missouri. I was glad to know he was still out there, doing his thing.
Mr. Frizzell passed away last Saturday after a long illness. I learned the news over Facebook, the way I learn most things now about people I knew a long time ago. That's not a complaint, just an observation. If it weren't for Facebook I wonder if I'd have heard about it at all. Anyway, I was sorry to hear the news. I wish I'd kept in touch with him. I think he would have liked to know that so many of the choices I've made as an adult - a lot of the ones that have made me happiest - were based on things I learned as part of his choir. I wish I could have told him that in job interviews, whenever they ask you to name a teacher or mentor who had a special impact on your life, he's the guy I'd pick. Mostly I'd just like to say thanks.
My high school had an enormous choir program. And by enormous, I mean that our Christmas show was such a big deal that it was featured on Good Morning America. I'd seen it each holiday season and thought that I would love to be a part of something like that one day. It wasn't until my junior year that I finally got up the nerve to sign up for the class. I'd never sung before. I had no idea if I could sing at all, but that didn't matter. The program took all comers.
The class was taught by an exuberant, charismatic fellow named Guy "Skip" Frizzell. At some point during the first week of class he had each of us get up one by one and sing scales as high and as low as we could go. I recall being more excited than scared, which was an odd sensation for me at the time. When my turn came I did my best, although I wussed out at the high end - like most of my fellow newbies I was too embarrassed to attempt falsetto. But when I finished, some other kid in the class said, "He sang a lot of notes." And Mr. Frizzell responded, "Yes, he did." And suddenly I had a sensation I had not experienced since my family moved to Michigan the summer before seventh grade: I was good at something.
My first year in the choir class turned out to be Mr. Frizzell's last year at my school, but what an extraordinary year it was. That fall I took my first trip to Stratford, Ontario, with a group chaperoned by Mr. Frizzell and a few other teachers. We saw Kiss Me Kate and The Merchant of Venice. With Mr. Frizzell's encouragement I tried out for my first, and what would end up being my only, high school play. And of course I got to be in the huge Christmas show. But to top it off, the summer after my junior year I joined the choir on a trip to Europe, and saw Leningrad while it was still called Leningrad. I partied on a boat on the Neva River. I strolled the grounds of the Summer Palace. I ate homemade borscht and drank vodka with local music students and their families. I took a ferry ride across the Baltic Sea, and rode a bus through Finland and Sweden. I performed at the Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen. I celebrated my sixteenth birthday in Berlin on the same day as the economic unification of East and West Germany, and witnessed the mania in the streets when West Germany won the World Cup.
I stuck with the choir during my senior year. The new teacher was lovely. But Mr. Frizzell was still a presence. He took over the choir at my parents' church, and frequently suggested I should join. I found lame excuses, not having the nerve to tell him that I just really wasn't a church kinda guy.
We lost touch, like people do. Mr. Frizzell moved on to other opportunities elsewhere, and so did I. I had heard that he was teaching again in Missouri. I was glad to know he was still out there, doing his thing.
Mr. Frizzell passed away last Saturday after a long illness. I learned the news over Facebook, the way I learn most things now about people I knew a long time ago. That's not a complaint, just an observation. If it weren't for Facebook I wonder if I'd have heard about it at all. Anyway, I was sorry to hear the news. I wish I'd kept in touch with him. I think he would have liked to know that so many of the choices I've made as an adult - a lot of the ones that have made me happiest - were based on things I learned as part of his choir. I wish I could have told him that in job interviews, whenever they ask you to name a teacher or mentor who had a special impact on your life, he's the guy I'd pick. Mostly I'd just like to say thanks.
Monday, July 02, 2012
Lifting the Curse
Once upon a time, many years ago, I had a birthday. To celebrate, some friends treated me to a movie. That movie turned out to be Batman & Robin. One of my friends felt so bad about this shitty gift that after the movie we immediately went to a toy store where he bought us a couple of Super Soakers and then we went to the beach and chased each other around and had a fine time.
A month later, in an attempt to make amends for the Batman & Robin fiasco, we went to another movie. This one turned out to be Spawn.
Two years later I got the bright idea that I wanted to go see a movie for my birthday again. That movie? Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Holy Crap I Can't Even Finish This Because the Title Gives Me Embarrassment Shivers.
After that we decided to take a couple years off from the birthday movie tradition. Then in 2002 I thought, surely enough time has passed. Surely it's safe.
We saw Minority Report.
Yesterday was the first time in ten years that I have risked going to the movies for my birthday. I think... I think... that the curse may finally be broken.
Mandy and I saw Ted. It was a risk, I know, but I actually put some thought into this one. I read reviews. I relied on the fact that Mandy and I are both big Family Guy fans. Also? I lowered my expectations. Ten, fifteen years ago I expected every comic book or sci-fi summer blockbuster to be the next Most Awesome Thing Ever. Now I'm content with giggling my ass off for a couple of hours. And that's precisely what I did. And it was great.
A month later, in an attempt to make amends for the Batman & Robin fiasco, we went to another movie. This one turned out to be Spawn.
Two years later I got the bright idea that I wanted to go see a movie for my birthday again. That movie? Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Holy Crap I Can't Even Finish This Because the Title Gives Me Embarrassment Shivers.
After that we decided to take a couple years off from the birthday movie tradition. Then in 2002 I thought, surely enough time has passed. Surely it's safe.
We saw Minority Report.
Yesterday was the first time in ten years that I have risked going to the movies for my birthday. I think... I think... that the curse may finally be broken.
Mandy and I saw Ted. It was a risk, I know, but I actually put some thought into this one. I read reviews. I relied on the fact that Mandy and I are both big Family Guy fans. Also? I lowered my expectations. Ten, fifteen years ago I expected every comic book or sci-fi summer blockbuster to be the next Most Awesome Thing Ever. Now I'm content with giggling my ass off for a couple of hours. And that's precisely what I did. And it was great.
Monday, June 25, 2012
The Count Comes to Calgary
I am over-the-moon excited to announce that my adaptation of The Count of Monte Cristo is coming to Calgary, AB, Canada, courtesy of Mob Hit Productions. (Check them out HERE.) It's my international debut! If you happen to be in Calgary next January 30th through February 9th, please check it out. I'll share more details as they become available.
As you can imagine, this is a big deal for me. The Count was my first foray into playwriting, and I am immensely proud of how our production at Lifeline turned out last year. I am so thrilled that my script has a little more life in it.
As you can imagine, this is a big deal for me. The Count was my first foray into playwriting, and I am immensely proud of how our production at Lifeline turned out last year. I am so thrilled that my script has a little more life in it.
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