Miracles

Never cease.

I’m back!

I said I would be if I had anything to say.

Two miracles to report this Monday. One is from a while ago. And one just happened.

The “while ago” miracle was in August. I became a produced playwright. This is a dividing line. There are the writers who write plays. And there are the writers who get them produced. Once you cross the threshold, you can never go back. (Not that you would want to.)

Anyway, I wrote an adaptation of The Looking Glass by Edith Wharton. It was produced by The Wharton Salon on the grounds of The Mount, Ms. Wharton’s Berkshire mansion.

Just getting a production is a miracle. But mine didn’t end there.

Because it could have been bad. It’s a one-woman show, and we lost our one woman about a week before we opened. (Health reasons. She’s fine now!)

Producer, director, everybody scrambling for a replacement.

And, the collateral miracle…they found Jane Nichols. The amazing Jane Nichols. Who came in late in the day, and saved it.

Jane gave a marvelous performance. Eternal gratitude? The term was invented for what we owe Jane.

It’s not easy coming into a one-person show at the last minute, learning pages of dialogue with no fellow actors to help you out if you stumble.

But she did it…and beautifully!

Audiences loved her. They loved the play.

Thanks to Edith Wharton, Jane Nichols, director Daniela Varon, and producer Catherine Taylor-Williams of The Wharton Salon, I am not only a produced playwright, but a beautifully produced one.

So, that’s the first miracle. Long overdue for a mention in this blog.

The second one is that I am back on track wrestling the To Do List from Hell into submission. I’m getting stuff done! I’ll tell you tomorrow about the software that’s helping me do it!

Right now, I have to get back to that To Do List.

What shall I write?

Something simmering.

Ever since I wrote my play and it had its first reading, people have been asking me what else I have, telling me I should be working on something new, and wondering if I am a one-trick pony.

I have wondered that myself.

The thing is, there was a lot of work to do to get the play to a production. Every playwright is his or her own first producer, and if you’ve got a play in which you have faith, you owe it to the play to try to be a good one.

In my case, that meant a steep learning curve since I had never approached the theatre from that angle. In addition, I had some early luck with casting that seemed to make it imperative that I do the very best I could to insure the play got every opportunity possible.

It took longer than anyone could have possibly imagined. Anyone, that is, except another playwright.

And I don’t know that I did everything, or even anything, right.

But the play is going to have a production—(Yay!)—and I am saved from being the Emily Dickinson of playwrights. Whatever happens now, I will not end up with a drawer full of unproduced plays. I might end up with a drawer full of unproduced plays and one that made it onto a stage, but it seems like whatever was paralyzing my impulse to write may have lifted.

In the last couple of days, I have been wondering what’s next.

And, at the moment, I am wondering if I could write a farce.

There’s a part of me that highly doubts it.

Farce is the form most violently dependent upon plot. Plot is not something at which I excel. It always seems to me that I am interested in character. Dialogue flows somewhat rapidly from my pen (or keyboard), but, often, I am casting about for a believable situation imbued with enough conflict to get these characters I have conjured through a play or a story or, heaven forfend, a novel!

I went to see a production of Moon Over Buffalo recently, however. And I remember, with great fondness, seeing Noises Off on Broadway in the weeks following 9/11. At a time when we thought we could never laugh again, more than a thousand people a night were rolling in the aisles.

That production was profoundly important—a gift of incalculable value to a grieving city—and cured me forever from any tendency I might have had to look down on farce.

So, what I’m wondering now is—could I write a farce?

Maybe we’ll see.

Trippingly upon the tongue

Speak the speech, I pray you.*

Hamlet’s advice to the players is always good to follow.

It can be a little tricky, however, when you encounter unfamiliar words.

This is clear to me from my work with Round Robin Shakespeare. Take an American who may have limited experience with Shakespearean English and throw some of those dukes’ names at her, and you could have a problem.

Phonetic spelling is not exactly how it goes.

Gloucester. Worcester. Leicester.

Now, of course, at our monthly meetings, we are not sticklers. We don’t really care if you trip over your tongue rather than speak the speech trippingly upon it.

But maybe some of you will have an audition at some point. Your agent (should you be so lucky) will email you the sides, and there’ll be some mouthful of unfamiliar names or scientific jargon.

What are you going to do?

Well, if all else fails, just say whatever it is confidently—as if you know what you are saying and how to pronounce it. If you get the part, somebody will make sure you get the correct pronunciation.

However, it is probably better to make some attempt to get it right. You can always look it up in a dictionary. But then, you have the additional problem of trying to decipher the diacritical marks put there to help you with pronunciation. I’m not sure they still teach those in school, anymore. (I mean, what can you expect from a curriculum that has decided that cursive is not going to be taught? A generation of people who can’t sign contracts, for one thing.)

Anyway, I found a site to help you out—and not a diacritical mark in sight!

Howjsay.com

Just enter those unfamiliar names (or other words) into the search box on howjsay, click submit, and listen to a lovely British voice pronouncing the word.

It turns out that Gloucester is Glawster, Worcester is Wooster, and Leciester is Lester—and the Shakespeare will go trippingly on.

* Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act III, Sc 2

How many?

Do you think will show up?

I wonder.

Tomorrow is the first meeting of Round Robin Shakespeare.

For those of you who don’t remember, this is the program I am launching to read through all of Shakespeare’s plays, aloud, round robin style, one a month.

It’s going to need a core group of committed people to be successful. I’m thinking a minimum of five, preferably ten to fifteen.

The room is booked and I have acquired seven copies of the Complete Works. I’ve prepared some sign up sheets to capture the contact information of those who show up. I’ve arranged to meet the folks at the library before the meeting to get instructions on how to lock up afterwards.

I’m ready to go.

I just don’t know if anyone is going to show up.

We’ll see.

I’ve done everything I can think of, though.

There’s a notice in the library’s newsletter. I’ve got a website and a Facebook page. I’ve emailed the principals of all the local high schools and contacted all the local community theatres. I’ve put event listings on four general community calendars and one specifically devoted to theatre. I tracked down addresses for some folks who contribute to a local arts organization and sent personalized snail mail invitations.

I don’t know what else I could possibly do.

Press releases, maybe. I didn’t get to them in time. And it would be better to do one touting a successful first meeting, anyway.

I wonder if I’ll be able to do that.

I think there is a market for this activity in this area. It may be limited—or not. And it may take some time to get rolling.

It’s possible that I’ll be all by myself tomorrow night reading Henry VI, Pt 1.

It’s a risk.

On the other hand, I may be surrounded by a good number of Shakespeare enthusiasts.

What could be better?

I wonder.

A strange and wondrous place

The universe, that is.

My play has had the most amazing life for a first play.

Readings at prestigious theatres, nominations, awards.

Participation by fabulous actors, not least of which is Linda Hamilton, whose extraordinary generosity was only exceeded by her stunning performance.

All kinds of miraculous serendipity and synchronicity on the long journey from page to stage.

It has been a long journey, indeed. Geographically, for sure—NYC, New Jersey, Virginia, California, Maine. Professionally as well—so many smart people sharing their expertise and their advice. Personally—maybe personally, most of all, as I’ve had to challenge myself to master new skills, to be more assertive, to stand up for myself and others.

I’ve learned so much along the way. Did a few things right and several things wrong. Had a fabulous adventure, and the play hasn’t even been produced.

Yet.

And that’s the miracle today.

I have signed a contract.

At long last, Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us, will be getting a production!

The specific time slot hasn’t been set, yet, but at some point before the end of 2014, you can see my work at New Jersey Rep.

I’m so looking forward to the opportunity to see the play on its feet. Costumes, props, a set! Maybe I’ll get to tinker with the script, make it better.

And what’s even more of a miracle is that maybe I will finally be able to turn my attention to writing another one. (Although, you know, I’ve never been sure how I came to write this one—so we’ll see. No promises.)

I’m just going to take a short break from worrying about all of it and enjoy the newest part of the ongoing miracle.

I’m getting a production!

But, first, I’m getting some cake.

Priorities, you know.

What’s a celebration without cake?

Alexis Smith

The power of longevity.

I have great partiality for the Smiths who are performers—as well as those who achieve longevity in show business. So, today, we recognize Alexis Smith.

Madam Smith—so-called, by me, at least, because she toured for a year as the Madam in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas—Madam Smith began as a Warner Bros. contract player in the forties. She appeared alongside many of the biggest male stars of the day.

In the fifties, it seems she began to make the transition to stage doing a number of touring productions throughout the sixties—including one of my favorites, a big hit at the time, although little known now—Mary, Mary by Jean Kerr.

In the seventies, she made it to Broadway and won a Tony for Best Actress in a Musical for her performance in Stephen Sondheim’s Follies.

She continued to work in film and television, with a recurring role on Dallas in the eighties and an Emmy nomination for a guest spot on Cheers in the nineties.

She passed away from brain cancer in 1993, still married to her husband of 49 years.

Personal and professional endurance. I admire it.

Here’s a clip, not the best quality video, of one of her numbers from Follies.

October Project

Mythic music.

I found October Project in one of those weird episodes of synchronicity that happen in every life.

Once upon a time, I was an early-career director in NYC. I got asked to direct a lot of readiings. It’s a great way to gain experience in some, although not all, aspects of the directors’ craft.

Anyway, I landed a gig directing a reading of a short piece called A Play on Words by Eileen Weiss. Eileen’s play was funny and quirky and full of marvelous writing. We gathered actors and set to work.

One of the actors we gathered was a young woman named Julie Flanders. Julie and her husband Emil Adler had just started a band.

October Project.

And Julie gave me a CD of their self-titled debut album.

So, of course, I listened to it.

And wow!

Intricate vocal harmonies. Clear crystalline voices. Haunting melodies. And beautiful, evocative, even mythic words.

So, here is a link to a music video of October Project’s Return to Me from that album.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gm9kQdIFObY

And another, Ariel, which I love because of the connection to Shakespeare’s The Tempest. (Flapdoodle!)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ga53vmcb2s

And you can find Julie, Emil and Marina here.

Oh, the reading?

We did it at Barnes & Noble. It went great!

Producing without pain

Or money

Producing, in the theatre, is a risky business. Most shows never recoup their investment, so losing money is a very real possibility. We still have producers, though, because it is also possible to make a lot of money. They say (I’m not sure who “they” is), ‘You can’t make a living in the theatre, but you can make a killing.’ So, there’s that. A high stakes gamble.

But, mostly, we still have producers, because it’s a lot of fun. A challenge.

I like almost everything about producing except for the part about raising money. Which, unfortunately, is probably about 90% of the job. In the course of trying to get my play, Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us, off the ground, I got involved in an organization called Theatre Resources Unlimited. TRU is devoted to helping producers learn to be better producers. I found their seminars and readings and boot camps to be enormously helpful.

I wouldn’t mind being a producer.

Except for that part about the pesky money.

So, it is a miracle that I get to do a lot of producer-type things with Round Robin Shakespeare. Finding a space, making sure that all the needed materials are on hand (needed to acquire a few copies of The Collected Works, remember?), doing the PR. I don’t have to cast it or find a director or get a set built, and I’m not heading toward opening night and make-or-break reviews, but it’s a really good way to start small.

Playwrights are always their own first producers. Nobody will back your script like you will, nobody knows it better. We have to learn those skills, much as some of us might want to be left alone to write.

You can do that. Got a room? Got a pencil? A little piece of paper? You’re good. But if you want anybody to see it, there’s going to be at least a little marketing involved.

Learning all I can about that can only help me.

So, here I am, with this other kind of “production.” The library as “co-producer,” gets us a free space. Choosing Shakespeare gets us royalty-free material. Choosing a round-robin format spares us rehearsal costs in time and money. But the organizing and preparing and publicizing?

That’s producing.

And I get to do it. And I don’t have to ask anyone for money.

And that’s a miracle.

There ain’t nothin’ like a dame

Dame Maggie, that is.

It’s not a very original headline, I know, but irresistible. In the same vein, I held off as long as I could, but we have to feature Dame Maggie Smith in a Smith Sunday. You knew it was coming, didn’t you? I suspect Dame Maggie is, currently, our most famous Smith. And, with the premiere of Season 3 of Downton Abbey last Sunday. . .how could we not mention her?

With an illustrious career on stage and screen dating back to 1952, she is one of the United Kingdom’s greatest exports. I am happy to say I’ve been a fan since I saw The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie on TV. (Saturday Afternoon at the Movies was better then before Ted Turner bought all the great films.) Maggie Smith’s name in the credits will get me to a movie theater or into a Broadway house as quick as anyone’s. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life as I did at Lettice & Lovage, and it’s one of the few Broadway plays I’ve seen twice. If you want a lesson in timing, you could do far worse than study Dame Maggie.

Pure magic, long before she became Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—although I, frankly, think she always was. I can’t imagine anyone would disagree that was a piece of the purest perfect casting.

Today, there are a lot of clips for your viewing pleasure. Start with a five minute scene from the stage production of Lettice & Lovage. Then, move on to Smith’s current audience favorite with the Dowager Countess’s top 10 moments form Season 1 of Downton Abbey. Finally, there is a much longer, half-hour retrospective of just a few career highlights. You’ll see her perform with Laurence Olivier, Bette Davis, Michael Caine, Cher and Whoopi Goldberg, among others, and if you hang on to the end, there’s a delightful musical turn in which she teaches Carol Burnett to speak Cockney!

The end of Act I, Lettice and Lovage

Top 10 Downton Moments, Season 1

Dame Maggie Smith

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cF87K3cHTcI

Not a day goes by

When I am not thankful I found my way into the theatre.

In case I haven’t mentioned it before, I love theatre. I especially love musical theatre (maybe because it’s the one form I am really, really, really no good at).

That’s why I was so happy the other night to stumble upon a re-run of a PBS Great Performances presentation of Sondheim! The Birthday Concert.

Sondheim is a genius.

I’m fairly sure that’s an undisputed fact.

He has a birthday every year, of course, just like us non-geniuses. His birthdays, periodically, are punctuated by tribute concerts that get televised—thus providing those far from Broadway with the opportunity to have a little taste.

This last one may be the best one yet. (Maybe not. They’re all good.)

There are lots of good numbers by lots of Broadway stars. It’s great fun to see Chip Zien and Joanna Gleason, the original Baker and his Wife, from Into the Woods, and Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters, from Sunday in the Park with George, and two Sweeney Todds—George Hearn and Michael Cerveris—along with Patti LuPone, reprising numbers from those fabulous shows.

The pièce de résistance, however, is found near the end of the concert. As described on PBS’s website, it’s a “parade of legendary leading ladies who cap the evening with a non-stop succession of showstoppers guaranteed to quicken the pulse of all bona fide show fans.”

I’m not sure what’s more wonderful, the totally terrific numbers or the amazing ladies who sing them. First we get Patti Lupone and The Ladies Who Lunch, Marin Mazzie singing Losing My Mind, Audra McDonald and The Glamorous Life, Donna Murphy’s rendition of Could I Leave You, and Bernadette Peters’ beautiful Not a Day Goes By with Elaine Stritch capping it all off with I’m Still Here.

Big-voice belting and lyric sopranos. Gorgeous voices, gorgeous music., the pre-eminent performers of our time. It was kind of like dueling divas—but in a good way. And it was clear that—had anything happened in that theatre that night—Broadway was gone for a generation. (Fortunately, it’s all pre-taped, so any breathlessness at the end isn’t over fearing disaster but in tribute to the breathtaking qualities of the performances.)

I wish I could show you video clips of all of them, but we probably have to buy the DVD for that. I think it will be well worth the $25 bucks.

For a little preview, though, here’s part of Patti LuPone’s finale.

And the link below (it won’t embed) is the official PBS preview. Thirty minutes of selected numbers, including Elaine Stritch’s final number there at the end.

(And some of my readers, I know, will be interested to see John McMartin at time stamp 10:42.)

http://video.pbs.org/video/1661902012/

Enjoy! I sure did.

Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

Category Archives: Theatre