I haven't posted in FOREVER

Because I am a failure and a terrible person. But I'm back on the wagon, folks. I have thoughts, and soon you'll get to hear them more regularly.

I don't usually post any pictures on this blog, particularly of anything personal or identifiable. But I'm going to bite the bullet and post this one, because it commemorated a truly amazing experience.



THAT IS EMMA THOMPSON, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. EMMA THOMPSON, AND ME, AND MY CLASSMATES.

Because, awesome.

More about the workshop, the experience, life in Britain, and, of course, Shakespeare and other literature, coming soon.

It's Re-lightful, It's Re-licious, It's Re-lovely

I have re-cast some of my Troilus.

Since we are taking it on the road and up to Student Area of Prestigious Theatre, and two of our actors couldn't make it, some shuffling had to take place. I have actually managed to round up three actors for two slots, which is fairly exciting, as less cast overlapping means a less confused audience. Slightly, anyway. That's the hope.

I haven't really done this before, that is, had a bonus performance. Or rather, I have, but not with a changed cast, completely changed locale, and a two month break. In one way, it's rather wonderful, as it's a second chance to fix some of the elements that I felt didn't really gel. I don't consider this project the be my best work, and I'm anxious to work on it until I can be more proud of the result.

On the other hand, I don't think its gelling problems necessarily came from casting, and I'm not sure they are solvable under the circumstances. Especially given that I have three days to introduce my new actors to the play, including the cast that is already set, and then three days to polish it up till it's fit for public consumption, and those two three-day sets are seven weeks apart.

I am not necessarily learning what I expected to learn in grad school, but I'm definitely learning things.

Les Anglaises

Once again, I must apologize for real life getting in the way of the much more important realm of blogging. I had a major deadline for a project last week, and as such spent most of my waking minutes trying to make my project not suck. (It didn't, but I still felt I could have done better - making my thesis for my portfolio on said project basically write itself.)

Another of the side effects of said project was to immerse me in British culture in a way that 6 months living here couldn't match. Since 88% of my course is made up of either American or Canadian students, and our professors, though British, make allowances for that, and since my life outside the university is primarily restricted to business transactions, several sides of British life have become clear to me only in the last couple weeks.

Such as... what the hell is up with British schools and youth and whatnot? I'm not complaining about the curricula, of which I know very little; nor do I want the damn kids to get off my lawn. I'm just completely flabbergasted by the pastimes of British youth. For background, please remember that although I was a fairly straight-edged kid, I did go to school in Berkeley, where clouds of pot smoke would hang over the park where we gathered for lunch -- the park that was across the street not only from the high school but also the police station and City Hall. So it's not like I think teenagers are angels.

But when I was young, we did not set people on fire in order to wake them up. Nor was it cool to trick someone into drinking your urine. There may have been one knife fight at my school that I remember, but racial slurs shouted in the halls really weren't tolerated, and the authorities were not shy about expelling students who threatened death and dire bodily harm on other students. Or who wrecked school buildings. In the UK, however, these things were apparently a matter of course. But they're less violent than the states, because they carry knives instead of guns. I guess. I... I don't know. Don't look at me, I just live here.

I read The Anglo Files before I got out here, and it's tremendous, and I recommend it to everyone. But I really am waiting for the author to write a sequel covering violence in schools, pantos, the appeal of getting drunk at ten in the morning, why the British complain about having to pay for their prescriptions, and why they can't share the effing sidewalk.

Sun!

It's my final day of a three-day weekend -- I know, technically Monday is a holiday, but I'm making my goslings work on Monday since none of them could work over the weekend, and so I took Friday off instead, and cleaned.

And yesterday, I read a romance novel about mermaids, instead of actually doing anything. And today, I'm going to go outside, into the brilliant 65-degree weather, and just relax as God intended. Even God rests on Sundays, people. (Okay, so actually God rests on Saturdays, but I rested yesterday, I just rested indoors. Today, God has given us sunlight, so He clearly expects me to rest some more. Maybe with ice cream, or a cold coffee.)

In other news, my play is getting more and more feminist, and I've gotta curb that impulse a little before it becomes a PSA about assault instead of a piece of theater. Because PSAs are boring and transparent, and theater is engaging and subtle. It would help if I had an assistant. But bah! I need no assistant. The whole point of this project is that I am to be marked on my brilliance, not my assistant's brilliance. So sooner or later I'll have to come up with something brilliant.

Troilus and Cressida and Zombies

Troilus and Cressida being the lesser known Shakespeare I'm working on at the moment, and the zombie being me.

Honestly, I haven't been writing first because I went home, and had many more social engagements, many fewer minutes of free time, and very limited computer exposure. And since I've been back? It's mostly been stress.

(And the difficulty of beginning to write again after one hasn't for awhile.)

Part of me thought everything would be okay once I started directing again, but this is my first time working with "real" drama students, several of whom are more educated in drama than I am. And since I'm the only one getting graded on this project, I find it sort of thematically difficult to figure out how gung-ho I am allowed to be. All of which is a roundabout way of saying I'm really insecure about this whole thing, and wish I had as much confidence as I have ideas.

I do however have the benefit of a really interesting script (since it's edited by me) and a so far stellar cast. I mean, it's not performance time yet, but so far they've been lovely, both as actors and as people. Still I am insecure. Which makes me insecure about feeling insecure in the first place, and determined not to show my insecurity, which makes me more insecure.

Whee!

So when not rehearsing, (and we're really not rehearsing very often yet) I've been mostly in my room, reading and watching old episodes of Stargate. (Allette described it thusly: "It has a cast of four: one woman, and three hot men" and so I decided to check it out. The writing is pretty bad, but I have kept watching anyway.) My reading has been mostly well-written, however. I've been rereading Austen lately, and heard that for those who wish she'd written more than six novels, a good second option is Emily Eden, and so I've started her Semi-Detached Couple. At chapter ten, I can't make any sweeping generalizations about plot, but so far her dialogue is pretty excellent.

Also, I must recommend to all and sundry that you scamper off and get your hands on Peter Beagle's latest, We Never Talk About My Brother. Go on, scamper. It's worth it, I promise. His writing is rich as custard, but since it's a book of short stories, when you get overwhelmed by it you can always put it down. And it's really just shimmeringly beautiful stuff.

So that has been my life recently: books, television, abject fear.

All is not lost, however. Who just made it to round 4x on Bubble Spinner? Who just got a score of 2177? That's right, bitches. Boo-yah.

Take heart, my challengers. (I didn't realize I had challengers till I got home, and people were all asking what my top score was.) In losing this challenge you have actually won. Are you depressed and finding it difficult to do anything productive in your life for more than twenty minutes at a time? No? Because that's what makes ME play Bubble Spinner for like three hours at a stretch.

Good Old Wooden O

Obviously, I missed my update day yesterday. My excuse is that I'm staying in London and getting on the net in 15 minute increments at 50p each.

Plus, my Globe stuff is very exciting to me, but may be less so to others. I'm having a total blast -- they take us up on the stage to say lines and move around; we're doing text work on Hamlet and Julius Caesar; we have movement, and voice, and stage combat with big swords - it's fun.

It's also stressful, of course, and not a lot of private time in a hostel and very expensive food and stressful things like that. Exhausting. That's the word.

In other news, not unreleated, I caught the musical stage version of Sunset Boulevard last Saturday. I regret to inform the general public that whatever Andrew Lloyd Webber may or may not once have had (that is up for debate), he has now lost it. Which is sad, because I enjoy several, though not all of his musicals. But whatever it was, it's gone now; the music (and lyrics) were by far the worst element of this particular musical. Story - good; concept - interesting; acting - fantastic; songs - toilet. Sad but true.

I've been buying loads of books, but instead of writing about them, I have to sign off.

Fantasies Come True

Guess what I did today....

STOOD ON THE STAGE AT THE GLOBE.

That is all.

Flat, Stale, and Unprofitable

You know, I've been thinking, on and off, what to write about all day long, and I can't come up with basically anything. Not that I haven't done stuff this week, because I have. Oh, brother, have I ever.

Monday was last minute rehearsals, Tuesday tech, Wednesday dress, and Thursday our opening. Thursday too, my dad's younger brother (hereafter denoted as Uncle O) arrived here at my uni. Friday, a day off, and Saturday, a tour show. Today, Uncle O headed out.

I feel bad, because what with all the rehearsals and things, I wasn't really prepped to handle a visitor. So there was a lot more wandering, and a lot fewer tours, than was anticipated. He did see my show twice, bless him, and said he enjoyed it both times, but I was not at the peak of my hospitality, and so feel bad.

Today is a day off, and since I dropped Uncle O back at the train station, it's been a lot of sitting around in front of the computer, eating chocolate. I wish I were kidding, but alas. It's been flipping freezing here (I'm not exaggerating. Literally, the temperature has been down by zero) and exhaustion from the show has made me feel that on some days, the best you can hope for is to make it till bedtime.

Which is not to say that the show is going badly, at all, or that I didn't have a fun weekend. I think the flatness comes rather from overextension. Look for a more cheerful update next week, when I'll be finished touring and on my way to London!

Metatheatricality

My professors toss that word around all the time. I'm pretty sure it means something, but your guess is about as good as mine about what that something might be. Maybe it's the section of the library above where they put the Theatricality books. (Ignore that joke if you don't know Aristotle trivia. What am I talking about? No one knows Aristotle trivia. I am so sleepy, you guys.)

I am actually still sleepy because I'm still trying to get back on normal time after being on Winter Break Time (go to sleep whenever you want and wake up whenever you want). And 'cause I stayed up till... um... well ... very late, to get my papers done and turned in. But! They are done, and turned in! See, I can prove it. That's one of them right there. The next time you have trouble sleeping, there it is, ready for your perusal. Guaranteed to cure any insomnia you might have. You're welcome. You know I've got your back.

Anyway. I chose that title (the metatheatricality title, not the title of the paper; the paper doesn't have a title) because it has been an intensely theatrical day. Theatrical days are difficult when you're on about four hours' sleep. (Not my fault, not entirely. Couldn't get to sleep to save my life, and the stupid smoke alarm went off at half past midnight. I hate my building sometimes.) What I was saying was, first I had rehearsal all day and then I saw a show.

Those two things alone would not really necessarily lead me to say I had a metatheatrical day. But the fevered pitch they maintained would do. It was the most rehearsalish of rehearsals, and the most showy of shows.

We're working on Much Ado About Nothing at the moment, and today was our first blocking/walkthrough of Act IV, scene i. For those unfamiliar, this is the scene where a young woman shows up to her wedding (to the guy she loves) only to get rejected by him, slandered by his best friend, disowned by her father, and talked into playing dead by her priest. So, kinda runs the gamut of emotions there. Who plays this young lady? Me. So I spent a solid chunk of the afternoon going from grinning and excited to curled up on the floor, half conscious and sobbing. Several times. And you know, it was really difficult.

It's interesting to me, because this is the first time I've acted in ages and ages -- two or three years -- and the last couple of parts I played didn't really require a deep emotional commitment. Or anyway, it was amateur enough that I could get away with just walking around charismatically, and not delving into emotional depths. And one of the reasons I stopped acting was that I didn't feel comfortable delving into those depths -- I mean, no one is really comfortable doing that, I don't think, although I've known some actors who were kind of scarily good at it. But I managed to forget just how uncomfortable it was, until today, when I really "let myself go there," (that being the technical term). It really shook me, possibly because I'm tired, and possibly because it's been so long, but also partly because "there," was a really scary place to be. It's off-putting, when you sort of know there's a scary place there, but you haven't been there in ages and aren't really sure you can find your way back there ever, and then suddenly you're right in the middle of it. And you know that you're in a process where the goal is to make it even scarier and more upsetting to be there. And that's your purpose, that's what you're doing.

I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but maybe the actors will know what I mean.

So that took me forever to deal with, and then after rehearsal (and dinner & pints at the pub; I do live in England) we went to a panto.

I'm pretty sure I'm physically unable to describe a British panto to American citizens. My theory is that with all the rain and tea and scones and whatnot, sometime between the Black Plague and getting sunstroke in India, the entirety of Britain went slowly and quietly insane. They stayed polite and dried-up about it -- they are British -- but nevertheless they are all secretly stark raving bonkers. They act all normal and then suddenly pull some sort of entertainment out of their collective asses that is basically the conceptual love child of a five-year-old and an evil genius. Case in point: Doctor Who.

Not to say these things aren't good and lovable and all that. But they are also completely insane and incomprehensible, and there's no good pretending otherwise. Our latest demonstration of this is the Panto.

A Panto (short for pantomime) is a stage play. Of sorts. I hesitate to say anything even that definite about it. Some of its elements include (in no particular order): a fairytale plotline, audience participation, live musical numbers, dirty jokes, men in drag (as queens and fairies, no less), stand-up comedy, small children, racy costumes, glitter, silly dialogue, elaborate sets, sparkles, zombies, pussycats, absurd make-up, sexy dance moves, drunk actors who forget their lines onstage and are prompted by their costars, and singing rat puppets. All of these elements (I'm not making any of this up, you guys, and all of it is pluralized for a reason) are held together with the largest serving of camp I have ever seen in my life. Think of the campiest thing that you have ever seen or imagined, double it, and add seven. It's campier than The Princess Bride, campier than Buffy, campier than Pushing Daisies. Campier than Bollywood, you guys. Campy like a redwood forest in the Sierra Nevadas.

The production I saw was The Sleeping Beauty, and did incorporate all of the elements I mentioned above. I will describe one scene, and you will just have to use your imaginations to fill in the rest -- bear in mind that the show was an hour and a half. Carabosse, the evil fairy (played by a man) has stolen into the castle by hiding in the orchestra pit (not kidding) along with her evil cat, Spindleshanks (played by a lithe young woman, in a costume that does not belong in the same room as children, even if the room is a theater). They have smuggled in a spinning wheel and plan to make the Princess Aurora prick her finger on it in a matter of moments. Everytime Carabosse enters, the audience boo and hiss. As loudly as possible. Also, every time she speaks. Manly Carabosse and sexy Spindleshanks cavort around the stage a bit, collecting these boos and hisses, and finally ask the audience if they should leave the stage. The audience boos and hisses more. Carabosse and Spindleshanks respond by launching into a live musical cover of "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" by the Clash.

Dude, could I make this up?

Other song and dance numbers included "Someday My Prince Will Come," "Any Dream Will Do," "We Go Together," and of course, "Mamma Mia." The audience is encouraged to sing along.

Those of you who were shaking your heads about my declaration of British insanity a couple paragraphs up? I rest my case. Facts, people. Cold, hard, facts. Educational experiences of the day.

Ketchup

So I know it's been a full month since I've written, and I apologize, in that rather self-centered bloggy way, for not updating you all on the intricacies of my life more often. It's due to a combination of lack of time and a total stress-out. I still have no time -- in fact, I have less than ever -- but I'm starting to wriggle my way out of questioning every single one of my actions and back into a more healthy life outlook.

The time suck is of course, rehearsals; I'm now working only 28 hours a week at The Store, and 22 hours a week on The Winter Thing. Which adds up kind of quickly, as my complete exhaustion demonstrates.

That's also been kind of a major source of stress, because I care about this winter thing so VERY much. It's theater, it's Shaw, it's professional (although they don't pay me), it's with the OS, there are many, many ways I was terrified of screwing this up. It's taken me nearly these whole first couple of weeks to lose my shyness enough to interact with people while we're on breaks. But I am happy to say that I'm finally beginning to drop in and make friends. And contributions! I'm beginning to average one real contribution as AD per night (knock on wood!), aside from the assorted general tasks of assisting Kissums (our delightful stage manager), being on book and the occasional stand-in, and apparently giving clues by my body language.

Which I don't mean to do at all, but... see, Kissums and I tend to sit in the front row, her taking blocking notes and me on book, while we work on staging. The OS sits a couple rows back, so that she can see the stage pictures more clearly. Only semi-consciously, I seem to react to the blocking, nodding when I like something and cringing or shaking my head when I don't. It's about nine-tenths instinct, and while I occasionally notice that I'm doing it, I don't really do it on purpose or with definite intent. But the OS apparently notices, because she's begun saying things like, "Oh, this got the [petitechica] stamp of approval, it must be good." I hold the OS in such awe that it seems patently odd to me that she would care what I think of her stage pictures, but there it is. And very exciting it is, too.

Of course now the major source of stress is this decision I'm trying to make about grad school next year. Oh, if only money grew on trees, and also the exchange rates were a little better. But I'm starting to deal with that now too, and it helps that it seems to be very impressive to everyone (including the OS, the DD, the cast, and the parentals, who mostly tend to think I should go for it) that I got in in the first place. No final decision has been reached, but I have put my first reaction of blind terror far enough aside that I'm getting the tools to make the decision final. If that makes any sense.

Righty-oh. I had to get all that out, but now I must prep for my twelve-hour day tomorrow. By sleeping.

Not FAIR

You know what is not fair? Do you know what is playing in London right now? Right this very moment?

-Patrick Stewart is playing Macbeth
-Ian McKellan is playing King Lear
-Ewan McGregor is playing Iago

I mean, shit. AND I AM MISSING IT!!! All of it, I am missing. All that is going on, and I am stuck here where I cannot see a bit of it. SO SAD.

I don't miss Europe, but if I were there right now, I can tell you, I would be in London seeing this stuff. For a long weekend, at the very least. Possibly two or three long weekends so I could see it two or three times. (Shut up, London theater is wicked cheap.) Sometimes I am here and I think about it and jump up and down with frustration.

Of course, if I weren't here, would I be helping the OS cast a show? Not so much. So...

Cast, Cast, Cast, Cast

We are (knock on a lot of wood) basically cast for The Winter Thing. The last round of auditions was today, and everyone feels pretty good about the final part. And yay!

I really like our cast. But even more than I like them, I'm anxious to see them play off each other. If we (by which I mean mostly the OS, of course) can take these people and this script and build it into this really beautiful ensemble show, it will be so far beyond awesome. Ah, the fun of having so much potential and then the headache of having to live up to it! But it is so exciting for me to be working on it. ("Working" in the loosest sense of the word, of course. Mostly I stay quiet, and note things, and think about them.) But it gives me so much to think about, and of course I learn a lot every time I go in there. In a couple weeks I'll get to sit in on a design meeting, which will be really interesting (and informative. I suck at design).

I am of course, the country bumpkin. But I am the country bumpkin who is there, not the one who can't seem to break in anywhere, and that's one of the things I love. As well as the theater itself, of course!

The World Makes Sense Again

Is it only me who has this bizarre sense of relaxation when her room is clean? Perhaps my mother scarred me at an early age. But as ways to relax go, it's a relatively simple -- if sadly rare -- one. And last Wednesday I got it in spades, as I unpacked my last box, took out my last trash bag, and threw my back out with my last piece of furniture. So of course I spent Turkey Day hobbling about and getting my small cousin to walk along my spine.

Other than that, Turkey Day was great fun. Good food, family, chess. I teamed up with a couple of family members against my uncle, who is actually good at chess. He gave us a bishop to even it up a little, and between that and coaching from my stepdad (what I actually mean by "coaching" is that every time my hand moved toward a piece, he would raise his eyebrows and inquire, "Are you sure you want to do that?") I actually made it in to a fairly even endgame. then my brain failed and I went off to play with more relaxing family members.

But now I am back home and have the benefit of the clean room and cookies from my grandma, and it is all very wholesome and relaxing. Plus, I got a holiday bonus today, which, double yay! Just when I was starting to use up my credit! So all is peaceful and happy, except that there was another round of callbacks today (which I sadly could not attend) and now I really want to know how the OS cast the show. I'm not antsy, like I would be if I were somehow up for a part or something, but I still really want to know. It's the same kind of overpowering academic interest that leads me to buy so many books.

That's what I mean about my life making sense, you know?

Maybe I Should Just Cut and Paste That Last Entry and Use it as a Default

For this week, at least. What do I like? Theater. What do I hate? Packing. What is just there? Work.

And... that was yesterday. First work, which mostly went well, although by the end I was tired and hungry and therefore over-sensitive. Then dinner with dad, which was good. I tried to explain about casting and how we only get a total of two AEA people, one of whom has been cast, and why that made it difficult. I'm not sure how much Dad appreciated the explanation, but heh.

Then I got home, and forayed into the basement. Sigh. On the plus side, I accomplished some good stuff; I found lots of stuff I was pleased to see again, and many things were sorted. ("Trash or Sell", "Storage", "Taking With Unless There's No Room In Which Case Storage," "Definitely Take With," "Um, Where in God's Name Did I Pick That Up?") On the minus side, I have butt-ton of crap, most of which is now dirty and/or bent out of shape from its life below stairs. Anyway, I burned out on that, came back upstairs, and tried to stretch my back back into shape (of course my back picks the weekend that I'm moving to throw itself out. Of course).

And then got on a long phone call with the OS about callbacks, namely how we are scheduling them, how we absolutely don't have enough time for them AT ALL, which sides we are making the actors read, where those sides should begin and end, is that one side too long, but if it is, how do we cut it down, because it's got great transitions and it's all important, and God, Shaw, why can't you make this guy shut up occasionally, etc., etc., etc. It sounds crazy but it was great fun. Eventually we just had to read the sides aloud and time them.

The fact that I love conversations like that is another tick in the "director" column. After auditions on Sunday it was lunch with the OS and her friend, an actor who read opposite the auditioning people, and we were talking about whom to call back. More than once he was like, I'm glad it's you two making the decisions and not me. And I sort of see what he means, because I'm glad that the OS has the final say and I don't, because I trust her judgment a lot more than I trust mine. But that doesn't stop me from having actual really clear and defined opinions about people, and casting, and seeing people opposite and all that. And looking at how a bunch of disparate things work together and enjoying trying to make them make sense.

(I like ticks in the director column, even as they make me a little uncomfortable. They make me feel like I'm being myself, which is nice; but it's odd to think about it as something I'm good at, because I still feel like everyone in the world could do it better than me if they just put their mind to it, so I end up feeling presumptuous. ADing for the OS is a really good middle ground between those feelings, what with the her listening to me and then making her own decisions.)

Ah, the ramblings of the post-collegiate. Someone needs to smack me.

Today, I have lunch with the DD. Lunch with the DD and the OS in the same week! So happy. I swear to God, one day I am going to introduce them to each other and then just... stand back. It will be great. And I will feel awkward because I am actually taller than both of them, which just feels so wrong.

Anyway. Yes, lunch with the DD. Who says she has made me a birthday cake, possibly because she is one of the sweetest people ever. And we will talk about how she is really for reals restarting PRs, and how that is some of the best news ever. (She's starting with the perfect combo, too.)

Okay, now I'm really just putting off packing and working and moving. HAAAAAAAAATE. I could ramble on about this stuff all day if it meant I didn't have to pack, but alas. I do have to pack. I have to pack and do laundry, all the livelong day. And cough until I choke on my own mucous. It is extremely irritating.

The Sort the World is Mostly Made of, I Should Think

So the good is, auditions put me in a great mood. Working with the OS, getting introduced as "the AD," (which totally gives me chills -- shut up, I'm young yet), listening to the readers' and stage manager's opinions of the actors, sorting headshots, not having to do any auditioning myself, just sitting there with notes and opinions... so much fun. Plus, eye candy in the form of the totally hot house manager, with whom I bonded over the having of a yucky cold. The OS said thank you a time or two and I was like, "um, you're welcome, for doing my most favorite thing ever," (no, seriously, I actually said that), and that pretty much sums it up. I still want the play to start tomorrow, but I'm going to use the intervening time well, in researching and thinking and all that good stuff. I still have to reread the play like sixty more times. (Ah, for the halcyon days of college, when the first time I would read a play I was directing was at the first cast readthrough. Heh. Bad plan, guys. Don't do that. Incidentally, what exactly is a halcyon, and why is it used to describe days?) (I piqued my own curiosity. Apparently I'm not using it incorrectly, which is a relief.)
The bad, of course, is that I am moving in two, count 'em, two days, and I have not packed. Because I have been too sick, and also because I loathe packing with every fiber of my being. Hate it. Cannot stand it. There are not enough negative words in English to describe how I feel about the necessity of packing. Everything good I feel about theater is canceled out by everything bad I feel about packing, and I assure you that that is quite a feat. I am excited to be moved in, but I am completely un-excited about packing. Even unpacking is better than actually packing. With unpacking you can organize and make a home for yourself. Packing, it's just realizing how much crap you have. Haaaate.

And that pretty much sums up my state of mind. Plus some vague worries about work scheduling, annoyance at still having the sniffles, and a sense of fun 'cause I finally joined my local alumni chapter, and will have the chance to meet up with some college friends soon. Whom I can face now that I will no longer be living with my parents. Whee!

Play! Yay!

I could SAY that all DAY. Hurray!

Shut up, no one asked your opinion of my poetry.

The Winter Thing is started! I can stop crossing my fingers (I hope. I'm going to leave them crossed for now.)!

I had a meeting with Omnipotent Softy today, to talk scheduling and interpretation and stuff. And we only just scratched the surface, but that's okay, there will be plenty of time for in-depth stuff before and during rehearsals. And I love, love, love talking play-stuff. I got on the BART train home and wrote two pages in my notebook about one of the main characters, based on the conversation. (Now I have to do it for the other five.) And we talked procedure and some stuff I was worried about was sorted out. I am so excited about this. Directing always makes me feel so much me, like my education and thoughts and perspective are all coming together like they're supposed to.

I also like the way the OS listens to me when I talk. It's a really simple thing, but it's energizing, like being back in college, to talk to someone who knows their stuff and yet listens to me as if I knew mine. This is very good for me, as it helps me stop being self-deprecating every third sentence. The Divine Dictator has been doing it for years, only with books, so I barely notice anymore, but I haven't know the OS for nearly as long, and I'm much less sure of myself with theater than with books. But she listens so definitively and responds before I remember to equivocate. It saves a lot of time when I just say what I think and don't finish every sentence with "of course, I don't really know, I'm not a real director." OS does not put up with that sort of nonsense, so I don't say it, to the benefit of the conversation.

Anyway, so we got caught up on The Winter Thing, her telling me her basic thoughts about concept and us just discussing each character in turn, scratching the surface. There are so many weird things in this play, besides even the challenge of making all the characters real people instead of mouthpieces for opinions. I would never have taken it on in college, but I am so, so excited now. Working on plays that are a little too hard for me is the best ever; I always learn so much about everything.

So now I can't stop thinking about it and wanting to talk about it more more more. It's lucky December and January are such busy months at The Store, such that there would be absolutely No Way I could attend rehearsals of anything at all, let alone a full-length Real Show. Otherwise I would be wicked upset that it doesn't get going for reals right this very minute. My attention span is roughly that of a gnat when it comes to theater.

In other news, I have lost my voice. Sigh. Croak.

Ah, Escapism

Which doesn't really work if you're not escaping. That can actually be read two ways.

1. It is time to overhaul my reading list a little bit. The three books I decided to focus on a week or two ago are doing nothing for me. Which is sad, because it's not like I don't like them or anything; they somehow just don't complement each other very well, and I'm losing all my momentum. So. I am switching my nonfiction book (I'm sorry, Victoria Finlay, I fully intend to finish your lovely book, but I can't right now) and my trashy fiction and regular fiction are getting switched into a different trashy fiction. (I'm sorry, Mark Haddon, but so far your second book is just not as interesting as your first. And no one loved Curious Incident more than I did, but... this one is just not hitting right, at least not yet. And I've given you a hundred pages already, so pick it up, dude! It's hitting too close to home to be entertaining, and not close enough to be touching. Sorry, man.) (I am not sorry to you, Laurie King, because I am either switching a Kate Martinelli book for a Mary Russell book -- both of which are written by you, and you have publicly admitted to agreeing with me that the Russells are more interesting -- or I am taking a break from you altogether to read some Dorothy Sayers, which I think you would also wholeheartedly approve of, given how much you love Sayers yourself.) Anyway. So, book switching time.

2. Seeing King Lear was much more fun than I expected, but not really the escapism I was expecting. A shout-out to my RKs, I am continually impressed with you guys. When I was in high school, I can't remember ever complaining that the people I was doing theater with weren't dedicated enough. Hot shit, you guys. At the same time, the show made me realize all over again how much I am itching and aching to direct something. I know I can't shut up about it, either in person or online, but its ferocity keeps taking me by surprise. God I am praying that this winter thing works out.

Double Dose of Drama Day

As in, started out helping with a SMAT at CalShakes, am finishing by working on the lobby display for Iphigenia. The information is mostly complete; just a question of setup and display and stuff. And watching a rehearsal.

I didn't see all of Lear, (didn't want to ruin it for myself; I'm going later) but from what I saw, it was great. The design, at least, was wonderful. Much (but not nearly all) of the power is lost when you wander in and out for five minutes at a time, but some stuff is incredible no matter what. coughGloucester'seyescough. I could neither watch nor look away, which is the best kind of theater.

Tiring, but fulfilling. Also finished A Grave Talent, which by my own rules means I am allowed to start O Jerusalem, unless I decide to stick with Kate Martinelli through another book.

Iphigenia rehearsals are fun, although it's always hard to turn off my director-thinking and be in research mode. (Does "research mode" make anyone else think of Daughter of Time? I am so a woolly lamb.) Anyway, I do hope ADing later this winter works out. I am excited but trying hard not to jinx it. Meantime I let my director thinking run loose whenever I can't sleep. I come up with elaborate play-thoughts, such as the proper temporal setting for Two Gentlemen of Verona and Lord Peter Wimsey's floor pattern in Busman's Honeymoon.

I'm Sure There's a Pun Here, But I Can't Think of It

A pun about how badly I want to direct Busman's Honeymoon, that is.

I'm loving the book -- it may make it onto my list of my favorite books ever; there is so much to have fun with, and Peter and Harriet are completely adorable -- but, with that said, it is also one of the most frustrating books ever. Because you can TELL it was based on a play, it's really obvious, and it's making me think play thoughts. Like how much I want to try to set up Peter's and Harriet's relationship as a counterpoint to the murder investigation (a parallel would be too obvious, but a counterpoint would be interesting) and their movements and floor patterns, and how you would set up the stage, and how you could dangle red herrings, and where you would have entrances and exits, and what parts are funny versus what parts are morbid, and, and...

I miss directing and I miss ADing. It's like an itch I can't scratch, and it's driving me so nuts. Sometimes I wonder about it; like it almost seems presumptuous of me to miss it, since I'm not a real director. But I can't help it, and I can't stop myself. I may ask the Divine Dictator if she knows of any teens around who want to work a scene for fun, just to keep me in practice. Maybe it will help once I start regularly going to Iphigenia rehearsals, but so far dramaturging is not really enough.

Defining.... Something

There's an article about female directors in the San Jose Mercury News this week.

I tend to get uncomfortable with this kind of thing. Uncomfortable on more than one level, of course; there's always the level of, well, how much does this really tell you, no need to be a feminazi (which is such a horrible word), judge films by their merits, etc. And the level of ... that's it? Female movie directors are only 7%? Really? Really really? Because gross.

It's about film, and I don't know whether it's the same in theater, which is the area I'm more interested in directing. I imagine (or hope) that it's not, but it's annoying to me that that will always be in the background for me, almost regardless of what I end up doing. And you try not to give it too much attention, because then you drive yourself crazy, but you can't quite just ignore it either.

It's something that's sort of been bouncing around in my head over the last year or so; something I had to come to terms with at SJC (because what's rarer than a female director? A female philosopher, of course!), but coming to terms with it in the real world is something else again.

Not that I've faced any direct bigotry in any theater stuff I've done before, at least none that I knew of. And I feel really lucky in the people I'm working with now, I have so many role models there, many many of whom are women, strong and powerful and intelligent and interesting ones, and it is absolutely amazing to go in every day and just ... soak stuff up, you know. Sit and watch and feel the brain expanding, and occasionally mutter a suggestion. So it's not something that I'm facing, or overcoming, or anything really, in my day to day life. More something that is ... nibbling, I guess. At the back.

I didn't mean to ramble. This stuff has been on my mind for awhile, and certain things in the article crystalized certain things in my thinking. Clearly, not enough that I actually make any sense, though. I'll come to an answer about it sooner or later.