Lara Fisher is Hemophelia, the ghoul of cool and hostess of Hemophelia's House of Horrors, an all-new horror-themed comedy/variety show now playing at the Lex Theatre through June 8.
The Visceral Company presents a frightfully fun excursion into laugh-out-loud funny horror; an eclectic collection of sketches that range from macabre jokes to horror movie satire, with occasional artistic and technical flourishes that elevate this from being a mere sketch comedy show to something truly worth seeing.
Lara Fisher is Hemophelia, our host, our sexy Crypt Keeper-ette. She fills the space between the sketches with songs (Matt DeNoto has composed some truly funny stuff here) and goriously bad puns, but most importantly keeps the show moving along. Her name is in the title, but Hemophelia (like all good emcees) knows the show isn't just about her. We get just enough of her dark wackiness that we want more.
Hemophelia's House of Horrors, an all-new horror-themed comedy/variety show now playing at the Lex Theatre through June 8, features (top center) Lara Fisher as Hemophelia, the ghoul of cool, and a comedy troupe of (clockwise from bottom) Brian Prisco, Cloie Wyatt Taylor, Cynthia Zitter, Torrey Halverson, Matt DeNoto, Samm Hill, and Casey Christensen.
Three sketches in particular stand out. In "Organ Grinder," Samm Hill and Matt DeNoto play out the kind of high-concept terror I associate with Tales from the Crypt, Shock SuspenStories, and other EC horror comics. It has its funny moments, but the sketch is a statement about addiction and loss served up with the heavy-handed, gorily metaphoric moralizing EC Comics is known for. Hill and DeNoto give the right amount of fully-committed scenery chewing, and the piece serves as a nice break from more conventional sketch comedy fare, such as the parody of the Friday the 13th movies that precedes it.
"Habeus Corpus," created and directed by Jana Wimer, is a trippy piece of puppetry magic. A disembodied head and hands dig through a trash can, pulling out bits and pieces of garbage to assemble a body. Spooky and fun with a startling ending. Like "Organ Grinder," it's not the sort of fare you would expect in a sketch show, but the otherworldly eeriness contributes to the overall vibe of the night.
"Karmic Retribution" exemplifies what this troupe is capable of with straight up sketch comedy. A genre-twisting take on the "axe-wielding maniac" trope, three survivors lock themselves in a cabin and let their true feelings be known about a fourth friend who was slaughtered offstage. Casey Christensen, Cloie Wyatt Taylor, and Cynthia Zitter play up the imperiled campers, giving a more dimensional portrayal of the victim archetypes from conventional horror. The piece builds tension through its staging, releasing bits of that tension through humor until the grim and hilarious end. It is delightful.
This show is a lot of fun, and I recommend braving the horrible parking to take it in. (Parking is a nightmare. Get there a little early, expect to do laps, and pay attention to the signs before committing to a spot. You may have to park a few blocks away from the venue.)
Hemophelia's House of Horrors opens its doors Fridays and Saturdays at 10:30 pm through June 8th (there are no performances on May 17th or 18th) and may also be visited during Hollywood Fringe Festival on Tuesday, June 11th at 8pm and Thursday, June 13th at 10:30pm. The Visceral Company is in residence at The Lex Theatre, 6760 Lexington Avenue in Hollywood. Nearest cross street is Highland.
What if we thought of theatre not as a product, but as an alliance (a "connection based on kinship, marriage, or common interest; a bond or tie"), a fellowship (a "close association of friends or equals sharing similar interests"), a guild (an "association of persons of the same trade or pursuits, formed to protect mutual interests and maintain standards"). Instead of buying a product (a ticket to a show), you became a member of this alliance/fellowship/guild and could participate in all of the activities associated with that organization. A church can serve as an interesting model.
Indeed, a church is a fantastic model, which is why I sat up in my chair a bit when my dad -- a Methodist minister -- posted a link to this article on Facebook:
The 11 lessons outlined may be of particular interest to folks who find themselves concerned for the health of their theater company. It should be read by all, regardless, as the items listed sketch out a road map for failure that may be avoided. Let's take a look at just three of these items.
2. The church had no community-focused ministries. This part of the autopsy may seem to be stating the obvious, but I wanted to be certain. My friend affirmed my suspicions. There was no attempt to reach the community.
Can you imagine a theater company becoming calcified and insular? Acting -- banish the thought -- cliquish? (Note: you have to focus on the community you actually belong to, not the community you wish you belonged to. This is often a key distinction for companies in Los Angeles.)
7. With few exceptions, pastoral tenure grew shorter and shorter. The church had seven pastors in its final ten years. The last three pastors were bi-vocational. All of the seven pastors left discouraged.
For me the analogy is creative leadership turnover. When a company begins chewing up and spitting out its creative talent, you might want to start warming up the defibrillator.
9. The church had no clarity as to why it existed. There was no vision, no mission, and no purpose.
And herein lies a clue to the cure. A dying company lacks purpose. Say, I haven't quoted Peter Brook in a while, have I? This seems like a good time to do so. From The Empty Space:
There is always a new season in hand and we are too busy to ask the only vital question which measures the whole structure. Why theatre at all? What for? Is it an anachronism, a superannuated oddity, surviving like an old monument or a quaint custom? Why do we applaud, and what? Has the stage a real place in our lives? What function can it have? What could it serve? What could it explore? What are its special properties?
Granted, the cure involves asking tough questions and coming up with challenging answers.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that precisely what theater is good at?
When a collaboration or partnership clicks, the whole becomes greater than the sum of the parts. Some amazing art can be created. Sometimes, things go horribly awry. It is incredibly hard to tell how bad things really are when you are in the middle of things. Before settling down, you should spend some time "dating" to see if a partnership or collaboration is a love connection. Work on a limited project with your potential collaborators, and evaluate the experience from a safe distance before committing further.
Hopefully, this list will help you recognize the signs of a bad creative relationship so that you can move on and find your perfect match. Or, if you have settled down, perhaps it will help you resist doubling down on a partnership that's driving you nuts.
1. SANDBAGGING. Important information is being withheld. One of your collaborators knows something you don't, and in order to gain some advantage over you, he keeps you in the dark. If you are being sandbagged, you are not in a healthy relationship; you are connected to someone who is actively working against you in a passive-aggressive, underhanded way.
This is reason enough to pack it in and hit the road. This is a basic trust issue. If your partner or collaborators are doing this to you, run.
2. STATED MISSION VS. THE ACTUAL ACTIVITIES. This is not the same as making an honest attempt and failing. No, this is saying one thing and doing another. For instance the stated goal is to develop new material, but the group only seems interested in producing published plays that will showcase the actors.
We all have our wild hares to chase, but when things get wildly out of phase and most of the time, something more serious is at hand.
3. YOUR GOALS VS. THE GOALS OF YOUR COLLABORATORS. This is a big one, yet it's strangely easy to miss. It's really a "no harm, no foul" situation -- you're just not all on the same page. You want to create spontaneous happenings in public, someone else wants to produce Shakespeare in the park, and a third person wants to produce her one-woman show in a North Hollywood storefront theater.
This can lead to "No, but ..." brainstorming, as opposed to "Yes, and ...." Every idea thrown out is immediately shot down by someone who's just not on the same page with you. You're planning a garden salad, he's planning to change the oil in his Buick Skylark. "Carrots!" "No, Pennzoil 10W30!" "No, celery!" "No, Fram HM3887A oil filter!" If it feels like you're speaking a different language than your collaborator, you probably are.
4. ALL STICK, NO CARROT. Sometimes we need enforcement to get things done. The enforcement of a deadline, for instance. If you are in a creative relationship that is all enforcement and no positive reinforcement (e.g. rewards, opportunities, a simple "thank you"), you are most likely dealing with someone who gets off on pushing other people around. The world is too vast, and creative opportunities too ample to remain attached to a bruiser who'd rather smack you than pat you on the back.
5. FOCUSING ON BLAME RATHER THAN PRODUCTION. Ever have one of those meetings where you deviate wildly off of the agenda and into finger-pointing territory? Any hope for productivity flies out the window and you spend the next hour rehashing things that went astray -- rehashing without any attempt to actually learn from those mistakes. Nope, it's much more fun to tell a person, "You're wrong!"
This gets really sick when it becomes a proactive attempt to catch you out on something. To actually manipulate you into an unintentional lie or misstep; a game of "GOTCHA!"
6. FREQUENT CLASHES, ESPECIALLY OF A PERSONAL NATURE. This is an extension of the above, and it deserves its own bullet. There's blaming others for things that have gone wrong, and then there's taking personal potshots at them. If it's happening, again, the person you're dealing with is actively working against you. Nothing good can come of that relationship. Run.
7. DRUDGERY. Finally, if you're just plain miserable, cut bait and move on.
It can be tough. There's this thing called "The Sunk Cost Bias." There's a great article about it here. The short version is, it's damned hard to step away from something you've invested in. For some reason it feels "better" to keep doubling down on a bad hand than to simply fold. This is what Buddha meant when he said "The origin of suffering is attachment."
To paraphrase Walt Whitman, you are large; you contain multitudes. Don't let anyone sell you on the idea that leaving a messed-up relationship will in anyway hinder your ability to create. Instead, remember the sage words of Bobcat Goldthwait:
Work with your friends. Avoid chasing fame or money. Just do what you want to do, when and how you want to do it. And if it’s not making you happy, quit. Quit hard, and quit often. Eventually you’ll end up somewhere that you never want to leave.
As for the story, whether the [writer] takes it ready made or constructs it for himself, he should first sketch its general outline, and then fill in the episodes and amplify in detail.
- Aristotle, The Poetics
The older I get, the more I appreciate the notion that all writing is not simply rewriting (as the old saying goes) but rather all writing is rewriting and pre-writing.
There's a nagging little imp inside our minds that is telling us we could do more, accomplish more, be more. We try to shut him up with pills or alcohol or simply being "too busy," but he's there, waiting for an opportunity to rub our pathetic little failures in our face and say, "SEE? YOU WOULDN'T BE STUCK IN A DEAD-END LIFE IF YOU HAD JUST LISTENED TO ME IN THE FIRST PLACE!"
There's a reason why we keep him shut up in a mental broom closet, why we strive to keep his voice out of our heads. It's uncomfortable to be laughed at -- it's worse when it's us doing the laughing.
Red Bastard is that imp. His wild gymnastics and existential challenges are uncomfortable, but sorely needed.
This isn't entertainment; it's an experience. Eric Davis is entertaining -- please don't misunderstand. He is entrancing and vivacious as the eponymous bulbous buffoon. What I mean to say is this is not some mere show that you just go to see.
Brecht said, "Art is not a mirror to hold up to society, but a hammer with which to shape it." Red Bastard is the mirror and the hammer, and he empowers his audience to join him. He can't force his audience out of their comfort zone; they have to be willing to go on the journey with him. You do not have to be willing to trust him, per se, at least no more than you would trust yourself, but willing to play along. Willing to dance with the devil, as it were.
Does he succeed? It depends upon the audience, I suppose. He certainly gave me pause, and I've been rolling around the Red Bastard experience in my mind since last night's performance. Davis makes a valiant effort at being an agent provocateur and change agent, yet in spite of his monstrous posturing and the maniacal control he exercises over the audience, there is a very human vulnerability just under the surface of the monster. This spark of vulnerability lends a certain ineffable charm to Red Bastard, and provides a sense of safety no matter how risky the dance becomes. His performance hinges on an audience willing to play, and it is a courageous risk on his own part.
Go be a part of Red Bastard; be willing to play. Take the clown at face value and he will return the favor.
Red Bastard is seducing audiences Mondays at 8pm, but THERE ARE ONLY TWO PERFORMANCES LEFT! April 29th and May 13th, at Sacred Fools, 660 N. Heliotrope Dr., in Los Angeles; just south of Melrose and a couple of blocks west of Vermont Ave. Street parking is ample, but get there a little early. Tickets are $20 and available at www.sacredfools.org/onlineboxoffice/.
(Side note: Scoops, a groovy little gelato joint just north of Melrose on Heliotrope is open until 10:00 pm. After the show, take a little walk and try their salted caramel or jasmine pistachio. It's a tasty, decadent treat that pairs well with nursing your inner imp.)
Phillip and I have been working together in this capacity for five years (I've known him a little longer than that.) We write together, and have been known to produce theater together as well.
I've also had my painful, bitter failures. (Names omitted pursuant to Thumper's Rule.)
HOW TO WORK WITH A PARTNER OR COLLABORATOR
1. MAKE SURE YOU'RE ON THE SAME PAGE. I cannot emphasize this enough. You could ignore all the rest of this advice and still find incredible success if you just make sure at the outset that you and your potential collaborators are on the same page. Before Pamela and I start a new project, we spend hours talking it over, conducting visual research, sketching ideas, listening to music, etc. Before we start the project, we have a pretty good idea what we're going in on.
Likewise, Phillip and I throw ideas off each other, mull things around, argue a bit, and ultimately come out with an alloyed idea that is stronger than what either one of us could have generated alone. When Phillip and I first embarked upon The Mr. Snapper & Mr. Buddy Rumpus Revue, we went back and forth describing our "sensory and emotional responses" to the idea of the show. We actually broke it down on a visceral level: What does the show feel like, in a tactile sense? What does it smell like? It helped us forge the finished show conceptually, before the first bad joke was written.
The biggest partnership failures I've had occurred because we weren't all on the same page. I wanted to zig, they wanted to zag. I had everything worked out in my head, but I didn't take the time to explain -- or, as is more often the case, my ego balked at the notion of "explaining myself." Which brings me to the next point:
2. GET OVER YOUR EGO.
"The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps."
- Marsellus Wallace
I have been cursed of late with the ability to see myself doing or saying stupid shit as I do or say it. I know when my ego has gotten the better of me. I'm not bragging about some mutant ability here, I'm just saying I'm a dick, and I know it.
The trick is to suck it up and admit you're wrong. Or -- and this is perhaps the most difficult thing of all -- admit your partner is right and you're wrong. My advice is to recognize that, if you are all on the same page, you all have the same goal. In the end, it doesn't really matter if you took a right turn or a left turn, so long as you got to your destination on time. Don't be so married to your own ideas that you miss out on a shortcut.
And it's okay to be unhappy about being wrong. Only channel that unhappiness away from your partner, and towards something more constructive, like punching a wall.
3. WASTE IDEAS. This is a good piece of creative advice in general, but it is so very important in a partnership. It gets to the heart of brainstorming, and it will help alleviate the ego sting mentioned above.
In short, an idea is nothing. We are in the idea business, so reeling off a bunch of different possibilities should come easy. If not, it's a muscle you should exercise. Ideas are not precious, and once you make your peace with that, your ability to work with others will increase by an order of magnitude.
4. "YES, AND" NOT "NO, BUT". When you're in brainstorming mode, cut the brake line and head for the highest hill. Keep notes. Sort the wheat from the chaff after you've harvested everything. If you're truly on the same page, not married to your precious ideas, and willing to get over your bad self, separating the wheat from the chaff should be relatively quick and painless, once you get to that stage.
The last thing you want to do is clamp down on a free flow of ideas in the moment. You ever notice that "moment" and "momentum" have the same root? Kill the moment, and you kill the momentum.
5. DO UNTO OTHERS AS YOU WOULD HAVE THEM DO TO YOU. Yes, the Golden Rule. I like to extend it to also mean, "cut your partner the same breaks you hope they would cut for you."
A partnership is give and take, and I'm not really aware of any reliable way to determine when to give and when to take, other than following the Golden Rule. Granted, it can be a bit of a "grind it 'til you find it" proposition. The important thing is to go into a collaboration knowing it will be a give and take, and honoring that part of the relationship.
6. COMPARTMENTALIZE. This may come as a surprise to you, but I've had arguments with Pamela and Phillip. More often with Phillip than with Pamela, but she's way cuter than he is.
You have to let the argument, the project, etc. exist in its own space, and continue to tend the relationship. Oftentimes, the parts of the partnership that are working will overwhelm and choke out the part that's not working, but you must first focus your energies on the positive.
A corollary to this is a little something I learned from Penn & Teller:
Petty disagreements between artistic partners should never get so out of hand that they threaten your mutual output or potential income. When all else fails, just be professional.
IN CONCLUSION. Not every partnership is going to pan out, no matter how noble your intentions are when you first go in on it. Sometimes people just don't mesh. Sometimes you may be doing everything right, but the other person is incapable of getting past their own ego, getting on the same page with you, wasting ideas, etc. As mentioned in the last installment in this series, there's no shame in cutting bait and walking away.
Next time, we'll take a closer look at partnerships that don't work.
Continuing our "Won't Get Fooled Again" April, words of wisdom from a striptease artist. One of my performer friends in the Burlesque world, Evie Lovelle recently posted on Facebook:
If it's your livelihood, make sure it's sustainable, if it's an adventure, make sure it's actually fun.
For many of us in the arts, it is our goal to make our adventure our livelihood. Sustainable fun. I believe one possible path to this is an unrelenting pursuit of what I call the joie. What does it mean in the context of "Won't Get Fooled Again?"
If it hurts, something is wrong. If your pursuit is draining your resources without contributing anything back; if it has become a joyless drudgery, it's time to make a change. At the very least, you owe it to yourself to take a breather and assess your situation. Eat a good meal, take a long walk, and reapproach what you're doing -- including and especially your relationships -- with fresh eyes. There's no shame in cutting bait and walking away.
Don't let other people suck all the joie out of your life and your art.
