Killing Juana (Part 2)

Puppets and Mortality

[NOTE: I've redacted the names of the players, including the theater company that produced Juana. You could easily figure out who's who with a little bit of poking around, but I ask that you don't. In all likelihood, these folks would rather you forget they were involved in this travesty, and who can blame them?]

Part one may be found here. To sum up: in 2007 I helmed a disastrous production of an epic piece of theater. I lived to tell the tale, which is exactly what I'm doing.

The Theater Company's dedication to developing new works enticed me to join as a playwright. A week or two after they welcomed me into the fold, the Artistic Director took me aside. He had heard through the grapevine that I was a puppeteer.

The Artistic Director wanted to bring Juana  to the stage. It would be a huge undertaking: The action takes place across Europe, over a span of 30 years, with a massive cast (north of 70 characters), battles, and supernatural elements. The AD had a bold idea make this work: use puppets. Granted, at first blush, that's not much of an idea.

I've worked professionally as a puppeteer, and I've designed and built puppets. Back in college, I designed and oversaw the build of a large cast of puppets for a production of Allen Partridge's Rumpelstiltskin Revised. Hell, our production budget for that show was miniscule -- the costume designer, set designer, and I actually pulled most of our raw materials from the massive stock of costume pieces the theater department had in storage.

One of the Rumpelstiltskin Revised puppets. Basically thrown together from bits and pieces of foam and fabric reclaimed from long-unused costume pieces.

A full-body, gorilla-looking puppet standing in front of a coral-inspired set design by Garrick Pass. The fabric covering the set pieces is also reclaimed fabric from costume storage.

At first, the offer was simply to design and execute the puppets needed for the show. A little later (weeks) the offer was to direct the show AND do the puppets. Implicit in the offer was the promise that a play I was working on (a play set backstage at a burlesque theater in WWII-era San Francisco) would be produced the following season.

I jumped on the offer. It seemed a tall order, but with the full support of Theater Company behind me, I couldn't possibly fail!

I was given "the play." In fact, I was given a screenplay and a treatment for Juana as a television series. I emailed The AD, who in turn emailed the playwright, and before long I had a PDF of the play in front of me. It had issues -- it seemed little more than a loose adaptation of the screenplay to the stage -- but I also had assurances that the Playwright was more than willing to play ball, and make any needed revisions.

Working out the mechanics of how to make the puppets talk.

The Fortune Teller narrated the story. My idea was for a puppet fixed on a rotating set piece, operated from behind.

A rendering of what one of the finished puppets should look like. (Phillip was Juana's husband.)

And so I set to work, studying the play, doing my research, writing up my director's analysis, and doing some preliminary design work on the puppets. A month after receiving the play, I met with the Playwright. He was a very warm man, emotionally connected to Juana in a way that was moving to me.  He was very supportive of our plans to populate Juana's world with puppets, and showed an interest in my work as a playwright.

We planned on doing a read-through of the play in April, when his health was a little better. He was down for doing rewrites, another draft -- anything that would help get his play in front of an audience.

A few weeks later, he passed away.

Excerpts from Director's Pre-Production Statement for Juana 

An epic play, a pageant that reveals the hidden truth behind history's most maligned and misunderstood monarch -- this is the story of Juana. Labeled "Juana the Mad" by her captors, this propaganda line has dogged her true story through the ages: That the death of her young husband drove her insane; that she inherited this madness from her grandmother.

[Playwright]'s play reveals quite a different reality: A strong-willed, intelligent woman who was seen as a threat to the established patriarchal structure of post-Medieval Europe; an opponent of the Inquisition; and a champion of the common people. Juana embodied the spirit of the Renaissance in a country that was desperately clinging to the last vestiges of the Dark Ages.

This November, we will tell Juana's story. Sixty-plus puppets, brought to the stage by twenty talented performers shall take the audience on an epic voyage through three kingdoms, over turbulent oceans, through the darkest of nights, and ultimately to the truth.

The Puppets

The puppet count is at 67, not including any toy theater or shadow puppets. We will be using a variety of rod-based puppets (pageant puppets, westernized bunraku-style puppets, etc.) performed out in the open (i.e. after the fashion of Julie Taymor/Avenue Q.)

[Playwright]'s play is very cinematic. We cross continents in the blink of a scene change, cross vast amounts of time in mere moments. To help handle these transitions, I'm utilizing toy theater. (As it so happens, a few of these transitions involve large crowd scenes. Yet another reason to utilize toy theater.)

A successful application of toy theater in contemporary theater has been to capture the performance with a video camera and project it on a screen for the audience to view. (See image from Redmoon Theater's production of Once Upon a Time [Or the Secret Language of Birds].)

[Playwright] has postulated that Juana was able to keep up with what was going on outside her prison walls by way of extended or remote viewing. At the same time she was in Burgos, a group of Christian mystics were studying this phenomenon. In our play, Juana experiences two visions. We will play out these visions with shadow puppets, a form of puppetry uniquely suited to depicting dreams and visions.

Juana was was a threat to the establishment, and was removed from power. She was placed in the room without light "for her own good," and every attempt was made by her captor (the devious Marquis of Denia) to drive her insane. It was a nightmare scenario, and one that Juana briefly emerged from in 1520 when she presided over the legislative assembly in Spain, demonstrating a soundness of mind and intelligence as she attempted to transform Spain into a democracy.

"The use of puppets in this production will enable an expressionistic take on her story. The audience will experience the madhouse in which Juana found herself: surrounded by monsters who meant to do her in."

The use of puppets in this production will enable an expressionistic take on her story. The audience will experience the madhouse in which Juana found herself: surrounded by monsters who meant to do her in. In the case of Fernando, he will be a nine-foot-tall pageant style puppet. (This particular point, how Juana perceived those around her and how this works with the puppets is a point I discussed with [Playwright]. He was rather excited about the idea, and took a copy of my initial sketches to show around.)

Furthermore, we will be designing the puppets and creating an environment informed by the sort of things that would have served as nightmare fuel for a much younger Juana, growing up in the castles and cathedrals of the Catholic Monarchs. Specifically, Late Medieval and Early Renaissance religious art.

Killing Juana (Part 1)

- or -

Follow-through, Sunk Costs, and Producing the Best High School Theater in Los Angeles: A Cautionary Tale

Prologue

On September 30th, 2007, eight months after committing to direct Juana and two months before opening, I sent an email to the assistant artistic directors of [theater company name redacted] and my stage manager:

I feel a bit like Aeschylus.  Only, instead of an eagle dropping a turtle on my bald head and killing me, it's the Fates dropping Cleveland steamers on my beautiful and full head of hair.

I find myself in the position of saying "Juana can still come off, so long as ..." and then listing off a dozen or so things -- a list that grows longer each day.  The more problems I work on solving, the more problems pop up in their place.  It's been a lot like beheading a hydra.  Or to paraphrase Samuel L. Jackson's character in "Jurassic Park," we have all the problems of a major theme park and a major zoo.

Okay.  To recap:  I just this night lost the costume designer.  There's a lighting designer in the works, but I have no set designer or sound designer. 

I still don't have the cast I need (six actors short) after losing [Actress] in a Melrose-Place-like display of drama.  Of the company members who haven't quit or gone on LOA, at least half of them are taking a break -- from [Theater Company], if not from acting.  Our Now Casting responders were mostly females interested in the Toy Theater.  Of the three guys I saw, I was able to cast one.   Planet Juana needs men.

The budget's still up in the air and we really need to start the build, if we hope to build an ass-load of puppets in eight weeks.  This means some of the puppets wouldn't get into the hands of the actors until opening (eight weeks).  67 puppets is a lot.  I've simplified the design down to something doable, and I'm thinking up ways to eliminate extraneous characters, but it's still a shitload of work (see point above about remaining company members who are taking a break).

 

The breakdown of the characters/puppets."Emphasis on the 'breakdown.'"

[Artistic Director] doesn't like the idea of going dark over Thanksgiving, which means either opening after (and running for three weeks) or somehow casting nineteen people who don't have plans that weekend.  I don't know what the hell this even means.  If we start after Thanksgiving, we run for three weeks.  (Christmas is on a Tuesday this year.  Something tells me a "five day weekend" is going to be a popular choice amongst the cast members I have, let alone the audience.)

Three nights a week are completely shot as far as rehearsals go.  (Even if I was not in Midsummer, most of my cast is.) 

[Deceased Playwright]'s not here to make any needed changes to the script to make it more producible.  There are certain staging problems that I was willing to fix, but given the mounting issues around this production ... well let's just say my optimism is fading (i.e., projectors, for a start) and time is running out.

Ladies and gentleman, I'm finally to the point where I can say with a clear conscience, "This play is fucked."  Another way to say it is, "This project is officially out of my pay range." Another would be "Hold! Or cut bow strings!"  Still another would be "NO MAS!"  (This is me just being funny and softening the blow.  I honestly don't see how we can do the production with the given circumstances, and I'm supposed to be the captain of this ship.)

Let's just do it next year.  Give ourselves some time and space.  Let everyone's batteries recharge so I have a fresh, full company to play with.  Let's give half the Juana dates to the long-suffering Playwright's Labbers.  With some of the press stating that they won't review the same small theatre twice in a row, this will get the new playwrights an opportunity to be reviewed.  With the other half, let's pick back up on something we were working on earlier this year, and push it over the f-ing finish line -- and make some damn money.  I'll happily take the reins of it and see it through.  I even have a new name and face for it.  [Asst. A.D #1] and [Stage Manager] heard the first draft of the title today in the company meeting:

"Uncle [Company Member]'s Dirty Music Hall Review" --  [Company Member]'s dirtiest songs, a couple of crude puppet shows, and a couple of burlesque acts.  I'll direct and write whatever is needed to fill out the show.  Midsummer has proven that we have some great dancers on our hands.  We have the poles to do [Company Member]'s "Pole Dancer" number.  Let's have some fun, raise some money, and start the planning for next season.  (I'll even pay to reprint the outside of our Midsummer programs to reflect the change.)  $20 to $25 admission for a bawdy evening of fun would be within the budget of our audiences. [Ed. Note: We were actually in production on a "gala" show that had these elements in play. It was cancelled by the artistic director.]

I hate this.  Believe me, I was roaring about "doing Juana by myself with finger puppets if need be" a couple of weeks ago.  I don't have the energy left at this point to do a one-man Juana production, much less the flailing project I have in my hands right now.  This sucks.  But Midsummer is a high point in our season that could extend if we focus our efforts.  The New Playwrights Series should be easy to tackle with our available talent and will be great for the company.  Making money with dirty songs and half-naked women would be a great, simple and delightful way to cap off the year.

I don't know how to present this to [Artistic Director].  You guys are the experts on that.  I don't want to half-ass a dead man's work.  With Midsummer, I feel the company is rounding a corner.  I'd rather keep going onward and upward.

-- Andrew

And So We Begin

Let's go on a journey, dear reader. A journey into the room without light. A journey into attempting the impossible and failing miserably:

"But director Andrew Moore has made so many unfortunate choices and has been saddled with so many unhelpful circumstances, the story of the betrayal of Juana ... over 30 years by her father, husband, and son feels exhausting."

- from the Backstage West review of Juana

I'm going to take you on a journey through those many unhelpful circumstances and unfortunate choices.

In 2007, I undertook to direct a play about Juana the Mad, a fascinating historical figure, for a local theater company. I approached the process full of enthusiasm, the best of intentions, and a real desire to share Juana's tragic story. The final product was, indeed, a tragedy. A tragedy, it turns out, that could have been quite easily avoided (but you'll have to wait for the punchline, folks.)

The best of intentions: Pre-production art of what one of the puppets would look like.

The final product.

The day after I sent my plea to postpone the production of Juana, after receiving emailed pep-talks from the assistant artistic directors and my stage manager, I sent another email. This one began as follows:

Guys -

Okay, so I got a bit steamed up yesterday.

I took a fresh look at the script today and ... uh, started rewriting it.  

In the end, I have no one to blame but myself. I realized what I had gotten myself into, yet I fooled myself into believing I could somehow muscle Juana to completion. I hope that over the course of this series you will learn from my mistakes.

Workshopping a dead man's script during production. Item one fifty-one on the Juana glitch list.

A Few Notes

Before I dive into the gnarly details, a few notes:
First, I'm redacting all the names involved. This production of Juana is a matter of public record, and a simple Google search could easily turn up the details I'm omitting. I ask that you don't. I am certain the other people involved in this project are happy to have it well in their rearview mirror, and would rather have it forgotten.

I have nothing but lasting respect for my cast and crew. From the lighting designer who most likely wanted to flay me alive as the demands of the production maxed out the capabilities of the light board, to the actors who remained dedicated to the farce despite every reason to run for the hills, to the assistant artistic directors who were basically handed a live grenade as the artistic director ran off to New York -- everyone actively involved in this production came to it with the sort of esprit de corps that draws me to the theater.

Finally, if you were there, too, and wish to take me to task, correct my misconceptions, or contribute to the public dissection of a long-dead production, drop me a line. As always, I'm fascinated to know what other people were thinking.