Effort vs. Achievement

Bitter Lemons draws our attention to Samuel Bernstein's review of DOMA's production of The Who's Tommy.  The salient point for me, and the reason why when I first read this I wished I had written it:

Are we meant to applaud the attempt itself? Our culture’s psychological and human development strategy has become one of rewarding effort rather than achievement. I’m not a fan of the idea. Nor do I want to sit idly by and let it take the theater hostage.

As a hard and fast rule, I disagree.  Sometimes the effort is enough, but we would have to be talking about a pretty goddamned spectacular effort -- Amelia Earhart not quite making it across the Atlantic, Rocky not quite defeating Apollo Creed, etc.  When the effort itself is the point, the achievement doesn't really matter.  When the effort is the point, odds are you are doing it for yourself.

And yet theatre is not for us.  It's for them.  No one cares about the effort it took to produce the play.  Maybe your mother, but outside of her, no one. One of the take-aways from Counting New Beans: Intrinsic Impact and the Value of Art are the reasons why people go to the theatre.  As Larry Pontius at LA Stage Times summarizes:

For most, a primary motivation was to relax or escape, which goes up significantly with age, and then tapers off.  Second in popularity was the desire to be emotionally moved or inspired, which also went up with age, before leveling off.  The third motivation was to spend time with family members, which rises during the child rearing years, and then, “plunges” later.

Go read the whole thing.  I'm pretty sure "To go see how hard everyone worked" is not on the list.

We are not children.  We don't all get a ribbon at the end of the day, emblazoned with tacky gold letters that read "Participant."

That's not to say critics should be heartless.  If anything, a negative criticism, artfully relayed, may do  more to improve the work of a theatre company than all the smoke one could possibly blow up their asses.  It's tough, but necessary.

A fantastic article was posted at HowlRound earlier this week, "Criticism! Eeek! Run! Run!"Here is a brief excerpts:

When artistic colleagues are working together, we expect to exchange criticism of one another’s work. This is the job of collaborators, to engage in an ongoing, critical discussion of what is working and what is not. But when it comes to a colleague’s work that we ourselves did not participate in making, while it may be easy to comment either critically or superficially on our positive response, it’s understandably more difficult to speak to our negative response.

Yet we must. How else can we hope to make and see stronger work? Obviously it’s important that collaborators be critical with one another. Collaborators have the unique, up-close perspective that comes from creating the work. This is the vital, key perspective that no audience can have. Likewise, the audience is privy to a perspective that nobody who worked on the production can have. And this perspective is ultimately the vantage point from which a theater production is made to be experienced. Gathering the perspectives of our audience is essential. To that end, artistic colleagues in the audience can provide a particularly informed perspective, since they understand firsthand what goes into making work. Thus, we who make theater can be of great value to one another in the ongoing effort to determine how our work is working.

(Emphasis added.)

No more "A's for Effort."  Producing a play--any play--is damn near impossible.  That's a given.  Let's save the praise and ovations for those who actually achieve something.  We owe those who don't quite hit the target honesty, not a pat on the head.

How Creativity Works

via Scott Myers at Go Into the Story:

IMAGINE: How Creativity Works from Flash Rosenberg on Vimeo.

Looks like an interesting book.

On the heels of calling out a director for lacking vision (Jesus Christ, I can be a real asshole sometimes) I find myself absorbed in thought.  How?  How do we approach something with a fresh set of eyes and create something new and exciting?  We do it, but how do we do it?

If we know how we do it, maybe we can be more consistent about it.  Maybe we can share the skill with others, and improve the overall quality of what we do.

Naked Before God

presented by Circle X Theatre Co. at [Inside] the Ford

I remember the moment I learned about the [Inside] the Ford Winter Partnership Program.  My immediate response was an explosive expletive followed by the word "Yes" and an exclamation point. A program wherein a large theatrical entity takes a smaller, scrappier theatrical entity under its wing to produce a new work?  Technical and marketing support and the smaller company keeps most of the box office?  The Ford is a hero, folks.  And they are choosy about who they bring into the program.  So consider this an upfront disclosure:  I went into Naked Before God expecting the best of Los Angeles Under-99 Theatre.  I was not disappointed.

Naked Before God is a farce of the new American dream; our obsession with the quick fix for what ails us, the Hail Mary pass towards religion, and the eager pursuit of disposable celebrity and the fortune that it accompanies.  Placing this farce in and around the modern porn industry is a meta statement on our town – the players could just as easily be pursuing a more “conventional” form of plastic glory in TV and film – making this a very Hollywood story, despite its Arizona setting. The farce is aimed at us, fellow Angelenos,  but it’s a loving farce, absolutely turgid with lovable, twisted people.  They are bigger than life, and all too believable.

Writer/director Leo Geter is the mastermind behind this work.  Act one is a series of toppers – just when you think things can’t get more complicated, they do.  Act two is a series of twists – Geter gleefully rips the rug out from under us at every turn.  The playwright also gives lie to the old reviewer’s chestnut that “a playwright should never direct his own work.”  Geter's staging is at times naturalistic, and the moments of slapstick that do occur flow naturally and logically from the narrative.

The cast is wonderful, gaining a solid grip on the madness and pumping it for all it's worth.  There is not a wasted moment; the piece has been thoroughly explored, and every moment is mined for its full comic potential.  Jennifer A. Skinner as Kristen, the retired porn star who is figuratively (and literally, by play's end) "naked before God", delivers.  She runs right up to the edge of improbability, and dances.  She is a joy and a delight. Kristen’s monologue about the three-way is the play’s highpoint, and Skinner makes it a heart-warming family moment.

On top of it all, we have an absolutely perfectly rendered production design.  Brian Sidney Bembridge's set is an engineering marvel by under-99 standards, with a fully functional kitchen and walls that swivel to reveal the interior and exterior of Kristen’s house.  A patch of murky carpet easily doubles for grass in the second act.  I truly wonder how long Bembridge spent looking for that exact right shade and texture.  Clever use of moving lights extend the outdoor scenes up to the police helicopter-occupied heavens.  Great care is taken with Ann Closs-Falrey's costume design – Kristen dresses in the hippest fashions of 20 years ago, while son Duncan looks like he just stepped out of a Vice magazine ad.

We all like to say "support the theatre."  We should be more specific:  Support GOOD theatre.  Go see this show.  Go because it is balls-deep funny.  Go because Circle X wants to entertain YOU, not just themselves.  And in the end, it's all about mutual pleasure, isn't it?

Naked Before God does it while you watch on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays at 8:00 pm; and Sundays at 2:00 and 7:00 pm through April 28th.  [Inside] the Ford is located at 2580 Cahuenga Blvd. East in Hollywood (off the 101, just north of the Hollywood Bowl.)

General admission is $25, except for Sunday matinees, which are Pay-what-you-can.  Parking is ample, free and non-stacked.  For more information, visit http://www.fordtheatres.org/.

The Who's Tommy

presented by DOMA Theatre Company at The MET Theatre

There's no getting around it:  The Who's Tommy is dated.  A musical about a pinball whiz who becomes a new age cult leader -- no doubt past its "best by" date when it premiered onstage in the age of Super Nintendo, it seems none the fresher in the age of Angry Birds.  But that music!  Such an improbable story, set four decades before the actor playing Young Tommy was born -- Despite it all, The Who's Tommy remains forever young, vitalized by the music.  The music is clearly DOMA's first concern, and by and large, the onstage talent rocks the house.  It is unfortunate that the direction and design work does not keep the tempo.

A piece like The Who's Tommy requires a strong vision; something for the designers and actors to build toward.  This vision was either missing altogether or simply lacking in potency.  Director Hallie Baran delivers up rare moments where things seems to click -- the overture, the hospital montage -- but these are rare moments indeed.  Act Two feels like a race to the end.  The clever staging ideas that pepper Act One are largely absent in Act Two, replaced by scenes of standing around and singing.   It should be enough to just let the cast belt out Pete Townshend's explosive music.  It should be, but it's not.  We may come to the show for the music, but it's the story, the characters that grab us.

The lack of vision is most sorely felt in Brandy Jacob's production design.  The stage is hemmed in by an arbitrarily assembled assortment of levels that are never adequately used.  There's no consistency of palette, texture, anything that might unify the set.  The costumes are a confusing pastiche of 70 years worth of costumes -- 1940s fashions rub shoulders with Daft Punk t-shirts, 1970s leather, and day-glo 80s wear.  Tommy's off-the-rack Tron hoodie is the most egregious costuming fault.  Picked, no doubt, because it "looks cool," it reveals nothing about the character.  But that's precisely what design work is supposed to do:  Reflect and amplify the world of the play.  In a musical as malleable as Tommy, the potential for imaginative design is extraordinary.  The creative team settled on ordinary.

I trust that the lights will be fixed.  I have to believe that lighting designer Cullen Pinney saw the same show I saw, and made a mental note to fix every dark spot and clean-up every wayward follow spot.  Likewise, I hope he reminds the cast to find their light.  There are some fantastic ideas happening in the lighting, and I'll give Pinney a pass on opening night technical issues.  I don't want to say much more about the lights, other than the transformation effect -- when Young Tommy became deaf, mute, and blind -- did not work.  The specialty gobo was too washed out.  That's any easy fix, as are all the lighting issues.  I trust they will be fixed.

The sound issues are few and fleeting -- only a couple of times did I feel the band overpowered the vocals.  I appreciate that everyone was mic'ed (or seemed to be.)

Although Jess Ford (Tommy) is an appealing performer with a strong voice and tremendous energy and presence, he doesn't quite connect with Tommy.  He has the external right -- he strikes all the right poses.  But the internal world of Tommy just rings hollow.  And Tommy is all internal world.  And so it is that Tommy's reemergence into the land of the seeing, hearing, and speaking doesn't earn its emotional pay-off. His epiphany at the end of the show doesn't land.  It is well within Ford's abilities to nail this role.  He hasn't found Tommy yet, but he's close.

The music, under the direction of Chris Raymond, is where this production of The Who's Tommy really begins to hit its stride.  The band sounds great, and the the ensemble is wonderful.  Chris Kerrigan in particular lit up the stage every time he took it.  His Pinball Wizard was a frustrated nerd, and an utter delight to take in.  Donovan Baise (Young Tommy, the night I attended) is an adorable young man with considerable stage presence.  Really, I find very little fault with the cast and the band.  I only wish they had received the support they so dearly deserve.

The Who's Tommy can be seen, heard, and felt on Fridays and Saturdays at 8:00pm and Sundays at 3:00 pm through April 15th.  The MET Theatre is located at 1089 Oxford Avenue in Hollywood, just off Santa Monica near Western. 

General Admission is $30; VIP seating is $35.  Seniors and students with ID pay only $20.  There is secure parking available for $5, but get there a little early. Also, calling it "stacked parking" is a little generous:  Cars are sardined into the Earl Scheib parking lot around the corner.  It's okay -- just know before you go.

And if you go, be sure to avail yourself of the pinball machine in the lobby.

The Boomerang Effect
a new play by Matthew Leavitt
Directed by Damaso Rodriguez



Photo by Ed Krieger

"The Boomerang Effect" a new play by Matthew Leavitt, is a very cynical comedy, and it tries to hide it with unending, fast paced banter and a punchline at the end of every scene. It's a montage of bedroom scenarios that all take place in the same bedroom, two actors at a time. Each scene has a dot that's connected to the next scene through the mention of a character (If you say you have a Father, then he is one of the two in the next scene, and so on...) You go forward through 5 of these, then reverse order back to the first one to see how each story is tied up. That's the layout.

It is the type of show that people who like seeing the world through the veneer of a sitcom will enjoy. I don't watch many sitcoms, especially 3 camera sitcoms, and I don't enjoy that level of artificiality on stage (unless you're making a point about it); I kept expecting to see chords and PAs running around the set while the actors worked their asses off for laughs. The director, Damaso Rodriguez, feels like he spent weeks studying episodes of "Will and Grace" because each character panders to one of the overused sitcom archetypes: the man child afraid to grow up, the nagging girlfriend, the bitchy over achieving worker, the prick boss, etc and none of the scenes really take the time to develop the character beyond those limitations. I've seen some of these actors in other shows around the city and on television and I've enjoyed and liked their performances in the past, and at times over this hour and a half run, their delivery of quips gave a momentary reprieve from the barrage of emptiness that filled each situation. No, the faults with this show lie on the backs of the writer and director .

Where was I...ah, yes, it's cynical. As with most sitcoms, the reality with which each situation is handled and the repercussions that come with choices the characters make are swept tidily into the shadows of cupboards and sock drawers by the end of the half hour, so the audience members can feel safe laughing at the contrived situations and go to bed thinking that their life isn't so complicated. The reason why this tends to work with sitcoms is because we see the show every week, we know who these characters are, we've invited them into our household and can be forgiving of their faults. Here however, we're introduced to some very unlikeable characters, and we're given no reason to connect. It is cynical, because it passes these unlikeable, sometimes detestable people off with such cute passivity, as if the audience will laugh because they somehow relate. And when we could relate, any real human emotion or reaction is treated like a punchline or contrivance to keep someone in the room a little longer to get to the punchline. Do they really think we're that gullible? It only ever feels artificial. It's the type of show in which a woman after having sex covers herself up with a pillow even when the guy is asleep, and when the title of the show is brought up not once, but twice in two different heartfelt moments. I digress...

We're introduced to the first two characters, and they are immediately at each others throats, bickering. For ten minutes we listen to them argue. First, you do not develop characters through arguing. Second, you do not build drama through arguing. Third, arguing does not make for great comedy. Fourth, each character should have their own voice. That doesn't mean different opinions, it means that each should speak differently; have their own rhythms, their own vocabulary.  The entire show each character speaks exactly like the person that spoke before them, and the director has the actors roll through each line of dialogue at the same volume and speed as the last one. Fifth, if you start at 10, you have no place to go! How much fun can an actor have with that? I found it mind numbing. Then the second scenario starts and the new couple is arguing about the same thing we just finished hearing the first couple argue about. So, why not combine the first and second scenes?

There were a lot of members in the audience that enjoyed this and no doubt there will continue to be; the critic and the audience member must part ways here, but I'm sure we can agree this show will be liked mainly due to the talented actors committing one hundred percent. Each performer deserves applause for fighting to give a shred of humanity to each moment, despite the uninspired direction, and it's a pleasant moment when they are able to. It's too bad the work of the playwright didn't match up and the director pandered with sitcom safety.

An extra bravo to the scenic (John Iacovelli) and lighting (Jared A. Sayeg) designers. It felt like we were looking into a real bedroom, working sinks and all.

"The Boomerang Effect" an original play by Matthew Leavitt. Directed by Damaso Rodriguez. March 24-April 29, 2012. Thurs-Sat 8pm, Sun 2pm.

At The Odyssey Theatre 2055 S. Sepulveda Blvd. Los Angeles, CA 90025. Tickets $20-$30. http://www.odysseytheatre.com/box.htm or (310)-477-2055

Diplomacy

From the New Oxford American Dictionary:

the art of dealing with people in a sensitive and effective way: his genius for tact and diplomacy

                                                                                                            

Creative types are sensitive.  It takes guts to put yourself out there, to present your interpretation of something for the world to see, hoping that they understand your creation and make a connection with your product. The job of being an artist is full of vulnerability and subjectivity. And you don’t always get the necessary feedback until the job is done, long after you could have really used it. 

I work in the lively arts.  I know that I have to constantly improve my product so my audiences are entertained.  They pay me to entertain them; the least I can do is strive to provide them with the best entertainment I can create.  That way I can have longevity in this field.

As a dancer, I have a few trusted collaborators whose honest feedback and suggestions helps me improve my work.  I’ve paid experts in my field for performance reviews, getting their valuable feedback on how to make stronger choices, replace weak choreography, and add flourishes--like sprinkles on a sundae. 

It’s scary to ask for someone’s honest opinion, and I don’t ask for it from everyone.  Remember that old saying that “opinions are like assholes?” Mix that with the saying about too many cooks in the kitchen.  That’s why I don’t solicit opinions from everyone on my creative works.  That, and I don’t want to come off as desperate and in need of validation.  But it is important to get honest feedback in order to improve what I’m doing.

I understand the validity of criticism via word-of-mouth and media.  How else are people going to know what to expect from a show?  This isn’t the feedback I seek to improve my works, but rather how Joe Public and Joe Critic receive my works.  I’ve gotten some great verbal and written critiques.  (“We decided to come to the show because you were on the lineup.”  “I just had to meet you because you were my favorite.”  “…these costumes were engineering marvels.”)  I’d also include the stuff said to the producers after the show, the coffee shop chatter where people are still talking about the show a few days later, and fellow entertainers wanting to book me for shows based on a performance.

I’ve also gotten some negative critiques.  Those aren’t awesome to experience when I’m putting myself out there, when some performances are way more personal than others:  Out of place, low self-esteem, fat, unsexy (which really sucks because my lively art is in the field of sexuality).  I’ve been turned down for shows and festivals with no specific feedback about my submission given.  (I can’t blame the producers on the last one because they do get a lot of applications and they’re trying to make a cohesive and entertaining show.  It would be like giving feedback to every actor who auditions for your play or short film.  I’m looking at this from the receiving end right now.)  The negative critiques sting.  Sometimes I want to get into online fights (or physical fights because I’m aggressive-aggressive) over some of the criticisms that seem unfounded or unrelated to my work.  Sometimes the person giving the criticism appears to be the modern-day definition of a bully, saying something that hurts my feelings.  Usually I’ll rant to my most trusted friends about my feelings, about the misperception and the bullying of my work.  Then I’ll grab a beer, grumble, and go to bed.

I get up the next day and get back to creating.  Why?  Because I am an artist.  This is what I do. 

I’ve spotted three kinds of negative reviews:

1.     What I did was not their cup of tea.  My music choice, my costume, my body, my dance style, whatever.  I don’t eat fish.  No matter how brilliantly you prepare a fish dish, I’m not going to eat it.  I can’t really change anything about what I did to become their cup of tea.

2.     They had a bad day and that affected their viewing of the work.  Try as I might to lighten someone’s mood with entertainment, sometimes the outside world has set the viewer against enjoying anything.  Maybe they didn’t want to be there in the first place, so we get to be the butts of their frustration.  I can try to make them forget about their troubles, but it’s not my fault if they come in so stuck in their problems they aren’t really watching the show.

3.     There’s room for improvement.  It’s not always easy to have someone broadcast your apparent weaknesses, especially when they’re weaknesses you didn’t catch in your rehearsal process.  As an independent artist, I can make changes immediately, not having to ask someone for permission.  If the criticism will help me create a better piece of entertainment, I try to implement it.  As an actor, I would have to yield to the director/producer/playwright.  There are more people involved in the creative side of the work than just me.

As a dance teacher and director, I understand the investment and vulnerability of artists.  I keep that in mind when I work.  I push for the best technique that person can achieve, the greatest investment they can give, and the strongest representation of the vision for the piece (whether their vision for a dance or my vision for a play).  I validate what they get right, and I encourage them to improve the entertainment value of the weaker parts.  (I blogged about how I teach here.)

I’m also a play critic.  My husband does way more reviews than I do, but we discuss every show we see together and sometimes I do reviews.  We look for what was done well, what was especially noteworthy that audiences will not want to miss.  We also look for what might turn audiences off, what elements stood out as falling short of the mark, what people might want to know before dropping $15 to $35 a ticket on the show.  I have absolutely hated some shows we’ve seen.  (I know that isn’t very nice to say.  I’m not naming names, but these shows are the reason I want snacks in the theater so I can keep my mouth occupied and not spend the entire play grunting and sighing about something that I think sucks.)  Of course, it’s not polite to say something sucks, especially when you don’t give a logical reason for it.

The true test of being a critic (or coach or collaborator) is being diplomatic.  If you’re good at your job, you can successfully tell an audience what they need to know while giving useful criticism and encouragement to the artists who are most intimately invested in the piece.

Spitballing, Brainstorming, and Rapid Prototyping

A couple of weeks ago, I spent the better part of a Friday afternoon spitballing ideas for an Equity-waiver production of Edgar Rice Burroughs' A Princess of Mars with Phillip Kelly and the great Sebastian Kadlecik.  The net result?  Kelly and I are going to look at the book and fiddle around with maybe adapting it.  Maybe.  We both have "so many irons in the fire I can't see the fire" as another friend recently put it.

  

I bring this up for one very important reason:  Spitballing does not equal "committing to doing something."  In the world of Equity-waver, there's a real risk of opening your mouth to voice an idea, and finding yourself in charge of the committee to get it done.  I wonder to what extent this curtails healthy, robust brainstorming? 
  
We should really brainstorm with wild abandon, with no strings attached.  Anything less is not a free flow of ideas, and therefore not true brainstorming.  I believe rapid prototyping is the future of small theatre. The free and open flow of ideas facilitates rapid prototyping.

I am fascinated by the methods and techniques used at The Hasso Plattner Institute of Design at Stanford University, or d.school for short, and I wonder how producers of small theatre in Los Angeles might take some cues from Stanford.  The rapid prototyping of "beta" productions would allow a theatre company to present a number of possible shows from which to develop a season, utylizing audience input to determine which shows to produce in full.  I believe these beta productions could be presented in the style of PechaKucha or the d.school's own Launch Pad, with teams of artists presenting their visions for their productions.
 

We may have a way of testing the d.school approach.  Today they unveiled the "Crash Course", an online series of teaching tools with the following aims:

• Grow your own capacity to innovate.
• Allow you to experience something different than how you normally work.
• Encourage collaboration with interdisciplinary teams; unraveling new perspectives on approaching solutions.
• Give adults back break time. Participants work with arts & crafts supplies as a way to understand the value of rapid prototyping.
• Help you put Design Thinking to work immediately following the video via half-day long guided tours through some of our methods, called “mixtapes.”

There is a devil-may-care, DIY ethic at play here that synchs up nicely with theatre.  Surely I'm not the only one who sees it!