When the cast recording for RENT was released in 1996, I was all over it. Bigtime. In my car. At home. With show choirs I worked with. Shortly, I knew every word. Every song. I heard the score, sang along, and thought it was cool as hell. At some point, like after a year, I put it away and continued my lifelong quest into musical theatre geekland (WAY better than Disneyland, by the way). I think SHE LOVES ME was my next obsession.
Fast forward almost 20 years.
Getting a chance to work on a production of the show, I, instead of just hearing and bopping along with the score, actually listened to it (thank you David Cromer). Read the libretto. And was literally shocked by the material. The issues presented (and fleshed out - to a degree) opened my eyes, and provided me the opportunity to share the show through a completely different lens. A gritty lens. A lens that is totes different than the original production, which lost a lot in translation.
Scott Miller (the badass of musical theatre at new line theatre in St. Louis) notes that rock music is not inherently theatrical. Songs are repetitious. The melody, not the lyrics, drive the show. So, audiences leave the theatre remembering some kick-ass songs, with no clue of what the show was about.
So, at our first read-thru last night, we did a read-thru (sans the cleaning). No music.Text only. It was a challenge to move beyond the rhythms we all knew from the songs, but it happened.
At the conclusion of act one, we processed. Cast members were struck by the story. The conflicts within. The reality. "I never knew that Roger..." "I never realized Angel..." "I can't believe that Benny...". Light bulbs everywhere. No push back about not singing through the show. Everyone was listening and learning.
After a smoke break, act two began. Same deal, but very emotional. Tears. Not because of the lovely Seasons of Love melody, but understanding what it means. Sunsets. Cups of coffee. Savor the moments we forget as we move about our lives.
As we ended act two, I threw a bone about the prevalence and significance of the reoccurring theme of fire. Will you light my candle? Light up a mean blaze with posters and screenplays.Truth like a blazing fire; an eternal flame. The fire is out anyway.
That clearly struck a chord. Responses and connections went places I never imagined. I was in awe at how one read-thru spoke to each individual.
We will continue our journey into the heart of RENT with all table work next week, and moving beyond hearing to listening.
Fire. Burning. Blazing. Eternal.
Bluntly,
Brigadude
Friday, August 30, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Jump in With Both Feet
Tonight was our first rehearsal. The read-thru. Traditional awkward evening of stumbling through the material, slowly processing first impressions of fellow cast members, figuring out where you'll fit in, etc.
Ok. Lies a Minnelli. Yes, it was our first rehearsal. Minus the read-thru.
It was cray-cray hot today. The dirty, wonderful old-school rehearsal space I insisted upon using was near 100 degrees. As the cast entered the space, which was crammed full of set peices from the past 6 shows, the looks of confusion started. What the hell? There's not even enough room to walk around, let alone rehearse.
Some found chairs to sit, others had to stand.
I greeted the cast and ignored their confusion. I encouraged everyone to check out the space...explore if they could find a path. We reconvened, and I asked what they thought was going to happen in the next 3 hours. Someone said (with misery), "we're going to clean the space." B-I-N-G-O.
I've directed a few shows and never, I mean never, had a cast look at me with venom. They were pissed. All that shit. Daunting. All that heat. Oh, hell no. They were there for a read-thru. Not manual labor.
The go-to set builder of DLO began with the tasks. "We need 3 folks to organize the prop rooms." "We need 6 folks to haul two heavy metal desks and 4 file cabinets down a huge staircase and into a flatbed." "We need 4 folks to sort lumber." "We need 5 folks to breakdown set pieces." And on and on.
Again, with venom, the cast divided themselves up and began working. It was salty. Epic fail on the team-building activity.
15 minutes into the process, everyone was sweating through their shirts. With heavy heads and brand new work gloves, it was pretty silent. 30 minutes into the process, things were looking up. The space was changing, and the chatter began. Even some laughs. An hour into the process, everyone was finally on-board. They were working their asses off and proud of the accomplishments achieved in a pretty short period. They decided to jump in with both feet.
It was amazing. They found the groove. Opened up. Started yelling for drills. Asking a million questions. Helping each other figure out how to empty the janky vacuum. And by each other, I mean everyone in the room; cast and production team. The rehearsal space was being created. Not by a group of salty individuals, anymore...by a community.
To maintain momentum, I made a beer and soda run (there are a few under 21 cast members). Jesus Christ Superstar. It maintained the momentum, the tasks were completed, then everyone was excused for the night.
Here's the trippy part. After being excused, nearly everyone stayed...and not just for the beer. We skipped name intros at the start, but through this shared experience, we learned names organically.
No awkward stumbles through show material. No time for first-impressions or wondering where you'll fit in. No need to even label it as a team-building activity. The sweaty, tired, dirty, exhilarated, and bonded community met a goal and facilitated change. Change is change. Be it social change, or changing a space to meet our needs.
Bottom line, change happened when we jumped in with both feet. It was fan-fucking-tastic.
Bluntly,
Brigadude
Ok. Lies a Minnelli. Yes, it was our first rehearsal. Minus the read-thru.
It was cray-cray hot today. The dirty, wonderful old-school rehearsal space I insisted upon using was near 100 degrees. As the cast entered the space, which was crammed full of set peices from the past 6 shows, the looks of confusion started. What the hell? There's not even enough room to walk around, let alone rehearse.
Some found chairs to sit, others had to stand.
I greeted the cast and ignored their confusion. I encouraged everyone to check out the space...explore if they could find a path. We reconvened, and I asked what they thought was going to happen in the next 3 hours. Someone said (with misery), "we're going to clean the space." B-I-N-G-O.
I've directed a few shows and never, I mean never, had a cast look at me with venom. They were pissed. All that shit. Daunting. All that heat. Oh, hell no. They were there for a read-thru. Not manual labor.
The go-to set builder of DLO began with the tasks. "We need 3 folks to organize the prop rooms." "We need 6 folks to haul two heavy metal desks and 4 file cabinets down a huge staircase and into a flatbed." "We need 4 folks to sort lumber." "We need 5 folks to breakdown set pieces." And on and on.
Again, with venom, the cast divided themselves up and began working. It was salty. Epic fail on the team-building activity.
15 minutes into the process, everyone was sweating through their shirts. With heavy heads and brand new work gloves, it was pretty silent. 30 minutes into the process, things were looking up. The space was changing, and the chatter began. Even some laughs. An hour into the process, everyone was finally on-board. They were working their asses off and proud of the accomplishments achieved in a pretty short period. They decided to jump in with both feet.
It was amazing. They found the groove. Opened up. Started yelling for drills. Asking a million questions. Helping each other figure out how to empty the janky vacuum. And by each other, I mean everyone in the room; cast and production team. The rehearsal space was being created. Not by a group of salty individuals, anymore...by a community.
To maintain momentum, I made a beer and soda run (there are a few under 21 cast members). Jesus Christ Superstar. It maintained the momentum, the tasks were completed, then everyone was excused for the night.
Here's the trippy part. After being excused, nearly everyone stayed...and not just for the beer. We skipped name intros at the start, but through this shared experience, we learned names organically.
No awkward stumbles through show material. No time for first-impressions or wondering where you'll fit in. No need to even label it as a team-building activity. The sweaty, tired, dirty, exhilarated, and bonded community met a goal and facilitated change. Change is change. Be it social change, or changing a space to meet our needs.
Bottom line, change happened when we jumped in with both feet. It was fan-fucking-tastic.
Bluntly,
Brigadude
Sunday, August 25, 2013
c-o-m-m-u-n-i-t-y
RENT is all about community. A community of love. A community of encouragement. A community of dramas. A community of resolutions.
Auditions. Freakin finally. No more FacePlace shares. Let's do the work.
Material dictated the form of auditions. Content dictates form, right Mr. Sondheim? Our process ended up being pretty kick-ass. Humane. Actually prompted support and encouragement among auditionees.
It started with everyone in a circle. On your turn, step into the circle and rip your acapella jam. Took the pressure off. No one was out for blood. At all. Everyone was on the same boat, taking the same ride. They had each other's back. The circle was a community.
The rounds following, same vibe. Emotional. Personal. Connected. Another level of community.
Casting complete.
Sudden needed changes based on honesty arise. Quick changes made. Fixxed.
I'm thinking the safety to voice honesty was based on the established community.
I wonder if community had something to do with the thoughtful, rapid and smooth resolution.
Circles of support. Connected. Safety. Thoughtful. Smooth. This is the community I get to live in, 3 days a week, for the next few months. Loves.
Kinda different than the world we live in, huh?
So now lets count how many times the word "community" is in this post. I counted 10.
Our first "table read" on Tuesday is gonna amp up this community (#11). For days.
You'll see.
Bluntly,
Brigadude
Auditions. Freakin finally. No more FacePlace shares. Let's do the work.
Material dictated the form of auditions. Content dictates form, right Mr. Sondheim? Our process ended up being pretty kick-ass. Humane. Actually prompted support and encouragement among auditionees.
It started with everyone in a circle. On your turn, step into the circle and rip your acapella jam. Took the pressure off. No one was out for blood. At all. Everyone was on the same boat, taking the same ride. They had each other's back. The circle was a community.
The rounds following, same vibe. Emotional. Personal. Connected. Another level of community.
Casting complete.
Sudden needed changes based on honesty arise. Quick changes made. Fixxed.
I'm thinking the safety to voice honesty was based on the established community.
I wonder if community had something to do with the thoughtful, rapid and smooth resolution.
Circles of support. Connected. Safety. Thoughtful. Smooth. This is the community I get to live in, 3 days a week, for the next few months. Loves.
Kinda different than the world we live in, huh?
So now lets count how many times the word "community" is in this post. I counted 10.
Our first "table read" on Tuesday is gonna amp up this community (#11). For days.
You'll see.
Bluntly,
Brigadude
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Back Home
DLO rehearsal space has floated many times over the years. Currently, they rehearse at a nice cozy space in the mall.
Growing up, all shows rehearsed at what is now the scene shop.
One of my first demands (ha!) taking on this project - no rehearsals at the mall. Back to the wonderful gritty, dirty space (the scene shop) where our peasant feast and gathering took place today.
It's great to be home.
While no one touched my hot dog bun, tomato sauce and Italian blend cheese pizzas (most opted for the fruit pizza...present company included) the platform of our community started to emerge. Pretty amazing how a little food, like-minded individuals (new and regs), and shared personal connections to the material enhance a dialogue.
Sure the music directors solidified what sides they planned to use. Sure everyone signed the liability waivers. Sure set design decisions were made.
The shift in energy changed suddenly. I took out a blue suitcase filled with all the clothing and items I could buy from the Humane Society for under 10 dollars. It was a little experiment for myself. Wow. It was far from a little experiment. It was a privilege dripping, sick to my stomach, emotion trumping logic thrift store shopping trip. Talk about intent versus impact...
Here I was, at the Humane Society, "playing" homeless. It hit me as soon as I started "shopping."
Well I need this coat for a rainy day. These pants I can cut off for summer shorts. How lucky! The one pair of men's shoes they had almost fit. Score! I must have that hoodie so I can layer. Where are the belts? It's bedazzled, but it fits.
"Are you fucking kidding, Jesse?" Raced through my mind. Over and over. I totally was playing homeless. For fun. Such a clear example of how not thinking about the oppressed is a luxury of privilege. I mean, I don't think about my mobility...until I break my leg.
The room was nearly silent as I did a fashion show of the garments I purchased. Everyone got the point.
We must use our privilege with integrity. Today. No day but today.
Bluntly,
Brigadude
Growing up, all shows rehearsed at what is now the scene shop.
One of my first demands (ha!) taking on this project - no rehearsals at the mall. Back to the wonderful gritty, dirty space (the scene shop) where our peasant feast and gathering took place today.
It's great to be home.
While no one touched my hot dog bun, tomato sauce and Italian blend cheese pizzas (most opted for the fruit pizza...present company included) the platform of our community started to emerge. Pretty amazing how a little food, like-minded individuals (new and regs), and shared personal connections to the material enhance a dialogue.
Sure the music directors solidified what sides they planned to use. Sure everyone signed the liability waivers. Sure set design decisions were made.
The shift in energy changed suddenly. I took out a blue suitcase filled with all the clothing and items I could buy from the Humane Society for under 10 dollars. It was a little experiment for myself. Wow. It was far from a little experiment. It was a privilege dripping, sick to my stomach, emotion trumping logic thrift store shopping trip. Talk about intent versus impact...
Here I was, at the Humane Society, "playing" homeless. It hit me as soon as I started "shopping."
Well I need this coat for a rainy day. These pants I can cut off for summer shorts. How lucky! The one pair of men's shoes they had almost fit. Score! I must have that hoodie so I can layer. Where are the belts? It's bedazzled, but it fits.
"Are you fucking kidding, Jesse?" Raced through my mind. Over and over. I totally was playing homeless. For fun. Such a clear example of how not thinking about the oppressed is a luxury of privilege. I mean, I don't think about my mobility...until I break my leg.
The room was nearly silent as I did a fashion show of the garments I purchased. Everyone got the point.
We must use our privilege with integrity. Today. No day but today.
Bluntly,
Brigadude
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Paper to Practice
Scott Miller at New Line Theatre (newlinetheatre.com) is who I want to be when I grow up. He's the artistic director of New Line: The bad boy of musical theatre. In St. Louis. Incredibly smart. He does it all. Writes books. Premieres shows direct from Broadway. Trusts material completely through a completely different lens. Illuminates truth onstage. Just too cool for school.
He also offers the option for anyone involved in a New Line show to blog their experience.
Hence the first blogs for a DLO show. (woo WOO woo woo)
So, RENT. Some edgy shit for Danville. Gonna skip the community theatre dramas that made it happen because it's happening.
Auditions are tomorrow. Well, feels like tomorrow. But totes relaxing. The luxury of getting to focus entirely on the show with logistics in the hands of a primo artistic staff...loves. I'm lucky as hell.
DLO has a sort of formula. Sorta stale. This journey is already shaking things up. In a good way.
After the break, I'll be back to tell you about the staff meet and greet and peasant feast. Should be a trip. A good trip.
Bluntly,
Brigadude
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)