Wow, this is interesting: our Thursday show isn't selling well, so the Artistic Director, Brian Katz, is offering $10.00 tickets on Brown Paper Tickets. And, strange coincidence, Bluegrass legend Peter Rowan will be coming to the show on Thursday night. So we really really need to sell tickets. The audience feedback with a full house is amazing; it is equally dismal when there are very few people in attendance, as it's quite a small theatre and people are uncomfortable laughing or enjoying when they feel so exposed.
I'll be posting on Facebook that he is coming to the show; I wonder if this will in any way influence ticket sales? I know of at least one person who is already coming to the show because of the cheap tickets.
Here's what I tried to post as a Status Update on Facebook; I had to shorten it, perhaps that's best:
"$10.00 tickets to Cotton Patch Gospel this Thursday, and Bluegrass legend Peter Rowan will be coming to the show! This is astounding; for Musical Theatre people, this is akin to having Sondheim show up to watch your rinky-dink community theatre production. For those of you who cannot sing, it's like having the Pope at your kid's Bris. Er -- wait, no, what would the Pope be doing at a Bris? Other than watching with an alarming level of interest, perhaps offering to help ..."
Which makes me wonder about the Pontifical Foreskin: is it intact? Is it required that the Pontiff be uncut? Or is he required to be shorn in case God requires that all who honor the Covenant be so marked? Perhaps there's a special secret ceremony where uncut Popes are snipped. Do they tell them ahead of time? Or is it sprung on them when they least expect to be circumcised? Perhaps the Pope is offered a delicious caramel sundae, and then BOING here's the Moyle, time to snip! I wonder who the Rabbi is that they ferret into the Vatican ... or do they use a new one every time, knowing that if the last guy ever tells anyone, nobody will believe him.
Seems like maybe this was the subplot missing from the Cohen Brothers' latest: A Serious Man. Which, by the way, was sneak-up-on-you funny. Stupid people probably won't enjoy it, so if you're stupid, you should probably stay home and count your Bush/Cheney memorabilia. Those nasty Dems might be sneaking in to public healthcare you in your sleep, then steal your valuable keepsakes of what was, perhaps, the single greatest presidential administration in the history of the world.
I would be delighted if the Pope came to see the show. I am not a Catholic, I'm interested in ticket sales. But it would also be amusing because the theatre is in an Episcopal church. So that would be very interesting, as theatrical situations go. But I'm more excited about Peter Rowan being there.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Cotton Patch Gospel
My current project is a one-man show: a bluegrass musical based on the Gospel of Matthew; music and lyrics by Harry Chapin. I've posted several things about it on Facebook, but there's more interesting stuff beneath dates, times and ticket prices.
I began rehearsals while still performing Max in The Producers at SCT (dir: Ken Sonkin), and right after The Producers closed, I got sick. So I missed some early rehearsals and things got tricky. Now we're right around ten performances into the run and there are some interesting things to note about this show, the intimate setting and the audiences.
Cotton Patch Gospel is an unabashedly straightforward telling of the Gospel of Matthew, basically the life of Christ from conception to death to resurrection. (Sorry for the spoilers, there, but if you don't know that story then I would like to know the mineral content of the stone under which you've been living.) San Francisco audiences seem to be somewhat taken aback by the Jesusy goodness of it all. Our first preview was for Custom Made Theatre Company Members, and they were ... unreceptive. In fact, there was one guy in the back who went to sleep a little way in to the show. Others sat there with their arms crossed, clearly pissed. There was the distinct feeling of discomfort and weirdness. Audiences after that have been quite warm, and when we heard that Trinity Episcopal bought the house for 11/29, we were thrilled. After all, church people seem to like the show, right?
Wrong. Quiet discomfort. A chuckle here and there. Some stifled belly laughs. My theory is that churchy people in a group are uncomfortable laughing about religious matters. And this is a funny show, when it's funny. So some jokes landed like a bowling ball in a molasses swamp. It's also tricky when the front row is full of uncomfortables. The front row of small theatres should always, always be sold at steep discounts to people willing to wait in line. Their excitement creates a ripple effect, and this makes for an amazing show.
Tonight's Goldstar tix are already sold out. I'll have at least four people in the audience, possibly more. So that's nice. The show works best with a full house. Laughter and chagrin are equally contagious, and numbers tend to increase laughter. I will update this blog as the show progresses.
Until then, I hope you'll come see the show. All of you who read my blog. All ... what, two? Three of you?
***
Update: 12/06/2009
A superb audience last night; they were totally tuned in from the beginning of the show; there were even some friendly stragglers who came in right before Jesus turned water into wine, and their presence added even more to the show.
Truth be told, the stragglers were George, Brandon, Brandon, Shelly and Rebecca. I was so delighted to have them there, I had to resist playing the entire show directly to them. Frankly, their presence in the front two rows -- even of the house left / stage right section -- added even more to the show. Not just for me, though the energy feedback was high. It's that ripple effect again.
Tonight, my parents and my brother and sister-in-law and her mother and mother's companion and possibly my nephew and his girlfriend are coming to see the show. I certainly hope they all attend. I'm worried, as usual, about my parents making it in time; my mother tends to re-format hard drives or steam clean the carpets before she leaves the house. And they refuse to plan ahead or map things out, so they tend to end up at the wrong location. It's not because they're older, it's because they're stubborn.
I get nervous when people I know are supposed to attend are not in the audience. I know within the first five minutes who is there, because the space is so small and I am so close to everyone; I try to make direct eye contact with a lot of them, though I have now shifted away from direct eye contact with the front row of the middle section: they seem to get the most uncomfortable, as though they suspect I am going to fondle them. Or perhaps they want me to fondle them and they are uncomfortable that I haven't started the fondling. We shall see. Tonight, I will fondle whichever woman in the audience is the hottest. I will do it as Jesus, though, so that will be okay.
***
12/06/2009
Update: A wonderful audience tonight. It helped that I had a lot of family there, but the performance felt good. HOWEVER, there was a trio of strangeness downstage right / house left. Bald guy, woman with curly hair and asiatic chick. Asiatic chick was nicely responsive, but bald and curly made discomfort and apparent anger into some kind of performance art. If I was singing a song and threw a line their way, the portcullis would slam down and they would turn to look in another direction. We wondered during intermission if they would leave, but no! They were still there at the top of Act II! And I made a little eye contact with them on some spoken lines, they didn't look away, so I thought maybe it was okay.
Nope. When I sent them a sung line, it was Prince and Princess We-Don't-Wanna! So strange. If you hate the contact, don't sit in the first row you ignorant fuckmooks!
So, aside from those fuckos, the audience was wonderful. They were on their feet the minute the lights came up for curtain call. I wanted to hug them all. Even the weirdos. Mostly because I would have fondled the curly haired woman, then blamed it on Jesus. Oh well. Next time I will take action.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
I began rehearsals while still performing Max in The Producers at SCT (dir: Ken Sonkin), and right after The Producers closed, I got sick. So I missed some early rehearsals and things got tricky. Now we're right around ten performances into the run and there are some interesting things to note about this show, the intimate setting and the audiences.
Cotton Patch Gospel is an unabashedly straightforward telling of the Gospel of Matthew, basically the life of Christ from conception to death to resurrection. (Sorry for the spoilers, there, but if you don't know that story then I would like to know the mineral content of the stone under which you've been living.) San Francisco audiences seem to be somewhat taken aback by the Jesusy goodness of it all. Our first preview was for Custom Made Theatre Company Members, and they were ... unreceptive. In fact, there was one guy in the back who went to sleep a little way in to the show. Others sat there with their arms crossed, clearly pissed. There was the distinct feeling of discomfort and weirdness. Audiences after that have been quite warm, and when we heard that Trinity Episcopal bought the house for 11/29, we were thrilled. After all, church people seem to like the show, right?
Wrong. Quiet discomfort. A chuckle here and there. Some stifled belly laughs. My theory is that churchy people in a group are uncomfortable laughing about religious matters. And this is a funny show, when it's funny. So some jokes landed like a bowling ball in a molasses swamp. It's also tricky when the front row is full of uncomfortables. The front row of small theatres should always, always be sold at steep discounts to people willing to wait in line. Their excitement creates a ripple effect, and this makes for an amazing show.
Tonight's Goldstar tix are already sold out. I'll have at least four people in the audience, possibly more. So that's nice. The show works best with a full house. Laughter and chagrin are equally contagious, and numbers tend to increase laughter. I will update this blog as the show progresses.
Until then, I hope you'll come see the show. All of you who read my blog. All ... what, two? Three of you?
***
Update: 12/06/2009
A superb audience last night; they were totally tuned in from the beginning of the show; there were even some friendly stragglers who came in right before Jesus turned water into wine, and their presence added even more to the show.
Truth be told, the stragglers were George, Brandon, Brandon, Shelly and Rebecca. I was so delighted to have them there, I had to resist playing the entire show directly to them. Frankly, their presence in the front two rows -- even of the house left / stage right section -- added even more to the show. Not just for me, though the energy feedback was high. It's that ripple effect again.
Tonight, my parents and my brother and sister-in-law and her mother and mother's companion and possibly my nephew and his girlfriend are coming to see the show. I certainly hope they all attend. I'm worried, as usual, about my parents making it in time; my mother tends to re-format hard drives or steam clean the carpets before she leaves the house. And they refuse to plan ahead or map things out, so they tend to end up at the wrong location. It's not because they're older, it's because they're stubborn.
I get nervous when people I know are supposed to attend are not in the audience. I know within the first five minutes who is there, because the space is so small and I am so close to everyone; I try to make direct eye contact with a lot of them, though I have now shifted away from direct eye contact with the front row of the middle section: they seem to get the most uncomfortable, as though they suspect I am going to fondle them. Or perhaps they want me to fondle them and they are uncomfortable that I haven't started the fondling. We shall see. Tonight, I will fondle whichever woman in the audience is the hottest. I will do it as Jesus, though, so that will be okay.
***
12/06/2009
Update: A wonderful audience tonight. It helped that I had a lot of family there, but the performance felt good. HOWEVER, there was a trio of strangeness downstage right / house left. Bald guy, woman with curly hair and asiatic chick. Asiatic chick was nicely responsive, but bald and curly made discomfort and apparent anger into some kind of performance art. If I was singing a song and threw a line their way, the portcullis would slam down and they would turn to look in another direction. We wondered during intermission if they would leave, but no! They were still there at the top of Act II! And I made a little eye contact with them on some spoken lines, they didn't look away, so I thought maybe it was okay.
Nope. When I sent them a sung line, it was Prince and Princess We-Don't-Wanna! So strange. If you hate the contact, don't sit in the first row you ignorant fuckmooks!
So, aside from those fuckos, the audience was wonderful. They were on their feet the minute the lights came up for curtain call. I wanted to hug them all. Even the weirdos. Mostly because I would have fondled the curly haired woman, then blamed it on Jesus. Oh well. Next time I will take action.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Thoroughly Modern Millie
It's official, friends and neighbors: as of 1:06pm today, I am directing Thoroughly Modern Millie at Solano College Theatre! For those of you who do not know, this is the stage adaptation of the 1967 movie musical which originally starred Julie Andrews, Mary Tyler Moore, James Fox (skip forward to minute 6:00),Carol Channing, Beatrice Lillie, John Gavin, Pat Morita and Jack Soo.
The stage adaptation opened on Broadway April 18, 2002 and closed June 20, 2004. It starred Sutton Foster, Gavin Creel, Angela Christian, Mark Kudisch, Harriet Harris, Sheryl Lee Ralph, Francis Jue and Ken Leung. Well, technically those are not all starring roles. But they are the actors who played the key roles, both leading and supporting. I like to be clear.
The show is not the same as the movie, for obvious theatrical reasons: shooting Muzzy out of a cannon before one of her songs or flying the Chinamen for the very last fight sequence would be tricky at best. Frankly, I think all of it would be a huge plus; were it possible, I would put those things into the show. However, knowing that the budget will not allow for such amazing tomfoolery, I focus instead on making it what it should be: frothy, toe-tapping spectacle.
I'll be making regular updates herein, as I am very excited about this show and looking forward to every moment of the process.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
The stage adaptation opened on Broadway April 18, 2002 and closed June 20, 2004. It starred Sutton Foster, Gavin Creel, Angela Christian, Mark Kudisch, Harriet Harris, Sheryl Lee Ralph, Francis Jue and Ken Leung. Well, technically those are not all starring roles. But they are the actors who played the key roles, both leading and supporting. I like to be clear.
The show is not the same as the movie, for obvious theatrical reasons: shooting Muzzy out of a cannon before one of her songs or flying the Chinamen for the very last fight sequence would be tricky at best. Frankly, I think all of it would be a huge plus; were it possible, I would put those things into the show. However, knowing that the budget will not allow for such amazing tomfoolery, I focus instead on making it what it should be: frothy, toe-tapping spectacle.
I'll be making regular updates herein, as I am very excited about this show and looking forward to every moment of the process.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
On The Brilliance of Sam Craig
There are few people as funny as Sam Craig. He can find the hilarious root of any situation, and from that root cultivate an hybrid that surprises and delights anyone with a real sense of humor. Real sense of humor being key. Those who are frightened or uncomfortable with Sam's humor are usually fairly uptight. Which is funny in itself.
I work with Sam in our series, For SCIENCE!, wherein I do my best to stop laughing once he starts me up. That's basically how it goes: I say something, Sam bats it back at me in a slightly altered form, I lob it back over the net and then he spikes the joke and destroys my game. Frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way. Sam makes me laugh. It's a rare ability. I just wish I could make him laugh as much.
Recently, Sam was in Oregon. For about a year, actually. Sam moved up there to be a newspaperman. Apparently, he was miserable, so he has come back to the crazy hell of the Bay Area -- and we are all delighted to have him here. He came down briefly in October, and we shot several episodes of For SCIENCE!, wherein Sam graciously battled Brandon Hunt for supremacy as my co-host. The results of that epic battle will soon be available online, but until then I can only say that their verbal repartee was almost as good as their swordplay. It's something you will want to savor again and again.
Last night, Sam and I were two of three Prospects in an episode of Brandon's brilliant NerdCAST, a podcast centered entirely on all things nerds like; it was the show's first birthday, and we toasted with Korbel, Pepsi and Martinelli's Sparkling Cider. I was delighted to be a part of something so unabashedly nerdy, and I know Sam had a good time.
There's been some speculation as to whether or not Sam will, in fact, choose to stay with Tiger after his recent transgressions came to light. I hope Sam will take the high road and stay; after all, it's important to realize that Tiger is only human. We all make mistakes.
Enjoy your delicious samples of Sam Craig, everybody. And please remember to wipe your hands before you touch the doorknob.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
I work with Sam in our series, For SCIENCE!, wherein I do my best to stop laughing once he starts me up. That's basically how it goes: I say something, Sam bats it back at me in a slightly altered form, I lob it back over the net and then he spikes the joke and destroys my game. Frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way. Sam makes me laugh. It's a rare ability. I just wish I could make him laugh as much.
Recently, Sam was in Oregon. For about a year, actually. Sam moved up there to be a newspaperman. Apparently, he was miserable, so he has come back to the crazy hell of the Bay Area -- and we are all delighted to have him here. He came down briefly in October, and we shot several episodes of For SCIENCE!, wherein Sam graciously battled Brandon Hunt for supremacy as my co-host. The results of that epic battle will soon be available online, but until then I can only say that their verbal repartee was almost as good as their swordplay. It's something you will want to savor again and again.
Last night, Sam and I were two of three Prospects in an episode of Brandon's brilliant NerdCAST, a podcast centered entirely on all things nerds like; it was the show's first birthday, and we toasted with Korbel, Pepsi and Martinelli's Sparkling Cider. I was delighted to be a part of something so unabashedly nerdy, and I know Sam had a good time.
There's been some speculation as to whether or not Sam will, in fact, choose to stay with Tiger after his recent transgressions came to light. I hope Sam will take the high road and stay; after all, it's important to realize that Tiger is only human. We all make mistakes.
Enjoy your delicious samples of Sam Craig, everybody. And please remember to wipe your hands before you touch the doorknob.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Monday, November 30, 2009
My Hourly Rate
Let's do some math.
Say I'm in a production that pays a measley $400.00. This is more than most theatres in the Bay Area will pay a non-AEA actor, and far less than I should be paid for what I bring to the table. But it's right in the middle of the shallow end of the pool, so let's go with that number.
The total number of days committed to the project: 43 (including rehearsals and performances).
Owing to schedule conflicts, the first month of rehearsal -- we'll call it October -- sees me at only six rehearsals; we'll assume there were eight, but that I was very sick with a flu and missed two. In that first month, most rehearsals only go about three hours. So six days at three hours a day = 18 hours.
Month two we'll call November. Seventeen rehearsals, three previews, four performances = Twenty-four days at four hours per day = 96 hours.
Month three follows under the name December. Eleven performances at four hours per day = 44 hours.
Total hours: 158
$400.00 / 158 = $2.53 per hour. If the show extends, adding, say, four performances, it pushes the total hours to 174, which = $2.29 per hour.
When I first did the math for this theoretical project, I did it by hand and came to 168 hours, which = $2.38 per hour. So let's take that, since it's in between the lower and higher hourly rates above.
First off, a tank of gas is worth more than my hourly rate for this theoretical production.
Second, it costs $5.55 one-way from Dublin/Pleasanton BART to the Embarcadero, then two dollars to catch the #2, 3 or 4 which will take me to the corner of, say, Sutter and Gough, two theoretical blocks away from my potential destination. So that's $7.55 one-way, $15.10 round-trip.
$15.10 per day at 43 days = $649.30
However, several of the rehearsals took place in Berkeley and Oakland; to those rehearsals I drove; my car gets 430 miles per one tank of gas, the gas tank holds about 12 gallons: 430 / 12 = 35.83 gallons. We'll call that 36 mpg.
Remembering that this is all theoretical:
Let's say the three Berkeley rehearsals took place at the CalShakes rehearsal space, 37.7 miles from my house; we'll call that 38 miles, so 76 miles round-trip x 3 = 228 miles. So getting to and from those rehearsals each day would have cost me 2.11 gallons of gas, at an average of $2.76 per gallon at Costco, that comes to roughly $5.83 per day = $17.48
Imagine with me now that there were five Oakland rehearsals, 34.1 miles from my house, 68.2 miles round-trip x 5 = 341 miles. 341 / 36 = 9.47 gallons x $2.76 per gallon = $26.14
San Francisco rehearsals and performances necessitate a drive to BART Dublin/Pleasanton. That's 9.7 miles from my house, 19.4 miles round-trip. 34 days without an extension, 38 if this theoretical show extends. Without the extension: 19.4 x 33 = 659.6 miles @ 36 mpg = 18.32 gallons @ $2.76 per gallon = $50.57
Total Gasoline Expenditure: $94.19
Guessing that some cast or crew members might live in Berkeley or Oakland, let's pretend that someone can drop me off at West Oakland Bart every night after rehearsal/performance. So that means that it's $7.55 to get to the theatre, then $4.10 from West Oakland to Dublin/Pleasanton. Total: $11.65 per day.
Total Public Transportation Expenditure: $396.10
Total Transportation Cost for this Production: $490.29
So I am currently $90.29 away from just breaking even. I'm reporting my measley income for this show to EDD, so it's subtracted from my bi-weekly Unemployment Check. The reason I'm reporting it is so that I can justifiably claim my transportation and business meals as business expenses -- which they most assuredly are -- which brings me to another delicious point: the California Mileage Reimbursement Rate.
The 2009 IRS California Mileage Reimbursement Rate (CAMRR) is $.55 per mile. My total mileage for this show -- if we don't extend -- will be 1,228 miles. At .55 per mile, that comes to $675.40. Now, I'm not an employee of the theoretical company; I'm an independent contractor. So it's not a question of whether or not they have to reimburse me, they don't have to: it's not in my contract. Why is it not in my contract? Because I didn't do the math until now. It's just an interesting point to add to our theoretical calculations. Besides, there's probably some technicality that cuts it down or negates this point. There's always a technicality.
If the CAMRR replaced the Gasoline Expenditure and then added to the Public Transportation cost it would bring my total pay up to $1071.50. Frankly, that is much more like what I should be paid for this production.
Hmmm ...
$1071.50 - 400.00 = 671.50.
It would seem that the CAMRR is not just about gas, but also about wear and tear on the car. Damn, I sure could use that money: my brakes have worn down to nothing and grinding metal on metal is all I get whenever I drive. This is bad. I am risking my life every day I perform in this show. And for what? Leslie Martinson and Robert Kelley and Tony Taccone and Amy Potozkin are not coming to see the show. Ian McKellen was not in the audience the other night, Stephen Sondheim doesn't wander around San Francisco looking for low-budget Harry Chapin musicals to attend. I took this job to work with the superb director and to take the challenge of a one-man show, because I know that that stuff never happens: ain't nobody gonna come see the show and whisk anybody away to the fame and fortune they wish they could have. But that seems to be the overriding hope in every non-AEA actor's mind: "Maybe someone famous will see me and realize how wonderful I am, and then Steven Spielberg will be my friend!"
It reminds me of a song from Robbie Williams' SWING WHEN YOU'RE WINNING:
"I wouldn't be so alone
If they knew my name in every home
Kevin Spacey would call on the phone
But I'd be too busy
Come back to the old five and dime
Cameron Diaz give me a sign
I'd make you smile all the time
Your conversation would compliment mine
I will talk and Hollywood will listen
See them bow at my every word
Mr Spielberg look just what you're missing
Doesn't that seem a little absurd
Bow at my every word"
This could be the anthem of every small-time, small-town American theatre actor. Nobody wants to admit it, but the above is the crystallization of what is in everyone's hearts when they take a great role for shitfuck or zero pay. And on a certain level, all directors and producers in regional theatre know this. It's why local actors carry spears at Theatreworks while New York actors get the leads. It's what makes Waiting For Guffman so very, very funny and, ultimately, so incredibly sad.
When will we decide not to take the shit pay anymore? Is joining the union all it takes? Because Equity doesn't have the biggest balls, as unions go, and I know a lot of Equity actors in the Bay Area who no longer get any work now that they're in the union -- the houses who used to regularly hire them can get a non-AEA actor for peanuts or free, so why should they pay a big fish?
I'd love to say we should band together and fight for our rights and demand more pay or better roles or kick out the NY actors. But local actors are thoroughly cowed by high rents and exhausting day jobs. Nobody wants to rock this boat as it slowly, slowly sinks.
Update: The same theoretical company has theoretically offered me an awesome role in an awesome show; I've been theoretically offered $800.00. Let's do the math:
4 weeks of rehearsal at 5 days a week and 4 hours a day = 80 hours of rehearsal. Does this include Tech? Prolly not, so add a week of Tech: 80 hours of rehearsal + 20 hours of Tech = 100 hours before we see an audience.
So, if the show runs, say, September 17 - October 31, that's 22 performances. At three hours per performance, my total hours on the show would be: 122 hours.
So: $800.00 / 122 hours = $6.55 per hour. Current Minimum Wage is $8.00 per hour. Yikes. If I were paid Minimum Wage for rehearsals and performances, it would come to $976.00. Call it an even $1,000.00 and we're just ducky.
We're also not likely.
So this adds a wrinkle.
© 2009, 2013 Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Say I'm in a production that pays a measley $400.00. This is more than most theatres in the Bay Area will pay a non-AEA actor, and far less than I should be paid for what I bring to the table. But it's right in the middle of the shallow end of the pool, so let's go with that number.
The total number of days committed to the project: 43 (including rehearsals and performances).
Owing to schedule conflicts, the first month of rehearsal -- we'll call it October -- sees me at only six rehearsals; we'll assume there were eight, but that I was very sick with a flu and missed two. In that first month, most rehearsals only go about three hours. So six days at three hours a day = 18 hours.
Month two we'll call November. Seventeen rehearsals, three previews, four performances = Twenty-four days at four hours per day = 96 hours.
Month three follows under the name December. Eleven performances at four hours per day = 44 hours.
Total hours: 158
$400.00 / 158 = $2.53 per hour. If the show extends, adding, say, four performances, it pushes the total hours to 174, which = $2.29 per hour.
When I first did the math for this theoretical project, I did it by hand and came to 168 hours, which = $2.38 per hour. So let's take that, since it's in between the lower and higher hourly rates above.
First off, a tank of gas is worth more than my hourly rate for this theoretical production.
Second, it costs $5.55 one-way from Dublin/Pleasanton BART to the Embarcadero, then two dollars to catch the #2, 3 or 4 which will take me to the corner of, say, Sutter and Gough, two theoretical blocks away from my potential destination. So that's $7.55 one-way, $15.10 round-trip.
$15.10 per day at 43 days = $649.30
However, several of the rehearsals took place in Berkeley and Oakland; to those rehearsals I drove; my car gets 430 miles per one tank of gas, the gas tank holds about 12 gallons: 430 / 12 = 35.83 gallons. We'll call that 36 mpg.
Remembering that this is all theoretical:
Let's say the three Berkeley rehearsals took place at the CalShakes rehearsal space, 37.7 miles from my house; we'll call that 38 miles, so 76 miles round-trip x 3 = 228 miles. So getting to and from those rehearsals each day would have cost me 2.11 gallons of gas, at an average of $2.76 per gallon at Costco, that comes to roughly $5.83 per day = $17.48
Imagine with me now that there were five Oakland rehearsals, 34.1 miles from my house, 68.2 miles round-trip x 5 = 341 miles. 341 / 36 = 9.47 gallons x $2.76 per gallon = $26.14
San Francisco rehearsals and performances necessitate a drive to BART Dublin/Pleasanton. That's 9.7 miles from my house, 19.4 miles round-trip. 34 days without an extension, 38 if this theoretical show extends. Without the extension: 19.4 x 33 = 659.6 miles @ 36 mpg = 18.32 gallons @ $2.76 per gallon = $50.57
Total Gasoline Expenditure: $94.19
Guessing that some cast or crew members might live in Berkeley or Oakland, let's pretend that someone can drop me off at West Oakland Bart every night after rehearsal/performance. So that means that it's $7.55 to get to the theatre, then $4.10 from West Oakland to Dublin/Pleasanton. Total: $11.65 per day.
Total Public Transportation Expenditure: $396.10
Total Transportation Cost for this Production: $490.29
So I am currently $90.29 away from just breaking even. I'm reporting my measley income for this show to EDD, so it's subtracted from my bi-weekly Unemployment Check. The reason I'm reporting it is so that I can justifiably claim my transportation and business meals as business expenses -- which they most assuredly are -- which brings me to another delicious point: the California Mileage Reimbursement Rate.
The 2009 IRS California Mileage Reimbursement Rate (CAMRR) is $.55 per mile. My total mileage for this show -- if we don't extend -- will be 1,228 miles. At .55 per mile, that comes to $675.40. Now, I'm not an employee of the theoretical company; I'm an independent contractor. So it's not a question of whether or not they have to reimburse me, they don't have to: it's not in my contract. Why is it not in my contract? Because I didn't do the math until now. It's just an interesting point to add to our theoretical calculations. Besides, there's probably some technicality that cuts it down or negates this point. There's always a technicality.
If the CAMRR replaced the Gasoline Expenditure and then added to the Public Transportation cost it would bring my total pay up to $1071.50. Frankly, that is much more like what I should be paid for this production.
Hmmm ...
$1071.50 - 400.00 = 671.50.
It would seem that the CAMRR is not just about gas, but also about wear and tear on the car. Damn, I sure could use that money: my brakes have worn down to nothing and grinding metal on metal is all I get whenever I drive. This is bad. I am risking my life every day I perform in this show. And for what? Leslie Martinson and Robert Kelley and Tony Taccone and Amy Potozkin are not coming to see the show. Ian McKellen was not in the audience the other night, Stephen Sondheim doesn't wander around San Francisco looking for low-budget Harry Chapin musicals to attend. I took this job to work with the superb director and to take the challenge of a one-man show, because I know that that stuff never happens: ain't nobody gonna come see the show and whisk anybody away to the fame and fortune they wish they could have. But that seems to be the overriding hope in every non-AEA actor's mind: "Maybe someone famous will see me and realize how wonderful I am, and then Steven Spielberg will be my friend!"
It reminds me of a song from Robbie Williams' SWING WHEN YOU'RE WINNING:
"I wouldn't be so alone
If they knew my name in every home
Kevin Spacey would call on the phone
But I'd be too busy
Come back to the old five and dime
Cameron Diaz give me a sign
I'd make you smile all the time
Your conversation would compliment mine
I will talk and Hollywood will listen
See them bow at my every word
Mr Spielberg look just what you're missing
Doesn't that seem a little absurd
Bow at my every word"
This could be the anthem of every small-time, small-town American theatre actor. Nobody wants to admit it, but the above is the crystallization of what is in everyone's hearts when they take a great role for shitfuck or zero pay. And on a certain level, all directors and producers in regional theatre know this. It's why local actors carry spears at Theatreworks while New York actors get the leads. It's what makes Waiting For Guffman so very, very funny and, ultimately, so incredibly sad.
When will we decide not to take the shit pay anymore? Is joining the union all it takes? Because Equity doesn't have the biggest balls, as unions go, and I know a lot of Equity actors in the Bay Area who no longer get any work now that they're in the union -- the houses who used to regularly hire them can get a non-AEA actor for peanuts or free, so why should they pay a big fish?
I'd love to say we should band together and fight for our rights and demand more pay or better roles or kick out the NY actors. But local actors are thoroughly cowed by high rents and exhausting day jobs. Nobody wants to rock this boat as it slowly, slowly sinks.
Update: The same theoretical company has theoretically offered me an awesome role in an awesome show; I've been theoretically offered $800.00. Let's do the math:
4 weeks of rehearsal at 5 days a week and 4 hours a day = 80 hours of rehearsal. Does this include Tech? Prolly not, so add a week of Tech: 80 hours of rehearsal + 20 hours of Tech = 100 hours before we see an audience.
So, if the show runs, say, September 17 - October 31, that's 22 performances. At three hours per performance, my total hours on the show would be: 122 hours.
So: $800.00 / 122 hours = $6.55 per hour. Current Minimum Wage is $8.00 per hour. Yikes. If I were paid Minimum Wage for rehearsals and performances, it would come to $976.00. Call it an even $1,000.00 and we're just ducky.
We're also not likely.
So this adds a wrinkle.
© 2009, 2013 Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
MFA Equivalency
I have been asked to direct Thoroughly Modern Millie at Solano College Theatre, something I would be absolutely delighted to do. In order to get the job, I need to establish that I have, through my theatrical experience, the equivalent of a MFA in Theatre. Which I do. So part of the paperwork process involved a personal statement about why I feel I am qualified to direct, what my experience has taught me, things like that. So I wrote several versions of the statement before I got anywhere near something coherent. I share them with you now:
This is the first thing I wrote:
"Since 1989, I have been doing almost nothing but theatre. While there have been other things that have, from simple necessity, occupied my time – jobs to pay rent, boring classes to transfer credit – my overarching focus for the last twenty years has been excellence in all things theatrical. When I started out, I never expected to be a director; nor did I expect that I would design sets, costumes, lights or sound. Dabbling in the more technical disciplines was at first a matter of required credit. And, had all of my directors been geniuses, or were I more inclined toward complacency, I may never have struck upon the directorial path. I owe it all to a mid-rehearsal revelation at age 19 that my director was mediocre at best, and that I could do it better with less preparation, a smaller budget and worse actors. The Gods of Theatre may have been listening; if there are no Gods of Theatre, I suspect I may have sought such a difficult situation in order to test myself. Either way, I learned a great deal.
[(I had bracketed this section in preparation to rework or cut it. -- E.) In the Spring of 1989 I was a Sophomore at Hayward High School. Up to that point, owing to the Hayward Unified School District’s devotion to the lowest common denominator, there was no actual Drama teacher at Hayward High. We had had English teachers foisted upon us in the well-meaning but entirely false assumption that because Shakespeare wrote plays, and because they were in English, any English teacher must know enough about theatre to ably instruct eager young minds starved for structure and the honing of their raw skills. This is rather a bit like assuming that an illustrator, having studied human anatomy, could successfully perform open-heart surgery.
What changed in 1989 was that someone, somehow, decided to hire a Drama instructor for the Spring. She decided to direct a mild little comedy and I, having been forbidden by my parents to take any more Drama classes until I raised my grades, had absolutely no intention of auditioning. I was tricked into it by a friend, and by some miracle I was cast in a comic role. The rest, as they say, is obscurity. It was the notion that by doing my homework I would sooner escape Hayward High for some fabled theatrical collegiate Valhalla that got me, slowly, to raise my grades. By my Senior year, I was no longer a consistent academic failure.]
From Hayward High to the Theatre Department of Chabot College, and thence to Las Positas College and and – again, I suspect what Gods of Theatre still exist must have chuckled when I was accepted – The Boston Conservatory. Which is exactly where I found myself directing plays with no preparation, no budget and some (not all) terrible actors, in a tiny, drafty, bitterly cold or – if the heat was on – stiflingly hot blackbox theatre. It’s also where I began to get true theatrical training, which is precisely what I needed. Owing to the number of credits I’d accrued in the California Community College system, I transferred in as a Junior. Juniors at The Boston Conservatory take Directing from Steve McConnell, and it is Steve McConnell – though he would shudder to hear it – whose instruction utterly changed my approach to Theatre and, as a result, changed my life.
(This paragraph was the beginning of something earlier that I had moved in order to tidy up; it hangs at the end of the piece only because that's how I found it today. -- E.) I had already spent four years in constant theatrical endeavor, never realizing that I ought to have been focusing on transfer to another place; it was my dissatisfaction with my own work which lead me to audition for The Boston Conservatory."
It was too much narrative, not enough fact. So I abandoned that approach before finishing and I tried this:
"Malcolm Gladwell’s book, Outliers, focuses on the “10,000-Hour Rule” – the notion that the key to success is a matter of honing a skill for 10,000 hours. Using this as the basis for evaluation, let’s do a little math:
The average community theatre person (we’ll call her June) rehearses 4 hours per night five days a week; the average rehearsal process takes six weeks, and the shows run – on average – two to three weeks. Let’s be generous and assume that she lives in a community that supports the arts: her show runs four weeks. So 4 hours per night multiplied by 5 nights a week is 20 hours per week. Even on performance nights, most actors are at the theatre for about four hours. So six weeks of rehearsal plus four weeks of performance (adding an average extra eight hours of technical rehearsal, and generously assuming she has five performances per week between Thursday and Sunday) is ten weeks. Ten weeks at 4 hours five days a week plus extra tech = 208 hours.
There are 8,760 hours in a year. Assuming June has a day job and family and a pet rock, she probably has time for about three shows per year. That’s 624 hours a year. At this rate, it will take June 16 years to master her skill. By that time, June is bitter, jaded and resentful of all the younger actors or directors who are going places.
Thankfully, I am not June. I am Edward. I am not a community theatre person; I am a professional director and actor; this is what I do, it is what I am, it is my life and my legacy. Once I found theatre, I focused so completely upon it that my family despaired of my ever seeing the sun or attending a family gathering again. Since then, I have regained some degree of balance in my life: sunlight and family are equally as important as theatre. But my zealous devotion to this art began in my Sophomore year of High School when I was a sponge in an artistic desert, so it is perhaps easy to understand why and how I chose this path, or perhaps how it chose me.
My theatrical epiphany occurred in 1989. That’s two decades of constant theatrical endeavor. Here’s the difference between our fictional June and myself: June listened to her parents and became a Dental Hygienist, while I ignored my parents’ harping about jobs and money, choosing instead to spend every possible hour in or around the theatre. Between daytime theatre classes at Chabot College in Hayward and rehearsals at night, I had blissfully (and quite accidentally) created a miniature theatrical conservatory for myself: six hours of classes per day, three hours of rehearsal at night, six days of rehearsal per week, plus summer productions multiplied by four years comes to just under 4,000 hours. I count more than just my theatrical classes in these hours, as an ignorant actor is a useless actor and everything I’ve learned outside of theatre – from music theory to Chabot’s now defunct ISLS program – has made me a better performer.
There were and are, of course, better theatrical programs (about which I wish I’d known at the time) than those offered at Chabot and Las Positas Colleges. Then again, it was my frustration with the occasional mediocre director that spurred me to transfer to The Boston Conservatory in Autumn of 1995. Had I been delighted with the quality of everything, who knows what I might be today? Probably a Dental Hygienist.
What I wanted was to eat, drink, sleep and bathe in theatre. That’s exactly what I got in Boston. Classes began at 8:00 am, generally running until 6:00 pm; rehearsals began at 7:00 pm and often ran until 11:00 pm, sometimes later. Eight hours a day of classes alone, plus another four hours of rehearsal: twelve hours per day. More focused, more intense and certainly better than the theatrical education I’d had up until then, but all total about 5,000 hours.
So if we conservatively estimate that by the time I graduated in May of 2000 I had 9,000 hours of practice, I am confident that in the intervening years I have – as both actor and director – easily topped the 10,000-hour mark.
I feel that it behooves us as artists to give back to the community, to pass on our knowledge and share what we have learned with as many other performers – regardless of their age or ability – as we possibly can. I have twenty years of diverse experience in theatre upon which to draw, and I feel it is my duty to use what wisdom may be distilled from my experience to enrich the lives and education of other people.
The Boston Conservatory’s directing program is probably its best-kept secret. When I applied and auditioned in 1995, I do not believe there was a word about it in the catalog or application. At that time I still thought of myself solely as an actor, in spite of having directed actively since 1993. But I transferred into that school as a Junior, which put me into Steve McConnell’s class in directing. Imagine the theory and practice of directing as taught by a slightly more personable Professor Snape. Funny as that idea is, it’s Steve McConnell – though he would shudder to hear it – whose instruction utterly transformed my approach to Theatre and, as a result, changed my life.
Now, I live and create by the following rules:
There is no such thing as “good enough”.
Perfection is unattainable.
These two admittedly contradictory phrases form the core of my approach to directing and acting; the first spurs me to swim upstream and avoid lazily floating with the current: I am always aiming for the divine creative pool at the source of the river. The second phrase keeps me balanced in my creativity because, while I know that perfection is unattainable, it is nonetheless the best possible goal: it is by striving for perfection that we reach new heights. People who aim for “good enough” can run for Congress. This leaves the rest of us to the passionate pursuit of excellence in all that we do."
This was okay, but I felt that I spent too much time doing math . So I refined it:
"Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius.
The temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the bane of our profession.
-- Sherlock Holmes, The Valley of Fear, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
My name is Edward Hightower and I am a director and actor of skill, renown and humility. According to Malcolm Gladwell’s book, Outliers, it takes 10,000 hours to achieve mastery of any discipline. I have been consistently working in theatre since 1989 and I have well over 10,000 hours of focused theatrical experience. So, on the Gladwellian scale alone, we’re pretty safe to assume that I am the right man for the job of directing Thoroughly Modern Millie. Ah, but looking at the two quotes that begin this statement and therefore set the standard of measurement herein, more data is called for.
I have been directing since 1993. My first directorial endeavors were short plays of my own composition, a fairly common occurrence among young actors – every actor wants to direct and/or write; the question of whether or not they are any good at it rarely occurs to the vast majority. The vaguely talented measure their ability in a flawed mirror, which explains the crazies who believe they will be the next American Idol.
There are two advantages that separate me from your average thespian:
1) I successfully ran the gauntlet of The Boston Conservatory’s undergraduate directing program – in all respects save the degree awarded the equal of any directorial MFA program and, frankly, superior to many that I’ve investigated since obtaining my BFA in 2000.
2) The innate ability to see to the heart of most theatrical matters, clearly identifying that which needs attention and fixing it with zest and aplomb. As part of this ability, I am deeply aware that there are vast theatrical disciplines in which I have only dabbled: stage management, music direction, design of sets, lighting and costumes, choreography. It is therefore a pleasure and a relief to work with a creative team whose skill sets allow us to bring forth a masterful result.
I believe it is the duty of an artist of any discipline to share the benefit of their knowledge with the populace at large. Directing is most assuredly an art, and in my mind the most challenging, because it is the only discipline that requires the artist to preside over the seamless integration of every other fine art to create one cohesive and – in the case of Thoroughly Modern Millie – toe-tapping, frothily delightful whole.
What better way to share my knowledge and love of my art than to give back to the students and community of Fairfield by directing this production? Having already worked at Solano College Theatre as an actor (Max Bialystock in The Producers; Freddie/Philip in Noises Off [2009 Arty Award Nominee]; Frog in A Year With Frog and Toad [2008 Arty Award Winner: Best Lead Actor in a Musical]), and having found myself simultaneously in a positive mentorship role with the students and a superb working relationship with my fellow professionals, I relish the opportunity to share the diverse fruits of my theatrical experience in a whole new way.
Given the data in my resumes, transcripts and this statement, I am confident that the mystery of whether or not Edward Hightower is the right person to direct Thoroughly Modern Millie is solved; professional experience is the best possible classroom and mere theatrical theorists probably don’t understand how difficult it is to sing and do a triple time-step while staying in a straight line; my knowledge is personal and practical. As Sherlock Holmes once said,
“… when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
Edward Hightower
November 20, 2009
Livermore, California"
And now, frankly, I'm embarrassed that the above is what I actually submitted. Sherlock Holmes? What the hell was I thinking? Too bad I have to wait until 5:00 to start drinking.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
This is the first thing I wrote:
"Since 1989, I have been doing almost nothing but theatre. While there have been other things that have, from simple necessity, occupied my time – jobs to pay rent, boring classes to transfer credit – my overarching focus for the last twenty years has been excellence in all things theatrical. When I started out, I never expected to be a director; nor did I expect that I would design sets, costumes, lights or sound. Dabbling in the more technical disciplines was at first a matter of required credit. And, had all of my directors been geniuses, or were I more inclined toward complacency, I may never have struck upon the directorial path. I owe it all to a mid-rehearsal revelation at age 19 that my director was mediocre at best, and that I could do it better with less preparation, a smaller budget and worse actors. The Gods of Theatre may have been listening; if there are no Gods of Theatre, I suspect I may have sought such a difficult situation in order to test myself. Either way, I learned a great deal.
[(I had bracketed this section in preparation to rework or cut it. -- E.) In the Spring of 1989 I was a Sophomore at Hayward High School. Up to that point, owing to the Hayward Unified School District’s devotion to the lowest common denominator, there was no actual Drama teacher at Hayward High. We had had English teachers foisted upon us in the well-meaning but entirely false assumption that because Shakespeare wrote plays, and because they were in English, any English teacher must know enough about theatre to ably instruct eager young minds starved for structure and the honing of their raw skills. This is rather a bit like assuming that an illustrator, having studied human anatomy, could successfully perform open-heart surgery.
What changed in 1989 was that someone, somehow, decided to hire a Drama instructor for the Spring. She decided to direct a mild little comedy and I, having been forbidden by my parents to take any more Drama classes until I raised my grades, had absolutely no intention of auditioning. I was tricked into it by a friend, and by some miracle I was cast in a comic role. The rest, as they say, is obscurity. It was the notion that by doing my homework I would sooner escape Hayward High for some fabled theatrical collegiate Valhalla that got me, slowly, to raise my grades. By my Senior year, I was no longer a consistent academic failure.]
From Hayward High to the Theatre Department of Chabot College, and thence to Las Positas College and and – again, I suspect what Gods of Theatre still exist must have chuckled when I was accepted – The Boston Conservatory. Which is exactly where I found myself directing plays with no preparation, no budget and some (not all) terrible actors, in a tiny, drafty, bitterly cold or – if the heat was on – stiflingly hot blackbox theatre. It’s also where I began to get true theatrical training, which is precisely what I needed. Owing to the number of credits I’d accrued in the California Community College system, I transferred in as a Junior. Juniors at The Boston Conservatory take Directing from Steve McConnell, and it is Steve McConnell – though he would shudder to hear it – whose instruction utterly changed my approach to Theatre and, as a result, changed my life.
(This paragraph was the beginning of something earlier that I had moved in order to tidy up; it hangs at the end of the piece only because that's how I found it today. -- E.) I had already spent four years in constant theatrical endeavor, never realizing that I ought to have been focusing on transfer to another place; it was my dissatisfaction with my own work which lead me to audition for The Boston Conservatory."
It was too much narrative, not enough fact. So I abandoned that approach before finishing and I tried this:
"Malcolm Gladwell’s book, Outliers, focuses on the “10,000-Hour Rule” – the notion that the key to success is a matter of honing a skill for 10,000 hours. Using this as the basis for evaluation, let’s do a little math:
The average community theatre person (we’ll call her June) rehearses 4 hours per night five days a week; the average rehearsal process takes six weeks, and the shows run – on average – two to three weeks. Let’s be generous and assume that she lives in a community that supports the arts: her show runs four weeks. So 4 hours per night multiplied by 5 nights a week is 20 hours per week. Even on performance nights, most actors are at the theatre for about four hours. So six weeks of rehearsal plus four weeks of performance (adding an average extra eight hours of technical rehearsal, and generously assuming she has five performances per week between Thursday and Sunday) is ten weeks. Ten weeks at 4 hours five days a week plus extra tech = 208 hours.
There are 8,760 hours in a year. Assuming June has a day job and family and a pet rock, she probably has time for about three shows per year. That’s 624 hours a year. At this rate, it will take June 16 years to master her skill. By that time, June is bitter, jaded and resentful of all the younger actors or directors who are going places.
Thankfully, I am not June. I am Edward. I am not a community theatre person; I am a professional director and actor; this is what I do, it is what I am, it is my life and my legacy. Once I found theatre, I focused so completely upon it that my family despaired of my ever seeing the sun or attending a family gathering again. Since then, I have regained some degree of balance in my life: sunlight and family are equally as important as theatre. But my zealous devotion to this art began in my Sophomore year of High School when I was a sponge in an artistic desert, so it is perhaps easy to understand why and how I chose this path, or perhaps how it chose me.
My theatrical epiphany occurred in 1989. That’s two decades of constant theatrical endeavor. Here’s the difference between our fictional June and myself: June listened to her parents and became a Dental Hygienist, while I ignored my parents’ harping about jobs and money, choosing instead to spend every possible hour in or around the theatre. Between daytime theatre classes at Chabot College in Hayward and rehearsals at night, I had blissfully (and quite accidentally) created a miniature theatrical conservatory for myself: six hours of classes per day, three hours of rehearsal at night, six days of rehearsal per week, plus summer productions multiplied by four years comes to just under 4,000 hours. I count more than just my theatrical classes in these hours, as an ignorant actor is a useless actor and everything I’ve learned outside of theatre – from music theory to Chabot’s now defunct ISLS program – has made me a better performer.
There were and are, of course, better theatrical programs (about which I wish I’d known at the time) than those offered at Chabot and Las Positas Colleges. Then again, it was my frustration with the occasional mediocre director that spurred me to transfer to The Boston Conservatory in Autumn of 1995. Had I been delighted with the quality of everything, who knows what I might be today? Probably a Dental Hygienist.
What I wanted was to eat, drink, sleep and bathe in theatre. That’s exactly what I got in Boston. Classes began at 8:00 am, generally running until 6:00 pm; rehearsals began at 7:00 pm and often ran until 11:00 pm, sometimes later. Eight hours a day of classes alone, plus another four hours of rehearsal: twelve hours per day. More focused, more intense and certainly better than the theatrical education I’d had up until then, but all total about 5,000 hours.
So if we conservatively estimate that by the time I graduated in May of 2000 I had 9,000 hours of practice, I am confident that in the intervening years I have – as both actor and director – easily topped the 10,000-hour mark.
I feel that it behooves us as artists to give back to the community, to pass on our knowledge and share what we have learned with as many other performers – regardless of their age or ability – as we possibly can. I have twenty years of diverse experience in theatre upon which to draw, and I feel it is my duty to use what wisdom may be distilled from my experience to enrich the lives and education of other people.
The Boston Conservatory’s directing program is probably its best-kept secret. When I applied and auditioned in 1995, I do not believe there was a word about it in the catalog or application. At that time I still thought of myself solely as an actor, in spite of having directed actively since 1993. But I transferred into that school as a Junior, which put me into Steve McConnell’s class in directing. Imagine the theory and practice of directing as taught by a slightly more personable Professor Snape. Funny as that idea is, it’s Steve McConnell – though he would shudder to hear it – whose instruction utterly transformed my approach to Theatre and, as a result, changed my life.
Now, I live and create by the following rules:
There is no such thing as “good enough”.
Perfection is unattainable.
These two admittedly contradictory phrases form the core of my approach to directing and acting; the first spurs me to swim upstream and avoid lazily floating with the current: I am always aiming for the divine creative pool at the source of the river. The second phrase keeps me balanced in my creativity because, while I know that perfection is unattainable, it is nonetheless the best possible goal: it is by striving for perfection that we reach new heights. People who aim for “good enough” can run for Congress. This leaves the rest of us to the passionate pursuit of excellence in all that we do."
This was okay, but I felt that I spent too much time doing math . So I refined it:
"Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius.
The temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the bane of our profession.
-- Sherlock Holmes, The Valley of Fear, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
My name is Edward Hightower and I am a director and actor of skill, renown and humility. According to Malcolm Gladwell’s book, Outliers, it takes 10,000 hours to achieve mastery of any discipline. I have been consistently working in theatre since 1989 and I have well over 10,000 hours of focused theatrical experience. So, on the Gladwellian scale alone, we’re pretty safe to assume that I am the right man for the job of directing Thoroughly Modern Millie. Ah, but looking at the two quotes that begin this statement and therefore set the standard of measurement herein, more data is called for.
I have been directing since 1993. My first directorial endeavors were short plays of my own composition, a fairly common occurrence among young actors – every actor wants to direct and/or write; the question of whether or not they are any good at it rarely occurs to the vast majority. The vaguely talented measure their ability in a flawed mirror, which explains the crazies who believe they will be the next American Idol.
There are two advantages that separate me from your average thespian:
1) I successfully ran the gauntlet of The Boston Conservatory’s undergraduate directing program – in all respects save the degree awarded the equal of any directorial MFA program and, frankly, superior to many that I’ve investigated since obtaining my BFA in 2000.
2) The innate ability to see to the heart of most theatrical matters, clearly identifying that which needs attention and fixing it with zest and aplomb. As part of this ability, I am deeply aware that there are vast theatrical disciplines in which I have only dabbled: stage management, music direction, design of sets, lighting and costumes, choreography. It is therefore a pleasure and a relief to work with a creative team whose skill sets allow us to bring forth a masterful result.
I believe it is the duty of an artist of any discipline to share the benefit of their knowledge with the populace at large. Directing is most assuredly an art, and in my mind the most challenging, because it is the only discipline that requires the artist to preside over the seamless integration of every other fine art to create one cohesive and – in the case of Thoroughly Modern Millie – toe-tapping, frothily delightful whole.
What better way to share my knowledge and love of my art than to give back to the students and community of Fairfield by directing this production? Having already worked at Solano College Theatre as an actor (Max Bialystock in The Producers; Freddie/Philip in Noises Off [2009 Arty Award Nominee]; Frog in A Year With Frog and Toad [2008 Arty Award Winner: Best Lead Actor in a Musical]), and having found myself simultaneously in a positive mentorship role with the students and a superb working relationship with my fellow professionals, I relish the opportunity to share the diverse fruits of my theatrical experience in a whole new way.
Given the data in my resumes, transcripts and this statement, I am confident that the mystery of whether or not Edward Hightower is the right person to direct Thoroughly Modern Millie is solved; professional experience is the best possible classroom and mere theatrical theorists probably don’t understand how difficult it is to sing and do a triple time-step while staying in a straight line; my knowledge is personal and practical. As Sherlock Holmes once said,
“… when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
Edward Hightower
November 20, 2009
Livermore, California"
And now, frankly, I'm embarrassed that the above is what I actually submitted. Sherlock Holmes? What the hell was I thinking? Too bad I have to wait until 5:00 to start drinking.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Smokers Beware
So I'm starring in Cotton Patch Gospel at Custom Made Theatre Company in SF. Literally, starring. That's what it says in the program. That's nice. I like it. I like working for Custom Made, they're fun people and they would pay me more if they could. This I know. But I'm not writing about the company or the production (which, if you're reading this before 12/19/2009, you should come see). I'm writing about the crazy bitch who chased my friend away.
Here's how I experienced it: after the show, I'm outside sipping some yummy wine and chatting with Sam and his dad. Sam tells me about this woman who accosted him in front of the church (the theatre is in a space at Trinity Episcopal in San Francisco), telling him that his smoke was making her eye burn because it was under her contact lens. So we're all chuckling about it when this chick in pink comes out of the theatre and darts past Sam, headed for the street. Well, we had no idea that the reason she was headed for the street was that she thought the smoke she smelled was coming from out there. So the next thing we know, she's right next to us, harassing Sam again.
It was funny in the beginning. First it's because of her eye. And she's telling me she loved my performance, and she hopes that her constantly rubbing her eye didn't distract me, but the smoke just burned. So I said, "No, it would take more than you rubbing your eye to distract me." I guess this wasn't enough, because she turns to Sam again with, "Do you see how you're making it worse for everyone by smoking?"
Now she has a liver disease, and she's going to be in pain for hours because of the smoke. Which she's standing in. To tell Sam about the smoke and how much pain it's going to cause her.
Sam was polite and told her that she could have just asked nicely instead of demanding that he stop smoking; here's where I got distracted, because someone came up to talk to me then, and I saw Sam and his dad head out to the street but I guessed they'd be back, and that he was just going out there to finish his cigarette in peace. Next thing I see is the crazy bitch in pink heading back into the theatre, and coming out again with Leah Abrams -- who, along with Brian Katz, runs Custom Made --, and she's got Armando Fox in tow. These are both very nice people. I'm not worried.
So from what I understand the crazy bitch was demanding that Leah exile Sam from the premises. Leah and Armando both know who Sam's dad is. They wouldn't exile Sam for smoking to begin with, and now this crazy is fucking it all up for everyone.
Next thing I know, Sam and his dad are gone; I go out to the street to see if they're still there and I see the crazy in pink ranting to her friend about how, "It's illegal, it's been banned!" Only later did I hear that her friend was extremely embarrassed by the whole thing.
Here's the thing, ladies and gents: I'm not a smoker of cigarettes. I will puff on a cigar or a pipe maybe once or twice a year, and I've been known to enjoy herbology -- though I prefer baked goods because I have some issues with my lungs that need no smoke inhalation. But I have no problem with Sam standing outside the theatre and having a cigarette. I think it's rude and unkind to chase a stranger out of a social situation because of a political agenda. I am willing to bet cash moneys that that twat does not have a liver disease and, frankly, I can't wait to see her again and rake her over the coals. Not just because of my discomfort with her behavior, and not just because Pat Craig was there to review the show, and not just because she chased my friends away. Someone needs to tell her that there is a better way to get people to stop smoking. And someone needs to tell her loudly and in no uncertain terms, hopefully in a public place. If this could involve pouring paint on her or arranging for chimps to aim poo at her face, so much the better.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Here's how I experienced it: after the show, I'm outside sipping some yummy wine and chatting with Sam and his dad. Sam tells me about this woman who accosted him in front of the church (the theatre is in a space at Trinity Episcopal in San Francisco), telling him that his smoke was making her eye burn because it was under her contact lens. So we're all chuckling about it when this chick in pink comes out of the theatre and darts past Sam, headed for the street. Well, we had no idea that the reason she was headed for the street was that she thought the smoke she smelled was coming from out there. So the next thing we know, she's right next to us, harassing Sam again.
It was funny in the beginning. First it's because of her eye. And she's telling me she loved my performance, and she hopes that her constantly rubbing her eye didn't distract me, but the smoke just burned. So I said, "No, it would take more than you rubbing your eye to distract me." I guess this wasn't enough, because she turns to Sam again with, "Do you see how you're making it worse for everyone by smoking?"
Now she has a liver disease, and she's going to be in pain for hours because of the smoke. Which she's standing in. To tell Sam about the smoke and how much pain it's going to cause her.
Sam was polite and told her that she could have just asked nicely instead of demanding that he stop smoking; here's where I got distracted, because someone came up to talk to me then, and I saw Sam and his dad head out to the street but I guessed they'd be back, and that he was just going out there to finish his cigarette in peace. Next thing I see is the crazy bitch in pink heading back into the theatre, and coming out again with Leah Abrams -- who, along with Brian Katz, runs Custom Made --, and she's got Armando Fox in tow. These are both very nice people. I'm not worried.
So from what I understand the crazy bitch was demanding that Leah exile Sam from the premises. Leah and Armando both know who Sam's dad is. They wouldn't exile Sam for smoking to begin with, and now this crazy is fucking it all up for everyone.
Next thing I know, Sam and his dad are gone; I go out to the street to see if they're still there and I see the crazy in pink ranting to her friend about how, "It's illegal, it's been banned!" Only later did I hear that her friend was extremely embarrassed by the whole thing.
Here's the thing, ladies and gents: I'm not a smoker of cigarettes. I will puff on a cigar or a pipe maybe once or twice a year, and I've been known to enjoy herbology -- though I prefer baked goods because I have some issues with my lungs that need no smoke inhalation. But I have no problem with Sam standing outside the theatre and having a cigarette. I think it's rude and unkind to chase a stranger out of a social situation because of a political agenda. I am willing to bet cash moneys that that twat does not have a liver disease and, frankly, I can't wait to see her again and rake her over the coals. Not just because of my discomfort with her behavior, and not just because Pat Craig was there to review the show, and not just because she chased my friends away. Someone needs to tell her that there is a better way to get people to stop smoking. And someone needs to tell her loudly and in no uncertain terms, hopefully in a public place. If this could involve pouring paint on her or arranging for chimps to aim poo at her face, so much the better.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Babel
The first thing I wrote was:
The wet of the garden is a fish in the mouth of the holy prophet whose genitals are like iron and whose genitals are also like candy.
This made me laugh, so I translated it into arabic:
The wet of the garden is a fish in the mouth of the holy prophet whose genitals are like iron and whose genitals are also like candy.
This made me laugh, so I translated it into arabic:
والرطب من حديقة الاسماك في فم النبي الكريم الذي التناسلية مصنوعة من الحديد والأعضاء التناسلية التي هي أيضا مصنوعة من الحلوى.
This translation thing is fun. I translated it back into English:Wet from the garden and fish in the mouth of the Holy Prophet, which are made of iron reproductive and genital organs, which are also made of candy.
Which is pretty close to what I wrote, so I translated the Arabic above into Japanese:
ウェット庭園や魚の聖預言者は、鉄の生殖機能や生殖器官作られています、これもお菓子で作られての口の中で。
Pretty disappointing gibberish. So I translated the above Japanese into English:
Which is pretty close to what I wrote, so I translated the Arabic above into Japanese:
ウェット庭園や魚の聖預言者は、鉄の生殖機能や生殖器官作られています、これもお菓子で作られての口の中で。
Pretty disappointing gibberish. So I translated the above Japanese into English:
Prophet of the wet garden and fish, and reproductive function and reproductive organs are made of iron, built at the mouth of sweets as well.
Which I again translated into Arabic:
نبي من الحديقة الرطب والسمك ، والوظيفة الإنجابية والأجهزة التناسلية مصنوعة من الحديد ، الذي بني في الفم من الحلوى كذلك.
And thence to Japanese:
Which I again translated into Arabic:
نبي من الحديقة الرطب والسمك ، والوظيفة الإنجابية والأجهزة التناسلية مصنوعة من الحديد ، الذي بني في الفم من الحلوى كذلك.
And thence to Japanese:
預言者はウェットガーデン、魚、そして生殖機能や生殖器の鉄は、お菓子の口の中でも建てて行われます。
And thence back to English:
Prophet wet garden, fish, iron and genital and reproductive functions are also built on the mouth of the cake.
This is magnificent stuff! I want more! So the above in Arabic:
حديقة النبي الرطب ، والأسماك ، والحديد وظائف الأعضاء التناسلية والإنجابية هي أيضا بنيت على الفم من الكعكة.
Then in Japanese:
And thence back to English:
Prophet wet garden, fish, iron and genital and reproductive functions are also built on the mouth of the cake.
This is magnificent stuff! I want more! So the above in Arabic:
حديقة النبي الرطب ، والأسماك ، والحديد وظائف الأعضاء التناسلية والإنجابية هي أيضا بنيت على الفم من الكعكة.
Then in Japanese:
庭は、預言者、魚、鉄、ウェットと生殖の生理機能と生殖に関する健康にもケーキを口に組み込まれている。
And thus to English:
And thus to English:
Garden, the Prophet, fish, iron, eat a cake that also includes reproductive health and reproductive physiology and wet.
Quite fascinating. The farther we go, the more esoteric and holy the phrase seems. I predict that by the ninth full translation, it will be positively revelatory.
Above, in Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، وأكل الكعكة التي تشمل أيضا الصحة الإنجابية وعلم وظائف الأعضاء التناسلية والرطب.
Then Japanese:
ガーデン、預言者、魚、鉄、およびこれも健康と生殖生理学、濡れた生殖含まれてケーキを食べる。
Then English:
Garden, the Prophet, fish, iron, and that health and reproductive physiology and reproductive included wet cake eating.
Above in Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، وعلى أن الصحة وعلم وظائف الأعضاء التناسلية والإنجابية وشملت تناول كعكة الرطب.
Japanese:
Quite fascinating. The farther we go, the more esoteric and holy the phrase seems. I predict that by the ninth full translation, it will be positively revelatory.
Above, in Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، وأكل الكعكة التي تشمل أيضا الصحة الإنجابية وعلم وظائف الأعضاء التناسلية والرطب.
Then Japanese:
ガーデン、預言者、魚、鉄、およびこれも健康と生殖生理学、濡れた生殖含まれてケーキを食べる。
Then English:
Garden, the Prophet, fish, iron, and that health and reproductive physiology and reproductive included wet cake eating.
Above in Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، وعلى أن الصحة وعلم وظائف الأعضاء التناسلية والإنجابية وشملت تناول كعكة الرطب.
Japanese:
ガーデン、預言者、魚、鉄、および健康と生理、性と生殖、ケーキウェットを食べるなど。
English:
Garden, the Prophet, fish, iron, and health and physiology, reproductive and eating the wet cake.
Above as Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، والصحة ، وعلم وظائف الأعضاء ، والصحة الإنجابية وأكل الكعكة الرطب.
Japanese:
ガーデン、預言者、魚、鉄、衛生学、生理学、と生殖に関する健康とケーキのウェットを食べる。
English:
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
© 2008, 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
© 2008, 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
English:
Garden, the Prophet, fish, iron, and health and physiology, reproductive and eating the wet cake.
Above as Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، والصحة ، وعلم وظائف الأعضاء ، والصحة الإنجابية وأكل الكعكة الرطب.
Japanese:
ガーデン、預言者、魚、鉄、衛生学、生理学、と生殖に関する健康とケーキのウェットを食べる。
English:
Garden, the Prophet, fish, iron, hygiene, physiology, and eat the cake wet and reproductive health.
#7
Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، والنظافة ، والفيزيولوجيا ، وتناول كعكة الرطب والصحة الإنجابية.
Japanese:
ガーデン、預言者、魚、鉄、衛生学、生理学、健康ケーキ、ウェットと生殖食べる。
English:
#7
Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، والنظافة ، والفيزيولوجيا ، وتناول كعكة الرطب والصحة الإنجابية.
Japanese:
ガーデン、預言者、魚、鉄、衛生学、生理学、健康ケーキ、ウェットと生殖食べる。
English:
Garden, the Prophet, fish, iron, hygiene, physiology, health cake and eating wet and reproduction.
#8
Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، والنظافة ، والفيزيولوجيا ، والصحة ، وتناول كعكة الرطب والإنجاب.
Japanese:
English:
#8
Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، والنظافة ، والفيزيولوجيا ، والصحة ، وتناول كعكة الرطب والإنجاب.
Japanese:
ガーデン、預言者、魚、鉄、衛生学、生理学、健康、ケーキ、ウェットと生殖食べる。
English:
Garden, the Prophet, fish, iron, hygiene, physiology, health, cake, eating wet and reproduction.
#9 The Final Iteration
Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، والنظافة ، والفيزيولوجيا ، والصحة ، كعكة ، يأكل الرطب والإنجاب.
Hmmm ...
Japanese:
ガーデン、預言者、魚、鉄、衛生学、生理学、健康、ケーキ、ウェットと生殖食べる。
???
English:
#9 The Final Iteration
Arabic:
الحديقة ، والنبي ، والأسماك ، والحديد ، والنظافة ، والفيزيولوجيا ، والصحة ، كعكة ، يأكل الرطب والإنجاب.
Hmmm ...
Japanese:
ガーデン、預言者、魚、鉄、衛生学、生理学、健康、ケーキ、ウェットと生殖食べる。
???
English:
Garden, the Prophet, fish, iron, hygiene, physiology, health, cake, eating wet and reproduction.
It's precisely the same as #8. Does that mean that 8 is all it takes to reduce a phrase to its no longer transformable components in any set of languages? Interesting question.
Regardless, it is my belief that based on the above experiment we can now explain all holy scripture.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
It's precisely the same as #8. Does that mean that 8 is all it takes to reduce a phrase to its no longer transformable components in any set of languages? Interesting question.
Regardless, it is my belief that based on the above experiment we can now explain all holy scripture.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Arty Awards
In 2008 I was nominated and won the Best Lead Actor in a Musical award for my performance of Frog in A Year With Frog and Toad. This year, I was nominated for and did not win Best Lead Actor in a Comedy. That honor went to Tommy McPike, who played Garry/Roger in Noises Off. I'm glad he got the award; he certainly deserved it. Carla Spindt won Best Director Of A Comedy, and Noises Off won Best Comedy. So that was thrilling, and she called the cast up to the stage to join her, it was lovely. I got to stand between Liz Andrews and Jessica Salt. Yummy!
My only disappointment for the evening was the opening number, for which I wrote alternate lyrics to TONIGHT from West Side Story. The mics were all fucked up throughout the performance, and so most of the very funny lines were lost. Also, when I altered the lyrics I did not know that five or six people were performing; I wrote for two, because TONIGHT is a duet. Alas! It still got some laughs, when people whose mics worked sang the funny lines, but in the end it rather resembled this year's opening from the Tony Awards: a well-staged number that nobody could hear.
Here, then, are my lyrics and smatterings of dialogue; the dialogue was cut:
MARIA
My Arty, it's the
Only thing I'll see:
My Arty --
In my eyes in my
Words and in
Everything I do
Nothing else but you:
Arty
TONY
And there's nothing
For me but the Arty
Every sight that I see is the Arty
MARIA
Tony, Tony
TONY: (spoken) No, not the Tony -- the Arty! Who wants a phony Tony when they could have a coveted Arty Award right here in the comfort of their very own backwater?
(sung)
My Arty, every-
Thing I'll ever git --
Nothing will compare to it!
TONY & MARIA
All I care about
Is my Arty
MARIA
Tonight, tonight
It all begins tonight
If I win, then I'm
Well on my way
Tonight, tonight
I'm sure I'll win tonight
And I'll bet, they can tell
That he's gay ...
TONY
Today, all day I
Had the feeling
That I should do some shopping
I know now I was right
(They'll see now I am right) <--- MARIA, simultaneous
TONY & MARIA
For here I am
So glamorous! <--- TONY
No, you're just a ham. <--- MARIA
Tonight <--- BOTH
TONY: (simultaneous) Oh, shut up you haggard little hag! That's all you are is a nagging hag, and you know what my mother said about you? She said you're common and probably not worth what your parents spent on that nose job.
MARIA: (simultaneous) I would really appreciate it if you would stop stepping on my lines. Hag? HAG?!?! Well I can think of another word, a word that RHYMES with hag, and a word that it's pretty clear to everyone in the show applies directly to YOU, Princess!
(They stop, suddenly aware of the audience again. They move back to pretty
Musical Theatre places, both physically and emotionally.)
TONY & MARIA
Tonight, tonight
The lights are very bright
They'll see the zits
All over your face
Tonight, tonight
Please get your lyrics right <--- TONY
You smell bad <--- MARIA
Crack is whack, basket case <--- TONY
TONY
Your voice scares dead
Frogs back to living --
MARIA
You know you'll never win it --
Your loafers are too light
TONY & MARIA
But here we are
And when I win, then
I'll be a star
Tonight!
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
My only disappointment for the evening was the opening number, for which I wrote alternate lyrics to TONIGHT from West Side Story. The mics were all fucked up throughout the performance, and so most of the very funny lines were lost. Also, when I altered the lyrics I did not know that five or six people were performing; I wrote for two, because TONIGHT is a duet. Alas! It still got some laughs, when people whose mics worked sang the funny lines, but in the end it rather resembled this year's opening from the Tony Awards: a well-staged number that nobody could hear.
Here, then, are my lyrics and smatterings of dialogue; the dialogue was cut:
MARIA
My Arty, it's the
Only thing I'll see:
My Arty --
In my eyes in my
Words and in
Everything I do
Nothing else but you:
Arty
TONY
And there's nothing
For me but the Arty
Every sight that I see is the Arty
MARIA
Tony, Tony
TONY: (spoken) No, not the Tony -- the Arty! Who wants a phony Tony when they could have a coveted Arty Award right here in the comfort of their very own backwater?
(sung)
My Arty, every-
Thing I'll ever git --
Nothing will compare to it!
TONY & MARIA
All I care about
Is my Arty
MARIA
Tonight, tonight
It all begins tonight
If I win, then I'm
Well on my way
Tonight, tonight
I'm sure I'll win tonight
And I'll bet, they can tell
That he's gay ...
TONY
Today, all day I
Had the feeling
That I should do some shopping
I know now I was right
(They'll see now I am right) <--- MARIA, simultaneous
TONY & MARIA
For here I am
So glamorous! <--- TONY
No, you're just a ham. <--- MARIA
Tonight <--- BOTH
TONY: (simultaneous) Oh, shut up you haggard little hag! That's all you are is a nagging hag, and you know what my mother said about you? She said you're common and probably not worth what your parents spent on that nose job.
MARIA: (simultaneous) I would really appreciate it if you would stop stepping on my lines. Hag? HAG?!?! Well I can think of another word, a word that RHYMES with hag, and a word that it's pretty clear to everyone in the show applies directly to YOU, Princess!
(They stop, suddenly aware of the audience again. They move back to pretty
Musical Theatre places, both physically and emotionally.)
TONY & MARIA
Tonight, tonight
The lights are very bright
They'll see the zits
All over your face
Tonight, tonight
Please get your lyrics right <--- TONY
You smell bad <--- MARIA
Crack is whack, basket case <--- TONY
TONY
Your voice scares dead
Frogs back to living --
MARIA
You know you'll never win it --
Your loafers are too light
TONY & MARIA
But here we are
And when I win, then
I'll be a star
Tonight!
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Bay Area Casting Tactics
I'm willing to bet that the following are not limited to the Bay Area, but it's where I live right now so there you go.
1) Precast, but don't tell anyone; then, keep actors who want that role until very late at night, only seeing them for roles that are not their type. (Make sure you've precast your friends, you'll need them around you when those other actors realize what you've done.)
2) Make a verbal offer of $250.00 per week; this will seem like a lot of money to the actor, who probably doesn't do it for a living (this being the Bay Area and all). Later, after the actor has signed a probably unread contract, you will only pay $250.00 total; because actors are generally stupid and financially ignorant, they probably won't catch this clever switcheroo. If they do, and if they have the gumption to say anything, you can just deny it. After all, who is going to believe the lowly actor stupid enough to agree to a mere $250.00 per week?
3) Be really excited about offering experienced professional actors tiny roles for tiny pay in doomed productions. Be surprised when they resist your casting advances. Express doubt about their professionality at a later date. Over time, pretend to forget that the role you offered was totally wrong for the individual in question, and add some snarky detail about their personal hygiene or sex life. This will make everyone trust your judgment and want to work at your theatre.
4) Assume that if an actor has a lot of musicals on their resume, they cannot act. After all, musicals are the easiest thing in the world, and all the "actors" have to do is sing, dance and act at the same time. Anyone can do that. If the actor is female and has nice tits, put her in a small supporting role because this will be seen as proactive and liberal. If the actor is male, he is probably gay. Gay men cannot do Shakespeare unless they are Ian McKellen, and since this guy is not Ian McKellen, he is just a gay Musical Theatre person scrambling for legitimacy by wasting your time in his desperate attempt to hit it big in your revelatory East Bay production. I don't care how butch he is, musicals = gay.
5) Don't tell anyone about your musicals = gay equation. Nobody else holds this opinion. It's your secret weapon. Come up with clever euphemisms like, "a little too Jerry Herman for this legit Shakespeare Factory," or, "if I'd wanted my cock sucked in the audition, I would have let some Musical Theatre Non-Actor in out of charity." Statements like these will subtly hint at your opinions without ever giving anything away. When directly questioned, pretend ignorance and change the subject. If publicly confronted, throw a tantrum. You deserve it, you slaved over your presentation at the Jr. College and your mom used to be Mayor.
6) Tell an actor you'll set up an audition time. Never call them. Do not respond to their e-mails or phone calls. When you see them in public, introduce yourself as though it's the first time you've met.
7) Never call an actor to tell them if they've got the part or not. If they don't show up for rehearsal, blacklist them. When you see them in public, introduce yourself as though it's the first time you've met, but sanitize immediately after shaking hands. If they ask why you never called, smile and shake your head sadly and say things like, "Let's be honest, okay?", followed by some esoteric observations you can remember from the time the LA Casting Agent humiliated you in the Adler workshop.
8) Blame actors for changes in performance schedules at other companies for which they work. Be sure to hold a grudge. Refuse to cast these actors ten, twenty years later. You are a professional, and by god you will rub their nose in that scheduling problem every chance you get -- even if it means vetoing a new director's casting at your company. It's important to establish your power.
9) Fire actors and directors who've worked together before; casting one's friends is unprofessional. Also, fire actors under 30. Only hire your friends to come in as a last resort, and be sure to mention in your nightly curtain speech that this is not something you would usually do. Practice your beleaguered expressions in the mirror. Ignore the rumors that your husband is sleeping with other men.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
1) Precast, but don't tell anyone; then, keep actors who want that role until very late at night, only seeing them for roles that are not their type. (Make sure you've precast your friends, you'll need them around you when those other actors realize what you've done.)
2) Make a verbal offer of $250.00 per week; this will seem like a lot of money to the actor, who probably doesn't do it for a living (this being the Bay Area and all). Later, after the actor has signed a probably unread contract, you will only pay $250.00 total; because actors are generally stupid and financially ignorant, they probably won't catch this clever switcheroo. If they do, and if they have the gumption to say anything, you can just deny it. After all, who is going to believe the lowly actor stupid enough to agree to a mere $250.00 per week?
3) Be really excited about offering experienced professional actors tiny roles for tiny pay in doomed productions. Be surprised when they resist your casting advances. Express doubt about their professionality at a later date. Over time, pretend to forget that the role you offered was totally wrong for the individual in question, and add some snarky detail about their personal hygiene or sex life. This will make everyone trust your judgment and want to work at your theatre.
4) Assume that if an actor has a lot of musicals on their resume, they cannot act. After all, musicals are the easiest thing in the world, and all the "actors" have to do is sing, dance and act at the same time. Anyone can do that. If the actor is female and has nice tits, put her in a small supporting role because this will be seen as proactive and liberal. If the actor is male, he is probably gay. Gay men cannot do Shakespeare unless they are Ian McKellen, and since this guy is not Ian McKellen, he is just a gay Musical Theatre person scrambling for legitimacy by wasting your time in his desperate attempt to hit it big in your revelatory East Bay production. I don't care how butch he is, musicals = gay.
5) Don't tell anyone about your musicals = gay equation. Nobody else holds this opinion. It's your secret weapon. Come up with clever euphemisms like, "a little too Jerry Herman for this legit Shakespeare Factory," or, "if I'd wanted my cock sucked in the audition, I would have let some Musical Theatre Non-Actor in out of charity." Statements like these will subtly hint at your opinions without ever giving anything away. When directly questioned, pretend ignorance and change the subject. If publicly confronted, throw a tantrum. You deserve it, you slaved over your presentation at the Jr. College and your mom used to be Mayor.
6) Tell an actor you'll set up an audition time. Never call them. Do not respond to their e-mails or phone calls. When you see them in public, introduce yourself as though it's the first time you've met.
7) Never call an actor to tell them if they've got the part or not. If they don't show up for rehearsal, blacklist them. When you see them in public, introduce yourself as though it's the first time you've met, but sanitize immediately after shaking hands. If they ask why you never called, smile and shake your head sadly and say things like, "Let's be honest, okay?", followed by some esoteric observations you can remember from the time the LA Casting Agent humiliated you in the Adler workshop.
8) Blame actors for changes in performance schedules at other companies for which they work. Be sure to hold a grudge. Refuse to cast these actors ten, twenty years later. You are a professional, and by god you will rub their nose in that scheduling problem every chance you get -- even if it means vetoing a new director's casting at your company. It's important to establish your power.
9) Fire actors and directors who've worked together before; casting one's friends is unprofessional. Also, fire actors under 30. Only hire your friends to come in as a last resort, and be sure to mention in your nightly curtain speech that this is not something you would usually do. Practice your beleaguered expressions in the mirror. Ignore the rumors that your husband is sleeping with other men.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
JMT, The Producers, Skinny
So I completed the JMT at 3:30 pm on August 3, 2009. I have many things to write about it, and I will eventually post those writings herein. At the moment, though, I have other concerns. Specifically: I am now 25 lbs lighter than I was in July, I am currently rehearsing the role of Max Bialystock in The Producers, Max is supposed to be fat and the director is not terribly concerned about padding me.
I understand if it's a matter of money. Money is expensive these days. But my approach to acting is to play the ink; meaning that I play what's written. If it's in the dialogue that my character is supposed to be fat, then I think it's worth doing. And it's in the dialogue. About three times. So we're supposed to somehow pretend that I'm fat and slobbish, when I look dashing and possibly even sexy in my costumes. It's a rather large contradiction. If it weren't in the dialogue, I wouldn't care.
Clarity: I love the costumers at SCT, I love the costumes they've put together for me in every role I've ever done there, and I love what they've got for me on this project. I just happen to feel that Max should be a much bulkier fellow. And I know for a fact that the brilliant ladies of the costume department could make it work. So my concern is not their work. My concern is the dichotomy between what the script says about how Max looks, and how I look.
Maybe we can do something with my hair. Shave it into a massive balding pattern and create a ridiculous comb-over, add more silver to my temples (already silvering nicely on their own, but needing more to read from the audience), deepen the circles under my eyes ... but I think I'll just look old and balding and tired. Not fat.
My main childhood idol was Lon Chaney. His work is -- in my opinion -- some of the finest film acting of the early 20th Century. His ability to transform himself for every role remains unsurpassed and is the standard I set for myself, both on stage and on film. I know that I can transform myself from fit, dashing Edward to fat, slovenly Max. I will happily build my own latex appliances if I have to. I might even show up at the theatre in full "fats" and mysteriously mystify the powers that be. Of course, I am in no danger of revealing my plan in advance: as far as I can tell, there are only two readers of this blog.
I find it very hard to play a role when I do not look the way I feel the character should look. I feel that I have to work a lot harder to play the part, because my costume or hair or beard or overall physique isn't right for the role. It is very frustrating. I like the idea of 'banners and flags': we should know from the moment we see this character what and who they are; it saves time, cuts down exposition and makes my work a hell of a lot easier. Details should also be accurate. I played a military officer once in a show where the costume department either didn't know or care about accurate military insignia. Not only was I wearing the wrong uniform, I was of no discernible rank and was not even a member of the military of the country in which the play took place. These may seem to be tiny little details, but for anyone in the audience who knows anything about military uniforms (and I have to assume that there was at least one), I was clearly an impostor. Granted, the costume was beautiful and I looked great in it. But this was not a faerie tale, it took place in an actual country that still exists.
So how could I justify this wrongness of uniform? I couldn't. My only option, then, was to play the part as though I was not what I said I was, which meant my character had to try much harder to be that which he pretended to be. None of this was apparent to the audience, but it added a layer of barriers and friction to my work that could have been avoided with attention to detail. It was extremely stressful and exhausting, and led to some severe medical issues that took months to resolve.
Now I feel I am teetering on the brink of something similar, and I don't know what to do. I will talk to the director.
Update 11/30/2009
We never did pad the costume, and audience members did ask me about the line, "Fat, fat, fatty!" However, I aged and splotched my face enough that Brian (Leo Bloom) told me his wife Jocelyn (a superb costumer herself) was worried about how badly I was aging. When he told her it was makeup, she said, "Oh! Good." Or something to that effect. I was not there.
So, there you go: a schism between the spoken line and its relation to what the audience can see is definitely going to draw questions. No amount of justification among the actors or creative staff is going to hide the discrepancies from the audience, and pretending that it will is just silly. We should have changed the line. It could very easily have been, "Drunk, drunk, drunky!"
Lesson learned. Maybe. It's difficult to get people to listen while being polite.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
I understand if it's a matter of money. Money is expensive these days. But my approach to acting is to play the ink; meaning that I play what's written. If it's in the dialogue that my character is supposed to be fat, then I think it's worth doing. And it's in the dialogue. About three times. So we're supposed to somehow pretend that I'm fat and slobbish, when I look dashing and possibly even sexy in my costumes. It's a rather large contradiction. If it weren't in the dialogue, I wouldn't care.
Clarity: I love the costumers at SCT, I love the costumes they've put together for me in every role I've ever done there, and I love what they've got for me on this project. I just happen to feel that Max should be a much bulkier fellow. And I know for a fact that the brilliant ladies of the costume department could make it work. So my concern is not their work. My concern is the dichotomy between what the script says about how Max looks, and how I look.
Maybe we can do something with my hair. Shave it into a massive balding pattern and create a ridiculous comb-over, add more silver to my temples (already silvering nicely on their own, but needing more to read from the audience), deepen the circles under my eyes ... but I think I'll just look old and balding and tired. Not fat.
My main childhood idol was Lon Chaney. His work is -- in my opinion -- some of the finest film acting of the early 20th Century. His ability to transform himself for every role remains unsurpassed and is the standard I set for myself, both on stage and on film. I know that I can transform myself from fit, dashing Edward to fat, slovenly Max. I will happily build my own latex appliances if I have to. I might even show up at the theatre in full "fats" and mysteriously mystify the powers that be. Of course, I am in no danger of revealing my plan in advance: as far as I can tell, there are only two readers of this blog.
I find it very hard to play a role when I do not look the way I feel the character should look. I feel that I have to work a lot harder to play the part, because my costume or hair or beard or overall physique isn't right for the role. It is very frustrating. I like the idea of 'banners and flags': we should know from the moment we see this character what and who they are; it saves time, cuts down exposition and makes my work a hell of a lot easier. Details should also be accurate. I played a military officer once in a show where the costume department either didn't know or care about accurate military insignia. Not only was I wearing the wrong uniform, I was of no discernible rank and was not even a member of the military of the country in which the play took place. These may seem to be tiny little details, but for anyone in the audience who knows anything about military uniforms (and I have to assume that there was at least one), I was clearly an impostor. Granted, the costume was beautiful and I looked great in it. But this was not a faerie tale, it took place in an actual country that still exists.
So how could I justify this wrongness of uniform? I couldn't. My only option, then, was to play the part as though I was not what I said I was, which meant my character had to try much harder to be that which he pretended to be. None of this was apparent to the audience, but it added a layer of barriers and friction to my work that could have been avoided with attention to detail. It was extremely stressful and exhausting, and led to some severe medical issues that took months to resolve.
Now I feel I am teetering on the brink of something similar, and I don't know what to do. I will talk to the director.
Update 11/30/2009
We never did pad the costume, and audience members did ask me about the line, "Fat, fat, fatty!" However, I aged and splotched my face enough that Brian (Leo Bloom) told me his wife Jocelyn (a superb costumer herself) was worried about how badly I was aging. When he told her it was makeup, she said, "Oh! Good." Or something to that effect. I was not there.
So, there you go: a schism between the spoken line and its relation to what the audience can see is definitely going to draw questions. No amount of justification among the actors or creative staff is going to hide the discrepancies from the audience, and pretending that it will is just silly. We should have changed the line. It could very easily have been, "Drunk, drunk, drunky!"
Lesson learned. Maybe. It's difficult to get people to listen while being polite.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
John Muir Trail, Part The First
The central dilemma of my planned 230 mile backpacking trek is not whether or not to go alone (I have already decided that I will go alone if I do not have anyone to join me), but rather it is this: just how skinny will I get by the time I come back? My concern stems from two conflicting desires: a) to be healthy and fit and trim; b) to really look like Bialystock in THE PRODUCERS, which starts rehearsing two weeks after I complete the John Muir Trail.
It is quite possible that I may remain as largely in charge at the end of the trail as I am now. When my oldest brother, Rob, did the trail with me back in 1992, he was somewhat trim when we reached the end of the trail, but still a large man. I've been seeing a lot of pictures of me from 1995 on Facebook of late, and while I know that I can never return to that exact state, I do want to lose this pot belly and regain a jawline when clean-shaven. There is more truth to the term "pot belly" than one might suppose. It certainly isn't a beer belly.
Remarkably, I've lost the most weight while working out of town and unable to afford to eat dinner on an actor's wages; this carries with it the absence of pot from my life and the absence of several glasses of wine with dinner every night. It seems a constant struggle for me to get our household to refrain from buying wine, beer or whiskey every time we go to Trader Joe's. And when friends come over they invariably bring wine, whiskey, beer, rum, vodka -- any number of delightful intoxicants that lead invariably to weight gain. While I love our friends and I love spending time with them, I have to say that of late I am weighing the value of alcoholic interaction against the value of my liver, gut and kidneys.
Deoxification and self-reliance are the reasons I want to do the John Muir Trail alone. I confess to a degree of secret delight that nobody has been able to go with me. I genuinely wanted friends on this trip, but the spike of fear and uncertainty that came with the sudden revelation that nobody else could go was, frankly, one of the first truly exciting things I've felt in a long, long time. And I know that I will be alone when I see that perfect sunset, and when that shooting star changes color and when I crest Whitney Pass and begin the long descent to Whitney Portal, the end of the trail. But I think maybe I need to be alone this time. I need to think and plan and get out of this horrid rut of piled papers, piled clothes, half-written scripts and novels barely begun.
I hope Veronica waters the garden this time.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
It is quite possible that I may remain as largely in charge at the end of the trail as I am now. When my oldest brother, Rob, did the trail with me back in 1992, he was somewhat trim when we reached the end of the trail, but still a large man. I've been seeing a lot of pictures of me from 1995 on Facebook of late, and while I know that I can never return to that exact state, I do want to lose this pot belly and regain a jawline when clean-shaven. There is more truth to the term "pot belly" than one might suppose. It certainly isn't a beer belly.
Remarkably, I've lost the most weight while working out of town and unable to afford to eat dinner on an actor's wages; this carries with it the absence of pot from my life and the absence of several glasses of wine with dinner every night. It seems a constant struggle for me to get our household to refrain from buying wine, beer or whiskey every time we go to Trader Joe's. And when friends come over they invariably bring wine, whiskey, beer, rum, vodka -- any number of delightful intoxicants that lead invariably to weight gain. While I love our friends and I love spending time with them, I have to say that of late I am weighing the value of alcoholic interaction against the value of my liver, gut and kidneys.
Deoxification and self-reliance are the reasons I want to do the John Muir Trail alone. I confess to a degree of secret delight that nobody has been able to go with me. I genuinely wanted friends on this trip, but the spike of fear and uncertainty that came with the sudden revelation that nobody else could go was, frankly, one of the first truly exciting things I've felt in a long, long time. And I know that I will be alone when I see that perfect sunset, and when that shooting star changes color and when I crest Whitney Pass and begin the long descent to Whitney Portal, the end of the trail. But I think maybe I need to be alone this time. I need to think and plan and get out of this horrid rut of piled papers, piled clothes, half-written scripts and novels barely begun.
I hope Veronica waters the garden this time.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
What's Up, Blogger.com/Blogspot?
So I've been flagged as possible spam. I've asked to have this dealt with; nothing appears to have been done.
I chose Blogger.com over MySpace because I was under the impression that MySpace sucks. Thus far, however, I am more satisfied with MySpace. Which seems strange to me, as I had guessed that any service run by Google would be inherently better than MySpace.
Thus far, I am not impressed. What is going on in Blogger.com's world that this issue cannot be attended to?
Perhaps it has already been attended to, and I simply have not heard anything? I really would prefer some degree of direct, professional communication.
Of course, as I've only got one reader, I'm shouting into the silent void.
Oh Schadrach, Schadrach, where is thy moist and cakey furnace?
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
I chose Blogger.com over MySpace because I was under the impression that MySpace sucks. Thus far, however, I am more satisfied with MySpace. Which seems strange to me, as I had guessed that any service run by Google would be inherently better than MySpace.
Thus far, I am not impressed. What is going on in Blogger.com's world that this issue cannot be attended to?
Perhaps it has already been attended to, and I simply have not heard anything? I really would prefer some degree of direct, professional communication.
Of course, as I've only got one reader, I'm shouting into the silent void.
Oh Schadrach, Schadrach, where is thy moist and cakey furnace?
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Monday, June 8, 2009
This is interesting: apparently I have been marked as potential spam by Blogger.com, a shocking first for me. I'm actually a little confused by this turn of events, and still somewhat uncertain as to what about my blog thus far has got anyone thinking it's spam.
Perhaps it is the speed and frequency with which I made some of my initial postings. The fact is,
I am in the process of moving the majority of my MySpace blogs to this site, because MySpace sucks ass. And by ass I mean actual anus, not just buttock. Thus far I have posted a blend of already-written blogs and more recently composed pieces. Perhaps this is against the rules? Very confusing.
Forgive me, Blogger.com, I am home with the flu and quite bored. As a writer who is trapped in his house, well, I write. Surely you have other actual writers on this site. I like this site a hell of a lot better than MySpace, shouldn't that count for something?
Let's see ... Self-Indulgent News:
I'm in a trailer for a new novel, we're filming in the Napa area June 14-18. We were supposed to be filming at this winery that is a castle, but the owner flaked on us. I guess maybe I should have told them that my brother sells wine to a lot of casinos in Las Vegas, Nevada (there's more than one Las Vegas, I feel I should specify). Alas, alas, alas.
I'm playing Max Bialystock in The Producers at Solano College Theatre in Fairfield -- one of the better regional theatres in the Bay Area, truly committed to using local talent. (Unlike the unscrupulous hornswagglers at the big-name houses who hire talent from New York or LA.) Rehearsals start August 10, the show opens in early October.
I just cleared my sinuses by eating a raw green onion. Must remember that.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Perhaps it is the speed and frequency with which I made some of my initial postings. The fact is,
I am in the process of moving the majority of my MySpace blogs to this site, because MySpace sucks ass. And by ass I mean actual anus, not just buttock. Thus far I have posted a blend of already-written blogs and more recently composed pieces. Perhaps this is against the rules? Very confusing.
Forgive me, Blogger.com, I am home with the flu and quite bored. As a writer who is trapped in his house, well, I write. Surely you have other actual writers on this site. I like this site a hell of a lot better than MySpace, shouldn't that count for something?
Let's see ... Self-Indulgent News:
I'm in a trailer for a new novel, we're filming in the Napa area June 14-18. We were supposed to be filming at this winery that is a castle, but the owner flaked on us. I guess maybe I should have told them that my brother sells wine to a lot of casinos in Las Vegas, Nevada (there's more than one Las Vegas, I feel I should specify). Alas, alas, alas.
I'm playing Max Bialystock in The Producers at Solano College Theatre in Fairfield -- one of the better regional theatres in the Bay Area, truly committed to using local talent. (Unlike the unscrupulous hornswagglers at the big-name houses who hire talent from New York or LA.) Rehearsals start August 10, the show opens in early October.
I just cleared my sinuses by eating a raw green onion. Must remember that.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Haiku
Three films this summer
One down two to go I think
Unless I get more
Collard Greens yummy
Two quarts boiling water salt
Blanch greens seven min
Messy messy desk
Seems to map my state of mind
So much jumbled crap
John Muir Trail this year
Can Alan go? I hope so
If not I'm solo
All say bad idea
Dangerous to go alone
Yes but I am Tad
Frozen Mogwai box
Do not add water or feed
After midnight time
So so so so bored
Want to watch a movie now
Vero she say no
She flip channel now
Flip flip flip flip flip flip flip
This until sleep time
Seventeen Seven-
Ty Six is a really good
Book you should read it
Musical by the
Same name a fave rave of mine
My role Dickinson
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
One down two to go I think
Unless I get more
Collard Greens yummy
Two quarts boiling water salt
Blanch greens seven min
Messy messy desk
Seems to map my state of mind
So much jumbled crap
John Muir Trail this year
Can Alan go? I hope so
If not I'm solo
All say bad idea
Dangerous to go alone
Yes but I am Tad
Frozen Mogwai box
Do not add water or feed
After midnight time
So so so so bored
Want to watch a movie now
Vero she say no
She flip channel now
Flip flip flip flip flip flip flip
This until sleep time
Seventeen Seven-
Ty Six is a really good
Book you should read it
Musical by the
Same name a fave rave of mine
My role Dickinson
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Short
G: Hey, what's up, what are you doing right now?
E: I'm sipping an indifferent chardonnay. Why?
G: You want to make a movie?
E: Only if it's sexy.
G: Sexy, huh? Sexy how.
E: Boobie-tits and camel-toes.
G: I don't know if we're going to do that this time around.
E: You want me in the movie?
G: We could show your boobies.
E: Not interesting to the public at large.
G: So here's what I'm picturing: you're the guy, right? You're the guy and you're walking toward a building on the campus. You turn around to the camera like you're leading a tour, but it's clear that you're not the guy who gives tours and you would rather be somewhere else right now --
E: Eating a sandwich.
G: Yes, right, exactly, you would rather be eating a sandwich -- and, and, and -- get this, you would rather eat a shit sandwich than give a campus tour.
E: I would rather eat a sandwich made of Harpie Labia than lead this campus tour.
G: Oh my gaaaaaahd, that's funny! Yes! I don't know if you'll say anything about labia, but -- you know what? Fuck it. Say labia. Say whatever you want, I don't want to get in your way. Just think that this guy is worried about losing his job, so he's careful about volume.
E: Art imitates life.
G: Exactly. So you're giving a tour but you don't give a shit about this place except for one department. Can you guess which is your favorite department?
E: Gynecology.
G: Close, now think musical theatre.
E: Proctology.
G: Yes! Only it's theatre.
E: So ... am I an instructor ... ?
G: Yes! Yes! Yes!!! YOU are the guy who wants to run the department, but you're too nice to push the old king out of his throne.
E: Ah.
G: You like it?
E: I love it.
G: Aaaaaaahhhhha-ha-ha-ha, Edward!!! Can you picture it?!
E: Yes. I can. So is this guy, like, angry or just frustrated in an eternally-positive way?
G: Oooo, I like that. Um, he's the second thing at first and slowly becomes the first thing.
E: I like it. In fact, I fucking love it. When do we start?
G: Soon. We start soon. But there's something I need to run by you first ...
[A pause of about ten seconds.]
E: That's a significant pause, George.
G: Yeeah, that's because I'm not sure how to say this.
E: Just say it.
G: Um ... I want you to know I did not betray you.
E: What the fuck, George, you're freaking me out, "betray"? What do you mean, "betray"?
G: It's just that there's someone in on the project that a little bird tells me you may not like.
E: George, I like everyone I know.
G: It's your ex-girlfriend.
[Pause. Three seconds.]
E: You are so full of shit.
G: Oh yeah?
E: She's across the country, getting fired from restaurant jobs and struggling to get a supporting role on Broadway, George. She would never, ever do a short film in Livermore. Besides, her mother hates me for breaking up with her. She's taken out some sort of Italian witchcraft hit on me, it's the reason I've got a shaman living in my yard. I'm not kidding. Did I ever tell you about the time we went to that Gypsy musical and I saw her whispering furiously to the old Gypsy lady and handing her money and jewels?
G: Seriously?
E: Seriously! She would never do a short film in Livermore, and her mother would find a way to murder me if she did.
G: It's not a short film anymore.
E: Doesn't matter, she never would.
[Pause. Five seconds.]
G: You're right.
E: So who is it really?
G: Dude, it's her mom.
End.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
E: I'm sipping an indifferent chardonnay. Why?
G: You want to make a movie?
E: Only if it's sexy.
G: Sexy, huh? Sexy how.
E: Boobie-tits and camel-toes.
G: I don't know if we're going to do that this time around.
E: You want me in the movie?
G: We could show your boobies.
E: Not interesting to the public at large.
G: So here's what I'm picturing: you're the guy, right? You're the guy and you're walking toward a building on the campus. You turn around to the camera like you're leading a tour, but it's clear that you're not the guy who gives tours and you would rather be somewhere else right now --
E: Eating a sandwich.
G: Yes, right, exactly, you would rather be eating a sandwich -- and, and, and -- get this, you would rather eat a shit sandwich than give a campus tour.
E: I would rather eat a sandwich made of Harpie Labia than lead this campus tour.
G: Oh my gaaaaaahd, that's funny! Yes! I don't know if you'll say anything about labia, but -- you know what? Fuck it. Say labia. Say whatever you want, I don't want to get in your way. Just think that this guy is worried about losing his job, so he's careful about volume.
E: Art imitates life.
G: Exactly. So you're giving a tour but you don't give a shit about this place except for one department. Can you guess which is your favorite department?
E: Gynecology.
G: Close, now think musical theatre.
E: Proctology.
G: Yes! Only it's theatre.
E: So ... am I an instructor ... ?
G: Yes! Yes! Yes!!! YOU are the guy who wants to run the department, but you're too nice to push the old king out of his throne.
E: Ah.
G: You like it?
E: I love it.
G: Aaaaaaahhhhha-ha-ha-ha, Edward!!! Can you picture it?!
E: Yes. I can. So is this guy, like, angry or just frustrated in an eternally-positive way?
G: Oooo, I like that. Um, he's the second thing at first and slowly becomes the first thing.
E: I like it. In fact, I fucking love it. When do we start?
G: Soon. We start soon. But there's something I need to run by you first ...
[A pause of about ten seconds.]
E: That's a significant pause, George.
G: Yeeah, that's because I'm not sure how to say this.
E: Just say it.
G: Um ... I want you to know I did not betray you.
E: What the fuck, George, you're freaking me out, "betray"? What do you mean, "betray"?
G: It's just that there's someone in on the project that a little bird tells me you may not like.
E: George, I like everyone I know.
G: It's your ex-girlfriend.
[Pause. Three seconds.]
E: You are so full of shit.
G: Oh yeah?
E: She's across the country, getting fired from restaurant jobs and struggling to get a supporting role on Broadway, George. She would never, ever do a short film in Livermore. Besides, her mother hates me for breaking up with her. She's taken out some sort of Italian witchcraft hit on me, it's the reason I've got a shaman living in my yard. I'm not kidding. Did I ever tell you about the time we went to that Gypsy musical and I saw her whispering furiously to the old Gypsy lady and handing her money and jewels?
G: Seriously?
E: Seriously! She would never do a short film in Livermore, and her mother would find a way to murder me if she did.
G: It's not a short film anymore.
E: Doesn't matter, she never would.
[Pause. Five seconds.]
G: You're right.
E: So who is it really?
G: Dude, it's her mom.
End.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Bulletins
hi my name is allyson im 13 and my bf jonny is 19. this is my story. i relly like jonny alot no i love him alot and i cant live w/o him because hes the onyl person who has ever loved me and cared about me and wanted to no whats up when im pissed at my mom, my mom the bitch who dosnt CARE ABOUT ANYONE BUT HERSLEF! jk, i luv my mommy :);) but jonny loves me and we proved are love to eachother you know that way, the best way and jonny made soup after. but thers this other girl at the college named brynne i mean seriousyl what kind of name is brynne? brynne the poo? and shes got big tits and has a car and a job and is a total fucking bitch to me whenever i go to see jonny i HATE HER!!!??1 i love jonny with my heart and sole and now hes dating brynne and i tried to take pics of them doin it to post on MySpace but i fell down his chimaney and im dead in his basement thats locked and nobody knows is there because the house was owned by someone before jonnys dad bought it whos a cop. im rotting and next to the cable internet line which is how i got into the computer to sned this messege. if u smell rottin ally in yur room at 3 am its me and im there bcause you didnt send this to all your friends. seriously im under your bed tonite repost now you have two minutes or everyone will know you were gay with your friend this summer! repost now or they will find U like the closet girl in the ring but U will have no pancreas and your butt will be hairy just like brynnes you know whut and police doctors will write in there report your butt is so hairy its got elepants and walnuts tangled in it also a skateboard and some old tires. mostly this is warning for that bitch brynne im coming to cut your eyelids off wile you sleep you whore.
if your a guy repost withthe title: "i hope my gf would never do this"
if your a girl repost with "my bf better watch out"
if your a skank ho college bitch repost with "my pussy is like that bug canyon from king kong"
if your a guy repost withthe title: "i hope my gf would never do this"
if your a girl repost with "my bf better watch out"
if your a skank ho college bitch repost with "my pussy is like that bug canyon from king kong"
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Casting In The Bay Area
I am getting frustrated with local theatre companies. Okay, that's not quite right: I am always frustrated with local theatre companies. I have a long list of constant frustrations, things like the board of a non-profit theatre actually running the theatre, usually with little or no savvy; ugly women on the board of the theatre with ugly daughters they pressure weak directors into casting in the lead; nice old ladies everywhere who think they know something about theatre freaking out when a professional in their midst does things differently than the hacks they usually hire. Valid concerns, you doubtless agree. But today I write of the most recent set of frustrations: Job Offers.
I get a lot of job offers. Got one yesterday for the ensemble in a dance-heavy new show about something vaguely esoteric that will never get outside San Francisco. I turned it down: a) I'm not the guy for a dance-heavy show unless you are looking for Three Stooges Technique [now that I have in spades]; b) only offered $500.00, not nearly enough to cover BART or gas and toll for the time required.
Smaller theatres offer me roles all the time, superb leading roles that would look great on my resume ... except that the theatres don't pay twat and are actually -- get this -- honestly baffled when I raise the question of money. "Edward, we --," and there's a pause here as he looks around at the rest of the board, most of whom are also in the production, having chosen and/or bickered over their roles. "We assumed that you're like us, you do it for the love of the art. Right? I mean, how could someone of your skill and intelligence have made it so far as an artist but be living in the East Bay? Nobody here gets paid. Ever. Except the musicians and the director. If you're serious about being an actor, shouldn't you be in LA?"
Ignorant cocksuckers, one and all.
Mid-level theatres offer some occasional tidbits, but apparently my status as a mere EMC does not qualify me for more than supporting roles in anything.
Or -- and here it is, folks, the source of my River Nile of Rant -- if they want to give me a lead, they make an offer for a show and then neglect to specify the amount, leaving me in the position of asking exactly how much money is involved.
This is a very uncomfortable position, and I think it's one into which these mid-level companies intentionally put actors, so that we feel grateful for being offered a role at all, leaving us as hesitant to ask about money as we are grateful to be offered the role. Very, very frustrating.
Even the Upper Echelons of local theatrical greatness (Theatreworks, Berkeley Rep, Cal Shakes) are not above some underhanded dealings with EMC or Non-AEA actors. One of my favorites: I was offered a small role and an understudy position at one of the local biggies; I was told, "This pays $250 a week." I said yes. That sounded great. But the pay didn't start until the show opened, and was considerably less than I had been told. We had easily a month and a half of rehearsal before opening. We didn't run long enough for me to make back what I'd spent in travel. Lesson learned: just because they're one of the biggies doesn't mean they're not looking to pinch some pennies with the lowly locals. After all: if the biggies want you, that means they have enough New York talent to please the subscribers and now they're looking for cheap labor to carry spears and be on time.
What I would really like would be clear, concise offers from now on. Something along these lines:
Show:
Role:
Stipend/Salary:
Director:
Choreographer:
Stage Manager:
Rehearsal Start Date:
Performance Start Date:
Performance End Date:
Possible Extension:
Is this so much to ask? I mean Christ, these companies have to be organized to survive at all, right?
Right?
Insert noncommittal chuckle here.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
I get a lot of job offers. Got one yesterday for the ensemble in a dance-heavy new show about something vaguely esoteric that will never get outside San Francisco. I turned it down: a) I'm not the guy for a dance-heavy show unless you are looking for Three Stooges Technique [now that I have in spades]; b) only offered $500.00, not nearly enough to cover BART or gas and toll for the time required.
Smaller theatres offer me roles all the time, superb leading roles that would look great on my resume ... except that the theatres don't pay twat and are actually -- get this -- honestly baffled when I raise the question of money. "Edward, we --," and there's a pause here as he looks around at the rest of the board, most of whom are also in the production, having chosen and/or bickered over their roles. "We assumed that you're like us, you do it for the love of the art. Right? I mean, how could someone of your skill and intelligence have made it so far as an artist but be living in the East Bay? Nobody here gets paid. Ever. Except the musicians and the director. If you're serious about being an actor, shouldn't you be in LA?"
Ignorant cocksuckers, one and all.
Mid-level theatres offer some occasional tidbits, but apparently my status as a mere EMC does not qualify me for more than supporting roles in anything.
Or -- and here it is, folks, the source of my River Nile of Rant -- if they want to give me a lead, they make an offer for a show and then neglect to specify the amount, leaving me in the position of asking exactly how much money is involved.
This is a very uncomfortable position, and I think it's one into which these mid-level companies intentionally put actors, so that we feel grateful for being offered a role at all, leaving us as hesitant to ask about money as we are grateful to be offered the role. Very, very frustrating.
Even the Upper Echelons of local theatrical greatness (Theatreworks, Berkeley Rep, Cal Shakes) are not above some underhanded dealings with EMC or Non-AEA actors. One of my favorites: I was offered a small role and an understudy position at one of the local biggies; I was told, "This pays $250 a week." I said yes. That sounded great. But the pay didn't start until the show opened, and was considerably less than I had been told. We had easily a month and a half of rehearsal before opening. We didn't run long enough for me to make back what I'd spent in travel. Lesson learned: just because they're one of the biggies doesn't mean they're not looking to pinch some pennies with the lowly locals. After all: if the biggies want you, that means they have enough New York talent to please the subscribers and now they're looking for cheap labor to carry spears and be on time.
What I would really like would be clear, concise offers from now on. Something along these lines:
Show:
Role:
Stipend/Salary:
Director:
Choreographer:
Stage Manager:
Rehearsal Start Date:
Performance Start Date:
Performance End Date:
Possible Extension:
Is this so much to ask? I mean Christ, these companies have to be organized to survive at all, right?
Right?
Insert noncommittal chuckle here.
© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Bus Stop: Next Stop, Livermore! Part I
On January 24, 2008 I heard Susan Steinberg of the Livermore Independent ask Dana Anderson (director of Bus Stop at Role Players Ensemble in Danville ) if it would be possible to move Bus Stop to the new Bankhead Theatre in Livermore after it closes its Danville
What's interesting here is the question of moving the show to the Bankhead. The first thing it tells us is how little is known of theatre by nice ladies who write synopses for local papers. Perhaps Steinberg knows more: is there a financial trapdoor one can use to avoid the $2,000.00-per-night pricetag that comes with doing a show at the Bankhead? I doubt it, but I will inquire.
I further doubt that Role Players Ensemble of Danville will be much interested in transferring their show toLivermore Danville Danville will be too busy with that worthy endeavor to take any time off re-mounting Bus Stop in déclassé Livermore
Just for fun, let's look at what it would take for Role Players to actually produce a tour of Bus Stop to Livermore; I realize that this is highly unlikely. But this is exactly the kind of word problem I love to solve.
First there is the question of the people involved: does the cast want to go toLivermore
If all have pressing previous engagements, next question: would the director be willing to re-cast and re-stage the production?
If the answer is yes, would he want it exactly as it was, or would he be able to resist the temptation to tinker with things?
Would there even be time to tinker?
If the director does not want to re-cast and re-stage, is he okay with someone else directing the re-mount?
If he's okay with it, how much of this production is still Role Players'? The set ... the sound design maybe ... But then, a Broadway Tour is accepted as not exactly the original but definitely the next best thing. We've all heard stories of tours where the performances were better than Broadway. Does this sound to me like something Role Players would still be interested in producing? No. So let's pretend that most of the originalDanville cast wants to go to Livermore
What's interesting here is the question of moving the show to the Bankhead. The first thing it tells us is how little is known of theatre by nice ladies who write synopses for local papers. Perhaps Steinberg knows more: is there a financial trapdoor one can use to avoid the $2,000.00-per-night pricetag that comes with doing a show at the Bankhead? I doubt it, but I will inquire.
I further doubt that Role Players Ensemble of Danville will be much interested in transferring their show to
Just for fun, let's look at what it would take for Role Players to actually produce a tour of Bus Stop to Livermore; I realize that this is highly unlikely. But this is exactly the kind of word problem I love to solve.
First there is the question of the people involved: does the cast want to go to
If all have pressing previous engagements, next question: would the director be willing to re-cast and re-stage the production?
If the answer is yes, would he want it exactly as it was, or would he be able to resist the temptation to tinker with things?
Would there even be time to tinker?
If the director does not want to re-cast and re-stage, is he okay with someone else directing the re-mount?
If he's okay with it, how much of this production is still Role Players'? The set ... the sound design maybe ... But then, a Broadway Tour is accepted as not exactly the original but definitely the next best thing. We've all heard stories of tours where the performances were better than Broadway. Does this sound to me like something Role Players would still be interested in producing? No. So let's pretend that most of the original
© 2008, 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Bus Stop: Next Stop, Livermore! Part II
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© 2008, 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
Bus Stop: Next Stop, Livermore! Part III
The producer is in the bar at Uncle Yu's, slamming a double scotch and desperately calling everyone she knows. She even calls the set designer, isn't that nice of her? She knows he's done some acting, and it's not really his sort of role but would he be willing to fill in or does he know someone? Thankfully, this set designer is realistic regarding his type and the time he would have to lose 30 lbs. before opening: one week. He declines, all gracious charm, and says he'll put the word out. The producer keeps calling people.
The designer, after his luck with the door, is cautiously sending out feelers to the young male lead types in his network. Prophecy: none are close enough / available / willing to do the role.
On her third scotch, the producer sees something amazing; she blinks, leans forward ... there, across the restaurant, a very handsome young man is putting on a customer's cowboy hat at the behest of the customer and his younger, bleached and leathered wife. The handsome young man is a waiter. Server. Whatever the fuck, he's wearing the hat and he looks ... let's not jinx it: he looks like he might work if we tweeze his eyebrows.
At his side, she stuffs a hundred-dollar bill into his hand, "You're coming with me, I'm a theatrical producer, we need your help immediately, where's your manager and will this nice man let us borrow his hat for twenty minutes? Here's fifty as a deposit on the hat."
"I'm the manager," says the manager, overhearing from the host station. Drunk producers are loud.
"I am borrowing this darling boy for twenty minutes, please do not fire him, there's a set of comps we open at the Bankhead next week tell them I sent you and before any of you think I am going to do naughty things to this boy I want you to know that I am happily married for the fifth time and so it shall remain!"
This does not stop her from thoroughly squeezing the young man's biceps, pectorals, buttocks and one or two other pieces of prime real estate as she whisks him across the street and down the block and into the middle of rehearsal with a triumphant cry of, "I've found our lead!"
Rehearsal stops dead.
Director: Can he act?
Producer: Of course he can, what's your name young man?
Waiter: Bo.
Director: You're shitting me.
Producer: Ever done any theatre?
Waiter: That's what I'm studying at the local college.
Producer: This is a paid production. Contracts are involved. Could you get the time off from school and Uncle Yu's?
Waiter: Sure. I usually work lunch, I'm only filling in --
[Edward has to interrupt: I know it's completely unrealistic. It's what I'd want to happen. Can you blame me?]
Producer: Shut up, Edward.
Waiter: I have to finish my shift.
Director: That's fine, be here tomorrow night --
Producer: Tomorrow night, seven o'clock, erhm, six forty-five on the dot, darling, early is on time in theatre and if they haven't told you that at the college yet you should kill them all.
Waiter: I'm always early. Except where it matters.
He smiles a little at the female lead. She stops her frantic and destined-to-go-unanswered text to the former male lead.
This is the miracle they needed. It galvanizes the cast, new energy and innovation zap into the show and it sells out every performance. The Village Theatre has a pretty nice talent show, proving that there is Talent inDanville
Right?
Right. A wonderful fable.
But what really would have to happen would be an independent production company in Livermore approaching Role Players with a brilliantly prepared presentation which they would have to be insane to ignore, particularly because it will cost them very little or nothing at all and Role Players will get the credit for originating the production.
This would possibly involve a new director, and one or two actors might need to be replaced depending on conflicts.
It's possible. I would even say plausible, were there an independent 501-c3 in Livermore who could pull it off.
Do I think it will happen?
Nah.
© 2008, 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
The designer, after his luck with the door, is cautiously sending out feelers to the young male lead types in his network. Prophecy: none are close enough / available / willing to do the role.
On her third scotch, the producer sees something amazing; she blinks, leans forward ... there, across the restaurant, a very handsome young man is putting on a customer's cowboy hat at the behest of the customer and his younger, bleached and leathered wife. The handsome young man is a waiter. Server. Whatever the fuck, he's wearing the hat and he looks ... let's not jinx it: he looks like he might work if we tweeze his eyebrows.
At his side, she stuffs a hundred-dollar bill into his hand, "You're coming with me, I'm a theatrical producer, we need your help immediately, where's your manager and will this nice man let us borrow his hat for twenty minutes? Here's fifty as a deposit on the hat."
"I'm the manager," says the manager, overhearing from the host station. Drunk producers are loud.
"I am borrowing this darling boy for twenty minutes, please do not fire him, there's a set of comps we open at the Bankhead next week tell them I sent you and before any of you think I am going to do naughty things to this boy I want you to know that I am happily married for the fifth time and so it shall remain!"
This does not stop her from thoroughly squeezing the young man's biceps, pectorals, buttocks and one or two other pieces of prime real estate as she whisks him across the street and down the block and into the middle of rehearsal with a triumphant cry of, "I've found our lead!"
Rehearsal stops dead.
Director: Can he act?
Producer: Of course he can, what's your name young man?
Waiter: Bo.
Director: You're shitting me.
Producer: Ever done any theatre?
Waiter: That's what I'm studying at the local college.
Producer: This is a paid production. Contracts are involved. Could you get the time off from school and Uncle Yu's?
Waiter: Sure. I usually work lunch, I'm only filling in --
[Edward has to interrupt: I know it's completely unrealistic. It's what I'd want to happen. Can you blame me?]
Producer: Shut up, Edward.
Waiter: I have to finish my shift.
Director: That's fine, be here tomorrow night --
Producer: Tomorrow night, seven o'clock, erhm, six forty-five on the dot, darling, early is on time in theatre and if they haven't told you that at the college yet you should kill them all.
Waiter: I'm always early. Except where it matters.
He smiles a little at the female lead. She stops her frantic and destined-to-go-unanswered text to the former male lead.
This is the miracle they needed. It galvanizes the cast, new energy and innovation zap into the show and it sells out every performance. The Village Theatre has a pretty nice talent show, proving that there is Talent in
Right?
Right. A wonderful fable.
But what really would have to happen would be an independent production company in Livermore approaching Role Players with a brilliantly prepared presentation which they would have to be insane to ignore, particularly because it will cost them very little or nothing at all and Role Players will get the credit for originating the production.
This would possibly involve a new director, and one or two actors might need to be replaced depending on conflicts.
It's possible. I would even say plausible, were there an independent 501-c3 in Livermore who could pull it off.
Do I think it will happen?
Nah.
© 2008, 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.
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