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.
Monday, November 30, 2009
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:
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.
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