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 run. That's how much she loves this production. Her review in the Independent (check archives for 1/24/08 here) is further proof of her love; sadly, she smothers the show with affection. The result is a plot and character play-by-play, effectively spoiling all the highlights for future audiences. I realize that many community papers review community theatre this way. I also realize that dogs lick their own asses. Neither of these truths makes me want to kiss the parties involved.

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 Livermore. A reliable source, who for professional and personal reasons chooses to remain anonymous, tells me that the Board of Role Players is very much interested in proving that Danville's got Talent. So much so they are considering holding auditions for a Talent Show. Something tells me that Role Players and the Town of Danville will be too busy with that worthy endeavor to take any time off re-mounting Bus Stop in déclassé Livermore. Though one surmises Livermorians may know a bit more about bus stop diners and cowboys than do the effete elite of D-Town.

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 Livermore? Or, better angle: who cannot go?

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 Danville cast wants to go to Livermore, and the director is thrilled to re-mount the production.

© 2008, 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Bus Stop: Next Stop, Livermore! Part II

First order of business: contracts! Not something many community theatres are good at, I'm giving Role Players the benefit of the doubt: contracts are on the table, and (we're bordering on fantasy here) Role Players is willing to reimburse all gas and travel expenditures to and from Livermore for the duration of remount rehearsals, tech and performance. (Even if they were not willing to do that, in my experience many if not most non-AEA actors in the Bay Area would agree to a remount of this nature; assuming they still like the show and their cast mates, of course, there's something alluring in the shoddy glamour of a community theatre tour.) So: we've got the actors and the director signing contracts. Things are looking good. It's unrealistically rosy. Which invites the Jinx. This is what happens when things seem to be going swimmingly in theatre: someone will invariably predict success. The Jinx, being alive and well, rears its ugly head and swoops into the building, scattering seeds of doubt, distress, jealousy and betrayal whithersoever it may. Whether it's an actual force of nature or just chinks in the armor of human nature, the Jinx is always there. Lurking. So let's watch where the seeds take root: will it be the supporting actress who thinks she could do it better than the lead? Will it be the chorus boy who has a jealous crush on the male ingénue and wants said ingénue's hot girlfriend out of the show? Will it be the director who so longs for the lips of this or that actor, s/he is willing to risk the entire production by re-casting that actor in the lead, in hopes of some flustered, dusty fellatio in a props closet or the parking lot of Wal-Mart after the preview performance? (Understand that these are generic instances and do not apply directly to the cast of Bus Stop, thanks.) It will happen one of two ways. If we're lucky, he'll realize it when he's looking at the contract. Actors being actors, however, it's more likely that he will realize it the night before the first rehearsal in the new space. He won't call the director, but he will leave ten minutes earlier than usual to try to catch the director outside the theatre, break the bad news, and still have time to make a 7:30 movie with a girlfriend. The bad news is this: the male lead cannot do the show. Whatever his reasons -- and they could be anything but he will devise something dire and serious --, he is completely unable to go any further with the project. This prompts two immediate questions from the director: a) if it's so fucking serious, how could you not have known about it before now?!; and b) what the fuck is wrong with your brain you fucking asshole, how could you do this to me?! If the actor is very clever, he will devise something that has at its heart a kernel of truth, to which he can cling with complete sincerity. He will also make it something he could not possibly have known about before that very day. The director will buy it. If the actor is very good, he will use his natural alarm and anxiety in the situation to fuel honest tears, which will stun the director. Having had to struggle to get that kind of performance during rehearsals, the director will swallow the actor's story hook, line, sinker and dinghy. The actor departs, promising to keep in touch. The director martials his resources, adjusts the strap on his used Kenneth Cole attaché case and marches courageously into the theatre to break the news. People are shocked. The female lead immediately dials her now-former opposite, leaving a whispered and impassioned inquiry via voice mail. As she is doing this, the director is telling the cast why the actor cannot do the show; surprisingly, even this old war horse with over a decade of community theatre and semi-professional regional theatre is moved to tears. Briefly. It is a moment that the female lead will recall decades later in the bar at O'Flaherty's, drawing deep on a Parliament and staring off into the middle distance, "I heard he moved to New York, that's actually why I came. I never expected to get work. Funny how that happens. Little fucker never called any of us again. Far as I know, he's fat and married in Suburbia. At least I am in New York." Back to the present: one actor dropping out sends shockwaves through the cast. Those who considered it begin to reevaluate. The female lead is only here because he was going to do the show. Her parents were coming down from Oregon to sort of officially meet him but she made her mother promise not to freak Dad out. Or smile at him with big eyes and teeth that say marry my daughter, marry my daughter, you're the first straight actor she's ever liked and the last guy was a meth-head who hit her. A lot. The production is in danger of breaking down here. Realistically, it probably would. In Edward's imaginary Theatre of Yes!, however, the producer steps in with bold and encouraging words: "You are all under contract. That actor will have me to reckon with and his reputation will suffer. We will find a replacement. You are all wonderful, truly the most amazing and talented cast I have ever seen in my life. This show will be a complete success no matter what. I feel it in my bones. Now, I want you all to work very hard today. It's going to be tough, but I know that together, we can do it. I will find you a new lead. Hooray!" Actors are generally desperate people. This rousing speech brings them to their feet, applauding and cheering. Rehearsal gets off to an unnaturally cheery start, with the director working all scenes in which the male lead is not an immediate part; the Stage Manager reads the lead's lines from the second row, completely monotone. It's a superb performance by all involved.

© 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 in Danville. The set finally has curtains on the window, the front door has a real window in it, and there is a snow machine and everything else the set designer could dream of to improve the show.

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.

Creation Sticks

So as the millions of you who read my blog have no doubt noticed, Sam Craig and I have been shooting some improvised sketchy goodness and posting it on YouTube. We've had some comments, a few subscribers -- mostly friends, though I am happy to report that two complete strangers have subscribed. But aside from a billionth of a percent in Ireland about a month ago, all of our viewers have been in the United States.

Until Creation Sticks. For the first time, we have an audience in Argentina. And Australia. Mysterious, no?! Well, perhaps not so much when you consider the tags I've posted for Creation Sticks: "Darwin Intelligent Design Evolution Theory Science Hightower Craig Creationism Kansas Spaghetti Monster Panties". Argentina, of course, is explained by the close proximity of the words Monster and Panties, as any of you who have ever dated an Argentinian woman can attest.

But Australia? I wish I could figure that out. Unbelievers will tell you that Charles Darwin spent some time in and/or around that region of the globe back when he supposedly saw some special birds on a special rock, but you and I both know that neither those birds nor those "islands" as he called them actually exist. Neither, for that matter, did Charles Darwin himself. Charles Darwin was the name of a Bengal Tiger that Robert Louis Stevenson met on a lifeboat after the RMS Titanic sank near Argentina (connection?!). The tiger came from Australia, which is why there's a small town named after her (I know, why would anyone name a tigress Charles Darwin, right? It's those crazy Austalians again!). The town, coincidentally, is named Darwin.

So it's no surprise that people from Australia would agree with our Creation Sticks experiment. After all, how can you disagree with fact?

The great thing about a facts is that you can invent your own. For example, I want it to be a fact that I have a hell of a lot of subscribers to Joygoggles on YouTube. Now that I've invented that fact, you can help me make it a reality by clicking here, registering with YouTube, rating and subscribing to Joygoggles!

A couple of you have already subscribed. But just think: if you think like me, and I think you might, and you know someone who thinks like you -- which means they think a little like me -- then they might think that more people will see the Truth and Light of Creation Sticks and all of our other Scientific Endeavors! Which means you should share this blog and all of Joygoggles with every social networking site of which you are a member.

Join, rate and subscribe. That's all I ask. Plus fellatio from the non-herp hotties.

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.