Showing posts with label Theatre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Theatre. Show all posts

Theater Musings Discoveries of Stagecraft: Gary Beck

Gary Beck
As the Artistic Director of an off-off Broadway company staging the classics in the 1970s, I faced difficulties that theater professionals will be very aware of. One area in particular was the mixed quality of actors willing to work for token payment, with demanding standards, in an ongoing ensemble process. A further complication was an unusual production commitment of months of rehearsal, workshop performances, then touring colleges and culturally underserved communities, finally a six week run at our theater. In my particular process I generally worked in different periods for two years, Italian Commedia, French Baroque, English Restoration, ancient Greek drama, etc. Ideally I wanted the actor’s commitment period for two years, almost inconceivable in American theater. But congress abolished the draft, and the press gang was pass├й.
I was fortunate to always have several talented, capable actors who stayed with me for years, functioning as a nucleus for the company in each production cycle. However, in order to do large cast classics, I had to accept actors of minimal qualifications. Since I was working with  a company, it was imperative to introduce the newcomers to an intense process that compelled them to commit to the company, or depart. It was virtually impossible for an ongoing Off Off Broadway company, an anomaly in itself, to get good older actors. The able ones wouldn’t work for token payment and long hours, as well as an extreme time commitment to the production schedule.

Of course there was an extensive supply of retreads, retirees from the corporate world who suddenly decided to become actors. They had no conception that it takes years to develop the craft. These carpetbaggers could possibly work in tv commercials, or superficial showcases, but they were totally unsuitable for serious performance. I found myself playing Pantalone, Gorgibus, Blepyrus, invariably old fools, since I couldn’t find a better old fool. This was a tremendous investment of my time and energy that took me away from some of my other commitments. I had many demanding obligations, but my love of performing made the opportunity a wonderful compensation.

In a long on and off directing career I hadn’t done much acting, filling in if someone was sick, AWOL, possessed by the devil... So I saw the stage in an entirely new perspective as an actor. Suddenly I had questions that never came up in my director studies: How do you manage the pace of a play without music? How do you regulate the stage energy to maintain the fabric of the play from beginning to end? How do you compensate for weak actors, frightened actors, willing but inexperienced actors? I confronted many other questions about stage life and functioning.

I was reminded very quickly that the stage was a challenging environment with no tolerance for dysfunction. The play demanded full participation from every actor, or it would suffer deflation. As I have seen in many shows there were actors who were afraid, who not only didn’t contribute to the stage life, but were even a negative presence. That was rarely the problem with my company, because the actors wanted to be there. They just may not have been able to produce the requisite contribution to the life of the play. I found myself exercising skills like lending focus, projecting energy, sending benevolent theta waves to struggling actors, maintaining a pace and rhythm that kept the play moving properly, as well as many other devices that helped sustain the world of the play.

One situation that occurred occasionally was an actor who was excellent in rehearsal, but couldn’t function in performance. Rather than have them deplete our efforts, I chose to make them virtually invisible on stage by focusing energy and attention elsewhere. This left them as non-negative, virtual occupants of the space, who could not contribute to the world of the play, but did not subtract from it. It became very simple for me. If I looked at an actor onstage in character and they weren’t properly responsive in character, I sought stage life elsewhere, putting the need of the play ahead of the problem of the actor that prevented good performance. I don’t know if any of the actors rendered invisible were aware of what happened. No one ever said anything to me. I never discussed it with anyone.

It was a great treat for me to work as an actor. The down side was I had so many ongoing demands that I could put little time into the preparation of my characters. I always made sure that all the other actors were progressing satisfactorily. One amusing incident occurred in our production of Sophocles’ Antigone, a timeless play that can always reach audiences if presented with passion, vitality and confident characters. I played Tiresias, the blind prophet, and for a change wasn’t an old fool. One complication was that a BBC production of Antigone was to be aired on tv the Sunday evening before we opened our show on Tuesday evening.

For several weeks some of the actors fretted that they would be unfavorably compared to a big budget production, with prestigious British actors. A few were not consoled when I told them: ‘It doesn’t matter what they do, we are still going on’. One irony was that Tiresias was to be played by Sir John Gielgud, (or one of the Queen’s knights). I didn’t waste a moment worrying, or even thinking about him. No matter what, I always tried my best, so I never felt bad if I failed. But I did assume I’d be unfavorably compared to Sir John. I had a similar experience once before. A noted Broadway critic was pleased to tell me in critiquing our production of Aristophanes’ ‘The Birds’, that I wasn’t Zero Mostel. Fortunately I never suffered from mental illness, or was trapped in a delusional state and believed I was Zero Mostel. I certainly didn’t resemble him. I had no doubt who I was.

The Sunday broadcast of Antigone turned out to be a sonorous declamation of excellent diction and poise, typical Brit performance, with a total absence of passion. It was closer to a well organized reading, rather then a vital play. Of course I assumed their ornate production would set a standard for audiences unfamiliar with Greek drama. Our production was so different that by opening night the company was confident in our show, for which we thanked the goddesses of Athens.

I had an interesting experience as Tiresias. I didn’t have much time to do character work and just assumed the righteous mantle of an outraged prophet, denouncing the dangerously stubborn Creon who was heading for disaster. As I made my blind way onto the stage everything I had prepared felt completely wrong. I had worked with the very talented actor playing Creon many times. I knew he would deal with a new presentation effortlessly. Instead of being outraged, I was lovingly disappointed in his rash actions, and gently tried to make him be reasonable. In fact, this gave Creon much more scope to be distraught, rather than angry, which would have resulted in two characters shouting at each other, a sterile stage activity. My immediate reward for this inspired change was a member of the audience called out: ‘You tell him, preacher’.

In an era of hi-tech film and tv dazzling audiences with special effects, it is exceedingly difficult to create stage beauty without sufficient funds for the visual elements of production. It is even more challenging without highly capable, talented, well-trained actors, only found by unusual coincidence Off-Off Broadway. This led me to develop my own process to prepare actors to work as an ensemble. It was very clear at the beginning of each cycle when I added new members to the company that this was my best option to do the level of work I aspired to. My intention was not to teach actors, all of whom had attended college drama programs, but to prepare them to work together in a format that would allow mutual support and participation in sustaining the world of the play.

I auditioned new prospects with a demanding process that went well beyond a monologue and reading. Some actors consulted former auditioners to better prepare in order to feel confident and look good, often without any intention of joining the company. This was a not infrequent practice by many well paid bartenders, more comfortable dispensing drinks then delivering lines. Some actors got through two callbacks and when I interviewed them and described my work process assured me they worked like that in college. I started new actors on a two week trial basis, which gave both of us the opportunity to decide if we were right for each other. The college citers rarely got past the first rehearsal, which put highly intense demands on them to function or depart. There was a variety of challenging mental, physical and emotional exercises, some of which caused the candidate extreme stress that precipitated a rapid exit, stage right. The lambs from protected environments were unprepared for the wolves of reality, Off Off Broadway.
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Bio:
Gary Beck has spent most of his adult life as a theater director and worked as an art dealer when he couldn't earn a living in the theater. He has also been a tennis pro, a ditch digger and a salvage diver. His original plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes and Sophocles have been produced Off Broadway. His poetry, fiction and essays have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and his published books include 32 poetry collections, 14 novels, 3 short story collections, 1 collection of essays and 5 books of plays. Published poetry books include:  Dawn in Cities, Assault on Nature, Songs of a Clerk, Civilized Ways, Displays, Perceptions, Fault Lines, Tremors, Perturbations, Rude Awakenings, The Remission of Order, Contusions, Desperate Seeker and Learning Curve (Winter Goose Publishing). Earth Links, Too Harsh For Pastels, Severance, Redemption Value, Fractional Disorder, Disruptions, Ignition Point, Resonance and Turbulence (Cyberwit Publishing. Forthcoming: Double Envelopment). Motifs (Adelaide Books). His novels include Extreme Change (Winter Goose Publishing). State of Rage, Wavelength, Protective Agency, Obsess and Flawed Connections (Cyberwit Publishing. Forthcoming: Still Obsessed). His short story collections include: A Glimpse of Youth (Sweatshoppe Publications). Now I Accuse and other stories (Winter Goose Publishing). Dogs Don’t Send Flowers and other stories (Wordcatcher Publishing). Collected Essays of Gary Beck (Cyberwit Publishing). The Big Match and other one act plays (Wordcatcher Publishing). Collected Plays of Gary Beck Volume 1 and Plays of Aristophanes translated, then directed by Gary Beck, Collected Plays of Gary Beck Volume II and Four Plays by Moliere translated then directed by Gary Beck (Cyberwit Publishing. Forthcoming: Collected Plays of Gary Beck Volume III). Gary lives in New York City.

garycbeck@yahoo.com
www.facebook.com/AuthorGaryBeck

Report on MILITIS Activities

Ananda Sen

By Ananda Sen


Michigan Literary and Theatrical Society (MILITS) is a 501C (3) Michigan nonprofit based in the metro Detroit area. Its mission is to promote, strengthen and expand Bengali Literature, arts and culture through a cross cultural platform. It was born out of a desire to create a forum that will unite artists across the country who are dedicated to serious pursuance of literature and theater of India. Its major goal is to share the rich theatrical and literary heritage of Bengal with the American people and the immigrant Indian diaspora. The theatre wing of MILITS had been very active performing all over North America. Invited (twice) to perform in Kolkata, MILITS staged two productions in 2018 and 2019, both times in front of a captive audience, and received rave reviews.

A signature event hosted by MILITS is an annual Bengali Theater festival, called SPOTLIGHT, that has showcased performances by North American Theater troupes as well as professional groups from India. A unique feature of the festival has been the collaboration component where a respected professional theater group from India visits and stages a production jointly with MILITS where local actors work had in hand with the professionals from the group. This created an exciting learning opportunity for the local aspiring actors and created a forum for true cultural exchange.

In March of 2018, MILITS also hosted KATHAMALA, a Bengali Literary Conference. The event comprised a two-and-a-half-day celebration of both Bengals, West Bengal in India as well as Bangladesh—its literature, cinema, theatre, art and culture. It featured distinguished literary figures from India and Bangladesh and a line-up of Bengali poets, fiction and non-fiction writers, independent filmmakers and painters from both West Bengal and Bangladesh living in North America.

Apart from these annual events, MILITS hosts monthly literary meets and runs a magazine, ‘katha’ that publishes articles by writers from North America and India. With in-person production being on hold due to COVID for a year, MILITS has been engaged in making short films that had been screened in multiple festivals in USA, Canada, and India. MILITS is continuing to expand its outreach and welcomes all support in helping amalgamate the immigrant community in to the main-stream through art, culture and literature.












Shakespeare Under the Stars

A very strange interlude in the life of Sidewalks Theater, Theater Musings
by Gary Beck

Gary Beck
Sidewalks Theater was in the middle of a cycle of Aristophanes plays and a core group of the company had been together for a while. We had just finished workshop productions and a six week run of The Birds, to appreciative audiences and even fair reviews. Although I was reminded by a noted critic that ‘I wasn’t Zero Mostel’. I didn’t bother telling him that I never thought I was, preferring dignified silence to a disclaimer of a delusional disorder.

We usually spent the summer touring, or doing programs for underserved and neglected audiences. The previous summer, for example, we toured Aristophanes ‘The Women in Assembly’ to 25 public housing developments in all 5 boroughs of New York City, as well as other public service and college performances. Audiences of every type and age level loved the show. A number of actors had left us when we ended the run. Rather then recast, I opted for a change in the regular production schedule. I decided it was time to do a Shakespeare play.

I couldn’t conceive of doing Hamlet without a complete cast of talented and skilled actors, way beyond our budget. However, the core group was talented and capable, so I chose one of the most accessible comedies for those with limited resources, ‘All’s Well That Ends Well’.
We couldn’t afford a nice venue, so I arranged to do the show with an erratic, slightly disreputable theater manager. He had various theater spaces in an old courthouse building in Manhattan’s West 50’s. They were all dirty, decrepit and decayed, but we would be using an outdoor courtyard, which we assumed a brief cleaning would suffice to make it presentable.

An educational digression. We had done shows at different Off-Broadway and Off-Off Broadway theaters when we didn’t have our own theater. In virtually every instance, the space was filthy, unmaintained and required repairs of stage and seating to preserve the safety of the audience and actors. In one noted Off-Broadway house there were big holes in the walls on street level for people to peer through from outside. Their lighting instruments, some of which weighed 20 – 25 pounds, were barely secured by string, the same type string used in a bakery to tie your box of cookies, hanging dangerously over the audience as well as the stage.

In another well known Off-Broadway theater, the seats weren’t attached to the floor, the emergency exits were blocked with piles of lumber. I could go on about how some diminutive theater mentalities seemed to think it was normal and acceptable to operate a dangerous pig-sty. We were always hated for daring to clean, make repairs, and paint before starting rehearsals and tech. I believe a theater should always be clean, comfortable and up to fire code for the pleasure and safety of the audience. They don’t teach these values in college drama departments. I leave it to the reader to try to understand why so many middle-class offspring are so dedicated to creating filthy theater spaces.

The outdoor courtyard, where I had arranged to perform ‘All’s Well’, hadn’t been cleaned in years. The light board had been left uncovered, in the open, through at least one winter and had a 2” layer of pigeon shit. It required major overhaul. There were only 2 lighting instruments, elderly fresnels, that had to be taken apart and cleaned and we had to bring in our own lights and cables. The stage, four rickety, collapsing 4’x8’ platforms, came with a collection of bottles and jars containing urine and feces that belonged to a homeless man living under the platforms in a nest of cardboard. Another man lived under the fire escape stairs that led from the building to the courtyard, except his was he was neat as a pin, with bookshelves and a reading light on an extension cord and cans of bugspray and Lysol. Each evening while we were there, his bed was vacant and the curtain hiding it was closed. The stench under the platforms made chemical warfare envious. It took our tech crew hours and hours of unpleasant labor to clean, then disinfect the area with ammonia, instead of their starting to take down the useless set.

My regular designer had made other commitments, assuming we would tour The Birds, so I was compelled to hire a costume and set designer. We had a limited budget, which invariably allows for limited talent. The exception this time was the set designer, a talented young woman who came up with a multi-level platform that could have come out of a textbook of classical design. Every rose has its you know whats. She brought her boyfriend to assist her, a moderately competent, but obnoxious oaf, oblivious to all the other work going on, including rehearsals.

I was not so lucky with the costume designer. She was typical of the Off-Off Broadway breed with questionable talent and minimal skills. A sad commentary. She was the best I could find for a small fee. She was scrupulously obliging at the beginning of the project, until I requested preliminary sketches and fabric samples. She thought this was unreasonable. A bad sign. Then she smiled gamely and said all will be well. She had five weeks to make 14 costumes, most of them fairly simple. This seemed easily achievable.

I had started casting five weeks before we moved into the space, where we would have two weeks to work before opening night. The core group had already learned their lines and were building their characters, thus setting an example to newcomers. I prefer working with actors who I worked with before, not always feasible Off-Off Broadway.  In the first part of auditions, I had 20 actors assemble in a rehearsal studio and I gave them an overview of my work process. I stressed that I worked with life and death like intensity to create a living fabric onstage, not a museum piece.

One girl was troubled by what she considered my harsh method of approaching a revered classic. She stood up and whimpered about ‘how Shakespeare should be performed with delicacy and sensitivity’. She had realized she had fallen into the hands of theater barbarians. Before I could cut her off and thank her for coming, Autry, a capable, talented actor, who had been with us for a full production cycle of ‘The Birds’, stood up, turned to her and said: “F**k that shit.” He happened to be very big, very black, and scared her into abrupt flight, thus saving me the chore. I ended up casting six newcomers, five men and a woman. All the men had at least several years minimum of experience and had gone through a demanding audition cycle. They were eager, cooperative, and happy to be doing a Shakespeare play. Considering the generally meager talent Off-Off-Broadway, they were an acceptable lot.

We started rehearsals in an indoor space in the complex (after a thorough sweep and mop). The newcomers fit right in with the core group and were working well. It took two weeks of prodding, but the costumer produced a few sketches, promising more in a few days. Then she finally measured the actors. The first night we were to work in the outdoor space, the manager couldn’t be found. A bad sign. Several of us climbed a 10 foot courtyard wall, then jimmied the door open to let everyone in. The manager showed up later and was outraged that we climbed the wall. By the time we got into the outdoor space, with two weeks to go before opening night, the costumer had stopped returning phone calls. She finally told our production manager, Robert, that she’d bring half the costumes in a few days. She temporarily reassured him, so I concentrated on other problems.

At this time I was the artistic director and executive director of Sidewalks of New York Productions, that included Sidewalks Theater, a video production company and outreach programs in a Bronx public housing development and a boy’s prison facility. There was endless writing of grant proposals and administrative work, not including my own work as a playwright and translator of the next Greek comedy we would produce, Aristophanes’ Lysistrata. The only way I could direct ‘All’s Well’, and keep up all my other chores, was to set up a work table in the rehearsal area and work there from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m., only getting up to go to the bathroom, or stretch.

The oaf boyfriend assisting the set designer became a constant annoyance. He deliberately walked through the actors while we were rehearsing, made as much noise as possible whenever he was near me, and left tools, scrap wood and other debris in the rehearsal area. He sulked when I asked him to move things, then mumbled resentfully. By the third day he was becoming a menace to safety and I decided to have a talk with him and try to improve his attitude. Before I could do this he laid cable for the lighting instruments, not his job, that wasn’t supposed to be done for several days, including through our rehearsal area. I asked him to gaffer tape the cable so no one would trip on it and he freaked out, screaming: “You sit around all day telling everyone what to do, while we’re all working.” Then he started towards me threateningly. Work stopped. Robert moved behind him, ready to knock him down if he attacked me, but I stared him down. Then I told him he was fired. He grabbed his personal things and left cursing all of us.

The designer, his girl friend, came up to me and said she wouldn’t work without him and was quitting. I described some of the things he had been doing, but she didn’t care and prepared to leave. I then told her pleasantly that if she quit I’d make sure she’d never design a legitimate theater production again, which scared her. She caved, went back to work, hating me, another dramatic episode in a small theater company. But I got rid of the oaf and if I handled her carefully I’d get a good set.

So on we worked and waited for the light, which was still in question due to the decrepit condition of the lightboard. During the pre-production period, the theater manager, rather then helping us in any way, complained bitterly that we didn’t have the right to build a set, paint the peeling walls, repair the seats, etc. But rehearsal was going well and with a week to go the play was shaping up satisfactorily. Then the next costume crisis. After fervent promises, we still hadn’t gotten any costumes. There was no time to hire another costumer and truth be known I might not have done much better. If lighting designers were 80% competent Off-Off Broadway, set designers 60%, costumers were between 35% and 40%. A sad reality in a mostly self-indulgent environment.

We were faced with the dread alternatives of costuming the actors in black leotards and tights, a dreary expectation at best. Robert, the long suffering production manager, with his eight year old son, Daemon, who had been an assistant stage manager at our theater for years, went to the costumer’s apartment. At first she wouldn’t answer the bell, or their knock. Then Daemon sweet-talked her and she promised to bring the costumes to the theater in two days. Daemon, already a bit cynical about erratic costumers, told me it was the best they could do. On Sunday, two days before dress rehearsal, when she didn’t show up, they went to her house again. She wouldn’t open the door, but told them she’d bring the costumes Tuesday morning. When again she didn’t appear, they went to her house, pounded on the door until she opened it under threat of their bringing the police. She gave them whatever she had. All the principal’s costumes were  half finished, the others all needed major work. It was a mess.

Dress rehearsal Tuesday night was in street clothes and everyone worked well. The show ran about 2 ½ hours, with one 10 minute intermission. When we finished, I praised the actors and the techs and told them our costume problem. All the core group actors volunteered to sew costumes. The newcomers followed suit. Despite the objection of the theater manager, we took over an empty space in the building and sewed away until four in the morning. Everyone seemed to have a fun, social time, however unexpected the demand. The costumes weren’t great, but everyone had a period costume and they were presentable, although some of them were pinned or hot glue gunned together. Another minor theater miracle. Most of the actors had to work on opening day. They weren’t the bartender class actors, who made good money dispensing booze, and really didn’t want to perform, just audition once in a while to retain the illusion of being an actor.

The cast assembled at 6:00 p.m. for the regular pre-rehearsal warm-up. We had set up tarped areas in a backstage space for dressing. The show began a little later then 8:00 p.m., due to last minute costume adjustments. All the new men, who had been macho and articulate throughout rehearsals and dress rehearsal, suddenly tumbled out of the closet and presented the gay follies. Their physical and vocal mannerisms that made a travesty of the work we had done. The rest of us were horrified, but to the credit of the core group, they did their jobs properly and well, despite the grotesqueries going on around them. I tried talking to the suddenly demented dolts at intermission, but they were unresponsive. Autry and some of the core group men wanted to beat them, but I stopped that. The bitterest pill that night was the audience didn’t seem to notice the difference between two different types of performance.

My choice was simple. Close the show, which meant that we would have wasted our time, money and creative effort, or live with the offensive outbreak. I decided to continue, but we divided into two groups, one doing serious Shakespeare, the other doing high camp. We set up a separate dressing area for the newcomers and left them to their own devices. The core group of 6 men, three of whom were gay, performed with passion and integrity, gradually overcoming the silly antics of the others who lost stage credibility and became almost invisible. We actually managed, despite the negative factors, to do a good show.

We did 6 shows a week for 6 weeks, and somehow, in an incredibly rainy summer, the rain always held off until the final curtain. The performances were frequently accompanied by dramatic thunder and lightning courtesy of Mother Nature, which would have been ideal if we were doing Macbeth.  Of course there were always ongoing problems. How else could it be in the not-for-profit theater world? But we overcame them and the show always went on, something I always prided myself about. The worst disruption on opening night was by the idiot theater manager. He had stipulated the show had to end by 11:00 p.m. It was scheduled to end between 10:44 and 10:45, but ran late due to a late start. The dolt shut off the building’s power, which included our theater lighting, at 11:00, with five minutes to go, without bothering to check if the show was still on. Robert flew up five flights of stairs to his office and promised to fracture his skull if he didn’t put on the power. Robert demonstrated Einstein’s Lesser Theory of Relativity in his time shattering flight.

A few days after the production closed, while I was still enjoying the pleasure of not seeing the childish, stupid actors again, I found myself idly wondering if sewing costumes the night before opened some sort of gay portal that transferred onto the stage. Then again, the core group’s gay actors weren’t infected by the sewing virus. So it became one more weird occurrence in the strange life of an ongoing theater company.