Saturday, June 17, 2006

NYC: Days 2 and 3

Well, in spite of my good intentions to update this every day, the vagaries of the Internet just wouldn’t let me.

My plan had been to do as I did last year here at the Cosmo by unplugging the cord from the phone and plugging it into the computer’s phone jack. Unfortunately, the hotel outwitted my maneuver by not only buying phones that don’t allow this, but also using cords that can’t be unplugged from the wall without more trouble than it’s worth (not to mention the hassle I had last year in having to place a deposit to make outside phone calls).

I was able to piggyback onto a wireless network with no trouble Tuesday night, but Wednesday was a comedy of errors, as I kept getting booted off networks after only a couple of minutes in every case. After what seemed like hours of attempts, I finally had to throw the towel in.

What I missed writing about was how I broke one of the windows here in my room. I tried and tried and tried to raise the window in order to get some more fresh air in here (it can get hot and stuffy – supposed to be in the mid 90s Saturday, with a heat index of 100), and the damn thing was jammed. I kept trying and trying to get the thing raised and it finally cracked – big time. I left it alone for the night. I was tempted to go down to the desk to tell them and give them enough time to call a glazier, but it was 4:30 in the morning and I figured it could wait until I left Wednesday morning. Well, given the noise from outside (even worse tonight, I slept for shit.) When I did leave, I stopped at the desk, expecting them to give me a hassle over paying for the window (which I would have felt some kind of obligation to do), but the woman didn’t even bat an eye, saying they’d fix it right away, and she called a maintenance guy. End of that story – except when I came back Wednesday night, and saw that there was a two-foot gap at the top of the window. I tried raising the window again, but it was still stuck . . . and then I realized that the bottom window doesn’t raise, the top one does – which makes no sense, given the way the lock is constructed, but hey, I can close it and block out most of the noise – seems like all they do in this city is pick up garbage all night. . .

Anyway. . .

Wednesday morning, I went to the South Street Seaport to buy my ticket for the evening performance (I already had bought my “Faith Healer” ticket online), and expected the usual long line and 30 minute wait. Imagine my surprise when my TKTS experience of Tuesday was repeated and there were only three people ahead of me. I saw that they had “The Lieutenant of Inishmore,” and got the ticket, leaving me with plenty of time to kill, so I decided to rustle up some breakfast, which I did, getting a turkey salad wrap, which wasn’t bad. By the time I finished, it was time to get in line for the show, and into the theatre I went. The show was at the Booth, which is one of my favorite Broadways houses (it was my favorite until I got looks at the Belasco and the Lyceum, which are just as nice), small and intimate.

There was a small mix-up with my seat, as a woman was sitting in the wrong seat, but she and her husband moved over with no trouble and the show proceeded.

It’s a very, very good show. Probably the best thing I’ve seen Ralph Fiennes do. He’s usually so restrained and bottled up, and he gets a chance to loosen up here and, if not charm the audience, then to play off them and have some fun.

He finished his monologue, we went into the scene change, they let the latecomers in, and Cherry Jones starts her monologue – and this piercing squeal from some woman’s hearing aid begins. The entire audience gets pissed off (excepting the oblivious woman her companions, who didn’t bother to do anything about it), and we spend the next ten minutes hearing ushers try to find her, her adjusting the damn thing, and various levels and types of squeals. The woman next to me (who’d been in the wrong seat) turns to me and complains about the house staff doing nothing. Through it all, Jones perseveres, acting away, either oblivious to the noise or just knowing it’ll be taken care of eventually. Finally, the noise stops, and we can all concentrate on the play. Comes intermission, and the woman next to me and I start talking about the deaf woman (who apparently was getting indignant that people were telling her off) and who we were. She and her husband had taken the day to come from DC to see the show. She had become curious about it after reading a review and wondering if it would have any resonance for her job and an “energy healer” (I know. . . ) I talked a little about myself, the Booth, and Brian Friel (about whom I wrote my thesis), and eventually Act Two began.

Given my overall lack of sleep on Wednesday morning (I can’t call it Tuesday night), I was dopey for the entire Act, and it was a real struggle to make it to the end. I’m 99% sure I saw it all, but it wasn’t easy.

Again, very, very good show. Fiennes good, Jones good (I’ve seen her better, and she had no dialect – which surprised me since I’d read she did extensive work and her coach gets a program credit), and Ian MacDiarmid – with the flashiest role – very good. Nicely directed, with a very interesting scene change effect that I’d like to steal sometime, if the occasion ever arises (traveler moves across the stage, and the set gets brought on or struck behind it as it travels).

After the show, I had a few hours to kill, so I went to Virgil’s BBQ on 44th. I’m usually leery of places in the theatre district, but I’d read good things about Virgil’s and I love the barbecue, so I went. Had a lovely salad – lettuce, chunky blue cheese, red onions (which I picked out), and a bacon vinaigrette – and a combo plate with pork and brisket. It was tasty, but overall inferior to, say, the Rib Shack in Daly City. Not bad, but not great, either.

By this time, it was time to leave for “Lieutenant.” I wanted to see it anyway, but being at the Lyceum made it irresistible. In all my years of coming here, I’ve never seen anything there. It’s a beautiful house, again small and much more interesting that the Booth from a decorative and architectural standpoint. I was disappointed to see that David Wilmot (the eponymous character) was out, but the understudy was quite good, so I guess I didn’t miss him too much. I was still having some drowsiness problems, but the play is so good and so funny – and so gory; jeezus god, I wondered how they clean up the set and costumes every night, not to mention wondering if they go through eight wigs a week when one character gets a ponytail cut off. No one, absolutely no one, writes like McDonagh, and the whole thing is hysterically funny at the same time it’s grim and bloody.

So far I haven’t seen a bum show (no "Paris Letter"s in this collection . . .) yet.

Thursday was DaveCon, and my plan was to walk from the hotel to the TGI Friday’s we were meeting at, but just past Houston, I realized that I would have trouble getting there, so I hopped it onto the subway. Got to the restaurant and was extremely confused. The address was on Broadway, but the restaurant is on 7th. I went in, went upstairs, and saw no one, so I went down the block to the Times Square Visitor’s Center, where I could check my email and verify the address. Everything seemed correct, so I thought I should try again, and sure enough, I’d had the right place all along; it was just that the group was around the corner. I caught up with everyone, even if some of the regulars weren’t there – Karen was out of town; Carl, Kathie, and Brady, who knows; Brad getting ready to move to Virginia the next day. After only a few minutes, we had to hoof it over to the Ed and get in line to get our tickets. It was a hot day, but we didn’t have to wait too long, and were soon marched in, given our instructions (be back by 3:45), and released. We went to Rupert’s, as usual, and ordered stuff. I had a lemon lime whippy, which was too sweet and a real mess (I had to use the bathroom in the Ed to hose down and clean my shirt). We chit chatted a little while, and then some of us repaired to the Angelo’s Pizza for drinks. Finally, it was time to get back in line, so off we went. Usually, the ushers will give us the spiel (“no ‘woo’ing, laugh at everything,” etc.), lead us into the lobby, where we wait interminably, and after finally let into the house. This year, though, they must have realized we (of all people) know what to do; they marched us straight from the sidewalk to our seats, with no preamble. It was a nice change of pace.

The show itself was okay. KYCE was good, Sandra Bullock, meh, and the band sucked as much as they had the first time I saw the show (Carl phoned us during dinner, and I told him that, not only could I not remember what they had played then, I honestly couldn’t have done it while they were playing it – they were truly unmemorable).

Afterwards, Tony Mendez came to collect us, and we went into the lobby to shoot our annual episode of the “Tony Mendez Show.” I got some nice face time (we all did), and then it was back into the house for photos and the tour for the new kids – I got to go for the first time in three years; nothing new, but it’s always interesting.

(There’s a car on the street right now, playing deafening rap. I’m three stories up, so I can only wonder how loud it is in the damn car.)

After the tour, we talked to Tony out on the street. He couldn’t go to the party as he had ballet tickets. While we were talking, a car pulled up with some well-dressed women in it. The driver got out and looked like she wanted to ask a question, hesitated a while, then got back in. I went up to the car and asked the passenger, an older woman, if I could help them. They were curious as to what was going on, but were also trying to give away their tickets for “The Threepenny Opera.” I was tempted, but had already paid for the party, so I was going to go. I told them they’d probably have no trouble getting rid of the seats; they told me they’d already been turned down five times. I suggested they try over by the TKTS booth, which they thought was a good idea. I hope they were able to get rid of the tickets; they seemed nice and I hate to see seats go to waste like that. Ironically enough, a little while later, Jim Dale walked by on his way to work (looking damn good for 70), and I saw Ana Gasteyer while walking to the restaurant. (So far I’ve seen Marian Seldes [bustling along northbound on 7th while I was in P.J. Carney’s], George Takei [leaving “Faith Healer”], and Dale and Gasteyer. I saw a woman today who looked a lot like someone, but I’m damned if I can remember who it was. Oh, and there was a woman at “Faith Healer” whom I thought might have been Frances Sternhagen, but I couldn’t swear to it).

We finally got to the restaurant, and even though we were a half hour early, they were able to seat us upstairs in a private area. The food was pretty good (I’d been bitching about having to pay so much, but I almost got my money’s worth – and they forgot to charge me for my first drink). We all talked a while, and then about 9:30, they asked if we could move so they could clean up. We agreed, but since there was no room downstairs, they sent us to their sister restaurant next door, which was horribly loud. After only about a half hour, we repaired to Hurley’s on 48th, where we usually end up. It wasn’t quite as crowded as the other places, but there was still only one table for 8 or 10 of us (the NBA playoffs were on), and after they informed us that it was a one-drink minimum, we left. After a few minutes on the sidewalk, we all parted and headed for homes or hotels (some folks went to Helen Read’s hotel room; I did not, as I was feeling sleepy). Cheryl Levenbraun and I walked to the Times Square subway station, and after a few minutes, my train came, and I was off for the hotel. I was up until 4:30 again, trying to do some work (which I’ll subtract from my hours next week, natch), and dealing with more connectivity issues. (I don’t understand how a signal can go from “Excellent” to gone in only a few minutes.) I figured I could sleep in Friday, which I did.

I’ll get to Friday’s exciting events tomorrow, since it’s now 4:15, and it looks like I’ll hit the trifecta if I don’t watch it . . .

Saturday? “Shining City” in the afternoon, “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels” in the evening (I’m only hoping that Norbert is in; he wasn’t in when I bought my ticket Wednesday afternoon – great seat; second row center), then Jessica Molaskey at the Algonquin at 11:30. I’ve been afraid I wouldn’t be able to stay awake for her, but given my late hours this week, I’m hoping it won’t be a problem.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

NYC: Day 1

I promised myself I'd do this, so even though it's after 3 here, I'll give it a go.

The day started at about 4:45, when my alarm went off. I hit the snooze button and rolled over, but then got paranoid that it wouldn't go off again, so I basically just laid there until 5:03, when I got up.

Left the house at 6:03, only ten minutes later than I'd planned, but when I got to the parking lot, the guy kept driving around and picking people up (the nerve!), so I didn't hit the airport until nearly 6:45. Checked in -- the place was packed and it took nearly ten minutes for the poor woman who was manning the self-serve check in area to get to my bag. Finally cleared security sometime after 7, and was on the plane only a few minutes later. A whirlwind morning.

I'd cashed in some miles and was in the first class section, next to one of those women who is helpless without her cell phone and kept making calls about some tickets to some event that had to be confirmed and a trip to China or India (or both; I can't remember). I couldn't have been more fascinated by these calls. She was beaten, however, by the woman who was on the other end of the aisle and continued making cell calls while we were taxiing (long after the announcement to shut down your damn phones had come and gone) and who had to be told three times to shut off her laptop when we were landing. Some people are just too damn pleasant to be around.

The flight itself was pretty smooth and uneventful; some turblulence, but not much. I ate a not-bad omelet, drank a lot of water and juice, and slept a couple of hours. The movie was "The Pink Panther," so it was safe to ignore.

We got in about 15 minutes early, but the hike through the new American terminal at JFK is endless, so it was a push. (Seriously, every time you get around a bend, there's another slidewalk.) I got my bag pretty quickly, and was on the AirTrain by about 4:30, getting the A train about 4:45 and was in the hotel somewhere after 5:30. Called Pidge to let her know I made it, and immediately had to leave for midtown, to hit the TKTS booth to get my ticket for "Sweeney Todd," which has a 7:00 curtain on Tuesdays. I don't know if it's the new location or just the hour, but there was no line at the TKTS booth. I saw "Sweeney" was still on the board and immediately walked up to a window.

Pretty good seat; house left, about 2/3rds back. (Especially good for $59.25.) Pretty good view until the latecomers got seated and Stretch Armstrong seat down in front of me. Top his height with a proclivity to move his head around a lot, and it's a recipe for annoyance.

Some things about the audience tonight. One was the latecomers. They're seated at the first break, 40 minutes in (kudos to John Doyle for directing the show to preclude applause after every number), and among the late people was one woman who was in the middle of the third row. Manoel Felciano, who was playing Tobias, was in the middle of the Pirelli number, and froze solid, not singing, and just followed the woman with his head as she made her way to her seat. Reminded me of Kris Tabori's story about Donald Sinden, who would greet West End latecomers by making sure they had a program and they knew who was who. Felciano got a good laugh and hand and I'll bet that woman is never late to the theatre again. Felciano struck again later in the number, when he played most of the hair tonic stuff to a bald man in the front row.

Lots of kids in the center section -- three rows worth. They were at that indeterminate age: high school kids? College students? and reacted to everything, some of it inappropriate (the sex stuff, of course). Overall, they were really into it (one got the feeling they had done the show themselves) and helped prime the pump for the rest of the audience. The cast seemed genuinely appreciative at the curtain call (for which I had to stand, as usual, to see what was happening; I HATE the manditory standing ovation, but I think Sondheim's point about the audience having spent so much money that they want to prove it to themselves by giving anything a standing O is an excellent one), but that could be their standard call conduct (extra bows, applauding back, etc.).

Also, lots of little kids in the crowd -- like 6 and 7 years old. What kind of parent brings a kid that young (or younger) to a show like this? The smallest one (3? 4?) fussed a little toward the end, but I have to admit they were well-behaved throughout.

The other thing was the weirdness two seats over from me. Late in Act One, the guy started twitching and moving and muttering (or saying quietly) "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." I don't know if he was having some kind of Tourette's attack, but he didn't have anything close to it again, and his outburst was relatively quiet, if disruptive. I doubt if people three rows away heard him. Weird.

Anyway, as to the show. I admit I was a little dubious going in. Doyle seems like a one-trick pony with his "cast-doubles-as-the-orchestra" schtick, but it worked here, and worked really well (especially Patti LuPone on her tuba). Brilliant concept, and since he was the designer, too, it was all of a piece. He really understood what he wanted and got it. Very intense performances by Michael Cerveris (though not as obsessed as his Booth; but then, it was a Tuesday night) and Alexander Geminagni (which surprised me, cause so many people dissed him). Donna Lynne Champlin was very good as Pirrelli, but I just didn't understand how Felciano got a Tony nod for that performance. Decent work, but there were others in the show far better. LuPone was very good -- probably the best thing I've seen her in (certainly better than her final performance in "Evita," when she channeled Lucille Ball), but her ass is huge in her costume. I don't know if it's all her (one assumes it is), since she doesn shake it at the auidence in "God, That's Good," so she's either padded, or they've made the most of an unfortunate situation.

Overall, maybe not as rococo or impressive as the original Sweeney, but certainly a rethinking and a very good night of theatre.

Afterwards, headed to Ray's for a slice and a Pepsi, then to P.J. Carney's bar for a beer. I was going to get some supper there, but nothing looked appealing except for chicken tenders (the menu looked good; it's just I wasn't in a mood for anything on it) and decided to stop at McDonald's on the way back to the subway and get some of their own (less expensive) chicken. On the way, I stopped at Virgin and bought the "Drowsy Chaperone" CD and looked out for "The Brain" and was vastly disappointed. We've got an Answers promotion where some of the power users are living in a two-story structure on the top of the Hard Rock Cafe marquee at the Paramount Building. It's tough to see at all (I completely missed it this evening) and I feel sorry for those folks, having to sit there all day and do nothing but be on Answers. There's a bunk bed on the lower floor, and they're apparently working in shifts so they can go to their hotel rooms in their off hours (the whole thing is supposed to last 72 hours, I think), so it's not too bad, but one gets the feeling that these folks don't get out a lot, and to torture them by putting them in a hot fishbowl in the middle of Times Square and its attractions is a bit cruel. But they seem to be enjoying it on the Video feed. Of course, le'ts see how they do at 4 am Friday morning. . . Regardless, it's hard to spot (even when looking for it), and doesn't seem especially interactive.
Oh, my room. Nicest one at the Cosmo yet. I even have a window this time, although it's really noisy outside. I've managed to piggyback onto someone else's wireless network (thanks, "dickerson"), which is fortunate, since they've rigged the phones so that I can't unplug the wires and plug them into the laptop. Hopefully, I'll continue to have access.

Tomorrow: "Faith Healer" and "The Lieutenant of Inishmore." It's Irish Day!

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Jeebus, It's Been That Long?

Jeebus, It's Been That Long?

Since I posted an entry here? Time sure flies when you're not doing a damn thing, I guess.
We started rehearsals for "R&G" this week. Just a read-through and two nights of table work, but it seemed to go fairly well. Most of the cast read too fast and sort of skimmed through the text, but since I did mention in the beginning that I wasn't looking for either acting or performances, that's what they gave me.

The thing that concerns me the most at this point is that I don't have Carolyn (Guildenstern) for most of next week, and then I leave for New York, so whatever I don't get blocked tomorrow, Monday, or Tuesday will have to wait until the end of the month, and I hate to think that I'll still be blocking that late into the process. But, as I need to focus on, A) anything we block outside of the space will have to be adapted anyway, and B) once I get back , we'll still have a month. Things may be a little rough for the first week of performances, but I have little doubt they'll eventually pull together.

Pidge leaves for Texas in the morning. She's going to some kind of tech writing conference in Dallas from Monday to Thursday, then to Carbondale to visit her mom. I leave for NY on the 13th, and she doesn't get back until the 14th, so we won't see one another for nearly three weeks, which is the longest we'll have ever been apart since she moved to Oregon from Pittsburgh. She's getting a little weepy tonight, as I'm sure I'll be -- and it's always odd around here without her, but I'll persevere. (I've never told anyone this: YEARS ago, I was taking a train somewhere, and the woman next to me was writing a letter. The trip was slightly bumpy, and I looked over to her letter. She was drawing a little train going up- and downhill, mentioning how it wasn't easy to write under these conditions, "but I persevere." Ever since then -- and it's probably close to 20 years -- I have never used the word "persevere" without thinking of her and her letter.)

Anyway . . .

We're going out to Woodside tomorrow for a picnic and rehearsal. For the non-company members, this will be the first time they see the space, and I can only imagine, not only what they'll think, but also what it looks like now. The company members were going out today to rebuild the stage, and I have no idea how much they got done. Hopefully, enough so that I can block a good portion of Act One. I've got them for three hours, so we should be able to get a lot done - maybe even all of the first act, which would be great and do wonders for my mood.

We went to Michael Spector's memorial today. He died of a brain tumor not quite a month ago, and there was such a sense of -- well, loss, of course (I suppose you get that at any funeral/memorial), but just the random unfairness of life. He would have turned 37 just 12 days after he died, but managed to cram so much into those years. I had no idea he had so many interests and friends (the place was packed, and many of those who'd been on the various lists telling about his dying weren't there). I mean, he was a great and funny guy and the best stage manager ever, but I guess it's one of those cases where you can never have a full sense of all the aspects of someone else's life.

More later. . .

Time Flies Like an Arrow . . .

. . . Fruit Flies Like a Banana

Feels like ages since I've posted. Got the job directing "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern." It'll be a challenge, especially since we'll be doing it outdoors and in various locations in a park (or something) in Woodside. Apparently, lots o' trees and hills; not the most conducive atmosphere for a comedic/dramatic examination of the nature of reality and a deconstruction of "Hamlet;" but it's a challenge, so that's good.Did I mention we saw John Pizzarelli two weeks ago in the city? Followed that up last night by seeing Audra McDonald. It's part of a new -- well, not philosophy, but a goal, I guess -- to see great artists when I can, and to not miss them, like I did Sinatra. We're talking about seeing Tony Bennett in Saratoga in September, but the tickets are dear, and I don't know if I want to see him that much -- but, still. . . .

Anyway, both evenings (Pizzarelli and McDonald, that is) were wonderful. It's such a pleasure (for me, anyway) to watch artists who are so skilled and comfortable with their talents that that ease and pleasure becomes almost a palpable sensation for the audience. Pizzarelli signed CDs after the show, so we got one, and I complimented him on the show and asked if his wife, Jessica Molaskey (whom I adore) is working on a new album. He said she was, which thrilled me almost as much as reading (while I was writing this paragraph, in fact) that she'll be appearing at the Algonquin while I'm there. I am so there.McDonald gave a great show, too, with new and old material. She went up twice, which I'm sure wasn't intentional, but reminded me of nothing so much as a magician or a slight-of-hand artist who will "accidentally" fumble a trick in order to make themselves seem more human or to make their feats that much more impressive. The best thing about both evenings (other than the high entertainment value, natch) was the fact that both of them seemed utterly human and down-to-earth, and people I could hang out with, once I got past the hero worship.Read a play called "Pack of Lies," that I'll probably interview for at Palo Alto next week. Very interesting play based on a true case in London in the early 60s. Middle-class English couple is best friends with an American couple across the street. One day, an MI-5 agent appears at the house and asks the English couple if the government can postion an agent to watch the Americans. Eventually we find out that the Americans might be Soviet spies, and we see the havoc it causes with the friendship and how the situation tests the limits of personal privacy, security, friendship, and where we draw those various lines. Very timely, I think (perhaps not as timely as "The White House Murder Case," but then what is?). It turns out that the Americans are, indeed, spies, but that's almost a MacGuffin. I'd really like to do it (time for a heavy drama, I think), and hope Peter hires me.Not much else. Have a couple of leads on a new Bob Cratchit, so we'll see. Hope to get back to this in less than a couple of weeks.