Worries (Day 213/365)

I’ve started getting antsy about rehearsals for William Blake’s Inn. It’s time to begin planning our final approach, because at some point soon we have begin involving a larger number of “others”: troupe of sunflowers, marchers in MMH, hedgehogs, etc. We have to decide whether we want to invite our octet to take part in the actual staging. We have to set up times for all these people to be… where?

We have to convince someone, who?, to help with constructing sunflowers, banners, pennants; costumes for the Band. What will we do re: costume/indications for the octet as soloists? How involved does our May performance have to be in order to make its point to those we assume to be unimaginative enough to require our having to do all this?

When should we start getting the octet back together?

I’ve proposed May 3 as our performance date, but at this point we have no firm date or space for the performance. Perhaps we can plan not knowing these details, but I’m having a hard time even successively approximating what to do next.

In other news, I was very nearly creative today. After nearly two hours in an optometrist’s office in Greensboro, I retrieved my laptop and began writing this post. Then I pulled up the Sunflower Waltz and got exactly four measures fixed before they finally finished with Grayson.

Workshop, 2/27 (Day 208/365)

Another amazing Tuesday Lacuna workshop. Tonight, it was me, Marc, and Melissa.

Molly with sunflower puppet prototypesI had mocked up the heads of two sunflowers in the Troupe and made some leaves, so we began by attaching elastic to our feet, then to the crossbars of the flowers. We stapled the leaves to the elastic, and then we played. We played with making the sunflowers grow, making the leaves bounces. We studied how sunflowers would move, how they would jump, how they would dance. We played with one sunflower each, then two, having them relate to each other and to other sunflowers.

The sunflower waltz has turned out be quite workable. It is big and glorious, but that works. I shall finish orchestrating it as it stands.

An interesting thing happened this afternoon as I prepared the CD for rehearsal. I’ve been working on a chopped up version of Two Sunflowers, mostly because I didn’t want to mess with the original in case something went dreadfully wrong (as it appeared had happened first thing this morning when the cellos and basses wouldn’t make any sound for a while.) This afternoon I pasted the song itself back on to the beginning of the waltz segment, which then of course recaps with the second verse of the song. This da capo structure was suddenly, terrifically poignant: the two sunflowers have declared their intention of staying with William Blake, then their Troupe engages in this huge, liberated waltz, and then they come back to their two friends to bid farewell. As the Troupe leaves, the lyrics come to us again, “They both took root in the carpet…” It’s sort of sad in a way that wasn’t there before.

Anyway, we did a lot of good, solid work exploring the movement of sunflowers and positing ways for the waltz to be choreographed.

Here’s what we need: five sunflower Troupe members; the Two Sunflowers; the tea set; the suitcases; the turtle train; an angel costume; a small table for tea. Personnel: the Two Sunflowers (currently sung by Ginny and Denise); five dancer/puppeteers; one angel; and a rabbit, to serve the tea. Lacuna members, check out the What We Need page for details.

Moving on to The Man in the Marmalade Hat Arrives, we did another round of amazing brainstorming. We’ve written the lyrics on a huge stretch of paper so we can start choreographing/blocking, but we haven’t written anything yet.

What all did we decide? The Band/Parade phalanx is slightly creepy in their “inexorable” march forward, but the MMH moves the piece toward something a little more silly as it progresses. Quasi-military band uniforms. Oversized breakfast implements?: spoons for the drumsticks, plates for the cymbals, etc. Discussed some blocking for the MMH, mostly freeing him from a line-by-line literalization. Band moves UL to C; Chorus moves DR to C; both move L to the Parade Ground, joined by the Gang from the Inn. Close order drill.

The banners remain as Parade Ground backdrop for the second half, switching front-to-back as spring arrives. We affirmed the idea of the ice sprites as middle-aged men in loincloths. It’s the kind of detail that will rattle audience expectations. Now all we have to do is find middle-aged men who will wear silver-blue body paint and little else, who can also summon up their youthful ballet training to move across the stage. That shouldn’t be too hard, should it? (I reiterate that I plan to be wearing a tux and sitting in the audience next to Nancy Willard.)

We had a large discussion of the Gang and characters in general, as in how we would portray them. Lots of ideas floated around, pros and cons of having actors in costumes to puppets (and what kinds). An overall design concept: if we allow ourselves to stray from natural colors, then it becomes easier to identify characters whether they are being portrayed by singer/actors or by puppets.

For example, we want a singer playing the King of Cats for his two solos because we need the actor’s face for those showstoppers to work. So we can put the King of Cats in a purple morning coat, perhaps with a green waistcoat (slightly furry), with a high white collar. Then when we get to the Milky Way, the King of Cats would be protrayed by a rod puppet, with all the flexibility of levitation that puppets allow, and it would be not only okay but wonderful for the cat to be a real cat, but a purple tabby with a green chest and an actual high white collar. Flexibility of vision and execution.

I’m sure there’s more. Melissa and Marc, make comments.

Our motto du jour is “Successive Approximation.” Everything we do is a slight change on what we’ve done before; nothing is the final word. I think I shall open up a section in my online store for Lacuna, and one of the t-shirt designs will say, “What you’re looking at is a Successive Approximation.”

Workshop, 2/20 (Day 201/365)

Another meeting of the workshop group tonight. In attendance were me, Marc, Galen, Molly, and Kevin McInturff.

We started by discussing items we had found over the week. I had two new puppet books to show. Marc had brought in some architecture books (one of Georgian period architecture, over which I drooled.)

I realized as I pulled in to the parking lot that after I got Finale 2006 working yesterday, I should have worked on extending the sunflower waltz, since that’s what we were working on tonight. Oh well. That’s what tomorrow is for.

[Yes, I played with Finale 2006 this morning/afternoon. Everything is as it should be with GPO sounds, in fact, better than it was, since it was working fine before except for the memory issue. Now that my new laptop has 3GB of memory, Finale 2006 performs fine. I can leave Finale 2007 out of the picture for the time being.]

Continue reading “Workshop, 2/20 (Day 201/365)”

More images (Day 199/365)

Another source of ideas for William Blake, this one pure serendipity.

We were sharing with Marc and Mary Frances about our trip to L.A., and I happened to mention that apparently some of the women in the group thought that James Conlon, the music director of L.A. Opera, was good-looking. I googled him and found several images of him. Not bad. But one of the images led me to Tobias Picker’s website, an American composer the premiere of whose American Tragedy Conlon had conducted.

And there’s where I found this image:

Aha! I cried and shared with everyone else. This is a possible solution to the Inn: bilevel, with sliding panels. I’ll do some sketches this week and play with the idea.

Today I also tided up around the Lacuna website and my own, especially, the What I’m Reading Now bits.

Some images (Day 198/365)

One of my goals for my winter break this week is to knock off a whole stack of reading from the media center. I finished The Schwa Was Here, by Neal Shusterman, last night. It was very very excellent, honestly funny and thematically rich, a much better choice for the Newbery Award than, say, The Higher Power of Lucky, by Susan Patron (which did win this year’s Newbery.)

Today I knocked off The Invention of Hugo Cabret, by Brian Selznick, a thick, black book that is shorter than it looks: it’s a combination of cinematic/storyboard pencil drawings interspersed with the actual story. Very clever and well written. The plot leads back to the early French filmmaker Georges Méliès, and yes, you already know who he is, because you know this image:

Melies, man in the moon

This is from his classic A Trip to the Moon. At the end of the book, the hero Hugo Cabret attends a retrospective of Méliès’ films, and the book shows the following images, which I could not find on the internet and so had to photograph from the book. Continue reading “Some images (Day 198/365)”

L.A. musings, part 2 (Day 197/365)

So Mahagonny, despite blurbs from the L.A. Opera that it has been reviewed as “red-hot” and “like Las Vegas on steroids,” was a bore. (I reiterate that all participants were excellent; the piece itself is what sunk them.) What does that have to do with us?

I was struck by the fact that Mahagonny was originally a collection of poems by Bertolt Brecht, which were then set to music by Kurt Weill, and then wrestled by the two into a full scale performance piece.

Sound familiar?

On one front, John’s directorial choice to freeze the stage picture most of the time, I think we’re free and clear. His deliberate, static staging was supposed to appear monolithic, I guess; all these free spirits who were living with abandon in Mahagonny were in fact straight-jacketed by their own choices, maybe? Perhaps it gave a different impression from the orchestra section. In the balcony, it was stifling. (General note to directors: check your blocking from the balcony. It looks different from up there.)

At any rate, I don’t think we have that problem. Yet. Of course, we haven’t put any of our three pieces on their feet yet, but at the moment it looks as if we have all three of them moving throughout.

A second issue was that the characters were internally inconsistent. Was Lumberjack Jim an innocent or a debauchée? Did he have hope for the future or did he want, Samson-like, to pull it all down around their ears?

Again, we don’t have that problem. The rabbit is always officious, the tiger is always sweet-natured, the King of Cats is always pompously silly.

However, I think we will have to be careful with our decision to allow each piece to have its own universe, its own mise en scene. It may sound kicky for us to allow the tiger to be a human in “Sun & Moon Circus,” a puppet in “Milky Way,” and a Chinese dragon in some other piece, but we will need to be thoughtful about how the audience will tie these together. (I’m not saying we shouldn’t do it, just be deliberate.)

Finally, like William Blake, Mahagonny didn’t have a plot so much as an aggregate of incidents. I think that this was a problem for Mahagonny because they didn’t add up and in fact fought against being stitched together by the mind into a whole. Of course, that may have been deliberate on Brecht’s part, but it’s not something I would advise for any theatre practitioner.

William Blake is even less plot oriented than Mahagonny, but this is probably to our advantage. Because there’s no seeming build-up (the city gets larger, Jim meets Jenny, the hurricane approaches), the Inn is freed from that audience expectation. Instead, we can afford to drift from one piece to the next, like a kaleidoscope. In fact, I think we are well-advised to avoid trying to piece together any kind of bridge or storyline to try to tie them all together in some kind of coherent beginning-middle-end “plot.”

And that’s what I learned from Bertolt Brecht last week.

L.A. musings, part 1 (Day 196/365)

Last Friday, we went to L.A. to visit with friends, many of whom we had not seen for many years. The specific occasion was the opening of Kurt Weil’s The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny at the L.A. Opera. It starred Patti Lupone and Audra Macdonald and was directed by an old schoolmate, John Doyle. You may remember John Doyle from his winning the Tony last year for Sweeney Todd, also starring Ms. Lupone.

Mahagonny is supposedly the pinnacle of the brief but fruitful collaboration of Weill and Bertolt Brecht, which also produced The Threepenny Opera. Brecht’s theory of theatre was basically political. He wanted you not to be involved emotionally with the characters of his work, but to be completely alienated from that attachment and to think about the ideas he was putting on stage, all of which were Marxist.

Sometimes this worked, sometimes it didn’t. It works best when, against his will, he gives you characters to care about and root for and then breaks out of that framework to force you to examine their moral/political situation.

Mahagonny was not one of these times. Originally a set of poems about a completely immoral pleasure city where the only sin is to be poor, it has little plot and such a total inconsistency of character development that there’s precious little to be alienated from. Weil’s music is not especially tuneful, though I found it to be mostly interesting.

L.A. Opera struggled mightily with the piece. Singers were topnotch, as was the orchestra. Set, costume, and lighting design were first-rate. Direction was consistent, but not illuminating. In fact, I have never seen such a static production ever, and I watch opera for fun. It didn’t work.

We knew all this going in. We skipped the preshow lecture, because, after all, we have degrees in theatre. We can verfremdung with the best of them. What we were hoping for out of the evening was something new that would force us to pay attention to the ideas. We did not get it.

Afterwards, what does one say to a world-famous director when the show sat there like a lump in one’s stomach?, John said that the hardest thing was getting the political content to shock, which it definitely had not. I suggested that the biggest problem with the piece altogether was that the ideas are no longer shocking: untrammeled capitalism is not a good thing, the poor are economic victims, tomorrow is not another day. We know these things to be true; they are part of the popular culture, and trotting them out as terrible simply no longer works.

Case in point: the next day, as Mike Funt was driving us pell-mell down Laurel Canyon Blvd, Bailee Desrocher laughed at how the hill residences (perched precariously on their mud-slides-to-be) reminded her of the cartoon show The Oblongs, in which a deformed family lives at the bottom of the hill, and the pollution from the rich above them sinks down to them. (Her point was that on smoggy mornings, you could see where the smog stopped; the rich live above that line.)

But there you have it. When Brecht’s ideas are part of a friggin’ cartoon show, how can you hope to pretend that they are shocking? And if they’re not shocking, and the script in question is no more than a set of polemical texts, and the music is not pretty on the surface, then what do you have to work with? I guess I would try to dazzle the audience with elaborate directorial choices, so at least they could say my efforts were interesting, entertaining, or even pretty. But John, for whatever reason, did not do that.

I would have made the stage smaller, too. So there.

What does this all have to do with us? More tomorrow.