Friday February 2 into Saturday February 3
The Barter theatre in Abingdon, VA is one of the oldest regional theatres in the country, and among the most famous tales from its quirky history is the story of how it got its name. When the theatre was started during the Depression, the founder decided to allow his patrons to barter food, liquor and even livestock in exchange for admission. I did not have an audition in Abingdon – the folks there, in the process of rehearsing two shows at once, were understandably too bogged down to squeeze me in – but I was going there to check out the theatre and see my good friend from Riverside days, Mary Lucy Bivins (who also happens to be the Associate Artistic Director) in the first preview of her new show.
I had been holding out a small hope that some time might be found during the day on Friday for me to come in and at least meet the casting director, or even just to have a meal with Mary Lucy, but it was not to be. While they were getting ready to open the new play THE QUILTMAKER this weekend, they were also in rehearsals for the next show, Noel Coward’s BLITHE SPIRIT. The Barter is a repertory company. Eventually, the runs of THE QUILTMAKER and BLITHE SPIRIT will coincide; they will share the stage, alternating performances from night to night.
Left with nothing to do on a day that was quite miserable with cold grey overcast skies and an unpleasant mixture of rain and snow, I decided to have a drive around town to explore a bit after checking out of my hotel room.
Abingdon’s historic district is a very pretty stretch of quaint Americana, the crown jewel of which is the theatre. The surprisingly large outlying areas boast the regular array of strip malls. I nipped into the Starving Artist Café for lunch and had a delicious sandwich, then went to the local movie house to see PAN’S LABYRINTH. I enjoyed the interplay between fantasy and “reality” and the imagery used to tell the story was quite beautiful. Throughout the movie, however, I felt antsy…shouldn’t I have found something more productive to do with my time while I was still on the road? Perhaps. Part of me had toyed with the idea of going over to the theatre and volunteering for the day. Surely, with two plays in production they could use a set of skilled hands. But I dismissed that idea because I thought it would be silly to do that (fear speaking? Maybe). I was alone at the end of my journey in a strange place with nowhere comfortable to be until later that night. The movie provided a decent distraction.
Afterwards I went over to a local coffee shop that had WiFi and checked my email before having a long conversation with my friend from college/big sister Kay Daly.
Heading over to the theatre, I stopped to get gas and discovered that the door to my gas tank had frozen shut! With no one else around to help, I couldn’t pull the lever to release it (which was under the driver’s seat) and push on the little door at the same time to help break the ice, so I drove to the theatre on the dregs of my gas.
Made it there just in time for the curtain. I sat next to Duke, Mary Lucy’s partner, who I hadn’t seen in years and who had just driven up that day from Charlotte, NC. He looked great and is seriously one of the nicest human beings on the planet.
The show was wonderful! Mary Lucy played the foul-mouthed grandmother of an Appalachian family, and she along with the rest of the cast deftly maneuvered the play’s turn-on-a-dime shifts from comedy to drama. It is always so hilarious to me to hear Mary Lucy swear onstage, since it is so anathema to her in normal life. She would regularly use the terms shazbut! and shootfire! instead of the other “sh” word. In addition to her incredible comic timing, MLB is a powerful dramatic actress as well, and this role offered her an opportunity to show off both aspects of her artist.
When the show was over, Duke helped me get my gas tank door open before we headed to the Barter’s café to grab some coffee with MLB when she was done getting notes. Eventually Mary Lucy arrived and we had a frantically quick conversation before closing down the place. We lingered as long as possible in the parking lot in the freezing cold, hating that our time together had to be so short on this visit. At length, we said our warm goodbyes in the chilly air and went our separate ways.
I filled up the gas tank and Maxwell’s Silver Hammer and I began our final journey together – the nine hour voyage home to New York City. It was midnight when I got on the highway.
Initially, I had planned to drive for about three hours, then sleep briefly before getting up to continue the trip. But once I was driving, spurred on by the powerful urge to be home, I kept challenging myself to go a little further, and eventually just made the decision to drive through the night.
I once again had beautiful nighttime views of the mountains lit up by the large glowing moon, and as I admired one such view I suddenly noticed that the mountain I was looking at had seemed to simply vanish into the night. I shortly discovered the reason for this effect, as I plowed headlong into a blizzard. The interstate was suddenly covered in snow and my visibility went down to nil. Still, Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, trusty steed, didn’t miss a step and guided me safely through this eerie experience.
The rest of the night continued without incident. From Virginia I passed into West Virginia, then Maryland, which became Philadelphia for what seemed like forever before New Jersey (where, driving East, the sun began to rise before me, filling the sky with a spectacular kaleidoscope of colors) and finally, crossing the lordly Hudson on the majestic George Washington Bridge just after 8 o’clock in the morning, I found myself home at last in Manhattan!
With the manic energy of the overexhausted, I had a very productive day. After hurriedly transferring his contents to my apartment, I bid farewell to Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, noting with indignation that the clerk at Alamo had described the car as a “grey” Toyota Corolla on my intake ticket. Grey. How dare you, Philistine! Grey. There is no magic left in the world.
I then had a cathartic trip to Whole Foods for groceries, and returned home where I spent the day cleaning my apartment, unpacking my bags and doing a few administrative organizational duties on my life.
I retrieved Faneuil (pronounced: Fanny), my original cello, from Peter Lewy’s apartment, and had a brief session introducing her to her new brother Homer, playing back and forth on each one and testing the quality of the sound. I will continue to experiment with each of them and am so excited by the presence of two cellos in my apartment.
And I spent oodles of quality time with my two cats, Lulu (AKA The Down and Dirty Diva, AKA Felein Sally Bowles, AKA Mona Lulu, AKA Aida, AKA Barbarella, AKA Droolcilla) and Carter, who were alternately relieved angry chastising and joyful at having me back.
It truly was wonderful to be home and I felt a huge sense of accomplishment at finally having completed the trip. I relaxed in the evening, ordered in pizza from a local spot and, eventually, slept.
And that, dear bitches, concludes the Tale of the Great Salty Roadtrip of ’07. Thank you all so much for taking this journey with me. My heartfelt love and gratitude goes out to all of you who have shown your support throughout this life altering endeavor.
But this salty, salty bitch is not finished having his say – there are many more Tales on the pursuit of La Vie Boheme to be told and the Salty Blog is far from done. Please continue to check in here, dear bitches, for your regular fix of salt and bitchery.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Thursday, February 1, 2007
The Salty's Over - The Final Audition: Washington, DC to Roanoke, VA to Abingdon, VA
I woke up very early, parted ways with Jackie, who was returning to Philadelphia that day, and Maxwell’s Silver Hammer and I began the trip to Roanoke.
We were driving into a winter storm that had everyone on all the news and weather stations abuzz. But in spite of the trepidation this generated in me, the day’s drive proved to be quite lovely. The sky was overcast, but for the most part the snow held off except for an occasional sprinkling, and I was able to enjoy the rolling hills of Virginia as they gave way to mountains that eventually revealed my destination.
Downtown Roanoke is a vibrant collection of restaurants and shops. The city’s Market Square has a comfortable and welcoming feel to it, and is pervaded with a youthful energy. An area of a few blocks is covered by what was the country’s first free WiFi hotspot. In the middle of all of this, the Mill Mountain Theatre makes its home.
My audition was for Patrick Benton, the Artistic Director, a large kindly man who peppered me with questions about my trip and my past as we made our way to their second stage. I would audition on the set of their current production of FULLY COMMITTED (a one-person show I would love to have the opportunity to attempt myself). Once there, I launched into my pieces, undaunted by an incredibly annoying and distracting noise coming from the nearby scene shop.
Partway through Doris’ monologue, I accidentally inhaled the wrong way and dissolved into a coughing fit that robbed me of my voice. Sounding far more verklempt than even Doris could have intended, I valiantly finished the monologue, much to Patrick’s delight. Touchstone’s blustery turn brought more praise, and Patrick not only discussed the possibility of using me in their production of the musical BIG RIVER this summer, but intimated that there might be some good possibilities for me in their next season (which was as yet undecided).
It wasn’t until it was over that I realized I had completed the last audition of the Audyssey! I was pleased that it had ended on such a high note (in spite of my esophageal gaffe) and felt a great sense of accomplishment.
I decided to stay in Roanoke for the evening to see FULLY COMMITTED. I spent the afternoon in a local coffee shop catching up on the blog, and ate dinner at a delicious Thai restaurant before the show, celebrating my achievements with a yummy Thai feast and toasting myself with Thai iced tea.
I was quite pleased to discover that the show (directed by Patrick) was very good. I enjoyed the actor quite a bit, although I kept wishing I was watching my friend Vince Gatton play this part (a brilliant actor in his own right, he is in fact about to open in a production of this play in the Berkshires).
The show ended early enough that I felt comfortable continuing on to my penultimate destination, Abingdon, VA. Again the weather and news outlets all had dire predictions for the entire area, but the night proved to be beautiful, with perfect weather for a drive. A full moon pierced the clouds and illuminated the mountainous countryside, keeping me company and bathing the weathered, tree-covered peaks in magical purple iridescence.
We were driving into a winter storm that had everyone on all the news and weather stations abuzz. But in spite of the trepidation this generated in me, the day’s drive proved to be quite lovely. The sky was overcast, but for the most part the snow held off except for an occasional sprinkling, and I was able to enjoy the rolling hills of Virginia as they gave way to mountains that eventually revealed my destination.
Downtown Roanoke is a vibrant collection of restaurants and shops. The city’s Market Square has a comfortable and welcoming feel to it, and is pervaded with a youthful energy. An area of a few blocks is covered by what was the country’s first free WiFi hotspot. In the middle of all of this, the Mill Mountain Theatre makes its home.
My audition was for Patrick Benton, the Artistic Director, a large kindly man who peppered me with questions about my trip and my past as we made our way to their second stage. I would audition on the set of their current production of FULLY COMMITTED (a one-person show I would love to have the opportunity to attempt myself). Once there, I launched into my pieces, undaunted by an incredibly annoying and distracting noise coming from the nearby scene shop.
Partway through Doris’ monologue, I accidentally inhaled the wrong way and dissolved into a coughing fit that robbed me of my voice. Sounding far more verklempt than even Doris could have intended, I valiantly finished the monologue, much to Patrick’s delight. Touchstone’s blustery turn brought more praise, and Patrick not only discussed the possibility of using me in their production of the musical BIG RIVER this summer, but intimated that there might be some good possibilities for me in their next season (which was as yet undecided).
It wasn’t until it was over that I realized I had completed the last audition of the Audyssey! I was pleased that it had ended on such a high note (in spite of my esophageal gaffe) and felt a great sense of accomplishment.
I decided to stay in Roanoke for the evening to see FULLY COMMITTED. I spent the afternoon in a local coffee shop catching up on the blog, and ate dinner at a delicious Thai restaurant before the show, celebrating my achievements with a yummy Thai feast and toasting myself with Thai iced tea.
I was quite pleased to discover that the show (directed by Patrick) was very good. I enjoyed the actor quite a bit, although I kept wishing I was watching my friend Vince Gatton play this part (a brilliant actor in his own right, he is in fact about to open in a production of this play in the Berkshires).
The show ended early enough that I felt comfortable continuing on to my penultimate destination, Abingdon, VA. Again the weather and news outlets all had dire predictions for the entire area, but the night proved to be beautiful, with perfect weather for a drive. A full moon pierced the clouds and illuminated the mountainous countryside, keeping me company and bathing the weathered, tree-covered peaks in magical purple iridescence.
The Winter Of My Discontent: Washington, DC
Wednesday January 31
Day two in Washington proved to be a frustrating experience, indeed.
In the end, I was incapable of booking any auditions at any of the Washington theatres on this tour. Schedules prevented, people were traveling, beginning rehearsals or just unwilling to meet me. The timing just seemed to be completely off. I started the day feeling very down and disappointed. Since the Signature audition had not happened, and nothing else had materialized, it seemed that I had come to the area for no reason. Feeling that I was wasting two valuable days of my trip, I began to regret the decision to come to Washington.
For the first half of the day I wallowed in this disappointment, and received more disturbing news: apparently a huge snow and ice storm was going to be blowing through the Southeast over the next couple of days, just in time for some of my heaviest driving days.
To complicate matters, I was feeling slightly under the weather, my throat sore and my body achy. And the full weight of my exhaustion was setting in along with a sense of despair. I missed my bed. I missed my cats. I missed my time with the cello. I dreaded the idea of coordinating another day of driving and throwing myself in people’s faces. I hated living out of a suitcase. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by the length of my departure from New York, and a powerful homesickness developed.
How had it come to this? The trip until now had been incredibly successful. But the shut-out of this whole market felt like an enormous setback. And with only one audition left this week, I was feeling let down. It was as though last week I’d had all the excitement of an opening night gala, an audience full of celebrities and love letters from the New York times…and now I was suddenly playing my final performance on a Sunday matinee for an audience of three people.
For the first time, I considered cutting the rest of the trip short and leaving that day for home.
But this bitch ain’t called Salty for nothing, dear readers.
I began to think of my Dad on his long rigorous business trips, endlessly toiling to sell his product to new clients. I remembered all the times I heard the exhaustion, the disappointment in his voice, and yet in spite of those days (and at times they seemed more frequent than others), he was able to pull himself through it and continue in his attempts to realize his dreams.
Summoning my last remaining reserves of energy and strength I reminded myself of the great work I had done thus far, and resolved to snatch myself and the rest of the day from the jaws of defeat.
I ventured forth into downtown Washington, searching out first the Shakespeare Theatre and then the Studio, hunting down the contacts I had made there via email to introduce myself in person and get my face in their heads. True, this was not as good as if I’d managed to book auditions at these places, but it was definitely a bold, solid networking opportunity, a good use of my time, and a Salty deed of derring do.
After spending forever looking for parking, I also went to see Shakespeare Theatre’s production of RICHARD III. I am intimately familiar with this play, having done an adaptation of Shakespeare’s four War of the Roses plays (of which RIII is a part) into THE ROSE WAR, a trilogy to be performed by nine actors.
I was disappointed in the production. To me that play is electric; this version lacked the pace and energy and vitality I feel is innate to the verse. This was all the more egregious considering that the play is being performed a scant few blocks from the White House, where our very own perversion of nature usurps the throne. It should have been earth shattering and life/mind/spirit/climate/attitude changing. It fell far short of this, in spite of some nice moments here and there.
On the way back to the hotel, after driving along the Mall and getting shivers at the sight of the reflecting pool and the site of Martin luther King, Jr.’s speech, I was forced to stop along the highway to allow a group of deer to cross the roadway.
Sleep was welcome and too short.
Day two in Washington proved to be a frustrating experience, indeed.
In the end, I was incapable of booking any auditions at any of the Washington theatres on this tour. Schedules prevented, people were traveling, beginning rehearsals or just unwilling to meet me. The timing just seemed to be completely off. I started the day feeling very down and disappointed. Since the Signature audition had not happened, and nothing else had materialized, it seemed that I had come to the area for no reason. Feeling that I was wasting two valuable days of my trip, I began to regret the decision to come to Washington.
For the first half of the day I wallowed in this disappointment, and received more disturbing news: apparently a huge snow and ice storm was going to be blowing through the Southeast over the next couple of days, just in time for some of my heaviest driving days.
To complicate matters, I was feeling slightly under the weather, my throat sore and my body achy. And the full weight of my exhaustion was setting in along with a sense of despair. I missed my bed. I missed my cats. I missed my time with the cello. I dreaded the idea of coordinating another day of driving and throwing myself in people’s faces. I hated living out of a suitcase. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by the length of my departure from New York, and a powerful homesickness developed.
How had it come to this? The trip until now had been incredibly successful. But the shut-out of this whole market felt like an enormous setback. And with only one audition left this week, I was feeling let down. It was as though last week I’d had all the excitement of an opening night gala, an audience full of celebrities and love letters from the New York times…and now I was suddenly playing my final performance on a Sunday matinee for an audience of three people.
For the first time, I considered cutting the rest of the trip short and leaving that day for home.
But this bitch ain’t called Salty for nothing, dear readers.
I began to think of my Dad on his long rigorous business trips, endlessly toiling to sell his product to new clients. I remembered all the times I heard the exhaustion, the disappointment in his voice, and yet in spite of those days (and at times they seemed more frequent than others), he was able to pull himself through it and continue in his attempts to realize his dreams.
Summoning my last remaining reserves of energy and strength I reminded myself of the great work I had done thus far, and resolved to snatch myself and the rest of the day from the jaws of defeat.
I ventured forth into downtown Washington, searching out first the Shakespeare Theatre and then the Studio, hunting down the contacts I had made there via email to introduce myself in person and get my face in their heads. True, this was not as good as if I’d managed to book auditions at these places, but it was definitely a bold, solid networking opportunity, a good use of my time, and a Salty deed of derring do.
After spending forever looking for parking, I also went to see Shakespeare Theatre’s production of RICHARD III. I am intimately familiar with this play, having done an adaptation of Shakespeare’s four War of the Roses plays (of which RIII is a part) into THE ROSE WAR, a trilogy to be performed by nine actors.
I was disappointed in the production. To me that play is electric; this version lacked the pace and energy and vitality I feel is innate to the verse. This was all the more egregious considering that the play is being performed a scant few blocks from the White House, where our very own perversion of nature usurps the throne. It should have been earth shattering and life/mind/spirit/climate/attitude changing. It fell far short of this, in spite of some nice moments here and there.
On the way back to the hotel, after driving along the Mall and getting shivers at the sight of the reflecting pool and the site of Martin luther King, Jr.’s speech, I was forced to stop along the highway to allow a group of deer to cross the roadway.
Sleep was welcome and too short.
Moments in the Woods: Norfolk, VA to Washington, DC
Tuesday January 30
The day began well.
I got up at a decent hour, and as I was getting the car ready for the trip, I got a call from Shakespeare Theatre in Washington, who said that they were going to try to squeeze me in to be seen while I was in town, but that it wasn’t looking good. Still, I was excited to have gotten a response from them and emailed them my headshot and resume as requested. Again. That made three times I’d sent my calling card this month.
I finished packing everything back into Maxwell’s Silver Hammer and bid farewell to Norfolk.
I was just past Colonial Williamsburg when the phone rang. It was the NY casting director for Triad Stage in Greensboro, NC, calling to invite me in to audition for Triad’s next show in NYC next week. Thrilled to have such immediate, concrete results from one of last week’s auditions, I confirmed a time with her.
I hung up with the casting folk and had just finished scribbling the date and time on a little piece of paper when I realized I hadn’t really been paying attention to my speed. As I started to slow down (damn that lead foot of mine!), I looked up and saw that I was passing a police speed trap. And so, speeding ticket number two was bestowed upon me. Now, bitches, I will admit that I fully deserved the first ticket – I was flagrantly and actively speeding. But this one really burned my ass because the whole day to that point I had really been careful about my speed, keeping up with traffic but not racing by any standards. Ah, well.
The rest of the drive to Washington went smoothly, but I was feeling less than Salty when I arrived.
After a quick snack at a nearby Panera, where I eagerly checked my email, searching in vain for news of any possible additional DC area auditions, I changed into my audition costume in their restroom (it’s SuperActor, able to spout Shakespearean verse in a single breath!). I then made the short jaunt over to the Signature Theatre, which is located in a brand spanking new complex in a brand spanking new, posh-looking area of Arlington, VA.
I had a short wait (no Homer time) and eventually was shown into the office of Artistic Director Eric Schaeffer. Eric and I had a common thread, which I pulled on to get some time with him. Eric has had a close collaborative relationship with Cameron Mackintosh over the years. I worked in Cameron’s office for two years about a million years ago. During the time I was there, Cameron was involved in two shows with Eric. I had no illusions that Eric would remember me, as I was merely a lowly office whipping boy at the time…and to be honest I didn’t remember him either.
But there we sat in his office, each of us grasping at that pitiful common thread until I feared it would fray. Why, I kept wondering, are we still sitting here making small talk? Why isn’t he asking me to do my monologues? Fortunately we had enough people and experiences in common and Eric and I are each personable enough that the conversation never got completely awkward, but I felt incredibly uncomfortable because it slowly became clear to me that somehow wires had gotten crossed and he did not intend to audition me. Through no fault of my own (I had been very clear about my intentions from the first), I felt, as Pinata Head Alison so accurately described it later, as though I had shown up to work with no pants on.
A few more uncomfortable minutes of banter later, Eric took me on a full tour of the new theatre complex. It was truly impressive, with two theatres and ample backstage areas, along with technical shops and rehearsal studios and a heckuva lot of steel ducts. Eric’s excitement with the space mollified any lingering awkwardness. Back in his office, I mentioned that I was definitely interested in working there and offered to do a monologue for him. He said I should come in when they have their general season auditions in DC in April. Rebuffed.
Our meeting ended and I went back to the car, frustrated and feeling foolish, determined to leave there and never come back, find the hotel I was to share with my aunt Jackie and hole up for the night eating copious amounts of comfort food. However, a long conference call conversation with the Triplets ensued as I sat there in the parking lot. As was so often the case with the three of us, we all seemed to be having similar or complementary life circumstances and each of us benefited from the venting and the others’ input. It was an alchemical conversation. After this, emboldened by my Trips, I marched back to the theatre and bought a ticket for that evening’s performance of INTO THE WOODS, directed by Eric.
Ascending the stairs to the lobby, I found Eric poised as greeter at the top, schmoozing with patrons (their new production of CRAVE by Sarah Kane was having its first preview that night in their smaller space). He caught my eye and we shared a brief recall of an inside joke about testy patrons from our earlier conversation. We laughed; I moved on – literally and figuratively.
The show was OK, though the PBS broadcast of the original Broadway production was so fundamental to the development of my young Artist that any unsuspecting WOODS I encounter seems to be doomed from the start. But I did find it appropriate to be seeing this particular show during the course of my journey. The scene in the second act between the Baker and his father’s spirit snuck up on me and I wept a bit thinking about Dad.
Afterwards, I began the trip to Bethesda to set up camp with my aunt, Jackie Palac, who was in Washington on business and whose dates seemed magically to have coincided with my own. A small crest in the highway revealed a stunning view of nighttime Washington, monuments aglitter – a dazzling period to a strange day of wandering in the woods.
The day began well.
I got up at a decent hour, and as I was getting the car ready for the trip, I got a call from Shakespeare Theatre in Washington, who said that they were going to try to squeeze me in to be seen while I was in town, but that it wasn’t looking good. Still, I was excited to have gotten a response from them and emailed them my headshot and resume as requested. Again. That made three times I’d sent my calling card this month.
I finished packing everything back into Maxwell’s Silver Hammer and bid farewell to Norfolk.
I was just past Colonial Williamsburg when the phone rang. It was the NY casting director for Triad Stage in Greensboro, NC, calling to invite me in to audition for Triad’s next show in NYC next week. Thrilled to have such immediate, concrete results from one of last week’s auditions, I confirmed a time with her.
I hung up with the casting folk and had just finished scribbling the date and time on a little piece of paper when I realized I hadn’t really been paying attention to my speed. As I started to slow down (damn that lead foot of mine!), I looked up and saw that I was passing a police speed trap. And so, speeding ticket number two was bestowed upon me. Now, bitches, I will admit that I fully deserved the first ticket – I was flagrantly and actively speeding. But this one really burned my ass because the whole day to that point I had really been careful about my speed, keeping up with traffic but not racing by any standards. Ah, well.
The rest of the drive to Washington went smoothly, but I was feeling less than Salty when I arrived.
After a quick snack at a nearby Panera, where I eagerly checked my email, searching in vain for news of any possible additional DC area auditions, I changed into my audition costume in their restroom (it’s SuperActor, able to spout Shakespearean verse in a single breath!). I then made the short jaunt over to the Signature Theatre, which is located in a brand spanking new complex in a brand spanking new, posh-looking area of Arlington, VA.
I had a short wait (no Homer time) and eventually was shown into the office of Artistic Director Eric Schaeffer. Eric and I had a common thread, which I pulled on to get some time with him. Eric has had a close collaborative relationship with Cameron Mackintosh over the years. I worked in Cameron’s office for two years about a million years ago. During the time I was there, Cameron was involved in two shows with Eric. I had no illusions that Eric would remember me, as I was merely a lowly office whipping boy at the time…and to be honest I didn’t remember him either.
But there we sat in his office, each of us grasping at that pitiful common thread until I feared it would fray. Why, I kept wondering, are we still sitting here making small talk? Why isn’t he asking me to do my monologues? Fortunately we had enough people and experiences in common and Eric and I are each personable enough that the conversation never got completely awkward, but I felt incredibly uncomfortable because it slowly became clear to me that somehow wires had gotten crossed and he did not intend to audition me. Through no fault of my own (I had been very clear about my intentions from the first), I felt, as Pinata Head Alison so accurately described it later, as though I had shown up to work with no pants on.
A few more uncomfortable minutes of banter later, Eric took me on a full tour of the new theatre complex. It was truly impressive, with two theatres and ample backstage areas, along with technical shops and rehearsal studios and a heckuva lot of steel ducts. Eric’s excitement with the space mollified any lingering awkwardness. Back in his office, I mentioned that I was definitely interested in working there and offered to do a monologue for him. He said I should come in when they have their general season auditions in DC in April. Rebuffed.
Our meeting ended and I went back to the car, frustrated and feeling foolish, determined to leave there and never come back, find the hotel I was to share with my aunt Jackie and hole up for the night eating copious amounts of comfort food. However, a long conference call conversation with the Triplets ensued as I sat there in the parking lot. As was so often the case with the three of us, we all seemed to be having similar or complementary life circumstances and each of us benefited from the venting and the others’ input. It was an alchemical conversation. After this, emboldened by my Trips, I marched back to the theatre and bought a ticket for that evening’s performance of INTO THE WOODS, directed by Eric.
Ascending the stairs to the lobby, I found Eric poised as greeter at the top, schmoozing with patrons (their new production of CRAVE by Sarah Kane was having its first preview that night in their smaller space). He caught my eye and we shared a brief recall of an inside joke about testy patrons from our earlier conversation. We laughed; I moved on – literally and figuratively.
The show was OK, though the PBS broadcast of the original Broadway production was so fundamental to the development of my young Artist that any unsuspecting WOODS I encounter seems to be doomed from the start. But I did find it appropriate to be seeing this particular show during the course of my journey. The scene in the second act between the Baker and his father’s spirit snuck up on me and I wept a bit thinking about Dad.
Afterwards, I began the trip to Bethesda to set up camp with my aunt, Jackie Palac, who was in Washington on business and whose dates seemed magically to have coincided with my own. A small crest in the highway revealed a stunning view of nighttime Washington, monuments aglitter – a dazzling period to a strange day of wandering in the woods.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
