Peeling off the Front

So it’s come to the stage where I begin to relinquish creative control of this endeavor. By no means am I receding, fading to the background where only my random outbursts and shouts of protest will carry over the din of the epic project I’ve set in motion. But as far as the script and dramaturgy are concerned, my role as playwright is no longer necessary to rehearsal. Thus it is fitting that Mary and Ryan will only be able to rehearse this week in the morning—which of course I will be unable to attend due to my unwavering devotion to my life’s work: strollers. No, wait. It’s all about the Hamiltons, baby.

But, yes, while I put my duties to the performance on the back burner, I must crank up the heat as producer—and keep my eye on the big picture. And before I rehash my thoughts on the idea of creative control and the collaborative nature of theatre as an art, I shall refer you to my earlier posts. But, at this current stage, these sentiments seem never more apt.

Last night’s rehearsal began with Ryan and I fiddling with the technicalities of effective voice recording (with coverage of Paris-Roubaix—the “Hell of the North”—playing in the background, of course.) We seem to have worked out the kinks for a section of the script where he will actually converse with himself. However, we did not record the full thing—but we’ve laid the groundwork.

Soon Mary arrived, and we enjoyed a little wine and Easter candy while Ryan pedaled. We (like I’m actually doing any work at these things besides reading voiceover lines) pushed toward the end and actually ran through the final sections of the play—among these my favorite passages, and the most personal. And there we have it. I changed a word or two, shared my thoughts on transitions, and took a few notes. And now, it’s not even necessary that I do all that this week.

Directing, memorizing, blocking, finding nuances and motivation…not my thing. Riding at the head of the echelon, I wound up the tempo, cutting through the wind of inertia, and gave this stampeding project momentum. Now, I’ve peeled off so that others may come to the fore and carry on the labor. But this is team; the burden of the effort will be shared; we will cycle through, taking our turn and carrying it up to the finish.

(is it just me, or did these posts used to be a lot funnier? what happened?)

Setting the Tempo: 2nd Week of Rehearsal

On Sunday evening, the team met at Mary’s studio across from a sun-drenched Central Park meadow. Spring, April, and the show are all here in earnest.

Though brief, it was a night of discovery, notably: 1) the costume fits, and 2) yes, they do have TV studios in children’s hospitals. Actually, the best insight came during a moment of dual conversations (Mandy and I brainstorming on the one hand, and Mary and Ryan working lines on the other). Hard to believe though it may be, we actually conceptualized a way for the moving the bike around stage—without the contraption in sight. Ryan worked the flashback/monologue section, which Mary decided ought to be acted off the bike. Although I only wrote one section to be off the bike (and this not being it), I really have no qualms with this blocking choice. It’s effective, and it serves the moment and the entire piece better; and this, once again, is why I am not directing it.

But I am the producer, and that means the labor and leg-work. So Ryan has greater access to the bicycle, we’ve moved it and rehearsals to his Harlem apartment.

On Tuesday, I schlepped the Schwinn from Jersey City via PATH and MTA. An ordinary person, would have faced no difficulties, but I am destined for circumstances to align against me. No, it didn’t rain or anything like that, but I did miss three consecutive trains: while struggling through the turnstile, as I was about to enter a car, and when one train just flew by the platform altogether. But I made it, and the next night traveled with the trainer stand.

Ah, that is another issue that we’ve resolved. The resistance the trainer provides is just not enough to accurately simulate the gradient of L’Alpe d’Huez. The bike’s in the highest gear, but Ryan still has to act much of the resistance. One solution was getting a new trainer, which is not cheap. And anyone familiar with this web-blog will say “Hey T-Dexxx, don’t you have a rather puny operating budget?” Yes, my astute reader, you are correct. So, we will work with what we have. And that entails cranking up the contact between the roller and tire, and perhaps rigging up the brakes.

And on Thursday, we rehearsed again, in Harlem this time, and once again with the bike. My script revisions are mostly in place, and Ryan and Mary have worked through about half the play. But more work lies ahead. The list ebbs and flows, as I diligently cross off items only to add new ones. We’re hitting our stride and looking to peak at the right moment.

Sweet Threads

Today the costume arrived, courtesy of Pete--and Allen Bedford of Guy’s Bicycles Racing. Check’em out:

http://www.guysracing.org/index.shtml

And check out my show’s hot costume:

April the Second & Rehearsal the Second

Ah, April—you know what they say. And if you don’t, I’m sure you’re better off.

Regardless, it is the month of my play. The very month. April. Now. Less than 4 weeks until opening night.

This evening we moved on to working the next section of the play, in which Max muses on his role as a domestique, confronts his dearth of fluids, and combats hostile spectators. As much as our focus is on just progressing through the script, we are also trying to pin down the emotional core of each segment and focus on making each part its own entity with its particular intent and effect. Meanwhile, we’re also contemplating staging; for instance, how to splash Max with water from the front row, or how to effectively present Max’s entrance during the opening voice overs.

In other news, the NY Amazing Play Festival is legitimately on the Manhattan Repertory Theatre website. Our graphic is the first, and obviously the best. Check it out!

http://www.manhattanrep.com/page7/page7.html

Soaring into the Mountains: The First Rehearsal

Well, let me be succinct. To do so, allow me to quote one of the most verbose people I know: “He was the third-happiest I’ve ever seen him.” The first- and second-happiest times remain a mystery.

Basically, I enjoyed our first rehearsal with the bike much more than I expected. As we neared the end of the session, and my role as the voiceover actor finished, I could only marvel at the fact that Mary, Ryan, and I were actually doing this, that what I had envisioned back in August was actually on its way to becoming reality. What a moment, a lot of work ahead, but a good feeling.

We worked on the first few pages of the script, a crucial section not only because it’s rife with voiceovers, but since it is the introduction of the concept and character to the audience. Yes, the audience—a new factor of the production, and Mary keenly takes it into consideration. How will this read? How do we convey this? What is the driving focus of this moment? What does the audience need to know? And thankfully, Ryan has these pages memorized, so they can really begin to work out some answers.

Oh, and the bike, always the bike. Ryan for the first time worked with the key prop, and in a sense, the only other actor on stage. It’s not exactly perfect, but I have a better idea of how to get it show-ready. And speaking of which, courtesy of Pete and his cycling club, a new matching cycling kit is on its way. Needless to say, I’m excited.

Labeling postcards: enough said.

A week ago 250 postcards bearing my logo arrived at our humble abode. (I told you it would look hot on a postcard.) Intentionally, their backsides are blank so they can be reused for the later productions of KOTM (yeah, if that happens, I do not call “producer”). So, it was our task Monday night to label them with the show details in order to begin our publicity blitz. I picked up labels on my lunch break, and enlisted Mandy for a fun-filled night. Yeah, something like that. Mandy (I am so grateful for this) formatted the text, and spent hours attending to the various mishaps and errors (many many I assure you, more than I would have thought) which plagued the printing of said labels. And I, meanwhile, tried my best to stick them on the postcards.

Well, I’ll let the photographic evidence tell the story.

Two laptops, two printers, and one mess of crap.

Again, the results (note: we chose not to focus on the neat stack of labeled postcards—what’s funny/frustrating about that?)

Uhh…funny story: apparently, I placed the very first label upside down. And Mandy was quick to capture my reaction. Classic.

The Next Phase Begins: The Reading

Writer, actor, and director (reluctant to appear on camera)

On Sunday, we gathered to read King of the Mountain, with a bevy of Chinese food and a hearty plate of oatmeal raisin cookies (prepared by Mandy, the ever-attentive producer/hostess, in anticipation of our guests, Mary and Ryan.)

As far as nerve-wracking experiences go, the full reading of King of the Mountain (KOTM) both met and exceeded my expectations.

In that, I correctly anticipated the frightening awkwardness of hearing my words read aloud. With nowhere to run, I was a captive victim to the torture of which I am wholly complicit. My choices were conveyed and scrutinized with each breath. I was held accountable to the story and the individual decisions of my creative effort. But the script survived such scrutiny, and came through the fires of this trial stronger and more focused, and gave the production team itself—Mary, Ryan, Mandy, Tim, and I—a greater sense of the project and an injection of energy.

And as far as exceeding my expectations, I refer to my greater awareness of the collaboration that is essential for theatre—my preferred art at the moment. During a break, Tim reminded me that this event, and the process of rehearsals it begins, is far different from his solitary work. Whereas he must shut out the world as much as possible to create his art and find the zen-like focus to do so, what the rest of us choose to do is absolutely dependent on others: the collaboration of talents and visions, each with their role, so that the whole may be a greater sum than any single part. There’s a magic in that notion, something difficult to recognize and not necessarily appreciated when viewing a performance. But for those of us on the inside, or anyone who puts in the time and effort to create art, we know the subtext that makes it a richer and fuller story.

Ryan, with his acting partner and the KOTM postcard