(I need to preface this for my "Hearty Handclasp" readers. For quite some time now, I've been posting over at the San Francisco Theatre Pub blog and repurposing those posts here. I'm giving up that work, though I will continue to blog at this space, so any farewells here are - hopefully - premature ...)
Let’s cut to the chase.
I’m outta here. This is my last blog post around these parts for the
foreseeable future. While I’m neither retiring from blogging nor the theatre
(nor anything else, really), I am
taking a break. Whether it’s a long one or a short one, I have no idea.
First of all, my thanks to
the proprietor. Without his encouragement and support – and deadlines – I
wouldn’t have resumed my long-form online writing. Everyone here at the Pub is
wonderful and offers unique perspectives on what’s happening in the theatre in
San Francisco – and beyond – and deserves your continued custom and patronage.
But now, moving on. Even
though we’ve passed the traditional navel-gazing that accompanies the end of a
year, it’s close enough that I feel like I can indulge myself.
There have been any number
of topics I’d have liked to talk about over the past couple of weeks and years,
but have restrained myself both for propriety’s sake – and out of common sense.
I’ve talked (at length) about how there are certain things I just can’t/am not
allowed to say.
It’s like how, on
Facebook, there are a number of people I keep in my news feed for the sole
purpose of having them annoy me. “This again?” I mutter as I hit the “Hide” button
or roll my eyes at their obtuseness or forced witticisms. (And please be sure;
I am under no illusions that there aren’t simply legions of my erstwhile
friends who have hidden me or have a similar reaction when they see I’ve posted
– or blogged – or done anything – yet
again.)
(Ironically, I started
writing something on this topic and found myself starting to say something I wanted
to, but couldn’t, due to the possibility of being misinterpreted, in spite of
it ultimately being self-deprecating.)
Regardless, this break
couldn’t come at a better time. I suddenly find myself chockablock with theatre
projects that will be eating up my life for the next few weeks. I’m about to go
into rehearsal for Sam and Dede (or, My
Dinner with Andre the Giant) at Custom Made Theatre Company (tickets here). It’s the story of
the unlikely (and true!) friendship between Samuel Beckett (whom I play,
despite my lack of cheekbones and general lack of grizzled aspect) and Andre
the Giant.
Sam ...
... and Dede
It’s a great script, but
it’s a monster; about 140 pages of (basically) two- or three-word exchanges
(which should take only about 90 minutes, but still … ). Because we have a
limited rehearsal period, I’ve been working on my lines for a good three months
now, and actually know many of them, Fortunately, Robert Shepard, who plays
Andre, and I have been meeting to run lines and get a head start. Once we start
rehearsing, it’ll be down and dirty and having to get a lot accomplished in a very
short period of time. Once the show opens though, I think it’ll be a fun and
interesting and entertaining evening.
I find myself of two minds
about it, though. Brian Katz, Custom Made’s Artistic Director, was doing radio
interviews last week and was plugging Sam
and Dede (along with the rest of the season), and as he described the show,
I suddenly realized that, other than Robert and I, no one knows what we’re
doing with a very good script. While I’m more than anxious to share it with an
audience (I think – knock wood – it’s going to go over very well), at the same
time I like the idea that it belongs to Robert and me and no one else, though.
It’s not dissimilar to the feelings I’ve had at final dresses of shows I’ve
directed; that feeling that it no longer belongs to me.
Rehearsals will be so
involved, though, that I’ll have to miss a good many (if not all) of the
rehearsals for the production of my translation of Uncle Vanya at the Pear Avenue Theatre way down in Mountain View
(tickets here). One of my goals with
this production is that I want to tailor the language to the cast (which is a
very good one), but I’ll be so involved with Sam and Dede that my contributions and consultations will mostly be
limited to email.
Somewhere in there, as
well, I have to cobble together an audition for the TBA Generals.
So, all in all, I have a
very jam-packed rest-of-winter, but, after that? Zilch. Nada. Nix. Zero
Nothing. Hopefully, that will change, but right now? Nothin’. On the bright
side, that means I’ll have plenty of time to work on my latest Chekhov
translation (The Cherry Orchard,
available – along with my translations of the other major plays – to producers
who are interested) and another project (potentially a cash cow) that I’ve had
in mind for a while. Not to mention a
couple of other projects I’ve been wanting to pursue. (With lots of roles for
actresses; be warned.) Unfortunately, that means I’ll have no excuse to not work on any or all of them.
So that’s it. I gotta run
lines and tidy the place up for my replacement. I encourage you all to see Sam and Dede (it’s a really good script,
even with me in it) and Uncle Vanya.
All that’s left is for me to leave you with words to live by, my favorite
curtain line; words that I’ve found are suitable to any occasion:
“Son of a bitch stole my
watch.”
I’m outta here, ya
low-ridin’ punks!
