Friday, February 29, 2008
Building The House (part 2)
Head over to cast member Lydia's blog to check out her video of us building our major set piece (the house) with the help of an IATSE crew. We offered to feed and house them in the back of the vans if they would come with us to all of our venues. Sadly, they declined.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The Cake
So, today is our stage manager's birthday. Our fabulous Emileena is an astounding @#$ years young. And, as I am co-Social Director for the tour, I thought it best to plan festivities for her. Ester offered to get Magnolia cupcakes, and Leigh (my partner in Social Directing crime) agreed to my plan, so we were rolling. And that meant I had to make a cake.
FYI for those of you who are not related to me: I inherited my mother's baking genes, which means that cakes and I aren't friends. However, the cake came out of a box that said "Duncan Hines" on it, so I figured I was safe.
WRONG!!
First, the cake started overflowing the pan and made the apartment smell like burning fish. Next, after cleaning up that mess, the cake refused to cool. I let it sit over an hour, and then carefully ran a knife along the edges and readied the cake to flip onto a nice serving plate. One. Two. Three. FWUNK! The bottom of the cake separated itself from the top, and I was left with a jagged mess. No matter, I thought to myself. I'll just flip the cake over and frost the smooth rounded side. WRONG! So, left with a bunch of cake pieces, and a tub of frosting, I decided the prudent thing to do was to "glue" everything together, stick it in the refrigerator and go to bed.
The next morning, I was left with something closely resembling a collision between a chocolate truck and the Swiss alps. However, even in my 4am haze, I had a brilliant idea. It's a character choice! I've created one of Max's famed "mud pies" for Emileena. I poured on the rest of the frosting, wrapped the sucker up and packed it away for our trip to the Bronx.
After load out, Emileena was dragged to the mens dressing room, where cupcakes and mud pie were revealed, and the cast sang a glorious "Happy Birthday" in four part harmony. Emileena was beaming, as was everyone else. Theatreworks tours are famed for causing their casts to bond forever, or never speak again. Looks like we're doing pretty OK.
Kid quote of the day: A small munchkin (somewhere) watched the scene change into Grandma's attic and, at its completion, cried out, "I knew it!" I still have no idea what s/he meant.
Call tomorrow: 6am, Manhattan garage near Columbia. These 4am wake-ups are starting to kill me.
FYI for those of you who are not related to me: I inherited my mother's baking genes, which means that cakes and I aren't friends. However, the cake came out of a box that said "Duncan Hines" on it, so I figured I was safe.
WRONG!!
First, the cake started overflowing the pan and made the apartment smell like burning fish. Next, after cleaning up that mess, the cake refused to cool. I let it sit over an hour, and then carefully ran a knife along the edges and readied the cake to flip onto a nice serving plate. One. Two. Three. FWUNK! The bottom of the cake separated itself from the top, and I was left with a jagged mess. No matter, I thought to myself. I'll just flip the cake over and frost the smooth rounded side. WRONG! So, left with a bunch of cake pieces, and a tub of frosting, I decided the prudent thing to do was to "glue" everything together, stick it in the refrigerator and go to bed.
The next morning, I was left with something closely resembling a collision between a chocolate truck and the Swiss alps. However, even in my 4am haze, I had a brilliant idea. It's a character choice! I've created one of Max's famed "mud pies" for Emileena. I poured on the rest of the frosting, wrapped the sucker up and packed it away for our trip to the Bronx.
After load out, Emileena was dragged to the mens dressing room, where cupcakes and mud pie were revealed, and the cast sang a glorious "Happy Birthday" in four part harmony. Emileena was beaming, as was everyone else. Theatreworks tours are famed for causing their casts to bond forever, or never speak again. Looks like we're doing pretty OK.
Kid quote of the day: A small munchkin (somewhere) watched the scene change into Grandma's attic and, at its completion, cried out, "I knew it!" I still have no idea what s/he meant.
Call tomorrow: 6am, Manhattan garage near Columbia. These 4am wake-ups are starting to kill me.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The "Special" Show
Three things that will hopefully never happen again on the Max & Ruby tour:
1) We performed on a stage so small that we couldn't even fit the constructed house on the stage. We wound up reblocking the entire show during our load-in to accommodate around only using our two fences as set. Much new scene change-ography, and some major blocking reduction. It was a serious adventure.
2) One of our cast members passed out at five minutes to curtain. Cause is unknown, and we were all pretty rattled. Thankfully, she was OK and rejoined us after the opening number. Safety first, you know.
3) Every single actor cracked, more than once. First, the kids were screaming so loud that we couldn't hear each other onstage, causing us to burst into laughter on multiple occasions Then, because of reblocking, it appeared that Max and/or Ruby was eaten by the Blue Tarantula every time they crossed into each other's rooms, causing huge gasps and sighs of relief from the audience. This prompted the Tarantula crew to laugh so hard that we could barely squeak out the song. We finally got ourselves back together for the closing number, but it was a struggle, albeit the best kind.
So, an odd show. But the kids loved, loved, loved it, and teacher after teacher expressed their deep appreciation for what we were doing. And that's really all that matters.
Kid quote of the day: if I could have heard any of the kids, I would have something for you.
Call tomorrow: 6:30am, Manhattan garage near Columbia. We're performing in the Bronx.
1) We performed on a stage so small that we couldn't even fit the constructed house on the stage. We wound up reblocking the entire show during our load-in to accommodate around only using our two fences as set. Much new scene change-ography, and some major blocking reduction. It was a serious adventure.
2) One of our cast members passed out at five minutes to curtain. Cause is unknown, and we were all pretty rattled. Thankfully, she was OK and rejoined us after the opening number. Safety first, you know.
3) Every single actor cracked, more than once. First, the kids were screaming so loud that we couldn't hear each other onstage, causing us to burst into laughter on multiple occasions Then, because of reblocking, it appeared that Max and/or Ruby was eaten by the Blue Tarantula every time they crossed into each other's rooms, causing huge gasps and sighs of relief from the audience. This prompted the Tarantula crew to laugh so hard that we could barely squeak out the song. We finally got ourselves back together for the closing number, but it was a struggle, albeit the best kind.
So, an odd show. But the kids loved, loved, loved it, and teacher after teacher expressed their deep appreciation for what we were doing. And that's really all that matters.
Kid quote of the day: if I could have heard any of the kids, I would have something for you.
Call tomorrow: 6:30am, Manhattan garage near Columbia. We're performing in the Bronx.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Therapy
So, this whole "Blue Tarantula" number needs some explaining.
Basically, Max is sitting in his bed, having been not-really-convinced by sister Ruby that he should take a nap (instead of pretend to be SuperBunny). Ruby offers to read him one book, and Max picks the story of the Blue Tarantula. Cue thunder. Ruby reads it, Max freaks out, and (through the magic of puppetry), said tarantula's head and legs appear above his bed. This series of events regularly elicits one of two reactions: children either laugh with devious glee at Max's torments, or they curl up into balls and start crying. Or some variation therein. Anyway, this is the story of the latter.
We performed two awesome shows in New London, CT, at the Garde Arts Center. Here's what our set looked like on the stage:
And here's the theater:
Restored 1926 Morrocan-style movie theater. Cool, huh?
Anyway, the show was sponsored by Bob's Discount Furniture (thanks!) and, as a final wish, the sponsor representative requested that the cast come say hi to her two 3 year-olds. Our first time out "hangin' with the kids." So to speak. So, we head out, most people in street clothes and bunny ears, me in my Alien Green Gorilla suit. One of the munchkins is thrilled to be playing tag with Max-eared Ben, but the other seems to be terrified in the corner. Remembering my zoo training, I coax her out of her shell and get her to at least say hi and give me a high five. After a short while, we decide it's time for our lunch break (which had been substantially "invaded" by this time, although the venue did supply us with bagels between shows). I promised to meet up with people at an Indian restaurant, changed and headed out the door. Only to hear the mother once again reassuring the quiet youngin', "the Blue Tarantula was only a puppet, don't worry."
This was the typical reaction to a lot of our zoo friends, and one I have learned to resolve. So I decided to play "therapist" and desensitize this child.
I brought out the tarantula head to the waiting mother and daughter. The child winced. I petted its blue-and-black head fringe. The child laughed. She poked its eyes. The tarantula turned its head. The child recoiled. The tarantula recoiled. The child laughed.
I think you can see where this is going.
After a few minutes, with a good number of them spent by said child trying to find the mouth (what it is with kids, puppets and mouths, I do not know!), the kid seemed OK. In fact, she laughed at the twitchy tarantula movements. It was time for the head to "go take a nap" (and for me to eat!), so I bid farewell and replaced the head. And, as I was walking out of the theater, I heard the child giggle, and then gasp and cry:
"What about the legs?!"
There's a reason they keep me on the stage.
Kid quote of the day: When Max's toys sang to the audience "If you stick your fingers in your ears / (demonstrate) / You can sing along for years and years," a little girl in the front row stuck her fingers in her ears. And so did her dad.
Call tomorrow: 7am, Manhattan garage near Columbia.
Basically, Max is sitting in his bed, having been not-really-convinced by sister Ruby that he should take a nap (instead of pretend to be SuperBunny). Ruby offers to read him one book, and Max picks the story of the Blue Tarantula. Cue thunder. Ruby reads it, Max freaks out, and (through the magic of puppetry), said tarantula's head and legs appear above his bed. This series of events regularly elicits one of two reactions: children either laugh with devious glee at Max's torments, or they curl up into balls and start crying. Or some variation therein. Anyway, this is the story of the latter.
We performed two awesome shows in New London, CT, at the Garde Arts Center. Here's what our set looked like on the stage:
And here's the theater:
Restored 1926 Morrocan-style movie theater. Cool, huh?
Anyway, the show was sponsored by Bob's Discount Furniture (thanks!) and, as a final wish, the sponsor representative requested that the cast come say hi to her two 3 year-olds. Our first time out "hangin' with the kids." So to speak. So, we head out, most people in street clothes and bunny ears, me in my Alien Green Gorilla suit. One of the munchkins is thrilled to be playing tag with Max-eared Ben, but the other seems to be terrified in the corner. Remembering my zoo training, I coax her out of her shell and get her to at least say hi and give me a high five. After a short while, we decide it's time for our lunch break (which had been substantially "invaded" by this time, although the venue did supply us with bagels between shows). I promised to meet up with people at an Indian restaurant, changed and headed out the door. Only to hear the mother once again reassuring the quiet youngin', "the Blue Tarantula was only a puppet, don't worry."
This was the typical reaction to a lot of our zoo friends, and one I have learned to resolve. So I decided to play "therapist" and desensitize this child.
I brought out the tarantula head to the waiting mother and daughter. The child winced. I petted its blue-and-black head fringe. The child laughed. She poked its eyes. The tarantula turned its head. The child recoiled. The tarantula recoiled. The child laughed.
I think you can see where this is going.
After a few minutes, with a good number of them spent by said child trying to find the mouth (what it is with kids, puppets and mouths, I do not know!), the kid seemed OK. In fact, she laughed at the twitchy tarantula movements. It was time for the head to "go take a nap" (and for me to eat!), so I bid farewell and replaced the head. And, as I was walking out of the theater, I heard the child giggle, and then gasp and cry:
"What about the legs?!"
There's a reason they keep me on the stage.
Kid quote of the day: When Max's toys sang to the audience "If you stick your fingers in your ears / (demonstrate) / You can sing along for years and years," a little girl in the front row stuck her fingers in her ears. And so did her dad.
Call tomorrow: 7am, Manhattan garage near Columbia.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Invasion & Overtime
So, one of the benefits of working under an Equity contract is that you are entitled to invasion and overtime.
Two of the sweetest terms ever coined.
Overtime is what you'd expect. According to the Equity TYA rulebook that governs our tour, we are allowed to work nine out of 10 hours in a given day (although we can work 10 out of 12 once a week). Anything over that earns us overtime. We also are granted an hour meal break for every five hours of work, 30 minutes prior to showtime to prepare as actors (which means we are released from our ASM duties, except for me in my ASM #2 duties; again, in a few days there will be further explanation), and 12 hours from the end of one workday to the beginning of the next. Anything that cuts into these hours is considered invasion. And, on our tour, both have become semi-regular occurrences.
Our set is huge. We schedule about two hours for load in and set up, an hour for the show, and about an hour and a half for load out. Add to that our half hour of actor prep and driving to and from our venues (which is, indeed, work time), and we're already closing in on our 5 hour limit. Similarly, if we have two shows in a day and a long drive home, overtime kicks in really, really fast. And this means, as we are prone to shouting on the tour when the hours start racking up, "CHA-CHING".
Now, this might seem like milking a non-profit for all its worth (Theatreworks/USA does budget for this, I have been told), but I do understand why these protection measures are in place. Take yesterday as an example. We started our workday at 9am, when we met at the vans and started driving to Trenton. We arrived at our dinner location at 7:30pm. That's 10 and a half hours without substantive meal breaks, working the whole time. And, had our venue not been nice enough to supply us with sandwiches between shows, we would have had nothing but vending machine candy bars and the Builder Bars I carry with me all the time for fuel. That was an unusual circumstance (Theatreworks/USA's policies and actions indicate over and over how much they DON'T wish for these things to happen, and they do treat their actors and stage managers EXTREMELY well), but consider if this were standard practice at a less scrupulous theater. Doing a show is exhausting work, and we are our own tools. Now I understand very explicitly why Actors' Equity has fought for these benefits and protections, and am glad that I am currently a beneficiary.
CHA-CHING!!
Kid quote of the day: During the "froggie" scene, where Ruby tries to hurry Max along to Grandma's house while Max gets distracted by a frog (whose voice is provided by me), a little boy decided to start ribbit-ing along. And, in fact, he had good timing, and got a laugh. Future actor, anyone?
Call tomorrow: 10:45am, Manhattan Garage Near Columbia. We're going to New London, CT!
Two of the sweetest terms ever coined.
Overtime is what you'd expect. According to the Equity TYA rulebook that governs our tour, we are allowed to work nine out of 10 hours in a given day (although we can work 10 out of 12 once a week). Anything over that earns us overtime. We also are granted an hour meal break for every five hours of work, 30 minutes prior to showtime to prepare as actors (which means we are released from our ASM duties, except for me in my ASM #2 duties; again, in a few days there will be further explanation), and 12 hours from the end of one workday to the beginning of the next. Anything that cuts into these hours is considered invasion. And, on our tour, both have become semi-regular occurrences.
Our set is huge. We schedule about two hours for load in and set up, an hour for the show, and about an hour and a half for load out. Add to that our half hour of actor prep and driving to and from our venues (which is, indeed, work time), and we're already closing in on our 5 hour limit. Similarly, if we have two shows in a day and a long drive home, overtime kicks in really, really fast. And this means, as we are prone to shouting on the tour when the hours start racking up, "CHA-CHING".
Now, this might seem like milking a non-profit for all its worth (Theatreworks/USA does budget for this, I have been told), but I do understand why these protection measures are in place. Take yesterday as an example. We started our workday at 9am, when we met at the vans and started driving to Trenton. We arrived at our dinner location at 7:30pm. That's 10 and a half hours without substantive meal breaks, working the whole time. And, had our venue not been nice enough to supply us with sandwiches between shows, we would have had nothing but vending machine candy bars and the Builder Bars I carry with me all the time for fuel. That was an unusual circumstance (Theatreworks/USA's policies and actions indicate over and over how much they DON'T wish for these things to happen, and they do treat their actors and stage managers EXTREMELY well), but consider if this were standard practice at a less scrupulous theater. Doing a show is exhausting work, and we are our own tools. Now I understand very explicitly why Actors' Equity has fought for these benefits and protections, and am glad that I am currently a beneficiary.
CHA-CHING!!
Kid quote of the day: During the "froggie" scene, where Ruby tries to hurry Max along to Grandma's house while Max gets distracted by a frog (whose voice is provided by me), a little boy decided to start ribbit-ing along. And, in fact, he had good timing, and got a laugh. Future actor, anyone?
Call tomorrow: 10:45am, Manhattan Garage Near Columbia. We're going to New London, CT!
Friday, February 22, 2008
SNOW DAY!!!
So, I feel like I'm 8 years old again. Today, when I awoke at 5:30am to prepare for our 6:30am call, I found the grounds of our Essington, PA Motel 6 (which is a dump; avoid at all costs!) covered in about four inches of snow. There were rumors that one or more of our three shows would be cancelled in Upper Darby today due to "inclement weather," but we were to be informed at 5:30am, so I figured that the people of Pennsylvania had more fortitude than New Yorkers and weren't going to let a little white stuff scare them off. So, I showered, shaved and headed off for breakfast at Denny's. And then the calls came in.
First it was only the 10:00am. Great, I thought. More time to enjoy my coffee and pancakes. Then, as Leigh joined me at my table, we got word that the 12:15pm. OK, so we've got a REALLY long day. And then, about 20 minutes later, a text message arrived at my phone: "The 7:30 is cancelled, we have teh whole day off - WOOHOO!" And thus, my friends, began the snow day.
So, what do a stranded troupe of actors do on an impromptu snow day? Well, we hung around our motel until about noon, and then headed out to explore exotic Springfield, PA. (A Philly trip was contemplated, but snow and parking issues precluded any serious consideration). A bunch of us got tickets to see Juno, and then we took a much-needed trip to:
Yes, besides being one of Theatreworks/USA's sponsors, Target is also one of the most important places in a touring company's life. Most everyone found something they couldn't life without (loofahs, t-shirts, stretchy pants, storage bins for props, scented candles and blankets were just some of the purchases). With our maxivan stuffed with, um, stuff, we headed out in search of food and wound up having an excellent dinner at a pricey Thai restaurant. And then it was back to Motel 6, where I am now.
It is this kind of "bonding" experience that has been missing from our tour so far. While there is great love among all company members (still!), we haven't yet had the time to do anything terribly social outside of the show. Typically, we arrive at a town, we (maybe) eat together, we crash and then we get up again and put up the play. That schedule, if we keep it up for the entire trip, will be grueling, perhaps to the point of burn-out. However, we're only about two weeks in, and we're still figuring things out. And, we do have those 4 days off in Florida...
Call tomorrow: 9:00am, parking lot at Motel 6. We're going to Trenton.
First it was only the 10:00am. Great, I thought. More time to enjoy my coffee and pancakes. Then, as Leigh joined me at my table, we got word that the 12:15pm. OK, so we've got a REALLY long day. And then, about 20 minutes later, a text message arrived at my phone: "The 7:30 is cancelled, we have teh whole day off - WOOHOO!" And thus, my friends, began the snow day.
So, what do a stranded troupe of actors do on an impromptu snow day? Well, we hung around our motel until about noon, and then headed out to explore exotic Springfield, PA. (A Philly trip was contemplated, but snow and parking issues precluded any serious consideration). A bunch of us got tickets to see Juno, and then we took a much-needed trip to:
Yes, besides being one of Theatreworks/USA's sponsors, Target is also one of the most important places in a touring company's life. Most everyone found something they couldn't life without (loofahs, t-shirts, stretchy pants, storage bins for props, scented candles and blankets were just some of the purchases). With our maxivan stuffed with, um, stuff, we headed out in search of food and wound up having an excellent dinner at a pricey Thai restaurant. And then it was back to Motel 6, where I am now.
It is this kind of "bonding" experience that has been missing from our tour so far. While there is great love among all company members (still!), we haven't yet had the time to do anything terribly social outside of the show. Typically, we arrive at a town, we (maybe) eat together, we crash and then we get up again and put up the play. That schedule, if we keep it up for the entire trip, will be grueling, perhaps to the point of burn-out. However, we're only about two weeks in, and we're still figuring things out. And, we do have those 4 days off in Florida...
Call tomorrow: 9:00am, parking lot at Motel 6. We're going to Trenton.
A Real Theater
We were in a real theater. A real, serious, professional, old vaudeville theater. The Kirby Theater in Wilkes Barre, PA. With an IATSE crew that made our load-out take less than 45 minutes.
It’s a different show on a stage. When we’re in a gymnatorium or classroom, the kids are right in front of us. In the opening, when we sing “We’re looking for Max,” almost everyone had gotten into the habit of looking the little munchkins in their eyes, which invariably makes some cry and some become gripped with excitement (sometimes so much that they seem to soil themselves). In a theater, that imaginary “4th wall” is much more present. The kids respond a little differently. They’re quieter, certainly, and much more polite which, at times, isn’t quite as fun (Exhibit A: today’s “kid quote of the day”).
However, this show has moments that are a little larger than life and, in classrooms, it just doesn’t work the same way. The stage gives us the space (literally and figuratively) to let go, move around, kick high and rock out. So, it is no wonder that this was the most exhausting performance I’ve done so far. And, for the first time, it felt like a real show. Lights, the reverb from sound, wing space, dressing rooms and a balcony. Nothin’ better.
Kid quote of the day: During “Blue Tarantula,” a little boy curled up under his coat like it was a blanket, with only his eyes above the collar.
Call tomorrow: 6:30am, Motel 6 in Essington, PA.
It’s a different show on a stage. When we’re in a gymnatorium or classroom, the kids are right in front of us. In the opening, when we sing “We’re looking for Max,” almost everyone had gotten into the habit of looking the little munchkins in their eyes, which invariably makes some cry and some become gripped with excitement (sometimes so much that they seem to soil themselves). In a theater, that imaginary “4th wall” is much more present. The kids respond a little differently. They’re quieter, certainly, and much more polite which, at times, isn’t quite as fun (Exhibit A: today’s “kid quote of the day”).
However, this show has moments that are a little larger than life and, in classrooms, it just doesn’t work the same way. The stage gives us the space (literally and figuratively) to let go, move around, kick high and rock out. So, it is no wonder that this was the most exhausting performance I’ve done so far. And, for the first time, it felt like a real show. Lights, the reverb from sound, wing space, dressing rooms and a balcony. Nothin’ better.
Kid quote of the day: During “Blue Tarantula,” a little boy curled up under his coat like it was a blanket, with only his eyes above the collar.
Call tomorrow: 6:30am, Motel 6 in Essington, PA.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Challenging Times
Today was our first serious lesson in adaptability. While the roof post suggests set adaptability and challenges, this was the first time our playing space itself caused rather significant changes on stage. Let me explain visually:
I reference my prior post regarding roof height.
In addition, we were granted a total of three feet of playing space between the house and the hands of screaming children. This called for some “creative restaging.” Marching kicks replaced pinwheels, our castle prop moved locations, alterations were made to the set (we lost a whole backdrop), all in the span of about 45 minutes. A true team effort.
And then it was show time. Two shows in fact. Admittedly, I felt wonky the whole time. Half of my brain was trying to reconfigure the blocking, while the other was attempting to retain some modicum of “emotional connection” to the scene. And, to make matters more exciting, Ruby’s mic pack malfunctioned during the second show and, as the 2nd ASM (in charge of sound; more on that in coming days), I wound up doing some troubleshooting backstage. And I was tired. A 7:15am call does not a rested Ethan make.
But, in all honesty, it is these kinds of experiences that I thrive on. Theatre is one big “happy accident,” and it’s the attempt to keep getting it right that gets me going. While I contend that these were not my “best” shows of the run, they are certainly, at this point, the biggest rushes. And, after so many days off, I’m “pumped” again.
However, after these back to back shows, a 3 hour drive (through snow!) to PA and a fried fish dinner at Friendly’s – well, I think Ben’s face says it all:
Kid quote of the day: During the pre-show announcement, a little girl started singing the “Max & Ruby” song from the TV show. When our music started (which is radically different), I heard a significant whimper come from her corner of the audience.
Call time tomorrow: 6:45am, lobby of Days Inn. We’re performing in a real theater!!
I reference my prior post regarding roof height.
In addition, we were granted a total of three feet of playing space between the house and the hands of screaming children. This called for some “creative restaging.” Marching kicks replaced pinwheels, our castle prop moved locations, alterations were made to the set (we lost a whole backdrop), all in the span of about 45 minutes. A true team effort.
And then it was show time. Two shows in fact. Admittedly, I felt wonky the whole time. Half of my brain was trying to reconfigure the blocking, while the other was attempting to retain some modicum of “emotional connection” to the scene. And, to make matters more exciting, Ruby’s mic pack malfunctioned during the second show and, as the 2nd ASM (in charge of sound; more on that in coming days), I wound up doing some troubleshooting backstage. And I was tired. A 7:15am call does not a rested Ethan make.
But, in all honesty, it is these kinds of experiences that I thrive on. Theatre is one big “happy accident,” and it’s the attempt to keep getting it right that gets me going. While I contend that these were not my “best” shows of the run, they are certainly, at this point, the biggest rushes. And, after so many days off, I’m “pumped” again.
However, after these back to back shows, a 3 hour drive (through snow!) to PA and a fried fish dinner at Friendly’s – well, I think Ben’s face says it all:
Kid quote of the day: During the pre-show announcement, a little girl started singing the “Max & Ruby” song from the TV show. When our music started (which is radically different), I heard a significant whimper come from her corner of the audience.
Call time tomorrow: 6:45am, lobby of Days Inn. We’re performing in a real theater!!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Layoffs
Yes, I know that it's only 49-minutes long and about bunnies, but I'm a little nervous that I've forgotten something over our 5 day layoff. So, I ran through the show. I know. I am that guy.
It has been pretty nice to have a few days off, especially since performances picked up immediately after rehearsals ended. However, my feet are itchy and I'm eager to get back on the road. In fact, I spent part of last night dreaming about the "Blue Tarantula" song (and it wasn't exactly the happiest of dreams). I expressed my desires to get back to traveling, via text message, to another company member, and received the following response: "Yr crazy." I think I might be.
Call tomorrow: 7:15am, Manhattan garage near Columbia. We're finally going "out of town."
It has been pretty nice to have a few days off, especially since performances picked up immediately after rehearsals ended. However, my feet are itchy and I'm eager to get back on the road. In fact, I spent part of last night dreaming about the "Blue Tarantula" song (and it wasn't exactly the happiest of dreams). I expressed my desires to get back to traveling, via text message, to another company member, and received the following response: "Yr crazy." I think I might be.
Call tomorrow: 7:15am, Manhattan garage near Columbia. We're finally going "out of town."
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Merry Times in Maryland
This week marked our first actual tour-like-we're-on-tour experience. Meaning, we drove somewhere, stayed overnight, got up early, did the show and then drove somewhere else. And our first destination was Wheaton, MD, close to the college haunts of cast mate Leigh. We piled into the vans, pumped up the "jams," and started racing our way there.
And then we hit rain. And traffic.
Indeed, one thing we learned from this mini-touring experience is that MapQuest and Google Maps do not necessarily give accurate times. Perhaps it has something to do also with the requirements of our contract. The Equity TYA (Theatre for Young Audiences) contract, which is the one all company members are using, stipulates that we are to receive a 10 minute break every 90 minutes and a one hour dinner break after five hours of work. Travel is considered work. Mind you, I'm a big fan of these regulations. They ensure that nobody goes hungry, and that proper circulation is maintained in everyone's lower bodies. However, they do add time. So, with our breaks, traffic and rain, our 4+ hour trip became an 8+ hour adventure. Similarly, due to traffic, breaks and some confusing signs, our 4+ hour return trip took 7+ hours. All in all, over 15 hours of travel for one, 49-minute show. Good thing everybody in the vans likes everyone else!
Kid quote of the day: During the pre-finale, "Happily Ever," a little girl in the front row noticed Ruby's microphone, which sits in the middle of her forehead and has a 1/4" x 1/2" windshield on it. Already primed by our spooky number, "Blue Tarantula," she caused a panic in the audience as she screamed, "You've got a spider on your head!!!" This panic became minor pandemonium when other kids discovered that, indeed, everyone on stage had "spiders on their heads."
Next call: Wednesday at a undisclosed time, Manhattan garage near Columbia. We have a 5-day weekend!!
And then we hit rain. And traffic.
Indeed, one thing we learned from this mini-touring experience is that MapQuest and Google Maps do not necessarily give accurate times. Perhaps it has something to do also with the requirements of our contract. The Equity TYA (Theatre for Young Audiences) contract, which is the one all company members are using, stipulates that we are to receive a 10 minute break every 90 minutes and a one hour dinner break after five hours of work. Travel is considered work. Mind you, I'm a big fan of these regulations. They ensure that nobody goes hungry, and that proper circulation is maintained in everyone's lower bodies. However, they do add time. So, with our breaks, traffic and rain, our 4+ hour trip became an 8+ hour adventure. Similarly, due to traffic, breaks and some confusing signs, our 4+ hour return trip took 7+ hours. All in all, over 15 hours of travel for one, 49-minute show. Good thing everybody in the vans likes everyone else!
Kid quote of the day: During the pre-finale, "Happily Ever," a little girl in the front row noticed Ruby's microphone, which sits in the middle of her forehead and has a 1/4" x 1/2" windshield on it. Already primed by our spooky number, "Blue Tarantula," she caused a panic in the audience as she screamed, "You've got a spider on your head!!!" This panic became minor pandemonium when other kids discovered that, indeed, everyone on stage had "spiders on their heads."
Next call: Wednesday at a undisclosed time, Manhattan garage near Columbia. We have a 5-day weekend!!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Max & Ruby's House
We have a big set. A really big set. A rotating house, with a roof and door flaps on either side that open to provide multiple locations, and two fences/closets. According to the technical rider supplied by Theatreworks/USA to our venues, the set "requires a stage height of 14' and a clear playing area of 26' X 30'." A tall order, as you can imagine, for the average multipurpose room. Even our rehearsal studio in NYC wasn't big enough to accommodate the entire height of the set. Thus, we've always wondered what Max & Ruby's house really looks like.
That wonder ended today.
When we arrived at Wantagh Elementary, we discovered that the stage they were providing us was too small for any of these dimensions. Not good. Emileena, our quick-thinking stage manager, negotiated us onto the floor of the gymnasium, and we stated building. As we loaded all of the many parts of our set into the venue, we discovered a super high ceiling. Suddenly, we had enough room to build the entire thing. Something we had never attempted. For the first time, we would collectively figure out how the roof fit onto the rotating house frame we'd been working with for the last two weeks, and then negotiate its additional weight, height and girth in performance. And, with Leigh standing on a platform atop the house frame, me balancing on a ladder below her and Ben and Lydia heaving us green roof pieces, we managed (after two tries and a chimney reversal) to get the house together. And, during the entire 47 minute show, it stayed fully intact and (despite making the hollow inside of the house very dark) didn't really interfere with the performance. We were extremely proud:
Kid quote of the day: During the scary "Blue Tarantula" number, a little boy in the front row became so excited that he started smacking his hands together with great intensity. As Ruby checked under Max's bed for a monster, he clasped his hands in anticipation and held his breath, his eyes bugging out slightly. Ruby pulled out a prop and said, "Oh, it's only a lobster." The little boy gave a very loud, "Whew."
Call tomorrow: 1pm, Manhattan garage near Columbia. It's a travel day; we're going to Maryland!
That wonder ended today.
When we arrived at Wantagh Elementary, we discovered that the stage they were providing us was too small for any of these dimensions. Not good. Emileena, our quick-thinking stage manager, negotiated us onto the floor of the gymnasium, and we stated building. As we loaded all of the many parts of our set into the venue, we discovered a super high ceiling. Suddenly, we had enough room to build the entire thing. Something we had never attempted. For the first time, we would collectively figure out how the roof fit onto the rotating house frame we'd been working with for the last two weeks, and then negotiate its additional weight, height and girth in performance. And, with Leigh standing on a platform atop the house frame, me balancing on a ladder below her and Ben and Lydia heaving us green roof pieces, we managed (after two tries and a chimney reversal) to get the house together. And, during the entire 47 minute show, it stayed fully intact and (despite making the hollow inside of the house very dark) didn't really interfere with the performance. We were extremely proud:
Photo Credit: Lydia B.
Kid quote of the day: During the scary "Blue Tarantula" number, a little boy in the front row became so excited that he started smacking his hands together with great intensity. As Ruby checked under Max's bed for a monster, he clasped his hands in anticipation and held his breath, his eyes bugging out slightly. Ruby pulled out a prop and said, "Oh, it's only a lobster." The little boy gave a very loud, "Whew."
Call tomorrow: 1pm, Manhattan garage near Columbia. It's a travel day; we're going to Maryland!
Monday, February 11, 2008
KIDS!!!
I love adults. A lot. In fact, right now, most of my close friends are what I would consider "grown ups." At least in relation to the 200-some munchkins I met today at New Brunswick Charter School. However, when you get a bunch of kids together in a room, dress up in bunny ears, shake some "scary blue tarantula" puppet legs around and "Cookie" over and over, something magical happens.
We met for our van call at 6am, discovered and fixed some van problems (I was driving the offending Sprinter cargo van), raced out to New Brunswick in morning bumper-to-bumper traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike, discovered that Google Maps isn't always right, called the school, found the location and arrived with absolutely NO TIME to spare. Collectively, and with the help of our director Jeff, we threw together the set in our multipurpose room, jumped into mics, costumes and ears, warmed up at turbo-speed and started about 20 minutes late. Amid super-fast prop double checks and last minute scene change adjustments, Michelle (Ruby) turned to me and, with a slight look of terror, said, "I am so nervous to do this show for kids." I smiled and said something encouraging, but, to tell the truth, I was right there with her. Yes, we think the show is fun, but your average 7 year-old isn't necessarily going to dig the bunny scouts' hear no/see no/speak no evil moment, Grandma's revelry in the memory of her high school play, or neighbor Mr. Barley's obsession with musical theater. Was this going to work?
It only took one word: "Dragonfly!" From the moment Max and Ruby set foot onstage, we had 'em hooked. They screeched as Max deviously tried to get his way, shouted in delicious terror as the Blue Tarantula puppet grew behind Max's bed and sang along with Ruby as she tried to figure out what to do next. We even had a few heckers. As Max galloped around the stage in full cowboy regalia, one little boy over left shouted, "Max, you're a very bad boy!" When Grandma made her first entrance, a little girl stood up, pointed and shouted, "I don't like you." And, when Max wondered off at the end of the show, searching for his butterfly and oblivious to Ruby's moment of self-discovery, the kids called him back with so much force that nobody could hear any of own cue lines (and we're mic'd!). Once we had finished, and the applause settled, a teacher came forward and informed the students that it was time to go back to their classrooms. In response, a resounding "NO!" echoed across the gymnacafetorium.
THAT's why I love this show!
Call tomorrow: 6AM, Manhattan garage near Columbia.
We met for our van call at 6am, discovered and fixed some van problems (I was driving the offending Sprinter cargo van), raced out to New Brunswick in morning bumper-to-bumper traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike, discovered that Google Maps isn't always right, called the school, found the location and arrived with absolutely NO TIME to spare. Collectively, and with the help of our director Jeff, we threw together the set in our multipurpose room, jumped into mics, costumes and ears, warmed up at turbo-speed and started about 20 minutes late. Amid super-fast prop double checks and last minute scene change adjustments, Michelle (Ruby) turned to me and, with a slight look of terror, said, "I am so nervous to do this show for kids." I smiled and said something encouraging, but, to tell the truth, I was right there with her. Yes, we think the show is fun, but your average 7 year-old isn't necessarily going to dig the bunny scouts' hear no/see no/speak no evil moment, Grandma's revelry in the memory of her high school play, or neighbor Mr. Barley's obsession with musical theater. Was this going to work?
It only took one word: "Dragonfly!" From the moment Max and Ruby set foot onstage, we had 'em hooked. They screeched as Max deviously tried to get his way, shouted in delicious terror as the Blue Tarantula puppet grew behind Max's bed and sang along with Ruby as she tried to figure out what to do next. We even had a few heckers. As Max galloped around the stage in full cowboy regalia, one little boy over left shouted, "Max, you're a very bad boy!" When Grandma made her first entrance, a little girl stood up, pointed and shouted, "I don't like you." And, when Max wondered off at the end of the show, searching for his butterfly and oblivious to Ruby's moment of self-discovery, the kids called him back with so much force that nobody could hear any of own cue lines (and we're mic'd!). Once we had finished, and the applause settled, a teacher came forward and informed the students that it was time to go back to their classrooms. In response, a resounding "NO!" echoed across the gymnacafetorium.
THAT's why I love this show!
Call tomorrow: 6AM, Manhattan garage near Columbia.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Adventure Begins
Quite literally, in fact. The DVR queue at my apartment is taping every episode on Nick JR from here to eternity; the last five items I checked out from the Brooklyn Public Library have been in some way associated with the world of Rosemary Wells's characters; the top three "Most Played" songs on my iPod are tracks from the show; I'm even dreaming about clacking lobsters and green gorillas. Clearly, I'm smitten. And just in time. Tonight marks my final evening before we start performances. So far, it has been two weeks of (mostly) 10-6 rehearsals, cramming the score, lines, blocking, choreography, costume changes and set moves into my head. Today was our final dress, for family (for me, my sister Carmen), friends and the composer, Carol Hall. By all reports (and despite how anybody might feel, cast-wise), we are in good shape. And a good thing, too. Because, as my summer as an actor/educator the Prospect Park Zoo has shown, the under-10 set can be a challenging audience if they don't like things.Theatreworks/USA, our producer, cites itself as "America's largest and most prolific professional not-for-profit theatre for young and family audiences." They are so prolific, in fact, that there are TWO Max & Ruby tours out on the road. We are the "Red" tour, which means our domain is the eastern seaboard. So, in the coming months, I will perform in theaters and gymnatoriums (or "gymnatoria," for those of us who took Latin) stretching from Maine to Florida. And, as a TYA company, we are self contained. Meaning that Ethan (me) is going to build some might nice-looking "guns" during this tour as he loads, builds and strikes the set for every performance. We had a taste of that today, as we struck the set from our rehearsal space and loaded it into our Sprinter van (which is tall enough for me to stand up in!!). Despite our greenness and two snowy "mini blizzards" gusting down 26th Street, we managed to load our 17-foot tall, 30-foot wide set, plus props and costumes, in under three hours. Which we've been told is the norm, especially at the beginning.
Which brings me to the final question: who are "we"? Well, Max & Ruby "Red" comes with a great crew of 6 actor/ASMs (assistant stage managers, which means we build/strike the set) and a stage manager. Seven distinct, lovable, nutty personalities (in the best way, guys!) Michelle, a Texan and bundle of energy, leads our cast as Ruby. Ben, who plays Max, lives in Brooklyn and shares my disdain for hipsters. Ester is Louise, the "super bunny scout," and has the deadpan humor thing down to a tee. Valerie, another bunny scout, is played by Lydia, who moved to NYC from Chicago just days before we started rehearsals and grew up in Germany. Leigh is our Grandma and has toured twice before; she and I are, apparently, the "social directors" for the company. And, last but not least, Emileena is our illustrious, super-organized stage manager. Together, we comprise a dream team that, as of now, still really enjoys spending time with each other. Theresa, our Company Manager, told us that we will become our own "dysfunctional family." As of now, through two weeks of rehearsal, we're still functioning. If a little frazzled.
As for me, well, I'm still excited. I've been performing as animals and working with puppets since I left college, so it's a natural extension. Plus, it's the kind of high energy theater I love to do and kids are, indeed, some of the best audience members out there. I'm sure the tour will bring its challenges and strains (which will be tastefully documented, of course) but, for now, I'm pumped, and proud to be spreading "the gospel of Theatreworks" as the Alien Green Gorilla!
Call tomorrow: 6AM, Manhattan garage near Columbia.
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