Level-Headed Friends

The Orphans of the Vancouver Playhouse

I want to start this post with a couple of boring caveats.

One: This is utterly my opinion from an admittedly limited viewpoint. Specifically: a poor Vancouver theatre artist.

Two: This is less a post about house sizes and more a post about “support.” This is somewhat in reaction to an article by Marsha Lederman in the Globe and Mail ( http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/arts/theatre/attendance-at-vancouver-playhouse-show-called-embarrassing/article2414146/ ) which had a decidedly shameful flavour for the denizens of Vancouver Theatre.

Three: I want to be clear that I’m not condemning Lederman’s reporting on the poor house size for opening night of “God of Carnage.” She reported facts. What I want to look at: The difference between the support shown to “God of Carnage” and the other play left orphaned when the Playhouse went under, “The Exquisite Hour.”

Here’s a for-instance. Barry is a moderately successful emerging theatre artist in Vancouver. He’s been able to make ends meet for the last two years purely by being an actor. He makes $12,000 a year. In his annual budget, he puts aside $1000 for tickets to the theatre. This is 8.3 % of his annual income. Certainly he is supporting the theatre community financially as best he can. Some might say he’s even going beyond what should be expected of him. This budget gives him $19.23 a week for theatre tickets. Uh oh. Barry can’t even afford to see one show a week on this budget. That means he has to pick and choose where he spends his money. 

So “God of Carnage,” at risk of being cancelled in Vancouver altogether because of the closing of the Playhouse, is picked up by Civic Theatres. The “Exquisite hour,” in the same position, is provided assistance by The Arts Club Theatre. “God of Carnage” opens April 14th. On its opening, at least 9 other plays are showing. This count only includes shows registered to the GVPTA. Most of these shows have shorter runs than “God of Carnage.” Among them are such shows as “The Last Days of Judas Iscariot,” “The Meal,”  and “The Importance of Being Earnest.” “The Exquisite Hour” opens on May 2. On its opening, at least 5 other plays are showing. The only one that overlaps both dates is, in fact, “God of Carnage.”

Back to Barry. Using his estimate of $20 a week to spend on theatre, he takes a look at what’s playing in April and May. One of his first acting jobs was with PI Theatre, so he really feels like he needs to get out to “The Meal” and support director Richard Wolfe. He goes to that on the 13th of April. On the 18th, a friend of his in the cast, Kyle Jespersen, offers him a two for one deal to see “The Last Days of Judas Iscariot.” He can’t turn that down. As a young actor in the city, Barry really admires the work of Andrew Wheeler. He saw him in “Gordon” and in “Re:Union” and he doesn’t want to miss what Mr. Wheeler brings to “Henry and Alice: Into the Wild.” Even though it’s a few dollars above his budget, he purchases rush tickets on the the 29th.

Barry’s read all the hub-bub about “God of Carnage” and feels guilty that their houses have been so small but the fact of the matter is he’s got to make a difficult choice for the first week of May. The second and third weeks of the month are already booked with his girlfriend’s show, “100 Saints You Should Know” at Pacific Theatre, and “Farragut North,” a show at the Havana that he auditioned for but didn’t get. So on May 4th he has to choose between “The Exquisite Hour” and “God of Carnage.” 

The decision takes him about 4.5 seconds. 

Every single show that I’ve listed here is made up of over 75 % Vancouver artists. Except one. The four person cast of “God of Carnage” features one Vancouver actor: John Cassini. Mr. Cassini’s bio on his website talks about his “permanent move to L.A.” and how he “splits his time between LA and Vancouver.”  I’ve been involved in Vancouver Theatre since 2009 and I’ve never met John Cassini. I’ve never met a single person involved in the production of “God of Carnage.” This is to say that I have no loyalty to see the show aside from the Playhouse connection. By the time “God of Carnage” hit the stage, the Playhouse, technically, no longer existed. All of these reasons piled up in my head when I read Ms. Lederman’s article. I feel no shame for not seeing “God of Carnage” because I have no connection to it. 

“The Exquisite Hour” seems to me as much a part of the Playhouse’s final season as any other show. It won its position on the roster by merit. It was chosen after the Fringe Festival in a nurturing adoption type manner. It opened last night. Before the curtain even went up there was buzz developing on twitter, facebook, and other social media. After the show, the theatre community was on fire about its warmth, its message, and its execution. I don’t know if they were sold out on their opening night but if word of mouth is any indication, and it most often is, they’ll be sold out soon.

Part of this is because “The Exquisite Hour” is a good show. I think, more than this, it’s because the members of Relephant Theatre are a strong part of Vancouver’s theatre community. I would be hard pressed to name a show I’ve attended in the last year that one or more members of their squad weren’t at as well. That’s shocking support. In turn, they are being supported back.

Full disclosure, I probably won’t get a chance to see their show. I have a similar budget to Barry and, having seen and enjoyed “The Exquisite Hour” at the Fringe Festival in its original run, I might have to use my money to support another show by another squad of supportive artists that runs at the same time. There are endless amounts of them.

My bottom line is this. I’m frustrated that the press the Vancouver theatre scene gets is often humiliating. We’re painted as fickle patrons who are only willing to go out to the theatre when we’re invited for free. That’s just not true. We’re a community that is strong and supports its own. But don’t paint an oil derrick and tell me it’s an apple tree. I don’t want to hear about how Vancouver artists won’t go see a co-pro that employs no one who makes their living in town. I want to see press on the support that the Playhouse’s passion project is receiving, the buzz it’s generating, and the warmth it’s conducting.

They Closed Down the Regional Theatre in My City, Vancouver. The Community Responds the Only Way They Know How: With Art.

Sunday March 11, 2012

I spent the better part of today following a playwright on her hands and knees along the sidewalks of Vancouver. 

She began chalking the text of her play on the sidewalk in front of the Vancouver Playhouse just before noon, and arrived at the doors of Vancouver City Hall just after 7:30 this evening, on her hands and knees most of the way, chalking text. She did this to honor and protest the profound loss of the Vancouver Playhouse Theatre Company.

I got to the Playhouse just after one pm, followed the multicolored text a block and a half to find her crouched beside a parking metre, chalking away, dragging a plastic bagful of chalk crayons. Did she need anything? Something to kneel on would be nice. At a store across the street I found the closest thing to kneepads I could find: two packages of leftover christmas dinner napkins, one package red, one green. I brought them to her. She said they did the trick. 

We continued on, me reading to her the text of her play as she crawled and chalked, passersby stopping now and then to follow the words on the sidewalk, ask questions. Two teenage boys wanted to know, what’s going on? While the playwright explained to them the reason for this odd journey I continued chalking text for her. The boys were entranced and ran back to see where the words began. 

In the next block a journalist with a camera appeared and crawled along with the playwright, taking pictures. We passed the doorway of a hotel. The doorman came out and said, somewhat sheepishly, that the hotel would be responsible for cleaning the sidewalk and could she please not chalk there? So the playwright crossed the street and continued her text past a row of upscale townhouses. Friends came with coffee and nuts and words of encouragement and their young son happily taking pictures of the words growing on the sidewalk. When we got to the next corner, we looked at our watches. In an hour and a half we’d travelled a block and a half. 

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” The teenage boys, carrying notebooks. In the hour since we’d seen them they’d gone back to the start of the words, and decided to transcribe the play into their notebooks. But some of the words had been stepped on and were hard to figure out. Could the playwright tell them where they might read this play online? 

In the next block, a tiny daschund came to visit. I was taking a turn with yellow chalk while the playwright stretched her legs. The daschund did everything he could to eat it from my fingers. His owner apologized, “if it’s in your fingers he’s sure it’s food.” 

We continued on down a busier street towards the bridge, getting into a rhythm of a kind - the playwright crawling and chalking on her dinner napkin kneepads, me reading to her the text of her play. Every so often changing places to give her a chance to rest. 

“Excuse me! Hello?” The doorman from the hotel who’d asked her not to chalk there. Off shift, he’d followed the words to find her, he wanted to apologize for having to ask her not to do what she was doing in front of the hotel, he’d felt so bad about that. We continued on our way. In the almost five hours since she’d begun, a journey of five blocks.

With all the cycling traffic on the bridge sidewalk and dusk coming soon, a decision was made to draw a message telling people to pick up the story on the other side. As we walked over the bridge I looked at the playwright’s knuckles: one of them was now a gaping wound, scraped on the sidewalk. One package of dinner napkins was no more, the plastic also torn up scraping over the sidewalk. 

Back on hands and knees in front of the police station, we began the last leg of the journey uphill to City Hall. An actor friend arrived having read of the playwright’s adventure on Facebook and wanting to help. It was his birthday. He brought his brother to help too. They joined in chalking and reading text aloud, going to a store to buy water, to look for more chalk. We continued up the hill. 

A man wanted to know, what was the playwright’s name? how could he contact her? He was with a news organization but didn’t have his equipment along. He looked quite distressed by this. Could he phone her at a later date to ask more? He hurried away with her contact information. 

Another actor friend appeared, what can I bring you? Bandaids would be helpful now, and more chalk. The friend hurried away to find them. It was beginning to turn dusk. Another actor friend cycling by stopped to ask, need help? She joined in too, we continued up the hill. Suddenly a woman with a tape recorder - the man with the news organization who had hurried away had sent her to interview the playwright and take pictures. The friend who’d gone in search of bandaids came back with bandaids and coffees and more chalk. We all continued up the hill. The friend with the bicycle had an inspiration and cycled away fast. She would go back to the start of the words and film her way back to us before it was dark. 

At Broadway it was growing quite dusk, the playwright looking wan, her shoes and clothes tattered by scraping over the sidewalk. But the goal in sight, just a block away. We crossed the street and continued, taking turns chalking, reading text aloud, taking pictures. 

A woman stopped to read the words on the sidewalk, and went into a rage. What does this MEAN? she wanted to know. The friend who had gone for bandaids explained to her. She grew more furious, began yelling. The friend who had gone for bandaids explained again. She yelled more. The playwright continued on hands and knees up the street. 

The friend on the bicycle reappeared, elated, she’d cycled as fast as she’d ever cycled and filmed all the words! She went off to find a way to share them. We crossed the street into the garden of City Hall as darkness fell. Another actor friend joined us. Down to the last of the chalk, now mostly bits and pieces hard to hold, we followed the playwright on her hands and knees, helping as we could, up the winding path to the stairs up the stairs to more stairs up the stairs to the doors of City Hall. 

In the darkness we hugged and said goodnight. Followed the chalk lines of text back down the stairs, down the path through the garden, back to our separate lives. 

Thank you Lucia Frangione, for your courage and conviction to undertake the absolutely outrageous, on knuckles and knees, to express your passion for theatre. Thank you for the oddly meditative adventure of the day, following the flow of your words.

Karin Konoval

TJ Dawe on Collective Intelligence

Anonymous asked: Nathan from Electric Company says your play was his favorite of last year. I read your post about not getting auditions, so I've been trying to talk you up to friends who produce stuff. <3

Well Thank you! I really appreciate that. I’m so curious as to who you are as you posted this as Anonymous. But I also kind of dig the mystery behind it too. Do I know you? How did you come to find my blog? Either way, thanks again for the talking up!

Hmmm, I don’t know how to just privately send this to you so I guess it gets posted to my wall. Hope you don’t mind but I don’t know how else to contact you.

-Mack

Blood-Lust

It’s been a long time since I wrote a blog entry. It’s also been a long time since I’ve had so much free time on my hands. And I’m hungry; for something to do, something to sink my teeth into.

Thread A:

When I write a blog or really when I write whatever, I like to do it without putting too much thought into it before hand. I didn’t really know this was what Thread A was going to be about until I started to write: “When I write a blog or really when I…”

Thread B:

The last full time show I worked on as an actor closed on November 19^th. It’s been three months where I haven’t had a show to work on. I don’t know if I’ll ever book another full time acting job again. I keep myself as busy as I can with writing but I’ve gotten really discouraged with a serious lack of auditions.

Thread A:

The difference between a blog and anything else that I might write is that a blog is instant. I’m not going to pour over this entry for months with workshops and feedback. I’m probably not even going to care to be too specific about punctuation or grammar. I want it to make sense but I don’t want it to lose immediacy.

Thread C:

I wonder if some of the stress and the hunger that I’m going through right now has to do with being married. A week from now is my six month wedding anniversary. I have some one else I need to take care of now.

Thread B:

Sometimes I feel like 90 percent of Vancouver’s acting auditions are top secret. I see plays pop up and I bleedingly wonder how come I didn’t get a chance to audition for that show. I rarely am hurt when I lose out on a role to someone else as long as I got a chance to at least show the director what I can do. I’m always still disappointed, just not hurt.

Thread C:

At the end of writing the first Thread A, I had to get up and tuck my wife in to bed. I was writing a blog! I only write blogs when I’ve really got something on my mind that needs to shoot out of my fingers onto a page. How could someone dare distract me?! My writing needs to be immediate!

I’m married now. Part of being married is caring about someone else and their needs at an equal or higher level than you care about your own. This takes some getting used to.

Thread B:

There’s something animal within me, and I imagine a lot of actors have the same feeling. When I find out a role that I fit the stereotype of was cast without anyone thinking of me, even if the director has never met or heard of me, my temperature goes through the roof. I’m obsessed. Poison runs through my veins and it takes every thing I have not to throw myself on the floor and kick and scream. We hide this emotion as best we can but I think most actors experience it. If you didn’t experience it, you probably wouldn’t be able to be a successful actor. I feel like most emotions are universal, but in this one case, I don’t know that it would be possible to explain this to a non artist. It’s not the same thing as being past over for a job. It’s not the same as losing out to someone who was more qualified for the job, even when that’s the case. It’s about being a shark, smelling blood in the water, and seeing your victim, seconds earlier, drag himself onto the shore, out of your reach.

Thread A:

There’s no way I’m going to be able to effectively communicate all of my feelings and thoughts on these subjects. All this can be is a snippet. Maybe no one will read it anyway, it’s just a blog after all. But a blog, I guess, is first and foremost a journal: a record of experiences with commentary from the subject.

Thread B:

I love the people I work with in this community. I love the people that I regularly audition against and I love the people that get the roles that I don’t even get a chance to audition for. And yet, I’m pitted on a daily basis against these people for the very right to survive. Seriously, having not booked a gig in three months, I’m not entirely sure where my half of the rent is going to come from on the first. How can our industry foster community properly when we’re in a constant state of gladiatorial battle?

Thread C:

This is one benefit of having a wife. I might not know where my half of the rent is coming from next month, but I do know that in the last six months I’ve doubled my support network. We love each other. We’ve committed to each other. We bale each other out.

Thread B:

It’s bad enough when we have to fight our friends tooth and nail for roles, it’s worse when you don’t even get the opportunity to battle; when you watch someone on stage playing a role you were born to play (cause when you have the ego of an actor most of them are) and you think, “I could’ve done that better” and you never even got the chance to show anyone you could.

Thread D:

Sometimes I wonder if every actor watches their peers on stage and thinks the same thing, “I could’ve done that better.” Then, every so often, I’ll see someone in my age group, in a role where I know I couldn’t have done it as well as them and I’ll feel better.

Thread C:

Maybe one reason why I haven’t blogged in so long is because I’m married now. I don’t need to pour so much of my immediate reactions into a public forum because I have a wife for that. Someone who will listen to me and have my back. Someone who will hear my whines and tussle my hair, encourage me to keep going.

Thread B:

I truly hope that I’m not coming across whiney but if I am, I can only own up to the truth. When it comes to getting chances to financially support myself by doing what I love, when I don’t get a shot, I’ll whine. Anyone reading this who wants to be an actor someday, be polite, be graceful, but be ferocious. That animal-feeling of jealousy taking over your mind is an honest reaction. Sink your teeth into work. Keep creating. Keep fighting. Keep biting. If you don’t get an audition, you can’t go back in time and change that, but get the next one. Write letters. Meet people. Do the work.

Thread A:

The simultaneous danger and allure of a journal is its personal, confessional nature. It’s interesting because it’s self-serving; it is ephemeral and of the moment. Self-indulgence doesn’t have to be bad so long as you are indulging freshly; so long as the things you indulge in are relatable to others.

Thread B:

In the long run, we actors are in this together. Feeling, mostly, the same shortage of auditions, the same shortage or roles. Many of my peers would probably be furious at me to read this because I’ve had my own streaks of luck. I’ve had the blessing to work at what I love and be paid for it. Many people I know haven’t. We can’t eat our own because we are our own. How’s that for a line from a journal.

Thread C:

It’s easy to feel alone in my jealousy as an actor and, as challenging as it is for both my wife and I to aspire to a field that often feels so futile, I’m grateful that I have a partner who can understand my instinctual nausea when I hear about a show opening on Thursday that stars a twenty something male.

Thread A:

As good as a blog is to pour your heart into. It’s not as good as another human being. I hope this initiates discussion. If not between you and I, then you and another, someone sitting near, who, perhaps, you’ve auditioned against, or thought you were better for a role than. Put your arm around each other and be thankful for the jealousy that you’ve instilled in each other. As for, I’m gonna go join my wife, quit whining for a bit, and rest up for that next audition, where ever it is.

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