Leigha Horton :: Green room
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Kittens!

The Ministry of Cultural Warfare is back at the Fringe this year with
our usual smatterings of agitprop and snark! But after taking last
year off to recharge our creative batteries, we need your help to
recharge our financial batteries.

With artists to pay, rehearsal space to rent, props to buy, set pieces
to pillage, it all adds up fast. So we’re turning to our ever-faithful
infidelitous friends to help us make up the difference. Join us for
some post-work wine and hors d’oeuvres on Thursday, July 27 at la
maison de Nathan Surprenant to schmooze, drink and get your name in
our program (you’ll be famous!). The party lasts from 7 to 9, and your
Ministers will all be on hand to give you our eternal gratitude and
ply you with more drinks.

“Before I sink any more dough into this so-called Ministry, what’s the
show?” you ask. We are proudly updating and expanding our hit “The
Unbearable Lightness of Being American.” It’s 13 individually wrapped
sketches — some live, some video, some sung — that trash American
largess and hypocricy on religion, immigration, sex, identity, war and
cats. Yes, we even go after the cats!

The usual gang is at it again: Leigha Horton and Nathan Surprenant are
performing, Reid Knuttila’s directing and Matthew Foster’s writing and
doing video voodoo. The show was first performed in its one-woman
incarnation at the 2002 Absolute Originals festival at Intermedia
Arts. Then we went on to be the first sell-out of the 2004 Festival
St-Ambroise Fringe de Montréal — AND sold out every single one of our
Montréal performances — AND got the cover of the Montreal Mirror. Like
all things American, the show is returning home like a prodigal son
after getting scrubbed, detailed and tricked-out. The script even has
that coveted new-theater smell. To get so much more information (and
to buy tickets), visit our page on the Minnesota Fringe Festival site.

So… We’ll see you at our pre-Fringe post-money party! This is what
you need to know:

Thursday, July 27, 7-9 pm

Nathan Surprenant and Brad Wagner’s fancy loft
(comment or e-mail me for the address – there’s no way I’m posting that sucker on the internets-machine)

Can’t attend but still want to help? Of COURSE you do! Make checks
payable to Matthew Foster (we dissolved the official company because
it was a pain to file with The State for the pittance we make from
shows… I mean, how much time would *you* want to spend arguing with
a Republican Secretary of State?) and mail to the following address: (again, comment or e-mail me for the address – there’s no way I’m posting that sucker on the internets-machine).

I was recently invited to answer seven quick questions for the 7QQ Interview Series by my favorite online time-killer for Twin Cities issues, MNspeak.

An honor, and a pleasure. And kind of embarrassing after all of my day-job colleagues found out about it.

Note: As is possibly far too obvious, I’m procrastinating memorizing my freaking lines for the next show right now. I ought to garner some sympathy with the level of difficulty, though; one of the scenes is a play on Abbott and Costello’s Who’s on First? called Who’s on Iraq? (the premise: “Who’s on Iraq, What’s on Iran, I Don’t Know’s on North Korea” – if you don’t find that as hilarious as I do, go take a listen to the original audio and then imagine the new consequences…it’s comedy gold, people). Sadly, it’s right up there with Havel’s Vanek Trilogy or Gertrude Stein to memorize. Lots of talking in circles. Circles that I have to lead.

It burns. Buuuuuurns. (whimper)

Two weeks ago Foster, Nathan, Craig, and I got together for a Ministry of Cultural Warfare photo shoot. The goal was to get some publicity images for our latest incarnation of The Unbearable Lightness of Being American, presented at Intermedia Arts as part of the 13^th Annual Minnesota Fringe Festival this August.

For this publicity shoot, we stationed ourselves at the figuratively shady corner of Franklin St. and Third Ave. So. My favorite record store, The Electric Fetus, was closed for the evening, so we were free to do what we chose without much disruption or fanfare. Or so we thought. Turns out that two weirdos standing alongside a freeway dressed as the Statue of Liberty and Uncle Sam attracts more attention from the surrounding state-assisted-mental-health neighborhood than we bargained for.

After several drive-bys that momentarily halted to near-stops for staring, and a few pedestrians slowing their gait to mere wanderings before resuming their initial purpose, the Minneapolis Police rolled up in a squad car. My three compatriots turned slightly away from the car – I don’t know if they were trying to hide their faces or pretend they didn’t see the cops or what, but I knew we couldn’t just ignore these officers that were now within ten feet of us – so I looked straight into the squad car and mustered up my cutest, “Hi!,” including my extra-dorky two-handed wave with hunched shoulders and a goofy smile. This is the kind of “hi” that’s the short way of saying all in one breath, “ohmygosh, we’re having so much fun and we’re totally innocent, but we think we might get in trouble, but you really shouldn’t worry about us because we’re plainly harmless and frankly adorable.”

The guys then turned around see the police’s reaction. We all stared at the cops. They stared back at us. They stared at us a little while longer. Then the cop in the driver’s seat broke out into a huge grin, punctuated it with two thumbs up, and drove away.

Sweeeeet.

Shenanigans and panic aside, I hereby share some of the fruits of Our Labor for the Good of the People:

Photos copyright 2006: Craig VanDerSchaegen.

A quick note about The Fringe for the greenhorns: it is the largest non-juried Fringe Festival in the United States, and the third largest in North America; it’s 11 days of the most gritty, raw, clever performance with sloppy blocking that you will ever experience, all wrapped up in a killer Minneapolis atmospheric taco.

A quick note about the latest incarnation of TULoBA for the already-indoctrinated: this is a brand-spanking new version with a few of your favorites, plus several new monologues and two-person scenes and a second person (Nathan Surprenant) to go with them, and some singing. Leah Cooper directed the Montreal version, now Reid Knuttila is directing this one.

Do come see the show – America will be so proud.

I spent last week fishing in the Superior National Forest, hiking, turning 28, and blowing stuff up. Those mere facts kept me from posting entries that I had written, but hadn’t had time to edit – so, from my screen to yours, the freshly edited archives:

JUNE 21, 2006:

I was approached last week to do a storytelling gig for a St. Paul Public Schools summer program. Did you catch that? – storytelling; not story-reading. As in making up a story for 45 minutes, no book, no script. As in all by myself in front of a gaggle of kids. I initially put forth strong protestations, but was convinced to reconsider by a few well-meaning friends. And money. Good money. So I agreed. And then the panic attacks set in.

Ever since that lapse of good judgment, I have been just shy of completely terrified. White-knuckled-nightmarish-poor-attitude-terrified.

Yes, I had several years of training and experience doing improv comedy over at the Brave New Workshop, but that was always aimed at adults…let me repeat that – adults. As in not children. As in swearing like a pirate. As in creating socially inappropriate characters in socially inappropriate situations and acting socially inappropriate until hilarity ensued or the lights were turned off. Not great experience to fall back on for an audience between the ages of 6 and 9.

I have spent the last two nights obsessing over what story to tell, and finally had a breakthrough involving a humpback whale, a green sea turtle, three dolphins, and two fishermen. I even did a load of research to back it all up – no made-up stuff for these kids – I’m hard core (well, okay, save for the anthropomorphization of five sea creatures, but whatever – these kids are gonna learn something).

So I should relax now that I have a story, right? NO. Now I’m terrified to tell it. Seriously. I have to stretch a three minute scenario into 30-45 minutes. hhhhhhelp.

JUNE 22, 2006

I once had a teacher tell me that my writing was like a frayed rope, and that I spent “way too much time on the frays, and not enough time on the rope.” I guess this was the one time that the frays were actually useful – I told a 35-minute story. Take that, rope.

I think it actually went well, but you never know with kids and teachers. Kids are never itching to give constructive feedback, and the teachers were so nice that I could have probably gotten naked and flailed and they wouldn’t have batted an eye.

The start of the story was, um, rather rocky, but once I got about five minutes in I finally hit my groove. There were a few moments when I got flustered because I had left out certain details at the beginning, and had to figure out a way to reincorporate them without breaking the flow too much, but all in all, it wasn’t half bad.

My favorite parts:

1) one little girl was trying to be a bad-ass and sat down right in front so she could give me hard looks. About halfway through the story I glanced down at her – she had her thumb plugged in her mouth, and was looking up at me with huge round brown eyes. I realized I had won her over, and I about melted.

2) a little boy in the very back of the group was intrigued by how physically animated I was while telling the story, and mimicked most of my huge arm gestures in the very back of the room – practicing them carefully so the other kids wouldn’t notice.

3) when I told about two fisherman discussing what they should do with the green sea turtle they accidentally caught, mentioning that they could get $5,000 for it if they brought it to their boss (thanks, Roald Dahl!), one little boy’s eyes got HUGE and he, in sheer wonder, slowly mouthed the words, “five thousand dollars!”

I’m still kicking myself for forgetting to record it so I could listen and learn how to make it better if there’s a “next time.” I would love to go back – those kids were absolutely precious.