After five years of managing grant applications on behalf of my day-job and the artists/artistic programs we present, I just submitted my very first grant application on behalf of myself and my own artistic aspirations. I even hand-delivered the package to the Minnesota State Arts Board office with an hour to spare before the deadline, despite efforts to scare me away from completing the delivery.
It’s like I’m a real artist now. Wild.
Last fall I read a conversation between two of my favorite playwrights, Suzan Lori-Parks and the recently deceased August Wilson, in American Theatre magazine. On taking risks, Wilson said, “You have to believe that you could dive off a cliff and that you’ll be okay, that you’ll sprout wings and fly, otherwise you’ll never dive off the cliff.”
Looks like this girl is about to do some cliff-diving. Some scary, scary cliff-diving.
This December, I begin rehearsals at The Children’s Theatre Company for Tale of a West Texas Marsupial Girl, and with the start of rehearsals brings the end of my five-year career at the Walker Art Center. It also brings the end of the comforts (steady income, health insurance) upon which I have come to depend. Okay, depend heavily. Starting in December, I will be making my living as an actor. Please excuse me while I repeat that, for my own sake: I will be making my living as an actor.
I find this concept equally thrilling and terrifying.
In early July when I turned 28, a dear friend sat me down and paced the room while lecturing me for a solid hour about how, in regard to performing, this is going to be The Year of Leigha. That means no more fucking around. No more cutting corners. No more procrastinating. No more waiting for things to fall in my lap. I have been inspired on the short-term in the past, but nothing like this. This friend knows me deeply, and he cared enough to point out and shoot down my bullshit excuses and my laziness. He helped me navigate my way out of complacency, out of inaction.
Two weeks after my birthday we went and saw the touring Broadway version of Wicked – and it only deepened my resolve. As fully expected, some of the performers could sing circles around me; but surprisingly, some of them couldn’t. For the first time, I realized that doing what they were doing on that stage wasn’t just a pipe dream. I’ve worked long and hard to develop the chops that I have (and I fully comprehend that I have plenty more work to do now and throughout my life); it’s high time I start giving those chops the respect they deserve. I will be making my living as an actor.
Move-over Dog, make way Boar, and mind the gap John Miller-Stephany; July 3, 2006 through July 3, 2007 is The Year of Leigha. It’s time.
So tired. Mentally. Physically. Drained.
We had a tech rehearsal tonight for our show that opens Thursday (I’ll post official info about the show tomorrow when I’m cognizant of things other than my pillow), and it generally went well – we consistently cracked up our technicians, which is a very, very good sign. It’s also good because it eases the cost of a good bribe. Theater Rule #1 – know what the technicians like to drink.
In related, albeit guilt-ridden, news: I have a million e-mail and voice-mail messages that I’ve neglected to return, seven different blog posts about latest inspirations and funny stories that need to be written, and an all-around return to communication with the outside world that’s waiting to be picked up from the wayside.
Friday. Expect communicationy stuff on Friday. Or maybe Mondayish. Until then, I'm a couple of cards shy of a full deck. And we all know that decks with missing cards suck. Yeah... bed. now.
Callbacks without castings: good for my ego; ineffectual for my resume. sigh. Two weeks ago I was unexpectedly called in for an audition at The Children’s Theatre and ended up making callbacks the following week (not bad for my first audition there, eh? More! More!). I haven’t heard back from them, so am assuming I ultimately was not chosen for the part – but the callbacks were an honor nonetheless.
In addition to that, I had been specifically requested to hold a date for a Target radio commercial voiceover – they indicated I was on their “short list.” Ultimately, it turned out that whoever was on the shorter end of their list got the gig. Still, it was momentarily exciting… my hopes are that next time they’re looking, they’ll go back to that short list. Hell, at 5’2”, few people do short better than me.
Next week shall be The Week of Definites. Because I’m short.
Two weekends ago I auditioned at The History Theater for their fall production of The Orphan Train. After some consideration, I have come to the conclusion that it is indeed fair to extend the metaphor to daily-newspaper-movie-review obnoxiousness, and call the audition An Orphan Trainwreck. Upon checking in, I realize that I can hear the auditioners in the rehearsal room. This is not good for two reasons - it means that a) I'll be listening to the auditioners and gauging myself against them; and more importantly, b) the other auditioners will listen when I’m auditioning and gauge themselves against me. This thought rattled my cage a little.
After I've found a little corner to go over my monologue and song in my head, in walks the real-world incarnation of Darth Maul - one of the meanest and most immature people I've ever worked with. Ever. Truly, in the past 15 years of acting, there are only five people whom with I’ve ever had problems working…of those five people, she wins, hands down, for Most Evil. Consider this point in relation to Point B of Paragraph Two.
So now I’m going over my monologue and song in my head, listening to the other auditioners, and thinking about how “Vader” is a funny thing to nickname a mean girl (but how Darth Maul isn’t funny and neither is this girl who is now in the room with me). Then Teresa gets called in for her audition. Teresa is the person who is scheduled immediately before me. Teresa is also the person who goes into the rehearsal room and proceeds to audition using the same song that I am going to be auditioning with for the very first time. Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.
I get into the audition room and meet the director, choreographer, composer, and accompanist. They’re all lovely. But then I recognize the choreographer, and proceed to quickly acknowledge our connection. Bad move. Turns out she left my present talent guild about a month after I started there, on bad terms. So now I’m immediately associated with bad terms. Dear Leigha, meet your new friend, Losing Battle.
Overall, the day did everything it possibly could to freak me right the hell out. Despite that, the song and monologue actually went well. But just to finish things off, I almost got mugged on the way back to my car. But I didn’t actually get mugged, so score one for Horton. Take that, stupid day.
And because I’m the total dork that I am, I literally gave myself a pat on the back when I was driving home.
A week or two ago fellow Walker Art Center colleague, Reggie Prim, and I walked through the OPEN-ENDED (the art of engagement) exhibition presently on display in the Walker’s Target Gallery. While we would like to say that our visit was to fully immerse ourselves in the artworks, it wouldn’t be an entirely honest representation of our intentions. We walked in, scanned the room for the Catherine Opie photographs of icehouses, bee-lined for the accompanying listening-station, grabbed the headphones, giddily pointed to the didactic on the wall that bears our names, and gave each other big goofy grins while listening to our recorded voices. Reggie and I had both narrated ice-fishing stories written by Minnesotans that accompany the photographs – you can now hear the narrations at the gallery listening station through June 18th, online (scroll down to “Art on Call Stops for OPEN-ENDED,” then click “play” to hear me on tracks numbers 2 and 3), or via telephone (dial 612.374.8200, then enter 1026. To skip the quick interview with Catherine Opie and get directly to yours-truly, press 1 – not that I would recommend doing such a thing).
In Your Eye In the very near future the main leighahorton.com site will no longer say “coming soon.” I’m so excited, I could shout. The web-monkey has come up with a killer design, and it will have a bunch of downloadable goodies including my headshot, resume, and voice-over demo. Sometime after that main roll-out, sections for production-photos and press will be added. Yes, yes, I could shout.
In Your Future I’m still desperately wanting you to hear the Lipservice podcast wherein I’m interviewed by fellow actor Steve Hendrickson and share a clip from the Twelfth Night song recordings – it’s really sweet. Alas, the Lipservice website is undergoing a huge re-design and I’m not yet allowed to link to the podcast location. Grrrrrr. Soon, though.
In My Dreams I got cast at the Guthrie! Details to follow.
In Reality Kidding about that last one.
I can’t remember who alerted me to this crazy little gem, but I uploaded my headshot to myheritage.com and it did a scan based on facial features and structure. It then returned the following celebrity face match: 67%: Nicole Kidman 66%: Cate Blanchett, Aishwariya Rai, Hillary Rodham Clinton 65%: Gillian Anderson, Liv Tyler, Jennifer Lopez 64%:Anastasia Myskina, Angelina Jolie
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I find my likeness to Hillary Rodham Clinton and Aishwariya Rai equally laughable.
Go play. Then share.
The Waiting Game sucks. It is a bad game and I don't like it. The only thing I have ever liked about waiting is Bob Marley’s “Waiting in Vain” – one of the best songs on the planet. Ever. But that’s it. Okay, okay, there are some other things that are good to wait for, because the waiting makes the experience that much richer, but I am tired of waiting for things right now. Lord, looking back on my last few posts, I’m sensing a theme here. Let’s not have a therapy session right now and deconstruct what all this means, okay? Let us instead get to the task at hand: So what is the task at hand, one might ask? I shall tell. I auditioned again last night (yes, it was only last night - bugger off) at callbacks for Gremlin Theatre’s production of The Petrified Forest over at The Loading Dock. The fact that I was even called back came as a huge surprise - I first auditioned last Wednesday night at 9 pm, which made me the last person they saw after two days of auditioning actors, and which I thought gave me a slim chance at best. Lo and behold, on Saturday I got a call (my caller ID displayed “GREMLIN” – how’s that for disarming?) – I answered to discover that I had made callbacks for the role of Gabrielle. Not bad, especially since I wasn’t waiting for the call.
And callbacks went swimmingly. The director was intelligent, pointed, and humorous and the only fellow reading for Squire was hauntingly good. I felt powerful and effective in my performance, the energy with the other actor was palpable, and the director’s feedback was insightful and promising. All of which, of course, furthered my investment, which is NOT GOOD. This is when the disappointment starts to matter.
Just a few examples of why it’s bad to be invested before the proverbial chicken-egg has hatched: I felt really good about Columbia, yet we all know how that turned out. Or how about two weekends ago when I auditioned for a feature film and the casting director went gaga over my performance and highly praised my audition right there on the spot, only to tell me again over e-mail that I did a great job, and oh, by the way, here are the names of the two people we’re calling back for the role (my name wasn’t on that list).
I’m not bitter. Really. I’m just trying to illustrate a point about the dangers of getting invested in something before finding out if I’ll even be involved.
I’ve been painting tonight to try and keep my mind off of it. Not bad with the right music and the thunderstorm lighting up the night sky. Not bad at all.
Things are gonna change, I can feel it. (thanks, Beck) And no, I’m not implying soy un perdedor, it’s just that every seven years or so I hear that first sentence over and over in my head for weeks on end. This is one of those times. First and foremost, and because I’ve had several people ask me in social settings that quickly turned very awkward, I heard back from Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism last week. Turns out that I have way too much potential in acting, and they think that I shouldn’t waste my time with diversions such as journalism just yet. Well, not in so many words, but, you know. Um, yeah. The only thing remotely funny about that terribly disappointing letter was that it was dated April 1st. Yes, April Fool’s Day. I was tempted to send it back with a note: “HA-HA – very funny guys! That was a good one! Okay, you can send the real one now!” Honestly, I’m extremely uncomfortable sharing this information publicly. It sucked and it hurt. On the other hand, I feel that it’s appropriate because my acceptance to, or rejection from, Columbia would drastically change a lot of things in my acting world. Moving on.
With the above in mind, I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching. And a lot of compiling of press clips.
I’ve decided that I need to stop f*ing around when it comes to my acting career. Performing has always gotten the short end of the stick because I’ve always stumbled into one diversion or another – the promise of some new amazing career that will fulfill my basic and intellectual needs while still allowing me to perform. Sitting down with my stack of newspapers and weekly ‘zines and compiling all the articles in which I’ve been mentioned/reviewed into one press book has been extremely reaffirming. I have no negative reviews, and 28 pages so far that include reviews from the Star Tribune, Pioneer Press, City Pages, Pulse, Lavender, Montreal Mirror, and the McGill Tribune among others – with a stack of about 20 more periodicals to weed though. The ultimate goal of this staggeringly narcissistic exercise (what’s worse? – doing it or writing about it?) is to start creating some great press kits to send along to The Guthrie, Children’s Theatre Company, The Jungle, Ten Thousand Things, The Penumbra, etc., etc., etc. Hell, I even ordered personal business cards a few weeks ago. They came in Monday’s mail, and they’re totally sweet.
So I’ve got some messages for the emotional freeloaders in my life: stagnancy, bugger off. Self-doubt, get the hell out of my house…if you insist on continuing to live here (which I know you will), you’re going to pay rent already.
WANTED: Benefactor.
Thursday night, Dan, the Twelfth Night guitarist, invited me to join him for a swanky shindig over at Splice Here to meet friends of his, the in-house sound designers. I had e-mailed them my voice-over demo a week or two prior, and it was a pleasure to finally meet them in person (especially since they had seen Twelfth Night and didn’t recognize me at first - damn that grease-paint mustache!) – anyway, they’re great guys and I’m hoping to work with them on some voice-over projects in the near future. That evening made me realize that I can’t just sit around and wait for work to come to me. I need to actively get my voice-over demo (*cough* new link on the right side of this page, above the calendar *cough*) out to folks at the local media production companies, introduce myself, make sure they know that I’ll work quickly and professionally to make their project sparkle…yes, SPARKLE! Know any contacts at any of those places? It’d be nice to go in with an introduction from a mutual friend/colleague. Not necessary, but very, very nice.
Now for the mini-quiz. Before Thursday's soiree, I had my first post-college singing lesson. Dude seriously kicked my vocal chords. I walked out of there tired and happy, and with a voice weak from the workout. All I wanted to do was grab my iPod and sing along to some tunes with my newfound breath and focus – but, alas, my voice was too tired to work any further, so I resisted the urge.
At the lesson I was given my first assignment, the goal of which is to assist in establishing appropriate audition repertoire – and this is where I need your help. I am to ask at least five people (of varying degrees of relation to me) the following questions:
The point of this exercise is to find out how people view me – that way I can walk into an audition with material that fits that impression (rather than my vision of myself). This will keep a director from having to make a huge leap to see me as believable in the character I’m about to portray in song or monologue. So please be honest - being "nice" just for the sake of not hurting my feelings is not going to be helpful. If I remind you of Liza Minelli, fess up. If you could see me being a garbage collector, I want to know.
So there we have it – I’m looking for quiz answers and media production contacts. Feel free to respond in the comments, or if you’d rather keep it private, you can e-mail me or use the Contact form that is also on the right side of this page beneath the calendar. In return, you will get my undying gratitude. And good karma. Mmmmmm, good karma… Thanks, friends.
A couple of weeks off is definitely enough time to get into scads of trouble… here’s what I’ve got my mitts into these days: Saturday, March 25 (through June 18) My disembodied voice will be on the wall at the Walker Art Center as part of its newest exhibition, OPEN-ENDED (the art of engagement) – just find the photographs of skyways and icehouses by Catherine Opie and nearby will be a listening-station where you can hear me read an ice-fishing story or two by local authors (this was from a public reading that I did for Opie’s residency in 2002; recently re-recorded in the studio over at Undertone by my friend, Mr. Tom). This, friends, is the one time where snowpants = sexy.
Monday, March 27 Filming a short PSA for Foster and for equality. It’ll be broadcast on the web at some point in the near future; link to snarky political statement to follow.
Getting interviewed for the April edition of the Lipservice Talent Guild podcast. It’s like my Lipservice quinceanera! Except I’m not 15 and I’m not Mexican. Okay, it’s like my Lipservice Bat Mitzvah! Wait - not 13, nor Jewish. Damn. What coming-of-age celebrations do they have for Irish/Hungarian/German/Russian Americans besides getting blitzed at prom? On second thought, don’t answer that.
Tuesday, March 28 Public reading of The Lost and Found, a new screenplay by James Byrne. Someone recently dropped out, so I will be reading several roles. Come watch me use funny voices so you can tell them all apart! Kidding, Mr. Byrne. 7 pm at The Varsity Theater in Dinkytown if you’re looking to hash up some college nostalgia; be ready with your joneses for coffee and exercises in futility.
Sunday, April 2 Screening of The Monster of Phantom Lake at the Faux Film Festival in Portland. I have family in Portland. Family, if you love me, you probably shouldn’t go to this. Our very special screening is called the B-Movie Massacre for a reason. There will be improv comedians “improving” the script, as it were. B-Movie? Check. Massacre? Check.
Saturday, April 8 Callbacks for a new low-budget (but paid) feature-film, The Completely Remarkable, Utterly Fabulous Transformation of a Regular Joe. I’ve read some of the sides and I’m already getting invested in it… I hate it when I do that. Getting invested is not acceptable unless I’ve been cast. Gah.
Wednesday, May 17 The Monster of Phantom Lake returns to The Heights Theater – back by popular demand! You’ve asked for it, and the people who can make it happen made it happen. So for those of you who had to leave early to shoot a basketball game and didn’t get to see the end, or were out of town, or were in a show, or, ahem, said you’d show up and then didn’t (you know who you are; and you should know that you’ve earned yourself the title of Chump for that little stunt) – you’ve got another chance! Cast the weight of Chumpiness aside! Redemption in the form of pure entertainment can be yours!
Saturday, June 3 I’ll be wearing my best Appropriate for Children Disguise while reading Pinocchio the Boy: Incognito in Collodi to a bunch of youngsters as part of the Walker Art Center’s Free First Saturdays program. I will be reading the book aloud, playing several characters - come watch me use funny voices so you can tell them all apart! Not kidding, Mr. Byrne.
August 3-13 The Minnesota Fringe Festival returns. And so does the Ministry of Cultural Warfare. YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! Some of you have recently been surprised to learn that I’m part of that company. Part of it? Hell, I’m Foster’s slave-driver (Write me a script! And make it good!)…seriously though, he’s the Artistic Director, and I’m the Executive Director and Stage Hog, which means he writes the good stuff, and I make sure people see me in it. Here’s a photo of an, um, elated Foster once he heard our name announced at the Fringe lottery! So what is MoCW going to present at Fringe this year? It’s a surprise! To us, too!
Summary While I shared all of the above so that I could be instrumental in getting you away from the computer and into an active role as part of the arts community, I also did it to prove to myself that I’m a working actor. Sometimes I freak out about stagnancy. List compiled = freak-out averted. Mostly. There are some awfully obnoxious gaps between the April and May gigs, and again between June and August. Perhaps those would be good times to go to New York and San Diego, respectively. Yes. Freak-out officially averted.
Twelfth Night closed with a bang on March 5th – overall, we had a fantastic run of shows; and an even more fantastic closing weekend. It could very well be that they were my favorite cast to work with. Ever. Not counting Reid and Nathan, of course – but those guys are my guys, so I get to hang with them more often than not. Often when shows come to a close, I am ready to be done with them…it just feels right to move on. But this time around I find myself missing these amazingly kind and funny people. It makes me sad to think that the same group will never hang out in the greenroom together again. Sad-almost-to-the-point-of-tears-sad. Yes, The Post-Show Blues have pulled up a chair and made themselves comfortable. Tacky, really, since they weren’t invited in the first place. But alas, here they are. I hate them.
But then I was quickly consumed with the hype of The Monster of Phantom Lake premiere at The Heights Theatre, which was a certified blast. I don’t know how one goes about getting a blast certification, but one was definitely obtained. Honestly, I was highly apprehensive about the screening; I would have much preferred to take a Valium, show up late, and sit in the back corner and watch everyone – but I realized the evening wasn’t about my acting (which, in this film, I can safely say is pretty terrible), it was about celebrating this silly-yet-enchanting movie that we made. And celebrate we did. I had loads of family and friends there – and I keep finding out daily about more friends who were there, but who I never saw (the glasses didn’t go with the vintage dress). It was reassuring to be surrounded by 250 people who were excited to be there and quick to laugh. The positive reviews kept rolling in, and it felt great…
…but then my usually-out-of-town family went back to their respective homes, I got my apartment back, and I was unable to answer to the question, “what are you working on now?” without sounding pathetic.
But THEN I got to spend some time on Sunday with my main music men Dan and Don…and made super-slick recordings of Feste’s songs from Twelfth Night. Dan played like the pro he is, I sang my heart out, Don was the best cheerleader ever, and we were engineered by Kent, who worked on an album with one of my favorite bands (holy crap!). These guys definitely made my day.
And now here I am…reminiscing in the awesomeness of it all…and not foreseeing such levels of awesomeness converging again anytime soon. Who’s feeling needy? That'd be me, the one with her needy little hand raised. The only thing that could make this worse would be getting my wisdom teeth pulled tomorrow. Oh wait, I am getting my wisdom teeth pulled tomorrow. feh.
Holy Hannah, last night’s performance was a tough sell. I am the first to admit when there’s an even remote possibility that it’s my fault, or when the cast as a whole seems a bit off – but for the most part last night we put in a dang good show, and the audience just wasn’t having it. Sure, there were laughs here and there, and at one point I could see that one of my lines thoroughly delighted a woman in the audience; but overall, it just wasn’t grabbing them.
The backstage charades commenting on their cadaverous nature were a hoot: there were pantomimes of pulling teeth, slitting throats, in addition to desperate goofy dances. In the green room there were lamentations about waiting for the rigor mortis to set in, and suggestions of streaking across stage between scenes, or perhaps some strategically placed fellatio – ANYTHING to wake them up. Alas, we plodded onward as scripted.
It makes me wonder if audiences truly understand the power they have to make or break a show. We feed off an audience’s energy so that we can reflect it back upon them, and last night they sucked all of our energy out of us…they were the black hole of funny. I thoroughly believe they had a combination of the Friday Night Sleepies and overwhelming dread of the show ending and having to go back outside (a -9 standing temperature with -35 degree windchill will do that to people).
To top it all off, Monday night I came down with a nasty cold-slash-cough – and have been doing everything in my power since then to fight it, of course to no avail. My throat was dry, I couldn’t hold in all my coughs, and my concentration was spotty. The singing was going generally okay, though, until I totally botched the last song; leaving Dan-the-Rockstar-Guitarist out to dry (my continued sincere apologies, friend!). So any joy the audience would have walked away with quickly turned to pity. Um, oops.
I call a do-over.
To end on a positive note, here are some great reviews from last week: St. Paul Pioneer Press (I’m included in the “Rat Pack”) AOL City Guide – Top Five Picks of the Week
For the last two weeks I've been putting in 14-hour days. Tonight is Opening Night. I'm so excited we're finally openisgnqxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx WHAT? WHAT? I'M AWAKE! I am SO sleeping in tomorrow. Morning can just forgettaboutit - 'cause I ain't rousing till noon. NOON. Do you hear me, morning?
Ever think about how to make the word "crunchy" sound appealingly crunchy when spoken aloud? Or about how the flavors chocolate, peanut butter, and vanilla cream all taste different, and therefore should sound different when spoken? The psychology behind advertising copy, and the subsequent voicing of it to cause craving by audiences, is really quite fascinating. It makes me feel like I need to step up my voice-over game substantially, because just “reading well” certainly isn’t going to cut it. I need to make people want things. Last Sunday morning I sat in on Lipservice founder Shirley Venard's voice-over class. Good lord, is she amazing. Wow. Wow. I admit that I've often had trouble reading commercial copy because on paper it seems so lifeless and smarmy. She completely revolutionized my way of reading copy – and frankly, it will now get the same deconstruction method as I set upon works by The Bard himself. And I know that last sentence totally sounds like a line from an infomercial, but I actually mean it – this is deep stuff, my friend.
After spending an entire evening tape-recording and then transcribing commercial copy off of the television, and some significant weeding through the Lipservice script files, I have whittled the choices down to a list of strong contenders for copy that will eventually make it on to my commercial voice demo - Park Nicollet, Staples, Olay, Pantene, Toyota, General Mills, United Way, Audi, and Target. I think I might also try to get my hands on a copy of the British Television Advertising Awards to drop in a piece or two with RP (Standard British accent). I haven't even started with the narrative voice demo yet, but I’m thinking I might yank something from Ken Burns’ Jazz series and that killer Nova special on Quantum Physics/String Theory.
Here's an odd question for you - do you have a favorite commercial (is that even possible?) that relies on good copy rather than sight gags that I should consider for inclusion in my demo? My ad agency friends might have a leg-up on this one. Do share.
Saturday night I saw the closing performance of Live Action Set’s Please Don’t Blow Up Mr. Boban, a 90-minute wartime romp through the joy and grit of humanity re-mounted post-Fringe Festival at The Loring Playhouse. Overall, a beautiful, moving piece of performance-dance-theater that certainly deserved all the praise it received. There were a few places where I recognized modified improvisation warm-up games which could have certainly been left out of the piece and rendered it just as, if not more, effective, but they also helped establish a supportive group dynamic that was palpable. The story centered around a bistro owner, Mr. Boban, whose shop is bombed, his brother a casualty of that bombing, yet continued on as the townspeople’s safe-haven on both literal and figurative levels. Between a rebel that took up residence in Boban’s refrigerator and the soul of a dead little girl who stuck around until her photograph-plastered mother found her, it was at once surprisingly funny and heartbreaking. The most touching part of the evening, however, was when an audience member on the other side of the stage (the performance played in the round) began to silently cry during a particularly moving scene. The young boy that he was with, perhaps 11, noticed, scooted closer to his friend and extended his little arm up to try and embrace the grown-up's shoulders. His arm couldn’t quite reach all the way around, but the sentiment was clear. Sadly, children are often far more empathetic than we tend to notice when we’re wading in our own moments.
So since this is my website and I’m an actress and therefore have an obligation of self-servitude to fulfill, I have to interpret the Mr. Boban experience in a way that speaks directly to my personal dramas of the moment. Ready? O-KAY!:
I walked away from the theater feeling a bit melancholy and realized that being a part of that audience made me miss the stage even more than I already have been missing it. Voice-over work is certainly gratifying, but rather lonely at the same time; I want to work in an ensemble again, I want to feel the energy of a room and dance with it. Well, dance with it in an actor way, not a dancer way (although the two forms are being integrated more and more in the work I see lately).
Over the past month or two, I’ve been checking out tctheatreandfilm.org for audition listings, but not every company/venue lists there. And the old stand-by, the Star Tribune 550’s, is something that I don’t go out and buy on Sundays because I already get the New York Times – I think that I should be able to get the same info through the Star Tribune online, but no such luck. The STrib online classifieds are really quite terrible, actually – more so since they changed their search engine preventing one from viewing all submissions under the 550 header. So there we have it: half-assed searching for stage work, and nothing to show for it. Surprising? Nope. Disappointing? Yep.
Alas, (alack?) it’s time to stop screwing around. I’ve officially hit a plateau in the Twin Cities, and plateaus are sad and scary and lame; so here is my stage-acting agenda for the next two weeks:
Donations accepted. Wish me luck.
Since I’ve recently taken the deep plunge into podcasting (see Minnesota Fringe Festival or Radio Hong Kong for examples), my web monkey has been introducing me to extra-special internet treats that are helping me understand the technical aspects. Extra-Special Internet Treat Number One is from Systm – “a downloadable how-to technology show geared towards teaching the common geek various hot topics and projects. Each episode focuses on one subject and is between 10-15 minutes in length.” Episode 4 – Podcasting demonstrates the quick and dirty of the form; from recording to digitization to web. The episode is pretty accessible, although they do assume that you have a basic understanding of computers. If you were able to get on the internet and read this, you’re a-okay.
Extra-Special Internet Treat Number Two is Audacity – a free, open-source audio-editing program. I’m just starting to get a feel for it, rather tricky since I don’t have prior knowledge of audio software or a manual; but this girl’s got a little geek and a lot of curiosity in her and that’s all it takes, right?
Armed with my newfound podcasting knowledge and recording capabilities (ha!), I spent an entire evening last week recording commercials off the television and then transcribing them into Word. One thing I learned through this tedious process is that commercials aren’t nearly as obnoxious when I don't care about the programming…hunting them down and then deconstructing them is rather satisfying – even if rather cumbersome with a VCR. So I’ve been toying with recording these commercial scripts over the past several days, experimenting with pitch and pace and energy, and it’s been extremely helpful – even though a bit narcissistic. I’m an actor; narcissism should come as no surprise (I write a blog, for crying out loud).
With all the tech-treats in mind, one might wonder if there’s a reason for this belly-flop into Geekdom. There is a reason, and a good one at that, but it must remain under wraps for a wee bit longer. Okay, okay, it involves my strong desire to make “wee bit” into one word: weebit. Wouldn’t that be awesome? Weebit. SO CUTE! That would rank right up there in my list of all-time favorite words to say joining such notables as “button” and “pumpkin.” KIDDING. Kind of. Seriously though, I will share the reason (that makes me so excited that I want to vomit) at a later date when said reason is fully formalized. Until then, you’ll just have to settle for the weebit proposition.
A month or two ago, I was introduced to kottke.org (thanks to a special web monkey). I’ve never been one for generalized web surfing because as soon as a blank Google page is in front of me, I end up deer-headlighty…I just sit there, unmoving, eyes glazed, synapses in a state of incomprehensible hyper-drive. kottke.org takes all the pressure off because it provides a kajillion starting points. Recently, due to a link on Kottke’s site, I was led to the blog of Josh Friedman, a snarky, honest, painfully funny screenwriter in California, just outside of LA proper. He’s credited with writing early drafts of War of the Worlds (latest Spielberg version), as well as writing Chain Reaction and The Black Dahlia (2006 release with Minneapolis local "it boy" Josh Hartnett and Scarlett Johansson) – I haven’t seen any of these, but no matter. Since Friedman's blog is a brother/screenwriter version in spirit to my actor blog, and he’s a far superior writer, I wanted to share. Even though he thinks all actors are crazy. And even though he’s mainly right.
Go forth and laugh, dearests. There is a Variety article, some shellack, and an ex-girlfriend/actress waiting for you.
Take a flying guess who I was forced to read with at last Tuesday’s audition. Ready? It was Mr. PSA himself – the same fellow from the last awful audition. After a couple of bum auditions at this venue and a strikingly bad vibe from the space itself (duly noted by Nathan who auditioned the night before), I’m starting to think of this place as the Evil Empire. And no, for anyone taking bets, it’s not the Guthrie. So even though Mr. PSA arrived and checked-in 45 minutes after I did, he ended up getting assigned to me due to the male-to-female ratio. Reid and Erik were there with me (Reid was planned, Erik I happily bumped in to), and Reid did what he could to not get the giggles – it was a noble effort, but not entirely successful.
To quote a light-hearted but dissatisfied Reid, “merr.”
For those of you unfamiliar with the sound, it’s kind of beepy, but in a sad, recalcitrant muppet sort of way.
Ah well, onwards and upwards.
I stumbled across a great article, Matched Sets: The Pen and the Voice, in last Sunday’s New York Times Arts & Leisure section – a tidbit, if you will:
A playwright's best fortune is to share the profession with actors whose mouths seem shaped to fit his words. Jason Robards deftly personified the written worlds of Eugene O'Neill (even if the playwright didn't live long enough to see any of the actor's definitive performances). During the past two decades, Edward Albee's exacting syntax has been very nicely voiced by Marian Seldes and Rosemary Harris. And recently, the moody, ruminative Ron Rifkin completed his latest stint as mouthpiece of choice for the moody, ruminative playwright Jon Robin Baitz, in "The Paris Letter."
It then goes on to dissect the pairings of Neil Simon to Matthew Broderick; Terrence McNally to Nathan Lane; and Christopher Durang to Kristine Nielsen. The best part:
Mr. McNally has said he hears Mr. Lane's voice when he writes and never has to tell the actor how to deliver a line. The playwright seems to employ Mr. Lane as his onstage id, instilling in the characters he writes for him his own passions…
After finishing the article, it made me realize that Foster’s (my MoCW cohort) and my relationship is more normal than I thought. I have often fretted about how well we work together – “This is really easy - does this mean that I am hereby pigeonholed into his words? Is he pigeonholed into my characterizations? Will I lose my ability to aptly voice Havel? Stoppard? Kushner? Shakespeare?” Will I ever hear another writer/director say “Yes! Do that, always.”
Apparently there is no need to fret, because the big kids do it all the time and walk away unscathed.
But like every person in a healthy relationship, I also recognize that outside inspiration is a must. I have every intention to actively pursue diversity in my resume – I will keep auditioning for outside projects and continue to “forge new alliances” (damn you, corporatespeak!) and all that, but it’s comforting to know that I have a theatrical home. One where the words start out as his and become ours...the words like our very own little babies – the funny kind of babies that come from gay men and bossy women. Sweet.
