Samuel French

Samuel French is one treacherous little guy. I know he looks innocent, in his striped stockings, sitting on his pile of manuscripts, but he is devious, out to get you, beware!

The plays he publishes may seem innocent too, they are small volumes bound in solid paper covers with muted tones, their titles and authors stamped to the cover in the official Samuel French font.

And the plays are fine, an assortment of genres and titles are available, the character names, dialogue and stage directions crammed in so as to take up as little space as possible, available for purchase in bulk for theaters to distribute among the cast and crew of their production. I happen to own a few Samuel French plays, they have have lines highlighted, and blocking notes scribbled in corners, then crossed out and re-scribbled from when the blocking was changed. He's a fine little helper in the theater, a useful tool.

Here's the problem: In the beginning of the book, there is a cast and crew list for the premier production of the play. In the back of the book is a set diagram, and a costume and properties list. The missing piece of information is that the set, costumes, and props, reflect what was designed for the original production. The one credited at the beginning of the book. They are not written by the playwright, they are not set in stone, and they may be informative to designers, but unless the goal is to do a carbon copy remount of the original production, they are not to be followed to the letter.

I once had a costume designer give me a series of really ugly coats to try on, because the costume plot described my character as wearing a "pea coat and school scarf". Never mind the rack of beautiful fake fur's  that hung directly beside her, and the fact that the rest of the characters in the scene I was entering in to were in evening wear. I finally brought in an appropriate period evening dress from home, got the director to approve it, and received a fake fur coat to match.

Thankfully, attempting to literally match the costumes listed at the back of a Samuel French script is a relatively rare problem, if only because most small theaters can't afford it. A more common problem is attempting to literally match the stage directions.

Stage directions can be an important part of a script. Playwrights can be very particular about their staging, and if you try to do a production of say, a Becket play, and get a little too creative, you may find your production closed down courtesy of his estate. Other playwrights follow Shakespeare's lead, and give little direction other than noting when a character enters and exits the stage, and other minor directives (they kiss. they fight.)

And it is in the realm of stage directions that Samuel Frenches devious nature really comes out. Because you never know, if the lines printed in italics are actual stage directions form the playwright, or merely blocking notes taken by the stage manager at that all consuming original production.

I have had directors trip over themselves, trying to fit in every cross and wave and bit of business, that, for all we know was cut between the publication and final curtain. Worse still, I've had directors who relied on Samuel French to do their blocking for them. In high school, I was a in a production of Pride and Prejudice, where I showed up, very excited to the first blocking rehearsal, only to have the director say "So, we're just going to follow the stage directions." And we did. Samuel French was actual rather reserved in that particular version of Pride and Prejudice, so the blocking was really dull. People sat, stood, bowed, curtseid, entered and exited. Every so often, my character, Mrs. Bennet, would get particularly excited and be directed by Mr. French to kiss people. When my parents came to see the show they said the the blocking created some pretty extreme sight-line problems, problems neither the director not Samuel French had seen fit to address.

Of course, that was High School. I have never had a director give over a show that entirely to the striped stockinged fiend since then, but I have had quite a few give him a lot more say then I think he rightly deserves. I think those of us in the theater would do well, when we receive our pastel paper volumes, to judge each italicized line on whether or not it is necessary to tell the story. If the answer is no, we would be wise to take a large black marker, and cross it out.

Turnover

My former restaurant has one of the highest turnover rates in the history of restaurants. Most hosts had a shelf life of two weeks, max. Often it was more like two days, one day there’d be some fresh young thing all dressed up in her tight skirt and her little blazer earnestly rushing about trying to learn the table numbers, and the next day she’d be gone. Poof, I didn’t even bother to learn their names until I was sure I’d get a chance to use them.

I didn’t host, I served, and trained, which is worse. The new servers usually lasted more than a day, but training took eight days, and there were plenty who didn’t make it through that. Or who shouldn’t have.

Part of the reason for the turnover was that the restaurant was an evil corporate establishment in which logic was nonexistent and the management’s egos reigned supreme. The other was that it seemed to be a magnate for crazy people.

Most of the crazy people were night crew so my personal run ins with them were limited. Here is the fundamental difference between day crew and night crew.  Day crew people are in the restaurant business because they like the restaurant business. They are often older, have families, or are on a break between degrees. They bring in homemade baked goods to share, gossip a little, serve the food, pour the coffee and go home to their cats. Night crew, on the other hand, are in the restaurant business because they like to drink. They come in for their one lunch shift a week nursing a hang over and complaining bitterly about how early it is. They like the business because it allows them to sleep in, work a four hour shift, leave with a fistful of cash and immediately pour in down their throats at the bar next door. They bring store bought candy to share, gossip, and go out together. They also inter date.

There was a night bartender who was dating one of the hostesses. He was in his thirties; tall, lanky, creepy, the kind of guy who feels the need to rate every female customer who walks in the door, and ask if he can run your food or refill your waters if a girl at your table is particularly attractive. She was seventeen.  Rumor has it he took a naked picture of her and emailed it to a number of other guys at the restaurant without her knowledge or consent. Word reached management but he wasn’t fired for it. That happened the following month, when he pulled a no call no show after being late for an earlier shift.

People got fired a lot at this restaurant. Sometimes it was for legitimate reasons, like being perpetually late, or drinking behind the bar. More often it seemed to happen to people certain managers decided they just didn't like. You could sense these firings coming, the employee complaining about the managers, and the managers complaining about the employee, nit picking at them over little details in the sidework and service, scheduling them for shifts they couldn't work. In the end they would have some pretext for firing them, usually a "customer complaint", but no one was fooled. 

One disgruntled server spent a week protesting the restaurant after getting fired. He carried a large sign with slogans like “LIES! Courtesy of the Lizard King and the Dragon Lady” and, “you thought the orange juice was fresh squeezed!”. On the last day of his protest, he took one of the logo baseball caps cooks wore and set it on fire. 

There were a few other ways to leave. A lot of people just quit, especially the new hires. One day a new kid would be there, tagging along behind the host or busser, they next day they’d be gone. Just wouldn’t show for their shift. Scared or overslept, never to be heard from again.

The more dramatic method of quitting is, of course, mid shift. When the pressure builds up, and the rush is relentless, and we’ve run out of pint glasses AGAIN, and god help you if you serve that diet coke is a water glass, which is UNECEPTABLE! And you’re running around looking in every corner of the restaurant for an available pint glass when the hostess comes over sheepishly and says she’s double sat you, she’s sorry, management made her do it, and that’s when you look at the door, with its inviting entry out into a world where you don’t have to deal with this shit, and you walk through it. 

I had many fantasies of taking that mid shift door to freedom, but in the end, I went the boring traditional rout with my exit. I found a new job, put in my two weeks notice, accepted my parting gifts and well wishes and went on my way. I also lasted three years at that job, which is something of a record. While I was still there, a coworker asked me how I had survived so long, “I make myself indispensable,” I replied, “and I stay try and stay off the radar”. Staying off the radar is critical. At the time of that conversation I was the only day trainer, an important and exhausting position to hold given our astonishingly high turnover. I was important, and good at my job; In my three years I never once got written up, but I never made employee of the month either. I slid by, trying to bring each new generation up to speed, hoping a few would survive long enough to give me a break from spewing the company propaganda so I could just wait tables, damn it. We finally got another highly competent trainer and my life got easier. Still I left when I could, quietly, safely, you never know when you might have to return.

Ensemble

Sophomore year at Cornish College of the Arts, was all about the ensemble. We did endless exercises, such as "auto-core" to help develop our ensemble building skills. We came to dread the very word ensemble. It had grown and mutated during the course of the year from an innocent little term describing a group of people working together, to a significance laden label that threatened all of our egos and individuality. To be fair the journey through Cornish was full of vocab transformations. words like Action, Risk, Emoting, and Presence, became dark and foreboding and overused.

Out in the real world, several years removed from the Cornish bubble, many of these words have lost their ominous edge. A work of theater employing an ensemble does not have be a balancing act of egos or a white washing of individual talents. It will likely have a few standout performances, but at its heart, a good ensemble is a group of talented people working together to make interesting theater happen.

I had the privilege of seeing this in action last weekend. Two very different plays, two very good representations of ensemble, and both made up almost exclusively of local talent.

On Friday night I went to the Seattle Rep and saw Of Mice and Men. I'd been looking forward to this production, especially since I got wind of a few of the actors involved, and I was not disappointed. While a couple of the performances walked a fine line between truth and caricature, the production was full of beautiful, surprising, moments and images. From Charles Legget's Lenny trying to sneak his new pup into his bunk, to William A. William's melodic whistling and he walked across stage with a guitar, to the many breathtaking sunsets that lighting designer Robert Aguilar played out on Jennifer Zeyl's set. Of Mice and Men is, at its heart, a story of lonely people searching for human connection. Every character is an outsider, every character is lonely, this lends a charge to all the scenes, but a special tension to when a large part of the group is together. They talk about cards, and work, and whiskey, but their dreams are always hovering, waiting to be acknowledged. 

On Saturday night I switched gears and headed to Open Circle Theater's production of  The Rocky Horror Show. Far away from Of Mice and Men's Sweeping Sunsets, and the Seattle Rep's spacious seating, I was given instead the dark interior of a mad man's castle, carved from the dark interior of a small black box theater.  Rocky Horror also dealt a bit with longing, with the search for connection, with feeling uprooted, displaced, wanting to belong, but really, the show is about two things: Music, and Sex, and both are screamingly present in Open Circle's production. The music was loud and heartfelt. The band had a tendency to overpower the singers, despite the use of hand held microphones which were pulled out of handbags, or handed from off stage to whoever needed one. The balance improved, however, as the show progressed. I'm no musical expert, but to my untrained ear, there were a few lovely singing voices, and all the performers filled any gaps in technique with enough attitude to bowl over a charging, cross-dressing, rhinoceros. As for sex, the show was dripping with it, from the fishnets and collars, to the moments of surprising, equal opportunity, nudity. But this was a dark, twisty, ominous sex that permeated the production,  rarely lapsing in to Camp. By keeping things gritty and truthful they stayed, well, sexy, despite the number of men in thongs.

In many ways the two productions couldn't be more different, but they had something more than their strong ensemble casts linking them together: the fact that those casts were made up almost exclusively of local actors. In a small fringe company like Open Circle, that is pretty much par for the course, but that a Big House like Seattle Rep, doing a well known script on their main stage, would cast local is more of a statement. A statement the Rep has been making with increasing frequency in recent seasons. And making to their benefit.