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.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
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.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
This is not a buffet!
Buffets are very straightforward. Some restaurants have them as an option, if this is the case, you can bet your server will point out this option and try to sell it to you. My previous restaurant ran a breakfast buffet; we severs loved it, because it cost $20 and all we had to do was pour endless cups of coffee and drop a check.
Sometimes a restaurant will only have a buffet. This is the case at 67 in the Edgewater Hotel, after you are seated the server will tell you that the buffet is all they are serving. He will bring you a mimosa and direct you to help yourself to the piles of fruit and shellfish and eggs benedict.
Sometimes you have to be given a plate before you can go to the buffet, but even if the plates are part of the layout, if you are in a restaurant, you always have to be given permission.
Hotels are ruining this concept.
So many of them offer "complimentary" breakfast these days. Often it is a "continental" breakfast, i.e. muffins and mushy apples, but the practice runs so rampant that many people seem to think "continental" and "complimentary" are synonyms. These strange little affairs are laid out in the lobby, or in a dining room, at a particular time, and you don't need a plate to go help yourself to donuts and coffee, you don't need permission, you only need to be staying in the hotel.
This puts hotel restaurants in an awkward position. I've worked in two of them now, my first in a big downtown hotel, my current one in a smaller neighborhood location, but they are both independently owned. Guests can charge meals to their rooms, but that's about it. Many guest's don't understand this, especially before their first cup of coffee."
"What is included with my room?" was a question I got asked frequently, when I worked downtown. The answer was "nothing". There is no way to phrase this so it sounds less like nothing. When people asked my other favorite question; "What comes with the pancakes?" I could at least smile sweetly and say "butter and syrup". Then I would encourage them to order a side of bacon, which is what they were hoping to get for free.
They would try to get the buffet for free too. The restaurant didn't help matters by having two different price levels for the buffet; the all inclusive "All American", and the, yes, "Continental" option, for those who only wanted to graze among the fruit, pastries, and cold cereal. Many people did just fine with this concept, but there were others to whom the phrase "continental buffet" meant one of two things.
1. It's free with my room!
2. I can order the lower priced buffet and then sneak a bunch of bacon and no one will notice!
I doubt you'll find it surprising that I do not miss working in a hotel restaurant with a buffet. My current location serves food only if ordered off the menu, which is wonderful, because most people, when ordering food off a menu, realize they are expected to pay for it. We do, however, have a beverage station set up in view of the guests. There is no food on this station, it is only a collection of different kinds of cups and glasses, coffee pots, hot water for tea, and an ice bucket filled with juices and coffee creamer. It is right next to the computer, and a pile of menus, but still, every day someone will make for it saying "how does this work?" or, "Do we just help ourselves?"
We added a sign to the wall above the beverage station, the sign says "employees only". It is on blue paper and it taped to an orange wall, so its very hard to miss, but people still got confused.
A few days ago we added a folding screen that partially blocked the view of the station. Things seem to have gotten better, but then today I came back from collecting silverware to find a Couple happily pouring themselves orange juice and taking napkins from the loose pile I was in the middle of folding. Even after I'd directed them to a table, taken their order and brought the lady a cup of coffee, she got up and went back to the station saying, "I help myself to the juice, right?"
Sometimes a restaurant will only have a buffet. This is the case at 67 in the Edgewater Hotel, after you are seated the server will tell you that the buffet is all they are serving. He will bring you a mimosa and direct you to help yourself to the piles of fruit and shellfish and eggs benedict.
Sometimes you have to be given a plate before you can go to the buffet, but even if the plates are part of the layout, if you are in a restaurant, you always have to be given permission.
Hotels are ruining this concept.
So many of them offer "complimentary" breakfast these days. Often it is a "continental" breakfast, i.e. muffins and mushy apples, but the practice runs so rampant that many people seem to think "continental" and "complimentary" are synonyms. These strange little affairs are laid out in the lobby, or in a dining room, at a particular time, and you don't need a plate to go help yourself to donuts and coffee, you don't need permission, you only need to be staying in the hotel.
This puts hotel restaurants in an awkward position. I've worked in two of them now, my first in a big downtown hotel, my current one in a smaller neighborhood location, but they are both independently owned. Guests can charge meals to their rooms, but that's about it. Many guest's don't understand this, especially before their first cup of coffee."
"What is included with my room?" was a question I got asked frequently, when I worked downtown. The answer was "nothing". There is no way to phrase this so it sounds less like nothing. When people asked my other favorite question; "What comes with the pancakes?" I could at least smile sweetly and say "butter and syrup". Then I would encourage them to order a side of bacon, which is what they were hoping to get for free.
They would try to get the buffet for free too. The restaurant didn't help matters by having two different price levels for the buffet; the all inclusive "All American", and the, yes, "Continental" option, for those who only wanted to graze among the fruit, pastries, and cold cereal. Many people did just fine with this concept, but there were others to whom the phrase "continental buffet" meant one of two things.
1. It's free with my room!
2. I can order the lower priced buffet and then sneak a bunch of bacon and no one will notice!
I doubt you'll find it surprising that I do not miss working in a hotel restaurant with a buffet. My current location serves food only if ordered off the menu, which is wonderful, because most people, when ordering food off a menu, realize they are expected to pay for it. We do, however, have a beverage station set up in view of the guests. There is no food on this station, it is only a collection of different kinds of cups and glasses, coffee pots, hot water for tea, and an ice bucket filled with juices and coffee creamer. It is right next to the computer, and a pile of menus, but still, every day someone will make for it saying "how does this work?" or, "Do we just help ourselves?"
We added a sign to the wall above the beverage station, the sign says "employees only". It is on blue paper and it taped to an orange wall, so its very hard to miss, but people still got confused.
A few days ago we added a folding screen that partially blocked the view of the station. Things seem to have gotten better, but then today I came back from collecting silverware to find a Couple happily pouring themselves orange juice and taking napkins from the loose pile I was in the middle of folding. Even after I'd directed them to a table, taken their order and brought the lady a cup of coffee, she got up and went back to the station saying, "I help myself to the juice, right?"
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The Double Standard
It's not easy being a girl.
Last weekend, I had the very great honor of sharing the stage with sixteen other actresses. Being a part of The Vagina Monologues was amazing and important not only because of the subject matter, but because it is one of the few regularly produced plays in that can cast more than four women at once.
Last weekend the massive all female cast crammed into Renton Civic's two tiny dressing rooms, shared stories, told dirty jokes, curled our hair, commented on the audiance's reaction, and fought for chairs. We had a great time, we put on three great shows, there was a lot of love, and laughter, and a few differnet generations. Women, it turns out have a lot to learn from acting together, it's a pity we don't do it more often.
The last time I performed at Renton Civic I shared that same dressing room with just three other women. Of the four of us only two had parts with names. Across the hall there were five men jostling for mirror space, only one was a chorus member.
The play before that I shared a dressing room with just one other woman. We luxuriated in the space, while four men crowded into the other dressing room.
It's a common phenomena. I see cast break downs all the time when heading into auditions: 4M 2W, 6M 2W, 5M 4W, 10M 1W. There is rarely a play with more than one part for a woman my age, rarely a play where they don't need more men than women. I have been in one. A few summers ago I was in a play with twelve other women and only one man. It was a great experience, but then again, I co-wrote and produced it. I have tried my best to help right the imbalance that exists in the theater today, and I am not alone in my fight. There are companies dedicated to producing plays by women, for women, and featuring predominantly female casts. There are productions like The Vagina Monologues. Productions that celebrate womanhood.
I would just like to see more productions that celebrate great actresses. Because the worst of it is, while the balance of male to female roles is out of joint in one direction, the balance of male to female talent is out of joint in exactly the opposite. I have nothing against the actors in this town, most of them are very good. But it is a whole lot easier for the good ones to get cast; if you're talented and male, you'll get good parts, if you can walk and talk at the same time while hinting at a basic emotion, and are male, you'll get the left over parts. While on the other side of the spectrum, talented actresses compete with other talented actresses for the few available roles.
I won't say it's not fair, so little in life is that it really doesn't bare repeating. But it is problem. A problem that I am not alone in recognizing, or working to remedy. So in the meantime, I'll just have to treasure the moments I do have, take the parts I'm lucky enough to land, and keep writing those plays with giant female casts in the hope that someone will produce one someday.
Its not easy being a girl, but that doesn't make it any less wonderful.
Last weekend, I had the very great honor of sharing the stage with sixteen other actresses. Being a part of The Vagina Monologues was amazing and important not only because of the subject matter, but because it is one of the few regularly produced plays in that can cast more than four women at once.
Last weekend the massive all female cast crammed into Renton Civic's two tiny dressing rooms, shared stories, told dirty jokes, curled our hair, commented on the audiance's reaction, and fought for chairs. We had a great time, we put on three great shows, there was a lot of love, and laughter, and a few differnet generations. Women, it turns out have a lot to learn from acting together, it's a pity we don't do it more often.
The last time I performed at Renton Civic I shared that same dressing room with just three other women. Of the four of us only two had parts with names. Across the hall there were five men jostling for mirror space, only one was a chorus member.
The play before that I shared a dressing room with just one other woman. We luxuriated in the space, while four men crowded into the other dressing room.
It's a common phenomena. I see cast break downs all the time when heading into auditions: 4M 2W, 6M 2W, 5M 4W, 10M 1W. There is rarely a play with more than one part for a woman my age, rarely a play where they don't need more men than women. I have been in one. A few summers ago I was in a play with twelve other women and only one man. It was a great experience, but then again, I co-wrote and produced it. I have tried my best to help right the imbalance that exists in the theater today, and I am not alone in my fight. There are companies dedicated to producing plays by women, for women, and featuring predominantly female casts. There are productions like The Vagina Monologues. Productions that celebrate womanhood.
I would just like to see more productions that celebrate great actresses. Because the worst of it is, while the balance of male to female roles is out of joint in one direction, the balance of male to female talent is out of joint in exactly the opposite. I have nothing against the actors in this town, most of them are very good. But it is a whole lot easier for the good ones to get cast; if you're talented and male, you'll get good parts, if you can walk and talk at the same time while hinting at a basic emotion, and are male, you'll get the left over parts. While on the other side of the spectrum, talented actresses compete with other talented actresses for the few available roles.
I won't say it's not fair, so little in life is that it really doesn't bare repeating. But it is problem. A problem that I am not alone in recognizing, or working to remedy. So in the meantime, I'll just have to treasure the moments I do have, take the parts I'm lucky enough to land, and keep writing those plays with giant female casts in the hope that someone will produce one someday.
Its not easy being a girl, but that doesn't make it any less wonderful.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Clique-Clique
We never really get out of high school.
There are many areas of adult life in which the social quirks of our adolescence make their presence know. How completely stupid we become when falling in love, for instance, or the way we feel a need to one-up each other's hardships ( "you have to get up at six? well, I have to get up at five forty five"). But the most prevalent carry over from our high school days is the way we continually group ourselves into cliques.
We may not call them cliques. We might call them businesses, or churches, or clubs, or social classes. We may insist, that we like EVERYONE, and get along with EVERYONE, but we know we lie. Social groupings are part of social survival. And they run rampant in the theater world.
There are the improv folks, the musical theater people, the community theater people, the fringe artists, the performance artists, and the Union. There are actors who specialize in classical theater, directors who won't touch a play unless it's a world premier, and patrons who have season tickets to the 5th Avenue and nowhere else.
I know as you read this people are protesting: "Wait a minute, I do improv AND fringe theater!" "I have season tickets to the Rep, AND am on the A list at Annex!" Good for you. There have to be exceptions, and just because there are cliques doesn't mean that crossovers are forbidden. But the lines are still drawn, the cliques still exist, and as a species we like to stay inside those lines, where we feel comfortable.
last weekend I spent some time with one of the cliquiest cliques in all of theaterdom. I am, of course, talking about the Gilbert and Sullivan society. Well, actually it was Northwest Savoyard's annual Gilbert and Sullivan production, but they all pull from the same pool. Most of the folks who do Gilbert and Sullivan don't even do regular musicals, or regular opera, they just hop around the small handful of Seattle companies who produce the repertoire of Victorian England's favorite operatic duo. (and yes, of course, there are exceptions to this rule.)
Gilbert and Sullivan, or G&S (now that I've introduced you we might as well jump straight into shorthand.) Wrote a number of frothy comic operettas, the most well known being Pirates of Penzance, H.M.S. Pinafore, and The Mikado. These three are the bread and butter of G&S groups. They have to cycle one in every three years or so, the same way a Shakespeare in the Park company has to do at least five productions of A Midsummer Nights Dream, for every one production of Coriolanus.
Ruddigore, the show I saw last weekend, is perhaps done slightly more often than Coriolanus, but only because Shakespeare wrote thirty nine plays, and Gilbert and Sullivan only managed fourteen. It is by no means among the duo's best or most memorable work, but it is having quite a good year. In addition to the production currently running at the Historic Everett Theater, it will be brought to the Bagley Wright theater this Summer, by the Seattle Gilbert and Sullivan Society.
I'm sure they will do it justice, too, but I doubt that production will be as inventive as the one I saw last weekend. Usually a very by-the-numbers theater, Northwest Savoyards got lucky, or smart, or both, in their choice of Danielle Villegas to direct Ruddigore. She decked the cast in sexy, Steampunk attire, threw in some dancing and creative blocking, and most improtantly, had a bare bones female chorus. In all the past Savoyards shows I've seen, the female chorus was so large it could barely fit on stage. Once there it was given nothing to do but stand in tight rows like a bunch of bustled sardines.
The only draw back to the production was the utter lack of technical support. Microphones went in and out, emitted bursts of static, or only seemed to work in certain spots on stage. It was a shame, because the cast was quite good, and I would have like to have heard them clearly and consistently. I can only hope that the situation has improved since opening night.
If you're already a part of this clique, then you no doubt know about its particular joys and drawbacks. If you've not yet had the pleasure, you might want to stop by. For such a cliquey clique, G&S is actually quite welcoming, and quite a bit easier to get in to than the cliques we knew in high school.
There are many areas of adult life in which the social quirks of our adolescence make their presence know. How completely stupid we become when falling in love, for instance, or the way we feel a need to one-up each other's hardships ( "you have to get up at six? well, I have to get up at five forty five"). But the most prevalent carry over from our high school days is the way we continually group ourselves into cliques.
We may not call them cliques. We might call them businesses, or churches, or clubs, or social classes. We may insist, that we like EVERYONE, and get along with EVERYONE, but we know we lie. Social groupings are part of social survival. And they run rampant in the theater world.
There are the improv folks, the musical theater people, the community theater people, the fringe artists, the performance artists, and the Union. There are actors who specialize in classical theater, directors who won't touch a play unless it's a world premier, and patrons who have season tickets to the 5th Avenue and nowhere else.
I know as you read this people are protesting: "Wait a minute, I do improv AND fringe theater!" "I have season tickets to the Rep, AND am on the A list at Annex!" Good for you. There have to be exceptions, and just because there are cliques doesn't mean that crossovers are forbidden. But the lines are still drawn, the cliques still exist, and as a species we like to stay inside those lines, where we feel comfortable.
last weekend I spent some time with one of the cliquiest cliques in all of theaterdom. I am, of course, talking about the Gilbert and Sullivan society. Well, actually it was Northwest Savoyard's annual Gilbert and Sullivan production, but they all pull from the same pool. Most of the folks who do Gilbert and Sullivan don't even do regular musicals, or regular opera, they just hop around the small handful of Seattle companies who produce the repertoire of Victorian England's favorite operatic duo. (and yes, of course, there are exceptions to this rule.)
Gilbert and Sullivan, or G&S (now that I've introduced you we might as well jump straight into shorthand.) Wrote a number of frothy comic operettas, the most well known being Pirates of Penzance, H.M.S. Pinafore, and The Mikado. These three are the bread and butter of G&S groups. They have to cycle one in every three years or so, the same way a Shakespeare in the Park company has to do at least five productions of A Midsummer Nights Dream, for every one production of Coriolanus.
Ruddigore, the show I saw last weekend, is perhaps done slightly more often than Coriolanus, but only because Shakespeare wrote thirty nine plays, and Gilbert and Sullivan only managed fourteen. It is by no means among the duo's best or most memorable work, but it is having quite a good year. In addition to the production currently running at the Historic Everett Theater, it will be brought to the Bagley Wright theater this Summer, by the Seattle Gilbert and Sullivan Society.
I'm sure they will do it justice, too, but I doubt that production will be as inventive as the one I saw last weekend. Usually a very by-the-numbers theater, Northwest Savoyards got lucky, or smart, or both, in their choice of Danielle Villegas to direct Ruddigore. She decked the cast in sexy, Steampunk attire, threw in some dancing and creative blocking, and most improtantly, had a bare bones female chorus. In all the past Savoyards shows I've seen, the female chorus was so large it could barely fit on stage. Once there it was given nothing to do but stand in tight rows like a bunch of bustled sardines.
The only draw back to the production was the utter lack of technical support. Microphones went in and out, emitted bursts of static, or only seemed to work in certain spots on stage. It was a shame, because the cast was quite good, and I would have like to have heard them clearly and consistently. I can only hope that the situation has improved since opening night.
If you're already a part of this clique, then you no doubt know about its particular joys and drawbacks. If you've not yet had the pleasure, you might want to stop by. For such a cliquey clique, G&S is actually quite welcoming, and quite a bit easier to get in to than the cliques we knew in high school.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
V. I. P.
Every restaurant has its regulars, and every restaurant has its VIP's. We all know that the V stands for "very" and the P for "person", but the balance hangs in the all important I. It could stand for Important, as it is intended, but then it could just as easily stand for Irritating.
The key to being a guest of the first persuasion and not the second, lies in two M's: Manners, and Money.
My restaurant is attached to a hotel, and the our most notable VIP is a man we shall call Mr. W. Mr. W. will periodically come into town and rent out the presidential suite for a month at a time. I'm not sure what he does for a living, or how he spends most of his day, but I do know that every morning at around 9:30am, he comes down for breakfast. I also know that he likes his coffee black, his bacon on the limp side, and doesn't eat potatoes. Instead of potatoes he gets extra bacon.
Mr. W is very particular, bordering on high maintenance. Despite this, I look forward to his visits. He distinguishes himself from your average customer who expects special treatment, by two very important factors; He's polite, and he tips like a member of the socio-economic class to which he belongs.
I thought about adding a third M to the list: Maintenance. As in, don't be high maintenance, but I realized that was futile. VIPs are high maintenance almost by definition. If they weren't, they'd just be regulars. They want their favorite table, ice tea with no lemon, the music turned down. They order food that's not on the menu, or was on the menu last month. They offer expired coupons. This actually happened to me. A prominent jewelry store owner was a regular at my last restaurant, and one day he came in for lunch, and had a promotional coupon for a free desert. It had expired over three months previously, but when I asked my manager, he literally said "Mr. G can have anything he wants." So I have Mr. G his free key lime pie with the whipped cream on the side.
I didn't much care for Mr. G, but it really wasn't about his getting away with using expired coupons. I didn't like him because he treated the servers as if we didn't matter, and was a pretty average tipper. It all come back to those two M's. If I ever have the opportunity to wait on Derek Jeter again, I do so happily because I know he leaves a girl forty percent in cash. I will also try not to mispronounce his name.
And I'll miss Mr. W. when he leaves the hotel in a few days. I'll miss his cheery "Good morning" his "If you please" when I offer him more coffee, and the ten dollar bill that makes its way into my pocket every time he comes down for breakfast.
Its all about those two M's.
The key to being a guest of the first persuasion and not the second, lies in two M's: Manners, and Money.
My restaurant is attached to a hotel, and the our most notable VIP is a man we shall call Mr. W. Mr. W. will periodically come into town and rent out the presidential suite for a month at a time. I'm not sure what he does for a living, or how he spends most of his day, but I do know that every morning at around 9:30am, he comes down for breakfast. I also know that he likes his coffee black, his bacon on the limp side, and doesn't eat potatoes. Instead of potatoes he gets extra bacon.
Mr. W is very particular, bordering on high maintenance. Despite this, I look forward to his visits. He distinguishes himself from your average customer who expects special treatment, by two very important factors; He's polite, and he tips like a member of the socio-economic class to which he belongs.
I thought about adding a third M to the list: Maintenance. As in, don't be high maintenance, but I realized that was futile. VIPs are high maintenance almost by definition. If they weren't, they'd just be regulars. They want their favorite table, ice tea with no lemon, the music turned down. They order food that's not on the menu, or was on the menu last month. They offer expired coupons. This actually happened to me. A prominent jewelry store owner was a regular at my last restaurant, and one day he came in for lunch, and had a promotional coupon for a free desert. It had expired over three months previously, but when I asked my manager, he literally said "Mr. G can have anything he wants." So I have Mr. G his free key lime pie with the whipped cream on the side.
I didn't much care for Mr. G, but it really wasn't about his getting away with using expired coupons. I didn't like him because he treated the servers as if we didn't matter, and was a pretty average tipper. It all come back to those two M's. If I ever have the opportunity to wait on Derek Jeter again, I do so happily because I know he leaves a girl forty percent in cash. I will also try not to mispronounce his name.
And I'll miss Mr. W. when he leaves the hotel in a few days. I'll miss his cheery "Good morning" his "If you please" when I offer him more coffee, and the ten dollar bill that makes its way into my pocket every time he comes down for breakfast.
Its all about those two M's.
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