A year ago, I both wrote and received (by proxy) a lengthy criticism related to the Chicago Reader. Amidst a flurry of positive press for The Sovereign Statement, Tony Adler ran contrarian and poo-poo-ed** our Andersonville secession effort. I was a bit caddy in my response.
Those days are behind me. Really, they are. I barely think about how much it hurt* to read that misinformed, poorly constructed evaluation of a show that was so close to me that it even bore my name in the script. No, really. I don't care. I don't.
So, of course I care even less that now, the past forgotten, the Reader has rewarded my writing where it could not reward my dancing, singing, and secret-agenting. The rag has highly recommended Resurrected, which is currently running at Morton Arboretum via Theatre-Hikes.
Know this, Suzanne Scanlon (you glorious goddess of critical aptitude):
You will never win me back^. Even if you write hundreds of articles about Resurrected. Even if you convince your colleagues at the Tribune, the Sun-Times, and Hoy (!) to review the show as well. Even if you put a lot of Ex-Lax in Tony Adler's coffee tomorrow (and every day after).
Okay, actually, maybe if you did all of that, you might win me back. Maybe. I'm sorry. Am I being caddy?
I guess some things never change.
------
* It didn't really hurt at all. I'm not that actor.
^ I am, however, that writer.
** By poo-poo-ed, I mean that he wrote something out of his ass.
Monday, October 6, 2014
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Not It
In the coming weeks, a 30-second fast food commercial will air. It will feature two men and a celebrity. The men will compete in a battle of wits, and at the end of the commercial, there will be a status shift involving the celebrity. There may be some improv involved.
If you see the commercial in question, know this:
- I auditioned for it via my agent.
- I was among the last ten candidates being considered for the roles of the two men.^
- If I'd gotten cast in it, the buyout would have covered my rent for 6 months.
- I didn't get cast in it.
What would the entertainment world be like if Christopher Walken had played Han Solo? If Danny DeVito had taken on Vizzini? If Jack Nicholson had played Michael in The Godfather? What about Matthew Broderick or John Cusack as Walter White?
What if I had been in that commercial?
You may argue that a regional commercial is not nearly as significant as an iconic movie. You may also argue that while all of these actors turned down those respective roles, I was turned down for the commercial. You may argue that in each case listed above, the correct casting choice was made. All of these arguments are valid, but they ignore one important element of this blog:
It's about me. And I wanted to be in that commercial.
So when you see that commercial, and you think "Boy, those guys are really funny," or "Boy, those guys really aren't funny," remember me. And tell all your friends how it could have been. Please?
---------
^ That's a 20% chance of me playing one of those two men!
If you see the commercial in question, know this:
- I auditioned for it via my agent.
- I was among the last ten candidates being considered for the roles of the two men.^
- If I'd gotten cast in it, the buyout would have covered my rent for 6 months.
- I didn't get cast in it.
What would the entertainment world be like if Christopher Walken had played Han Solo? If Danny DeVito had taken on Vizzini? If Jack Nicholson had played Michael in The Godfather? What about Matthew Broderick or John Cusack as Walter White?
What if I had been in that commercial?
You may argue that a regional commercial is not nearly as significant as an iconic movie. You may also argue that while all of these actors turned down those respective roles, I was turned down for the commercial. You may argue that in each case listed above, the correct casting choice was made. All of these arguments are valid, but they ignore one important element of this blog:
It's about me. And I wanted to be in that commercial.
So when you see that commercial, and you think "Boy, those guys are really funny," or "Boy, those guys really aren't funny," remember me. And tell all your friends how it could have been. Please?
---------
^ That's a 20% chance of me playing one of those two men!
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Not-For-Profit
Word of my impending book release is spreading. Ever since I declared on this blog that I will be publishing OFF TRACK as a pay-what-you-want pdf, people have been talking.* Word has reached well past Chicago and all the way out into Naperville. Why else would SPOTLIGHT ON NAPERVILLE, which highlights six local not-for-profits every month, have me on almost immediately following the announcement?
Sure, they introduced me as a "playwright." Sure, they didn't ask me a single question about the book. Sure, they instead asked me questions about Theatre-Hikes.^ Sure, I was there to represent Theatre-Hikes. Sure, as hard as I try, I am not legally a "not-for-profit." Sure, the opportunity had nothing to do with my impending book release. Sure, the word "sure" should have an "h" in it. Sure it should.
All of that is beside the point. In two weeks, my reputation as a writer has reached beyond Chicago--two hours beyond Chicago in rush hour traffic. In two more weeks, I'll be to Aurora. By the time the book comes out, I'll be on Spotlight on Springfield. By 2015, Spotlight on Sacramento.
Imagine it. Spotlight on Sacramento.
My reputation is traveling west across the country like some kind of . . . vegetable-powered 1984 Jetta.
---
* Not necessarily about my book, my blog, or my career. But they've been uttering phonemes, all right!
^ One of which had to do with my role as the playwright for their next show. One of which was about Peanuts.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
This Is Going To Be Ugly
I've spent some time and oxygen recently publicly reflecting on success, exploitation, business, community, and chocolate. I've spent an equal amount of time emailing, snail mailing, and psychically exploiting publishers who would put my second book, Off Track, into a glossy binding and (in theory) distribute it to big warehouses and former warehouses (now chain stores) who would in turn put it on display somewhere in the public eye so that passerbys could pick it up, flip through a few pages, and then go not buy it on Amazon. The crosscurrents of these two ventures--figuring out my own philosophy and wooing publishers--are stirring up some mighty tides in my literary half. A tidal wave is impending.
The philosophy:
As writers, our chosen tool is by definition words. We somehow share uncomfortable cubicles with them. We hate them; we embrace them; we wish we had a better hammer; we find them joyous and alluring. Our unlikely hope is to choose some of them from a pre-prescribed lexicon invented collectively by billions of people who didn't know each other, to twist them and align them in our unique way, then to offer them back to our culture as something completely novel, something worth reading and even paying for, something that holds the potential to drive the species forward or at least change an individual life.
It is a dubious medium in which to work, because all we can ever develop is the skeleton of something. We create recipes, chemical formulas that only exist on paper. They are suggestions that require a catalyst--the imagination of the reader. In the arms of an active caretaker, our words inhale and walk; in more common circumstances, they sleep alone in an empty, dusty, unreasonably sized trophy case called expectation.
It is perhaps for this reason that our words are always on a first date. We're driven to dress them up for suitors and to tell them to be their best selves and to hope that someone else will teach them to dance. We perceive ourselves as really excellent mothers. Unfortunately, we are more likely pimps, because in order to gain the attention of an audience, we are willing to do shameful, hurtful things to our words. And where there is a promise of money, the ultimate social affirmation of the value of our art, we will be tempted always to prostitute and diminish our craft in deference to a persistent ego. We will do so in ways so subtle that even we do not notice.
The business:
Business is a strange form of war. And war is an ugly thing.
I want to see my books lined up like soldiers on the bookshelves of popular bookstores. I want them to have intricate cover designs and well-formatted pages. I want them to be flawless, best-selling, and raved about in the newspapers. I want advances from powerful publishers with requests for more books. I want financial rewards for the effort I've put into the diction and syntax and for the risk I've taken in developing an unconventional career path. I want to be acclaimed just for being me and having the ideas that I have. I want everyone to think I'm great.
You want to buy books that are pretty and popular. You want them to look good in your home, office, or apartment. You want them to serve as a testament to the ideas you have and the person you are becoming. You want them pre-pre-previewed and vouched for by your peers. Just as with television, movies, and gossip, you are part of an enormous cultural book club that orients itself around image; there is no question of whether, only of degree.
War. Business. Ugly.
What is a reader to do?
After three years of trying to traditionally publish my second book, I've opted for philosophy over business. That's how I'm thinking of it, anyway. It feels more like surrender. It's possible that it's surrender.
No matter what, OFF TRACK will be available for download as a pdf on September 26 of this year, pay-what-you-want on my website. It has been professionally edited and sculpted for three years. It has been formatted so as to be easily legible. It has not been dressed up. It is not ready for dinner at El Bulli. More likely, it will be compatible with someone interested in sweatpants, peanut butter and jelly, and two dollar draughts.*
No, it is not an impressive-looking creature. But it is there, and it isn't coy or evasive. Its words--its true self, if you will--lie open to you. Bring them to life in your imagination. I think you'll enjoy the experience. Then again, that's just my opinion; those are just my words. Take them for what they are, nothing more, nothing less.
Or don't. It's up to you and no one else. And that feels nice.
---
* Also liberalism, environmentalism, humor, and vegetable-oil-powered cars
The philosophy:
As writers, our chosen tool is by definition words. We somehow share uncomfortable cubicles with them. We hate them; we embrace them; we wish we had a better hammer; we find them joyous and alluring. Our unlikely hope is to choose some of them from a pre-prescribed lexicon invented collectively by billions of people who didn't know each other, to twist them and align them in our unique way, then to offer them back to our culture as something completely novel, something worth reading and even paying for, something that holds the potential to drive the species forward or at least change an individual life.
It is a dubious medium in which to work, because all we can ever develop is the skeleton of something. We create recipes, chemical formulas that only exist on paper. They are suggestions that require a catalyst--the imagination of the reader. In the arms of an active caretaker, our words inhale and walk; in more common circumstances, they sleep alone in an empty, dusty, unreasonably sized trophy case called expectation.
It is perhaps for this reason that our words are always on a first date. We're driven to dress them up for suitors and to tell them to be their best selves and to hope that someone else will teach them to dance. We perceive ourselves as really excellent mothers. Unfortunately, we are more likely pimps, because in order to gain the attention of an audience, we are willing to do shameful, hurtful things to our words. And where there is a promise of money, the ultimate social affirmation of the value of our art, we will be tempted always to prostitute and diminish our craft in deference to a persistent ego. We will do so in ways so subtle that even we do not notice.
The business:
Business is a strange form of war. And war is an ugly thing.
I want to see my books lined up like soldiers on the bookshelves of popular bookstores. I want them to have intricate cover designs and well-formatted pages. I want them to be flawless, best-selling, and raved about in the newspapers. I want advances from powerful publishers with requests for more books. I want financial rewards for the effort I've put into the diction and syntax and for the risk I've taken in developing an unconventional career path. I want to be acclaimed just for being me and having the ideas that I have. I want everyone to think I'm great.
You want to buy books that are pretty and popular. You want them to look good in your home, office, or apartment. You want them to serve as a testament to the ideas you have and the person you are becoming. You want them pre-pre-previewed and vouched for by your peers. Just as with television, movies, and gossip, you are part of an enormous cultural book club that orients itself around image; there is no question of whether, only of degree.
War. Business. Ugly.
What is a reader to do?
After three years of trying to traditionally publish my second book, I've opted for philosophy over business. That's how I'm thinking of it, anyway. It feels more like surrender. It's possible that it's surrender.
No matter what, OFF TRACK will be available for download as a pdf on September 26 of this year, pay-what-you-want on my website. It has been professionally edited and sculpted for three years. It has been formatted so as to be easily legible. It has not been dressed up. It is not ready for dinner at El Bulli. More likely, it will be compatible with someone interested in sweatpants, peanut butter and jelly, and two dollar draughts.*
No, it is not an impressive-looking creature. But it is there, and it isn't coy or evasive. Its words--its true self, if you will--lie open to you. Bring them to life in your imagination. I think you'll enjoy the experience. Then again, that's just my opinion; those are just my words. Take them for what they are, nothing more, nothing less.
Or don't. It's up to you and no one else. And that feels nice.
---
* Also liberalism, environmentalism, humor, and vegetable-oil-powered cars
Sunday, July 6, 2014
One Foot in the Grave
Death follows me wherever I go. You might say I've made a career out of it. So, when Theatre-Hikes needed someone to write their October show, I quickly applied. I'd worked with Theatre-Hikes before, and I had a sense of how their shows worked.
The task: adapt five local macabre tales for the "stage."*
The task, part one: choose those five macabre tales.
Here is some local lore I considered adapting but decided against:
Bachelor's Grove Cemetery
Why?
Probably the most haunted place in the Chicago area, this place has dozens of little stories of hauntings and mysterious phenomena. One of those stories is about a disappearing house, and one is about a horse that jumps out of a lake. Perfect!
Why not?
Special FX budget limited. Too many little stories; no big throughline to hold onto.
US Airways Flight 191
Why?
In 1979, there was a plane crash just outside of O'Hare followed by mysterious phenomena in the local area, like knocks on doors.
Why not?
Are you scared of knocks on doors? Also, plane crash.
The Fort Dearborn Massacre
Why?
Important historically. Gruesome.
Why not?
Important historically. Gruesome.
The Eastland Disaster
Why?
What a crazy story--a ship capsizing before it even set sail, right here in the Chicago river. One of the biggest ship disasters in history.
Why not?
I could even add music!
Devil in the White City
Why?
The best-selling book, Devil in the White City, covers the history of Mr HH Holmes, in whose death castle dozens of people were allegedly murdered and disposed of. There's even a curse following his death, and the "castle" burned down under mysterious circumstances.
Why not?
Oh, Pooh Bear. Maybe if I add some honey to your tea, you'll be able to sleep tonight.
John Wayne Gacy
I work with kids, damn it.
The Trolley of Death
Why?
Trolley. Death.
Why not?
I have no idea what happens in this story. I just like the title.
The Red Lion Pub
Why?
Chicago's most haunted pub.
Why not?
The most famous tale has to do with people fainting in front of a stained glass window.
Inez Clarke
Why?
This story is famous.
Why not?
This story is made up.
Hamlet
Why?
No royalties.
Why not?
No royalties.
Superman
Why?
Flying. Superpowers. Romance. It's got everything.
Why not?
Do we really need another Superman movie?
Nightmare on Elm Street
Why?
It's infamous and was shot locally. Also, we can probably find a cool Freddy Krueger mask and glove. I loved those things as a kid.
Why not?
The original was shot in California. Only the remake was shot around here.
Poltergeist 3
Why?
Poltergeist!
Why not?
3
Home Alone
Why?
This Christmas classic brings everyone . . . Christmas classic . . . Christmas . . .
Why not?
Ahh!
So what local stories did I pick to adapt?
Resurrected will have its first reading this Monday, July 7 at 6 pm in the Theatre-Hikes rehearsal space. If you've read this far, consider yourself invited.
Come . . . if you dare.
-----
* By "stage," I mean "forest."
The task: adapt five local macabre tales for the "stage."*
The task, part one: choose those five macabre tales.
Here is some local lore I considered adapting but decided against:
Bachelor's Grove Cemetery
Why?
Probably the most haunted place in the Chicago area, this place has dozens of little stories of hauntings and mysterious phenomena. One of those stories is about a disappearing house, and one is about a horse that jumps out of a lake. Perfect!
Why not?
Special FX budget limited. Too many little stories; no big throughline to hold onto.
US Airways Flight 191
Why?
In 1979, there was a plane crash just outside of O'Hare followed by mysterious phenomena in the local area, like knocks on doors.
Why not?
Are you scared of knocks on doors? Also, plane crash.
The Fort Dearborn Massacre
Why?
Important historically. Gruesome.
Why not?
Important historically. Gruesome.
The Eastland Disaster
Why?
What a crazy story--a ship capsizing before it even set sail, right here in the Chicago river. One of the biggest ship disasters in history.
Why not?
I could even add music!
Devil in the White City
Why?
The best-selling book, Devil in the White City, covers the history of Mr HH Holmes, in whose death castle dozens of people were allegedly murdered and disposed of. There's even a curse following his death, and the "castle" burned down under mysterious circumstances.
Why not?
Oh, Pooh Bear. Maybe if I add some honey to your tea, you'll be able to sleep tonight.
John Wayne Gacy
I work with kids, damn it.
The Trolley of Death
Why?
Trolley. Death.
Why not?
I have no idea what happens in this story. I just like the title.
The Red Lion Pub
Why?
Chicago's most haunted pub.
Why not?
The most famous tale has to do with people fainting in front of a stained glass window.
Inez Clarke
Why?
This story is famous.
Why not?
This story is made up.
Hamlet
Why?
No royalties.
Why not?
No royalties.
Superman
Why?
Flying. Superpowers. Romance. It's got everything.
Why not?
Do we really need another Superman movie?
Nightmare on Elm Street
Why?
It's infamous and was shot locally. Also, we can probably find a cool Freddy Krueger mask and glove. I loved those things as a kid.
Why not?
The original was shot in California. Only the remake was shot around here.
Poltergeist 3
Why?
Poltergeist!
Why not?
3
Home Alone
Why?
This Christmas classic brings everyone . . . Christmas classic . . . Christmas . . .
Why not?
Ahh!
So what local stories did I pick to adapt?
Resurrected will have its first reading this Monday, July 7 at 6 pm in the Theatre-Hikes rehearsal space. If you've read this far, consider yourself invited.
Come . . . if you dare.
-----
* By "stage," I mean "forest."
Friday, June 13, 2014
Represent!
Acting is a lonely profession.
Wait a minute. No, it's not. Acting is one of the most social enterprises a person can undertake. Your job is basically to talk to people.
Unfortunately, by "talk to people" I mean "ask people to help / support / believe / house / feed / represent / tolerate you," and a lot of those people say "no." Auditions are an obvious example. Actors, if they're worth their salt, spend a great deal of time standing in front of people they may not even respect, having the way they play pretend^ judged^^ and knowing that after they do so, they will probably be told "no."
Sometimes they don't even get that far. Sometimes as an actor, people say "no" to even considering you as someone they might say "no" to. Sometimes people won't even talk to you. When it's really going badly, even Santa's elves tell you to shove off.*
So when you get a "yes," it's truly a splendid turn of events. Yesterday, I got a "yes" from Ambassador Talent--which means I now have someone who will connect me with hundreds of new people who will mainly say "no" to me.** I love this job.
Susan and Ed, let's make history together. Or at least some Empire Carpet commercials.
--------
* Or literally shove you off.
^ Fun!
^^ Not fun!
** Literally, it means that I've signed with a commercial agent. Two of them, actually.
Wait a minute. No, it's not. Acting is one of the most social enterprises a person can undertake. Your job is basically to talk to people.
Unfortunately, by "talk to people" I mean "ask people to help / support / believe / house / feed / represent / tolerate you," and a lot of those people say "no." Auditions are an obvious example. Actors, if they're worth their salt, spend a great deal of time standing in front of people they may not even respect, having the way they play pretend^ judged^^ and knowing that after they do so, they will probably be told "no."
Sometimes they don't even get that far. Sometimes as an actor, people say "no" to even considering you as someone they might say "no" to. Sometimes people won't even talk to you. When it's really going badly, even Santa's elves tell you to shove off.*
So when you get a "yes," it's truly a splendid turn of events. Yesterday, I got a "yes" from Ambassador Talent--which means I now have someone who will connect me with hundreds of new people who will mainly say "no" to me.** I love this job.
Susan and Ed, let's make history together. Or at least some Empire Carpet commercials.
--------
* Or literally shove you off.
^ Fun!
^^ Not fun!
** Literally, it means that I've signed with a commercial agent. Two of them, actually.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Remy Bump-who?
Remy Bumppo:*
The theatre community is interested in having a conversation with you.
Wait.
The Chicago theatre community is interested in having an in-depth conversation with you.
Wait.
Oh, bother. Sorry for all the false starts. It's just . . . this is my performer half trying to write^, and he's more given to talking than writing.
The truth is, I'd like to talk to you, but I can't. All you've given me is a mysterious phone number with instructions never to call it except for two hours out of the year (specifically, from 3 to 5 pm last Saturday). This, as far as I understand, is the only way to reach you other than showing up at your doorstep.^^
The imagination runs wild. Does the telephone number in your audition notices ring up a disposable cell phone? Is somebody in a trench coat--a really temporary worker--standing by a pay phone for .02% of the year, filling audition slots with his back turned to the ignorant masses? Or is it something even bigger and more magical? Are you the very pinnacle of an itinerant theatre company, disappearing and reappearing at your fickle will like the FOR MADMEN ONLY space in Steppenwolf?** (If that's the case, can I please sit in on one of your rehearsals?)
The madmen theory makes the most sense. What is the defining characteristic of madness if not the inability to functionally adapt to the world at large? People prone to anxiety, for example, devise irrationally specific rules for the way they'll allow others to interact with them. Isn't this diagnosis accurate in regard to your audition policy, one which expects any interested party to make not you but the possibility of you the #1 priority for two hours of their weekend (or until they get an answer at your tardis)? One which asks the actors of Chicago to subjugate our rationally-designed, well-balanced schedules to your narcissistic demands? One which eliminates any working actors who have Saturday afternoon rehearsals from your audition pool? (I can see why you'd want to exclude actors talented enough to be in shows currently.)
Maybe I sound a little dramatic. (This is my actor half writing, after all.) Let's be simpler about the issue:
Your policy, whether intended as such or not, qualifies as a power play. It saves you the trouble of sorting through headshots and resumes, of replying to emails and mailings, of doing much other than sitting by the phone and waiting for us to genuflect before you. In short, it makes an already difficult process harder, but not for you--for us. Life as an actor (here comes the drama again) is hard enough with the adversity we face outside our industry. So please drop the golden palace act. You need the groundlings more than they need you.
I've heard nothing but nice things about you from the people who work with you. But why is it so hard to work with you?
I'd love an answer to that question between 1 and 3 pm tomorrow.
Oh. You'll be in the middle of auditions at that time?
Damn. I guess we just missed each other.
------
* (if that is your real name)
^ You should see my writer half try to perform!
**Hey! That would be a cool name for a theatre company.
^^ Also strictly forbidden.
The theatre community is interested in having a conversation with you.
Wait.
The Chicago theatre community is interested in having an in-depth conversation with you.
Wait.
Oh, bother. Sorry for all the false starts. It's just . . . this is my performer half trying to write^, and he's more given to talking than writing.
The truth is, I'd like to talk to you, but I can't. All you've given me is a mysterious phone number with instructions never to call it except for two hours out of the year (specifically, from 3 to 5 pm last Saturday). This, as far as I understand, is the only way to reach you other than showing up at your doorstep.^^
The imagination runs wild. Does the telephone number in your audition notices ring up a disposable cell phone? Is somebody in a trench coat--a really temporary worker--standing by a pay phone for .02% of the year, filling audition slots with his back turned to the ignorant masses? Or is it something even bigger and more magical? Are you the very pinnacle of an itinerant theatre company, disappearing and reappearing at your fickle will like the FOR MADMEN ONLY space in Steppenwolf?** (If that's the case, can I please sit in on one of your rehearsals?)
The madmen theory makes the most sense. What is the defining characteristic of madness if not the inability to functionally adapt to the world at large? People prone to anxiety, for example, devise irrationally specific rules for the way they'll allow others to interact with them. Isn't this diagnosis accurate in regard to your audition policy, one which expects any interested party to make not you but the possibility of you the #1 priority for two hours of their weekend (or until they get an answer at your tardis)? One which asks the actors of Chicago to subjugate our rationally-designed, well-balanced schedules to your narcissistic demands? One which eliminates any working actors who have Saturday afternoon rehearsals from your audition pool? (I can see why you'd want to exclude actors talented enough to be in shows currently.)
Maybe I sound a little dramatic. (This is my actor half writing, after all.) Let's be simpler about the issue:
Your policy, whether intended as such or not, qualifies as a power play. It saves you the trouble of sorting through headshots and resumes, of replying to emails and mailings, of doing much other than sitting by the phone and waiting for us to genuflect before you. In short, it makes an already difficult process harder, but not for you--for us. Life as an actor (here comes the drama again) is hard enough with the adversity we face outside our industry. So please drop the golden palace act. You need the groundlings more than they need you.
I've heard nothing but nice things about you from the people who work with you. But why is it so hard to work with you?
I'd love an answer to that question between 1 and 3 pm tomorrow.
Oh. You'll be in the middle of auditions at that time?
Damn. I guess we just missed each other.
------
* (if that is your real name)
^ You should see my writer half try to perform!
**Hey! That would be a cool name for a theatre company.
^^ Also strictly forbidden.
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