Showing posts with label casting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label casting. Show all posts

26 December 2018

"The Art of Being Seen: Perspectives on the Casting Process"

by Doug Strassler

[As readers of Rick On Theater know, I occasionally post articles on this blog that examine aspects of theater production about which most people who aren’t in the business—whom one of my teachers used to call  “civilians”—don’t know much.  The current edition of  Equity News (Autumn 2018), the member magazine  of Actors’ Equity Association, the stage actors’ and stage managers’ union, ran a detailed article about the auditioning process.  I suppose most people with any contact with theater, even as casual audience members, know that auditioning is the sometimes intimidating procedure every actor goes through in search of acting jobs.  It’s the actor’s equivalent of a job interview, and it can be daunting and, sometimes, dispiriting.  One of the most talented actors I ever worked with—I acted with him twice and directed him twice—has never become as well-known as I believe he should have because he hates auditioning and, by his own estimation, isn’t good at it.  (I also auditioned with him when he, another actor friend, and I used a three-character scene a few times as a group audition piece.)  In other words, an audition can make or break an actor’s career.

[Members of Equity have a carefully organized  and monitored audition process and the union is always making adjustments as it gets feedback from working—or work-seeking—actors.  The union audition, known as an Equity Principal Audition, or EPA (as distinguished from an Equity Chorus Call, or ECC), is hectic and, to a novice, disorienting, but it is standard from one casting call to the next, as required by the Equity contract governing the production being cast.  (Non-union calls don’t follow the same rules and have no authority to monitor and organize them and are thus often haphazard and frustrating.)  Because it’s in the union’s interest to see that its members get jobs, a benefit of union membership is that it offers assistance and advice to members in any number of professional aspects of the business.  In this instance, the union queried a number of casting directors, the member of the production staff who usually begin the selection process, and in this article, passes the guidance and advice on to members.

[Some of what’s posted below is esoteric and “inside-baseball,” but I believe it’s mostly clear enough for the non-actor to glean some of what the auditioning process entails.  You will see a little of what an actor has to go through just to get to try out for a part.  You’ll probably find that it’s not like what’s sometimes portrayed on TV and in movies.  Just like most things about real life . . . .]

A host of casting directors and performers reflect on the casting process

“Access. Access. Access.”

That one word, in a nutshell, is what every auditioning performer longs for: the chance to be seen, at their best, in the hope of landing a role and providing for themselves. In this instance, it was uttered by Stephanie Gould, a performer with a mild form of cerebral palsy, who discussed her own path in navigating the casting process.

But this quest applies to all members who have ever walked into an audition space. Anyone who has ever been in an elevator with or walked in a hallway past someone rehearsing sides knows just how fraught and nerve-wracking the process can be. From getting an audition to getting to the audition to feeling that a casting director (CD) may not have seen enough of what someone can do, it’s a frustrating journey. Like college admissions, there can be many disappointments, as casting directors must choose from far too many performers for far too few opportunities. [. . . .]

“One time I went in for a required call for a new Broadway show,” Actors’ Equity 1st Vice President Melissa Robinette said. “I had worked for weeks before this EPA [Equity Principal Audition] for this gig. I got up at 6am; I knew I was right for it.”

Anyone who has been to an EPA probably knows what happened next. Not only did Robinette not get the job, while in the audition room she felt that the person on the other side of the table wasn’t giving her full and open consideration for the job.

“I was so angry, I went home and cried,” she remembered. But that’s not where the story ends.

“And the next day I got a callback from that audition for another Broadway show.”

This anecdote just goes to show amid all the nerves and adrenaline, it’s hard to know for sure just what the CDs across the table are seeing. A series of conversations with those on both sides of the audition room helped to shed light on the overall process.

GETTING TO KNOW YOU

The casting experience doesn’t have to be an adversarial one. Many of the CDs interviewed for this article sang a similar tune, emphasizing that they really are on the side of those across the table from them.

“We do want the actor to be good so we can get behind everyone we show to our team,” Merri Sugarman, a casting director with Tara Rubin, said. “The truth is that it’s about wanting to be good at our jobs, so the creative teams are happy with our work.”

The art of creating work in the arts is actually a very delicate science, replete with scheduling logistics and keeping stakeholders happy and informed. “I’m always hopeful that performers trust our understanding of our project’s needs,” New York casting director Michael Cassara said, “and that we’re there seriously considering them with a number of variables in play. There are a lot of people who do excellent work but don’t get called back that time around due to oversaturation. I may only see six people for one role [at an invited audition], and the challenge is how can I fit everyone in? There are a lot of people who are truly brilliant who might feel rejected – but being the seventh out of thousands is not a bad place to be.”

CDs have producers, directors, sometimes choreographers and musical directors to please, meaning the invited audition space is the only time a casting director fully holds the reins. Sugarman said she will do everything she can to see performers at their best. “I work really hard on prep for the auditions,” she said. “I try to make sure there is natural light in the room, and that everyone has coffee and water. If an actor hasn’t had a chance to put his bag down, sign in and take a breath, I’ll bring someone else in, so they have time to get ready. But no matter how much you try to tell people that we are rooting for them, they don’t believe it.”

Empowering performers in the room is vital. “If I could wave a magic wand, I would make all of the performer’s fear and nerves disappear,” Eric Woodall, Producing Artistic Director at North Carolina Theatre, said. “We want actors to be their best, and that usually comes from them feeling confident and ‘in the moment.’”

Kyle Atkins, Associate Producer for Riverside Theatre, revealed that his biggest pet peeve is when performers who have scheduled an audition time do not show up. Or show up at a different time. “I get it, lives are crazy, but commitment and respect are integral,” he said. “Someone canceled twice on me and then just walked in. I was like, ‘Are you kidding me right now?’ Or if you have a 3:30 appointment but you show up at 11:10am, you have to ask the casting person is this okay.”

THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS

Casting directors are quick to discuss their overall role in the puzzle and what they do on their end to secure a safe and positive audition environment. But what exactly are they looking for from the actors who come in?

“That they would be familiar with the entirety of the piece they are auditioning for,” Justin Bohon, a casting director at Binder Casting, said, “and that they take as much time as possible to be sufficiently prepared, make strong choices about the character and that the material that they choose to sing in the room is appropriate to the piece.”

Center Theatre Group Casting Associate Andrew Lynford does his best to assuage those who audition for him. “I know people get nervous, so I do my best to chat with them and make them less nervous,” he said. “Be polite and confident, but don’t try to be funny or over-talk. We want to stay focused on you – there’s no need to shake hands with everyone.”

Honesty and punctuality are of supreme importance, but so is preparation – yet perfect practice with the wrong material can hinder a performer’s chances. “I don’t feel actors spend enough time taking apart their audition material, making intelligent, bold choices and putting it back together again,” said Mark Brandon, another casting director at Binder.

Christopher Pazdernik, Casting Associate at Chicago's Porchlight Music Theatre, echoed Brandon’s sentiment. “When we audition for classic theatre, and they come in with the latest pop hit, which won’t help me evaluate you in terms of the world of the play. That’s not to say they aren’t talented, but they are missing the mark in terms of coming in with something that will help you get cast. One season we produced shows from no later than 1964, and one actress came in and slayed, quite honestly, ‘I Know the Truth’ [from Aida]. But I didn’t know what to do with that.”

WAITING FOR THE LIGHT TO SHINE

All CDs interviewed contend that it is indeed worth the performer putting themselves out there at EPAs and at Equity Chorus Calls (ECCs). [. . . .] But do those people who put themselves on the line agree?

“Of course it is a bit more challenging and you deal with quite a bit of volume, but it is worth the investment of time,” said Western Region member Bets Malone. “I have a friend whose agent tried and tried to get her an appointment for a show, and the casting director wouldn’t give her a time because she was ‘wrong for the project.’ She went to the open call and booked the show. Perseverance is the key!”

Western Region member John San Nicolas lives in Portland and sees a different side of EPAs in the smaller cities. “EPAs seem like they are more of a perfunctory requirement sometimes begrudgingly complied with by the small number of Equity houses in town, and I think that it is a relatively rare occurrence that local actors book jobs as a result of EPAs,” he said. “Most companies have a core of people they trust that they hire over and over again, and it can feel like a real uphill battle for those on the outside looking in. EPAs can feel a little bit like a shot in the dark as a result.”

Casting directors are certainly sympathetic to the cattle call-like atmosphere of auditioning. “I appreciate that coming to open calls is a bit of a ball-ache, as we would say,” Lynford said. “It’s very easy for actors to say, ‘When I get there, it will be a bit of a scrum; I wait two hours for three minutes in the room.’ But I don’t want them to think it isn’t a worthwhile experience. One actress who had just moved from New York to Los Angeles came to a season EPA and got a role in a show at the Kirk Douglas Theatre. ‘I’m so glad I didn’t think I was above the opens,’ she said. And she is getting great work here because she came to the open and did that show.”

In New York, Cassara says that it is rare for him not to call many performers back out of an ECC or EPA. “I would say half of the shows we work on potentially have someone, or many people, who were cast when the initial audition was the EPA. Perhaps between 25 and 50 percent.”

REVIEWING THE SITUATION

Technology has certainly provided options for the casting process. Self-taping auditions has allowed increased visibility for performers regardless of where they live. “This provides me a chance to see those outside the New York community,“ Chad Murnane of Binder Casting said. “Selftaping also offers a convenience for both actors and creative teams with last-minute emergencies or busy schedules.”

Performers themselves offer a mixed take. Western Region member Idella Johnson felt that “self-tape auditions rob casting directors and directors of really getting to know an actor, and it robs actors of re-direction which gives insight on what the director may be looking for.” However, Robinette said that “auditions and callbacks via video have saved me a lot of money and stress.”

Self-tape certainly worked for San Nicolas. “A friend knew folks at Fusion Theatre in New Mexico who were looking for an actor for their production of Disgraced,” he said. “She suggested me to them and passed on my contact information. I learned a couple of scenes, sent my videos, was given adjustments and sent again. That worked out great, and we repeated the process when I returned to be in their production of Old Times.”

Lynford cautions that those who self-tape should make sure the size of their work reads as though it is for the theatre and not for film or television. “Treat it like you’re filming a theater show,” he said. “I would encourage not to do a cinematic version, or do two versions – the intimate camera version, then show me you can be a good theatre actor and be more expressive than you would be in a close-up shot.”

MAKE THEM HEAR YOU

As both a performer with a disability (she has been diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis and epilepsy) and as the Development and Media Relations Manager at Addison, Texas’s WaterTower Theatre, Debbie Ruegsegger has seen the casting process from both sides firsthand. She says the most important step to remove barriers to casting of actors with disabilities is to create a dialogue, transforming the audition room into as a safe a space as possible.

“Just by asking simple questions, you can learn a lot about what certain actors have to navigate,” she said, adding that invisible disabilities such as chronic fatigue syndrome and multiple sclerosis fall under that rubric as well. “Casting directors have no idea what is going on in someone else’s body – sometimes fluorescent lights made me forget everything, and they might think they I am unprepared.

“If I don’t know someone who I am auditioning for, it’s difficult to feel safe to disclose,” she continued. “We have to feel safe to ask for those accommodations. Adding that to audition notices could be a big step for theaters of letting certain communities know that they are confidential and not a deal-breaker. Many theaters are in the first steps of creating that, though we have a ways to go. Progress comes through a listening ear.”

Gould agrees that more transparency between actors with disabilities who audition and casting directors would be beneficial. “Consideration for nondisabled roles is probably the biggest challenge. We can play the girlfriend, lawyer, protagonist — anything, really. Theaters say they are looking for performers with disabilities, and then end up going with a non-disabled actor.

“But if you specifically seek out disabled talent, cast disabled talent,” she said. “I don't think people realize the amount of preparation that goes into auditioning for a disabled actor. Not just preparing sides or a monologue, but travel time – it can take us double the amount of time to get to an audition that might only last a few minutes.” (Gould credited her manager, Brandon Cohen of BAC Talent, and agent, Gail Williamson in Kazarian Measures Ruskin & Associates Diversity Department, for helping her get seen for both disabled and non-disabled roles.)

Still, times have changed. Anita Hollander, an amputee actress and National Chair of SAG-AFTRA Performers With Disabilities Committee, remembers, years ago, a Broadway casting director who “watched my monologue at an EPA, sighed aloud, and said, ‘It's a shame that you're so talented...’ The unspoken end of that sentence was ‘because I'll never be able to cast you, because you're disabled,’” she remembered. That kind of language would be shockingly out of place nowadays.

AT THE END OF THE DAY

Many theaters have also increased their efforts to be more diverse and inclusive in casting, although there remains room for growth there as well. “I do feel that there aren’t many opportunities and roles for people of color,” African-American performer Idella Johnson said, while Manu Narayan, an American actor of Indian descent, said “I feel very, very fortunate that the jobs and the wonderful career that I’ve had have been against type,” and credits his persistence in attending EPAs with helping to open that door.

Equal Employment Opportunity Committee Chair Christine Toy Johnson believes that performers of color most often get hired through open calls when casting directors pursue a specific type. “Many people of color I know have actually gotten obs through open calls, and I think this is especially true when a production is looking specifically for a certain type of actor,” she said, “but I do think that people lose faith in the system, and stop going because they feel that when a show is not looking for their specific cultural background, they will not be given full consideration. Then it becomes a sort of vicious circle. They can’t be considered if they don’t go, but they get tired of going and feeling it’s a waste of their time because they’re not really being considered.”

Eastern Chorus Councillor Lauren Villegas also advises that casting directors can’t shoulder the full burden of representation. “The real root of the problem is the work getting produced,” she said. “The solution is less about the casting process and more about making sure the work being done in the industry is fully representative of the population.”

Idella Johnson agrees. “I do believe that there’s been progress, but there’s room for improvement, and that starts with screenwriters, playwrights and directors abandoning stereotypes and seeing us in roles that are normally cast or written for white people,” she said.

For their part, the casting directors interviewed here have amped up deliberate plans for greater inclusivity. “There is not a single project that we cast in our office in which one of the first conversations with the team doesn’t involve a serious and determined plan to cast as many ethnically diverse performers as possible,” Bohon said, and Murnane agreed that he, too encourages creative ethnic casting. “Our commitment to diverse casting, in every sense, is unwavering,” Woodall said. “We encourage our creative teams to cast in progressive and contemporary ways and encourage all actors to be submitted.”

“Our programming strives to be diverse and inclusive, but then, with each production we strive to make sure that directors are presented an inclusive group of potential hires at both the idea and audition phases of each process,” Adam Belcuore, Managing Producer at Chicago’s Goodman Theatre, said. “In an effort to invest in the Chicago casting community we have hosted the Casting Society of America open call for actors with disabilities, as well as other local casting calls that specifically provide opportunities to under-represented talent.”

While steps have been taken to create greater accessibility and inclusiveness in the casting process, work remains to be done. Robinette cautions those with the power to cast to make sure they embrace inclusion, not tokenism. Still, both sides agree that the more performers get seen, the likelier they are to get cast.

“Even for required calls where I have heard they ‘aren’t looking,’” Robinette said, “I have had some awesome wins of getting called in for other things from those auditions or even being cast in other projects just because I was allowed to go in and remind them I’m alive.”

From the other side of the table, Lynford agrees. “It really is worth it and people have had great results doing EPAs,” he said. “Please keep bringing your talent to my door.”

*  *  *  *
STAGE MANAGERS OFFER ADVICE: NETWORK! Actors hope that through auditioning, they can create positive relationships with casting directors. Stage managers also recommend building up a stable cadre of friends in the industry:

“Shadow stage managers and have coffee with PSMs [production stage managers] on big shows. Talk about how they got where they are and what their career trajectory was.” —ERIN MAUREEN KOSTER

“Never let fear stand between you and seeking professional stage managers for advice. Observing the work of our colleagues enriches a formal education.” —AMANDA SPOONER

[Doug Strassler is the editor of Equity News.  He writes and podcasts frequently about film, theater, television, literature, and other realms of pop culture.]

22 February 2013

Short Takes IV

 
SEEING RED
22 April 2012

In a column in the New York Times, a reader wrote about fielding rude questions about her red hair.  It brought to mind something that happened to me when I was a junior in high school.  I, too, was a redhead back then. (I'm gray and thinning on top now.)  I was in English class, finishing something or other at the blackboard in front of the class when the teacher asked me, out of nowhere, “Do you dye your hair?”  Aside from the rudeness in and of itself, the fact that she asked me in front of my classmates was a combination of embarrassing and funny.  In a flash, I told the teacher, “Only my hairdresser knows for sure,” and returned to my seat.  (That TV commercial for Clairol hair coloring was running at the time.)  Of course, the class cracked up, and I came out the winner for the day.

That anecdote also makes me think of my aunt, also a redhead.  We each had a unique color of red; neither of us were carrot-tops, but neither of us ever met anyone with quite our shades of red.  Once when she was at the hair salon, a woman in a chair nearby was getting her hair colored.  The other woman couldn't decide on the shade of dye she wanted, and then she spotted my aunt.  “That's the color I want,” she told her stylist.  “I'm sorry, Ma’am,” the hairdresser replied.  “That color doesn't come in a bottle.”

*  *  *  *
I WASN’T DOIN’ NOTHIN’
22 April 2012

When I was in grad school for my MFA in acting, I appeared in the thesis production of one of my MFA directing classmates.  I was playing the father in Jean Anouilh’s Romeo and Jeannette and in one scene, I withdrew to a side porch at stage right and sat smoking a cigar while the action went on center stage among the younger characters in the play.  All through rehearsals we did that scene with me in semi-darkness, sitting in a sort of lounge chair facing the right wing of the little studio theater, listening to music from a party at the big house up on the hill.  I didn’t do anything but listen and smoke.

After one of the first nights when we had an audience, the director came back to the dressing room with a note.  Several spectators, many of whom were other theater students whom we all knew in the undergrad or grad programs, had commented on how interesting I was being over on the porch, supposedly out of focus.  I started to apologize for stealing focus; I assured the director that I hadn’t done anything intentional to attract attention and couldn’t imagine what I’d been doing.  (I wasn’t doing anything fancy like blowing smoke rings or elaborately sniffing the cheroot or biting the end off.  I thought I was being as inactive and unobtrusive as possible.)  The director stopped me.  “It’s not your fault that you’re more interesting than the characters in the scene.  You’ve been doing just what I wanted.  They’re the ones who aren’t being interesting.  If they were fully engaged in what they were doing”—it was an argument—”you wouldn’t attract more attention.”

I don’t remember what he told the other actors to do to regain the focus in the scene; maybe I never heard.  But after another performance, I met one of my own acting students who’d come to see the play and he said something to me that may have been part of the explanation of what had happened.  My student said to me, “You looked so real—like you really knew how to smoke a cigar!”  Well, of course I did know—I’d been a cigar smoker and so had my father when I was growing up, so the procedure of cigar-smoking was natural to me, and since the cigar was real, it was really lit, and I was really smoking it, I was, in fact, actually smoking a cigar.  I wasn’t acting smoking a cigar.  I always think of this as a lesson in acting: a real action is always more interesting than a fake one, even if the real one is small and ordinary and the other one is noisy and big.  (Consider Uta Hagen’s advice about never appearing on stage with children or animals.)  That must have been what the director had meant—that I was really doing what I was directed to do, while my castmates were “acting.”  Even in the semi-darkness, I was more interesting than they were.

*  *  *  *
SHOPPING WITH F. MURRAY ABRAHAM
4 January 2013

I had a fun little encounter a few days after Christmas 2012.  I was doing a little grocery shopping at the Food Emporium on 6th Avenue in my neighborhood, and as I went around the corner into the produce section, coming at me in the other direction was the actor F. Murray Abraham!  Now, I think he's one of the finest actors in the country these days, especially on the stage—I saw him do a rep of Shylock in Shakespeare’s Merchant and Barabas in Marlowe’s The Jew of Malta in 2007 (he reprised the Shylock in 2011) which was terrific—and I told him so and asked, “May I shake your hand?”  “Well,” he said grinning, “I'm glad I got up this morning!”

*  *  *  *
MY ADVENTURE
15 December 2005/17 January 2006

My family lived in West Germany from 1962, after my dad joined the Foreign Service, until 1967, and I joined them in ’63.  I knew at the time it was happening that I was having an adventure—though I never articulated this feeling until long afterwards.  I was old enough at 16 to understand while I was in it that this was a special experience.  Of course, everyone else I knew in Europe at the time was also having it—but I knew no one I left back home was.  I was very consciously getting as much out of the opportunity that I could.  I missed out on a few things in those years for one reason or another, but in general, I made a point of grabbing every opportunity I could, such as going shopping in Koblenz, the small city where we first lived; trying a new restaurant or dish; or going on a trip to some new place, whether far away, like Russia, or nearby, like the Rhine castles near our home.  I was like a gourmand at an elaborate party—I tried to get my fingers into every platter.  When I was about to graduate from high school in Geneva, I even tried to convince my parents to let me take a PG year there, but on the French side.  Not only did I want to improve my French, but I wanted to stay in Europe another year.  They didn’t buy it, though, so I came back and started college in in the States that fall. 

Years later, I was watching Wim Wenders's Wings of Desire on TV.  It’s about two angels who hang around Berlin and watch as the humans live their lives until one of them decides he wants to become human and experience life himself.  The movie was released in ’88 and meanders around odd parts of Berlin, including some sites near sections of the Wall.  I'm not sure I can make this make sense—I've never articulated it before—but at one point, one of the angels crosses a street and passes in front of a row of buildings that all looked as if they dated from the immediate post-war period—’50s and ’60s or thereabouts.  It was only a few seconds of film, and it wasn't in the least significant to the movie, but it made an odd connection for me.  For those few seconds, the scene could have been anywhere in West Germany where those kinds of buildings were ubiquitous in the early days of my family’s time there—just like the house we had in Koblenz and the apartment buildings in the U.S. embassy compound in Bonn-Bad Godesberg where we moved in 1965.  The buildings in the movie were just little shops—bakeries, groceries, tobacconists, and such; I don't even know what they were, but it could have been any street in any West German town where new buildings had been erected to replace older ones destroyed in World War II—they went up fast as Germany was recovering, and they all looked alike.  All of a sudden, and just for a second or two, I was right back there in ’63 in Koblenz in those first weeks and months when my brother and I moved there to join my folks.  It was the oddest kind of nostalgic sense—sort of Proustian, I guess. 

I re-experienced the feeling I remember having, but had never tried to describe or even, really, recognized until much, much later.  It was this absolutely certain sense that here I was, doing this extraordinary thing—living in a foreign country—that I knew was both unique and special and exciting.  Remember, I was just 16 and had never been anywhere off the east coast of the U.S. except one skiing trip to Quebec, and in Koblenz we were living not in an American enclave or a housing compound, but right among the Koblenzers, shopping in their stores—no PX or commissary—and so on.  And, this was 1963—how many American teenagers lived in Europe?  I never said this to myself in words before, but I knew I was on an adventure.  Now, I know I'd thought this before—especially when I went back to Germany in the Army, and most clearly when I went back to Koblenz ten years after I first arrived there—but I know I'd never tried to put this into words of any kind—not even in my head. 

As I said, I had this sense at the time, but it wasn't remotely verbal and I never recognized it except maybe subliminally until years later.  What 16-year-old is that introspective, I guess.  I'd be out in town for whatever reason—shopping, exploring, meeting Dad at his office, wandering with a friend—who more than likely would have been Marc Humilien, a French military brat I got to know there, which made it all the odder—and I'd take notice of the German shops with German signs, the German people on the streets, the German kids.  Everything was foreign—but fascinating.  And this feeling would come over me—I live here.  This is now my home.  I'm actually doing this.  None of those words occurred to me—I've put those in later—but the feeling was there.  This only happened in the first months or a year—after that I got very blasé about living in foreign parts, and later, when we moved to Bonn, we were in an embassy compound where all our neighbors were Americans and our surroundings were an approximation of an American suburb.  But those first months in Koblenz, the Germanness of it all, the newness, the strangeness, was actually palpable.  I was doing this really, really different thing—and I knew it.  All this came back to me in that brief piece of movie, just because the setting looked vaguely familiar.  (That feeling came back to me the first day I arrived in Berlin, as I said, and when I returned to Koblenz in 1972 when I was assigned to a German military school located in nearby Bad Ems.  Years later, when I took a vacation trip to Quebec City, I had a similar sense.  I hadn’t been in a French-speaking environment in decades by that time, and though I’d never been to Quebec City before, I instantly felt as if I’d returned to some place familiar—culturally familiar.  Many things I hadn’t thought about for years came back to me.)

*  *  *  *
DODGING VIETNAM
15 December 2005

I was in ROTC in college and I started active duty at Ft. Knox, Kentucky, in December 1969.  I spent the next 18 months in one army school or another before being assigned to West Berlin.  I was a counterintel agent at Berlin Station, the Military Intelligence unit attached to the Berlin Brigade, from July 1971 to February 1974.  I had worked the system some to get sent to Germany (Berlin was a lagniappe) and at least delay being deployed to Vietnam.  (I wasn’t a supporter of the war, but I also didn’t want to shirk what I saw as my duty as a citizen.)  The one big question was what would happen after 18 months, which was the standard tour for an officer in Berlin when I arrived.  After that, it was home leave and shipment to Vietnam.  I was counting on making myself so indispensable in Berlin that they’d keep me there rather than waste me in Southeast Asia.  I never had to test that plan, though: the Paris Peace Accords were signed in January 1973.  But if I hadn’t been in Berlin to begin with, I can bet on where I’d have ended up.

I firmly believe that my language studies and skills helped keep me out of combat in Southeast Asia.  First, language ability is one of the assets MI looked for, so it helped qualify me for my choice of branch assignment when I was commissioned.  Second, one of the electives I took because I had room in my college schedule—I’d gotten two years’ advanced placement on both German and French, my majors, eliminating a lot of prerequisites—was linguistics.  One of the things you learn in linguistics is how to piece together a language’s grammar from fragments of the spoken tongue.  We did this as exercises several times, and it was part of the mid-term and final exams.  When I got to Ft. Knox, one of the battery of tests we all had to take was the ALAT, the Army Language Aptitude Test.  Lo and behold, the test was exactly that: a language whose grammar we had to glean from sentences, phrases, and words provided.  I maxed the test—got the highest score possible.  That meant I could choose any language training I wanted (except French and German, since I already offered the army those) and I was assured of getting it.  But I had to select a language program.  If I hadn’t chosen one, the army, in its wisdom, was going to choose one for me.  (They weren’t going to ignore my test score!)  They would have put me in a Vietnamese course, and that led to only one assignment.  There was one slot available in a Russian course, and I grabbed it.  Near the end of the course, I took the language proficiency tests for German and French as well as Russian so they were all on my record.  

Now, the fact is that Russian language was an asset in Vietnam—particularly for an MI officer—because of the Soviet presence in the North.  And French was an asset because many older Vietnamese still spoke French as a second language rather than English because Indochina had been a French colony until 1954.  So German was the key.  There was only one obvious place where American troops were stationed where French, German, and Russian were all important skills: not just Germany, but Berlin.  Still under occupation from World War II, Berlin had troops from France in the West and Soviets in the East.  That was the third reason my language studies helped me: specifically my fluency in German.  Since I had also lived in Germany for several years in my teens and knew the culture as well as the language, the army wisely sent me to Berlin instead of Saigon (where the life expectancy of an MI lieutenant was estimated at five minutes after he gets off the plane).   I have no doubt that my acuity in French and German plus my study of Russian were the principal reasons I was in Berlin when the cease-fire went into effect.  (The common wisdom among GI’s was that 90% of all soldiers were malassigned.  Not me: I was just where I should have been!)

*  *  *  *
INDEPENDENCE DAY WITH GERMANS
17 December 2005
 
While I was stationed in Berlin when I was in the army, I had been sent as one of two American guest-officers to the MAD-Schule, the Bundeswehr intelligence school, in the summer and fall of 1972.  (MAD was the Militärischer Abschirmdienst, the military counterintelligence service of the Bundeswehr, the German military forces.  It is now called the Amt für Sicherheit der Bundeswehr, the office for the security of the Bundeswehr.)  The course was a two-parter, and we went during the summer for the first stage.  We were there over Independence Day, so my American colleague and I decided that we had to throw a Fourth of July barbecue for our German classmates. 

Even by ’72, barbecuing the American way—over a grill outdoors then eating outside pretty much with your hands—was still un-German.  (My mom did a cook-out for her German friends when we lived in West Germany in the ’60s, and the ladies didn’t quite know what to make of it.  They ate hamburgers with knives and forks and then, because paper was still expensive in Europe, wanted to wash the paper plates.) 

Well, since my partner, who was married, went back to Munich for the weekends, I was tasked with doing the shopping.  I drove up to the commissaries in Frankfurt and Wiesbaden and stocked up on steaks, hot dogs, and burgers.  I got number-10 cans of baked beans and all the fixin’s for a traditional Independence Day cook-out.  We had a half day on Tuesday, the Fourth—a coincidence, as far as I know—and the morning was devoted to Sport.  We had done this before, and gone to a swimming pool for the afternoon, but this time we were going kegeling—German bowling.  (Wouldn’t you know it, most Kegelbahns were also bars!)  That morning was raining and gray, and it looked like the barbecue was going to be a wash-out.  But when we came out of the Kegelbahn, the rain had stopped and the sun was shining brightly.  One of the German officers cracked, “Is it Jesus Christ or the good Lord himself who loves America?”  (We weren’t universally hated yet.)  And off we went to our cook-out. 

The mess hall had come up with a grill somehow, and we set up everything outside—the Germans sprang for the beer—and the cook-out was a blazing success.  (All that beer didn’t hurt.)  What went over best, I was surprised to find, was the baked beans.  Man, those guys just loved that stuff.  I had over-bought a little, and they served the rest at mess until it ran out.  I think they even prevailed on me to get more from the commissary.  I fear I created a bunch of addicts!  But we paid those guys back for all their gemütlichkeit and stood America in good stead with a small group of Bundeswehr army and air force majors, lieutenant colonels, and colonels, and navy lieutenant commanders, commanders, and captains. 

*  *  *  *
THINKING OUTSIDE THE (TV) BOX
8 February 2013

I had a thought one night recently that's occurred to me before.  I was watching an ordinary TV program and the plot seemed to have been wrapped up.  But I saw that it was still 15 minutes before the end of the hour, so I figured there was something yet to be revealed.  There was, and I even guessed what it was, but mostly because I knew there was a quarter of the program left to go.  In other words, I was getting clues not from the plot or the characters, but from the mechanics of TV—in this case the fact that TV shows have a definite schedule and time span and they have to fill out the time slot.

I've noticed this kind of thing before.  Another clue that comes from outside the script or the acting is from the casting. If a role is played by an actor I don't know from anywhere, I can figure the character isn't very important.  That may or may not end up being true, but if an apparently small part is played by an actor who does a lot of TV, may even be a second-tier star whose name I even know, I suspect the character is going to turn out to be more significant than we're supposed to think.  (This can happen in movies, too, unlike the timing thing, but it's less common.  I remember once watching an old Clint Eastwood movie on TV some years ago in which an apparently inconsequential character was played by an actor who usually played featured roles and even leads.)  

There's a variation on this casting clue syndrome when a character who we know is probably important is played by an actor commonly cast in a certain kind of role.  Even if the character's personality isn't revealed much in the early scenes, you can be pretty sure it'll turn out to be in line with the actor's usual role and you can make a pretty sure bet he'll be a villain or an innocent wrongly suspected or something like that.  (In films, directors and producers might fool you by casting an actor against her or his usual type—and sometimes habitual casting patterns change, sometimes suddenly.  Cuddly Ed Asner, discombobulated Walter Matthau, and comic Zero Mostel started out as "heavies."   So did dimwitted Leslie Nielsen—but no one seems to do that much on TV.)

All of these are clues that you wouldn't pick up except for the mechanics or business of TV—not the writing, acting, or directing.  They're non-artistic clues, external clues.  They seem to belong to TV more than any other form of story-telling, either because of the nature of TV as we do it here (the rigid TV schedule, which is not always followed in Europe, say) or because of the way the directors and producers practice their crafts (the casting thing).  They all keep something that might be a surprise, however small, from being as startling as it otherwise might be.

(There was another clue in that Eastwood film, Blood Work, that the character I noted was more significant than the script let on, but it was sort of from within the film.  The guy'd written his name—I think it might have been on a check, but that's irrelevant—and it was Jasper Noone.  Now, I used to teach writing, and a common spelling error I saw was writing “no one” as one word: noone.  Because of my writing-class experience, I guessed that in Blood Work, this might be a modern take on Ulysses calling himself Nemo—Latin for “nobody.”  It was too prominent—the camera came in close on the name—to be insignificant.  And that's another frequent clue: if the camera lingers on an object in a scene, you know it'll be important later.  It's setting up a McGuffin—but it's an internal clue, perhaps sloppily executed—by the director.)

19 July 2012

'Best Man'

by Kirk Woodward

[The current Broadway revival of Gore Vidal’s The Best Man began preview performances at the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre on 6 March 2012 and opened to the press on 1 April. It’s been extended once and is now scheduled to close its limited run on 9 September. It was nominated for a Tony as Best Revival of a Play (and James Earl Jones was also nominated for best actor in a play); the production also received several Drama Desk nominations. The original production ran at the Morosco Theatre from 31 March 1960 to 8 July 1961. It starred Melvyn Douglas, who won a Tony for his performance as William Russell, the challenger to the former president.

[On Thursday, 21 June, frequent
ROT contributor Kirk Woodward attended a performance of the revival and filed the following report. As you’ll see, he recommends it—I’ll let him tell you why exactly—but he has more to say that I’m sure ROT readers and theater enthusiasts will find informative. ~Rick]


It's a commonplace of directing classes that ninety percent of good directing is a good cast. The other ten percent is a good script. Or maybe it's the good script that's ninety percent of directing, and a good cast ten percent. I'm pretty sure the script is the ninety percent. Or maybe not.

In any case, the current Broadway production of Gore Vidal's 1960 Broadway play The Best Man should make its director, Michael Wilson, happy, because it's a strong play with a remarkable original cast: James Earl Jones, Angela Lansbury, Candice Bergen, Eric McCormick, John Laroquette, and that's only the front line of actors in this twenty-performer show. (Bergen, McCormack, Butler, and Lansbury were to be replaced by Cybill Shepherd, John Stamos, Kristin Davis and Elizabeth Ashley, respectively, over the course of July.)

It was the cast list – particularly the opportunity to see Angela Lansbury on stage again – that made me pay attention to this revival in the first place. I had more or less overlooked the opening of the play altogether. I'm not sure why. Reviews of the play were mixed but generally positive, particularly for the cast. (Charles Isherwood of the New York Times called the production “sluggish” and the play “quaint.” What Isherwood found dated, Linda Winer in Newsday on the other hand found “pertinent and as boldly impertinent as the daily machinations in our latest mud-fight to the White House.”)

Perhaps I didn't pay attention to the play because it's a limited run. It was originally scheduled to close on July 1; that date has now been moved out to September 9. I recommend that you take advantage of the extension to see the play if you haven’t. It's worth it.

One reason I say this is that, as I hinted above, playwriting, affected by economic considerations like everything else, has frequently constricted its vision to make plays more financially viable for producing organizations. No doubt producers still look for promising properties of all sorts, but the idea of a two-act, two character play on a bare stage probably would not depress them, and today's playwright who submits a new script that requires twenty actors is a brave soul.

The Best Man by contrast is a three act play with at least two major sets, both realistic, and we probably ought to take advantage of opportunities to see plays like this, since for a number of decades they were standard for the American theater. (Think, for example, of the plays of Kaufman and Hart.) There is something to be said for a show with a lot of actors on stage, doing a lot of acting.

But Vidal's play is not routine American theatrical fare, any more than Vidal (whose other Broadway success is Visit to a Small Planet) is a routine American writer. His acerbic voice has been prominent in novels and essays, not to mention television appearances, for years. However, The Best Man, although a jibe at American political life, is not a cheap shot. What's more, Isherwood’s review notwithstanding, politics is not all that the play is about.

A brief summary: the play takes place at the 1960 presidential nominating convention of an unnamed political party, and focuses on two of the three leading candidates for nomination, William Russell (played by John Larroquette) and Joseph Cantwell (significantly named, and played by Eric McCormack). (The third candidate is a nonentity and is hardly mentioned.)

Russell, formerly a governor and Secretary of State, resembles Adlai Stevenson (who is mentioned in the play) a bit in the sense that he wants to maintain as much integrity as it is possible to maintain in politics.

Cantwell, on the other hand, is presented from the start as the worst sort of opportunistic American politician, a man without conviction who talks constantly about his convictions, a man without love for anything except himself who presents himself as full of love for his country, a man with a justification for everything while he is doing the most irresponsible things. (If that portrait reminds you of anyone today, well, I didn't say it.)

In the play we see the efforts of the two candidates to gain the endorsement of a former president (James Earl Jones) and a prominent Southern committeewoman (Angela Lansbury). We also see Cantwell attempt a deadly maneuver in an attempt to force Russell to quit the race.

Obviously the subject at hand in The Best Man is political power, and Vidal has plenty to say on the subject. He points to the evil behavior we see in the play – of a kind by no means unthinkable in any election. Just as important, however, is Vidal's contention that there are no perfect, or even reasonably perfect, candidates. The search for such a candidate, he suggests, is a huge mistake. Looking for an ideal president can only lead to picking a bad one. We need to select the lesser of evils for President, he says, because there is no other choice. "The best man" is a relative, not an absolute, term.

Presenting this view of politics in itself would be a public service. However, Vidal is after bigger game than just a shot at the American political system. The Best Man at its heart is a presentation of the famous existential dilemma most familiarly stated by Camus: If there is no God – and the play rules God out of the discussion early – then why bother to be good?

The play presents several possible answers to this question, but mostly batted away by the powerful personality who is former President Arthur Hockstader. It's all about power, Hockstader says, and you have to exercise it, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer. The existential answer is that a person has to choose. Existentially speaking, there is no other answer.

When I refer to the character of President Hockstader as powerful, I’m clearly being influenced by the performance of the redoubtable James Earl Jones in the role. His Hockstader is boisterous, profane, earthy, unpredictable, a force to reckon with. How much of this description is due to Vidal's script and how much to Jones' performance I can't say, not having read the script, but there's no question that this wonderful actor makes the most of everything in the role and then some.

For example, I can imagine his remark that his image didn't join the others on Mt. Rushmore might be delivered in a semi-apologetic, rueful fashion. Jones delivers the line with a substantial pause, followed by a virtual explosion of the remark indicating, among other things, glee that he knows perfectly well what his own strengths and weaknesses are. Appropriately, Jones had been nominated this year for a Tony Award for his performance.

But all the performers in this play bring much more than just reputations to the role. Larouquette fills his character with a deep, almost guilty, awareness of his own shortcomings. McCormick, who has proven to be an extremely able stage actor, makes Cantwell into an almost irresistible snake, practically the original Tempter. Candice Bergen, often given stern, snippy roles, plays a woman who wishes she were anyplace except where politics has put her. And Angela Lansbury, now eighty-six years old, acts with the energy of a much younger person, and with a vocal technique to be envied – from my seat in the rear balcony, she sounded almost as though she were up there with us.

A play like The Best Man has room for numerous fine smaller roles. I was amazed to see the small role of a senator played by the always welcome Dakin Matthews, a familiar face on TV and the stage. Donna Hanover, the TV personality and former wife of Rudy Giuliani, appears, and so do the talented and stalwart Kerry Butler, Jefferson Mays, and Mark Blum. I counted something like a dozen Tony awards and nominations among the cast, and goodness knows how many Oscars and Emmys.

So the director, Michael Wilson, does pretty well in that ninety-percent, ten-percent idea I alluded to at the beginning of this piece. Wilson also has the successful Broadway director’s gift of leading the cast to get the most out of their lines, often with unexpected readings that in particular bring out the humor of the piece. I saw only one flaw in the direction of the show, and it may not be his fault: the cast begins to play the ending of the show too early. This fault may result not from direction, though, but from the way the actors have played the show as the run has progressed. Slowing down at the end of the play is a frequent temptation for a cast.

If only for the performance of James Earl Jones, The Best Man would be a show to see. But it offers much, much more.

[I feel I have to acknowledge something here while publishing Kirk’s first article for ROT since “Noel, Noel” on 24 March. On Monday, 2 April, Pat Woodward, Kirk’s dear wife of 28 years, died suddenly and unexpectedly at the age of 62. I’ve been trying to find a way to address Pat’s passing on ROT for months now, and I really haven’t found one that satisfies me. So I’m just going to acknowledge it here. However late it may be, I expect there will be a more substantial remembrance of this devoted theater person and special woman on ROT in the near future, but for now, “Good night, sweet Pat, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” ~Rick]