Archive for the 'rehearsal' Category



The Princess and The Pea(Nut)

The last play I wrote that was produced in New York City was in a festival in Midtown. The festival people were great and the festival was run really well. My play was a short play, so I was paired up with another writer to make a complete program.
The other writer didn’t appear to know what she was doing, but she was determined to be the boss and run the show.
Getting the Equity paperwork out of her was nearly impossible, and we almost missed the deadline. It squeaked in, by me hand delivering it, smiling, begging, and paying a rush fee.

I put the program together and emailed her a copy. She never looked at the email, and found a typo in one of her cast’s names the day before opening AFTER it had been printed. Love that.

I let her chose which play would go first. She wanted first, natch. We teched separately. I attended her tech run through to see what we would be dealing with for a set change.

Her set had a rope tied to the sprinkler system on the 18-foot ceiling. A big heavy rope. They had to bring out a huge ladder and take it down between the plays. Not a swift transition. If she had chosen to go second it wouldn’t be a problem, but the princess had to go first. So I let it go, and figure we’ll deal. You don’t was a cumbersome drawn out set change between plays for the sake of the audience. For my play, we were using a few black cubes to keep it simple.
We find out the day before opening night ,that we need someone to help with the box office. When I ask her, before I finish my sentence she says, “OH I DON’T KNOW ANYBODY.” At least make believe you are trying to think of someone before speaking. It’s my fault. My OCD is showing and she can tell I’m gonna take care of it. You have to look like you don’t really care to get her to do anything. I didn’t do that.

On opening night when she is setting up for her play, a giant bag of Styrofoam peanuts appears. “What the fuck?” I think. The next second they are dumped on the stage. To signify an ice flow on a river. A MILLION FUCKING STYROFOAM PEANUTS! As they say in Brooklyn, “You gotta be shitting me.”

I went to tech. I saw the tech. THERE WAS NOT A PEANUT IN SIGHT. There was not a peanut even mentioned. This is why you have tech, so you can strike and set up EXACTLY the way you will be doing it for performance.

I say nothing to her. There is no point now. The peanuts are out of the bag.

Everything on the stage for her play is labeled with signs. The rope has a sign that says ROPE. A box has a sign that says DOCK. A play by a retard for retards. I can’t figure out what it is about. Someone eats and apple and commits suicide. Really heavy dude.

After her play is performed, her actors walk off stage and don’t do dick. My actors are stuck with the fucking peanuts. The director and I jump onstage and start sweeping, while her stage manager is doing a high wire act with the rope.
It was all so unnecessary. If this play had a fucking real snow machine from Hunter Mountain, it wouldn’t have helped. And why not use a white sheet instead of a five-foot bag of Styrofoam peanuts? Why not? Because the mind who dreamed up this fachada play would never think of anything logical/simple like that.

We have a reception after the plays. Guess who sets up for the party? Guess who takes care of the comps for both casts? Guess who looks like she is losing her mind?

She arrived for opening night carrying a bag of things for the party. Princess dumps it at my feet and says,” Would you bring this upstairs for me?” I said NO. Aren’t you proud of me? When the party was over, she asked me if I would bring her stuff home and then bring it back the next day so she won’t have to carry it. No again sister. She gets the “WHAT WERE THEY THINKING” award.

We get fined for the rope tied to the sprinkler. A safety violation. The director of the festival attended the play and charged out of the theater totally beet red faced with fury.

We got reviewed. The reviewer mentioned the ungainly set change. The reviewer also detested her play. THE REVIEWER LOVED MY PLAY. It was Karmic justice, don’tcha think? The title of the pairing was “Two With Troubles” the reviewer added: “Only one actually.” Her play was described as: “ A meager meal that was perplexing and difficult to follow. We don’t even get a try at the meaning of life.”

My play was described as: “A nice encapsulated character study between the two different worlds…clear and illuminating.. Succeeding as satisfying theater…”

Thank you. The suffering was worth it. Good blurbs from a review are everything to a writer.

Since then, I’ve only had plays I write produced out of town by other people. Ohio, Kentucky. All I have to do is put them in an envelope and lick the stamps. No princesses, no peanuts.

The Return of The Hatwoman

Had a read through yesterday of the script for the film I’ve been cast in opposite the actress who wore the hat at the callback.  You know, the one who kept us all waiting 30 minutes?  Well, big shocker, she was 30 minutes late today again, so kept four actors and the director waiting for her.  Really the hat at the callback was just the tip of the iceberg.

She comes swooping into the room wearing giant Tory Birch sunglasses and poses with a big, “Hi there everybody!”  Are you kidding me sweetheart?  Sunglasses indoors?  On a cloudy winter day no less.  Oh come on.  Which she chose to keep on all the way through the upstairs studio down the stairs and across the basement studio and into the rehearsal room?  The four of us already dislike her now.

The second she sits down she looks at the director and says “Excuse me.  Can I talk to you alone outside?  I have a problem.”  Cool.  Keep us waiting some more.

When we are all introduced to her she takes a look at the actress playing her friend and says, “You’re supposed to be my friend?  You look ten years younger than me!”   Good.  Good.  Insult the director for moronic casting.

When we start to discuss the script she has to dominate the meeting.  Tells the director he has to use body mikes in certain scenes.

She appears uncomfortable if anyone else is speaking.  Anything anyone says is cut off by her “CAN YOU TOP THIS?” approach to conversation.  You know these people.  I think they are called sociopaths or something. She is having a Julia Roberts moment in her mind.

She asks other actors if they’ve worked out their back-story.  Asking another actor about their back-story is not appropriate or relevant.  Unless you learned the term yesterday and are dying to use it in a sentence.

The minute we start to read the script she starts furiously highlighting her pages with a yellow marker, thus defeating the whole purpose of having a table read.  She reads all her lines through a scary forced smile of terror.

During one scene she tells another actress how to feel.  “Maybe you’re not mad at me,” she says, “Maybe you’ve found forgiveness.”  “Maybe you should SHUT UP”, I think.

Basically, her behavior from start to finish is like a list of things not to do at a table read.

The director loves her.  She must look like his ex-girlfriend or something.

The Nasty Director

Most of the directors I have worked with have been nice. Really sincere and nice.

But there is one nightmare director I remember. He was a Public Relation’s guy by day who really wanted to direct. From the first day of rehearsal, there was an uncomfortable paranoid vibe among the actors. Not good. He had a few people from a past production. And a few new actors. The newbies.

He was the type of guy that always needed someone to torture. I was first. I found out later when I left the room on the first day he said, “You know Cranky is a professional actress. Not like you guys.” This said because I was the only one with union cards in the show at that point. So I was resented immediately. Thanks Mr. Nasty.

Then there was the day the stage manager called me and asked if I could be at rehearsal in twenty minutes, instead of the prior scheduled time of two and a half hours later. I wasn’t even dressed yet, but I busted my ass and got there. When I got there he didn’t use me for over two hours. I know the prick did it on purpose.

So when he was giving notes at the end of the day, the minute he was done with my scenes, I raised my hand and asked if I could split. I knew it was wrong, but I was having some sort of attack of verbal turrets. He started screaming at me and I got up and walked out. I slammed the door behind me. I didn’t care if I got fired and never went back at that point. I guess he did, because he called me up and said, “Hey, Hi, um, ah, we’re OK, right?” You ever push back at a bully, they usually fold.

He also liked to degrade the writer in front of the cast. The writer who was the producer and was paying his salary. He knew somehow that the writer would never stand up to him. It was painful to watch. He would say horrible things about the writing to all.

Then there was the Sunday I was supposed to be off from rehearsal. My husband and I were just leaving the house. The phone rang. The stage manager again. Could I come in today? It was too late to cancel our plans with the people we were meeting at that point, so I couldn’t. The director decided that was the day he would have his wife choreograph the group dance/fantasy sequence that was supposed to include the entire cast. Now the entire cast except for me.

When I came in the next day he said, “You’re out of the dance. I asked you to come in yesterday. Too bad.” I could of learned it in five minutes. I’ve done years of ballet and modern dance. I didn’t say a word. I don’t beg to bastards.

He eventually moved on to picking on another newbie, the drop dead gorgeous Columbian actress. He would make fun of her and roll his eyes so his pets could laugh at her. We had an immediate bond. During tech rehearsal, gorgeous Columbian comes to me crying. She has a callback for a national commercial and he won’t let her leave. They are moving so slow, I know they are not gonna get to her scene for hours. Everyone knows commercials pay big bucks and any decent director would try to work around it and help her out. She can only afford Payless Shoes for heaven’s sake. I mean really. He’s just being mean.

I pulled her into the dressing room. I said, “YOU FUCKING LEAVE AND GO TO THE FUCKING CALLBACK! I’LL COVER FOR YOU!” “Really?” she says in her darling Columbian accent. “Yes. Go back in the theater and show your face. Then get up like you’re going to the ladies room and hop in a cab and go and I’ll take care of it.” She did.

Like forty-five minutes later, the head ratfink/pet comes out of the theater. She is spying for Mr. Nasty Director. “I’m looking for Columby, where is she?” she says. “She was just here.” I say, “I think she went to the bathroom.” She goes back into the theater without checking the bathroom. Whew! A half hour later finky gal is back again. This time looking really suspicious. “Ah, I haven’t seen Columby around. Is she here?” she says. “Huh?” I say, “Oh yea, she was just here with me a minute ago. She went down the block to the deli to get something.”

Columby makes it back. No one is the wiser. She booked the commercial. Yeah! Within six months of the horror show closing, she becomes a top 40 Columbian pop star. No kidding. Maybe I helped. Maybe she bought expensive shoes with the money from the commercial and it helped her self-esteem when they looked at her for pop star.

He also picked on a young actor who had very little theater experience. He loved torturing him and telling the cast how stupid he was. You knew how little experience he had when you hired him Nasty! So mean.

He spent most of the rehearsal working out shtick for his brother who was in the cast. For the rest of the characters, he wanted horrible broad interpretations.

He was there opening night and didn’t come back for a good week. When he did all he said was, “Wow. All the characters are so big. I don’t remember that.”

The star of the show was onstage every second of every minute of every hour of the show. But still, after opening night, he changed his blocking during my scenes with him so he could upstage me. I was a good soldier and stuck to the blocking that had been set for a while. Then I was like, “Alright, enough.” So I changed my blocking to upstage him. Every night, I would move upstage and he would have to turn to look at me. Then he would move upstage and I would move farther. Sometimes, actors left on their own is a little bit like “A Town Without Grownups.”

The show was publicized a lot. The dicky director had PR connections.

I couldn’t wait until the whole thing was over. His brother did say the whole thing reminded him of fourth grade.
Mr. Nasty’s current claim to fame is as a “Haunted House Impresario.” He produces a haunted house in the village every year. Which is perfect, because this guy is a nightmare.

I was in a park recently, and I look to my right and who is there? Mr. Nasty. He sees me. I see him. I’m not saying hello. He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to say hello. It’s the “who’s going to say hello first contest.” It was a standoff. Nobody.