Right Place, Right People, Right Time...

Unless there’s a career renaissance for me as a grandparent in on-screen roles, I don’t expect to have the chance to win an Oscar and publicly thank all the people that made my creative career possible.  So before senility (real or assumed) kicks in, here goes…

Although neither of my parents had vocations in the fine arts, genetics created a winning formula.  Ma and Pa accepted, encouraged, and endorsed my steps and choices along the way.  I am most grateful for the freedom and love.

Excluding the wonderful stars I saw in movie and television shows at their peak (Carol Burnett, Red Skelton, Johnny Carson), it’s the personal encounters that made the biggest difference.

Between 5^th & 6^th grade I took a summer school package that included a course with Michael Hennessy.   All the kids were of an age, the age where art was only important if it was on TV or the big screen.  Then Michael “introduced” himself non-verbally and proceeded to enact a safe-cracker’s worst nightmare—entirely in pantomime.  We were enthralled, entertained, and hooked on the idea of telling a story without words. 

Michael was inclusive in his teaching, and guided us toward staging a little haunted house adventure we produced for our families (I was the floating skull).  Since then, he’s trained with Marcel Marceau, clowned with the New York Goofs, performed at the Guthrie Theatre and San Francisco Opera (among other prestigious venues),  and gone on to produce mime plays designed for educational and social justice messages.  And at age 64, he’s now heading “Actions Speak Louder”, a group consulting corporate employees’ use of body language and non-verbal expression.

I thank him for fanning my creative spark into a flame. 

In the fall of 1979, I enrolled at Anoka-Ramsey Community College.  A year later, I jumped into their speech--aka forensics--team.  Greg LaPanta was the head coach.  I had only participated in three plays in high school, one category (Discussion?!) of speech competition, and felt pretty nervous about ‘having what it takes’ to meet the ARCC record of forensics success. 

Greg had coaching conversations, not lectures.  He was Socratic in questioning, used peers as performance models--but didn’t like ‘cookie cutter’ styles, and encouraged best efforts.  He even had fun!  Due to his influence, the team succeeded nationally during my time at ARCC as well. 

When I moved on to a four-year school with new coaches, I had a track record prompting arrogance.  Since two-and-four-year schools competed on the same Midwest circuit, we saw him frequently.  It didn’t take long before he called me out on my attitude and reminded me of what was important (best efforts, fun, the social atmosphere).  I thank him for that.  He used a position of power to empower young people.  The forensics organization Phi Rho Pi recognized this when they gave him a national service award in 1984; the state of Minnesota’s college speech students and coaches value this as they honor teams with the Greg LaPanta Quality Award. 

Greg passed away in 1985 as I graduated into the “real” performance & education world. 

If I was ever hesitant and insecure professionally, my first year out of college was the time.  No scholastic teaching positions fell in my lap, no real-world employers would look twice, so I jumped at the chance to do some non-traditional theatre with an educational company called CLIMB (Creative Learning Ideas for Mind & Body).

CLIMB’s mission is to create and perform creative works that inspire and propel people toward actions that benefit themselves and the community.  They started in 1975 as a company mostly serving disabled groups and audiences.  Peg Wetli & Peg Endres gave me a new skill set and confidence that I could work ‘magic’ in any theatrical or educational setting.  Doing school residencies or working with those special groups showed me the possibilities for more than one career. 

I have been fortunate to work with a LOT of talented personable & intelligent people.  Their influences guide me every day.  I single the few out because they met me at a crossroads and pointed out the path I needed. 

And now, the band is playing, oh crap!  I also want to thank my pet turtle-----!?

STOP ME IF YOU’VE HEARD THIS ONE…

Folktales never die, they just go to sleep until they’re kissed with kindness.

The comfort zone of beginning storytellers is to find the familiar, the sympathetic.  For some performers, they embrace the ongoing saga-length possibilities of Ancient Mythology (see Zeus and his wacky relations) OR Cultural tales they heard at a relative’s knee (see the Ramayana).  For others, ‘familiar’ is the Euro- or Appalachian-folktale.

Greek or Roman myths offer still-relevant symbols of behavior & linguistic analogs for love (Venus), vanity (Narcissus), or war (Mars), among others.  The roots from which all soap operas flow.

Cultural tales carry an emotional weight, immerse you in an unique ethos of a specific culture portraying heroes, villains, and helpers.  The roots from which your roots grow.

As for folktales, I think they get a bum rap.  They are self-contained (unities of Time, Place, and Action), display memorable values (loyalty, generosity, wit), and provide archetypes and action that rivet the attention.  Animated movies and 2011-12 TV shows still love the legendary for those reasons.

Granted, the emotional attachments or environs relevant to the 21^st century audience member may be lacking.  Repeated exposure to a specific tale could result in emotional distance (if any empathy existed in the first place), loss of attention with its predictable plot, and ultimately no desire to read or see it as before.

BUT your exposure to folktales has left its mark on your perceptions and behaviors, I’ll wager.  Those ‘folk’ universal laws & ethics still guide you.

#1: Size does matter.  ‘Third little pig’ or the Mouse of Aesop’s fable proved they weren’t always outmatched.  This law takes on different context in jewelry purchases, of course.

#2: Kissing a frog is not a deal-breaker.   You can’t judge a book by its cover, either,  but making out with one is not a healthy start to a relationship.  The frog, the animal is there to let a personality shine through the warts.  See the whole person, yes?

#3: Names are powerful.  If my name was Rumplestiltskin, I’d conceal it too; or at least do a more effective job so nosy folks don’t get the best of me…via identity theft.

#4: No such thing as a free lunch.  Gingerbread houses are all-you-can-eat tasty until you have to live with the transsexual Gordon Ramsay inside. 

As performers, we also have laws--to help you appreciate the ‘tired’ folktale.

I = Go to THE source.  Many published versions lose something in translation; sharp details and weird customs become diluted or deleted over the years.  Dig deep into the culture and era that spawned the story.  Peruse multiple versions of the tale.  Everything old can become new again.

II = Acknowledge the Source.  It’s tempting to find a good thing and be appreciated for it.  You hold a monopoly on the script and praise…IF nobody knows you’re using a published version.  BUT sooner or later the truth will out & remember what happened to the wolf after Little Red’s lumberjack friend got done with him?  I’m just sayin’.  
    If the audience trusts you for the good stuff, give ‘em more (in quantity by doubling their resource & quality when you ask the author for permission to share this and another tale).

III = Identify with a character.  Many performers do this unconsciously on first read--it’s the hook for their enthusiasm; it’s the empathy that fulfills the character portrayal; it’s the spark for ensuing light bulbs over the audience noggins.
IF you’re running out of gas telling an ‘old’ tale, then find a character in the story whose perspective isn’t fully shared or understood in the traditional version.  Write the storyline (or an original one) in their words, through their eyes.  I’ve had a lot of fun with this method.

“Fractured Fairy Tales” ala the 1960s Rocky & Bullwinkle TV show, Gregory Maguire’s works (“Wicked”, among others), and many recent children’s books utilize the twist to much success.

IV = READ!  Somebody read you the stories when you were younger; then you read on your own.  You can find a lot more material, enjoy a lot more literature, know more of your ancestral culture, and challenge yourself as a writer-performer if you make a consistent effort.

Right now I’m working on a tale about finding a pot of rainbows at the end of a golden nugget.  

Jealous?

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Christmas of Ghosts Past

I was not raised by wolves-- or even lycanthropes.  I did not grow up in a clammy English castle.  But I do appreciate a good horror story.

Granted, I wrote my share in 5^th and 6^th grade, contemplating copyright infringement suits against “The Night Stalker” TV series.  But I grew up amid my father’s extensive science fiction library, an afternoon horror movie series on our local TV affiliate, and a fascination with real-life ghost stories as book report fodder…Thus, my adult predilection for the supernatural scare.

I have my share of fun kids ‘ghost’ stories I perform at schools.  But the itch to give (and get) legitimate scares at the adult intensity-level is too strong to ignore.

Why do audiences (and I) crave a good scary yarn?  It’s primal.  Curiosity is a powerful instinct that makes you journey into the shadows to see what’s there AND your curiosity wants to know if you’re strong enough to survive whatever the dark side launches at you.

I’ve survived 100% of my experiences as a reader & performer.  So far.  My audiences, on the other hand, haven’t complained.  I haven’t scared any individual to death, though it would prove quite the PR conundrum.

Imagination is that other innate motivator to seek the horror story.    “I see a dead woman with two puncture wounds in her neck.    I see an open empty coffin.  I see ______.” 

You filled in that blank, didn’t you?  Audiences love that sense of creating the journey, daring themselves and the story in the process.

Stay in a rural English cottage with a solitary lit candle, a mourning mother, and a monkey’s paw, and you WANT to know what’s possible.

The period literature bridging the 19^th & 20th centuries appeals most to me.  Mostly short fiction created by numerous masters of the horror genre (including WW Jacobs): Poe, R.L. Stevenson,
H.P. Lovecraft, Ambrose Bierce, M.R. James, and Algernon Blackwood, to name a few.

Not all of them were novelists, and not all wrote exclusively for the horror genre.  But they all oozed curiosity and imagination.

In a genre that finally had popular availability, they asked those questions that science, nature, or religion couldn’t answer…and created their own answers.  With each story’s firmly established mythos, here comes the reader thinking, “How scary could it be?” 

The fact that this genre and many of its individual authors (now long dead…I think) have 21^st century fan websites speaks to the staying power of the material.  Ray Bradbury, Richard Matheson, and Stephen King wouldn’t be who they are without their horrible forefathers.         I’m just trying to frighten the unenlightened.

As a performer, I LOVE the public domain system that includes this vibrant period of literature.  No gatekeeper blocks access to the story, no agent asks for their pound of flesh, and dead authors don’t kibbitz over how you tell their tale. That’s WHY I tell them.

HOW  I tell those horror stories is a trade secret.  You could find out at one of my upcoming shows.  They’re popular as a cemetery: folks are just dying to get in.

(Insert evil laugh here)

                                                                                #####

This time it's personal!

TO TELL THE “TRUTH”

Greetings, story fans!  Rest assured before we begin, there are two topics you’ll never read about at this blog—Romantic relationships & Bodily functions.  As for the former, six people just breathed easier; for the latter, the world is now a safer place. 

Today I would like to share my perceptions of the Personal Story.  I speak not of the long-winded “joke” you may share at a local night-club or the uninvited confession to your fellow passenger on the bus. 
No, the following is for those of you enamored of stepping into experiences like The Moth, story slams, or just an oral history for your family.

When I first began telling stories, I was part of an ensemble—a tag-team, as it were—sharing mostly traditional or children’s tales.  Then, a client asked for a baseball theme and rather than subject 20^th century kids to a 19^th century sports glossary in “Casey at the Bat,” I delved into my life experiences for an original story.  Since then, I’ve learned some lessons you may value…

Be Yourself.  I am a practitioner of “mutant literature.”  I don’t create Jane Austen zombies, though I do stray from the conventional in letter writing, play writing, and story writing.  I write one letter (emails notwithstanding) a year and it’s “news” for friends, not a journal.  As to plays, the two-act format seems too lengthy for me, so I prefer creating one-acts or a series of character-monologues around a theme or incident.  Stories from another source are sacred but my original anecdotal PERSONAL experiences are the product of a perpetually short attention-span and the actor’s mentality to work ‘moments’. 

As I watched other professional tellers early in my story-career, I saw one relate an incident as a continuous journey over 20 minutes; another found a parallel to their experience in mythology.  I admire those tellers and their methods but my fragmented memories and insular comfort zone mesh best with a ‘connect the dots’ narrative style.

Stories can go on a pedestal, if you’re not already up there. Back to the baseball story…I created an inning by inning lowlight reel—a stand-up routine if you must know.  After a few performances, I got cocky and expected laughs.  When the laughs didn’t come, I tried harder and quickly lost my audience as they became frightened of the desperate dude onstage.  I’m much more reasonable now…

Emotions don’t rehearse (and it shows).  My first story about dealing with death, my grandfather’s, was an effort to challenge myself, become the ‘more-than-stand-up’ guy.  During rehearsals, there was no hint that I’d relive receiving the news: crying the first four times I shared it onstage.  Actor tricks like pausing, thinking of sunshine and lollipops, or open mouth breathing until I regained control didn’t work.

So I fought through it to the less traumatic ‘homage’ section.  Fighting through it a couple times told me what I could and couldn’t do, made me more inured to the predictable surge of adrenalin.  I used to fear the story.  Now I love it again because I keep the homage in my mind throughout the tale.

The story tells you when it’s ready to be told.  The last personal story I wrote blind-sided me.  I signed on for a national workshop to create an original tale that tied to a traditional folktale.  At the time, I had a few folktales in the ‘maybe someday’ folder.  I took one folktale from the folder and forced a societal issue onto it—too cold; another folktale sounded like a sibling’s relationship—too hot; then a third folktale turned my head—just right.  It sounded like my journey through alcoholic misbehavior.  There were natural parallels about warning signs, ignorance, facing the demons, and redemption. 

My story-coaches accepted this darker side of me, and gave objective feedback that made me all the more grateful I tabled the story until its time was my time.  The workshop kicked ass, by the way!

The bottom line with personal stories is--Lessons.  If a story doesn’t have some universal appeal, then it’s time to stop looking in the mirror.  It’s not about you.  It’s about what an individual audience member hears, feels, and lets resonate during and after your sharing of the tale.    Your hindsight becomes their foresight, maybe even lets them finally cope with something similar from their past.

Here’s hoping I get to hear your adventures soon.   

                                                                               

'Tis the Season...

Hello, I normally send an annual newsletter to friends with an original lit creation aperitif. Here's a couple from the past fave file.  See you in 2012!

AFTERGLOW

'Twas the day after Christmas

and all through the shack

not one thing was stirring,

except one old cheese snack.

Tupperware was stacked and sealed with a burp

to preserve a LARGE turkey that'd chirped

its last chirp.

The children were asleep and snug in their beds

surrounded by gift debris up to their heads.

I in my boxers and Ma in her sweats

were dazed in the living room, tallying debts.

Then what to my wondering eyes should appear

but an unlabeled gift and an imported beer!

We flipped for the ale, though it was quite warm

and guessed at the treasure just by its form.

A Blackberry!  An X-box!  Buns of Steel!    eew.

Obviously, a wife with too little to do.

Our brains were numb, 'alone time' grew short

so we shared the unveiling--like a good sport.

Underneath the satin, the foil and the glitter

was a gift so unique it made us both titter.

It didn't have bells or keypads or a whistle,

it couldn't fetch or fly like the down of a thistle.

In the box was a card, silver ink on dark blue,

that said in four words something so true.

Our family had shared so much, you recall,

the card said,

"THANKS FOR DOING BUSINESS.

Signed, The Mall."

The Spirit is Willing...

        (We open on a hallowed cubicle.)

WRITER
Bless me, Father-figure, for I have sinned.

EDITOR
All are welcome here, my symbolic offspring.

WRITER
It has been 31 days since my last confession.

EDITOR
What troubles you?

WRITER
Lust!

EDITOR
Oh.

WRITER
And the fact I don’t act on it!

EDITOR
You don’t…?

WRITER
Father-figure, I desire to write, lust for the physical act but I can NOT consummate!

EDITOR
Dear me.  My symbolic offspring, John Trimble Book One, Verse One says: “Pick a subject that means something to you, emotionally as well as intellectually.”*

WRITER
I’m familiar with that, Father-figure.  The problem is I have three script ideas begging for me.

EDITOR
Playing the field, you dog…

WRITER
Not that way.

EDITOR
Sorry.  You have a fear of commitment then?

WRITER
Well…

EDITOR
My symbolic offspring, Epictetus believed, ‘If you would be a reader, read; if a writer, write.’

WRITER
A lil simplistic for my taste.

EDITOR
What’s that?

WRITER
Um, I have a full-time job, commitments at home, and I can never find the time to write.

EDITOR
You’re in Denial.

WRITER
I am not!

EDITOR
Every minute of every day is not spoken for.  If you deny all of them because this one minute is taken, you do yourself and your script a disservice.

WRITER
But even five minutes a day…

EDITOR
Denial!

WRITER
Fifteen is all—

EDITOR
DEEE-NIGH-ALL!

WRITER
All right, thirty minutes right after dinner and dishes!

EDITOR
Deeee…

WRITER
Five days a week!

EDITOR
…lightful!  (A long pause) Something else, my symbolic offspring?

WRITER
I always do the first line well, but I have trouble doing the others.

EDITOR
Moliere?

WRITER
Yes, bless you.

EDITOR
No prob.

WRITER
I start a premise and think, ‘Sara Ruhl uses whimsy, so can I!’ Or I think, ‘Arthur Miller is direct and real, so I can’t do that.’

EDITOR
Fear.

WRITER
Well…

EDITOR
Doubt?

WRITER
No, I believe you.

EDITOR
My symbolic offspring, if you feel strongly about your subject and you have faith in your abilities, then put the damn draft on paper!  Ninety percent of writing is rewriting.  First tries are not first publications, they’re tries.

WRITER
Father-figure?

EDITOR
Yes?

WRITER
One last question.  One of my script ideas was inspired by Stanislavski—“The purpose of theater is to bring to light the life of the human soul.”

EDITOR
A noble goal.

WRITER
Shit, yeah.

EDITOR
Do you doubt because the goal is so vaunted?

WRITER
No, I don’t know which soul he’s referring to—mine, my characters, or the audience.

EDITOR
You do know.  It is all three, in that order.  (He hums & then breaks into song) This little light of mine…

WRITER (joins him)
I’m gonna let it shine.

EDITOR
I’m not gonna make it shine…

WRITER & EDITOR
I’m gonna let it shine!  Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!...

                (They continue as they leave the confessional and nave of Strunk & White Chapel)

*This statement is actually from the Trimble book “Writing with Style.”

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

PART THREE in a three-part series...Perspectives of the Arts.

Imagine if you will, four people locked in a room circa anytime, location anywhere.  They are watching the stage drama "Death of a Salesman."  They can hear and see the production but cannot be heard.

Our characters in this reverse scenario:
Elsie Denominator, a teen queen who loves her entertainments predictable and blatant--ala America's "Funniest" Videos. 
Chick Literati, a dowager who loves love stories and hot guys; who seeks safe emotional stories; who is a devotee of "Ellen", NCIS, and the Hallmark Channel.
Paul Idico, a thirty-something gentleman who enjoys debates and diatribes for their entertainment value, not to gain a new perspective; a man with a superiority complex; a man who DVRs MSNBC, Fox Sunday Morning, and "Pawn Stars."
John Doe, a non-descript person of non-descript age or gender who is curious about every topic but not naive; who challenges him/herself to watch, absorb, and seek the next best program about ____.

Let's listen in to their reactions to the Arthur Miller piece:
ELSA (laughing at the sons' names Biff & Hap): The only thing that would make this better is the mother-in-law...The annoying mother-in-law who can't stand Willy?
CHICK: Shh!  Don't you know someone's going to die?  It's in the title, for goodness sake.  I hope it's not Biff.  He's very handsome..
PAUL: This guy sucks at sales!  He's not online, not schmoozing, and dresses like he owns a consignment store.  If anybody's going down, it's him. 
JOHN (ignoring the chatter around him): This could be my grandfather's story.  How did he die again?  I'll have to ask Mom later.  God, Willy's sons are so ambivalent.  Nice performances.  I'm going to write an online review, more people should know about this production.

Imagine if you will, these four people are merely symbols.  Each of these characters is a part of your audience-personality, populating your brain.  One of them becomes larger and more domineering on any given night, thanks to peer pressure, individual choice, or no alternative forms of entertainment (see "channel surfing").  One of them may become so large through flexing its muscles, that the others cannot speak; the others cannot flex their muscles through lack of exercise; yet one of them will always make an appearance when you least expect it--a pleasant surprise.

Every artist fears and respects the audience.  An artist cannot predict which of the four audience-characters will populate the physical theatre on a given night--will it be a room of Elsies, a room of John Does, or a diverse group that unites in response only at critical moments? 

That's why Nielsens and Gallups and reviews fail to carry weight with the artist community.  They only report what has happened once--the artist makes it happen every day. 

*For your consideration, this concludes the three-part series.  Tune in next time for something completely different.