An Elegy for Three Thespians

I feel compelled to recognize three beloved people, each from a different phase in my theatrical life, who passed away in 2011 (two of them in the past two weeks). All of them were instrumental in my growth as an artist; I valued them greatly and miss them terribly.

Captain Normie

Norman Wilkinson, who passed at age 81 on December 23rd, was one of my theatre professors at UMaine. In addition to making me read (well, okay, skim) dozens of plays for his Masterpieces of World Drama and Theatre History classes, thereby expanding my theatrical vocabulary and introducing me to the works of Pinter, he also cast me in every show he directed in my four years there. Of Mice And Men was the first show I did in college, and when I saw my name on the cast list on his office door it was a profound moment of validation for me. I was so very insecure at the time, coming from a high school program that - except for my Freshman year, about which I've blogged extensively - was entirely unfulfilling, and I wasn't sure that I'd made the right decision in majoring in theatre. I knew I loved doing this, but wasn't confident that I could. This was a sign that I could indeed.

It might be a stretch to say that Norman was universally adored by the student body. His tastes were usually toward early 20th-century chestnuts (in addition to Mice, he also did Our Town - my first of five, The Little Foxes, and the year after I left, The Man Who Came To Dinner) that nearly always had far more roles for men in a department with far more female theatre majors. He was also a very old-school director: he came in on the first day and dictated the blocking. The self-styled 'elite' acting students shied away from his shows in favor of the more method-flavored approach of Sandra Hardy or the avant-garde flourishes of Tom Mikotowicz. As a teacher, I doubt he varied his approach significantly in 35 years, and probably used the same mimeographed material from the early '70s. There were even rumors of inappropriate suggestions toward some female students - this didn't seem to jive with the Norman I knew. Maybe he had a different side that I never experienced, or it's conceivable that an innocently flirty but chauvinistic remark had been misinterpreted. In any case, when the female drama students organized a protest against sexism in the theatre department, Norman was one of their principal targets.

Even granted his faults - real, alleged, or otherwise - I knew Norman as a kindhearted, learned, soft-spoken man. When we corresponded a few years after his retirement in the mid-90's he seemed touched and grateful to be remembered by a former student; I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. His obituary hinted that in his final years he suffered from Alzheimers, which struck me as a cruel, bitter irony. (As it turns out, it's his wife that suffers from Alzheimers, not him.)

My favorite theatre experience at UMaine was also the most mold-breaking production Norman had attempted. We did Terra Nova, the story of Captain Scott's tragic Antarctic expedition - a startlingly visual and theatrical piece that worked against Norman's tendency toward hidebound tradition. Only one female character, alas, but nonetheless it was one of the most cohesive pieces he did. He also gave me my best role at UMaine, Evans the doomed Welshman. My death scene is still a conversation piece at my grandparents' house two decades later. It was also one of the tightest ensemble I'd experienced; we were all working together in one of the most positive experiences I've had as an actor, and we dubbed our director "Captain Normie." It was also a treat to see Norman with his hair down, so to speak, at the cast party at his home. After a few drinks, he was seated at the piano belting out some old songs and laughing loudly and joyfully.  That's how I'll choose to remember him.

Bruce Allen (left)

Bruce Allen was a lovely, lovely man with a gentle demeanor and a dry Maine wit. He was a freelance writer and literary critic and former English professor who turned to acting in his 50's, perhaps inspired by his own daughter Susan with whom I'd worked in high school, UMaine, and locally afterwards - she was the Mother Superior in that seminal Agnes. Bruce started a murder mystery dinner troupe, Without A Clue, and was a producer with Theatre on the Rocks, helping them grow from a small community group to one of the stalwart groups performing at the Players Ring. He also was very active with Generic Theater and Senior Moments.

Bruce played my father in two shows: my first post-college show (Doc Gibbs to my George in Our Town #2), and later in GT's The Substance of Fire. He gave me my first paying acting job (all $50 worth) with Without A Clue. He granted me opportunities to direct with Theatre on the Rocks, perhaps before I deserved them.

It was always a treat to work with Bruce. Whatever limitations of range or mobility he may have had, he always brought a positive work effort and no ego, always tested his limits, and almost always transcended them. He was my Dr Windsor in Woman In Mind and my Tobias in A Delicate Balance. As producer, he was my staunch supporter in The House of Blue Leaves and A Lie of the Mind. Last year he even gave my Zombie parody of Our Town a reading with GT's playreading series.

What impressed me most about Bruce over the 18 years that I knew him was his amazing resilience. He bore numerous physical ailments throughout his life with no complaint. He always walked with a cane due to a childhood bone disease. He broke three ribs two days before he opened Our Town #3 as the Stage Manager, and still went on. He was struck by a mystery ailment in the middle of a performance of Woman In Mind (and was replaced by my stage manager), but was back and in prime condition for the next show. He was out of action for a few years due to a viral infection that attacked his equilibrium, but got himself back onstage. Even battling cancer over the past year, he still soldiered through his treatments and was preparing to organize some more GT readings before his heart gave out on December 16th, age 74.

Guarav's photo in a shrine near where he was found.

And then there's Gaurav Gopalan. Taken from us too soon, far too young (only 35), and by a senseless - and thus far anonymous - act of violence during the early morning hours of September 10th. As a testament to the amazing diversity of the Washington DC theatre community, he was one of two PhD rocket scientists active in area theatre.

Radiating with passion and intelligence and joy, Gaurav was almost intimidatingly unforgettable presence. He worked with Scena Theatre and Studio Theatre, was a Helen Hayes judge, knew everything knowable about Shakespeare and his plays (and could go on for over an hour connecting Shakespeare and astrophysics). He made his mark working with Washington Shakespeare Company (now WSC Avant Bard) for a number of years, assembling extraordinarily ambitious staged readings of Bingo, The Romans In Britain, and several others. The closest I ever got to working for Joy Zinnoman was performing in the scenes he prepared for her famous directing classes, doing The Cryptogram and Uncle Vanya. When times were tough, he even spotted me the day's pay I lost when I spent an afternoon rehearsing with him - it was generally accepted that G came from a very well-off family, and he was frequently generous. When he co-directed The Cherry Orchard with WSC, he bought the entire company tickets to see The Seagull on Broadway - he loved Chekhov almost as much as Shakespeare.

He also went out of his way to make me feel that I was special and talented. Sometimes he saw things in me that I didn't see. He cast me as Gaev (a character well above my age range) in Cherry Orchard because he apparently saw aspects of him in me, and trusted that the age difference would sort itself out in the end. If Gaurav was indeed bipolar, when he was on a high, it was definitely an experience. And our Cherry Orchard was certainly Gaurav on a high. Call it what you will, that was certainly a unique experience.

He dropped off the radar for a while afterwards when he apparently hit the lows that followed his highs. He resurfaced more Gaurav than ever, working with Constellation Theatre's epic Ramayana, and later rebranding himself in glorious makeup as Gigi (his initials... get it?). It was in the process of this rebirth that he was so brutally taken.

My fondest memory was a party he held at he and his partner's palatial house in Columbia Heights. A group of friends, of which I was honored to be included, gathered for drinks, food, and Shakespeare readings.  I read Sonnet #20 as well as Antony's famous speech from Julius Caesar. He was effusive as ever with his praise.

Around the same time - down to the hour - that his body was receiving funeral rites by his grieving family in Katmandu, he appeared in my dream and gave me one of the world's greatest hugs, and told me once again how talented I was. Maybe it was coincidental - his death weighed heavily in my thoughts - but I prefer to think that he dropped by on his way to the afterlife to bid me a loving farewell. I'm grateful beyond words that he was so thoughtful. It helped me work through the numerous emotions I dealt with in the aftermath, anger being chief among them.

Norman, Bruce and Gaurav, thank you so very much for everything. You meant more to me than you know.

On Jumping Ship, or the Brack Scale

My friend Christopher Henley, artistic director of DC's WSC Avant Bard theatre company, started a discussion on Facebook yesterday bemoaning the tendency of some actors to 'jump ship,' leaving one production for another, and when (or if) it's ever OK for this to happen.  He openly acknowledged that in times past he was also guilty of 'poaching' actors from other shows, and decried that some directors also offer roles to actors and then retract them when a 'better' actor becomes available.

I've been in shows where actors dropped out during the rehearsal process; usually there was a conflict of styles between the director and actor making a professional working relationship nearly impossible.  In one particular case, the lead dropped out a week into the rehearsal process and I took over the role.  I almost followed in his footsteps - the director (also co-producer, adapter, and actor) was one of the most odious assholes I've ever worked with, and wound up burning so many bridges with the theatre community that he later left town.  Though to be fair, he got a far better performance out of me than most directors could.

And I'm not immune to jumping ship myself.  I did it once and things got very messy indeed.  Some of the mess, however, had nothing to do with my dropping out, but nonetheless there are lessons to be learned from the story.

In November 2007, I accepted the role of Boo in a production of Durang's The Marriage of Bette and Boo that would go up the following July.  It was a fairly new company: though non-Equity, it paid (as most DC-area companies do), but a few colleagues had reported negative experiences working for them.  It was a bit unusual for a non-Eq theatre to cast a show so far in advance, but it should be noted that no contracts were signed.  Typically signing contracts happens at the first rehearsal, still some six months distant

I was not 100% confident about the production; I wasn't a big Durang fan, and I had reservations about the cast and director.  But it was a lead role, and the producer had wanted to work with me for quite some time.  The year before both he and another company had offered me roles in overlapping productions and I took the other offer, so I felt I kinda owed it to him.  Also, at the time my calendar was distressingly empty so I thought, well, better than nothing.  I acknowledge that these by no means are the best reasons to accept a role in a play, and the onus was on me for accepting.

Barely a week later, another theatre (a bit higher on the DC Theatre food chain) announced its season (very late in the process, as in during the first production of said season).  I was overjoyed to see that their season closer was Howard Brenton's The Romans In Britain.  I was first introduced to this controversial epic a few years earlier in grad school, and I was happy to participate in a staged reading with this company over the past summer.  This was going to be a killer production, and I couldn't wait to audition... until I saw the production dates, which overlapped the dates of Bette and Boo.

I faced an ethical dilemma.  The show that I really really wanted to do, that I would knock down grannies to act in, conflicted with the show I'd already accepted, albeit half-assedly.  I made the decision that I would audition, and if they cast me I'd jump.  When would another opportunity to do this show come up?

A couple months later, auditions for Romans were announced, and, well, I went.  They were a bit unusual; we essentially redid our staged reading for the director (one of the area's leading directors, another reason I really wanted to do this show).  We then had callbacks where we had the choice of what scenes to do.

In the meantime, a colleague had dropped out of Bette and Boo.  He'd been offered a summer tour with American Shakespeare Festival in Staunton, a plum gig with an Equity card awaiting him at the end, so they let him go with no hard feelings.  Soon after they lost their Bette, under circumstances I was unaware of.

Eventually I was offered a role in Romans, joining a list of friends and colleagues I greatly admired.  I began drafting as tactful and apologetic an email that I could to the Bette and Boo people.  I felt very guilty about dropping out, but the devil on my shoulder pointed out that there were still two months before the first rehearsal, and I had signed nothing.  The producer, understandably, was very upset about what he felt was a lateral move, and that in all likelihood he would never cast me in another show.

My guilty conscience was sufficiently stricken that I made overtures to the Romans people that perhaps I ought to decline the role and return to Bette and Boo.  I got a very terse email from one of the production staff that indicated I would be pretty much blackballed from this company as well.  Perhaps this played into my insecurity, and ultimately I threw my lot in with Romans.  A plum ensemble part in a great play with a great director.  Even with the bitter taste in my mouth from that email, this was good, right?

Then the wheels came off.  Two weeks before the first rehearsal, word quickly spread thru my colleagues - Romans was scrapped!  The producers had neglected to secure the rights to the play in advance - not the first time they'd had this problem - and when they finally got around to it, they were denied.  Worldwide performance rights had been frozen for reasons that were unclear (perhaps a film, or a West End revival?), and not even a frantic phone call to the author's agent could change it.

We were understandably upset.  It was a huge cast, nearly two dozen people, and many had turned down other work... I'd burned bridges with another theatre company for this... and there was no show.

A frantic search for a replacement production ensued and long story short, within a week I wound up directing another epic theatre piece in its place, Peter Barnes' Red Noses, with enough roles for as many of the cast that didn't find work in other productions.  We had to scramble to fill several roles since most DC actors were already committed to the Capital Fringe Festival, Source Fest, and a couple other large-cast productions.

One of the actors we pulled in was the replacement for the original Bette.  A couple weeks into their rehearsal process, Bette #2 was having personality conflicts with the director and having a miserable time.  When a mutual friend informed her that we were looking to fill roles, she jumped ship into our show.  It would be a great move for her, since she went on to work with this company for years, but still, at the time, the other company was really pissed.

I'd like to say that Red Noses became a smash hit and was a dream fulfilled, but not exactly.  It was a show that I'm proud of given the circumstances in which it came into production, but we had so many strikes against us - lack of time, lack of money, working in an AC-challenged sweatbox in July - that the show was a disappointment.  Low audiences and horrid reviews led to a production that finished several thousand dollars in the red, and was an arguable nadir for this company.  My own confidence dashed, I wouldn't direct another play for three years.

Likewise, Bette and Boo wound up going through their own nightmares.  Not only did they have to replace nearly a half-dozen actors, through an apparent administrative oversight they also had neglected to secure the performance rights for Bette and Boo.  The publisher pointed out that there was a major Broadway revival running, and under no circumstances could they greenlight them.  By this time they were in tech rehearsals and had invested thousands.  Ultimately after much begging and pleading they were allowed to perform, but they couldn't publicize nor could they be reviewed.  The company went into hiatus afterwards, and only recently have they resumed regular productions - apparently they're now doing very well.  The Red Noses people are doing well now too; they finally escaped their rusty warehouse purgatory into fancy new digs across town, and they are ascending to new heights of success.


Ultimately, I ought to have practiced better judgement in choosing what projects to audition for, and which offers to accept.  And that brings me to cite a very helpful comment to Henley's posting.  My friend and colleague Joe Brack listed the five criteria he uses when contemplating job offers: Money, Travel, Director, Role, and Cast.  If three out of five criteria are favorable, he will take a role.  I hereby resolve to adhere to the Brack Scale.

The Brack Scale presupposes that you've already established yourself as a working actor.  It sometimes is worth it to take a role that fails the Brack Scale test if you have no resumé, but really it's up to the actor to make the judgement call.

I recently had to apply the Brack Scale when I turned down an audition invite.  Great role and minimal travel, but no money, and I didn't know the director or the cast.  I also had resolved to take a few months off until my next gig in the spring.

And I think ultimately the key is having the self-possession and confidence to decline work.  It's nice to be offered work, but accepting work because of insecurity can lead to trainwrecks.  It's good for the ego when somebody is interested in working with you, but it's OK to say no.  If you're good enough, another offer will come, and it's better to decline a role that you have reservations about than to accept it and back out later.

Doctor Who Geekery - Where are the Reconstructions?

Due to a threatened suspension of my YouTube account, I took down my blog posts that link to my playlists that compiled various reconstructors' efforts to rebuild lost Dr Who episodes.  That's not to say that they're not still there... if one were to go to my YouTube channel, who knows what they might find...

1/4/12 UPDATE - A large amount of the playlists are dead, since so much attention has been drawn to them that the videos are now flagged as violating copyright... drat.