Four Gentlemen of Verona (or, "Hey, Didn't We Just See This?")

We have two Equity theatre companies in the Boston area devoted primarily to Shakespeare. Commonwealth Shakespeare Company does a splashy outdoor free production on Boston Common every summer, while Actors Shakespeare Project does full seasons of edgy productions in a variety of metro-Boston venues.

I don't think the two consider themselves in competition with one another; their production dates don't overlap, they frequently employ the same actors, Comm Shakes has at least three times ASP's budget, and they arguably are going after different audiences.

ASP is about to open the second production of its season, Two Gentlemen of Verona, next week. Yesterday Comm Shakes announced its upcoming summer production, and its... yup. Two Gents. Two professional productions of the same play in the same region, eight months apart. As it turns out, this is the second time this has happened in three years; they both did Othello in 2010.

This is odd to me. Even if the two companies don't consider themselves in competition, I'd've assumed they consulted one another regarding play selection; some kind of "I call dibs on Hamlet next year" kind of gentleman's agreement. Or Rock-Paper-Scissors. Guess not.

Given that ASP announces its season well in advance, the onus is on Comm Shakes to take ASP's season into consideration; apparently they don't. I don't know nor will I speculate what ASP thinks about this. The differences between the two companies are such that ultimately the effect on each others' audiences is negligible, so I guess in the end it doesn't matter.

Among Boston's fringe theatre scene there has been a fair amount of similar instances. In the past year, for example, two companies did Romeo and Juliet within days of each other, another did a play a professional company on the Cape had done three months prior, another is doing a play performed six months earlier by Boston's local youth troupe, and two companies recently announced the same production to be performed within a year of one another. (UPDATE: a local company just announced they're throwing together a benefit production... of a play another local company is opening the following month.)

These companies are chasing the same audiences, so it does matter. A hundred tickets can separate financial solvency from ruin. There are other considerations as well - companies producing the same play so close together invite comparison and competition. The producers of the first production then is tempted to become protective of their artistic choices, and issues of intellectual property rights then come into play. This promotes competitiveness, divisiveness, secretiveness and disharmony, which is cancerous for a scene that requires unity, openness, and collegiality to survive.

It would be prudent, then, to establish some sort of Best Practice standards regarding play selection. I submit the following.

Dear Fringe Theatre Companies:

When a member of the theatre community approaches you with a script they want you to consider, assume they have a vested interest in it. If they're an actor, they want to act in it. If they're a director, they want to direct. If they're a playwright, they probably wrote it. If you decide to greenlight the production, it's only fair to include them in it. If you don't, from their perspective you're snatching their dream project from them and slamming the door in their face.

Keep the lines of communication open. If they bring you a script and don't hear from you, they have no way of knowing that you're laying the groundwork while they're off pitching it to another company who might just wind up greenlighting it first.

Or maybe they didn't pitch it to you; maybe they just mentioned a particular play near and dear to their heart. If you're suddenly struck with an all-encompassing desire to produce this play yourself, it's only fair to mention it to them beforehand, get their okay, ask if they want to be involved somehow, etc. Otherwise you're stealing their baby.

Maybe it's a play that you've discovered yourself, something you've been dying to produce since you first read it or saw it years ago, or whatever. Before you announce it to the world, avail yourself of the nearest available Internet Search Engine, be it Google, Bing or - god forbid - Yahoo, and check to see if it's been produced locally in the last few years, or if it's already slated for production by another local company.

Okay, so you've committed, come hell or high water, to doing a play that another group is doing a few months or weeks beforehand. As an actor, if I'm in a play that's been made into a movie I make a choice not to see it. I want my creation to be my own, and not influenced - even unconsciously - by someone else's specific choices. And in this case, that prior company's design choices, directorial choices, etc, are their own intellectual property.

On the other hand, if you're the company doing the prior production, you have the option to reach out to that other company and talk about a co-production. Neither you nor they have a monopoly on good ideas; by unifying your efforts, you might have a better show. And you're also splitting your production costs. Why work apart when you can work together?

I understand that it's unrealistic to expect every theatre company to get together once a year to  hammer out a season in which nobody doubles up. But it is possible to observe some guidelines.

• Open communication with people who bring potential ideas/projects/scripts to you.
• Due diligence to make sure your dream production isn't already on some other company's schedule.
• Consider a generally agreed-upon moratorium between productions - if another local company did it within, say, the last couple years, hold off before you do it. My number: five years.
• But if you *must*,  make sure it's your own creation, and not influenced by the earlier show.

At the root of all of this is simply this: although there needs to be some incentive to do the best work we can do, we shoot ourselves in the foot when we work against each other, or needlessly duplicate efforts, or engender bad faith amongst one another. Onstage and off.

Thoughts? Observations? Comments?

On the Economics of Small Theatre

My friend Karen replied to my earlier blog post about small theatre companies who don't/can't offer compensation to their cast/crew by offering an intriguing question. What if these companies gave audiences the option to pay an extra $5 per ticket, and all that extra money was then split amongst the artists?

The practicality of this solution is debatable. But it did get me thinking. Although much of our audience is each other - our fellow theatre colleagues, our families, friends and co-workers - the rest is the general public, who by and large are unaware of the economics of small theatre.

And I should take this moment to talk more about those economics, lest my previous post be considered to be a blanket indictment against these small companies.

It costs a lot to produce a play in Boston.

A three-week rental of the area's various blackbox and small spaces costs between $2,400 (Factory Theatre) to over $6,000 (BCA Plaza Theatre). Dramatists' Play Service's average royalty rate for a full-length play is $75 per performance. Then there's budget for set construction, costume budget, and props. There's publicity - postcards and/or posters and occasionally advertizing space. There are other miscellaneous expenses, particularly if they're utilizing the theatre's in-house tech staff or equipment.

How much is our audience aware of the expense in producing the play they're watching? Are they aware that in many cases, nobody (actors, crew, designers, director, or even producers) gets paid?

What benefit would there be, if any, if these small companies were transparent with their audiences about where their ticket prices go? If they approached their audience with the dilemma they face - wanting to keep ticket prices low but then having little or nothing left for the artists - would they be open to paying a few dollars more? Would they be more open to making donations? Would they be willing to be more supportive of small theatre in general? Get their employers to underwrite productions? Lobby their state/local politicians to create more arts funding?

You never know if there's a theatre lover in your audience who has a lucrative job at one of the Boston area's tech, finance, legal or healthcare companies, who has no idea that box office income never covers the cost of production and the artists involved are largely working without compensation.  This transparency could be the start of productive dialogue that could be a watershed moment for Boston theatre.

My Non-Equity Actor Manifesto

Dear Boston-area non-Equity theatre producers:
I am a non-Equity actor. I call myself a professional due to my two decades' experience, training, attitude and ability. I made a choice to work a full-time career outside of my art from economic necessity. I neither expect nor demand a living wage in exchange for my services.

However.

My time is valuable.
In addition to my full-time job, you're asking me to spend 4-6 weeks in rehearsal and 2-4 weeks in performance. When I'm working on a show, I leave the house at 8:30 am and roll in after 11pm. This is time away from my friends, family and partner. My cats miss me. My laundry and dishes pile up. My milk goes bad. I miss other people's shows. I miss family gatherings. I miss concerts, movies, museum exhibits, TV shows, and other cultural events. I spend money on gas, tolls, parking, bus fare, cab fare and subway fare to get to rehearsal.

My skill set is valuable.
Check out my résumé. I don't need any more exposure or experience, thanks; I've been at this for twenty years. Trust me. I've got plenty.

There is a limited set of circumstances under which I'll work for free.
It's my first time working with you.
I'm excited about the play, the role, the cast, the director, etc.
There's a realistic chance you'll bring me on board as an artistic associate, let me direct someday, etc.

You really should pay your actors.
If you don't already, I strongly suggest you make it your mission in the very near future to do so. This may mean more active/aggressive fundraising, a slightly higher ticket price, or choosing plays with smaller casts. Even if it's only a $100 or $150 stipend, it's a start, and it's meaningful and beneficial to us actors.

I know it's not (always) your fault.
I understand that there are economic realities at play, especially in this city. Performance space is expensive and limited. There's nowhere to rehearse. It costs a lot to put on a show, and I absolutely respect that you want to reach a broad audience and keep ticket prices low. I know you're investing as much if not more time and sweat into this as we are, and quite often you're not making a dime on this either. I don't accuse you of deliberately exploiting the actors of this city; I trust that the vast majority of you would pay us if you could.

But the more that actors are willing to work for free, the more that theatre producers become accustomed to actors working for free. When we set our value at zero, eventually our worth becomes zero.

When you pay your actors:

• You attract better actors, which usually improves the quality of your productions, which usually raises your profile.
• You make the theatre scene more competitive, but in a good way; actors with less experience are motivated to improve their skill set.
• You stymie the attrition of the area's talent pool. You give a reason for early and mid-career artists to stay around, and for artists to settle here.

Until that happy day when someone opens a checkbook and creates a complex of affordable blackboxes specifically for the emerging/small/fringe theatre scene, when the local university theatre programs are more willing to share their spaces and resources, and when there is increased mentoring between larger and smaller theatre companies, a major step in pushing our theatre scene forward is paying the artists you hire. And for our local actors to take a stand and demand compensation.

Plays About People Talking

Petey: There's a new show on the pier.
Meg: Oh, Stanley could be in it, if it's on the pier.
Petey: This is a straight show.
Meg: What do you mean?
Petey: No dancing or singing.
Meg: What do they do then?
Petey: Just talk.
(pause)
Meg: Oh.

Harold Pinter, The Birthday Party

When the curtain rises on that little three-walled room, when those mighty geniuses, those high-priests of art, show us people in the act of eating, drinking, loving, walking, and wearing their coats, and attempt to extract a moral from their insipid talk; when playwrights give us under a thousand different guises the same, same, same old stuff, then I must needs run from it, as Maupassant ran from the Eiffel Tower that was about to crush him by its vulgarity.

Treplev, in a particularly poorly-translated speech from Chekhov's The Seagull

I saw Happy Medium's production of Douglas Carter Beane's The Country Club last night at the Factory Theatre.  Expertly acted, fantastic chemistry between the characters, nice set, very well-directed, a really terrific production.

Except that I disliked the play itself, on principle.  It's witty, erudite, got some great zingers, etc., which was entertaining up to a point, but in addition to its conventional and obvious structure, it represents an outmoded genre of theatre that I for one am tired of, one that I think does damage to live theatre in general: Plays About People Talking.

(It's also a specific subgenre of PAPT that I, as a lefty, find tedious: Plays About Affluent White People Talking About How Miserable They Are.  But that's not my principal point.)

Douglas Carter Beane fails to effectively answer one essential question: Why Is This A Play?

To re-phrase: what is so intrinsically theatrical about this story that it can only be told as live theatre, as opposed to a movie or a TV show?  And if the answer is "nothing," then that's an issue.  Is this only a play because nobody bought the film rights?

In addition to The Country Club, there are other notable contemporary examples.  Among them:

• Collected Stories and
• Dinner With Friends by Donald Margulies
• The Substance of Fire by Jon Robin Baitz
• Burn This by Lanford Wilson
• Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune and
• The Lisbon Traviata and
• Master Class by Terence McNally
• Crimes of the Heart by Beth Henley
• Seascapes With Sharks And Dancer by Don Nigro
• pretty much everything by Neil Simon

(I'll add more as they come to me.)

Counter-examples that I've seen lately:  Most of Whistler's work, especially Tales From Ovid, and IDS's Eurydice.

There was nothing intrinsically theatrical in The Country Club.  There's no connection or engagement with the audience, directly or indirectly.   The fourth wall remained intact.  It was your basic fishbowl play.  We sit and watch people in a one-way fishbowl.  We see in, but they don't see out; the fish do not acknowledge the watchers.

I can easily forgive plays written before the advent of motion pictures, since live theatre was the only creative outlet for performed stories (so Shakespeare, Chekhov, and Shaw easily pass).  But Treplev was right: since the advent of film, television and other live performance media, the theatre needed to find new forms.  Plays like The Country Club are a relic of an obsolete performance style.

Arguably the theatre's greatest strength, in addition to the immediacy and connection of live performance, is its use of alternative symbology, and that symbology's transportive nature.  Onstage, a frying pan can represent a steering wheel.  A feather can represent a bird.  Two actors standing on ladders are George and Emily flirting through their open windows.  Onscreen, a frying pan is a frying pan.  Onstage, a thing is what we decide it is.  Onscreen, it is what it is.

Some plays work because of their use of language; what's transportive onstage would sound overly flowery and unnatural on film.  Hence the poesy of Stoppard, Albee and Overmeyer, the hypnotic memory plays of Pinter, and the gutter poetry of Mamet work better onstage than onscreen.  They don't aim for realism, but acheive a heightened hyper-reality or conversly a dreamy surrealism.  So they get a pass.

Ultimately, PAPTs do long-term damage to the art form.  Why should my above-cited Meg and Petey pay as much as $100 per ticket for the same experience they could get at the cinema for $10, or at home on TV for free?

We need to sell the experience of live (non-musical) theatre as something more than People Talking.  Most of my list keeps getting produced only because there are movie stars in them.  How sustainable is that in the long run?

On Objectivism

A film version of Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged opens this weekend.  This is all I have to say about it:

"There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old's life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs."

-John Rogers

Thoughts On Defending the Invalid

Howard Sherman of the American Theatre Wing posted a pretty great article titled "Defending The Invalid" about the present and future of theatre.  Yet one of his talking points really struck me, and not in a good way.

4. Yes, it’s expensive to attend in most cases, but when was the last time you bought a ticket to a sporting event or rock concert. Inexplicably, people endlessly discuss how expensive theatre is, but they’re not as quick to say the same of some other forms of live entertainment. I think this is rooted in the idea that theatre is elitist and so this argument is trooped out to reinforce the stereotype, when other entertainments are at least as expensive or even more so. Ironically, sports and rock are priced high in order to pay outrageous sums to a relative handful of people who are often distant figures rarely making a personal connection with their audiences. Theatre is expensive in order to support a distinctly human interaction that is incredibly labor intensive at every level, but if you want to have a moment with your heroes, just take a quick survey of any venue where it’s performed and find the stage door. You’ll see your heroes, maybe even speak with them and get an autograph or a photo, instead of discovering that, say, they’re already on the way to their airport so they can fly home and sleep in their own bed, while you’re still trying to get out of the parking lot.

Although the rest of the article is very on-point, my response to that particular talking point is this:

Balls.

Allow me to elaborate: theatre does not need to be expensive.

I posted a comment on his article (with additions/edits below) thus:

The overriding sentiment of the above talking point can be summarized thus: “Why won’t people pay $100 to see live theatre? Don’t they know how good it is for them?” And that seems shockingly disconnected from reality.

When live (non-musical) theatre and its practitioners are as much a part of the cultural landscape as sports and pop music, then it’s entirely justifiable to price it accordingly. Wake me, however, when Denis O’Hare and Norbert Leo Butz reach the same level of hero worship as Derek Jeter and Justin Timberlake.

I accept that Broadway, Off-Broadway, and Regional LORT theatres operate with high budgets out of necessity, given Union payscales for actors and crew, and the (flawed) assumption that artistic legitimacy must be measured in dollar signs.  When the latter view is taken to extremes, monstrosities like Spiderman: Turn Off The Dark come to pass.

The ideal paradigm for theatre in which [an earlier] commenter’s vision of “Theatre … building empathy, connection and passion for life” can be an actual reality (instead of a quaint trope or marketing phrase), is in smaller venues. A reduction of scale, but not of vision. A performance at a black box theatre seating 99 or less — where one is separated from the performer by inches instead of hundreds of feet — offers a uniquely intense, personal, intimate experience, and is usually economically comparable to a movie ticket or restaurant meal as opposed to a Sox game, a rock concert, or a night at the symphony or opera. And you can wear jeans and not feel judged.

Plus many of the groups I work with bring beer, wine and cookies to share with the audience after. You can’t get more up close and personal with the artists than that.

Over to you, Bread and Puppet Theatre:

How Theatre Saved My Life (And Possibly Yours)

The more I read about Jared Lee Loughner (Washington Post article) and his unhappy teen and young adult years, a chill runs down my spine because his life bears striking and eerie resemblance to mine; I could easily have gone down that same spiral, and for all I know might have snapped like he did but for fortune, a handful of choices, and the love of friends and family. Oh, and Drama Club.

I too was an only child (though not quite) of a Vietnam vet father with his own set of demons to wrestle with and a teen mother who didn't really find herself until my own teens. I had neither an especially happy nor unhappy childhood, and my family could have been described as dsyfunctional. My parents were never a good match, and I realize were it not for my pending arrival they'd never have continued to date, let alone marry. My early childhood was in a trailer park. My parents fought often. On my tenth birthday they announced they were separating, and eventually they divorced. Dad never remarried, and drifted through periodic employment. Mom got her real estate license and became very successful, and its just easier for me to refer to her long-term fiance as my stepfather.

I was quite a sheltered and solitary person as a teen. Undersized (a 90-pound freshman), scrawny and awkward, I was usually the class punching bag, I never sought out friends (the few I had initiated friendship with me), I didn't date at all, rarely socializing except for group activities (Boy Scouts, wrestling team, drama club, etc). I distinguished myself scholastically though I was rather unmotivated, half-assing my way to B's and occasional A's. With a bit more effort and/or focus I would have easily graduated top of my class (instead of 8th out of 80) and gone to a better school than the University of Maine, in which I enrolled mostly by default. I interviewed at Dartmouth, and am pretty sure I'd've gotten in, but let the application deadline pass. My lack of social skills and the intensely competitive scholastic environment would have caused me to either rise or sink, and subconsciously I believed I'd've sunk. I had enough trouble with the honors classes I did take at UMaine, though I did have a respectable GPA and graduated with High Distinction.

My work history during and after college? Pretty much just like his. McDonalds, slinging popcorn at the movies, theatre camp counselor, Applebee's, a copy center, BJ's Wholesale Club, helping my stepdad (a contractor) at his building sites, and some of Kittery Maine's finer retail outlets. Eventually in my mid-20's I realized the co-workers my age were either upper management, mentally challenged or had some severe socialization issues, and that I could do better. A big step for me was when I got a job correcting achievement tests; for once I was actually using my brain and eventually I was promoted, temporarily at least, to trainer. Then I started temping at real live office jobs, demonstrating my skills with MS Office, and even landed an actual honest-to-god permanent job at Liberty Mutual, though I quit after six months for a theatre internship. I ended a nearly four year job at a major environmental non-profit when I moved up to Boston this fall. Longest time I ever spent in one workplace.

Given that my usual routine when I didn't have rehearsal or a show was to stay home and watch TV, my romantic life was pretty much a joke. I do not recall asking anyone out in my entire life face to face. I rarely went to bars, and when I did it was with a group of friends. Hell, were it not for the internet I might still be a virgin. And when I did date, rarely did it go beyond a few encounters. I learned that six months of flowery discourse via email with someone 500 miles away is trumped by one incredibly awkward weekend face to face. I also learned that there are people out there even more socially challenged than I, and dating them for a year or so won't fix them. Now I'm in a stable relationship of over two years. Well, the most stable to date.

There have been bad days. Days that could've sent me down a bad direction. One day during college, my tendency of emulating people that I admired/fancied to the point of copying was rather tactlessly pointed out to me, in front of my best friends and the person whom I admired/fancied. My humiliation burned inside me, and as I later sat alone that night and watched a news documentary about serial killers, my mind went to some really dark places. Thankfully I didn't linger long.

It's often occurred to me that I have traits similar to people with mild cases of Asperger Syndrome.

So I'm an intelligent, artistically gifted but socially awkward loner with a history of underachievement and underemployment. I'm a prime candidate to have turned into Jared Lee Loughner. So why didn't I? My best answer, along with that I managed to steer clear of drugs, hard liquor, and The Catcher in the Rye, is that I found the performing arts.

I'd been part of some school play or other since kindergarten, though the drama bug didn't really hit me until my freshman year of high school. Joining the Drama Club was one of the first close experiences I had with other people, working as an ensemble toward a tangible goal, experiencing success as we won statewide drama festivals. Although the next three years weren't as fulfilling (the drama coach left, and I found his replacement intensely disagreeable), I majored in theatre in college. Even though my talent level and social skills relegated me largely to supporting roles, I kept at it after college. I was lucky to live in an area with a large community/semi-professional theatre scene, and I spent several years working with amazing and talented people. The most important thing I gained from this experience was a peer group. A collection of colleagues and friends that I could bond with. I grew as a person, and consequently as an artist. I wasn't that good when I graduated from school, but I kept getting better. Today I'm no DeNiro, but I know what I'm doing, I almost always have a show in the pipeline, and have made strides as a local arts advocate.

Even though I was pushing carts at BJ's (along with some scary, maladjusted individuals) or temping, I was regularly acting, producing, directing, writing reviews and articles, and was a respected member of the local artistic community. That kept me going, even through occasional bouts of depression and loneliness.

My social limitations may be partly responsible for not achieving as much as I could have by now. Or I can use as an excuse that my straddling of two worlds, my work world and my acting world, has kept me from success in one world or the other; I've given up jobs for theatre gigs, and I've often foregone auditions at larger theatres since I'd never be able to get the time off from work. I'm approaching my 40th birthday and most of my peers and colleagues are at least a decade younger than me. Sometimes this bothers me.

But then I wonder what my life would have been like if I didn't go into theatre. I might have majored in math or science, I might've flunked out, I might've drifted between menial jobs, and the life I wanted might have drifted further and further from my fingers. I wonder when, if ever, I'd've moved out of either of my parents' houses. Or somewhere along the way I'd've stayed in retail and gone into management. I'd be depressed, bored, unfulfilled and alone. I might've gotten increasingly bitter and angry. I might've gone into some of those dark places and not returned.

Of course, then again maybe not. But it worries me.

I also worry that there are thousands, even millions, of people who weren't gifted with some of the social instincts that others possess, and but for a few fortuitous choices or events might wind up snapping like he did. I don't necessarily believe in evil, but I do believe that societal outliers are much more susceptible to mental illness, and their lack of ability to form positive human connections makes them prone to a spiral of bitterness, conspiracy theories, paranoia, and schizophrenia. And given that this is America, where thanks to the Second Amendment the mentally ill can get guns a whole lot easier than treatment, there's always going to be another Jared Lee Loughner. Or George Sordini. Or Seung-Hui Cho. Or Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. Or Ted Kaszcynski. Or Mark David Chapman. Or John Hinckley. Or Charles Whitman. And so on and so on.

I won't be so naive to suggest that taking a drama class would've kept these people from becoming killers. But theatre has turned lives around. Gary Sinise would arguably be stealing cars today instead of being an Academy Award nominated actor who founded one of the best regional theatres in the country had he not been approached by a drama teacher to be in a high school production of West Side Story. Somewhere along the line these people needed to find something or someone that didn't make them feel so alone, that gave them some positive direction in their lives. A sense of purpose. Some hope. Some love. Drama Club or not, just someone to reach out to them. Their victims might still be alive today.

Or we can just do what America seems to do best: push these people to the fringe of society, let them simmer until they snap, react with sorrow and outrage, point fingers, bury their victims, execute/imprison/commit them, and wait for it all to inevitably happen again.

My life is far from perfect. But theatre keeps me afloat, and I'm forever grateful that it's in my life.

My Kleksography Story

DC's Rorschach Theatre recently solicited via Facebook a call for odd family stories that would then be used as launching pads for a series of short plays that would be written, cast, rehearsed, and produced in a pretty short period, presented under the collective banner "Kleksography: Home For The Holidays," and it ran last weekend.

My story was one that was submitted. I couldn't see it now that I'm Boston-based, but I'm honored to have been selected. Of course, the story was a launching-pad for the playwright's vision, and bore little resemblance to the actual event that inspired it.

So I'd like to share a slightly fuller version of what really happened.

In the summer of 2002, I was visiting my Dad in Kittery ME. I'd temporarily moved out of NYC to take an internship at Lost Nation Theatre in Montpelier VT, and I kept my stuff at his house while I was away (turned out to be five months, the summer internship and the fall Shakespeare show).

I had intended to drive to Montpelier that day, but my car (kept in his driveway for the year or so that I'd been in NYC) was acting up. So while it was in the shop, we made the best of the extra day and had a taco night. Old El Paso taco kit, just like the old days, with our regular filling: shredded cheese, lettuce, pickles, olives, tomatoes and taco sauce. We had sat down for our first round when the phone rang. He sighed heavily, thinking it was likely a telemarketer.

He wound up being on the phone for over an hour, as his tacos grew cold on the plate across from me. I could only hear half of the conversation, and couldn't piece together what was being discussed from context, but I could tell that it was definitely a significant conversation.

For Dad to be on the phone for more than fifteen minutes with me was a rarity - most of our phone conversations when I was in college, or while he was living with Grampa in Florida during his final years, or when I'd left for New York were of the "checking in" variety. Everything OK? Yup. Car running? Yup. How's New York? Fine. Got enough money? Mostly. Okay, don't wanna run up the bill, so I'll letcha go. Love ya, Kiddo. We didn't have really deep conversations.

At the time there was a lot that I was keeping from him; I wasn't out about my sexuality at the time, so we sorta kept to the tip of the iceburg. I was also aware that there was a lot that he kept from me. He almost never talked about his time in Vietnam, his divorce from Mom, etc. We never went deep. So there's a lot about my dad that I didn't know.

So after an hour or so, he sat down across from me again. Sighed heavily. Obviously he was quite emotionally moved. Then he said...

"So, John, did I ever tell you about your big sister?"

(a pregnant pause...)

"Um, nnnnnnno...."

A long explanation followed.

Once upon a time in 1968, there lived the son of a prominent city official. After graduating high school, he tooled around aimlessly in his Corvette, worked some construction jobs, and had a girlfriend. The girlfriend was still in high school, aged 16 or so. One day, girlfriend got pregnant. Parents on both sides raged. Decisions were made. In the days before Roe v Wade, it was decided that the child would be carried to term; it was a girl, and after a week was then put up for adoption. Babydaddy appears to have been given a Hobson's Choice of Vietnam or jail, so he sold his Corvette and enlisted in the army. Babymomma eventually married someone else. Babydaddy served honorably as an MP in the First Division, survived Tet, earned a Purple Heart, and came home. Shortly after, he met and married my mom, and thus begat yours truly.

A few weeks before the phone conversation, Dad attended the funeral of Babymomma's father, seeing her for the first time in years. The subject of their daughter came up. Any news, perchance, of what became of her?

Turns out that it was Babymomma on the phone. And over the course of the hour she informed him that their daughter, who was adopted by a loving family and had a pretty happy life, had nonetheless wanted to know who her biological parents were and had managed to track her down. She lived in Massachusetts on the north shore, had three children, etc.

I had no knowledge whatsoever of her existence. I knew that Dad had a girlfriend named Donna before Vietnam, but never knew about my half-sister. I'd been raised as an only child , although it turns out my mom knew about her too.

Long story short, while I was off in Vermont she contacted my Dad, they met, and once I came back I met her too. She's a sweetheart, and I'm glad to have her in my life. I've met the younger of her three kids (all are mid/late teenagers now), and the oldest is serving alongside his own father in Afghanistan.

It explained a lot about my Dad. I never knew what a burden he carried, but I could appreciate how finding her and establishing a relationship with her gave him a lot of inner peace. And were it not for a worn brakepad, I wouldn't have been present for the revelation.

More Cassette Continuity

More Cassette continuity issues, following up on an earlier post. If you know of others, let me know and I'll add them to the list.

The Who - Tommy
I swear growing up my dad had a single-cassette release of Tommy that faded out "Sparks" early and skipped a couple other tracks ("Eyesight to the Blind" was one, I think), but I can't find any corroborating evidence on Google.

Moody Blues - On The Threshold of a Dream
"Never Comes The Day", which opens side B on the LP version, is moved to the end of cassette side A, creating a lengthy gap at the end of side B.

Led Zeppelin II
All screwed up. Side A closer "Thank You" and Side B opener "Heartbreaker" are swapped on cassette, as are "Moby Dick" and "What Is And What Should Never Be." The natural link between Heartbreaker and "Livin' Lovin' Maid" which motivated FM dj's consistently to play the two songs together is lost.

Cream - Wheels of Fire
The side-closing tracks, "As You Said" on vinyl side A and "Deserted Cities of the Heart" on side B, are swapped on the original cassette release.

Beatles - Abbey Road
One of the less egregious track re-orderings in the Beatles' cassette catalog (subject of a forthcoming blogpost), but still odd. The opening tracks on either side, "Come Together" and "Here Comes The Sun", are swapped on cassette. This means that cassette listeners get both Harrison songs over and done with at the start.

U2 - Boy, October & War
I had these three albums on cassette in the 80's, and it's worthy to note that in all three releases, each side contains the entire album. Although it used twice as much cassette tape (how EMI's accountants would've blanched at such a notion!), it completely solved the track re-ordering dilemma.

Pink Floyd - Ummagumma
The concept of "One album live, one album studio" goes to pot on the cassette release, with the songs scrambled out of any semblance of order. It's an EMI release; go figure.

Monty Python - Contractual Obligation Album
They left the running order unchanged, but since side A was six minutes shorter than side B, Michael Palin bookends the six silent minutes at the end of side A with opening and closing narration. (The intervening silence is about as funny as most of the rest of the album, particularly "Finland" and "I Like Traffic Lights.")

Theatre Review: I AM HAMLET

"Never eat at a place called Mom's. Never play cards with a man named Doc. And never sleep with a woman whose troubles are worse than your own." - Nelson Algren.

Very sound advice, that. I would add a codicil: never go to plays (especially Shakespearean adaptations) written and directed by someone who bills himself as "The Shakespeare Guy." Would that I had heeded that advice this evening. Having seen the list of Joe "Shakespeare Guy" Siracusa's other Shakespearean adaptations, including "A Midsummer Knight's Ice Cream" and "The Bard and the Bear," a creeping sense of dread set in as I awaited the curtain.

A wise man once said, "The play's the thing." It's a quote that both writer/director Siracusa and actor Brian Morey should know well, and it's a pity that they put the focus elsewhere, on a self-indulgent production that puts the focus on the actor, the performance, and a grab-bag of gimmickry rather than on the play itself. I found it to be a rather intolerable display of ego, both of the writer and performer. What does it add to our understanding of the play, or of its title character? Nothing.

This is a one-man show; and no, it's not a re-telling of Hamlet from the perspective of a single character. Morey plays everybody, so inevitably the show won't be about Hamlet (the play), or Hamlet (the character), or for that matter Shakespeare. It's all about Morey's bag of actor tricks, and not a single one goes unused. His entire vocal range is utilized, as are a dozen distinct stereotypical characters and physicalities, he dons all manner of costumes, masks, and wigs, and he sings his heart out in a variety of styles and pitch ranges. He makes sure he shows us the length and breadth of his substantial talent and training, and won't let us go until we know just how hard he's working. And that's the problem here; this show is not built for the audience to appreciate the psychological profundity of Shakespeare's humanist masterpiece, it's built for us to marvel at the efforts of a single actor.

The strength of an actor, we're told, is his or her ability to lose one's sense of ego, and go boldly and fearlessly into situations of emotional vulnerability or extreme ridiculousness. And Morey certainly finds himself in such situations. As the Ghost, wearing a giant horned helmet, wearing platform shoes and bearing an enormous shield, I'm sure he felt fearsome indeed, but it was all I could do to suppress the urge to shout "NI!!"

And as Ophelia, which he performs in a white dress and blond wig, I really wish the burly brunette actor had shaved his full beard, especially when he launched into an earnest falsetto (and self-composed) love ballad. High camp? Apparently not. If he was daring us to laugh, it was a dare I only resisted by biting the inside of my cheek to the point of bloodletting.

Siracusa's adaptation doesn't do Morey any favors either. Shakespeare's text has been re-assembled in order for Morey to only have to play one character at a time, turning dialogue into monologue, but in some places Siracusa cops out and has Morey shout to offstage characters and converse with a pre-recorded voice (also Morey). The Players sequence is done as a pre-filmed silent movie - quite cleverly, actually - in which Morey of course plays every character (and provides, thankfully, a beardless Ophelia), including the watching courtiers, while the actual solid flesh actor gets to take an early intermission. This is a solo show, so I call "cheat."

Siracusa also takes some liberties with the wording, adding in his own original contributions which jar. Really, why does Ophelia say "Oh, my lord, I have been so scared of Hamlet's madness!" Does he think we wouldn't know what "affrighted" means? And we really don't need the updates: "I am Hamlet. I am being watched. People are trying to kill me." And when Morey namedrops both himself and the BCA in the "What A Rogue And Peasant Slave Am I" speech, it's Brechtian in the worst sense of the word, and to no apparent purpose.

A scene most telling in its absence is Act Three, Scene Two, Hamlet's advice to the players. It's sound advice that Siracusa and Morey seem to have deliberately chosen to avoid, to their peril: "Oh, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise". And later on, he famously counsels "for anything so o'erdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere, the mirror up to nature."

Would that they had.

PS - A recurring line, both spoken and sung, is "Something's Rotten in Denmark. Something Stinks." Although they open the door for me, I won't take the bait. It's just too easy.

Trust The Play: TheatreGuru Speaks

Thank you for climbing to the top of this high, craggy mountain to come and see me in my lonely cave, my child. Sit and rest yourself. Have a Snickers bar.

Now, what seems to be the trouble?

I see.

I understand. The theatre is struggling these days. It has been for quite a long time. Once theatre was the sole means of telling a story through acting. Then came cinema, radio, television, VCR/DVD/Tivo, the internet, etc. So if we are to commit to the theatre, we have to discover what it offers that these other media do not.

Quite right. Live performance. Direct connection and interaction with the audience. Every night a slightly different experience.

Nonetheless, we must not overlook the primary obligation of making theatre: to tell the story. The playwright wrote a story, and it's your job to deliver that story to the audience through good acting and efficient staging. Any additional distractive elements should be avoided.

These distractions can come in many different forms. Maybe you feel the need to inject a political statement onto the play. Some vaguely-defined directorial or design concept. A re-interpretation. In the recent past, I've seen Oscar Wilde done with all the men played by women and vice versa. The Scottish Play done entirely in the nude. One of my favorite plays, Overmeyer's On The Verge, done by a local Major Regional Theatre on a catwalk spanning a chasm (why?). And Chekhov's Cherry Orchard done... well, actually, I don't know what the fuck that one was all about... and I was in it.

What it boils down to is one thing, my child... you might want to write this down: trust the play.

Trust that the play itself, as written, contains all the elements required to be interesting: a good plot, interesting characters, conflicts, humor, tragedy, whatever. You chose to do it - unless you owe the playwright a favor - so the play must therefore have some redeemable qualities and you are aware of them. So trust them.

Bend your choices around the play, not the play around your choices.

That doesn't mean play it safe. Risk big, but risk in the service of the script.

Thank you. Take a Snickers for the road.

John's Time Capsule Playlist

Last time I was home I came across a wonderful relic of my undergrad years: On an early spring morning, I set up my battered boombox (remember those?) in the record storage room next to the studio, and recorded of one of my radio shows onto a pair of 90-minute TDK cassette tapes. I was a DJ on our college radio station, WMEB 91.9 FM, "Radio Free Orono." It was the spring semester of my Sophomore year, and I had what would never be described as the ideal timeslot: Saturday morning, 6-9am.

Despite having to wake up at an ungodly hour, the advantage of that timeslot was the knowledge that virtually nobody was listening (except for Paul, the zany Quebecois who had the 9am show), which freed me up enormously. Although I had to play my required selections from the rotation bin (3 from heavy rotation, 2 from medium, and one from light) plus various promos, PSA's and station ID's, I could play anything I wanted, and could crank up the studio volume as loud as I could. I brought a hotpot and Earl Gray tea, a milk crate full of records (plus dozens that I'd pulled from the racks into my own stash on a particular shelf), and had a blast. My format was free-form, a rather unwieldy clash of progressive, punk and oldies in addition to the rotation items.

I was one of those dorks with a dog-eared copy of the Rolling Stone Record Guide, so my radio days gave me the opportunity to explore bands and artists that were highly rated in the book but were never played on my Classic Rock radio station back home. This was long before iTunes made virtually any song instantly accessible. Thus it was here that I discovered The Move, The Nice, Phil Ochs, Moby Grape, The Jam, The Fugs, Family, My Bloody Valentine, and a whole lotta college rock I liked that never broke beyond a small cult following: Monsterland (the first time I played them I got a call from an ecstatic co-ed whose brother was in the band), The Loud Family, Lyda Husik, etc.

The tapes are a very cool relic of a bygone era. 1991 was the point just before Nirvana came around and made alternative and grunge explode. I can claim that this was pretty much the zenith of College Rock Radio, when Alternative was a truly under-the-radar genre instead of a marketing tool. This was when we were pissed at REM for going mainstream, when it seemed U2's best days were behind them, when the vast majority of the playlist was on vinyl 7", when the transmitter sent our feeble signal about 10 miles, before streaming internet, before podcasts, before Napster. Contrast with the show I did in grad school in the mid-00's, where I IM'ed with a listener in Reykjavik.

I'm gonna ask my friend Dave if he can digitize this show and stream it, so you can experience it all in its entirety: the scratches and skips, the low quality signal, the Velvet Underground fixation, and me as a fresh-faced 19-yr old, nasal unsupported voice, incoherent rambling and all.

If I recall correctly, my favorite Station ID, featuring Monty Pythonian Graham Chapman shortly before he died, was pulled and deleted some time before this show. I was quite upset; I loved it and played it regularly, and since it's not on the tape it's lost forever. It went something like this:

"Hello, this is Graham Chapman, and whenever I'm in Orono I listen to WMEB, 91.9-FM, Radio Free Orono. Well, sometimes when I'm in Orono. I certainly listened to it once... um, look, quite frankly I've never listened to it, but I'm told that it's awfully good, so do give it a listen if you've got a moment."

The Playlist: April 20, 1991
(FCC-mandated opening when going on the air to start the broadcast day)
The I Love You Song - Blackgirls ... (iTunes)
Flying the Flannel - fIREHOSE ... (iTunes)
I Guess I'm Falling In Love (instrumental version) - Velvet Underground
Senses Working Overtime - XTC
(Station ID - Fred Schneider of the B-52's)
Outside of a Small Circle of Friends - Phil Ochs ... (Lala)
(Promo - Jazz show)
(Me, announcing a Billy Bragg concert over at Bowdoin College, and bemoaning missing two recent opportunites to see Neil Young)
Like A Hurricane - Neil Young
(Station ID - Bruce Watson, guitarist of Big Country)
Decide - The Feelies
The Last Days of Pompei - Nova Mob (featuring Grant Hart of Hüsker Dü)
Drive That Fast - Kitchens of Distinction
Lament (live) - King Crimson
(Station ID - How To Disco)
(Me displaying my ignorance at not knowing who Grant Hart was at the time)
The Trouble With Classicists - Lou Reed & John Cale
Chase - Moe Tucker ... (iTunes)
(Station ID - Not Quite Barbershop)
Love in a Burning Universe - The Darkside ... (iTunes)
Vote Elvis - Popinjays ... (iTunes)
Big Ass On Fire - Happy Family ... (Lala)
Strawman - Lou Reed
(promo, metal show)
(me, pushing a production of Lysistrata that my classmates were in)
Fishy Swa Ska - Fishbone
Farewell to John Denver - Monty Python
My Wife and My Dead Wife - Robyn Hitchcock & the Egyptians
The Gift - Velvet Underground
The Bottom Line - Big Audio Dynamite
(promo, classical music show)
(me, reading hockey scores and mentioning the new REM album I picked up, Out Of Time)
Public Image - Public Image Ltd.
(Station ID - Michael Hedges)
Pictures of Matchstick Men - Camper Van Beethoven
Hey Grandma - The Move
(Station ID - 2001)
Writing Wrongs - The Monkees
(Station ID - Mojo Nixon)
Radio Free Europe - R.E.M.
I've Changed My Address - The Jam
Lonesome Bulldog - Butthole Surfers
Unknown artist - the tape ran out before it finished, I think I went on the air here to do a backsell but it must have happened before I flipped the tape over. Thus I have no idea who this is.
Rock N Roll (live) - Lou Reed
(PSA - Marsha Warfield on getting tested for HIV)
Revolution Come and Gone - Beat Happening
(Station ID - Michael Hedges... again)
Hammerhead - Laughing Academy
(Promo - Radio Mental Health)
(me, rambling)
Sunless Saturday - Fishbone
Starless - King Crimson
Würm (from "Starship Trooper") - Yes (My closing credits)
(Station ID - 2001, then a few extra songs until Paul arrived)
Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds - William Shatner
Hey Mersh - Moe Tucker

Brief Thoughts on the Year in DC Theatre

RIP Journeyman Theatre Ensemble and Catalyst Theatre, well before their time. JTE got a Helen Hayes nom in '06, and Catalyst took Best Ensemble for "Arturo Ui." Several factors, particularly the economy, contributed to their demises. There are likely a few similar small companies that are on life support, many of which have also done solid work in the recent past. Some other companies are resorting to safer choices, known quantities, more musicals, and jobbed-in shows. With some exceptions, innovative productions are more likely to be seen at Cap Fringe.

A few fortunate companies have managed to distinguish themselves even in this climate, most notably Constellation Theatre and Forum Theatre, graduating to the mid-to-upper echelon of the theatre scene and establishing Mr Dove and Ms Stockman as the next generation's Shalwitz and Zimmerman. Kudos also to Landless Theatre, another small company that seems to be making strides in attracting the holy 35-and-under demographic. American Century put together some solid productions this year, particularly "Seascape" which was the best thing I've seen them do.

One hopes to see Washington Stage Guild, in limbo for nearly 2 years preparing for their new home and dealing with the passing of their founder and artistic director, back in action. Similarly, Washington Shakespeare Company is preparing to move to the new space in Rosslyn next fall, although it will require a sustained fundraising effort both to move there and to stay.

Lots of theatre companies are hunkering down in the wake of the economy, focusing on their core company members. Consequently a lot of actors that could count on steady work are suddenly finding themselves rather unemployed, filling their days understudying, doing readings, producing Fringe shows, and seeing other peoples' shows. Or just me.

Best shows I saw this year: Arcadia (Folger), Crazyface (Constellation), Seascape (American Century). I'd probably include a couple Forum shows if I was actually able to see them =)

What I don't particularly like is how the Post and CityPaper, in their theatrical year-in-review articles, listed a "Worst Of" list along with their "Best Of". Really, what is gained by "Worst Of's?" Of course, I speak as a co-director of a play that was included in the Post's "Worst Of" list in '08. Considering what we went thru in getting the show together (as a last-minute replacement for another cancelled show), all the cobbling together, all the compromise, all the crap reviews, tiny audiences, sweltering conditions and the fortune we lost on it, the Worst Of listing was just another kick to the ribs, six months after the corpse had been buried. Maybe this is atypical of the other "Worst Of's", or maybe not. Still, enough already.

In Search of my Great-Great-Great-Grandfather

My Great^3 Grandfather Robert Henry Gray is buried somewhere in Fredericksburg, VA, and I'm on a mission to find him.

Robert was one of four brothers from the tiny town of Stockton ME (near Belfast), who fought in the Civil War. Of the four, Robert, Clarendon, Madison & Augustus, Clarendon was the only one who returned. Madison fell at the Battle of Fredericksburg (Dec 13 '62) age 18, Robert at the Battle of the Wilderness (5 May '64) age 28, Augustus at the Battle of Cedar Creek (Oct 19 '64), age 16. Clarendon saw virtually every significant battle of the Civil War, from First Bull Run to the surrender at Appomattox.

Robert's Civil War story is actually pretty spectacular. He signed up in '61 with the 4th Maine Volunteer Regiment, Company I, and was quickly made Sergeant. At First Bull Run he was wounded and captured; he escaped back to his lines with only a newspaper map for a guide, floating across the Potomac on a fencepost. He received prompt medical care, and was promoted to 2nd Lt. After Fredericksburg he replaced the slain 1st Lt, and was promoted to Major after Gettysburg. On the first day of the Battle of the Wilderness he was shot from his horse by three Rebel bullets, and died being transported back to Fredericksburg.

Many years ago my father transcribed his 1862 diary (which is kept at the Harvard library), and my uncle and namesake Bob presented the family with an annotated version a few years ago. It's a pretty interesting look into the day-to-day minutae of a soldier's life. A lot of the time he was at Camp Knox in Alexandria, and frequently was downtown, so I may have traced his footsteps over the past three years. Through most of the year he was ill with dysentery. That year marked the birth of his daughter Alice and the death of his brother Madison. While not forthcoming with deep emotional insight, one can read between the lines... typical Yankee terseness. Also, quite a lot of "when will these poor Secech's see the error of their ways" type stuff.

According to a letter written in the first decade of the 1900's by his comrade Frank Farnham to his son, Frank Boynton Gray, Major Gray was hastily buried in the Fredericksburg town cemetery (as was brother Madison 18 months earlier), the only Yankee officer buried there. An email inquiry to the Fredericksburg National Cemetery (a memorial cemetery for the fallen Yankee troops) suggests that they were not re-interred, so they're likely still there. The question is are their graves marked?

My intention this past weekend was to go to the cemetery to see; I was going to an audition in Staunton on Saturday, so I took the back roads back thru to Fredericksburg. After staying in Staunton for lunch with some colleagues, by the time I arrived in F'burg it was after 5pm and the sun was starting to descend, giving me only a good hour of exploring at best; plus I was under strict instruction from Al to find a legendary icecream stand called Carl's (every bit as good as its reputation promised). So my next available weekend (after this coming weekend's Baltimore wedding) will see me back down to F'burg for another look.

On the drive from Staunton to Fredericksburg, I did stumble across the Wilderness battlefield site, which I stopped at for about 20 minutes. My research afterwards that evening showed that I wasn't on the part of the field where he fell, so I may go back there as well.

Why am I so interested in finding and communing with my Great-Great-Great Grandfather? After all, I'm a pacifist. I think there's something about the Gray brothers' story that I find inspiring. Not the killing and dying, but I just wonder how I'd react in the circumstances they were in. Would I have the wherewithall to react like he did? Would I find such courage under fire? Do I carry some of that in me, being his descendant? Who knows.

More reports to follow after I go back and attempt another search.

RIP Traip Academy?

According to this article in the Portsmouth Herald, serious discussion is happening about the closing of my beloved high school, plucky little Traip Academy.

This is particularly troublesome to me, given that I just went to my 20th reunion this summer. Traip also underwent a major renovation in the 90's in which the original "Main" building was torn down and a new structure built to connect the two other buildings, and it seems a waste to close a building that recently had so much money poured into it.

The kids would be sent to Marshwood High School in the neighboring town of Eliot, which has the capacity to accommodate Traip's entire student body (currently numbering a fairly paltry 280).

Kittery is falling victim to the State of Maine's plan to consolidate the various school districts, as well as the downsizing of the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard whose 'navy brats' comprised a sizeable chunk of the students. Kittery's school system is overbudgeted and underpopulated, and it's a legitimate argument that the consolidation plan makes sound financial sense.

Except that many Traip teachers would likely lose their jobs, likely including some that were teaching back when I was there. That's a more pressing concern to me than any sentimental attachment I have to my old alma mater.

But still, those sentiments still matter to me. Traip's drama club shaped my artistic aesthetic, which is why prefer serious drama over musicals. Traip was where working backstage on a one-act cutting of Agnes of God as a freshman forged the direction of my life. Traip was where we learned to make do with meager resources, ancient equipment, occasionally indifferent teachers, and cramped facilities, because it taught us how to deal with adversity and how to transcend it.

Before the renovation, we had to eat lunch in the gym because we didn't have a cafeteria. We had the smallest gym in the state, we didn't have an auditorium (just a stage in the gym), we frequently had to walk outside between buildings in the dead of winter, our athletic fields were halfway across town, etc. The memories of teachers who died too young linger with me: Ms March, Ms Ryder, Mr Whitten, etc. still wander the halls in my mind.

Still, sentiment for times long past aren't enough to justify keeping the place open. Alas for Traip Academy, which soon might join the other shuttered Kittery schools that I went to: Wentworth-Dennett (grades 2 & 3) and Frisbee (grades 4-8).

I hope that if they do close it, they at least keep the building in use. Traip could be the long-delayed new community center, an adult-ed center, a performing arts center, or, hell, all three.

My $0.02 on Marriage, Gay and Straight.

Thought I'd chime in with my views on gay marriage. In short, I'm all for it. But in order to elaborate, I must draw a sharp distinction between the religious and civil aspects of a marriage.

A marriage ceremony performed in a church or by a representative of a church should thus be considered a religious ceremony. In that sense, a church has the right to approve or forbid same-sex marriage between members of their flock based on that church's particular dogma. Under the Separation of Church and State, Congress cannot pass any laws - nor can any proposition be voted upon - to grant or deny any rights or restrictions on a religious ceremony, nor is any religious union between two people legally binding in the secular world.

One isn't granted any civil protections or legal rights from a Baptism, Confirmation, Bris, Bar or Bat Mitvah, so why should (church) marriage be any different? The granting of any such entitlements on the basis of a religious ceremony - joint filing of tax returns, property/inheritance rights, medical insurance or any of the thousands of earthly benefits traditionally connected with marriage - is constitutionally indefensible.

On the other hand...

A marriage ceremony performed by a Justice of the Peace, Notary Public, Ship Captain, or any such layperson with the power vested in them by a civil authority, is a legally binding civil union and as such - be they M/F, M/M, or F/F - ought to be entitled to all the same legal rights, privileges and protections historically reserved for M/F couples. It is up to lawmakers (not the voting public, incidentally) to decide how these issues are to be legislated.

Couples with religious beliefs would then have two ceremonies, one in which their immortal souls are united in the eyes of God, and another where their mortal bodies are united in the eyes of civil institutions.

People opposed to same-sex (civil) marriage need to remove their religious dogmas from the equation. Traditional family values are not being threatened. The gays are not coming to bust up your marriage. To suggest otherwise is to suggest that the only reason that your husband married you instead of his fishing buddy is either fear of the wrath of God or the limit of the law.