BoCo's New Theatre Opens!!!

So excited to be back at BoCo, with the new theatre building finally opened!
It's a beautiful space, we needed it so badly, and I couldn't be happier for the school and the students and the faculty: it really is a great, beautiful new space!

Giovanni's Room

"I stand at the window of this great house in the south of France as night falls,

the night which is leading me to the most terrible morning of my life.

I have a drink in my hand, there is a bottle at my elbow.

I watch my reflection in the darkening gleam of the window pane.

My reflection is tall, perhaps rather like an arrow,

my blond hair gleams.

My face is like a face you have seen many times.


I may be drunk by morning but that will not do any good.
...the countryside is still tonight, this countryside reflected through my image in the pane.

This house is just outside a small summer resort—

which is still empty, the season has not yet begun.

It is on a small hill, one can look down on the lights of the town and hear the thud of the sea.

My girl, Hella, and I rented it in Paris, from photographs, some months ago.

Now she has been gone a week.

She is on the high seas now, on her way back to America.

I can see her, very elegant, tense, and glittering,

surrounded by the light which fills the salmon of the ocean liner,

drinking rather too fast,

and laughing,

and watching the men.

That was how I met her,

drinking and watching,

and that was why I liked her,

I thought she would be fun to have fun with.

I had asked her to marry me before she went away to Spain;

and she laughed

and I laughed

but that,
somehow,

made it more serious for me,

and I persisted;

and then she said she would have to go away and think about it.

That was how it began,

that was all it meant to me;

I am not sure now, in spite of everything,

that it ever really meant more than that to me.

And I don’t think it ever really meant more than that to her—

at least not until she made that trip to Spain, and, finding herself there, alone, began to wonder, perhaps, if a lifetime of drinking and watching the men was exactly what she wanted.

But it was too late by that time.

I was already with Giovanni.

And the very last night she was here, the very last time I saw her, as she was packing her bag, I told her that I had loved her once and I made myself believe it.

But I wonder if I had.

 I was thinking, when I told Hella that I had loved her, of those days before anything awful, irrevocable, had happened to me, when an affair was nothing more than an affair.

Now, from this night, this coming morning, no matter how many beds I find myself in between now and my final bed, I shall never be able to have any more of those boyish, zestful affairs—

which are, really, when one thinks of it, a kind of higher, or, anyway, more pretentious masturbation.

People are too various to be treated so lightly.

I am too various to be trusted.

If this were not so I would not be alone in this house tonight.

Hella would not be on the high seas.

And Giovanni would not be about to perish, sometime between this night and this morning, on the guillotine."

-James Baldwin

The Paramount Opening Weekend!

The beautifully restored Paramount Theatre is having it's official opening in a few weeks, and, to me, the programming couldn't be more exciting: some really rare opportunities to see some brilliant new work by major, respected theatre artists from all over the world!

I was especially thrilled to see that they are hosting Doug Elkins' "Fraulein Maria": a dance re-telling of "The Sound of Music":  T. and I managed to catch the piece last summer at Jacob's Pillow, and it was just AMAZING, with three dancers playing Maria, (including, when we saw it, a muscular, bald man) and the brilliant Doug Elkins himself as The Mother Superior, popping and locking in a hoodie/wimple.  If there's a talk back with Doug after a performance, I would recommend going to that: he's a very funny, interesting guy!

The opening weekend also has our plays being performed in the space, for free!  Here's the link with all the info:

https://artsemerson.org/Online/default.asp?doWork::WScontent::loadArticle=Load&BOparam::WScontent::loadArticle::article_id=0F21D3CC-E89B-48DF-9403-3BC6ADF169D8

Between Time & Timbuktu & Leaves of Grass & Giovanni's Room

School is now back in session, and I'm teaching five days a week once more.

So summer is over now, at least for me.  I'm going to miss the free time, especially for reading and writing and doodling in this blog, which has been a lot of fun.

In the fall, I'll be directing a workshop production at BoCo of a new musical based on Kurt Vonnegut's "Between Time and Timbuktu", which should be quite interesting and exciting, as I am a huge Vonnegut fan.

 This piece is based on the screenplay of the same name (which apparently exists in film form, somewhere, though I honestly have never seen it!).  It combines a selection of Vonnegut's short stories from "Welcome to the Monkey House" into a time-traveling, "Sirens of Titan" motif with a dash of "Slaughterhouse-5".

Really kooky.

I've decided that we will adapt James Baldwin's "Giovanni's Room" into a theatre piece this year with my senior emphasis class at BoCo.  One of my favorite novels of all time.

And strangely, I was cast in a short film being shot on Georges Island next weekend, in which I play a repressed man obsessed with Walt Whitmen's "Leaves of Grass", who is subsequently haunted by a gay civil war ghost while trapped on the island at night.

So it's a very literary-gay-devastating-spooky-spacey autumn so far!

The Shit has Hit the Fan. Finally.

www.boston.com/ae/theater_arts/articles/2010/08/22/some_say_arts_artistic_director_has_gone_too_commercial/?page=1

T-Gar n' Me!

August 15, 2010

Dear Diary:
SO bored with my life. Not a lot going on this summer. What's an actor to do?
I know!
I'll write in my blog!
That outta kill some time!
Til Soon,
J

August 16th
Dear Diary:
Just wrote a sassy post in my blog about the professional distance between actors and critics, and you won't BELIEVE this, but an ACTUAL critic actually responded to it! His name is Thomas, and I have to admit, our exchange was a little odd.
He was all like: "I'm a critic, and I talk to actors ALL the time! I have six or seven bitches - I mean actors - in my posse. But you know, we're on the down low."

And I was all like: "Whoa"

And then he got all cranky and was like: "You're slimy" (which was REALLY awkward!)

And then I got all cowed and conciliatory-like.

And he was like: "That's beneath you. But you know what? I'm just going to ignore it."

And I was all like: "OK. Me too."

Whew! That sure was a close call!

J

August 18th

Dear Diary:
So, I just found out that THOMAS has a blog! I thought that was MY idea!

And even though he said he was going to totally ignore me, I JUST discovered that he's actually been tweet-trashing me ALL day! Oh my god: SO unfair!

He said I was "petty" and "conniving", which is kind of like Bjork calling you weird.

He also accused me of using my blog posts to "angle for an acting job" and to "seek revenge on my former co-stars" which was REALLY out of left field! I'm not sure, actually, if those are accusations or just old plot lines from "Models, Inc.".

Anyway: SO pissed off!

But you know what, Diary? I am NOT a quitter! So I just called Thomas up and said : "Listen. I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let's meet for coffee and totally hug this out."

Thomas agreed and we met later that day at the Starbucks in the CambridgeSide Galleria.

We said our hellos and made some initial small talk and then I just HAD to ask him the most obvious question: DID he play Cousin Oliver on "The Brady Bunch"?

"People ask me that ALL the time." He said, in his adorable squeaky voice "And the answer, of course, is "Yes". That's why I'm such a good critic: I was an actor once myself. I KNOW what it's like."

We purchased our lattes and started wandering around the crowded mall.

"I HATE Cambridge" Thomas intoned, "Filthy liberal hippies, everywhere."

It was a little strange being with Thomas, as he kept yelling unsolicited comments at random strangers:

"You're ugly!"
"You're worthless!"
"You call that a facial scar?"
"Nice wheelchair, stupid!"

Some people got upset, but when Thomas explained he was a theatre critic they totally shut down. Some even asked for his autograph!

In the food court, Thomas fearlessly approached this hugely pregnant woman.

"Listen" He said to her, between mouthfuls of Panda Express "I know you might THINK you want this baby, but I'm a theatre critic, and I can tell you right now that you will make a TERRIBLE mother. I would abort immediately. You just look fat and silly."

Her eyes grew wide. "Do you really think so?" she asked.

"Take my word for it." He answered "I have a BLOG."



August 20th.

Dear Diary:
My friendship with Thomas is really deepening.
Hanging out with him is like being a Super Heroes' sidekick.
Captain Truth Teller!
and Actor Boy!

Na na na Nuh na na na Nuh na na na Nuh na na na na na na na Nuh Nuh!
(that would be our theme song!)

Being around Thomas is so exciting! He can make up a review for just about anything!
We went into CVS today and he actually reviewed the shampoo I was going to buy.

"Pretentious. Over-priced. Vapid. The A.R.T. of hair-rinses."

"But Thomas," I said, "I like this shampoo."

He suddenly, savagely grabbed my arm.

"Don't EVER question ME." He stammered.

His grip tightened.

"Thomas..." I gasped, "you're. hurting. me."

And just as suddenly he let me go.

"I'm sorry, baby" He said, stroking my face "I didn't mean that. But you just don't LISTEN. Do you think I WANT to hurt you? I don't want to hurt you. But you just have to learn when to shut up."

He's right. That has ALWAYS been such a problem with me!

"Thomas" I said, with a lump in my throat "I'm so sorry."

"That's OK, baby" He whispered, still stroking my face. "And hey, you don't have to keep calling me 'Thomas'. We're friends now, ain't we? Call me by my street name. Call me T-Gar."

Sept 1st
Dear Diary:
I don't know WHY I never had a critic as a best friend before! They are the best!

Started rehearsing a play today.

I had Thomas -Oops! I mean T-Gar - on speaker phone the whole time.

Whenever the director told us to try something, T-Gar would just pipe up: "Wrong! That's WRONG! Who HIRED you? You couldn't direct TRAFFIC! You are pissing on Shakespeare! Believe me, I KNOW Shakespeare. And I mean that literally: I actually KNEW Shakespeare! Personally! He even begged me to review his first performance of "Coriolanus", but I turned him down, because I was just TOO busy! Believe me: he is spinning in his GRAVE right now!"

It was a bit distracting to work like that, but I think it was for the best.

I LOVE the collaborative process!

T-Gar made me quit the show after that first rehearsal.

"You don't need those dilettante losers, baby." He said, smiling "You have me now. I'll gladly tell you why you suck."

Then he took my face in his hands.

"Just remember" he said, gazing into my eyes "I am your ONLY hope of ever being understood. By anyone. Ever."

God, I'm SO lucky!


Sept 14th

Dear Diary
Went over to T-Gar's apartment today.
He's never invited me before, and I have to say, I was intrigued.
It was very dark and musky inside.
Milk crates. Manacles. A large empty, newspaper-lined cage on the floor.

An effigy of Ryan Landry hung from a rope in the corner. T-Gar went over to it as soon as he opened the door and started punching it viciously. "Call ME fat, will you? Well, take THAT! And THAT!", he panted.

He kept striking at it until he was out of breath and collapsed on a milk crate, which seemed to be the only furniture he had.

After a while, he pointed to the cage on the floor.

"Wanna get in?" he breathed "It's really cool. I sleep in it."

"Why don't we eat something first, T-Gar?" I said.

Suddenly a strange groaning sound emanated from behind a closed door at the end of his hallway.

"What's that noise?" I asked "It sounds like Carolyn Clay with a ball gag in her mouth."

"Uh, yeah" T-Gar stammered, "Listen, why don't you make yourself at home? I just have to take care of something first."

He grabbed a box of garbage bags and a handsaw from under the sink, went into the room down the hall and closed the door. There were some faint sounds of struggle. Then silence. The groaning stopped.

I opened T-Gar's fridge. There was no food, just an old milk carton with "Human Bile" written across it with a black Sharpie. And some pickles.

In the freezer was a big round object wrapped in plastic labeled "Terry Byrne".

A half hour later T-Gar emerged from the back room in a bathrobe. He had apparently just taken a shower.

"Who wants Creme Brulee!?" he yelled.

"Me Me Me!!!" I clapped. I curled up on the floor of the cage while he busied himself in the kitchen.

About six hours later, T-Gar shook me awake: I had apparently dozed off. That cage IS comfy!

"Hey Sleepyhead." He murmered "You ready for dessert?"

We sat on the milk crates and I dove into T-Gar's take on French Cuisine.

"Well?" He said, "What do you think?"

"It's...well, it's..." I really didn't know what to say.

He stopped chewing.
"What?" he said. There was an ever-so-slight edge in his voice.

"Well, it's just not a very...traditional creme brulee." I said.

"What do you mean?"

"Weeeelllllll" I said slowly, "It's not very sweet. It's actually kind of sour. And green. It looks, in all honesty, like you just chopped up some pickles and served them in a ramekin."

T-Gar dropped his dessert spoon. A dark, vengeful cloud suddenly formed over his head. His eyes began to twitch, and his face became very puffy and red.

"...how...dare...you..." he whispered, and then a low, dark hum rumbled in his throat which quickly, frighteningly grew to an awful, ear-splitting wail.

He threw his dilled creme brulee at the wall and hurled his milk crate at me. I ducked and scampered behind the kitchen counter while he threw himself into a violent rage: clawing the walls, rattling his cage, ripping the chains and shackles from their fastenings.

"I WILL NOT BE MOCKED!" He shrieked "I WILL NOT BE MADE FUN OF! I AM A GENIUS! I AM A SUPER GENIUS! I AM ALWAYS RIGHT, ABOUT EVERYTHING! AHH!!! AHHHHH!!!!!!

He beat his chest and ripped, Hulk-like, at his clothes; flailing about the room wildly like a featherless, rabid owl.

And then finally broke down in a heap on the floor, weeping.
I came to him, held him in my arms while he sobbed.

"You don't understand what it's like to be this smart." He whimpered "You might think it's a blessing. But it's actually a curse. No one likes me. No one UNDERSTANDS me."

I held him and dried his eyes.

"T-Gar", I said "I understand you. I really do. You're beautiful. I used to think you were just a mean-spirited, pompous, dogmatic, arrogant bully with a blog. But I was WRONG. So wrong. You are special. You have feelings. Deep, complicated feelings. And I'm glad you're my friend."

We lay in the cage together, until T-Gar fell asleep.



(Note: any resemblance in this piece of fiction to persons living or dead is PURELY coincidental.)

Miss Price and Me

My good friend Paula just send me this great pic of us from 10 years ago, on the set of "Miss Price", a solo show I wrote for her to perform.

She was magnificent, of course!