Back from The Trip to Bountiful at Round House, and the pleasure of participating in a standing ovation for lead actress Lizan Mitchell as Carrie Watts, the geriatric runaway who's more than a Helen Hayesish caricature of a spunky little old lady. I love when standing ovations happen, especially on a Thursday night with a theater roughly half full, mostly comprising invalids like me--a not-so-spunky little old lady.
Photo of Lizan Mitchell and Howard W. Overshown by Roger Mastroianni
Interesting that this is the second Horton Foote play for me this year, the other being The Carpetbagger's Children at Ford's. The two are set in roughly the same geo-temporal and emotional space, using similar stagecraft (kudos to Tony Cisek, scenic designer, and Christopher Studley lighting designer, for the gorgeous quilt patterns on the stage walls and, in the Bountiful scene, on the stage itself, conveying the home-ness of the landscape: "We are all a part of this," Carrie says wistfully).
"Bountiful" did what I kept expecting "Carpetbaggers" to do, which was to draw me into a slice of life that I could witness for myself as the actors acted with each other, rather than have to listen attentively to like a radio show. So on that basis I give "Bountiful" the theatrical edge. Just a matter of taste, I guess.
A happy surprise was the use of a glorious piece of background music to provide the aural expression of Carrie's emotional climax: it was "Amazing Grace" as interpreted by Hubert Laws on jazzy flute, one of my all-time favorite pieces of music (I once imagined I would wed with that music playing). It was just perfect for the moment in the play when Carrie's wish is, as much as it could be, fulfilled. It made me smile.
love, hosaa with a bountiful heart
(P.S., I'm more than a week late reporting on the second of my two Clay Aiken concerts from the Tried and True tour, but I did post my videos on YouTube (here) if anyone is interested. Clay Aiken is in a whole different category of my artistical blogging, IYKWIMAITTYD.)
Back from Clay Aiken's concert (a week ago; I've been busy and gobsmacked) on Feb. 22 at Kraushaar Auditorium (Goucher College in Towson, Maryland).
I can give no better description of the concert experience than by posting the videos I was able to take, though mine are not the sweet close-ups that so many others are getting. Enjoy the show, and I'll talk below the embeds...
Stage banter, "Chosen Blondes," in which Clay deals with a spotlight problem:
"There's a Kind of Hush":
"It's Impossible":
Jazzy medley of Clay's hits:
"A Foggy Day" performed by Quiana Parler:
There's one more, but YouTube screwed up the formatting and cropped my 4:3 video into a 16:9 screen. Grr.
The highlight of this concert tour, Tried & True in support of Clay's album of that name, was the interactivity promised by PBS's participation in promoting the event. But since this promise was handled by the individual stations in each city, the experience has varied widely from city to city. In Towson, we got what is now called the Meet & Moo experience: a cattle call, only not nearly as organized.
At other Meet & Greets, guests were able to chat with Clay in small groups, so there was pressure to come up with interesting questions that would either make Clay laugh or elicit an interesting tidbit. Most of us know that questions about Clay's son are off limits, as are direct questions about his immediate career plans. The last thing one wants to do is make Clay mad.
Also at other Meet & Greets, guests were able to have an item autographed by Clay and have their picture taken with him. This created pressure to find just the right item to get signed, something meaningful but not ridiculous or unsignable. You also had to carry it with you during the concert, so lightweight would be good.
The problem at Towson wasn't the crowde of people waiting for the M&Moo; we had about 40 in our group, whereas Charlotte had (reportedly) 150-200. The problem for us was the lack of organization on the part of our PBS affiliate; they couldn't even get concert tickets mailed out to some people, who'd sent in their pledges for these tickets back in August. The person who was supposed to get things going at the venue was an hour late, leaving us standing around uncomfortably (though it was fun to chat with others).
So our Meet and Moo was a rush job. I happened to be near the front of the line to Moo at Clay, and I handed tour manager Mary the gift I wanted to give Clay. It required an explanation, but I never got the opportunity to explain it. Clay was a sweetheart, though, and he signed my item and cuddled up with me for the quicky photo by the PBS station's supplied photographer. Then I got "Jeromed" by Jerome the bodyguard while trying to explain my gift.
Clay saw that I had something to say about the gift, so he did turn away from his next mooer long enough to ask me where the gift was placed and to assure me that he will get it. So that made me happy.
On Team Clay, if there have to be bad cops and good cops, it's essential that Clay be the good cop. They got that right at least.
Now the problem with the PBS affiliate's incompetence is that they made no arrangements for sending me the photo with Clay. They made no attempt to match up the individual being photographed with contact information. E-mails go unanswered; the voicemail box was full; there is no "send message" option on Facebook. What am I supposed to do, write a letter?
Anyway, it probably doesn't matter. I realized that I was wearing the exact same outfit that I had on when I got Daniil Simkin's autograph and photo at the Kennedy Center stage door. So I could just use the same picture, darken it and add one of our famous captions,
"Clay Aiken, not seen in photo...."
Heh. The gift I gave him is none of your business for now. But here is what I had him sign for me: The article I wrote about one of his Foundation's projects in 2004.
I had a great time and even got to call out one of the genres selected for that night's "Variations on 'Who's Sorry Now'" bit: Ragtime! Hee!
If I get a chance to later, I'll list some of the questions I would have mooed if I'd had the opportunity. I will say that almost all of the legal questions (the ones that would not necessarily elicit an icy stare) were really unsolicited career advice phrased in the form of a question. So it's just as well I didn't ask.
But I wish I could have asked this: "What are you planning to do to stay in touch with your fans after this tour is over?"
At least I have one more show to see - next Tuesday in Grand Prairie, Texas, with my S.A.S.S.!!!
Love, hosaa Tried and mooed
* Sisterhood for the Adoration of his Serene Sweetness. No, really.
"Breaking Up Is Hard to Do":
ETA, 3 March 2011: At last! I did receive my M&Moo pic from MPT (by request, I asked that they not post it on Facebook. Someone e-mailed it to me instead. It pays to be a squeaky wheel once in a while - I got the high-res original!)
My mother, who died two and a half years ago, probably would have had some sympathy for Hosni Mubarak this week, for no other reason than that she once shook his hand.
Egypt has always been special to my family. While in the Navy in the 1950s, my dad was sent to Cairo to help set up a medical lab as part of Eisenhower's Atoms for Peace program. His pregnant wife and toddler son, Mike, went along; before long, my second brother, Tom, was born there.
Mom spent most of her time dealing with sick babies and mastering the art of haggling in the markets. She also did the tourist thing with her little box camera. And shortly before the young American family finally left Cairo, they learned that a little daughter and sister would be on the way.
After returning home, Mom would often show her Egypt slides, accompanied by histories and creative stories, as our evening entertainment. She honed the narrative to such a perfection that she was often asked to give her Egypt slides at PTA meetings and other public gatherings.
In 1994, Mike, my oldest brother--a Navy man like Dad--was stationed in the Middle East and invited Mom to meet him in Cairo for a special nostalgic trip to her favorite sites, like the temples of Karnac and Luxor. There was also a very splashy (and very cold) outdoor production of Aida, the first grand opera for both Mom and Mike.
It was on the way back from one of these excursions that Mom met Mubarak. From her diary:
We were resting near King Tut's tomb when a motorcade suddenly appeared--out jumped security guards--young, lean, in dark suits with white shirts and ties. In moments they were positioned all round--and President Maburak [sic] appeared. I asked the guard in front of me if I could take pictures--at first he said 'no'--but then the President gave different orders. Before I quite realized what was happening, I was shaking his hand and chatting with him about the opera and my appreciation of all that had been done for that event--and my enjoyment of Egypt. When we got back to the hotel, I discovered that I was an instant (though temporary) celebrity. I was on the 6 o'clock TV news and people started recognizing me everywhere.
Few things pleased my mother as much as being the center of attention; being singled out by the President of Egypt meant a great deal to her. And I'm certain that her unsolicited statements on national television reassuring the president of how safe she, as an American lady, felt in Egypt (at a time when violence against Western tourists was a growing problem) also meant a great deal to Mubarak--or at least to his public image.
Mom was far more interested in the history of Egypt, its ancient beauties and mysteries, than the turmoil of contemporary geopolitics. Shaking the man's hand was enough to charm her. Politics isn't just local; it's personal.
I think about Mom and Mubarak when I look back on how differently I feel about people after I have met them. I was as charmed by Newt Gingrich as by Al Gore when I met them at World Future Society conferences.
But of course I would not want either gentleman running my country for 30 years.
Ford's brings back special memories for me and an anniversary of sorts (though not the day exactly). It was a bright, crisp Sunday afternoon in a February far far away that brought me the bright, crisp off-key dancing and braying laugh of Edward Duke in Jeeves Takes Charge, the "one-man, two-act, 12-character, award-winning comedy tour de force," if he does say so himself.
So sitting in the balcony before the beginning of a play I knew nothing about, I was re-imagining my Edward and his many voices and faces, merry costumes and clever scene changes and all, enchanting me for a couple of hours and embodying the storytelling genius of Wodehouse.
So why did the format of Carpetbagger make me so impatient? The scene was static, with three actresses portraying sisters, each in her own panel of the triptych of a Texas cotton farm homestead, each taking a turn telling the story of their family to the audience but almost never interacting with each other. Yet each took on the voice and personality of the characters whose stories they were telling.
Storytelling with impersonations is exactly what Edward did for Jeeves; it is not a particularly original format. But with the Carpetbagger's girls, I was having a few of those "Why are you telling me all this?" moments and shifting in my seat a bit waiting for the plot to begin.
When I relaxed into the format a bit (thanks for reminding me, Edward), I let the power of the personalities on stage persuade me their story was worth the telling, even if I didn't get it at first.
One sister was constantly pressed to sing "The Clanging Bell of Time," or whatever the dashed name of the song was, which became an anthem for the passage of the family members' lives.
And, like Charming Billy over at Round House, the play seemed to say we are surrounded by our memories as we live through them, even if we cannot directly interact with the actors in our dramas.
It's hard to be a liar and a believer at the same time.
Back from Round House Theatre's production of Charming Billy, adapted and directed by RHT's producing artistic director, Blake Robison, from Alice McDermott's novel. A gathering of family and friends pieces together the life and heartbreak of Billy Lynch (portrayed by David Whalen) during a post-funeral gathering at a New York-Irish bar.
The conversation opens on one end of the long banquet table, the side away from the grieving widow, focusing on how long Billy had been known to drink, each recollection taking us back farther into Billy's life and to the key episode where he first met "the Irish girl."
The flashback scenes glided in from the wings onto the front of the stage, upstaging the party scene but leaving them visible to represent the present. Another flashback begins at the bar behind the party table. In this way, memory surrounds the present, asserting its legitimate place at the table.
Billy was a drunk; should we have helped him? Could we have helped him? Was it a disease, or was he at fault? The answers aren't really there, though I kept hoping for them. It wasn't about Billy, but about our own heartbreaks and guilts.
And so I turn these questions inward. Throughout the play I thought about my charming mother and her battles with depression and alcohol. Unlike Billy, she died sober, because she'd been in rehab those last several months. In the end, she still wanted to die--she'd outlived her life--but at least she no longer wanted to kill herself. At least I don't think so.
Not much of a review, but that's my approach to art. I let it surround me and assert its legitimate place at my table.
As I predicted, today's trip down to the Kennedy Center was quite a bit less adventurous than Thursday.
Today was to see American Ballet Theatre's matinee of The Bright Stream, a comic ballet set on a Russian collective farm. A troupe of dancers and musicians visits the collective, husbands flirt with ladies they're not supposed to, and revenge and tomfoolery ensue.
The tricks are the classic comic fodder you find in Shakespeare, with cross-dressing, mistaken identities, and a bit with a dog.
I don't mean to dismiss the production at all. It was utterly charming. But I really just wanted to watch Daniil Simkin dance! I had thought he was originally rehearsing to perform as the Accordionist, so I'm glad he was recast. The Accordionist is the one who dresses as a dog in Act 2. Instead, Daniil performed as the visiting Ballet Dancer. Good casting! Except in Act 2 he performs largely in drag as a "Sylphide" to trick the elderly dacha dweller. It was very silly and very fun.
The nice thing about a Saturday matinee is that it's not so late when it's over and I'm not in a rush to get home. So I hung around the stage door to wait for Daniil. He was one of the last ones out.
There is a scene in The Bright Stream where the Ballet Dancer signs the autograph book for the foolish elderly woman, identified in the program as "Anxious-to-be-younger-than-she-is Dacha Dweller." Daniil sweetly did an encoure of that scene with me.
Back from the Kennedy Center--no, not the gala for the JFK inauguration anniversary. I went to the ballet next door (American Ballet Theatre).
If it weren't for the dancing, it would have been a pretty miserable night. I wanted to see Daniil Simkin dance, of course, and had waited and waited for ABT and Kennedy Center to announce the cast list for this tour. When they finally did, and I saw Daniil was supposed to dance in "Fancy Free" on the 20th, I grabbed my ticket.
"Cast subject to change." So they did. I saw on the KenCen Web site a couple of weeks ago that Daniil was taken off the performance I had a ticket for. Boo. But I still love ABT. And I knew Daniil was also rehearsing "The Bright Stream," so I got another ticket, for the Saturday matinee.
As for tonight, well, let's just say I'm clueless and didn't know about the gala. We got e-mails from KenCen letting us know that, due to "unusual circumstances," access to the parking garage would be closed on one side. (I didn't want to take Metro because I'm getting old, ya'll, and the Foggy Bottom station's escalators are out.)
So I wind my way around to enter through the usual exit at KenCen, then idle in a line to have my trunk and hood inspected by security. There is a bomb-sniffing German shepherd looking very authoritative and all. And when I finally get inside, there's a big well-dressed mob, all being herded into the grand foyer and toward a row of metal detectors.
Oh great. Obviously the President is in the building. I look around for celebrity political people, but I don't know any. When I get close enough to the check-in place to look around a little, I see that I'm being herded toward the Concert Hall (gala) and not toward the Opera House (ballet). So I work my way through the tuxedos and their dates (something about the well-heeled that doesn't like stepping aside).
I had missed dinner and was annoyed, but at least I could get a snack in the foyer--and some cookies and lemonade in the Members Lounge.
The pieces of the mixed rep program were "Theme and Variations" (Balanchine), "Jardin Aux Lilas" (Tudor), "Duo Concertant" (Balanchine), and "Fancy Free" (Robbins).
The first piece was marred by an incident in the audience; even up in the first tier we could hear loud talking, and I thought it was probably the security guys' walkie talkies. I mentioned it to the usher at intermission, and he told me someone had collapsed and they had to call an ambulance.
Though it was pretty distracting to the audience, it didn't seem to faze the dancers at all (principals were Michele Wiles and Cory Stearns, and the commotion went on mainly during their spotlight duet).
"T&V" is the sort of Pretty Princesses piece you expect in the ABT mixed-rep program. The only thing that distracted me a little (besides the walkie-talkie incident) was the fact that the gentlemen's military-themed wardrobe came in different colors. If they're in the same Army, wouldn't they wear the same color? (Stupid audience observation.)
"Jardin" was a somber Tudor morality play, but I couldn't really figure out who or what the characters represented. I guess I should have downloaded the plot synopsis, like I did for Cymbeline for our Shakespeare Readers last week. Anyway, Julie Kent was lovely as the main lady torn between lovers (I guess) and leaving with the dancer that brung her.
"Concertant" was simply charming. Two dancers listen to the pianist and violinist, then dance a bit.
There was a change of casting for "Fancy Free" due to injury; instead of Cornejo, Stiefel, and Carreno, we got Salstein, Radetsky, and Gomes. Anyway, even if I couldn't see my fave, these gentlemen were fancy enough indeed. Love me some Marcelo Gomes. Hope I didn't make any distracting noises. (Slurp!)
Much easier getting home than getting there. It should be less complicated on Saturday--let's hope for no more galas and German shepherds and tuxedo mobs. Just my Little Prince and the new production of "Bright Stream" everyone's buzzing about.
love, hosaa wishing I could be a little more footloose in all this ...
(1-21-11, edited to add a little detail about the dances themselves.)
