Second or Third Impressions? Mark Blankenship

So, I met Mark Blankenship again at the Eugene O'Neill Theater Center after a long period of us not running into each other during shows. If I remember correctly, Mark and I met twice before, with the first time burned into my brain. I was very new to reviewing and sitting by myself at a show, when a bold, young chap came sauntering over to me to inquire about who I was and who I wrote for. He gave me his business card, but alas, I could not return the favor. I remember thinking to myself that Mark was confident and in complete possession of himself, whatever that really means. Then I ran into him at a second show where he said my guffawing kept him more enthralled then the production did.

Yeah, right.

Actually, he did say that he remembered my laughter, but you can nix the part about him being enthralled. He wasn't.

I was happy to see Mark at the O'Neill because he had a fresh perspective on the industry as it stands. Plus, he does quite well for himself.

I never had a chance to officially hang out with Mark before, but the weekend that he was at the O'Neill turned out to be pretty fun. First, he gave me some pretty good compliments about an article that I wrote about an unnamed Pulitzer-Prize winner. He led the seminar on interviewing techniques with my piece. I was beaming. Why? Well, if you've been reading my memoirs on the O'Neill bootcamp, you already know that I wasn't coasting through the courses. I was struggling big time. So, to get some kudos from Mark was pretty cool.

Later, we shared some fun times when he played a party game with us that consisted of him telling everyone what the number one song hit was the year of their birth. I don't remember what mine was, but he was amazing. Full of pop trivia and full of knowledge about where theater criticism was headed. And you know, he sat on a Critics vs. Producers panel, and held his own against some of the more seasoned, mature critics and gossip columnists.

So, it's pretty safe to say that I think Mark is a cool guy, and not the square that I originally thought he was when I first met him.

Ulp! Did I just write that? Delete! Delete!

P.S. Mark, please don't unfriend me on Facebook. :)

Rock or Hard Place Progress....

This just in, folks! Now that I'm done with seeing 5% of the Fringe shows-yes, ten-I can now start focusing on writing Rock or Hard Place. I have completed all of my interviews except for one-Captain Grant-but I got enough info from my fantastic interview with Captain Brown, so I think it's more than enough to get me going. I will be transcribing this weekend. Well, I'll try, and I won't actually be transcribing. What I'll be doing is just jotting down a bunch of notes from all of my interviews so that I can form a cohesive story, lol. It was interesting to find out that I won't be able to tell my story in the way that I had originally envisioned because Captain Brown debunked my idea with cold, hard facts, lol! Ah well. It was definitely compelling as a short, but that's what happens when you expand a narrative. You take time to speak to people and find out that your original concept has some holes in it. All part of the creative process, folks. Stay tuned for more details!

Project in the Works: Rock or Hard Place to be expanded!

Last year, I wrote a 20-minute short entitled "Rock or Hard Place" about two, very green U.S. Coast Guardsmen and their encounter with a young Haitian girl and her grandmother trying to smuggle into the United States by boat. The play received a reading last October in the lower east side, but I have yet to find a new venue for it. Well, about a month ago, I decided that I was going to expand that short into a full-length play and turn "Rock or Hard Place" into the first of a trilogy of plays about Haiti.

Many of you don't know this, but I was born and raised in Port-au-Prince, Haiti until I was nine. I've been away from my native country for a long time, but recently, I've been feeling my Haitian blood coursing through my veins stronger than it ever has before. I think I have a calling to try to change the way Haiti is portrayed by the media in America.

You see, I remember Haiti with fondness. A great, big ole' helping of it. When I was in Haiti, it was the happiest that I've ever been in my whole life. The country was, and still is, rich with many different cultures that I learned a lot from. And because I was exposed to many different nations who accepted me as I accepted them, it allowed me to be dropped into any type of situation with all races and classes with relative ease in my adult life. I remember a household where there was plenty of food to eat and abundant crops on our property. I remember giant plantains and banana trees that looked like they were uprooted from the original Garden of Eden. A place where everyone was kind. A place where the education was far more advanced at Quisqueya Christian School than some of the schools that I attended when I moved to America. A place where friendships remained tight and only dissolved with too much distance instead of fickleness.

I remember a lot of wonderful things, things that have been blotted out by incessant reporting in the news about how poor it is, and how it's filled with ungodly spirits (voodoo). Last year and this year, there have been more talk about the rapes, kidnappings and continuous people smuggling in the news. Yes, there is that dark side. But there is also the light.

I have been doing quite a bit of research for my play. I have been speaking with people who were recently in Haiti, lawyers who handle immigration, and people who feel as strongly as I do about changing the face of Haiti. I am extremely excited, as this project is coming from the heart. I hope to have Rock or Hard Place completed by mid-September.

It's an ambitious deadline, but I'm up for the task.

First Impressions: Michael Feingold

There was a collective hush in the cafeteria at The Eugene O'Neill when Michael Feingold walked in. Everyone stared in his direction, even those that didn't know what he looked like. Because if you only looked for a moment, you would catch on. Dunno if we were silent because we were in awe of his theater prowess or whether we were amazed that there were so many young actors milling about him (sorry, Michael, I guess what happened at the O'Neill didn't stay at the O'Neill), or both. But I soon learned firsthand that he deserved every bit of attention that he commanded.

Michael Feingold is smart. No, scratch that. He's not just smart. He's super-brainy in the way that aspiring theater critics want to be or think they are. Except, his knowledge surpasses theater. There was food knowledge and multiple languages flowing out of his mouth so casually that I don't think he was even aware that he was dropping science on us. Well, no. He was definitely aware. But that's only because he's not only knowledgeable but confident. And the confident naturally attract an audience without even trying.

I would have loved a one-on-one with Feingold, but unfortunately, there was no time. At any rate, I wanted to make sure that I put something in front of him that was at least half-way polished.

The day he critiqued our reviews was a nerve-racking day for me, but I made sure I sat as close to him as I possibly could. We were seated in the library, where Feingold sat at the head of the table with his back facing a large window. I remember looking through the window at the small, green hill below it, and thinking to myself: "self, if he doesn't like it, you can always plunge through the window and roll down into the bushes. It won't kill you, but it will make a statement." All joking aside, Feingold's opinion did mean a lot, and I was happy to get a favorable one.

As I read my review of the revival of a well-known musical (unlike some of the other mentors, Feingold preferred that we read our own instead of another critic fellow reading for us), his eyes lingered over the words, reflecting over them thoughtfully.

There was a pregnant pause.

Finally, he said, and I'll never forget it, "this summary....is...very good." Score! Even if the next words out of his mouth were going to tear the rest of the review down (they weren't), I was content, no thrilled, with the first ones. It truly was a triumphant moment for me.

Feingold doesn't realize it, but we were friends on Facebook well before bootcamp. Hopefully after this post, I won't find myself de-friended. :)

First Impressions: Andy Propst

Andy Propst had the wrong impression of me from the very beginning. Why? Because my fellow critic fellows filled him with tall tales about a budding romance between myself and another playwright that was there.

There was no romance, only a fauxmance.

We met in the cafeteria (I miss you terribly, crispy bacon) during lunchtime at the Eugene O'Neill Theater Center.

Wait, back up.

Andy was later kind enough to remind me that we had actually seen each other before in New York. We were both there to review a marginally entertaining but wholly misguided play. I wish I remembered which one it was. All I remember is skits, ice skating, and vaudeville.

Later, Andy sat in on my humbling session with Mark Charney, but didn't lead it. He had plenty of opportunity later though to lead three sessions about blogging.

Andy was funny as heck, although some of the jokes that he told were at my love life's expense. He made sure that he ran with the fauxmance story. But I had to laugh. Of all the mentors that were there, he was the most relaxed and really knew how to have fun.

He was also the mentor that taught us the most about the future. He taught us about blogging, and where that was headed. Coincidentally, those sessions are probably what lit a fire under my tush to start blogging again, so I thank him for that.

Apart from Dominic Papatola, he was also the mentor that I stretched the limit with...in a good way. The review that I turned into him was probably the snarkiest, but at least it was clever. I shall always remember "I'da left by now if I was sitting by the exit."

Sometimes, I just can't resist!

And a musical said "Ha!"

Tonight, I was pleasantly surprised. No, scratch that. I was absolutely ecstatic when I decided to follow through on my plan for the day instead of bailing out of it.

I woke up dead tired this morning. Not a little tired, which I'm accustomed to (this is the nature of night owls whose brains won't shut off), but -I could have slept through next week- tired. I was going through the day, keeping myself constantly busy as a way to stave off narcolepsy, and started to wonder whether I could make it through the night. Boy, am I glad that I stuck it out.

I met my fabulous friend Rachel down at the Public Theater for Dougal Irvine's Departure Lounge, a new musical playing there as part of the Summer Play Festival. I've said this before, but I'll say it again. For the record:

I am usually not a fan of musicals.

In fact, once upon a time, I would do anything that I could to avoid them. However, after delighting in, cackling loudly at, and wondering if I could take a look at the book and lyrics-

PLEASE NOTE: I HAVE NEVER, EVER WONDERED ABOUT A MUSICAL'S LYRICS, AND I'M A WRITER!

-I realized that I was caught up in the rapture that is Departure Lounge.

Now, I won't go into any detail about what I thought of the production because none of the Summer Play Festival shows are open for review, but I have to say that I went crazy over it.

My friend and I had a good ole' rocking time.

I will also say that I was tickled raw about seeing Nick Blaemire in action. Returning to the festival from playing Chris in Joe Iconis' The Black Suits last year, Blaemire went from assuming a character with a family struggling to make something of himself to a character without a family struggling to realize that he already became something. His character Pete in Departure Lounge is not a complete break from his SPF predecessor, but Blaemire is making some good moves. I'm keeping my eye on this one.

So, a musical said "Ha!" to me tonight. "Ha!", as in, you really can enjoy me if you allow yourself. It's not that this is the first musical that I've ever been entertained by. There have been others, particularly in the not so distant past. But I wasn't expecting to find this kind of gem tonight. Especially since I almost skipped it.

I may not have gotten some early shut-eye, but definitely no remorse and no regrets.

Passion where you least expect it

This afternoon, I arrived at the 3pm showing of Tender (Summer Play Festival) with only a few minutes to spare. There were seats spread out sporadically in the theater, but I saw a few empty ones near an elderly couple in the front row that I couldn't resist.

I wasn't prepared for the experience that I was about to have.

I was about to see passion in two distinct, but beautiful forms.

As the 75-minute drama by Nicki Bloom progressed, the elderly man was alternating between whispering choice lines from the dialogue to his wife (she was hard of hearing) and paraphrasing what the characters were saying to one another.

At least, he thought he was whispering.

His words were audible enough to the point where I almost got annoyed, but then I realized something else was happening besides the disturbance of my focus on the piece. I was watching tenderness at work in the audience along with tenderness on stage.

This man was taking the time to be the ears for his wife. He wasn't able to feed her all of the information (I'm quite certain that a few people behind us might have hoisted him out of there if he tried), but he gave her enough to get the gist of what was going on. He never got impatient even when his wife wanted more than his hushed tone would allow. He simply restated what was said, cradling her head with his hands and speaking into her ear with a gentleness that it seemed many years between them must have forged. It was understated, but to me, that was passion for her.

The other passion was the one they both seemed to have for theater. Why else would they come when the wife would have trouble understanding what was going on, and the husband, our charming interpreter, would fall asleep from time to time? It made me smile.

At the end of the show, the husband stood up to help his wife to her feet, and stumbled on the steps instead. It was a harrowing few seconds when I was afraid that he might go down, but there she was, catching his fall like he had caught her enjoyment of the play. Her words of concern spoke passion for him.

Here I thought I was just going to be enjoying an afternoon in theater. Instead, I got a lesson in love and a reminder about the importance of creating and producing drama. Isn't it grand when you get more than you anticipated?