Tuesday, October 1, 2019

Gamecock Diaries Part III: Details of a Deadly Degree

What a slacker. This is me relaxing with a beer in my hotel room in Charlotte, NC.  In early 1994, our USC band of players took our production of The Importance of Being Earnest to Charlotte Repertory Theatre, where we ran for two weeks and, in so doing, had a brief respite from our classes back in Columbia.
"The MFA is a terminal degree," somebody reminded me while I was neck deep in my first semester at USC. I thought, "well, it's certainly killing me." But that's not what they meant. 
I had support from old friends as
well as new. My oldest friend
Claudia flew out from LA my first
semester and took this pic. She
gave me that sweater too.
The Master of Fine Arts in Acting is the highest degree awarded in the field of performance, there is no PhD or DFA in the discipline of acting.  USC took that fact seriously, so my training there contained the best (and hardest) aspects of both an acting conservatory and an academic university. My first semester (like all of them) was a complicated mix of both. I performed in two shows in those first few months (I wrote about
The Cherry Orchard in the last installment, and I'll write about The Importance of Being Earnest shortly). Our curriculum featured the usual suspects of a conservatory: Acting, of course, as well as vocal and movement training. 
I took this picture of my fellow survivors. Elliott, Nan, Bodde (the blond head at left, pronounced Bo-Day, don't ask me why), and I were the only four actors in our class to actually make it to the finish line. Other members of our class either quit or were ejected.
Our vocal work was handled by two instructors, one who taught the IPA (International Phonetic Alphabet), and the other who acted as a vocal coach, of sorts. 
This is Kathryn, who was not one of our teachers but she loved displaying examples of IPA. Each symbol represents a sound used in speech. I wonder if they still teach this alphabet? The internet arrived very shortly after I was in grad school, and now we have all sorts of ways to determine how words are pronounced, so perhaps this stuff is old hat now.
Sarah spent several years on Ryan's Hope,
creating a role which was later played by
Marg Helgenberger. By the time she was
bullying students at USC, she had given up
on an acting career.
Our second voice teacher was a retired soap opera actress who had found a niche for herself as a vocal and dialect coach for the stage.  At the time, Sarah was the resident voice coach at The Shakespeare Theatre Company in DC, where the MFA actors would be spending our third year as interns. The Powers at the Shakes were extremely particular about how their actors sound, so once a week for two years, Sarah was dispatched to USC to insure the actors headed their way sounded the way they wanted us to sound. 
I was a victim of Sarah's
abrasive style in the classroom,
which often included ridicule as
 a teaching tool.

She did not seem all that happy about taking round trip flights every week to South Carolina, I'm sure she felt she deserved something better.  When we arrived at The Shakes in DC for our internship, she was still on staff, and I shudder to recall an embarrassing moment during a put-in rehearsal for All's Well That Ends Well, during which she threw me under the bus in front of the director.  That's a story for another time...


Melody today. She left USC and now
has a private practice in PA.
I got much more out of our Movement classes. We had a mix of the Alexander Technique and Laban Movement Analysis, led by our aptly named teacher, Melody. Though young, this gal was the real deal, USC was lucky to have her.  So was I, as she sat on my advisement committee and was always enthusiastic. And she loved my chex mix.
I was happy to host informal gatherings at the swanky Shady Rest, including this one, which, as I recall, was right before the Thanksgiving break. There's a videotape of this evening out there someplace, so I know one of the topics of conversation was Melody's movement class. According to that tape, Steve and Christina were not big fans.  I still have that quilt.
Despite the fact that these courses all resembled those in an acting conservatory, we were in fact at a university, so there was a substantial academic component to our curriculum as well. USC's program was performance-heavy (it's a big reason I chose to go there), but you could not be a slouch in academics.  A year of Theatre History was required, both for our degree and to pass the comprehensive exams which would determine if the MFA would be granted.  It had been a whopping 17 years since I had taken a test, or studied for a test, or even been in a classroom.  In the time between my college graduation and my grad school introduction, computers had swept in and taken over the world. Never having operated a personal computer, I arrived at USC with this:
Yep, I thought I could survive in grad school with only a typewriter. Hilariously naive. Numerous term papers would be required in Theatre History, and of course my thesis would eventually need to be prepared.  This antique would not cut it.
Deborah and Richard helped ease my
transition into USC life. This was a party
very soon after I met them. We needed
more beer, Richard and I went down the
hill to buy some. I was carded, Richard
leaned over to read my drivers license.
"Good, you're older than me." That was
the start of a great friendship.

Noting the panic on my face, my new bestie Deborah spent some hours giving me a crash course in computers in general, and how to use Word Perfect in particular. Microsoft Word had not yet bulldozed the competition, and WP was the preferred program at USC. Not for the first time, I blessed my late mother, who had insisted I take a semester of typing while I was in high school. I didn't know how to use a computer, but I knew my way around a keyboard.
This is not me. It's the husband of one of my classmates. After the first week of class, I scrambled to purchase a second-hand PC, then Rob came over to install Wordperfect (they used to call this "shareware," now they call it theft).  Nobody had a personal printer back then, you had to save your work on a floppy disc, inaptly named since it was not floppy at all, and take it someplace to be printed.
If you take a look at the above picture, you'll see my "office," actually a corner of my bedroom. TWO desks, plus that hilariously oversized computer, my very first. You'll see from all the paraphernalia that the internet had not yet taken hold, so all the research for all the term papers required for the MFA had to be done the old fashioned way: books.  At this graduate level, term papers were assigned, but their subjects were not. We'd be told, for example, that a paper was due October 10, but the actual topic was up to us, as long as it related in some way to the current study.  I worked so hard on these papers, I have proudly saved them for 25 years.  I'll remind you I chose these topics myself:


"Lead Into Gold"
The uses of alchemy in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales and Robert Green's 
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay

"The Antique Chorus"
The birth and development of the chorus in Greek, Roman, Medieval, and Renaissance drama

"When? Where? What?"
The unities of Time, Place and Action as discussed in John Dryden's An Essay of Dramatic Poesy and applied to John Guare's Four Baboons Adoring the Sun

"Woyzeck"
The unaccomodated man in the unadorned play

and finally:
"Little Rascals"
Treatment of The Rake in Oliver Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer 
as illustrated by Charles Marlow and Tony Lumpkin


Let me know if you want to read any of the above. I've got that floppy disc somewhere.  

In our spare time from all of the above, we were performing.  Or rehearsing. Or both. I did 5 shows my first year on campus, but this is the one which dominated most of the year:
Algernon Moncrief and Cecily Cardew spent many months during 1993-94 trying to determine The Importance of Being Earnest.

Our production of The Importance of Being Earnest played on campus in the fall of '93, then transferred to Charlotte Repertory Theatre in early '94.  In the next chapter of this memoir, I'll leave behind all this dull academic stuff, and regale you with lavish memories of Earnest, which was a delight, and Measure for Measure, which was not.





Saturday, September 7, 2019

Gamecock Diaries: Part II: Everything In This World Comes To An End

It appears I'm writing my memoir, one episode at a time and in no particular order. This is the 3rd entry in a series I started several years ago, regarding my adventures earning my MFA in Acting at the University of South Carolina. Go here for episode one (actually a prologue), and here for episode two, confusingly titled Part 1.
This is a good representation of me, upon arrival at USC. I settled into the Shady Rest right away, and set about trying to make sense of my nonsensical decision to uproot my life in L.A., and move across the country.
I arrived at USC in the early weeks of August, 1993.  Classes were not to begin for a week or so, but the MFA candidates were required to arrive early in order to attend a week of orientation (I suppose we were called "candidates" to remind us that we had 3 years of hard work ahead of us before we would actually achieve MFA status, and that our "candidacy" could be revoked at any time).  This orientation was largely a series of lectures on how to teach underclassmen.  MFA actors, and many other grad students in other programs, earned tuition waivers and stipends by teaching the undergraduate students in "beginning" classes, while also attending our own graduate classes.  I felt a bit awkward attending these orientations, as I was not yet scheduled to actually teach anybody. Truthfully, I was feeling inferior to the other actors in my new class, as they all had been offered these full stipends, and I had not.  I was invited to USC fairly late in the recruitment process, and all the assistant-ship money was spoken for.   
This very dark picture is Richard Jennings, head of the acting program. I must have really impressed him when I auditioned for him in Los Angeles (well, natch. Who could resist my Cassius monologue?), as he worked hard to get me to USC even though he had no stipends to offer me.  He assured me that his first priority would be to find some kind of assistant-ship for me, once the semester started.
I had taken a leap of faith and moved my life to South Carolina without knowing if I could afford it.  Richard Jennings, head of the acting department and the man who recruited me, was true to his word; within a few weeks, I was working part time in the box office to earn some dough, and by the second semester, I was given the same full assistant-ship which the rest of my peers received.
It's hard for me to believe, but according to Google Earth, this is what my grad school digs look like now. The Shady Rest, in the early 90s, was an old duplex with a wooden fence and a peeling paint job. I happily settled into the roomy but ramshackled duplex. My furniture arrived several days after I did, and so did one of my classmates.
With my money problems put on the back burner, I settled into my roomy duplex, nicknamed the Shady Rest (see the previous episode of this series to find out why my place gained that moniker).  My new classmate John had stuffed all his belongings into a rental truck and had made the schlep from Oklahoma to South Carolina without a place to live once he got there. I offered him temporary digs at my place while he looked for an apartment of his own.  
That first week, as we all attended our orientation meetings,  my fellow classmate John made no effort to look for a place of his own.  He was getting pretty comfortable camping out in my living room, so I had to pointedly mention that I planned to live alone while going to school, and as school was to begin Monday, where was he planning to stay?  (John was a very fun guy to be around, and was a very strong actor too, but it would become clear that he had the wrong attitude about grad school;  he was dismissed from the program after the first semester.  His withdrawal from USC didn't seem to hurt his career, which was soon to include more than a few television gigs, as well as professional theatre work).






Anyway, while we attended daily lectures on How To Teach Underclassmen, the evenings were filled with rehearsals for the first show of the season. There were 6 actors in my incoming class (though that number was to fluctuate during the 2 years we were on campus, as we had two ladies drop out, one gal drop in, and one dude, as I mentioned, get dumped by the faculty).  
Christina and Deborah were in the MFA class ahead of me at
USC. They quickly became my close friends. Christina had
lots of professional experience and was already a member of
Equity, the stage actors union (I was too, but this was unusual
for MFA actors). Deborah taught me how to use a computer!
There were 5 MFA actors (excuse me, candidates) already on campus in the class ahead of us. If my math is correct, then, there were 11 actors in the graduate talent pool during my first year (this number does not count the MFA candidates who were in their 3rd year and were thus in DC working their internships).  
Kathryn and Steve were also in the MFA class
ahead of me. For some reason, I bonded more
quickly and more thoroughly with this class
than my own, I'm not sure why.
It was the expectation that these actors would play the leading roles in most of the shows produced by the department.  Due to time constraints, it was necessary that the first show begin rehearsal before classes even began, and in the case of the new incoming actors, we were cast by the director sight-unseen.  The show was Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard, and I was pre-cast as the gregarious neighbor Pischik (there is no doubt I was given this role because I was the oldest of the incoming male actors, and the role was decidedly middle-aged).  The show was to turn out to be one of the least stressful of the eleven (yep, count 'em: 11) shows I was involved with during the two years I spent on campus. It was also to be the smallest role I had while at USC.
Deborah and I got on like a house a'fire, we've remained close to this day.
  


Our director was one of the most <ahem> colorful of the faculty members, Ann Dreher. Ann and I got along well during this period, but I'm sorry to say, our relationship soured a year later, for reasons I'm sure I'll describe in a later post. Ann was a bit of a legend on the USC campus;  she had been on the faculty forever and tenure meant she didn't give a shit who liked her or who didn't.  She led the undergraduate program, and her Introduction to Theatre class was a popular elective among the student body at large. (The class had a better name than Intro to Theatre;  I seem to remember it was called Creative Play or something like that.  It must have been easy to pass, since all the sections of it were always packed with non-theatre students, looking for an easy elective). Ann was probably the most well-known member of the theatre faculty among the larger student body, not only through the popularity of her Intro class but for the outlandish stories which circulated about her behavior.  
I heard this apocryphal story about Ann as soon as I arrived at USC:  she was late one day for her big class, finally arriving out of breath.  She turned to her students and said, "Sorry I'm late, y'all.  I was fuckin'."  I have no idea if that actually happened, but it sounds just like Ann.
Who knew David Mamet
adapted other people's
works? His version was
sleek, with none of the
huge speeches Chekhov
loved.
With Ann at the helm, rehearsals for The Cherry Orchard proceeded apace. My character of Pischik wandered in and out of the action, fairly peripherally,  and was not really integral to the plot. It wasn't until I wrote a term paper about this play (I plan to write a bit about my Theatre History class in the next installment of this series, stay tuned for that riveting entry) that I realized my minor character had been given a line of dialogue which exactly stated one of the major themes of The Cherry Orchard.  
"Everything in this world comes to an end," Pischik proclaims as he sells his indebted estate and bids farewell to his entire way of life. I could relate.  I did the same thing by deserting Los Angeles and taking this leap into graduate school.
Christina as Lyubov and Deborah as Varya
in The Cherry Orchard.
During these first few weeks of my time at USC, one event stands out in my mind.  When the new school year began, the Theatre Department held a big meeting in their main theater in which to introduce the incoming students to the faculty and to the students already on campus. I completely understand the reasoning behind this big event; the actors had, after all, been recruited by only one member of the faculty, yet everybody was expected to work with us for the next two years.  The awkward part of this meet-and-greet was that all the incoming MFA actors were expected to present their audition pieces to everybody in the hall.  One by one, the six of us traipsed onto the stage and performed the two monologues with which we had gained entrance to USC.   

God bless my cohort Elliot, who surprised the crowd when it was his turn to dazzle.  Before performing his two pieces, he sang.  Elliot was a strong singer and felt right at home belting a tune A'Capella (of course there was no accompanist, USC was a classical training program and rarely produced musicals).  Another of my new classmates, Nanette, was also a strong singer, so she, too, included an impromptu song with her presentation.  All of this happened very spontaneously, but I sure as hell wasn't going to be left out.  I was the last of the new MFA actors to perform.  I began: "Hi, I'm R. Scott Williams, and I'll be doing Cassius from Julius Caesar and Peter from It's Only a Play by Terence McNally.  But first, your worst fears are about to be realized.  I'm singing also."  And then I did.
Nan and Elliot provided impromptu musical interludes during the USC Theatre Dept. Meet and Greet, causing me to sing as well.  It turned out to be a smart move. Director Jim Patterson was in the room; he would soon schedule a production of Anything Goes for the following summer, at least partly due to the fact that he could see some of his actors could sing.
The Cherry Orchard opened, and I was pleased with my work in it. I was pleased with my living space and pleased to be making bunches of new friends; all in all, I was pleased with the decision I had made to uproot my life, move thousands of miles across the country, and to return to school. But as the semester got underway in earnest, I faced more challenges, in the Theatre History classes I was required to ace, and the fact that I had not been in an academic classroom in 17 years. And as soon as my adventure with Chekhov was over, I jumped into my first leading role at USC, and along the way, became acquainted with the gent who would become a friend and mentor, who would help guide the rest of my career at USC.  More on that in my next chapter (whenever that may be) but meanwhile, enjoy this little clip I just ran across.  It's some kind of feature about Longstreet Theatre, which housed the USC Dept of Theatre and Dance, and its reputation for being haunted. Longstreet was one of the very few buildings which predate the Civil War, most of the campus was burned to the ground by Sherman, but he left Longstreet standing.  The narration is by Ann Dreher herself.  You can get a glimpse of her eccentric personality here: 

Friday, July 13, 2018

Theatre Droppings: Oh Mary, Don't Ask

Confetti and balloons, cake and dancing, hilarious quips and bawdy bon mots. There's even a parlor game.  Who wouldn't have fun at a festive celebration like this? Turns out, NOBODY has fun.  Welcome to Harold's birthday party.
This poster for the 1970 film was
banned by many newspapers
across the country. A more subtle
poster replaced it (it's below)
One of the buzziest shows in New York this summer is a 50 year old play considered to be a ground-breaker, finally making its Broadway debut.  The Boys in the Band opened in a tiny hole-in-the-wall performance space in Greenwich Village back in 1968; it ran over 1000 performances and put gay characters front and center before mainstream audiences.  At its opening, the play was celebrated as the first realistic illustration of the modern gay lifestyle.  About a year into its run, the show ran into some trouble.  
A pre-Exorcist William Friedkin saw this original production, and signed on to direct the movie version, with one condition: that the full original cast recreate their roles on film. He needn't have made such a demand. No Hollywood agent or manager would have allowed a client to go anywhere near this thing, and even the New York actors involved were told playing gay would end their careers.
Michael hosts a party for Harold. These two thoroughly
nasty queens create the dramatic stimuli of the play.
In 1969, a group of ragtag drag queens, hustlers, and other gay undesirables were harassed by police during a raid on a dive bar called The Stonewall Inn.  Several days of rioting ensued, and the modern gay rights movement was ignited.  This movement encouraged homosexuals to be proud of their identities, rather than to be ashamed, and to this day, celebrations of homosexual and gender fluid identities all carry the label of PRIDE.  
The Boys in Mart Crowley's play are anything but prideful. Quite the opposite, these nine characters are filled with self-hatred and shame regarding their sexuality. During a booze-filled evening right out of the Edward Albee playbook, they punish each other for their own feelings of self-loathing. (Though Michael never says it, he is playing "Get The Guests" better than Virginia Woolf''s George and Martha)
Is Boys in the Band an honest examination of a generation of
gay men forced to remain in the closet except in hidden bars,
bathhouses, and the occasional Saturday night birthday party?
Or does it offer a highly limited view of gay society in the late
60s, portraying gay men as psychologically damaged, haunted
and ashamed?
Gay activists such as the Mattachine Society, one of the earliest gay rights groups, disowned the bitchy, sad, and fairly unpleasant characters portrayed in The Boys in the Band.  So our Boys became controversial not only in the mainstream, but also among the gay community; this controversy continues today.

I didn't know anything about this controversy when I first became aware of The Boys in the Band, when, at age 13, I opened the Sunday edition of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and saw this movie ad:  
As a pre-teen in the Deep South, I had no knowledge of the provocative Off-Broadway play depicting homosexuals; I never even knew the Stonewall riots had happened.  But something about this poster told me I needed to see this movie.  It was rated R.  I was not able to see the film until several years later, and it has remained my only exposure to The Boys in the Band until last week, when I saw it for the first time onstage.
The first thing I can report about the Broadway production of Boys in the Band is this: it's friggin' hilarious.  Somehow, the same text which comes off as vicious on film becomes enjoyably flippant onstage, at least initially.  
Director Joe Mantello is not stupid.If you have a specimen
like Matt Bomer in your gay play, you strip him to his
underwear as soon as possible. This first scene between
besties Donald and Michael plays like a dream,
 endearing both men to us,until Parsons's Michael
 picks up a gin bottle and turns into Mr. Hyde.
Congratulations in no small part must go to director Joe Mantello, who has guided his cast to mine the laughs, and they have struck gold.  The first half of the show (in what used to be its first act; playwright Mart Crowley has wisely trimmed the play a bit and removed the intermission) feels like Terrence McNally wrote it. Jim Parsons as Michael, the leading character, knows his way around comedy, and his first scene, opposite Matt Bomer, is full of laughs. 
Robin de Jesus as flameboy Emory, Michael
Benjamin Washington as token black Bernard,and
Andrew Rannells as promiscuous Larry, all add to
the festive atmosphere of the first half. This party
would have been such fun, if the host hadn't
torpedoed his own event by showing that queers
are not just self-hating, they're also self-
destructive.
We like these men immediately, and that fond feeling extends to the other Boys, as Andrew Rannells, Robin de Jesus, and Tuc Watkins join the party. I was joyfully able to put aside my distaste for this text and start to recognize that perhaps the original play can be treated simply as a period piece.


Except it can't.  Many gay men of the generation depicted in this play have accused the playwright of displaying some very nasty stereotypes, as if all gay men of the period felt the same self-loathing expressed by the play's lead character, Michael.  There is a  seminal quote from Michael which is difficult to defend: "If only we could learn to stop hating ourselves so much."  This is an exclamation difficult to justify, and one which I have trouble overlooking. 
Once Michael (Jim Parsons) picks up that gin bottle, he turns from a charming and witty host into a vicious annihilator. He slings racial, ethnic, and anti-Semitic slurs at his guests, and conducts a party game aimed to humiliate the players. This sudden shift in character was very difficult to accept from Parsons, who did not handle this arc as well as the originator of the role, Kenneth Nelson. When the party is finally wrecked and done, Michael himself has a breakdown. As he recovers himself, he utters the sentiment which has alienated large portions of the gay population for decades; "If only we could stop hating ourselves so much."
Leonard Frey and Kenneth Nelson, as Harold and Michael,
delivered two indelible performances in the film, pretty much
steamrolling the other actors; it's hard to remember much
about any of the others.
Michael indeed seems to be a self-hating homo, and I have no problem with such a character being portrayed onstage, we've seen many of them over the years.  But he doesn't speak only of himself; he doesn't say "If only I could learn to stop hating MYself so much." He says "We" and "OURselves," suggesting to the world that all gay men despise themselves.  This is not true today, nor was it true in 1968. 
"These are really Harold's friends," our host Michael explains before the birthday party begins. Really? We'll have to take that as a leap of faith, as there is scarce evidence that anybody has a friend in this room.  I keep wondering, what is it that holds this group together?  There doesn't seem to be much actual friendship apparent, in fact quite the opposite, as the evening progresses.  And once the host turns from hospitable to hostile, why oh why do all these guys stay?? It takes a huge leap of logic to accept that all these guys sit still and take the abuse Michael dishes out. I wonder if playwright Crowley was attempting to show that gays tend to form their own ad hoc families, and will take all sorts of crap from them?  Crowley's contemporary Terrence McNally (they are only 3 years apart in age) did exactly that 25 years later.  McNally wrote his own version of Boys in the BandLove! Valour! Compassion! succeeded in showing a group of 8 gay men gathering in celebration, and while there is PLENTY of queeny bitch-talk in that play, there is never any doubt that the group loves each other.  I'm not sure the boys in Crowley's band even like each other very much.
I have huge respect for these two actors. I've seen Zachary Quinto onstage in The Glass Menagerie, and he's got the
goods. Jim Parsons has won multiple Emmys and even better, appears to be an actor of  intelligence and gentility. As with all the actors in this production, they are conducting their careers as out gay men. So I'm disappointed to report that their performances are the least convincing in the play. 
Though the performances surrounding them cannot be faulted, I'm sorry to say that I was disappointed in the work of stars Jim Parsons and Zachary Quinto. Parsons has a congenial quality which simply cannot sustain the vicious behavior of his character Michael. And Quinto's entrance late in the play actually saps the energy in the room.  
Birthday boy Harold (Quinto) meets his "gift," the hustler called Cowboy. This is Harold's entrance into the play; we've been hearing about this character for almost an hour, and he arrives just after a climactic moment of physical violence which has shocked the audience.  Structurally, these early moments are needed to re-center the energy of the play, and set it off into its new, darker direction.  It's a very tricky moment, it's where the intermission used to be. Quinto's languid, reptilian way of moving and speaking does not give the play the new boost it needs, in fact it seems a lot of the energy already created by the other actors is sucked out of the room when Quinto takes over.
The real surprise in the second part of this play comes from one of my favorite stage actors, Andrew Rannells. 

He is playing Larry, a role which was quite forgettable in the film, one half of the only gay couple in the piece.  Larry is the guy who picks up a different trick every night and has no desire to settle into a hetero-normative  relationship. 

Tuc Watkins makes his Broadway debut in the role of the
straight-appearing Hank. Tuc is proof that many so-called
"soap studs" are gay; he spent years as the resident hunk on
One Life to Live. His performance here is grounded and
honest.
But he has reluctantly fallen for the conservative Hank, a school teacher with kids who has recently left his wife but is looking to replace that marriage with a similar one with a same sex partner. 

This subplot is dull as toast in the film, I'm sorry to say, but in this production, Rannells's sparkle moves it front and center.  The sequence in which these two mismatched lovers declare their commitment to each other is, for me, the highlight of the show's second half.
A word should be said about Charlie Carver as Cowboy, who appears to be making his professional stage debut in this production. I remember this kid from Desperate Housewives, and apparently he's maintained a lively career in TV/film (it has helped that he has an identical twin, they have often worked together). 

Charlie Carver came out publicly several years ago, and has an interesting story. His parents divorced when he was quite young, and he only found out later that the split was due to his father's homosexuality. His own coming out must have been fraught with extra baggage.
Carver's role of the hustler is pretty one-note, though you can feel the audience turn against Michael when he makes snide comments about this poor kid's lack of intelligence. But Carver's final moments onstage are pretty poignant. As they are leaving, Harold asks his hooker how he is in bed. "I try to be a little affectionate," he replies. "It helps me feel less like a whore." 

The Boys in the Band is going to carry its legacy as a groundbreaking play despite the debate regarding its central theme. This Broadway production is a worthy revival of this problematic piece.  I can't help but think about those actors in the original production, back in 1968. We now know that five of them were gay, all of whom died during the Aids epidemic.  The original director and producer were also taken. 
Ironically, Robert La Tourneaux's performance as the hustler Cowboy was prophetic. He had turned to prostitution when he died. Leonard Frey (left) had a more successful career, capped with an Oscar nomination as Motel the Tailor in Fiddler on the Roof. They both died of AIDS.
Kenneth Nelson (left) was the original (and unforgettable) Michael.  He had already created some theatrical history by appearing as The Boy in the original production of The Fantasticks.  His post-Band career was definitely affected by his association with The Boys.  He also died of Aids. Cliff Gorman (right) gave a very brave performance as the flamboyant Emory.  Gorman was straight, and went on to win the Tony playing Lenny Bruce in Lenny.
These are the last surviving members of the original production (at least, we assume so, as nobody can find the black guy). They escaped the Aids epidemic, they are both straight. Peter White (right) went on to play Linc Tyler on All My Children, off and on, for 30 years. Lawrence Luckinbill (left) maintains an active film/TV career, and married into Hollywood royalty to boot (he's husband to Lucie Arnaz). 

If you've gotten this far, you're clearly interested in this landmark play; there is a fascinating documentary, made in 2011, which  explores the various reactions to The Boys in the Band when it first arrived on the scene.  It's worth checking out, if only to hear how the play affected some younger playwrights such as Tony Kushner while it infuriated some of Crowley's contemporaries, such as Edward Albee.  Here's the trailer for that documentary:

Monday, January 1, 2018

2017: Old Friends, New Adventures, and Scary Numbers

As soon as it was announced that Boys of a Certain Age would have an Off-Off-Broadway run, my best friend Judy (center) booked a flight from Milwaukee. She spent President's Day weekend with me, and our old undergrad buddy Patrick accompanied her to see my show. Afterward, we had a long evening of dinner and dish. Casual events such as these always turn out to be highlights for me.


It's fun, enlightening, and slightly scary to sit down and decipher the highlights of a year. After looking at my 2017, I have to recognize that my "bi-urban" experiment is showing surprising results. Six years ago, I landed a super apartment in New York, and began splitting my time between New York and DC. I still feel a bit more at home in DC, but none of the following highlights of my year occurred there.  In fact, all but one happened in New York. Somebody may be telling me something...
Boys of a Certain Age was that rare new
play which had humor and heart and very
smart writing. All four of us were gifted
with terrific material from which to craft
four unique characters. I wrote about this
experience here.
Soon after the year began, I started work on a project which would turn into one of the most satisfying with which I have ever been involved.  We began rehearsal for the official Off-Off-Broadway production of Boys of a Certain Age, which ran for three weeks in February.  Performing the play, and playing this role in particular, ended up being the highlight of my year, but perhaps it's good I didn't know it at the time.  Imagine knowing that the highest point of your entire year is in February, then having to face the next ten months sliding downhill.  
The role of Ira in Boys of a Certain Age was one of the best I've ever had.  He was a survivor of AIDS activism and was haunted by the friends he lost to the plague, but he never lost his compassion or, thankfully, his humor. Ira was everybody's favorite Jewish grandmother, if your grandmother 1) had a penis and 2) was a cross between Larry Kramer and Julia Sugarbaker.  He was great fun to play, and I consider the production to be one of the highlights of my career.
Brian Gligor played my nephew in Boys, and did me the biggest favor anyone did for me all year. He's a whiz with websites and such, and I have long struggled with setting up my own site.  All actors are supposed to have them, at least in New York, and I purchased the domain name years ago but never did anything with it.  After one of our rehearsals, Brian came over and, as I plied him with martinis, he set up my site.  We had a blast that night, carousing until 3 AM, and the result was a smashing success.  Thanks, Brian! Go here to see our handiwork:  RScottWilliams.com


Jack Young hired me several times when he
ran the Warehouse Theatre in South
Carolina. I hadn't seen him in years, though
I frequently work with actors he has trained.

While in rehearsal for Boys, one of my old comrades from years ago came to New York.  I was thrilled to be able to spend an hour or so with Jack, since I had not seen him in many years.  Jack was not the only old friend with whom I reconnected this year.  Over the summer, by coincidence, two friends from my undergraduate days in L.A. spent a weekend in Manhattan;  our lunch date reaffirmed what I have always suspected: the friends we make in college are likely to be for life.
It was such a treat to share a meal with Lisa and Barrie when they visited New York; I hadn't seen either one in at least 30 years. I met Lisa in high school and she later played my wife in George M. I met Barrie when she played one of the twins in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum; she later directed me as Dr Einstein in Arsenic and Old Lace. All three of us shared many years together.
I met David when we played in
Big River together. For years,
he offered me his couch any
time I went to NY to audition.
One of the real blessings of 2017 was my rediscovery of my old friend David Beris.  I thought he had moved to Florida, and he is not on social media, so when I opened the NY branch of my life, I never even tried to track him down. I bumped into him at an audition last spring.  We've had lunch several times since then, but one of my resolutions is to see him more regularly. I have a lot of acquaintances now in New York, but very few real friends (I think it's true that the older you get, the harder it is to acquire friends).


During the early part of the summer, I filmed my first web series.  Well, I guess it's not a series yet, but the idea is for it to become one.  A funny young gent named Max Talisman wrote a fictionalized autobiographical account of his life as a young gay man trying to make it as an actor, and he was able to produce a few scenes to be shown to various producers, in hope of gathering enough support to film the full series.  I played a gay man who has aged out of the dating pool, but still submits himself on dating sites (using a 30 year old pic).  The scene was great fun to film, I've seen the finished product and it's a hoot.  Though the role was written as a one off, I have been campaigning to have the character return, should the project go to series.  Every youngster in New York needs an older mentor, especially a comic one who also lives down the hall.
In July, I participated in a staged reading of The Tempest for Titan Theatre Company.  I dislike this play, largely because I have an ongoing problem with Shakespearean magic, but it was a fun experience, and set the stage for a more formal return to Titan in the fall.  
As the Mayor of London in Titan's Richard III.
I think there are 5 reasons to do a play; if none
of them are present, it's best to pass:
1) Money
2) It'll be good for your career
3) You'll learn something new
4) It's a bucket list role
5) You'll have a blast doing it
None of these applied to R3. I should never
have inflicted Titan Theatre with my lackluster
performance.
I was asked to join the cast of Richard III, playing two small roles.  In retrospect, I should have declined the invitation.  I had already done R3 twice, and I didn't really have much interest in playing either of the two roles.  When an actor works on AEA's Showcase Code, I really think it has to be for love, as it's not the money (there is none). I have always enjoyed working for Titan (in fact they offered me my NYC debut years ago), but it is not very easy for me to do so.  The company rehearses and performs in Queens, which is a schlep from my digs in midtown.  But moreover, I never challenged myself to bring sizzle to these characters, and I must admit that I was not a success in the show.  I wrote about my disappointment in myself regarding this project here.
As Brackenbury in Richard III. You remember the all-important role of Brackenbury, right? He's the guy who's always standing next to the person talking.
Before beginning R3, though, I fulfilled a big wish for my father.  The pater turned a whopping 90 years old in August;  as his birthday was just a few weeks before the Big Eclipse, Dad asked his kids to gather around him for that event.  
Dad's fascination with the skies led
him to join the military, but before he
could get through flight school,
WWII ended. His career at Lockheed
gave him an unusual talent: he can
look at an airplane flying over, and
name it.
Dad spent his life fascinated with flight (he spent a full and successful career at Lockheed), and his home in North Carolina was right in the path from which this once-in-a-lifetime eclipse could be best viewed. I didn't have much interest in the eclipse, but I have not spent a great deal of time with my father through the course of my life.  I was very happy to share this moment with Dad. We dragged camp chairs out to his front lawn and experienced the event together. Once in a lifetime indeed.

A big highlight of 2017 was being able to spend this special moment with my father. He had just turned 90. He was excited about this August eclipse, particularly once he found out that his home was in the Zone of Totality (I thought that sounded like someplace the Starship Enterprise wandered into unexpectedly). Later they started calling it the PATH of Totality (which I thought sounded like a self-help book).
Playwright Dan Fingerman accompanied me to the IT Awards
ceremony. It was a total surprise that our show received even
one nomination, as we were not produced by an established
company, we had a 3 week run and then were done. Such
plays don't usually get noticed by the IT awards.

In July, Boys of a Certain Age came back into my life, quite unexpectedly.  I was nominated for the New York Innovative Theatre Award as Outstanding Actor in a Lead Role.  These awards aren't exactly Tonys, but in a way, they kind of are.  
The IT Awards celebration brought another reunion. The guy
on the right is Jason Bowcut, who helped create these awards,
and with whom I spent a season at the Shakespeare Theatre Co
in DC (as you can see, many moons ago). It was great fun
catching up with him over drinks after the ceremony, I hadn't
seen Jason in at least 15 years.
The IT organization covers pretty much every professional performance in New York that is not either Broadway or Off-Broadway.  That's hundreds of productions, so I was thrilled to be one of only 6 men nominated for the award.  
I crashed this picture of Hudson Warehouse, whose production of Much Ado About Nothing received several nominations. It was fun to share the evening with this crowd, with whom I have worked repeatedly since arriving in New York.  None of us won that evening, but it was still a night to remember.
This hangs on the wall of my New York branch.  Yep, I'm THAT guy.
This award nomination led to the most significant thing to happen to me in 2017, at least professionally.  I snagged an agent. 
Ever since opening my NY branch, I've ducked the daunting challenge of finding representation (I never used an agent in DC).  But even with the knowledge that my career would not likely progress very far without one, I avoided looking for one.  I was told by more than one "well wisher" that, if you're over 30 and don't have an agent, you'll never get one.  But once this nomination came out, I took the opportunity to contact about 20 agents, and the one who responded actually signed me.


Inevitably, the addition of this important aspect of my career meant another important aspect had to be addressed: my headshots.  I find the task of getting and keeping appropriate headshots to be dismal, so I rarely do it.  Current headshots ranged from 6-10 years old (2-4 years is supposed to be the maximum age of your pictures).  With Agent Renee's input, I spent the final part of 2017 getting new shots.  The lovely and talented Clinton Brandhagen, who has taken my shots for years, spent all day with me and snapped over 1000 pics.  Cutting that number down was mind numbing, but after several torturous weeks, I settled on the pictures which I'm sure will attract all sorts of attention.
I'm hoping these shots will improve my chances of getting "into the room," as Renee says. Looking at the stats for 2017, I certainly could use some help, particularly in avoiding the dreaded Equity Principle Audition, otherwise known as the cattle call. I keep track of all the auditions I attend, the vast majority of which have been these general, union-mandated calls.  
In 2017, I broke my record in numbers: from my first audition of the year on January 4 (for Bucks County Playhouse, they were doing Clue! The Musical!) through my last audition on November 30 (a Shakespeare Festival in the Hudson Valley), I attended a whopping 101 auditions. In eleven months! I get woozy just thinking about that, then it gets even more depressing: those auditions yielded only 4 callbacks.  From those 105 auditions, I got one job.
So while the year was terrific for finding old friends and for some truly unique artistic endeavors, I'm ready to call 2017 dead and buried. Bring it on, 2018, but remember: I'm taking notes.