That Dog

I'm so glad my buddy Steve called yesterday to alert me that folks had been gathering all week at Ann Norton's house, remembering John. I drove out to their rustic house in a bohemian part of Maryland, where friends of John and Ann were consoling each other. As befits a theatrical group like this, the atmosphere was not as gloomy as you might think. Many a laugh was had, as stories about the career of John MacDonald were bandied about, and relished.



Steve manned the grill and served up scrummy burgers, dogs, and brats, and, as usual with any gathering involving theatrical folk, the drinks were plentiful. At the heart of the evening was Ann, who seemed to be reviving a bit after a week no one should have to endure; she's blessed with a group of friends who have surrounded her and John for a quarter of a century and more. I mentioned to a couple of people how remarkable it is, that the core group of the Washington Stage Guild has remained largely intact for so many years. They are truly each others' family.






It was heartening to hear of all the people who had sent condolences to Ann this week, including, if you can believe it, several of the local theatre critics. (Critics! Sending condolences! One of them even showed up at the house, but I heard that was a drag...)





[Sorry, cheap joke. I'm nothing if not cheap, especially in times of grief.]

Last night was a bittersweet evening of reminiscences, and even some tentative talk of the future, which always seems to help in moments like these. A few tears flowed, along with many more laughs, hugs, and slurps of Jameson's. Ann told the alternately hilarious and harrowing story of her attempt to get back to DC from Atlanta on that terrible day. From her story, I am sure there will be one or two Delta employees burning in hell soon. But a couple of others, who helped her as she scrambled to get home, will get angels' wings.

As the evening lengthened, I kept noticing the dog.

Her name is Sandy (at least, I think she's a she), and she is one of those faithful family pets who have been around for ages. As usual when a crowd was present, she was excited and enthusiastic, even as advanced age seems to have affected her eyesight and her range of movement. I would one day like to know Sandy's story, which I'm sure Ann would be glad to tell, of how she came into the MacDonald-Norton household and became a fixture in the Stage Guild community. But that's not the story Ann told last night.

Instead, she told of a single occurrence earlier in the week. It appears that Sandy has always been a homebody, and has never really attempted to escape the household's environs. But one morning this week, she disappeared for a while. Search parties were being formed when one of Ann's neighbors appeared with Sandy; he had found her snooping around the neighborhood.

Of course, Sandy wasn't snooping. She was looking for John.

In telling this story, Ann made passing reference to the fact that, when John took that terrible fall, Sandy was with him, alone in the house. I'm tortured a bit by the thought of that dog at that moment, wondering what was happening, wondering what to do, wondering how to help.

And now, all of us have to try to make sense of the inexplicable. My experience losing my mother in my 20s taught me at least one thing: our human brains will process the loss, and force us to accept John's absence. But how confused Sandy must be, to have her Alpha suddenly vanish. Where did he go? Why isn't he coming back?

I've shed more than a few tears this week for Ann. And for Bill and Laura and Vinny and Bob and Helen and Lynn, for Steve and Kathleen and Tricia and Michael and Keri, for Jeff and Jewell and Conrad and Morgan and Marianne and Ben and Louise, for Alan and Sunshine and Becky and for me too. I've cried for everybody who surrounded John during these years.

Tonight, though, I've surprised myself. Tonight, I'm crying for that dog.

Update

As this terrible week trudges on, I've found it difficult to concentrate on much of anything. I'm worried about the wonderful Stage Guilders who have welcomed me into their midst lately, all of whom are devastated by the sudden, inexplicable death of John MacDonald. I've heard that it has been determined that John died from a terrible fall down the stairs, a home-based accident which nobody really thinks can happen, but does.













John's passing comes at a critical time for the Washington Stage Guild, which is in the midst of a difficult Capital Campaign to raise funds necessary to finish their new theatre. The Executive Director of WSG, Ann Norton, who is John's partner in all things, has decided to continue the current Summer Season of staged readings happening at Flashpoint. I imagine John would have applauded that decision. So, I'll be appearing in Sunday's reading of Hobson's Choice, playing a man-about-town significantly younger than myself. But nobody cares about such things in a staged reading. (hey, in War with the Newts, I played a lizard with a speech impediment...).











And if we can bring a semblance of normality to the chaos this week has brought, it will be worth everything...

John MacDonald

My hands are shaking as I write these unbelievable words. My new friend John MacDonald, the artistic director of the Washington Stage Guild, passed away yesterday. The cause of death has not yet been determined.

I have to admit that this entry is really more about me than John. I'm afraid that if I begin to write only about John, his accomplishments, his accolades, and his legacy, I'll never get through the night.




Until about two years ago, our paths crossed only rarely. The Stage Guild, which John founded over 20 years ago, maintained a fairly secure resident company of actors, so the opportunities for an interloper like me to audition for the group were rare. Still, ever since I relocated to DC over a decade ago, I had a strong desire to work with the WSG, which specializes in the works of George Bernard Shaw and his contemporaries. Literate, language-heavy plays are right up my alley.

It took a completely different venue for me to finally be introduced, in a genuine way, to the creative force known as John MacDonald. About two years ago (maybe three?), I was invited by the Stage Guild's leading actor, Bill Largess, to participate in a staged reading of a musical, of all things. The piece was 1776, and five performances of the show were being planned to celebrate the reopening of the Smithsonian's National Portrait Gallery, which had been closed for years undergoing renovations. This reading was not affiliated with the Stage Guild, but the cast included many WSG regulars, including its artistic director, John. Turns out John was a forceful actor, as well as director, and the two of us hit it off quite well.

At about the same time, my grad school buddy Steve Carpenter, who had directed me before, approached me about appearing in his planned production of "Opus," which was to be produced by the Stage Guild. Nine months later, I found myself being welcomed into the WSG fold as we started rehearsals.

John, as artistic director, resisted the temptation of many other artistic directors, and pretty much left us alone during our rehearsal period. He popped in for our designer runthrough, and after the rehearsal, he made a point of pulling me aside to compliment me on my work, particularly in my scene with our leading lady, Kathleen Coons. His warm words to me cemented my affection for this large, imposing man who never let his position as artistic director circumvent the vision of our show's director, Steve.

As I've mentioned in several previous posts, Opus was a great success. Since then, I have been included in many of the Guild's staged readings, and I have begun to feel that WSG may be an artistic home for me. John had everything to do with that feeling.

I know I will be writing more about him in the coming days, but until then, here's a lovely pic of John, relaxing at home during the Opus cast party. Appropriately, he is being partially blocked by a bottle of Jameson's, which is a part of the Stage Guild tradition.

You left too soon, John.

Frozen Grand Central

This video clip has been floating around Youtube for several years, though I came across it only a few months ago. For some reason, it renews my enthusiasm for performing LIVE...

Bozo the Clown

1925-2008

He was not the first Bozo, nor his creator, but Larry Harmon is credited with making the iconic clown a household name. He appeared as the character for decades, but his major contribution was in refining the clown's appearance, then licensing the image across the country. He trained hundreds of actors to play the role, playing it himself off and on for over 50 years. Harmon received an unfortunate pie in the face in 2004, when the International Clown Hall of Fame (yes, there is one) removed him from their exhibit when the original Bozo complained.

I am not particularly fond of traditional clowns; they remind me of mimes, which I REALLY hate. I prefer the talents of more modern clowns such as Bill Irwin. But Harmon deserves some credit for helping to create the iconic image so prevalent at children's parties, pizza joints, and in McDonald's commercials.

I hope that Bozo rests in peace, perhaps crammed into a tiny clown casket with Clarabell, Coco, Crusty, and Kelly (Emmett).

Maybe WJM's Chuckles the Clown will be welcoming him to that circus in the sky, with the very words with which Chuckles himself bit the dust:

July Second, the second

July 2nd remains the overlooked stepchild of the Independence Day Celebrations.



But it has some significance for me, as I mentioned last year.

Radford Teacher #2

I've previously mentioned my experience working in film, which is fairly limited. A few day player parts, and more than a handful of "background" gigs, had prepped me for what was in store for me with My One and Only: a lot of Hurry Up And Wait. I was, therefore, pleasantly surprised that I escaped this routine.





This experience with film was the easiest I have ever encountered. At around 3 PM, I arrived in the dicey neighborhood of East Baltimore which had been taken over by the film crew. Massive trucks and trailers lined a full city block. Crew members meandered hither and yon (everybody was Union, so nobody rushed). Shooting had begun many hours earlier, inside an old Catholic school which had been commandeered for today's filming. (Several times I passed by a front office populated by some confused but fascinated nuns.)


As a "principal player," I naturally had my own trailer. Well, not all my own. I shared it with a young girl playing a student in my scene, and a woman playing "the old lady" in a scene to be shot later in the day, and Kevin Bacon.










That's right, I shared a trailer with Kevin Bacon.













Well, that sounds much more exciting than it was. These trailers are long monstrosities with individual cubicles into which can be stuffed as many as half a dozen actors, all with their own bathroom. I have a strong hunch Kevin's was much larger than mine, as I was in a cubbyhole about the size of a walk-in closet. But it had a place to sit, a place to pee, and a place to keep cool. The weather outside was a humid 90 degrees.

Soon my "wardrobe" arrived (the blazer, slacks, dress shirt, tie, shoes, and socks which had been chosen for me the day before). When I was at my fitting on Tuesday, my dresser mentioned that she could always tell when she was working with a stage actor: he always hung up his clothes after trying them on. I guess film actors just chuck them anywhere, knowing that some poor schnook will put them in their proper place. Here's another difference between stage and screen: onstage, actors wear costumes. On film, they are in "wardrobe."

Though I was disappointed that my trailer buddy Kevin Bacon had already wrapped for the day (more movie talk: It means he finished and went back to the hotel), I was still excited to be on what was clearly a big budget project. Soon, I was hustled to Hair and Make-up, which inhabited one of the long trailers, where the circles were removed from my eyes, and the grey was removed from my roots.

I had been on the clock only an hour when the dinner break was announced. I was warned that my scene would be shot directly after the meal, so I was not able to really enjoy the grilled chicken and fish which were being served (crews on location are treated to extravagant meals and snacks, as opposed to actors in live theatre, who are treated to a cup of coffee and a cookie if you are lucky).

True to their plan, I had only about 10 minutes back in my swanky trailer before I was called to the set. Of course, actors are not expected to get to the set on their own. It's at least 100 yards away. Each and every actor who has a speaking role must be escorted to and from the set by a production assistant. I have wondered about this practice in previous film endeavors; it has always seemed a waste of somebody's time to walk me to the set. I guess in Hollywood, actors tend to get lost along the way.

The scene was set in the afore-mentioned Catholic school. I was ushered into a fiendishly hot classroom full of lights, two cameras, dozens of crew members, 6 or 7 children already seated in their seats, and my stand-in. Yep, Radford Teacher #2 had his own stand-in, who had spent all afternoon standing motionless in this sweatbox, while I lounged comfortably in my trailer, thinking about my character.





My role, though large enough to warrant a stand-in (he actually looked like me!), was too small to have required a callback audition, so this was the first time I was introduced to my director, Richard Loncraine, the Brit who had cast me from the videotape of my audition in the casting director's office a month ago. He was a charming chap who paid almost no attention to me, as the focus of the scene was on one of his leading men, a boy of about 14. Logan Lerman, who has apparently been acting throughout his youth, was playing a young George Hamilton (yep, this movie is about a year in the life of George Hamilton). The scene was clearly about him, not his teacher.












In the scene, "young George" relates all the experiences he and his mother (Renee Zellweger) had had the past year, in a monologue which was alternately funny and poignant. The kid had no trouble with the speech the first few takes we filmed, but when the cameras were rearranged to point directly at him, to catch all the close-up nuances and such, he fell apart. The words stopped coming, and his youth and lack of focus began to show. I felt quite sorry for the kid, who was under a lot of pressure to perform.









As for me, I delivered my line perfectly. That is, after the first three or four takes. Inexplicably, my nerves took over, and the line came out of my mouth in different variations over and over. The director didn't even notice, and surely didn't care (the writing in films has a very low level of importance to moviemakers), but I certainly knew (and so did the script supervisor, who shot me many a wicked glance). I have a hunch the take they will finally use is one in which I did indeed say the words as written, but we'll have to wait and see.


I hope the scene remains in the film, if only so everyone can be impressed with the physical move I added to the piece: walking backwards. One doesn't often see people walking backwards in everyday life, but Radford Teacher #2 did it with panache.




As for poor young Logan, he was fussed over and cajoled, even as the clock was ticking on his work day (as a kid, child labor laws were in effect, and they had to get this shot, and another, before his time was up for the day. Talk about pressure!). The kid actually wasn't bad, and though he maintains that he doesn't even want to be an actor (he wants to be a lawyer), that'll surely change as Hollywood gets a load of his Jonas Brothers-type look.


I was released from the shoot at 8 PM, and made it home before nightfall.


I have a hunch now that my scene will remain in the movie, though I doubt anyone will pay any attention to me. It was fun to be in a film which will surely have a high-profile, whenever it's released.



And I'm happy. I'm now one degree of separation from Kevin Bacon.