Blurred Lines (Theater Edition)

"See...my...vest!"

This past Saturday, I caught the theatrical equivalent of a double feature: seeing two plays in one day. With a Shake Shack break in-between. And the more I thought about it, the more I realize these two plays shared a very common (and I do admit, slightly arbitrary for the sake of this post), thread: they cross boundaries.

I started my day by waking up at noon, having cereal, and then heading into Manhattan for "Mr. Burns: A Post-Electric Play" by Anne Washburn at Playwrights Horizons. It deals with a post-apocalyptic world, where immediately after, a group of people act out old episodes of "The Simpsons" from their memories to keep themselves entertained.

And with "The Simpsons" becoming oral history, in the style of "Othello," it becomes something like a Greek drama in the second act (set 75 years after the apocalypse). It's a powerful concept: At the end of the world, after the power goes out, "The Simpsons," a work originally presented in the most philistine of mediums: sitcom television, have become the new classics: a Grecian-style tragedy with chorus, masks, and overtones of morality.

Low art has become high art. Or maybe it has always been high art and it just took the lights going out to realize it.

The Future of Theater Criticism and Me Playing Devil's Advocate

This image has no relation to theater. I just wanted to use it.

So this past week was an eventful one. "American Theatre" finally launch our podcast series (the idea sparked by yours truly and edited by me as well). Howlround ran a very well-written series of essays about theater criticism, curated by my colleage Rob Weinert-Kendt. Roger Ebert died (though not before filing his very last review, proving that right up to the end, your movie sucked). And "Back Stage," the august trade publication for actors, got rid of its film and theater reviews.

And the Internet (or at least my tiny corner) fell apart. Or rather, regarding "Back Stage," there were comments like this, this and this. And many others. In short, people were not happy.

But to this I ask, was anyone really surprised? After all, "Time Out Chicago" announced that they were going online-only and eliminating 60% of their staff. "Variety" is no longer printing out a daily edition and fired its longtime film and theater critic in 2010. And downsizing and depression rages in publications across the nation. Arts journalism is floundering and it's scary. I've been scared ever since I decided, during a recession, that I was going to be a journalist and that print was dying and I should count myself lucky if I ever got a job. 

Were we surprised that "Back Stage" decided to follow what is already an industry-wide trend in downsizing? And if the reasons truly were, as executive editor Daniel Holloway explained, "the metrics," aka the lack of hits, can we blame them?

These days, not even theater artists can seem to agree on why reviews and criticism are important, if they're important at all. In this age of lacking arts coverage, you'd think people would argue less about "Why can't artists be critics?" "Why can't critics hang out with us first?" "Why can't we get better critics?" and more about, "How do we save criticism which is how we get publicity?"

The quandary as I see it (at the moment because I'm young and prone to changing my mind) is the question for any theater artist: how do you get the audience to engage with your work? For theater artists, it's how do you get the audience to engage so that they will buy a ticket and then tell their friends. For journalists it's: how do you get people to read the article?

A Cricket Chirping

A common question that I get asked, because I work for a fairly well-known theater publication, and I know a great deal more than the average person about theater (for better or for worst), is, "Do you have a theater background?" I have decided to come clean with all of you and say...nope. Nada. Nothing.

Lack of Diversity in Damning Numbers

I leave town for a week to get a much-needed vacation away from New York City, and to clear my head. And while I'm gone, what comes out? A continuation of the Asian American Performers Action Coalition (which I wrote about last year here and here) 2012 survey of the racial breakdown of actors on Broadway and in the not-for-profit theater in New York City. The news was the numbers in the 2011-12 season.

And they were not pretty.

On Broadway, the casting breakdown was as followed:

• Caucasian: 74%
• African-American: 19%
• Latino: 2%
• Asian-American: 3%

For the top 16 not-for-profit theaters in New York City, the numbers were:

• Caucasian: 77%
• African-American: 16 %
• Latino: 3%
• Asian-American: 3%
• Others: 1%

I Make a Video

I feel like every time I get ideas for a blog post (so that I could post more on this blog and get some more traffic), I get distracted by this horrible thing called "day job." Then again, my day job is putting together a theater magazine so it's not actually horrible. Unless you count going to see theater for free horrible. Horribly amazing, maybe?

The February issue of "American Theatre" was released online today and I wrote an article in it about plays that utilize multiple languages. An abstract:

The double-sided question of what is being said and how to say it is popping up more frequently these days in bilingual plays, which differ from standard plays in a key respect: They bring in another language to help get the point across.

You can read the entirety of it, in layout, here.

Also in the same issue, I put to use that fancy degree that I got from Syracuse University and made a video about the costume design in "My Fair Lady" at Arena Stage in Washington, D.C. How did I do it? A recorded Skype interview and some fighting with FinalCut.

Watch that video and look at all the pretty costume pictures here.

In non-Diep-being-a-journalist news, I feel like Twitter has become the primary way I connect with other theater artists and get ideas/inspiration for stories. Which is how this post by Erin Quill fell into my lap (seriously it did, she tagged me on Twitter with it). It's about brownface in a Roundabout Theatre production of "The Mystery of Edwin Drood," which led to me asking, "Why do artists have to be so racist?!" I left a comment after reading the responses that, in short, said, "It's a play within a play, so it's okay!" Which shows you how far we still have to go before we can all respectively have the race talk in this country.

There's probably going to be a very belated podcast from this.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to putting out a magazine.

Into the Park (Act II)

My new niece. Doesn't she make you want to pull a Witch and steal a baby?

And we're back...a month later. I have a good explanation for the long absence, I swear. It's called the October 152-page issue of "American Theatre" and a managing editor on maternity leave. And it was also called my sister Thao, who had a baby on August 15, which was the same day as my dad's birthday (who turned 69 this year). "Happy birthday daddy, I got you another granddaughter!"

And speaking of my daddy, my parents also visited for a week and a half to see their new granddaughter. This is grandkid #5 for them and apparently, it doesn't get old.

As for me, I was at the magazine's beck-and-call while at work and my mom's beck-and-call after work. And as for the boyfriend...he's been putting up with the family crazy and baby photos admirably (though he did say "I want 8 of those" when I showed him the above photo of my niece, I hope that's not a hint).

But I am determined to write about (the Public Theater's Shakespeare in the Park) "Into the Woods" dammit, because it's Sondheim and a large cast (practically unheard of these days) and now that my life is literally filled with children, it's even more appropriate, because children will listen. Which is why I tell my boyfriend not to swear so much in public but unlike my nephews and nieces, he doesn't listen to me.

But now that it's too late for a "is this show worth seeing or not?" type of review, I want to talk more about the show's concept, which is the thing I found most interesting and what I thought I remember most vividly since I saw the musical last month.

Spoilers abound in this analysis so proceed in with caution. Mind the path.

I'm Ready for My Close-Up

I'm currently researching for an article on theater trailers for "American Theater." And somehow, in my research, it's turned into an exercise in how to properly film theater. I won't tell you what my findings are until the article runs in the magazine (at some point). But I will say this: close-ups are key. Some plays lend itself better to being filmed than others. For a momentous piece (say "Sunday in the Park with George"), rendering the scale of the set is slightly problematic because the size of the stage and set is minimized on the television screen, everything looks smaller.

But for smaller plays, it seems that a good close-up can make the play more effective. Case in point, a play by the Civilians (a New York-based documentary theater company) called "You Better Sit Down: Tales From My Parents' Divorce."

It's four actors, recounting the stories of how their parents met, fell in love, divorced and what they fought over. The actors play their parents (very convincingly). Seeing the work in the Flea Theatre's small black-box space in Soho, the nuances and humor didn't quite hit me as I was sitting towards the back. But seeing the filmed footage of the play, from the comfort of my couch...that was something different. And for me, the piece was funnier and more biting, and it seemed they were speaking to me. 

Or it may be because when I saw the play, it was towards the end of a long workday and humor doesn't always hit you when you're tired. But take a look for yourself.

How to Run a Theater Marathon

Gatz, credit: Joan Marcus

I think the first time I did a straight marathon run of anything was Lord of the Rings, the extended edition, which added up to around 12 hours of orc slicing, Legolas hair flipping and Frodo's freaky blue eyes. Of course, that was over a period of two days and I took frequent food breaks (mostly during the battle scenes, which got a bit tedious after a while) and most of the time was in my pajamas. My dad came in and out, exclaiming, "How long is this thing?" and my sister dropped out around Rivendell (weak). But not me, I was a "Ringer" and I was going to do this! For Middle Earth! For Frodo! For my future kids to prove that I was cool back in the day!

These days, I am significantly less cool and less prone to movie marathons. Instead, I have graduated to something even classier: theater marathons.

Pushing Daisey

 An interesting thing happened on Friday. Of course, to my managing editor and editor-in-chief, it was a face-palm-worthy thing. For me, it was interesting, because it called to question the nature of full disclosure statements.

Mike Daisey's The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs, which I blogged about as an example of provocative, on-the-ball, anxiety-inducing work, turned out to be partially fabricated. Consequently, "This American Life," which had aired a portion of the monologue and posited it as truth, aired a retraction episode to clear up the, what we journalists call, "factual errors."

Understandably, the Internet blew up, especially the theater people on Twitter.

Terry Teachout of Washington Post called it "unforgiveable." Issac Butler told everyone via Twitter to chill out until TAL aired the retraction episode.

And even Roger Ebert called that Mr. Daisey is a "fraudster." That made me sad because it simplifies the issue.

The Minority Report (Asian Edition)

"I can't understand you, are you speaking Chinglish?"

It was only a matter of time before I addressed this. I actually wanted to avoid this topic because I hate bringing my racial background into a conversation where it doesn't belong. But I figured it was time...

I Heard It Through the Class Vine

It seems that every time I tune into any Republican nominee candidate speaking (something I try to avoid for my own personal sanity), the common buzzwords include "warfare," "welfare" and "Obama," the most common permutation being, "Obama is trying to wage class warfare." What with talks of the 99% and protestors being indiscriminately pepper sprayed (and Mitt Romney not caring about the "very rich" or the "very poor"), it's fitting that right now, one of the more emerging topics discussed on the theatrical stage is the issues of class.

In two weeks, I saw two plays on two different coastlines, which represented two different types of American theater: the commercial Broadway theater and the non-profit, regional theater. The first was Stick Fly by Lydia R. Diamond (who was profiled in the December issue of American Theatre, on Broadway at the Cort Theater, about an African-American family during a weekend at Martha's Vineyard.

The second was Elemeno Pea by Molly Smith Metzler, at South Coast Repertory, who is also a co-worker of mine at Theatre Communications Group. That one was about two White sisters and one sister's wealthy employer on Martha's Vineyard. (Aside: I was on vacation in California when I saw this and ate so much, but not enough, Vietnamese food throughout. Lunar New Year is like Christmas for Asian people, gastronomically.)

In these two scenarios, we won't discuss the race issue (which will be the topic for another blog post). What these two plays have in common are the class discussions, in the seemingly insular world of Martha's Vineyard.

Stalking Stephen Sondheim

I have never considered myself a Stephen Sondheim (or as others call him, "God") expert. Yes, I enjoy the man's work but I haven't seen enough of his shows live to peg myself as an expert. Yes, I listen to the cast album from his shows for fun (sometimes while at the gym) but that's more fan than expert.

These past two weeks, I've taken my fanaticism to a whole new level by attending not just one, but two Sondheim events in New York City, part of the press tour to promote his new book: Look, I Made a Hat.

You can find a more reported version of the events where we went to here at my (platonic) date's blog: Theatre-Words.

To quote myself: "We have officially become Sondheim groupies." So much so that we noticed the Master wore the same outfit to the first event (The Colbert Report, click on the link for potential free tickets to the show) as he did the second event (a conversation with Anna Quindlen at Barnes & Noble). We're fashion-savvy like that.

Here's a nice little excerpt from his interview with Miss Quindlen: when asked about which one of his works he would like to take to a desert island, he answered with A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, because if you have to listen to something night after night, it should be something that makes you laugh.

And here's the interview with Stephen Colbert, where Stephen squared sang an up-beat, let's call it lounge, version of "Sorry Grateful" from Company.

"My performance of Harry, great interpretation of Sondheim or greatest interpretation of Sondheim?"

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In Defense of Criticism

 I defend the art of criticism in the TCG Circle blog. Choice snippet:

Based on what I was taught and what I noticed in practice (reviewing for student dailies, websites, print publications and my personal blog), the respect of the theatre artist is a sometimes-handy byproduct of a review. It is not why critics write.

In the words of Chris Jenson, a stage columnist for the SF Weekly, “My primary role is not to be a cheerleader for local theatre, but to be of service to readers.”

 Read the rest at the circle (and see if you can get the play reference in the title).

Me and Hugh Jackman

 

I saw Hugh Jackman on stage. And he was marvelous. Granted, it's not because of his Australian-accented singing voice (which, while full and deep, isn't very nuanced) but rather, the star stage presence. And because of how pleasant he looks standing there singing and shaking his pelvis.

The older lady who sat in the theatre box in front of me would also agree, mainly because in the opening of the second act, Hugh Jackman came to her box (dressed in a tight-fitting gold shirt and gold pants) and sat on her lap. "Ohh, you're warm," he gushed as she rubbed his arms. Then his hand.

A "Threepenny" for Your Thoughts

 A couple of days ago, I was lucky enough to be able to see the Robert Wilson production of The Threepenny Opera at BAM, which unfortunately is only running for a limited engagement, courtesy of the Next Wave Festival. While Threepenny is an oft-mentioned work in the musical-theater cannon, it's rarely successfully mounted. Consider it the lower-maintenance sister of Cabaret, Chicago and Sweeney Todd; the slightly-grungier one who likes to bite and knows German.

Why Make Art? Are We Still Asking This?

I was at work today in the midst of finishing up on editing the November issue of American Theatre magazine (since the last time I posted, two issues have come out that had my name as part of the masthead, pretty cool!) and I got distracted by a blog post. Brooklyn-based playwright Matthew Freeman, whose work I have not yet seen, was addressing an article from the Wall Street Journal, one that questioned why playwrights write plays.

Not surprisingly, most playwrights (like most artists) do not make living from writing plays. Tony Kushner makes his living as a screenwriter, eventhough Angels in America is an established piece of the American theatrical canon (and he has also inspired a theatrical tribute, a sure sign of immortality). Terry Teachout, whose work I also have not seen, writes that the reason playwrights write is because you meet the "nicest" people in the theater and because of the audience's reactions.

Freeman's rebuttal (emphasis mine):

Honestly, I do like that I've met nice people, but as a playwright, that is not why I write plays. I also don't write plays because I really like sitting in the room and hearing the reactions (a luxury, apparently, that TV writers don't get?) I don't do it for applause, or to satisfy myself or feel the love of others. Frankly, the theater I like is usually a bit terrifying and difficult: the sort that makes people leave feeling unsettled, and not like they love you.

I write plays because they are the long-standing, traditional form of art that I've chosen for my medium. Does there need to be further explanation than that? Just because photographs exist, does that mean painters need to explain why they still paint?

I'm more inclined to agree with Freeman. People write, paint, play music, act, sing, are generally artsy for the reason that they cannot do anything else. It's a compulsion. Artists that I've spoken to say it's because they do not feel like they were meant to do anything else. "It feeds my soul." "I just fell in love and it wouldn't let me go."

As for myself, I wonder why the question of "Why be a playwright?" exists. It goes without saying. And for that matter, why engage in the arts and humanities at all? Why work in non-profit? Why am I a journalist? Why do anything that doesn't pay a salary or ensure financial stability?

I'm not even going to point to the sociological reasons of why art is important and keeps man in touch with his humanity, his compassion, spirit. Or that helping others is its own reward.

No, I'm more inclined to think that it's something more primal than that. It's a need to do devote your life to this thing because it's what you love and what makes you happy and what you feel like you're the most skilled at and what you felt like you were meant to do. 

As a great man, my dad would say, "Making money is easy. The important thing is to do what you love. Money is not important." 

On Employment (Finally!)

I meant to write this post as soon as I got the job. But as soon as I got the job (after I jumped up and down in the apartment and called my entire family and some close friends), I promptly went out and got a couple of drinks to celebrate. And then promptly forgot about writing this post. And then I started work.

Here's the thing about 40-hour work weeks, they take some getting used to. It's the end of my second week as an editorial assistant for American Theatre magazine. Besides having designated sections of the magazine that I am now in charge of (look for my writing in the awards sections, entrances & exits, and production notebook), I also edit, fact-check, process photos and make misc changes to magazine copy as they come in. And if I come up with a brilliant idea (still waiting on that one), I can write a feature article for the magazine.

At the moment, I'm trying to refresh the well on the ideas. It's writing about theaters (which is spelled theatre in the magazine, that takes some getting used to) on a national scale, which I am getting used to.

So upon getting home everyday at around 7 p.m., all I want to do is eat and watch Netflix. The exhaustion is not nearly as bad this week as it was the first week. And hopefully, it will not be as bad next week as this week. I'm just taking it one day at a time and hoping for some good ideas to write/blog about in the process.

In the meantime, I wake up everyday and I am excited about going to work. And for a job, that's all you really need, I think.

Then again, I've only been a real adult for two weeks.

P.S. How did I find the job?

An alumni who interned at the magazine was forwarded the job opening by the managing editor, who forwarded the listing to my Goldring adviser. Who knew that I loved theater, so she forwarded the listing to me. A month later (with a follow-up e-mail two weeks after I sent the resume), I was called into interview where I promptly tried to be my wittist, most likable self. A second round of interviews later, a copy-editing test, multiple phone calls to my mother telling her to pray, and a phone call to my old editor at one of my old internships...I got the job.

The lesson in all this:

1. Follow-up
2. Stay in contacts with your old bosses and forge good relationships with your academic advisers
3. Job hunting takes longer than you usually think it will
4. Never underestimate the power of sheer luck (a quick aside: as another alumni said: "There are, like, three theater writing jobs out there." And by sheer luck, I got one of them.)

New York City: the Land of Free Goods

So here is a problem: a narrow doorway into a two-bedroom apartment, a too-wide couch, and three 20-something girls. What do you do?

Well, with some advice by a very nice neighbor, we took the door off the hinges (with only a pink screwdriver) and pushed the couch in. I imagine giving birth to be something of the same concept.

My First Byline in Time Out New York: "Batz"

At the behest of a fellow journalism alumni, I was given the name of the theater editor at Time Out New York, David Cote, who was looking for some new theater critics. And as of now (I just mailed in the contract today), I am a freelance theater reviewer for "Time Out New York." It's amazing to think that I am now published in two New York City magazines.

So here's another lesson for those wanting to break into communications, relationships are everything in this business. Journalism is not for the anti-social types. Network!

Read my review at Time Out New York.

And this one, I'm actually paid for it. Which led me to promptly jump around my room shouting, "I'm a writer! I'm a writer!" Not that I had not been a writer prior to "Time Out," but this was the first time I have actually gotten paid in cash (instead of school credits) for my writing. To say it's a surreal experience would be understating it. I feel like my career is actually starting...

Theater Review: "Good People" on Broadway

Why do bad things happen to good people? Sometimes it's because they weren't lucky enough in their lives. And with that depressing thought is David Lindsay-Abaire's "Good People."

Similar to "Rabbit Hole," his naturalistic drama about a couple coping with the death of their child (and who earned Nicole Kidman an Oscar nomination for the movie adaptation), Lindsay-Abaire explores the plight of working people in his newest play, "Good People." It's drama that is centered around the domestic, real world.