Trailers for Theater?!?! Heck yes!

So here at the Theater at Monmouth, we have some pretty skillful people who like to make promotional videos (I'm talking about you, Steph Garrett and Janet McWilliams!).  Here, take a second to see the gorgeous compilations they have created for the shows that I have been privileged to be a part of this summer:

First is King Lear - arguably Shakespeare's masterpiece tragedy, a king that gives away his crown and loses his mind, and finds himself again much too late.



Next, we have the video for Much Ado About Nothing - a Shakespearean love story with two of the sassiest, wittiest lovers of all time...Margaret and Borachio!  Just kidding.  Our production is set in post-WWII Italy and features lots of kissing and dancing.


And last but not least, clips from Blythe Spirit - a Noel Coward comedy about ghosts and marriage, dry as a martini and delicious as a cucumber sandwich.  We all get to do some pretty ridiculous antics and have loads of fun.



What a crazy fun summer!  It's been a privilege working with such a talented, professional company.  We've done deep tragedy and pratfalls, British accents, swing dancing, and slow motion stage combat.  Thank you all ;)

Amadama, and Other New Things

Some firsts for me this summer in Maine:

• Haddock chowder (yum!)
• driving an automatic without knowing where I'm going
• getting into a splashing fight in a lake with a 10 year old I've never met before
• knee-boarding on a lake behind a boat (arm workout!)
• drinking Mount Gay and tonic - thank you, Paul Bernardo
• setting some lyrics I wrote to actual music - thank you, Ambien Mitchell
• wearing a corset on stage
• participating in an after-show audience talk back - as a part of the cast
• lobster rolls!
• pumpkin woopie pies (or "mumpkin woopies")
• being trusted with a really awesome package at a theater where no one knew me...thank you TAM!
• finally admitting to myself that not only am I horrible at playing all games, be they monopoly or croquet or foosball, but I am a horrible loser.  Sigh.
• being really happy that I was wrong and misjudged some people initially
• trying Amadama bread - molasses and oat, homemade by Caroline's grandma's secret recipe - mmm!
• doing summer repertory theater!
• holding a baby rabbit (oh so squishy!)
• NOT getting into trouble with the cops for being in a closed park at midnight - thanks, green eyes ;)
• having male roommates (not so weird after all! xoxo Clenton and Menich)
• being in Maine!
• seeing Acadia National Park - a lifelong goal, I am so glad it happened and can't wait to go back
• doing changeovers from one set to another in between shows
• listening to Mumford and Sons - love them!
• joining the Equity Membership Candidacy program
• crying over some really nice cards I got on opening night
• realizing that it's not just ok that everything changes in life, it's awesome!
• you know what universe, I'm ok with the fact that I spend all of my money on food and wine
• eating fiddleheads, which are neither fiddles nor heads but instead a fern-like vegetable
• having worlds collide (people from different parts of my life meeting each other) and it being not awkward at all and in fact delightful
• realizing that my moods can effect other people and they deserve the best and most thoughtful treatment no matter how cranky I happen to be for no reason, and that taking ownership of my behavior is part of being an adult
• having lobster cooked at home
• having men cook lobster for me at home
• having men cook lots of really tasty meals for me
• learning that even if I can function alright without adequate sleep for a little while, I CANNOT function without adequate food.  I'll never be able to starve myself, and I am perfectly happy about that.
• hearing the call of a loon...they sound super jacked...
• watching an established artistic director retire with grace and humor
• getting to be the comic relief in a comedy that's already freaking hilarious
• getting to wear a CHAIN MAIL CROWN regularly (thanks Helen!)
• playing a window screen as if it was a musical instrument, with positive results
• learning some pretty dirty jokes and some pretty silly ones - thanks Xei and Max and David
• being ok with moving on to the next phase of my life, whatever that proves to be

I can't believe we only have 9 days left in the summer company of the Theater at Monmouth, the Official Shakespeare Theater of Maine's 2011 season...it's been mon-umental!  (Get it?)  As New York City looms ever nearer in my horizons and I prepare to get back to the grind, my heart is filled with gratitude for having spent my summer among such fantastic, enjoyable, talented, and professional people.  It's been a turning point for me and I can't wait to see what's up next!

Binge

Binging can be sexy, can't it?

"Life itself is a binge." - Julia Childs

Last night we celebrated life with what can only be called a binge.  After a leisurely unplanned outing to Gardiner, Maine (complete with a trip to the A1 Diner, a bout of library hugging and a rural motorcycle ride in the mist), a cluster of TAM company members feasted at a farmhouse with steaks, seafood, fruits and vegetables on the grill.  We drank several bottles of wine and over the course of 4 or 5 hours never once stopped eating, strumming guitars and singing.  It was a glorious night for me for many reasons, but especially because it was the very first time any of my lyrics have been put to music and performed.  Thanks to Ambien Mitchell for her collaboration, organization, patience and genius!  We binged on food.  We binged on good company.  We binged on creative synergy.  We decided that my song and a song of hers should be spliced together in a medley of gloriousness, and that is how "About Your Shirt: The Laundry Song" was born.  Creating and sharing are perhaps the two most important things you can do in life - but also, sometimes, the most costly and scary.  My Dad (who you may notice I quote incessantly) always says, "Generosity is very expensive."

Don't burn out!

Art takes energy.  Perhaps that is why so many artists burn out or try to rev themselves up with various addictions and self destructive behaviors.  My mind keeps fixating on Amy Winehouse today, with a mix of sadness that her life was cut so short and a deep admiration for the music she was able to create in her brief stint on this planet.  I often wonder if it's inevitable for great artists to suffer and/or crash and burn.  Surely not, as there are plenty of examples of great artists that live happy, moderate, long lives - right?  How about Paul Newman, or Betty White? 

Yet, there is a definite majority that do not live long and prosper.  Hence the existence of the Forever 27s - that uncanny, ever-growing group of brilliant musicians that have died tragically and unexpectedly at the too young age of 27 years old.  To my thinking at least, Winehouse is now a member of that group.  I love her music.  I admire her artistry.  She was a one of a kind original.  I worry about a world in which souls that are so eager to share themselves wind up crushed and extinguished. 

In all the myths of the creation of the world, one of my favorites is the story that my step-father has sort of invented for himself; God, in the act of making life, matter, space, time, and creatures, poured himself out and in to everything he made until there was no more God separate from his creation, because God WAS literally in his creation: he used himself as the prime ingredient and spent himself entirely to create something new.  As if God was the seed, and creation was the sprouting plant.  Once there's a thriving plant, there is no more seed.

I don't actually buy this origins story, as I am firm in my conviction that the act of creation needn't destroy its source.  But there is something beautiful about looking at creation as an act of sacrifice.  The creative mind is constantly pouring itself into what it makes and living fully only in what it makes, sometimes to the point of ceasing to live outside of its own art.  This may be an unhealthy extreme for a human being, but I can't help but be drawn to such wacky passion.  "Damn the torpedoes!  Give it your all.  Reckless abandon," and all that jazz.  Like Billy Joel would say, "Only the good die young."  I always had a somewhat twisted fantasy of dying at 24.  I figured by then I'd have created brilliant art, lived fast and furious, and duck out leaving everyone wanting more.  Genius, I reasoned, burns at both ends.  Wouldn't it be more awesome to go down in flames than to sputter out for lack of spark?  That's how I used to think, caught up in the glamor of the creative binge.  It's true that the wild binge of life sometimes creates more life, but there is a line where it turns destructive.

One of my favorite artists on the outer fringe: Dali

In our intense 3-hour acting classes the first year of grad school, we'd all end up weeping on the floor in a puddle of our own tears and undone psyches every day.  Our teacher would proudly survey us, commending our artistic bravery, and say, "Make sure you take care of yourselves today."  We'd look at each other dully, not really knowing what that meant or whether this was art or just plain crazy.  My friend Evin and I chose to deal by ritualistically wolfing down Chipotle tacos and a pint of ice cream (each) - an addiction only marginally healthier than drugs, alcohol, or hookups.  But I get it.  I get the need to self medicate.  I get the itch that can't be scratched, the thirst that can't be quenched. 

We humans definitely do need to take care of ourselves, especially if we're spending ourselves.  Those of us who use our selves as the materials to create, who blur the lines between their art/work and their lives, may suffer needlessly and perish unnecessarily if we loose our equilibrium...but gosh darn it, those chaotic, feverish artists living on the outer fringe of sanity without a tow line sure do create beautiful things.  Why is that?!?!  Does art spring from life, or vice versa, or nada? 

Fuels my spirit...

Life is a binge: brief, sensory, unexpected, and over too soon.  Unfortunately we can't have binges every day due to time, health and budget constraings.  But whether you're creating art, families, budgets, joy, dinner plans, change, things, theater, chaos, or anything else right now, take care of yourself.  (Sometimes binging IS the best way to take care.)  My time here in Maine has been a bit of a binge, from 9-5 rehearsals, performances, long long nights full of wine and conversation, and reckless new friendships.  It fuels my spirit to go on motorcycle rides, eat 78,000 calorie meals, and do pratfalls onstage.  But all those things expend energy, and I - like all mortals - need to remember to recharge, maintain and protect myself too.  And to monitor my addictions, keeping them in the realm of positive things.  Like glitter.  Or hugs.


So binge carefully my friends, and don't spend yourselves too soon.  We all have our addictions, and we wouldn't be human without them - and perhaps the most intoxicating, dangerous and enlivening addiction of all is our addiction to each other.  As we create and share, let's share wisely; our souls don't grow back like lizard's tails.  We're all we've got.

Up next: King Lear opens this Friday at the Theater at Monmouth!  Talk about feeding your soul.  What a powerful story.  Can't wait to dive in...

Gunshy

Last week, Larissa Dzegar of "Thoughts Simply Arise" honored me with a guest writing spot.  In case you missed it, I'm now publishing it here at home.  This one is close to my heart; it was very personal and timely, a joy to write and a joy to share on Larissa's blog.  This is what it says:

When reigning Artistic Director David Greenham invited me to spend my summer with Maine's Shakespeare Theater, I wasn't sure who was wooing who.  Clearly I was enamored immediately with the theater and desperate to be likable enough to warrant an invitation to join the company.  When I received an email for a phone interview my heart went pitterpat and I said okay, Joe, this is game time.  Put on the charm for this one.  Get a job.  You can do it.

On the phone, I was so stinking charming I believe I even chatted with Dave (who is himself charming and hilarious, with bone-dry sarcasm and a lifetime of theater experience to pepper his conversation) about house additions and contracting companies - which I know next to nothing about.  And then he offered me a job, and our roles seemed to reverse.  He said humbly, courtingly, "Are you SURE you want to step out of your life for 10 weeks and come to Maine?"  I remember how smiley my voice was.  It drew my roommate out of the kitchen to make sure I was alright (normally my voice is not exactly smiley).  "David," I said, "I would love to step out of my life for 10 weeks."

Calamity isn't gunshy

It's one thing to talk big.  I can talk big about a lot of things.  I can talk big about dropping everything for 10 weeks and build myself up to be some kind of gun-slinging desperado.  I can talk big about being a gypsy, eating three plates of pasta in one sitting, heartbreaking, moving on, adulthood, professionalism, double entendres, flirting; but when the rubber meets the road I find myself shrinking a little from my bold words, distracted and worried by ghostly whispers and flashbacks.  Last time this didn't end so well...I know where this is going....I was kidding...no you're right I wasn't kidding..were you kidding?...damn.  Yup, this is happening.

Gunshy.  Listen to this song and you'll know what I mean:

I've stepped out of my life for 10 weeks and into...still my life.  As my father likes to say, "You always take yourself with you."  Usually I'm pretty good with the confidence and risk taking, but sometimes I feel less like a sexy beast and more like a hot mess.  Leaps of faith can be hard to make and wisdom is hard to come by.

How do you know what - and who - to let in?  As artists I know there's an eagerness to be open, to live dangerously and fully and impulsively and I am ALL ABOUT THAT - for about 3 weeks.  Then I start feeling feelings and I'm afraid to pull the trigger.  How does one do all that, and still have a home inside oneself to rest in - a home that goes with you wherever you lay your head?

say yes?

I remember in my second year of graduate school I had the "Say Yes to Everything and Everyone" phase, where I let so many people and things into my heart I could no longer hear my own voice in my head.  After about 6 months I was dizzy and heartsick, but not very sorry.  It took me about a year to be sorry.  Now, sometimes I miss the extreme peak experiences I had back then.  Life out of grad school is a little more about surviving, which sometimes isn't as fun...but I'm a little hesitant to toss myself to the winds.  There's an element of maturity that wants to control and monitor a person, a performance, a self.  My pendulum doesn't seem to know how to fall to center: I'm always a freakish uber-marionette or a wanton will o' the wisp.  Was my mother right?  Are all things really moderation?

Honestly, I kind of hope not.  Ultimately, what do I got to lose by taking a chance?  It's just one small human heart.  As Beatrice says in Much Ado About Nothing, "Poor fool (heart), it keeps to the windy side of care."

with the skeletons

Every day is starting again.  Some days that's exciting to me - when I know my lines, when I know how I feel, when I know what I want to do - or when I don't know what I want to do and can't wait to figure it out as I go.  Sometimes the idea of starting again makes me not want to wake up, preferring my dream people and dream lives.  Sometimes when I hear a foreign voice say, "Let me in," I am running to the door or the window or the skylight and throwing back the shutters, shivering in sun, damning the torpedoes and racing full speed ahead.  Other times when that voice comes along suddenly I'm hiding in the closet with the skeletons, afraid to meet those green eyes or blue eyes or brown eyes or whatever color pleases God eyes.  Afraid to be unprofessional.  Afraid to be professional.

It's just one small human heart

Gunshy. 

What if...what if this time...

Today, I'm a bit embarrassed to report, I'm hiding in the closet.  You can come in too though.  We can share my flashlight and listen to this beautiful song again, and try to muster the courage to open the door.



For the record, since this was written several weeks ago and published last week, I DID manage to get up, open the door, and toss myself into some adventures.  More on that later...  :)

GypsyJoe Goes for a Gypsy Jaunt

     Or, "Ode to Larissa"

Yup, this is Larissa.  Isn't she RIDICULOUS??

Larissa Dzegar is the host, creative director, CEO and spark behind the diverse and heartfelt blog "Thoughts Simply Arise." Among her many hats, she is a producing artist and performer of many bold and beautiful theater projects in New York City.  In her spare time she also manages to be an extremely talented baker, yogini and all around good egg.  A couple of weeks ago she caught me off guard with a startling, exciting and humbling idea.  "Hey Jeanne Joe", she said, "Wanna write a guest post for my super amazing shiny successful beautiful intelligent sassy and pertinent blog?  It can be about anything you want because for some crazy reason I trust you to come up with something that's not wildly inappropriate.  The world is your oyster."   

Ok those were not her exact words, but that is what I heard.  And what I said was, "Hellz yes!"  And what I came up with was an article called "Gunshy."   Today she has done me the tremendous honor of posting said article. You should go read it.  Right now.  And while you're over there at Larissa's blog, browse her many beautifully written articles, fall in love with her and become a fan.  

Thank you Larissa for letting GypsyJoe travel with you on your journey. You're an incredible artist, inspiring instigator, and generous woman. It is a decided pleasure to know you and collaborate with you.

The Course of True Love Gathers No Moss

"Time is the reef upon which all our frail mystic ships are wrecked." - Blythe Spirit, Act 1 Scene 2

This blog title is taken from one of my all time favorite films: The Philadelphia Story.  In it, a drunken Jimmy Stewart is trying to be charming at a high society party in which he is very uncomfortable and fumbles his quotations, mashing up two tired and trite proverbs into one that I think is way better than the originals.  The course of true love gathers no moss.  Freaking profound.  True love is a gypsy, and it doesn't wait for time to pass or moss to grow.  For now, my true love has taken me to Maine to do Shakespeare Theater.

A funny thing happens when I know I'm in a place for a specific, brief amount of time.  Relationships accelerate, their curves and crannies compounding to fit the full range of my humanity into x amount of days, complete with soulmates and nemeses.  Time is rich.  Even the quality of the light seems more like light, the night seems more nightish.  I sleep less.  I swear more.  I fall in love with everyone's talent like a floozy, and then get my heart broken like a child.

Some of my TAM peeps

God bless seasonal theater: the constant flutter and haze of feeling unprepared and lazy all at the same time.  It's like being paid to go to summer camp.  (I hated summer camp as a kid, but after 7 years in New York City, I am more than ready for the Equity/Shakespeare/Adult version.)  What is weirder than summer camp?  Unionized, adult Shakespearean summer camp.  We have brown bag lunches with our names on them, long days, warm nights, and the power of consent.  The canoes here aren't really built for one.

One of the plays I'm in is Blythe Spirit by Noel Coward, in which I get the scrumptious slapstick role of the maid.  It's a romantic comedy about ghosts, kind of, that is both comforting and disturbing.  It has us all joking a lot about death (you know, like you do) and busting out a lot of joy.  As if the mood weren't bizarre enough, the apartments I'm living in are across from a cemetery.  We are all somewhat bemused about it.  There's a metaphor in there somewhere, not sure where...(yup, was a literature major)...

Not to be macabre, but I've kind of gotten an immense kick out of the intense temporality of this particular theater contract, which is bleeding over into a new kick out of the temporality of life the universe and everything.  We are all here with no pretenses about the fact that most of us are not neighbors after August, and that after our 10 weeks we'll all split to different roads.  It's kind of a rush to be so honest, like taking a shot of adrenaline in the arm: it might kill you later, but it will make you feel great for a while.

Kenneback River

Ultimately, I think that is a commonality between life and theater: it's all temporary.  The short duration of a play - a mere two hours - is perhaps what gives it the power to burn so brightly and exist so boldly.  I plan on living so fully these next weeks that it's probably illegal.  That's okay though, the cops here seem pretty friendly to us.  There's something about having an end in sight that gives me a lot of freedom to be open and free, the same way it's sometimes easier to talk to a stranger than to a close friend.  There's a release from consequences, and a total surrender to the moment.

On the wall of Toad Hall

Like true love, life and death, the course of time itself gathers no moss.  As my Dad likes to say, this is not a dress rehearsal.  Time stretches and vanishes and leaves explosions of inspiration in its wake.  During our greatest adventures, we're still across the street from the graveyard.  Time.  Our frail mystic ships are wrecked on it; our loves and hearts are all stranded together in time and we are all swimming together in the soup.  This summer and these roles are temporary.  I myself am temporary.  I am so glad that I get to go along for the ride.

Chemistry

"Otto and Ludmilla" on location in Time Square

It's what every love story wants and needs.  You know that electric, effortless reaction that no one can control - the deep, under-the-skin changes that may not be visible at first but that alter all reality and substance forever.

When it happens, it's the best.  For me, this week's shoot of romance "Otto and Ludmilla" was a laboratory for chemistry, with an incredibly fun and professional crew (who spontaneously burst into beat-boxing dance parties and sprinting contests, among other things), a moving and beautiful script, a collaborative director with a vision, and a deliciously talented co-star who made me feel incredibly safe and comfortable on a journey into scary places on and off camera...wasn't too shabby to look at, either ;)

cast and crew of "Otto and Ludmilla" on location in Brooklyn

From the first audition, I wanted to do this project.  I've heard stories of actors finding scripts, having a guttural reaction to them, and pining in restless passion until they get to do them.  This was kind of like that for me: from the moment I met this project, I felt it in my bones.  I'm so happy and thankful that it worked out.  It's a story of heartache, longing, crossroads and indecision that really resonated with me and, I hope, will resonate just as strongly with everyone who sees it.

It was SO AWESOME TO DO, to stand in the shoes of two characters who, as director/writer John C. Williams describes, repel and snap back together like magnets.  They are opposite poles of one current, fluxing and locking and sizzling and cooling.  What they have can only be called a "thing."

John C. Williams blocking "Otto and Ludmilla" with DP Eric Balgley

To me, one of the great draws was the challenge of role-reversals.  Actor Brandon Johnson and I worked in tandem, taking turns hurting and being hurt by each other as star-crossed lovers Otto and Ludmilla, or Lotto and Otmilla, or...whatever.  It's amazing how the connotations and relationship shifted depending on the gender of the person saying the same words.  Needy or romantic?  Jackass or conflicted?  Whether a person has experienced this type of deja-vu, cyclical, addictive, intense relationship or not, these characters nakedly reveal the loneliness, lovableness and hunger for contact that I think everyone can relate to.  And I'm already missing them.

myself and co-star Brandon Johnson in "Otto and Ludmilla"

Dear Otto and Ludmilla people, you're grand.  I can still feel the heat.  Don't know if you felt it, but for me, there was real chemistry happening.  You know, chemistry: the science of matter and the changes it undergoes.  On this project, I felt changes.  I felt expansion.  I felt gratitude.

photos by our amazing producer Patricia Henry