Thursday, November 29, 2007
Twelfth Night
Twelfth Night — The creators of our latest musical comedy, “Twelfth Night,” were recently featured in a newspaper article in the Boston Globe. The Eldridge team of Tom Large and Stephen Murray, who wrote the adaptation and created the music, are given some well-deserved kudos. While Tom is new to the Eldridge house, Stephen has many plays and musicals with us. Congratulations, guys!
Noodles
Our Spotlight play, “Noodles,” is not only hilarious but has a message. Playwright Don Swartz explains, “I want to say to the audience that we all have wacky families. Cut them some slack and embrace them and love them while you still can.” Read more about Don and the play’s creation. Remember your own family during National Family Week, Nov. 18-24, or, after the holidays you may wish to observe “Forgive Mom and Dad Day” coming up in March, 2008!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Millionaires
Millionaires -- While millionaire Mark Cuban is still in the “Dancing With the Stars” news, that other famous rich man, Donald Trump of “You’re fired!” fame is not forgotten. Check out our newest spotlight comedy, “Frump Tales,” where a certain tough businessman wants all the fairy tales in the world to make him big profit$. A hilarious one-act by Burton Bumgarner.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Christina Hamlett
Congratulations to Eldridge playwright Christina Hamlett -- In a soon-to-be released book, “Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover’s Soul,” she contributes the chapter, “Love at First Truffle,” the romantic story of how she and her husband first met. In addition to her popular Eldridge plays, Christina often contributes articles about the art of playwriting to such magazines as “The Writer,” and “Children’s Writer.”
Ahoy, Mateys!
Ahoy, Mateys! Start practicing now because Sept. 19 is Talk Like a Pirate Day (TLAPD)! If you’d like to present some high-seas fun on your stage this year, check out our swashbuckling one-act comedy now in the spotlight, “The Pirate Princess,” by James Armstrong. Other pirate plays in our treasure chest include JT and the Pirates,” “Lost in the Bermuda Triangle,” and even our “Space Pirates!” Fair winds, Mateys!
Playwright of Many Hats
Playwright of Many Hats -- Recently, British playwright Hilary Mackelden was asked to direct her own play, “Ashdown Lee,” which Eldridge published recently. We asked Hilary to chronicle the adventure in directing her own work. Click here to read part 1 of her 3-part article.
When a Playwright Becomes a Director
By Hilary Mackelden
Part 1: The Decision to Direct:
Writing “Ashdown-Lee” was only half the story. Next comes the production, but our regular director recently retired and there’s no one come forward to take her place. The committee’s eyes fall on me. I’ve directed a couple of small-cast plays before, and I did write the play, so I must know how I envisaged it. I squirm, offer alternatives, none of them any good. I frantically search and ask people from other drama groups to step in. They are all busy. I have no choice. If the play is to be staged, I will have to direct. How hard can it be? They’re right. I wrote it. And I’m about to find out that doesn’t mean a thing.
I’m lucky in that our drama group always puts a producer in with the director. The producer deals with publicity, venue hire, costume people, back stage help and all that, so all I have to concentrate on what’s on stage. If I had to do all that other stuff as well, I’d be in a straitjacket. So, here goes.
The Auditions:
We’ll have two. Make it easy for the actors to attend. The first takes place one Friday evening. I sit in the audition room and pray that they will attend. Of course, when I am writing something, I tell my characters to be somewhere, and they come. If I want 20 characters, they appear. If only I could guarantee actors in the same way. Six actors had expressed an interest beforehand, five of whom can make the auditions, so I’m not alone. I’m aware of what number six can do. A talented lady, she’ll get a part. Six actors. Only fourteen more needed.
Three new people turn up. The good news is, they’re excellent. One is a matinee idol in-the-making and good enough for the main role. The bad news is, the other two are children. However, it gives me an idea. Martin (the antagonist) needs a gang of followers. If those followers are mostly kids, it gives him a pathetic quality which adds to his character. It could work.
After both auditions, we have seventeen actors. Enough to start, and maybe some parts can double up, and we can get extras later. If necessary, I’ll take a small role myself. How do these other groups have hundreds attending auditions? What’s the secret?
(See Part 2, “The Rehearsals,” next week.)
Recently, British playwright Hilary Mackelden was asked to direct “Ashdown Lee.” We asked her to chronicle her adventure in directing her own play. Here’s the second of her 3-part series.
Part 2: Rehearsals
First rehearsal: A nightmare. Some actors see this as a social occasion and I have to remind them we are here to work as well as have fun. My characters always do as I tell them. It’s a shock to the system that actors have minds of their own. We’ve had a read-through, but I get the distinct feeling that some of these actors don’t know what happens in the play. That feeling will grow as rehearsals get underway.
The next morning, the nightmare really begins. Three leading actors pull out. Frantically, I look for replacements. If only actors were like characters, who exit when I say and not before. In fact, characters fight to stay. New actors are found, and things look well. In fact, the change makes for a happier, more coherent cast. There IS a God.
We get to the nitty-gritty. Some actors read the script ten or twelve times. They know their lines and moves. They examine their motives and moods. They don’t just deliver their words. Others are too busy trying to prove they are the star. They question every decision, argue with every line or placement, try to get centre front at each opportunity. They have no feel for the play outside their character’s involvement. Scratch that – some have no feel for their own involvement. When we come to the climactic scene the actor playing Martin asks “Where does it say I die? I didn’t know I died.” I want to scream. Characters may not know what’s going to come, but they accept it when it comes and don’t object to what I give them.
Rehearsals move on. Actors don’t turn up. They phone in sick, (sometimes their sickness coincides with a big party their friends are throwing). They forget lines, lose scripts, get the giggles, lose concentration, lose confidence. I am director, mother, nurse, psychoanalyst.
I have one pivotal scene where I have practiced with the protagonist, and with the antagonist, but as yet, never together. I try hard to be nice. I smile through gritted teeth. I want to go back to writing. It’s easier. If characters play me up, I can get someone to shoot them. I can’t do that to actors. Or maybe…. No. I can’t.
(See Part 3, “Almost Ready to Open,” next week.)
Recently, British playwright Hilary Mackelden was asked to direct “Ashdown Lee.” We asked her to chronicle her adventure in directing her own play. Below is the third instalment of her 3-part series.
Part 3: Almost Ready to Open!
Books down. The actors complain and I am the wicked witch of the west. The characters never plead for just one more night with script in hand. They never need a prompt. They don’t think of ingenious ways to get their scripts onto the stage without me seeing. They never try to change whole speeches because “I thought it sounded better, is that OK?” No, it’s not OK. Change it back. I am constantly amazed by how many actors are really great, undiscovered playwrights. Are you sure I can’t shoot the actors?
A major role actor has a problem. His livelihood disappears and he is forced to take the first job offered. The new boss won’t give him time off for the production and he has to leave the cast. Six weeks to curtain up, and a pivotal role unfilled. If I was writing this, I’d either have someone waiting in the wings, or I’d make it all OK.
I ask a couple of actor friends. They are busy. I turn to my son. He’s good and fits the role, and can do it on one condition. He recently had major surgery and is signed off from work because his job is too physical. If he is still signed off by the time of the play, he can do it. If the doctor sends him back, he can’t guarantee he’ll finish work in time for curtain up. Is it a sin to pray that he isn’t sent back to work yet? He agrees to learn the part while I look for someone else.
A few visitors turn up to watch one of our rehearsals. All goes well. They are impressed. That night, I finally sleep. A couple of weeks of troubleshooting and we’ll be ready to open.
All in all, directing is hard work. Stressful, unpredictable and gives me high blood pressure. Writing is easier. Actors don’t do as I ask, characters do. Actors try to take control, thinking they know the play far better than I do. Characters tend to trust me. If a character does make life difficult, I deal with him. I make him suffer, put him through the mill. Shoot him. There are laws protecting actors.
The actors are growing into their roles now, and are enjoying it enough to talk about what we should do next. Next? They want to do another play? Frantically, I search for someone who can direct.
Directors, I take my hat off to you all. You’re superb. In fact, you deserve all the plaudits you receive. As for me, I prefer writing. It’s so much easier.
When a Playwright Becomes a Director
By Hilary Mackelden
Part 1: The Decision to Direct:
Writing “Ashdown-Lee” was only half the story. Next comes the production, but our regular director recently retired and there’s no one come forward to take her place. The committee’s eyes fall on me. I’ve directed a couple of small-cast plays before, and I did write the play, so I must know how I envisaged it. I squirm, offer alternatives, none of them any good. I frantically search and ask people from other drama groups to step in. They are all busy. I have no choice. If the play is to be staged, I will have to direct. How hard can it be? They’re right. I wrote it. And I’m about to find out that doesn’t mean a thing.
I’m lucky in that our drama group always puts a producer in with the director. The producer deals with publicity, venue hire, costume people, back stage help and all that, so all I have to concentrate on what’s on stage. If I had to do all that other stuff as well, I’d be in a straitjacket. So, here goes.
The Auditions:
We’ll have two. Make it easy for the actors to attend. The first takes place one Friday evening. I sit in the audition room and pray that they will attend. Of course, when I am writing something, I tell my characters to be somewhere, and they come. If I want 20 characters, they appear. If only I could guarantee actors in the same way. Six actors had expressed an interest beforehand, five of whom can make the auditions, so I’m not alone. I’m aware of what number six can do. A talented lady, she’ll get a part. Six actors. Only fourteen more needed.
Three new people turn up. The good news is, they’re excellent. One is a matinee idol in-the-making and good enough for the main role. The bad news is, the other two are children. However, it gives me an idea. Martin (the antagonist) needs a gang of followers. If those followers are mostly kids, it gives him a pathetic quality which adds to his character. It could work.
After both auditions, we have seventeen actors. Enough to start, and maybe some parts can double up, and we can get extras later. If necessary, I’ll take a small role myself. How do these other groups have hundreds attending auditions? What’s the secret?
(See Part 2, “The Rehearsals,” next week.)
Recently, British playwright Hilary Mackelden was asked to direct “Ashdown Lee.” We asked her to chronicle her adventure in directing her own play. Here’s the second of her 3-part series.
Part 2: Rehearsals
First rehearsal: A nightmare. Some actors see this as a social occasion and I have to remind them we are here to work as well as have fun. My characters always do as I tell them. It’s a shock to the system that actors have minds of their own. We’ve had a read-through, but I get the distinct feeling that some of these actors don’t know what happens in the play. That feeling will grow as rehearsals get underway.
The next morning, the nightmare really begins. Three leading actors pull out. Frantically, I look for replacements. If only actors were like characters, who exit when I say and not before. In fact, characters fight to stay. New actors are found, and things look well. In fact, the change makes for a happier, more coherent cast. There IS a God.
We get to the nitty-gritty. Some actors read the script ten or twelve times. They know their lines and moves. They examine their motives and moods. They don’t just deliver their words. Others are too busy trying to prove they are the star. They question every decision, argue with every line or placement, try to get centre front at each opportunity. They have no feel for the play outside their character’s involvement. Scratch that – some have no feel for their own involvement. When we come to the climactic scene the actor playing Martin asks “Where does it say I die? I didn’t know I died.” I want to scream. Characters may not know what’s going to come, but they accept it when it comes and don’t object to what I give them.
Rehearsals move on. Actors don’t turn up. They phone in sick, (sometimes their sickness coincides with a big party their friends are throwing). They forget lines, lose scripts, get the giggles, lose concentration, lose confidence. I am director, mother, nurse, psychoanalyst.
I have one pivotal scene where I have practiced with the protagonist, and with the antagonist, but as yet, never together. I try hard to be nice. I smile through gritted teeth. I want to go back to writing. It’s easier. If characters play me up, I can get someone to shoot them. I can’t do that to actors. Or maybe…. No. I can’t.
(See Part 3, “Almost Ready to Open,” next week.)
Recently, British playwright Hilary Mackelden was asked to direct “Ashdown Lee.” We asked her to chronicle her adventure in directing her own play. Below is the third instalment of her 3-part series.
Part 3: Almost Ready to Open!
Books down. The actors complain and I am the wicked witch of the west. The characters never plead for just one more night with script in hand. They never need a prompt. They don’t think of ingenious ways to get their scripts onto the stage without me seeing. They never try to change whole speeches because “I thought it sounded better, is that OK?” No, it’s not OK. Change it back. I am constantly amazed by how many actors are really great, undiscovered playwrights. Are you sure I can’t shoot the actors?
A major role actor has a problem. His livelihood disappears and he is forced to take the first job offered. The new boss won’t give him time off for the production and he has to leave the cast. Six weeks to curtain up, and a pivotal role unfilled. If I was writing this, I’d either have someone waiting in the wings, or I’d make it all OK.
I ask a couple of actor friends. They are busy. I turn to my son. He’s good and fits the role, and can do it on one condition. He recently had major surgery and is signed off from work because his job is too physical. If he is still signed off by the time of the play, he can do it. If the doctor sends him back, he can’t guarantee he’ll finish work in time for curtain up. Is it a sin to pray that he isn’t sent back to work yet? He agrees to learn the part while I look for someone else.
A few visitors turn up to watch one of our rehearsals. All goes well. They are impressed. That night, I finally sleep. A couple of weeks of troubleshooting and we’ll be ready to open.
All in all, directing is hard work. Stressful, unpredictable and gives me high blood pressure. Writing is easier. Actors don’t do as I ask, characters do. Actors try to take control, thinking they know the play far better than I do. Characters tend to trust me. If a character does make life difficult, I deal with him. I make him suffer, put him through the mill. Shoot him. There are laws protecting actors.
The actors are growing into their roles now, and are enjoying it enough to talk about what we should do next. Next? They want to do another play? Frantically, I search for someone who can direct.
Directors, I take my hat off to you all. You’re superb. In fact, you deserve all the plaudits you receive. As for me, I prefer writing. It’s so much easier.
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