The Five: Spring Can’t Come Fast Enough

Anthony R. Miller checks in after coming out of his winter doldrums.

Hey you guys, so despite the United States Senate not being able to agree that Scientific Reports of Global Warming actually have merit, everyone seems to be fine with a giant rodent popping out of the ground and telling us when spring is coming. Thankfully , the magic groundhog has determined Springtime is on its way. That’s fabulous news, because this rain was killing me. Not to mention there have been some big events lately and some cool stuff to look forward to. Put it all together and there’s a lot discuss, but today let’s just do five.

Wintertime Really is Friggin Depressing.

BAH GAWD, the sun is shining again! Look, I know we need the rain, and were still in a drought, but I need a break here. Like a lot of you I’m sure, the wintertime can really bum me out. This year winter has been pretty wintery for a change, lots of rain and cold and 5pm sunsets, I can’t handle it anymore. This weekend was honest to god 70 degrees and I nearly pranced around my backyard naked in glee. Between the weather, late thirties ennui and an endless parade of celebrity deaths, I’m ready for some friggin sunshine, the literal and metaphorical kind.

My Bloody Valentine

This Valentine’s Day is going to be a busy day, not because I have a hot date or I have flowers to buy, but because TERROR-RAMA is rolling out a metric butt-ton of information. We’ll be announcing auditions, releasing our poster and other promo materials, and a very special video. So keep an eye on the Awesome Theatre Facebook page and our website at www.awesometheatre.org. It’s gonna be a fun day.

Go See Shotz!

Have you been to Shotz at Pianofight yet? Well it’s time to do something about it. Shotz is a monthly one night only short play festival featuring all sorts of great local writers, actors and directors. This month’s theme is “Some Like it Shotz” and all the plays have some kind of gender-bending theme. Wouldn’t you know it I have a play in this month’s installment. So c’mon out and see my new short play “Countess Walter” the story of a man who believes he’s the Dowenger Countess from Downton Abbey. It’s directed by Colin Johnson (who also wrote a play in the show.) and stars Aeron Macintyre. These are two of my favorite people in the world to work with, and it’s a pretty swell play. So COME TO SHOTZ TOMORROW NIGHT ( February 10) at 7:30 PM at Pianofight!

#Dorkswholikefootball

So last Sunday was the Superbowl, and it was a crappy game, but that never stops my annual Superbowl Party from being a fun time. It’s true that “Superbowl City” in downtown SF was a big pain in the ass and really just highlighted the liberal divide in SF. Because in SF there are Liberal Liberals and Capitalist Liberals, while both sides are generally progressive thinkers socially, one side has no issue whatsoever with making money. So people who don’t like the Superbowl probably felt more imposed upon than usual. But despite that, I had a party anyway, because Superbowl parties are one of my favorite things ever. Now here’s the thing. When a lot of you think of Superbowl parties, you think of a room full of loud bros drinking Budwieser and high fiving. But my crowd is a little different, it for nerdy artist types who despite probably being beat up by a football player in their youth, still really like Football. So instead of high fiving, there was live tweeting. The only moment of hushed silence was when the new Captain America Civil War trailer came on. Which bred a 30 minute discussion on how to properly use Spiderman. The smart ass comments flowed like craft beer and this year I actually remember what happened after the game. My point is this, if there is one thing that drives me artistically it is a kind of “Artistic Populism”, the idea that anyone can create, enjoy and appreciate Art because it is a subjective term. So I try to make theatre not only for people who see theatre, but theatre for people who regularly would not see theatre or thing they would enjoy such a thing. Thus, I try to throw a Superbowl party for people who regularly wouldn’t go to one or think they have a good time. I mean, who doesn’t like Snack food and Beyonce?

Thank You Daniel Bryan

Last night one of my favorite Professional Wrestlers/ Performers retired due to concussions. It caps off an amazing career that changed the industry. Daniel Bryan is not your prototypical champion. He is 5’8, 190 pounds and has a big beard. But the crowd loved him. His fans changed how professional wrestling is booked (Written) because instead of accepting what was given to them, they DICTATED what the product should be; they dictated who they wanted to be their champ and would accept nothing else. It was a great example of the “meta” era that Pro-Wrestling is having. Where we all know that it’s a pre-determined, scripted TV show, but that’s part of the fun. This was the story of an unlikely underdog who rose to prominence because the fans demanded it, because we saw ourselves in him. On and off camera he was the nicest guy ever, he grows his own food, shops locally, and is generally a big hippie. He was easily one of the most exciting, captivating, and talented performers pro-wrestling has ever seen. The storyline he was involved with stood out because it was so easy to become emotionally invested, no one had to tell you to like him, you just did. Seeing 70,000 people all do his signature “Yes” chant is still one of my favorite things ever, to see such a well done, emotionally effective story told so perfectly is lightning in a bottle you just don’t see. Concussions are no joke, and the more we learn, the more we realize just how serious the long term damage can be. So he’s doing the right thing, but I will miss him. There hasn’t been a performer like him before or after and there probably never will be again.

Anthony R. Miller is writer and producer who clearly watches too much tv. Keepo up with everything he does to www.awesometheatre.org

In For a Penny: Shedding the Pounds

Charles Lewis III, contemplating sound body and sound mind?

“Heartthrob? Never! Black ‘n ugly as ever…”
– The Notorious BIG, “One More Chance”

I have this thing I do before every show. It’s really not all that different from the pre-show ritual of any other performer: a series of physical warm-ups and vocal flourishes that, to the untrained eye would probably give the impression that I’d been possessed by the kind of demon only Max von Sydow could defeat. Y’know, the usual. At least I think it’s usual. One of my physical moves is to do a handstand against the wall, with a few push-ups for good measure.

It’s a move of such fundamental simplicity that it’s taught small children. But for some reason it’s become my “signature warm-up move”. I’m not even kidding. Claire Rice mentioned it in her intro for me during the third Olympians Festival. Granted, her comments were nice. Usually people tell me that this simple maneuver – which, again, is so damn simple that it’s taught to toddlers – is just me showing off. As if I were a Dell’Arte alumnus flaunting my skills in front of a room of paraplegics.

Cirque du Soleil – Ovo – Spider contortionist

I used to just laugh off this baseless accusation. Then I got annoyed. More recently, I’d get angry. But lately I’ve just felt sorry for those other folks. I took a moment to remember that someone who cares that much about something as insignificant as a pre-show warm-up is likely speaking from insecurity. And what would artists – theatre folk in particular – be without our sense of insecurity?

I actually wanted to write about this in my last piece. Early February 2015 was a perfect storm of body issue articles appearing in mainstream media: both Cindy Crawford and Beyoncé Knowles had un-retouched photos from their most recent photo shoots leaked to the public; the annual Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue was revealed to include an advertisement (not an actual photo spread) with model Ashley Graham as the first-ever plus-sized model to appear in the magazine; the same day of the SI announcement saw the release of the trailer for the upcoming film Magic Mike XXL; a million articles were written about stars getting into shape for the Oscars red carpet; and I read this article about one of my heroes, Kate Winslet. And that’s just the stuff I can remember off the top of my head. Apparently it was Body Conscious Week, but no one told me.

Now one would think that the pressure to achieve “perfection” wouldn’t be as important to the average indie theatre person as it would to the average red carpet all star, and that’s true to a degree. We’re all low enough on the totem pole to where it’s rare to have anyone following us around with high-speed cameras, asking how we intend to get in shape for bikini season (hell, most people don’t even believe what we do is “real acting/directing/writing” simply because it’s theatre – the last thing they care about is what we eat). But that doesn’t change the fact that we notice, both in the mainstream and in our little “underground” world. When the Ashley Graham thing was announced, a stand-up comedian friend of mine joked that “Ashley Graham gives me hope that one day I too could have my luscious bod airbrushed within an inch of its life, featured in SI, and called ‘plus-size’.” I’ve mentioned before that backstage can easily turn into an area of silent tension as performers positively and negatively assess their own bodies with those of their colleagues. It’s that oft-mentioned “junior high mentality” that we find ourselves unable shake. Being artists affords us an outlet for these anxieties, if not an actual relief.

Eventually – seeing as how so much of our work (writing in particular) is based on a mental acumen in which we take pride – some wiseass will ask “Well, if you’re so smart, why don’t you try exercising your body as much as your mind?” Honestly, it’s not a bad question – it’s just one for which it’s incredibly easy to make excuses.

My workout regimen (if it can even be called that) is very rudimentary. It has to be: I can’t afford a gym membership (hell, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a professional gym in my entire adult life) or exercise equipment, so what I do is done around the house. I’ve just made a habit of incorporating it into my everyday life. I work my stretching and balance in the morning as I’m waiting for the stove to heat up as I make my breakfast. I spend some days adding in jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, and lunges. Days when I don’t do that, I make it a point to go jogging at least three miles. That’s about it, really.

No, really, that’s it. Without any personal trainer or set plan, I just know enough to raise my heart rate and not injure myself.

And yes, I enjoy it. I enjoy jogging more than anything because it’s when my mind is at its most fertile. I don’t play music when I jog or exercise and jogging relieves me of the burden of having to count reps. As such, I spend a good amount of time coming up with what-I-think-are-great-ideas and the rest of the jog trying to remember them, so as to write them down when I get back home.

This is just the latest version of a routine I’ve tried to keep since my early 20s, with varying degrees of success. Last month I turned 34, which means I’m officially in my “mid-30s”. My metabolism isn’t the same as it was when I was 17, and it’s just gonna get slower from here. I don’t smoke or drink coffee (I tried both when I was a teen, instantly hated them both, and never went back), have no known food allergies, and I try my damndest to get as close to eight hours of sleep as I can – and believe me, that one is the hardest. And I’m still not satisfied with how I look or how much I get accomplished.

To say nothing of the fact that as a Black man in America I’m far more prone to every ailment and illness in the Western world, not to mention more likely to have his jogging mistaken as running from the scene of a crime. (Yes, that has happened to me. More than once.) This is why my sympathy disappears for most folks who say “I’d work out if more, if I could.” Barring any serious injury or other condition, it’s often that they just don’t want to. I make the same excuse for whenever I don’t write. I write on a non-electric manual typewriter, so when I’m sitting in my room and I don’t hear that “klack-klack-klack” sound, I know I’m not doing something I should be doing. And I’m pissed off at myself for it.

But I’m still not satisfied with how I look. Now I know that as a guy there isn’t nearly as much pressure on me to conform to bodily norms as there is for a woman (if only someone would explain that to Russell Crowe), but that doesn’t make me any more secure about my lack of a six-pack. Or my increasing number of gray hairs. Or the crow’s feet around my eyes. Or the zit marks and moles all over my fa—Jesus H. Christ, how does the woman I’m dating even stand to look at me for more than fifteen seconds without her face melting?!

But as lacking as I am in admirable physical traits, I’m secure in the knowledge that at least I’m healthy by most counts. I can easily pull off the “sit and rise test” (sit on the floor, stand without using your hands or arms) and simple balance tests (stand on one leg for 20 sec. without falling over). Maybe one day I’ll have enough money to be under the guidance of a personal trainer on a regular basis, but until then, I’m happy to be healthy.

More importantly, I actually like how my exercise fits into my artistic life. As I said above, I love jogging because all of my best ideas happen when I’m jogging. If I have any skill as a writer – and I’ll be the first to say that I don’t – then I’d attribute it regular exercise. And, like all things artistic, it’s great when you find others with whom you can share it. A theatre artist I admire has been aiming to start an exercise group for some time now; should she ever get it up and running, I’d love to take part. About three years ago I was part of a weekend exercise group composed of SF State alumni-turned-theatre folk (I never went to SF State, so I’m still not sure how I got into that group?) and the sweat-inducing routines were presented as being just far more exerting pre-show exercises. And I’m always someone who will take part in pre-show warm-ups with the rest of the cast. I don’t think it should be required – for some actors, it’s akin to putting a gun to their head – but it’s an invaluable bonding experience for people who will spend the next few weeks/months/what-have-you running around playing Make Believe together on stage.

So no, I’ve never done my physical work to show off. It’s so rudimentary, I don’t know where “showing off” would even begin. No, I do it for the same reason I do everything else in theatre: I’m passionate about it. As the month of February draws to a close, so too does Theater Pub’s month-long look at the themes of Passion and Desire. I desire to be the best artist my skills will allow, and I’m passionate about taking the steps that will make me better at it. Plus I just like the view from this angle.

Charles – upside-down handstand

Charles Lewis’s biggest physical goal is to one day be able to pull off a “human flag”. Look it up. His next feat will be having four actors join him in the 20-yard dash that is spending one week producing Ashley Cowan’s This is Why We Broke Up for ShortLived 2015. See you at the finish line.

Cowan Palace: Sex Pledges, Discounted Books, And One Woman’s Passion

Ashley’s got fire! Sometimes with heartburn and passion for women in theatre on the side.

As we wind down our month dedicated to passion, I recently found myself literally bumping into the subject in the book section of a thrift store in Fort Bragg.

Will and I were finishing our quiet weekend away by picking over a decent collection of theatre books and plays when I came across Lysistrata by Aristophanes. I clutched the tiny script close to my heart before exploring the pages. “Oh, I wish I could do this play again!” I loudly exclaimed, “I loved doing it in college but I feel like I’d bring more passion to it NOW!”

Ashley Cowan: demanding sex pledges from her homegirls since college

For those who are unfamiliar with the work, it’s a story about a woman who convinces her fellow lady pals to withhold sex from their sweeties so the fellas will stop waging war and consider a more peaceful path to resolving issues. Lysistrata is strong and passionate and just a true force. I was 20 when I was cast to play her in our Roger Williams University production and I adored the experience. But I was a kid who grew up in a small town and went to a small liberal arts college in New England; I wasn’t really that “fired up” about injustices going on in the world or between women and men. Mainly because I was just so focused on getting good grades and running our school’s theatre club. Maybe it’s just me getting older or being exposed to more of the realities outside of school, but I find myself getting much more fired up about issues that may have little to do with grades or theatre these days. And while I reread some of my old lines, I found they meant something different to me now.

Before heading to the register, Will handed me another book he thought I’d be interested in, entitled, Women In Theatre (edited by Karen Malpede). Like many great things, it’s from the 80’s (which you may be able to gather from the colorful cover) and it’s full of experiences from ladies all over the theatre industry sharing their stories and struggles. Sing it sisters!

I was high off my Lysistrata memories and I was sold after reading the quote on the cover which states, “How often these great women did their work with little response, audience, or resonance… This collection, long-awaited, gives them to us alive. So now let them speak to us. And let us listen.” – Meridel Le Sueur. Plus, did I mention the sassy collection of bright colors? I added it to my already large pile and headed down to meet the cashier.

As he was ringing the items in he looked at the book and laughed. “This one’s been marked down to 75 cents from a dollar. I guess people don’t want women in theatre, huh?”

Then my eyes widened and flames erupted from them, lighting the entire thrift store in a destructive fire. My hair blew back like Beyonce’s would do and I stood strong, embracing my feminine powers, as the world around me burned. (C’mon, don’t you guys want to see me play Lysistrata now?)

I mean, sort of. I’m kind of hormonal so that’s what it felt like.

A book dedicated to women in the theatre was marked down from a dollar to 75 cents (before tax); last I heard, women still make something like 78 cents to every dollar a dude does in the workforce. C’mon tiny thrift store, why you gotta set yourself up for my scrutiny?

I mumbled a bit about how women have always been fighting for equal rights and as someone involved in theatre, I sure as heck wanted them around. But I left feeling irked wondering if I had offered to pay the extra quarter for the book if I’d feel better. This was one tiny store in the world who discounted a used book about women in theatre; was this even worth the emotions I was giving it? And what can I do about it? I mean, thanks to the Sony scandal, we’ve learned what we already knew: even Hollywood ladies are still often making a lot less than their male counterparts. So what hope does this New England gal living in San Francisco have these days and what can I do to feel better?

I don’t totally know. Someone help me here.

So far this is what I’ve got: maybe maintaining and growing my passion can help. If I keep reading about women in theatre, if I keep going to see women in theatre, if I keep strengthening my relationships with women in theatre, and if I keep fighting to be a woman involved in theatre, maybe that’s a start. So here’s to you, passion! Plus, maybe if I keep your fire going, my rally cries to play Lysistrata again will be heard!