The Five: Thought Nuggets

Anthony R. Miller checks in to abuse the format of his article to enable his own laziness (again).

Hey you guys, It’s one of those days. For the life of me I just couldn’t think of one topic that could merit 5 dedicated thoughts. So today you get a bunch of random, somewhat theatre-related thoughts. And predictably, there are five.

Shotz!

If you’re looking for some theatre-tastic fun on a Wednesday night, you need to go to Shotz. Every month, a pool of writers are assigned actors, a topic and a few requirements for a script that have only a few days to write. September’s installment will be a hoot for a few reasons. 1) A lot of the same people working on TERROR-RAMA 2 are working on this Election edition of Shotz. Colin Johnson, Jess Thomas, Claire Rice, Alandra Hileman, and I are all contributing in one way or another. My play is titled “I Hope We Can Still Be Friends after the Primary” and it was probably the first positive thing I’ve done to channel my frustration with this hobo trash can fire of an election. Go see Shotz! At PianoFight Wednesday September 14, DO IT!

KO Mania

Being a Pro-Wrestling fan can often be an exercise in patience. Because when it’s bad, it’s bad, but when it’s go, it’s amazing. Usually it’s just, pretty good. Now for those of you not in the know, there has been an obscene amount of wrestling to watch these days. Honestly, by last night I was experiencing WWE-fatigue, there was a big match for the champeenship and honestly it felt all too predictable, but of course I watched. Then something magical happened, there was a huge swerve (surprise ending) and it resulted in Kevin Owens become WWE Universal Champion. KO is one of my absolute favorites and he’s a beast of a human being, he doesn’t look like a typical wrestler and does moves that he just shouldn’t be able to do. He’s a brilliant bad guy, he’s funny, a great performer, there was no way HE was going to win last night, but he did, and it was total shock. I hooted and hollered like I was 10. The thing is, we know it’s pre-determined, we know it’s not “real”, but the best moments of being a fan, is when you forget that, and it feels real.

TERROR-RAMA TIME!

With TERROR-RAMA 2: PROM NIGHT Just 45 days away, things are starting to get exciting. Set construction has begun, costumes are being purchased, and we have super pretty flyers. I cannot wait for this show and rest assured, I will not be shutting up about it. Also, on the subject of flyers, aren’t PSPrint sales like, the best?

I Really Need A Window

Unlike most of my writer friends, I’m fairly laptop adverse, I actually prefer to be in a room alone with my computer, a shitty desktop PC with a giant screen, located in what many would call my “Man Room” but it’s really just a big closet that turned into an office and put on display all the things my girlfriend does not want displayed in the more public parts of our home. This room is my sanctuary. You will probably never find me writing on a laptop at a café, too distracting. I have always preferred to be alone, unbothered by the outside world. The down side is the cat boxes are also located in this sanctuary of mine, so it kinda always smells like cat poo, and a little day light might be nice too, I’m just sayin, I really need a window.

Nowhere Special, I Always Wanted To Go There

OK, this could of merited like, a trillion thoughts. But there will be plenty of long wordy think pieces celebrating Gene Wilder that will be better than anything I could write. But here’s my contribution to the many remembrances of a guy who was by all accounts a comic genius and a brilliant actor; for a lot of people, I think Willy Wonka will always be the character the majority of people will remember Gene Wilder for, but here’s the thing. When I was 7 I saw the film for the first time, and when the girl turned into a blueberry and was rolled away, I was mortified. I was scarier than anything I had or ever will encounter in life. I ran out of them room and never watched the film again. In fact I still refuse, it’s fucking terrifying. However, I will always remember him for Blazing Saddles and The Producers. Much like the film Airplane!, I have watched Blazing Saddles about 4 trillion times. There are bits he does that still make me giggle uncontrollably, (Like seriously, that “This is my shooting hand” bit never stops being funny.) Maybe it’s the soft gentile quality he brings to the humor. Comedy these days is very aggressive, Wilder just let the joke happen, and he always gave his characters passion and empathy, no matter how silly. So here’s to one of the greats, he had a great run.

Anthony R. Miller is a Writer, Producer and Educator. His show TERROR-RAMA 2:PROM NIGHT Opens October 14, 2016, keep up with everything at www.awesometheatre.org.

The Five: Everything I Need to Know about Storytelling I Learned From Professional Wrestling

Anthony R. Miller checks in to ruin any credibility he had as a writer.

Hey you guys, In keeping with Septembers theme of “Breaking the Rules”, and following up on my “Tips for Doing Reasonably Well” I have one more installment of rules I actually follow. Which I suppose is my clever way of breaking the rules. Now I make no secret of my passion for the Art of Professional Wrestling, I have long considered it theatre at its base, undistilled if you will. One thing that most fans can agree on is that feats of athleticism are great and all, but when Pro Wrestling is truly great, it is because of its adherence to strong storytelling. So along with Lajos Egri’s The Art of Dramatic Writing or Stephen King’s On Writing, being a lifelong fan of pro wrestling has taught me some important rules in compelling story telling, and wouldn’t you know it, there are five.

DISCLAIMER: I am still not famous, so these shouldn’t be seen as rules that will make wildly successful, but they do work for me.

Black Hat/ White Hat

Even in a world of grey area and anti-heroes, it comes down to one basic principle; there is a good guy and a bad guy. Call it Protagonist / Antagonist or Babyface / Heel, but there’s the character you feel compelled to root for and there’s the jerk who keeps messing it up. The good guy is not seen as such just because he smiles or says things that make us cheer, he is supported by just how awful the bad guy is. Sometimes we want the good guy to win simply because the bad guy does such awful things; we are invested in him getting what he deserves. The good guy is simply a representation of what we want to see most in the world: justice.

Why Did You Do That?

Sure, we know Johnny Skullcrusher is going to bust out his steel chair at some point. But what makes that moment exciting is when and why he does it. While it is in the nature of the bad guy to cheat at some point, it comes at a time when he is afraid he will lose. It should be seen as an act of desperation. Because of that act the bad guy is seen as a cheat, or a coward. So, like in any story, there is a reason for the character’s actions. A series of moves with no real motivation is the same as a series of events that are not connected to each other. It is the difference between “This happened AND THEN this happened AND THEN this happened” and “This happened, BECAUSE OF THAT, this happened.”

Pacing, Pacing, Pacing

Like any good story, you can’t just have action, action, action. The same goes for an exciting match. There can’t be just spectacular moment after spectacular moment. There has to be peaks and valleys. Sometimes you slow things down to build tension, sometimes you speed them up to create excitement. Great matches, like great stories place major events at just the right time, and they take the time to build up to those major events.

Winning is Better When You Think They’re Going to Lose

I’m a sucker for a good underdog story, and if your story is told well, I am emotionally invested in the good guy getting what he wanted. In the case of pro wrestling, it is a victory for a championship or it is to settle a grudge. This make the moments leading to his victory pivotal. This might be the moment when our villain has seemingly overpowered our hero. And then, our hero digs deep and pushes himself harder than he ever has and fights back at the last moment to get his victory. But the weight and emotion of his moment of victory are dictated by two questions; did we want him to win and was there a moment when we truly thought he wouldn’t win? Everyone likes a happy ending, but it still needs to be earned. Victory is so much sweeter when we truly believe if just for a moment, it’s not going to happen. Equally, a loss is more upsetting when you truly believe everything is going to work out.

The Only Thing They Remember is the Last Thing They See

Also known as “Stick Your Landing”. End strong, the final moment of your story and the emotion it carries is what your audience takes with them as they walk into the lobby. Were there a few botched moves? Sure. But these moments can be forgiven with a strong impactful ending. Maybe it’s our battered hero, almost unable to stand, hoisting the belt above his head. Maybe our hero only wins because he has turned to villainy. Whether your ending is happy or sad, it should have emotional intention. Does it make me feel happy? Do I feel excited? Do I feel emotionally exhausted? Whatever the feels may be, the ending has to make me feel them. A great ending in pro wrestling is like any story, we’ve gone somewhere with the character, we have experienced things along with them. Everything is just a buildup to the end, where we feel the triumph or the tragedy. Now there are bad feelings too, like bored, or relieved it’s over, or dissatisfied. No matter the medium, those feelings are the result of weak storytelling. A great ending should be something we feel along with our hero.

Anthony R. Miller is a writer, producer and wrestling nerd. His play “Sexy Vampire Academy” will get its first reading in October, learn more at www.awesometheatre.org. His other play “Christian Teen Dolphin-Sex Beach Party will be read as part of the San Francisco Olympians festival in November.

In For a Penny: It’s a Super Job

Charles Lewis III, working.

Pay no attention to the ninjas on stage.

“They played at hearts as other children might play at ball; only, as it was really their two hearts that they flung to and fro, they had to be very, very handy to catch them, each time, without hurting them.”
– Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera

This past weekend had quite a few discussions of Greek Drama pop up on my social media timelines. Yes, they were mainly Olympians-related, with quite a few of our fellow writers either dedicating that time to writing their plays and/or holding developmental readings. But there were quite a few heated discussions about classical Greek plays such as Lysistrata and Medea. The topic of Shakespeare Troilus and Cressida even came up at one point. If you wanted to talk Greek drama, apparently this was the weekend for it.

For my part, I spent Saturday morning at the gates of Troy. I watched as some of the most creative technicians in the Bay Area theatre scene put the finishing touches on the metallic, rusty walls of the city (apparently this version Poseidon was a fan of steam punk). But the real highlight came when I saw the metallurgical effigy that was the Trojan Horse come to life as it moved back and forth on the massive stage of the War Memorial Opera House. My first-ever trip to the opera was in this very opera house in 1989 and my last time on its stage was two years ago as a supernumerary. Although most of my work with them requires me to stand around and do nothing (such as this day, when I was simply a lightwalker), “dull” isn’t the word I’d use to describe my experiences in opera.

For those who don’t know, a “lightwalker” is just a stand-in. They aren’t involved in the actual production, they just stand on stage during rehearsal so that the tech magicians can test the lighting. A “supernumerary” or “super” is the theatrical equivalent to a film extra: you’re meant to be seen, not heard; you get a finely-tailored costume, but not a single line. But when you’re seen it can be quite an experience. When I was a super for the SF Opera’s 2012 production of Mozart’s The Magic Flute, I was one of the puppeteers who operated the two-headed Technicolor dragon that appears at the top of the show. I had absolutely no puppeteering experience up to that point, but the director said I looked like I had strong shoulders. It took about eight or ten of us to operate that thing and I was one two guys up front. It was cumbersome and unwieldy, but we found a rhythm and the audience loved it, so I can cross that off my bucket list.

That’s me second-from-the-right.

I feel even more accomplished when I consider the fact that The Magic Flute represents everything I personally love and hate about opera. Don’t get me wrong: it’s a beautiful piece of music and a whimsical piece of theatre; but the story itself is problematic, especially in its latter half. That’s when it suddenly comes off as really sexist (the queen is suddenly made the villain seemingly for no other reason than being a queen) and doubles down on the first half’s uncomfortable racism (the sole Black character, often played in blackface, is an irredeemable thief who is whipped by his master and tries twiceto rape the lead damsel). Have I mentioned this opera considered kid-friendly?

But its grand theatrical elements are what I love about opera. It somehow seems apropos that opera be brought up a week after Allison and Anthony’s trip to the Hoodslam wrestling match was recounted. Opera and wrestling are quite a lot alike: they’re both considered separate elements from “regular” theatre; they’re both defined by their over-the-top style and larger-than-life characters; and they both showcase unique talent that takes years – if not decades – to refine, but that performers seemingly pull off with the greatest of ease. Hell, the only real difference between them is the dichotomy of their perceived audiences, with wrestling considered pandering to the unwashed masses and opera considered a flaunting of bourgeoisie excess. But both are unmistakably theatre and your appreciation for them grows once you’ve had the opportunity to take part.

Which is not to say that I wasn’t already appreciative of opera, quite the contrary. I became fascinated with opera in high school, when my love of Shakespeare led me to seek out operas, symphonies, and ballets based on his work. I remember watching PBS and admiring the flawless skill of divas like Maria Callas and Leontyne Price, but feeling unqualified to say how much I disliked something (I remember despising André Previn’s adaptation of A Streetcar Named Desire, but not knowing how to argue it if asked; thankfully, I was never asked). But my tastes began to refine the more I watched. Whenever someone bemoans funding for the arts or public television, tell them that it isn’t there just for you, it’s there for someone you’ve never even thought about.

It was that affinity for opera that led me to stumble upon an opportunity to be a super for the SF Opera. Having done a lot of film extra work, I was used to the idea of just standing around as the important people did their work. But once the stage managers and ADs start giving general directions to the crowd, it becomes apparent who can really take direction and who can’t. Those of us who can – or who just have good shoulders – wind up doing some of the more important non-speaking roles. This might mean wrangling a dragon, this might mean firing a loaded rifle on stage, or it might mean being a dancing zebra in a bacchanalian orgy.

It happens.

None of this really prepares you for was awe-inspiring experience of stepping onto the War Memorial stage for the first time. No matter what you’ve seen from the audience, the sheer scale of that stage never really hits you until you’ve actually been on it. The stage itself is like an Olympic-sized field and looking out at the seats makes you think that they extend out forever. And during an actual show, the backstage is truly intimidating. I’ve been in the booth for countless black box theatre productions, but I was truly taken aback by the high-tech walls of lights, numbers, and monitors on either side of the opera stage. It looks more like the control panel of NASA Mission Control, and it’s carried out with the same level of military precision. Add to that the fact that you get your own desk and station, the colorful commentary by the world’s bawdiest co-stars, and the fact that you can gorge yourself on the free catering (which you shouldn’t, because you still have to fit into your costume) then why wouldn’t you want to be part of this?

And yet, the most memorable experience I’ve had working with the opera is one in which I was reminded why the only difference between opera and “regular” theatre is one of perception. I was a super for the 2012 production of Puccini’s Tosca, an opera I enjoy quite a lot. I was really excited because I had more to do than ever before. I was one of Scarpia’s guards, so I appeared in every scene – I intimidated the parishioners, I manhandled Cavaradossi, and I was part of the firing squad at the end. But what I remember most is different interpretations of the title role. Tosca was alternated between divas Angela Gheorgiu and Patricia Racette – both very nice people for world-renowned superstars. Gheorgiu’s casting was a major selling point and every night she got a huge applause on her first appearance alone. Given her powerful pipes, it’s not hard to see why. But Patricia Racette – whose voice is also pretty damn intimidating – always approached the character from the point-of-view of an actor. She wanted to know the motivation for each of her actions and worked to make each movement organic, rather than just scripted.

I remember watching her from backstage when we had the matinee for middle and high school students. It’s often hard to hear anything over the music and tech cues backstage, but I distinctly remember when Racette’s Tosca made the decision to kill Cavaradossi. She’s surprised when she finds the knife on the table, and when she hid it behind her back, I heard audible gasps from the audience. You could hear the tension rising as Cavaradossi made his way over to her. And when she began stabbing, there were the sort of cheers you only expect from hearing your country just won 50 gold medals.

Now THIS is kid-friendly.

It’s one of those moments when I had to take a step back and say “Okay, now I remember why I do theatre.”

And that’s what brings me back time and again. Not just as a super, lightwalker, or even an audience members. Not just for opera, SHN musicals, or even black box productions. Not even for experience, money, or points on my resume. I love doing theatre because I love being a part of something that can genuinely move you. And I love being a part of opera, even as just a super, because it represents everything it could (and should) be. It’s grand in its scope, yet capable of some incredibly intimate moments of truth. In a year when I’m not quite sure when I’ll ever actually be on stage again, spending this past Saturday watching a mechanical Trojan Horse reminded me of some of the best things this art form is capable of.

Plus, I might get to shoot a guy again. You never know.

The Napoleanic look is in this season.

Charles is curious as to what the public’s reaction will be to the Trojan Horse, especially coming on the heels of the whale in Moby Dick. To find out more about the SF Opera and volunteer for supernumerary work, visit their homepage at http://www.sfopera.com.