Posted by Jonathan Moscone, artistic director of California Shakespeare Theater
Yesterday marked the graduation of the A.C.T. Master of Fine Arts Program class of 2012. The eight graduates were honored at a ceremony at the American Conservatory Theater and saluted with speeches from Artistic Director Carey Perloff, Conservatory Director Melissa Smith, Executive Director Ellen Richard, elected student speakers, and the distinguished recipients of this year's honorary Master of Fine Arts in Acting degrees. Mary Birdsong, the virtuosic and versatile performer who led the cast of Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City last summer, was one recipient. The other was Jonathan Moscone, a longtime Bay Area theater artist who has directed for the A.C.T. mainstage and taught in and directed Conservatory productions and currently serves as artistic director at California Shakespeare Theater.
Below is a transcript of Moscone's speech to the graduating class of 2012.
The class of 2012. L to R: Jason Frank, Christina Elmore, Ben Kahre, Maggie Leigh, Alexander Crowther, Jessica Kitchens, Matt Bradley, and Courtney Thomas.
Dear graduating class of 2012:
I stand here before you today both honored and excited. Honored to be amongst such a passionate conservatory of students who represent some of the finest young American actors ready to take on everything from Shakespeare to the movies. Excited, because I get to give you advice.
Although you don't have to take any of it, you have to listen to it. You don't have to take notes. This will not be on the test. In fact, there are no more tests in your life. Certainly not ones you can mark with a grade. But only the ones you make for yourself, and judge according to standards that you, and only you, set, and ultimately learn from, for yourself.
Before you get out there, here are some thoughts to consider: think of them as "Koans for Conservatory Grads," or "Tips for Acting Teens," or just a series of rambling thoughts of an artist who was at one point emerging, then promising, then important, and now just happy to have normal blood pressure.
Here they are in no particular order of importance, since they are all important:
The time for blaming your teachers, or your parents, is unfortunately over. They may have been the cause of your pain, but only you can release yourself from it.
Your agents will advise you based on what they need. You have to decide what you need.
Speaking of which, if you haven't already, learn the distinct difference between need and want.
No choice you make will make your career.
No choice you make will break your career.
Pay off your student loans on time. And as quickly as possible.
Some people will tell you the only power you have as an actor is to say no. In fact, your greatest power is in saying yes.
That rule has exceptions. Use your discretion.
Play positive actions on stage. Play them in real life. If your character can imagine the possibility of changing the world, so can your true self.
See as many movies from the '30s through the '70s as you can. American and foreign. They are all acting lessons in style.
Add to that list every Warner Brothers cartoon featuring Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck. They are all acting lessons in comic timing.
Read books. All the time. Especially Dickens. Just 'cause.
Never feel bad about making money. Artists should be the richest people in our country. So don't romanticize the starving artist. That's just what they want you to think.
That said, don't say no when I offer you a show at cal shakes.
The choices you make will define the kind of human you are. And the best actors, in the end, are really the best humans.
Fear abounds in the real world. You will feel it. But as you've been taught, fear is a state of being. Not an action. Play your action.
Vote.
Vote Democrat.
But be respectful of Republicans. They support the arts.
Everything about you should be in your tool box. Your anger, your humor, your idiosyncrasies, your fetishes, your beliefs, your anxieties, your relationship with your parents (whom you should have forgiven by now), your fantasies. Just know when to use them. And when to leave them in the box.
Don't underestimate the value of health insurance.
Take dancing lessons till you can't move anymore.
In TV, you become less valuable the older you get. In theater, it's the opposite.
Travel.
Remember to thank Melissa [Smith, conservatory director] and Carey [Perloff, artistic director] if you win any awards.
Finally: act.
Like I said, you don't have to take any of this advice. You are your own mentor now. To quote Eleanor Roosevelt, "Courage is more exhilarating than fear. And in the long run, it's much easier."
You should be very proud of yourselves today. Good luck, good pluck, and good virtue to you all. Congratulations.
The opinions expressed on the A.C.T. blog do not necessarily reflect the views of A.C.T. or its staff. No expressed or implied opinions should be considered an endorsement or recommendation of any kind by A.C.T. or its staff.
Posted by Anthony Fusco, A.C.T. core acting company member and cast member of Play
A.C.T. core acting company member Anthony Fusco is featured in Samuel Beckett's brief and rarely seen one-actPlay, currently performing together with Beckett's iconic drama Endgame on the A.C.T. mainstage through June 3. Fusco shares what it feels like to perform Beckett's tongue-twisting text—while encased in an urn.
The greatest theater artists are those who can conjure the simplest, most evocative imagery and harness it to a profound view of life—Hamlet contemplating the skull of poor Yorik, Mother Courage struggling to pull her wagon, Willy Loman and his suitcases. Great directors can do this as well; Julie Taymor leaps to mind, as of course does Peter Brook.
Perhaps no playwright has managed this feat more often or more rigorously than Samuel Beckett. Every one of his plays is iconic. Every word, every image is stripped to its powerful essence.
In Beckett's Play, two women and a man, up to their necks in urns, are interrogated by a roving spotlight. In fractured, disjointed, interwoven monologues, they compulsively repeat and rehash the details of their unhappy romantic triangle, and meditate on their present condition. Where are they? How long have they been there? Are they dead or alive? Why are they unaware of each other? No answers are given. The questions multiply. The resonances echo.
By stripping Play down to pure theatricality, Beckett also achieves something nearly cinematic. Fracturing the text creates a theatrical version of the jump-cut: as the spotlight whisks from one face to another, the story is revealed in discontinuous fragments and from three simultaneous points of view. And somehow, it all adds up to a perfect metaphor for the human condition.
It is also probably the most difficult thing I have done on a stage.
Just learning the lines was a challenge! Sentence fragments. Repetitions. Cues that have nothing to do with the next line spoken. For the first time in my career, I had to learn the part by rote. I typed up just my lines, leaving gaps for "the other stuff the other people say" and memorized it as a monologue, with interruptions. Gradually, my mind created associations between my text and the other characters' and it began to seem more fluid. But just a little. There are still moments when I am gripped with a sudden terror that I don't know what comes next. I am hopeful, but not confident, that this will get better.
Being in the urn is, perhaps unsurprisingly, an unusual experience as well. While not uncomfortable, it is confining. Or rather, defining. All of the performance energy I am used to sending throughout my whole body is instead funneled into just my face, mostly my mouth. Even so, I find my body writhing and contorting in my urn, in spite of my valiant attempts to remain at ease. Both I and the audience are fortunate that urn is there, so nobody has to see what is happening inside it!
Throughout rehearsals, we have experimented wildly to find the right expression of this text. Should it be dry and emotionless, or filled with feeling and coloration? How fast or slow? How quiet or loud? Beckett states that it should be spoken rapidly and in a "toneless" manner throughout. But would that work in a 1,000-seat theater? Do we need to do more to connect with those nice folks in the balcony? We have finally settled on what we hope is the best answer for this production in this theater at this time. (By the way, it does move along at a pretty good clip. Kudos to our stage management and lighting team, who have the task of making that interrogator's spotlight swivel and pivot on cue!)
We often had friends and colleagues observe rehearsals, and their reactions—all over the map—pretty much proved that Play is almost like a psychologist's ink-blots. It reveals more about the viewer than about the viewed. That's the great thing about the theater, and that's why it's different from most cinema; by demanding that you in the audience augment the play with your imagination, it allows you to have a unique experience of a collective event. Through his spare, powerful, abstract theatricality, Samuel Beckett allows you (forces you!) to use your imagination in an unusually profound way.
I hope you enjoy these two remarkable plays. That'll be me, in the urn. The one in the middle.
Posted by Stephen Buescher, Head of Movement and Physical Theater in the A.C.T. Master of Fine Arts Program
Stephen Buescher teaches movement and physical theater in the A.C.T. Master of Fine Arts Program but has never performed in an A.C.T. production. Now, for the final M.F.A. Program production of the season—featuring the outgoing class of 2012, whom he has spent the past three years training—he takes to the stage alongside his students, playing Puck in a wildly romantic take on Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream at The Costume Shop, A.C.T's intimate new performance space.
Stephen Buescher in rehearsal for A Midsummer Night's Dream with Master of Fine Arts Program student Rebekah Brockman. Photo courtesy Rebekah Brockman.
It all began with [Midsummer director and A.C.T. Associate Artistic Director] Mark Rucker saying, "Stephen, I have a crazy idea!" Then he proceeded to ask me if I was interested in playing Puck in Midsummer.
Ooooooooh! Puck!!! I have wanted to play that role forever. I ran home (via BART), and asked my wife Emilia what she thought. She thought it would be great for me to perform at A.C.T. I asked my kids, and they were excited that they would get to see Pappa in a show. All is well.
Wait a minute.
That means I have to perform with my students. Uh-oh . . . that means I may have to practice what I have been preaching. Uh-oh . . . I haven't spoken any Shakespeare in 20-plus years. I was secretly looking for a way to back out, but some of the tenets of my teaching are "take risks" and "put yourself in an uncomfortable position."
<Gulp>.
Here we go!
I remember being so nervous at the first table reading of the play. I felt like that driver’s education student who puts both hands on the wheel and holds on waaaaay too tight. My fears were soon assuaged. The M.F.A. Program students made me feel at home right off the bat. It was clear to me, in that moment, how at ease they were in the work. It was great to see how they owned the space, the play, the language, and their choices. They were clearly in the practice of the craft . . . and I was clearly (at least in my mind) out of practice.
I also remember watching them rehearse.
They would go for a while in a scene, stop . . . go back . . . stop . . . go back, stop . . . until they landed on something they wanted to stay with. WHAT!? You can't do that. Can you do that? You didn't have to ask the director if you could go back, you just kept going back? Hmmmm, can I do that? I was always under the impression that you keep going until the end, make a mental note of what needs some work, and then NEXT time, you try and change it. This was a whole new idea for me. Witnessing them rehearse in that way has given me permission to try it in rehearsal as well (but hopefully not during the show . . . ).
The other major impression on me was how much this group felt like a company. There is a trust and a sense of knowing, which allowed them to touch, kiss, lift, hit, slap, and jump on each other, all with no self-consciousness. What's more, they directed each other, which is often considered taboo. An actor would get an idea and then articulate the idea to their scene partner. The idea would usually involve the scene partner responding in a certain way. For example, "I want to try this exit, so when I say this line, will you block my way so that I have to go around you, and then say your line and then I will come back to you and kiss you?" This happened throughout the rehearsal process and people were always willing to try the idea. It made me, yet again, value what happens when people work together over time.
It has been an amazing experience for me to be able to play with the third-year students, and more recently, with the second-year students as well, as they have joined the fairy ranks! But enough of this learning-from-students crap. I can't wait to get them all back in class so that I can tell them what to do!
Posted by Edward Budworth, Group Sales and Student Matinee Representative
InMaple and Vine, Katha and Ryu leave the modern world to live in a recreated 1955 society. Group Sales Representative Edward (Eddy) Budworth remembers his childhood in 1950s Santa Cruz as a more peaceful, safe, and polite era—but one in which not every person was encouraged toward self-actualization as we know it today.
1955: Five-year-old Eddy wearing the white suit his mother made for him. Photo courtesy Edward Budworth.
When Maple and Vine first came up as a possible production for our 2011–12 season, I was intrigued by the concept of going back to the '50 s and reliving my childhood. I was born in 1950 in Santa Cruz, at the time a small friendly town on the California coast.
My parents bought the house I grew up in for $7,000 with the help of the G.I. Bill. My father was a veteran of World War II, as were most of my parents' friends. Times were good for them, and my father started the furniture business that he ran until his retirement in 1978. My mother was, as the time almost dictated, a housewife, staying at home and raising me and my older sister Lyn.
There was a general sense of security in our lives. We never locked a door (house or car), and we were never told "Don't speak to strangers" because it seemed that everyone knew everyone. Halloweens were free-for-alls with no rules or supervision. We could walk to school without fear of being harmed.
In our little town there were no real class distinctions, but we only called a very close friend of the family by their first name. Mr., Mrs., or Miss were mandatory salutations for all others. I can't imagine hearing the language I hear on Muni nowadays in public in the '50s.
Would I want to go back and live that life again? Not completely. I am fortunate to have experienced that time and can draw on the many good things about the era. I believe there was more respect and consideration of others then. But I know that my mother, a woman of superior intelligence, was hindered by the customs of the day in achieving her true potential. I hope she can take heart in knowing she did the ultimate '50s thing: kept a great house, raised two children who loved her very much, and made a killer grasshopper chiffon pie.
1953: Three-year-old Eddy (left) with his family (from left), Bud, Alice, and Lyn. Photo courtesy Edward Budworth.
1959: Nine-year-old Eddy (in stripes) is chosen to demonstrate street-crossing safety by a police officer. Photo courtesy Edward Budworth.
With Jordan Harrison'sMaple and Vinein rehearsals, there is a lot of talk in the A.C.T. offices about nostalgia. In the play, an unsatisfied urbanite couple decides to trade in their modern-day lifestyle for a 1950s model of suburban happiness. It is a divisive proposal: is our fast-paced, electronics-driven contemporary society something we need to retreat from—and if it is, would 1955 really be where we would look to find relief? As we see below in a post by A.C.T. Publications Manager Dan Rubin, your answer might depend on when you were born.
My first typewriter was my mom's. A heavy, suitcase-like apparatus that in the 1990s already felt archaic and impractical compared to our fancy dot matrix printer—which fed paper through its spindles by clawing at little, evenly spaced holes on the disposable, perforated margins that lined each page. Boomers and Gen-Xers (35- to 65-year-olds) shake their heads at this: "You have no idea! We had to lug those typewriters to and from the library! We had to write dissertations on those things. Cut and paste meant scissors and glue. Delete meant white out." Members of Generation Z (20 and younger [Aside: Is that really what we're calling you? Can we call you CyberGens instead?]) don't even have a clue what I'm talking about. They've seen typewriters in museum recreations of historically significant rooms, but when they Google-image search dot matrix, they don't really understand what they're seeing—and there's certainly no way to describe the repetitive clunk/purr/whine a dot matrix printer made when the print head ran back and forth along the page (luckily, we have YouTube).
I loved the weight of those typewriter keys. Typing was work. You pushed metal with your fingertips with nowhere to rest your wrists. Each stroke, each letter was a commitment: ink punched irrevocably into paper. But let's be honest: I never used that typewriter. It was too cumbersome, too unforgiving. Perhaps I turned out an adolescent poem or two, but never a paper for school—that would have been absurdly laborious.
I didn't bring my mom's typewriter with me to college, but when I purchased my first laptop years later, when Windows XP asked me to name my laptop (groan), I baptized it, "Typewriter." But this dorky gesture wasn't enough to quiet my soul, and one day, passing by a garage sale, I spied that familiar, bulky suitcase shape buried in a pile of throwaways. For $5, I bought my second typewriter. And I loved it; I loved owning it. There was something comforting about having it, as if, when the apocalypse eventually arrived and the internet broke and electricity was no longer, I would still be able to pound out prose. Then I realized the ribbon was dry (ribbons were the ink cartridges of yesteryear, dear CyberGens). So I tucked it away in my closet; before moving to a new city, I dropped it off at Goodwill—with the same mileage it had on it when I purchased it years earlier.
Even now, when I see a typewriter at a yard sale, or—as is the Bay Area way—left abandoned on some sidewalk, there is an impulse to adopt it. Even though I know I won't use it, I pine for something that doesn't plug me in, that doesn't connect me, that doesn't distract me. At the first rehearsal for Maple and Vine—in which a married couple escapes modernity by moving to a 1955 recreationist community—playwright Jordan Harrison articulated that this nostalgia defines a large portion of Millennials (20- to 35-year-olds): "I see this impulse in people in their 30s to slow down and to limit their choices."
At the heart of Maple and Vine is a question: What freedoms would you sacrifice for happiness? A.C.T.'s first reading of the play last spring incited a debate that raged for days, largely along generational lines. The Boomers, who grew up fighting for those freedoms, said (screamed) their answer: "None!" The Millennials, however, were more open to believing that the expectations associated with living in an age of unparalleled freedoms and unlimited choices could drive someone to want to flee. We can understand the desire to escape the overwhelming possibilities of a word processor to the confines of a typewriter—but perhaps that is because we never had to lug them back and forth to the library.
Posted by Torange Yeghizarian, founding artistic director of Golden Thread Productions
Torange Yeghizarian. Photo by David Allen Studio.
As founding artistic director of Golden Thread Productions, a Bay Area theater company focused on the Middle East, Torange Yeghiazarian has traveled widely and seen hundreds of productions that have originated in—or focus on themes surrounding—the Middle East. Below she shares her very personal reaction to A.C.T.'s production ofScorched, which introduces playwright Wajdi Mouawad, a powerful Middle Eastern voice, to the Bay Area. For more information on Golden Thread and a list of upcoming productions, visit www.goldenthread.org.
Spoiler alert: Scorched is a mystery about the violent history of a fractured family. The play unfolds as the pieces of the story are reassembled by its characters. The following post reveals some secrets. If you would like to experience the thrill of discovery as the truth is revealed onstage, you may prefer to read this post after you see the show.
After watching the opening night performance of Scorched, I could not be sure which country the play was set in. The performance was so moving and the story so shocking that I thought I missed some details, especially during the more emotional scenes. So I consulted the script. I wanted to see if any of the characters ever actually mention Lebanon, the country I was certain the play is set in. The names of the towns are specified in the play, but not the name of the country. Why does the playwright not mention Lebanon? Why do the twins say "the country my mother came from" and not Lebanon? I found this rather baffling.
There is a beautiful scene in the play, one among many, where Janine, Nawal's daughter, asks Malak, an old peasant, about the child that was born in prison by "the woman who sings." Through a lovely call-and-response-like dialogue, the old peasant asks the name of everyone Janine had encountered on her journey: "And who sent you to the shepherd?" "Fahim, the school janitor . . . " "And who told you about Fahim?" "The prison guard . . . " When the peasant tells her about the twins, he insists their real names are Janaane and Sarwane, not Janine and Simon. In fact, in the script the scene has a title: Real Names, underscoring the importance of names in the play.
Another play on names is Nawal's reputation as "the woman who sings." All through the play, we learn that it is Sawda who sings, Nawal who writes. Naturally, when we hear people mentioning the prisoner known as "the woman who sings," much like Janine we assume they mean Sawda. There is a fleeting mention of Nawal singing. It is in the scene where she describes the path she has chosen. In that moment, Nawal tells Sawda, "When my courage fails, I'll sing." It is a tiny moment in a very emotionally large scene. It is so tiny that it could easily be missed. Because it seems to me that the main point of that scene is about the promise Nawal makes: a promise to not forget, a promise to stay together no matter how far apart they become.
Last Sunday, the Oscar for best foreign film went to Iran for A Separation. We all screamed with joy, with tears rolling down our faces. A Separation is a family drama centered on a young couple's divorce. Their daughter's name is Termeh, my sister's name. Watching the film, every time someone mentioned Termeh's name, it was like they were stabbing me. I kept imagining how difficult it must have been for her when our parents divorced; like the Termeh in the film, my sister was a teenager at the time.
I went to see Scorched with my sister, Termeh. It is her real name, and real names are powerful. It was very powerful to hear Arabic names on A.C.T.'s stage. I believe this may have been the first time that has ever happened, at least as far as I know. To come to know characters named Nawal, Sawda, Malak, Shamseddin . . . to hear Arabic singing, to see an Arab playwright's name on the announcements. Wajdi, the playwright's first name, which means "ardent love," at least according to some web sites. Real names with real meanings.
Films and plays help us tell our stories in our own words. It is a way for us to share our world with others. For some people, Scorched may be the first time they experience a personal story about a contemporary Arab woman. Anyone who sees A Separation will catch a rare glimpse of an urban Iranian family that, surprisingly, shares much in common with its American counterparts.
I still don't know why the playwright chose not to mention the name Lebanon. But I do know that Scorched is a breathtaking play that will keep the audience on the edge of their seats until the final moment. It's a play more about keeping promises than about war, about staying together even when separated, about learning the truth of a name even when it is hidden.
Posted by Amy Krivohlavek, A.C.T. Marketing Writer
Clockwise from left: Associate Production Manager Amanda J. Haley, Artistic Fellow Kate Goldstein, Winter Field Study Intern Jessie King, Publications & Education Fellow Emily Means, Publications Manager Dan Rubin, Marketing Associate Christine Miller, Web Fellow Aude Ferrachat, Graphics Fellow Brittany Truex, Marketing Writer Amy Krivohlavek, Executive Assistant Caresa Capaz, Senior Graphic Designer Brenden Mendoza, and Mad John the Juggler. Photo by Hilary Davis.
Last week, A.C.T. Publications Manager Dan Rubin posted about his quest to learn to juggle, inspired by his research into San Francisco's Pickle Family Circus for our recent production of Humor Abuse. For the PFC, juggling was a group activity, a chance to come together with a shared goal—trying to keep everything up in the air.
Almost immediately, longtime A.C.T. subscriber John "Mad John the Juggler" Dobleman commented on Dan's blog, generously offering to come teach him—and a few of his lucky colleagues—how to juggle. Mad John claimed he would have us juggling in 20–30 minutes. We had our doubts.
This morning, Mad John visited us at the A.C.T. offices, armed with handfuls of bright pink, yellow, and orange scarves. Dan and I brought together a small group of A.C.T. staff from the Publications, Marketing, and Development departments, including many members of our Fellows program.
We started slowly, beginning with one scarf, then adding another, and then a third. "With two, you're just throwing stuff around. With three, you're juggling," he explained. And we were! After only 30 minutes, we all were! Even Mad John was impressed with our success rate. Once we had the basics down, he showed us a few simple tricks, some useful exercises, and then moved on to the coveted partner tricks. And, as the PFC discovered decades ago, it really did bring us closer together—literally forcing us to be in sync with one another.
Because A.C.T. is a thriving—i.e. busy!—nonprofit theater company, many of us juggle multiple tasks, jobs, and responsibilities across numerous departments. But today, we came together with one shared goal: keeping those bright colors flying through the air. And we're already planning a trip to the fabric store . . .
If you are interested in learning to juggle, you can contact Mad John at 925.679.0454. He has taught juggling to people of all ages (over the age of 11 . . . he has a fascinating explanation for why!), and—for the exceptionally adventurous—he also teaches skydiving. Note: He does not juggle while skydiving. That's dangerous.
In his words, "juggling is catching." We wholeheartedly agree.
L to R: Publications and Education Fellow Emily Means passes a scarf to Artistic Fellow Kate Goldstein. Photo by Brenden Mendoza.
Marketing and Public Relations Associate Christine Miller (in purple dress, center) catches her scarves as Mad John assists Associate Production Manager Amanda J. Haley. Photo by Brenden Mendoza.
L to R: Marketing Writer Amy Krivohlavek, Publications Manager Dan Rubin, and Web Fellow Aude Ferrachat. Photo by Brenden Mendoza.
Mad John the Juggler (left) ends class with his trademark: the "group throw up." Photo by Dan Rubin.
Posted by Emily Hoffman, Publications and Dramaturgy Associate
Most Bay Area theatergoers know who Carey Perloff is: the artistic executive of A.C.T. and a director with an enormous body of work to her credit. Fewer know that Perloff is also an award-winning playwright: Her 2003 drama The Colossus of Rhodes was a finalist for the Susan Smith Blackburn Award and Luminescence Dating, which premiered at New York's Ensemble Studio Theatre in 2005, received the 2006 Bay Area Theatre Critics Circle Award for Best Original Script. Now comes Higher, Perloff's meditation on love and architecture, which has received workshop productions at New York Stage and Film, Asolo Repertory Theatre in Florida, and the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco and was recently honored with the Blanche and Irving Laurie Foundation Theatre Visions Fund Award.
Higher opened to rapturous reviews last week and was just extended through February 25. Click here for tickets.
Eternal Flame in the hall of remembrance, Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, made of boulders brought from the area surrounding the Sea of Galilee.
We sat down with Perloff on the eve of Higher's world-premiere production to talk about the origins of her newest play.
Where did this story begin for you?
I love plays in which people actually make things—and I've always been fascinated by architecture. I wondered why architecture is such an incredibly male profession, so one kernel of the play was an attempt to understand where women might fit into a field that is all about taking up space. Early on, the idea came to me to pit a man and woman against each other in an architectural competition . . . and of course the stakes go way up when they are lovers, and when they're trying to navigate a passionate, complicated relationship. But that's also part of the comedy!
Why did you choose Israel for the site of the monument?
I have had several memorable trips to Israel in recent years. One was when I won the Koret Israel Prize and we were driven in a jeep up the hills near Galilee towards the Syrian border; I remember looking down at the Sea of Galilee and being so moved and also terrified at what a small and vulnerable water supply it was for the whole state of Israel. Israel is obsessed with memory and memorials, so it somehow felt natural that the memorial would end up there. And it's a place with very conflicted feelings about America, which makes for good drama.
This is a play, to some degree, about the perennial life/work conflict. How much of your own experience as an artistic director is in there?
All of it! Freud said there are only two things: work and love. But putting the two together is incredibly difficult, especially for women. To try to have a life and love and a family, while staying on top of your game professionally, and not get totally torn apart, is extremely hard. And yet one feeds the other. That's what Isaac accuses his father of: he feels that, in pursuing his professional ambitions, Michael has totally detached from his personal life, with the result that the work itself has become disconnected and dry.
Do you have any favorite monuments?
Anything Maya Lin has made! I was particularly overwhelmed by an installation she did at the de Young Museum several years ago of undulating waves made out of little wooden two-by-fours. I think she is so extraordinary. And I love the Omaha Beach Memorial in Normandy . . . and of course Yad Vashem in Israel.
Lorenzo Pisoni has a bit inHumor Abusewhen he explains that circus folk don't say goodbye to one another after the makeup is scrubbed off, the backdrop is lowered, and the props are packed away. Instead, they say, "See you down the road." It is a fitting farewell to give Lorenzo now that the San Francisco run of his heartfelt and hilarious one-man circus story has come to a close. This was not his first time on the A.C.T. stage; it is unlikely it will be his last. Still, it is bittersweet to see this joyful show come to an end. Thankfully, the beauty of working in theater is that there is no time to wallow, especially when Wajdi Mouawad's thrillingScorchedis being brought over to the theater at this very moment!
Look for more Scorched posts soon, but before Humor Abuse rides off into the sunset, it has one final gift for you. Those of you who saw the show—and we hope all of you did!—know that during every performance Lorenzo Pisoni (acting as his father, Larry Pisoni, acting in his clown role, Lorenzo Pickle) chose a volunteer from the audience to help him with the impossible task of retrieving a balloon that had floated away. In her daily performance reports, stage manager extraordinaire Hannah Cohen recounted each hilarious encounter. Below are some of our absolute favorites. And thanks again to Lorenzo, Hannah, and director Erica Schmidt: We'll see you down the road!
Lorenzo Pisoni in Humor Abuse. Production photo by Chris Bennion.
1/12 Evening Performance
Fantastic first preview tonight! We are all thrilled to be working on this wonderful show again. Thanks to everyone here in San Francisco for welcoming us and working so hard this last week. The audience tonight was great. They applauded Lorenzo's first entrance and kept it up though out the show. They especially liked Little Lorenzo and the Staircase Act. The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was a good sport. Lorenzo complimented her on her fancy scarf and pretty hair. When Lorenzo tried to boost her up to get the balloon she pushed down on him so much that he did the splits and fell over. She couldn't stop laughing and blew him a kiss on the way back to her seat.
1/14 Matinee Performance
The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was fantastic. He was an older gentleman with a great laugh. He was very excited that Lorenzo chose him, so they had to do some breathing exercises to calm down. All of the deep breathing made Lorenzo very dizzy and he almost fell over! The man really didn't understand what Lorenzo wanted him to do in trying to get the balloon down. Every time Lorenzo bent over to give the man a boost, the man would also bend over. This went on for a while until Lorenzo finally sent him back to his seat.
1/15 Evening Performance
The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was a man, and he was a bit of a show off. Lorenzo got him all the way down on one knee on the floor when trying to get the balloon down. He stood on the man's hands and tried to lift off Superman style, but to no avail. When Lorenzo went to give the guy a boost up, the man tried to escape via the stage-left wing. Lorenzo caught him and dragged him back to his seat, and then taped him to his chair so he wouldn't cause any more trouble.
1/18 Evening Performance
The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was a young woman. Lorenzo took her pashmina away and threw it to someone a few seats behind her before bringing her onstage. She wasn't much help getting the balloon down because she was wearing very high heels. But Lorenzo liked her hairdo and spent some time coiffing it for her. In the end he sent her back to her seat, got her pashmina back, and wrapped it around the person sitting next to her.
1/21 Matinee Performance
The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was a nice man in a leather jacket. He took the whole thing very seriously and stood very, very still while Lorenzo tried to get the balloon down. This made Lorenzo's flailing look even more spazzy than usual.
1/22 Matinee Performance
The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was a great sport and caught on to what Lorenzo wanted him to do right away. When Lorenzo tried to give him a boost, the man kept lifting his feet up really high, and this made Lorenzo fall over on his face. The man put a foot on Lorenzo's back and waved his arms over his head like a boxing champion. This was too way too much spotlight-stealing, and so Lorenzo had to tape him to his chair. The two women sitting next to the man were laughing so hard they were both crying.
1/24 Evening Performance
The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was fantastic. When Lorenzo shook his hand, the man offered to switch hats with Lorenzo. Lorenzo took the man's hat (a cool black fedora) and balanced it on his nose. The audience went nuts. Their endeavor to get the balloon down was hilarious: Lorenzo ended up flat on his face trying desperately to get his hands under the man's foot.
1/25 Evening Performance
Lorenzo Pickle was great tonight. The volunteer was a man, and he was very tense when Lorenzo first pulled him up onstage. To loosen up they did some deep breathing exercises together. This made Lorenzo very dizzy, and he passed out momentarily. When the man was giving Lorenzo a boost, Lorenzo's leg got hooked over the man's arm, and they spun in circles for a while before they both fell over. Then, when the man stood up and tried to give Lorenzo a hand up, he fell down again. Then Lorenzo was up and tried to give the man a hand, and this made Lorenzo fall down again. And so on and so on until they were both on the floor and Lorenzo pinned the man and declared himself the champion. The guy was a great sport and the crowd loved it.
1/26 Evening Performance
The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was a very surly woman. When Lorenzo bent over to try and give her a boost, she slapped him on the behind!
1/28 Evening Performance
Lorenzo Pickle was very funny. The volunteer was a man who was a little reluctant to come up, but once he got onstage he was great. He just kept shaking his head in disbelief at the crazy things that Lorenzo wanted him to do. Lorenzo ended up on the floor with his hand under the man's foot, squirming around trying to lift him up. The guy just stood over him, looking down and slowly shaking his head.
1/29 Matinee Performance
The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was a lovely woman who just couldn't stop laughing. She wasn't really catching on to what Lorenzo wanted her to do so he cleaned her glasses and fixed her hair so that she could see better.
1/31 Evening Performance
The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was kind of strange. He may have been an actor or just really liked being onstage. He kept acting up and wouldn't play along so Lorenzo ended up giving the guy his hat and taking his seat in the audience, next to his wife. Left alone onstage, the guy tried to balance Lorenzo's hat on his nose. Lorenzo ran up and dragged him back to his seat, and then taped the guy to his chair.
2/2 Evening Performance
Lorenzo Pickle went a little off the rails tonight. The volunteer started acting up right away so Lorenzo gave her his hat and went to sit with her husband. She tried to make a break for it, so Lorenzo chased her back up onstage and then taped her feet to the floor so she couldn't get away.
2/5 Matinee Performance
The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer didn't want to come up onstage so Lorenzo did a chicken dance to taunt him. When he finally did come up, he actually played along beautifully. In their attempts to get the balloon down, Lorenzo ended up doing the splits between the volunteer's legs. The guy couldn't stop laughing.
2/5 Evening Performance
Brilliant final show here in San Francisco. We were overwhelmed by the full, rowdy, supportive house that came out for this added performance. The Lorenzo Pickle volunteer was awesome—he was a very cool man with a great sense of humor who thought the whole thing was hilarious. Lorenzo cleaned his glasses, messed with is hair, pushed him around all over the stage, and he was a great sport about all of it. Thanks to everyone here for such a great run! See you down the road!
We asked you to share your favorite Pickle Family Circus memories, and you did not disappoint! Thank you to everyone who sent us moving and hilarious stories and beautiful photos. Below we're sharing some of the amazing snapshots and Pickle tales that were submitted. Add your own story to the comments section at the end of the post!
Humor Abuse has been so popular with Bay Area audiences that we've added an extra Sunday evening performance on February 5, at 7 p.m., but tickets are going fast and the show must close this weekend. Like the Pickle Family Circus, soon Humor Abuse will only exist in our fondest memories, so, as Pickle cofounder Larry Pisoni used to say, "Go call everyone you know, and then call everyone you don't know," and tell them not to miss it!
Laurel Bellon: "I took my daughter to the Mother's Day show at Rose Park in Berkeley for many years (these photos are from 1988). I always looked forward to them with great pleasure and remember them with much fondness. I never liked clowns before the Pickle Family Circus—I really miss those shows. They are an experience I will remember for a lifetime."
Brett Carlson
One of my earliest memories is of the Pickle Circus. I must have been two or three years old (my mother was surprised I remembered it at all). I vaguely remember seeing some kind of clown act, but the image that I recall vividly is that of a giant white balloon that was brought out, various shtick, then the balloon was popped and the confetti inside sparkled down all around me.
By Laurel Bellon (Berkeley, 1988)
Jim Edlin
The year our son Gabe was born, he was not quite a year old when we took him to his first Pickle holiday performance. Gabe was not much for attention span, but he amazed us by sitting rapt through the entire show. In the lobby reception after the performance, acrobatics master Lu Yi came over to greet our new circus fan. Lu Yi asked to hold our son, which we allowed. Then he shocked us by placing Gabe's feet on one of his hands and balancing Gabe up in the air. For us new parents it was a heart-stopping moment, but Gabe was having a great time. Master Lu Yi seemed to approve of Gabe's sense of balance; when he handed Gabe back to my wife, he said, "Bring him to me when he is three and I will train him."
Andrea Heilbron: "One of my favorite routines was of Geoff Hoyle's Mr. Sniff walking 'down' the stairs into a pool . . . with the wonderful Pickle Family Circus Band! Ah, those were the times! These are photos from June 1986 in Santa Cruz. We were great fans!"
Susan Picklesimer
My daughter was born in 1977 on the longest night of the year up in Anchorage, Alaska . . . When she was about two and a half, we got some folks to watch the store and headed off for the State Fair. We expected that the animals and rides and games would be what she would like. But she only had eyes for one person: she called him "Mitter Niff." (Maybe Mr. Sniff for the nose? I never knew.). She was completely enthralled by all these wonderful creatures of mime, but for months after she would ask, "Pleeeeeez could we go see Mr. Niff?" I'm not sure how many of you came for that long trip to Alaska, but believe me, we appreciated all the trouble—to see the happiness not only during the shows but for years after when she would talk of Mr. Niff.
Melissa Bleier: "I grew up in Ukiah, California, and was delighted every time the Pickle Family Circus came to town . . . It was almost 30 years ago, but I will never forget the magic and joy that the Pickle Family brought. I also remember thinking that they were all related to each other. Since I grew up in a family that performed magic shows for the local schools, I was amazed that their family all got to be in the circus. It was always so exciting to see kids onstage—I loved that. In the picture (from about 1985), I don't look too thrilled to have my face painted: I have no idea why! Regardless, this is one of my favorite pictures of myself. Thanks to Lorenzo for sharing his memories of the times that he made my memories."
David B. Solnit
On a sunny fall day in 1974, I was on the Yale University campus in New Haven and encountered a three-person juggling act on the lawn. It was Larry and two women [Peggy Snider and Cecil MacKinnon], and it was great. I particularly remember the bit with Larry's hat going back and forth mixed in with the clubs. I don't remember if they introduced themselves as the Pickle Family then, but that's who they were when I moved to the Bay Area a few months later. I was glad we'd all picked the same location to move to—as it seemed.
Ondine Boulter: "This was taken sometime in the summer of 1983 at Heather Farms Park in Walnut Creek. My cousins and I were fortunate enough to grow up in the Bay Area in the '70s and '80s, in a family who values humor and loves a good chuckle (or three!). We'd often meet up at Pickle Family Circus performances around the Bay, where three generations of us would laugh till our stomachs ached! I remember envying the lucky boy who got to be a part of the circus and often wondered how I could join the Pickles myself. They transported us all to a place of imagination, magic, and good times and always left us wanting for more. Long live the Pickles!
Barbara VanderBorght
When I was still living in New York, a friend and I saw a trio of jugglers in Central Park one day in 1974 (or maybe '75). They were very good, and very funny. They went by the name of the Pickle Family Jugglers and were, in fact, Larry Pisoni, Peggy Snider, and Cecil MacKinnon. They made a lasting impression, so when I saw that a group called the Pickle Family Circus was appearing in Eugene, Oregon (where I had since moved), I was eager to go. Now the jugglers were joined by acrobats, musicians, and more, and Larry was joined in inspired clowning by Bill Irwin and Geoff Hoyle. This was a time of new vaudeville and alternative circus richness in the Northwest (Flying Karamazov Brothers, Rev. Chumley et al.), but I always viewed the Pickles tour as something special. After a few years, I moved to San Francisco, where the Pickle fun continued—mostly at Glen Park Canyon. The performers started to change as some moved on and others appeared, including the kids: Gypsy and the young Lorenzo and his memorable act with his dad . . . The Pickles and their artistic offspring have entertained and enlightened me in the three places I have lived over the past more than 30 years, and the appreciation has been passed on to my daughter, who now has her own child.
Lorenzo Pickle (Larry Pisoni) with his famous trunk, by Ondine Boulter (Walnut Creek, 1983)
Peggy White
It was always a joyful and fun weekend when the Pickles came to our neighborhood. Kind of like our own personal show. My daughter, Moragan Lee Luckey, was born in 1974, the same year as Lorenzo. We were always thrilled with the shows, and watching Lorenzo run around in his little gorilla suit like a circus pro was an absolute delight. What a champ! . . . The beauty of the Pickles was that they entertained using gymnastic skills without involving animals, they told charming stories that everyone could understand without saying a word, and they were just plain fun! Pickle clowns took the scary out of clowns and brought back real talent for entertaining.
By Laurel Bellon (Berkeley, 1988)
Geraldine Bagot Whitman
There are so many wonderful performances of the Pickles to recall from the early 1980s. Geoff Hoyle, Bill Irwin: we all knew they were geniuses just waiting to be discovered by the rest of the world. The devotion of Peggy and Larry to the members of their circus and the community was so admirable. Wendy Parkman, the gorgeous and oh-so-fit trapeze artist—and of course cute little Lorenzo and Dan Hoyle, the mini-clowns. My husband and I were big supporters of the Pickles, and we urged my husband's family foundation to grant them some funds for new bleachers, which was accomplished. Many Pickles, including little Lorenzo, came to our wedding in 1983 at Halloween. It was a costume party wedding. Of course all the Pickles came as their Circus personas.
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