The not-very-prolific work of Scott Heim

Twenty years ago, I had an encounter with an author that changed my life. I was reading a new magazine called XY, which was geared toward young gay men and was full of erotic photos by the likes of Howard Roffman and Steven Underhill. It also had lifestyle and culture articles. One of these articles focused on three authors who wrote sexually provocative material. One of those authors was Scott Heim, and it’s not the text of the article that caused me to read his debut novel, Mysterious Skin, but rather the photo (above) of the author at 29. Someone this lovely on the outside had to possess something equally beautiful on the inside, right?

Over the next few years, I would become such a fan that I had an ongoing email correspondence with him, briefly designed and ran his official website (before he needed something more polished and professional), shared some of my creative writing with him, and would later direct Prince Gomolvilas’ adaptation of Mysterious Skin as the first production for my first production company, Book of Dreams. All of this represents some real emotional highs and lows for me, success and failure, and eventually culminated in me not really being the fanboy I once was. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted. 

You may know Mysterious Skin from a 2004 movie with Brady Corbet and Joseph Gordon Levitt. And for what it’s worth, the movie is—for most intents and purposes—very good. I have it, and I like to watch it with daring individuals who like gritty and provocative storytelling. In this way, it represents the novel very well. Of course, there’s a lot more to the book than “gritty and provocative”. It is also full of rich imagery and lyrical beauty. It has the raw emotional punch of ten novels. It’s a rather stunning coming-of-age meditation. It’s a Kansas travelogue, which actually makes the state seem like someplace you’d want to visit. All these things I would consider a trademark of the author.

Mysterious Skin is about two young boys who have essentially the same traumatic experience (sexual abuse by their little league coach) but interpret it in very different ways. Brian blocks out the experience completely, and when fragments of memory start to surface, he believes they are evidence of an alien abduction. Neil, on the other hand, expands on this intro to the adult world of sex by finding lust for his mother’s many boyfriends (who each remind him of idealized Coach), discovering gay porn, and becoming a high school hustler. The novel, in a nutshell, is about the journeys that both boys take from childhood to early adulthood, as they discover the true significance and meaning behind what really happened to them.

Of course, many other interesting characters are introduced along the way: Brian’s prison-guard mom and college sister, Deborah; Neil’s overly-carefree mother and fag-hag best friend Wendy; Eric, the new gay in town who wants a deep connection with Neil, but has to learn that such a thing does not exist. In the novel, Eric is my favorite character, while the movie offered a version less than what I imagined. Then there’s Avalyn, the lonely older woman who Brian reaches out to in his UFO explanation-seeking after she was on a TV show talking about her own abduction experience. All these characters are as vivid and bright as the rural Kansas landscape, eventually juxtaposed with the mean streets and clubs of New York where Neil realizes he can get more money for sex, but ends up with more than he bargained for.

The novel has one of the most brilliant and emotionally satisfying endings I’ve read, even as it leaves you wishing for more. Mysterious Skin was a huge success in the gay lit market, and the film was inevitable, despite the challenges of some pretty graphic and extreme content. What’s more surprising was the play by Gomolvilas, which was actually written before the film, and is different in many ways. I’ve written some about my production of the play, so I’m not going to do that here.

Shortly after I read Mysterious Skin, Scott Heim was at Powell’s doing a tour for his second novel, In Awe. I brought a friend and showed up in my pin-striped baseball jersey style Foetus shirt and sat in the front row, being all geeky and trying to think up not-stupid questions to ask. When I met him and he signed my book, I felt embarrassed like the geeky fanboy that I was.

I’m not sure why I started writing to him after that point. Maybe it’s because I was in fact so dissatisfied with the geeky fanboy meeting. We exchanged several emails before I even finished In Awe. Part of this is because I’ve never been an avid reader anyway, and his self-described maximalist style is sometimes challenging for someone who doesn’t really indulge in a lot of casual reading. He’s very descriptive, and makes the most of each sentence, each paragraph, and really relying on dialogue as little as possible. When I finally finished, I remember not having the words to tell him what the book meant to me. Somehow it overshadowed Mysterious Skin—at least for me, maybe only for me—and that was no small achievement.

In Awe deals with three social pariahs living in Lawrence, Kansas. Boris is a teenager who’s obsessed with a boy at his school named Rex who, unfortunately for Boris, is part of a cadre of dangerous and malicious country rednecks. Sarah is an adult woman, but doesn’t adhere to most of the trappings of adulthood, as she hangs out with Boris, helping him write his prize zombie novel and acting out scenes from horror movies. The third person in this crew is Harriet, an older woman who lost her son Marshall to AIDS-related illness. (Marshall used to be part of the gang of misfits as well.)  Soon, strange and scary incidents start to happen. Acts of horrific violence, coupled with hate crimes raged against this trios of unlikely friends, propel this suspenseful novel to a shattering and breath-taking conclusion.

Alas, In Awe is not as easy to categorize or sum up as Mysterious Skin, nor is it easy for me to explain why it means so much to me as a pivotal work of influence and inspiration in my own life. I couldn’t begin to tell you unless you first read it. It will likely never be filmed, and Scott Heim actually found himself without a publisher in the wake of this less commercially appealing work, as he was in the process of writing his third novel.

After I read In Awe, I was compelled to read his book of poetry, Saved From Drowing, which was actually published before Mysterious Skin was, but in limited numbers, thus kind of hard to find. Heim’s poetry is much like his prose. I would say actually that it is exactly like his prose, but structured into verse form. If you hear it read aloud, you hear a story, not anything that sounds remotely like verse. And indeed, some of the poems in the book found their way into his novels, altered in some cases, sometimes just the central themes remaining. Two of the biggest examples are “Turtle” (which became an incident in Mysterious Skin) and “Brad, Bottom Drawer” (which describes an obsessive behavior very much like Boris behaves with Rex in In Awe). It was a revelation reading these, and seeing how ideas evolve from one thing to another. It was an interesting peek into the creative process.

It took over a decade for Heim to finish his third novel, We Disappear. The finished product ended up becoming his most deeply personal work, as it dealt with depression and the loss of his mother. It concerns the character of “Scott” who comes home, recovering from a drug addiction, to care for his dying mom, Donna. From this framework, Heim adds intrigue reminiscent of his second novel with the discovery of a murdered teenage boy, and the obsession Scott shares with his mother regarding missing persons: collecting articles, playing detective, and trying to imagine possible outcomes.

There is a lot of potential in We Disappear, but for me, its execution falls short. Maybe it’s because Heim is torn between telling a fictional story and writing a memoir of his last days with his mother. There is a shadow of sickness, addiction, depression, and despair that covers this novel, making it a very difficult read if you’re not on the right anti-depressant yourself. There are plot points that don’t pay off. There are questions that don’t get answered…but not in the good way that the first two novels leave you begging for more. This one just kind of ends, and you’re relieved for it. At some point, I want to reread this and see if I have a different reaction. But for now, it’s not a book I recommend.

There is a series of e-books that Heim has published called The First Time I Heard…, in which he and other writers describe their experiences first hearing favorite musicians. I haven’t read any of these, but at least the Kate Bush one is probably fairly interesting.

So, to sum up, if you have never read Mysterious Skin or In Awe, and you’re someone who knows what it’s like to feel like a marginalized person in our society and can relate to material like this, I say get those books now! 

Comfort and Joy

A few years ago, I was browsing through Samuel French and Dramatists, searching for a Christmas-themed play, particularly a Christmas-themed play with gay characters. One of them I stumbled upon was Comfort and Joy by Jack Heifner. I never actually read it, but I put it on a mental list of plays I might do someday. Fast forward to fall of 2016, and I see that Twilight Theatre Company—arguably the most daring and socially progressive community theatre in the PDX metro—is producing that play. Now, as a rule, when there is a production of one of those plays that I have on the mental list of possibilities, I don’t go see it. The reason being that I don’t want to see someone else’s artistic vision for the piece, and then be unduly influenced by it later. It’s part of how I try to maintain my own greatest level of artistic integrity in my work.

But I made an exception in this case.

Programs were not available opening night because of a misunderstanding with their print shop; this upset me because I feel like that’s part of what you pay for and what you should get with the price of a ticket. Any theatre unable to provide a program should offer to mail their patrons one (a real paper one, not the PDF) at no cost. I have a wonderful box full of 25 years of programs. I always save them, and they’re one of my favorite things. The reason I bring it up here is that I won’t be able to name as many names when discussing the play, unless they are on the Facebook event page; at least the actors are.

Comfort and Joy takes us back at least 20 years to a time when civil liberties for LGBT people were not what they are now, and many in the gay community were still constantly mourning the loss of more and more loved ones by the AIDS epidemic. Its lovable protagonists, Scott (Andy Roberts, who brought joy to HART audiences two years ago in White Christmas) and Tony) are a happily partnered couple, living in a lavish home (not so lavish, actually—more on that later) in the Hollywood Hills, awaiting the arrival of Scott’s harpy mom, Doris (Angela Michtom) for Christmas Eve dinner. Problem: relations between mother and son are already strained, and to add to the festivities, Tony’s obnoxious siblings, Gina and Victor (Adriana Gantzer and Josiah Green, respectively) come to call. She’s pregnant and apparently homeless, and he’s been dumped by his Christian extremist wife, who’s taken off with the kids. To top off this Christmas tree of chaos is a freakish fairy (David Alan Morrison) in silver tights, ghastly blue Crocks and a mess of garish makeup and tattered wings. And yes, the word “fairy” seems to have a double meaning here. He is there to manipulate the characters and shape the outcome of their lives.

If you haven’t already guessed it by now, this is a comedy, but it has its dramatic moments played out with mixed success. I want to single out Morrison’s work as the Fairy because his job is the most challenging. Throughout the play, there are numerous flashbacks to scenes from the various other characters’ lives, and Morrison—as the Fairy—has to occupy all the characters from the past that are being represented, all of which have a huge impact on who these people are today and the demons that haunt them. Morrison brings real depth to all of these characters and showcases an impressive range as an actor. What makes his job even more challenging is that director Jason A. England was not entirely successful in making these sudden scene shifts flow in a clear, concise, and coherent way. The shifts in time were jarring and clunky, causing the audience to have to pause for a moment to figure out, “Okay, where are we and who are we talking to?” This, in spite of an ingenious, hilarious, and very timely lighting design element. (I don’t want to give it away, but this lighting effect, if used in other future shows, will never be as funny of a joke as it is right now.)

As I said before, the two lovers at the center of the story are indeed lovable, and that wouldn’t be possible without the fine performances of Roberts and Torres. What’s interesting here is that you never see the full extent of the chemistry between these men because we’re seeing them on an extraordinarily stressful day when a thousand things get in the way of that. And yet, there is clear proof that the chemistry exists. You get a glimpse here and a glimpse there, and you know from these nuanced performances that these two people have overcome challenging lives and arrived at the kind of happiness that the rest of their family has no ability to understand.

As Dorris, Michtom was appropriately grating, perhaps even a little too much so. Eventually, we see her humanity, but it takes a little longer than it should. This is not solely a script problem. A director and actor can find ways to reveal softness in a character, at least to the audience, if not to the other people on stage. I found there was a similar problem with sister Gina, even though she doesn’t show up until the second act. But the most problematic performance for me was Green’s Victor, who was constantly delivering his lines in a weepy, drunken slur. I would rather he had burst into full blown tears at various points instead of that constant vocal affectation.

The greatest problem I had in terms of the design elements was the set. It had the look of a very generic box set that could be interchanged with hundreds of other living rooms in hundreds of other community theatre productions. It was not remotely evocative of what a Hollywood producer’s residence would be, nor did the décor really reveal much about who the occupants of this home were. On the makeup front, the Doris character was supposed to have had a recent facelift; there seemed to be no effort taken to convey this.

But plays are about people, not nearly as much as what they wear or the places they occupy (though those things can be important sometimes). If you care about the people on stage, then the production is doing its job. Relatives can be annoying at times, but one of the things the holidays are about is being able to overlook those faults, forgive, and recognize the things we have in common. All of the performers in Comfort and Joy were able to conjure moments of empathy and compassion for their characters, which made up for the other inconsistencies.

Before seeing the show, I saw a Facebook post about this production. I’m not sure if it was the director or somebody else posting it, but essentially they talked about how, although the play is a product of the 90s, it is still relevant to today. Of course, in the post-2016 election, as we face the upcoming Trump administration, many people are afraid that civil rights and our culture of inclusion will be dialed way back. Personally, I don’t share this fear, but I acknowledge the concern and believe it’s an important conversation to have. In producing Comfort and Joy, Twilight Theatre Company has done a service to advance the discussion in a healthy and productive way.

The Best Productions I've Ever Seen

This entry has been inspired by a recent conversation I had with my theatre coach. What makes an excellent production? What are the qualities that I will strive to achieve in my own productions with my theatre company?

I should qualify the title of this post. I’ve seen many scores of shows in the last 25 years, and most of them had me leaving the theater thinking, “I could have stayed home and watched TV.” What I really mean by “best” is the impression they had on me. For instance, the first two shows listed were high school shows…but they were really my first exposure to the magic of theatre, and by seeing them, I knew that I wanted a life in theatre. If I saw those same productions today, would they have the same effect? Maybe not. I want to emphasize that I’m talking about productions here, and not the plays themselves. I’ve seen lackluster productions of excellent plays; they are not what this list is about. And yet…I may contradict myself when talking about some productions I saw, like Equus, which may not have been an ideal production, but the fact that it introduced me to an amazing play is what made the powerful impression. Finally, I should note that while I’ve seen many, many shows, I don’t see as much as a lot of people who work in theatre, locally. Mainly, I just don’t have the money to go to many shows, and ushering has never appealed to me. So obviously, there is a lot of great stuff out there that I have missed. I would welcome in the comments section anyone who wants to share the best show they’ve seen. Oh, one final note: to appear humble, I am not including shows I’ve directed!

Little Shop of Horrors – OCHS, 1991

A lot of people might miss all the layers in this sci-fi/horror/comedy/musical. We’re dealing with poverty, domestic abuse, being an outsider, the dangers of ambition, and the question of how far you’ll go to protect the ones you love, or to hold onto a dream. Add to all that an excellent playlist of songs, and this is really a powerful play when done right.

The Foreigner – OCHS, 1991

Shout-out to my high school drama teacher Karlyn Love, who inspired me greatly and is probably incapable of doing a bad production, at least as far as high school plays go.

Waiting for Godot – Lewis & Clark, 1993

This and the next play on the list were my introduction to “theatre of the absurd”. The floor of the stage was a Salvador Dali soft (or melting) clock, and that’s one of the most inspired scenic design choices I’ve ever seen.

The Birthday Party – 1993

This was performed at IFCC, but I don’t remember the company that put it on. Strangely, my biggest takeaway from this play is a question from the interrogation scene: “Is the number 846 necessary or possible?” Now, please, dramaturgs, explain the significance of that to me, or don’t because it’s really a very delightful mystery.

Jeffrey – Triangle Productions, 1994

The first “gay play” I ever saw. I had an instant crush on its star, Robert Buckmaster, who passed away very shortly after. What made his performance so good was the depth of his honesty and tenderness with which he shared the heart of his character with the audience. (See note on Dog Sees God later in post.)

Equus – Paula Productions, 1995

Dysart was not well cast, and for some reason, the director (or the producer, who I would later become very acquainted with doing my own shows there) decided not to have the nudity in this production. I don’t agree with the decision and it’s not how I would do it, but it’s important for me to say that the piece was still very impactful without it.

The Lady From Dubuque – CCC, 1996

This production was absolutely fierce, and the mystery of the title character brought chills and practically took my breath away.

Suicide in B Flat – Liminal, 1997

Like an episode of The Twilight Zone (but then again, aren’t all Sam Shepard pieces like that?), with bits of music thrown in. I had no idea what was going on or why it mattered, but I didn’t care.

The Seagull – Paula Productions, 1999

Paula Productions existed for many years. It was a one-man operation, and the venues it occupied were tiny living room sized spaces. The plays were largely panned by critics, especially Stefan Silvis, who wrote for Willamette Week at the time. But this resonated with me. Its star, Myron Chase was a loose cannon, very unpredictable, sometimes doing his own thing instead of what was rehearsed, forcing his fellow actors to improvise. But he had a raw talent and magnetic appeal, and I really found myself feeling empathy for his Kostya.

Peer Gynt – Paula Productions, 1999

My friend Dan directed this in the afore-mentioned tiny living room size space. If you know anything about this play, you know it’s a sprawling epic with multiple locations, even more characters, and it’s a challenge to stage anywhere, much less a tiny venue like the Jack Oakes Theatre. With precision use of costuming, lighting, and sound, plus top notch actors, it worked, and it showed me that something I might have thought impossible was possible.

The Velocity of Gary (Not His Real Name) – Triangle Production, 2000

Danny Pintauro in a touring one-man show about a gay hustler. And like most Triangle shows at the time, featuring full male nudity. But that’s not what made it good. (Yeah, some of you think you know me so well!) One-man shows are hard to do. They are hard to watch. It’s like listening to an audio book. Your mind can wander. That did not happen here. (See note on Howie the Rookie.)

Cabaret – Best of Broadway, 2000

Just an awesome spectacle, and there was nothing about it that was not totally amazing and inspiring. But the ending…the quintessential “kick in the gut”…so affecting, so breathtaking, hands down the most chilling moment of theatre I’ve ever witnessed.

Lion in the Streets – Theatre Vertigo, 2000

I wish I remembered more about this amazing piece of theatre, but 16 years will do that to you. Mainly I just remember it was earth-shaking and brilliant.

After the Zipper – Stark Raving Theatre, 2002

Matthew Zrebski is one of the most brilliant playwrights around, and this gave me chills. And he’s local! Lucky us. I saw it twice, which is unusual.

Dog Sees God – CoHo Theatre, 2009

Two things that made this show great: the earnest performance of Noah Goldenberg (see note on Jeffrey), and a moving and brilliant visual in the very end of the play, which I don’t know is from the playwright or director Brian Allard, but the image stayed with me for a very long time.

Over the River & Through the Woods – Magenta Theatre, 2011

So I gotta be honest about my reason for loving this production of the popular community theatre staple (I mean really, this play is as ubiquitous as Rocky Horror). My dad gave his best performance not directed by me as a family patriarch struggling with life’s hard transitions. I’ve worked with my dad many times, and it would be easy to accuse me of nepotism, but if you saw this (which I had nothing to do with), you know that he’s an actor of great depth and versatility.

Vincent River – Sowelu, 2012

Playwright Philip Ridley, director Barry Hunt, two extraordinary actors in a play dealing with grief and hate crimes. This was so beautifully produced and performed, I wish I had a recording of it to watch over and over again.

Rope – Bag & Baggage, 2015

There was a lot that was great about this production, but Michael Teufel as the conscience of the piece was the stand-out. If I ran the Drammy committee, he would get the award for best actor.

Howie the Rookie – The Factory Theatre, 2016

One man shows are hard. (See note on The Velocity of Gary…) Especially with a thick Irish accent and a performing space the size of a bathroom. Nevan Richard was amazing here.

At some point after this blog is posted, I will remember one that I’ve forgotten to include, and probably be very frustrated. So maybe check back for updates? 

American Crime, season 1

Months ago, I could not stop raving about a show nobody seemed to be familiar with (because it wasn’t on cable), American Crime, specifically season 2. (American Crime is a show with a partially recurring, or “repertory”, cast, but playing different characters in a new storyline each season.) I tried to get everyone to watch it, and basically said it was the best thing I’d ever seen. As far as I know, no one has taken my advice so far. But now that both seasons are on Netflix, not only do YOU have a chance to watch the show, but I also was given a chance to catch season 1, which I had not seen. Obviously, the big question on my mind was, could season 1 be just as amazing and brilliant as season 2 was? Well, I’ll save you the suspense. The short answer is no.

It’s kind of the opposite of how things usually go. People blow their best load on their first effort, and then go into what’s commonly referred to as the “sophomore slump”. In my view, the paradigm that fits this situation is that season 1 was a practice run for the real test of greatness that was season 2.

The biggest problem I had with season 1 is that if you’re not a petty criminal, violent thug, drug dealer, addict, racist bigot, or juvenile delinquent, there were not very many characters to identify with, and though there were multiple interlaced stories throughout, it was hard to care about the outcomes because the people were so inaccessible. As a writing student (perpetually, it would seem), I’m told that I must love my characters because the audience must love them. Series creator John Ridley seemed to have gotten the memo for season 2, but not for season 1. There were exactly two characters in the whole series that I had consistent and genuine compassion for. One was a grieving father, played by Timothy Hutton, whose son had been murdered, and who is trying to reconnect with a family that refuses to forgive him for his shortcomings nearly 20 years earlier. The other is also a father, a Hispanic auto shop owner (Benito Martinez) whose son has fallen in with a bad crowd and who is desperate to save his family.

Everyone else is so consumed with one obsession or another--passions and prejudices, vices and vendettas--that it’s impossible to root for them. At one point, a young woman overdosed on drugs, and I was actually happy that she was dead because her character was so annoying. (To my disappointment, she actually survived the overdose.)

Not that the actors aren’t doing their jobs, and remarkably well. Regina King got an Emmy as a Muslim woman on a crusade to rescue her brother from both a murder rap and a really horrible girlfriend (see last paragraph). Felicity Huffman is in danger of being typecast in the same series because while her characters in each season are quite different, they are both cold and rather unsympathetic. One hopes she will get a warmer character in season 3. Hutton is wonderful and heartbreaking.

This show tends to run the gamut of nearly every social issue you can think of. It’s like writing down all of society’s ills on pieces of paper, putting them into a hat, and mixing them up. Then showrunner Ridley pulls out 10 pieces of paper from the hat, and blends them all into a volatile tapestry that is the story for a season. Season 1 deals with racism against blacks, Hispanics, and whites (yes, I said whites too). It deals with different religions (in this case, Islam and Christianity), and how people of different faiths may approach things differently, but also the same. It deals with drug addiction, immigration issues, gang violence, and even touches briefly on military impropriety. 

And yet, one of the things that makes this show successful is that it manages to highlight these issues without being preachy. The way they do this is to focus on the characters and their stories, which are very believable, even if you don’t get invested in the people because they’re assholes.

[Pseudo-spoiler alert:]

Part of my problem with not liking most of the characters had to do with my own Christian faith, as much as any kind of open-mindedness required of me as a creative, and storyteller. It was disturbing to realize that I rather liked the idea of some of these characters’ suffering. While lamenting how tragic it was that one character (Hutton’s) could not be forgiven no matter how hard he tried to make amends, I found myself not very forgiving of much of the behavior that I saw played out in front of me. “They will deserve what they get,” I found myself saying. But of course, my heart softened as each situation was brought to its resolution, and one character--a young fiancé of Hutton’s surviving son--expresses what I believe to be the heart of the story, a call for love and compassion. But it comes too late for some. And that just pisses me off. 

Indignation

You could call Logan Lerman Young Reliable if you were so inclined. He is that rare former child actor who has grown up to have a pretty impressive career—a result of hard work, discipline, and right choices. Oh sure, he participates sometimes in your standard Hollywood tripe (the Percy Jackson series) and has fallen flat on his face a couple of times (The Three Musketeers, Noah), but for the most part, you can see Lerman’s name on a project and know that it will likely be something worth seeing. His newest star vehicle, Indignation, is right up there with Stuck in Love and The Perks of Being a Wallflower on my list of favorite movies from the last five years. And many observers would say his portrayal of Marcus Messner in this adaptation of Philip Roth’s novel is his best performance to date. They would probably be right.

Marcus is a slightly different character from the type Lerman usually plays. Oh, he’s smart, sensitive, and vulnerable like the others. But he’s also stubborn, argumentative, and a little bit vain. He’s a curly-haired Jewish boy with a Joisey accent and a sort of brash confidence that doesn’t exist in somebody like Charlie from Wallflower. He’s also an atheist, which makes him even more of a rebel in the 1950’s conservative college environment where this film is set.

The character’s atheism is a major part of this film’s subject matter. It’s an uncomfortable topic for me as a viewer. I am not an atheist, and I don’t always relate very well with atheists. My friendships with atheists are warm and sincere but can also get awkward, much the way that it’s awkward when a gay man brings his boyfriend home to his devout religious family for Christmas, or when a Trump supporter and Clintonite go on a blind date. There are times in this movie when I really do not like this character because of things that he says about his beliefs. They make me mad. But I have a feeling I’m playing right into the filmmakers’ hands.

(The title of this film is tricky in a way. You might think it refers to conservative attitudes that the main character has to face. He gets accused of stuff; he feels like an outcast. Largely, he thinks of himself as a victim. In reality, I think he's the one who feels the greatest sense of indignation towards what he perceives to be persecution...which, in one case, is not incorrect. But then the ball bounces back to me when I see how I respond emotionally to the character's rather passionate rejection of the God that means so much to me. This is a challenging film that does not pander.) 

The screenwriter and director, James Schamus, has a long and impressive resume that is perhaps most notable for being Ang Lee’s right hand man/producer. With writing credits like The Ice Storm and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, it’s not a surprise that he’s written such a powerful adaptation of Roth’s novel, which—admittedly—I have not read. Schamus had directed two shorts before this, but this was his feature directing debut, and if it gets him up on the Oscars stage, I’ll be happy.

Not to be Logan-centric because I am a long-time fan, there are many great performances in this film. One of the most interesting is playwright Tracy Letts (author of the very dark Bug and Killer Joe) as the Dean of the school where Marcus attends. The two characters duke it out in a war of words in a very atypically long scene that lasts over 15 minutes. (This is almost unheard of in cinema.) It’s in this scene where I get mad at Marcus, but Letts’ character is totally cool, even though his philosophy is more like my own. He seems to care about the welfare of his much agitated student, who is too self-absorbed to realize it.

Then there’s the girl that Marcus falls for, a troubled ex-psychiatric patient who is also a student at the school. She is played with disarming intensity by Sarah Gadon.

This is a movie about identity, and how we define ourselves as we mature, and how those parameters that we set for ourselves affect our choices and life outcomes. To say more would be getting into spoiler territory, and I want too much for people to see this to give spoilers. Suffice to say that you really end up caring very much for the people on the screen, in spite of their flaws (which, in Marcus’ case, is not his beliefs, but his stubbornness, which leads him to reckless choices). You want them to thrive and to be happy. And it’s really not too much of a spoiler to say, as you’re watching this film, you know better than to expect that. 

Star Trek: Beyond.......(what?)

Note: There may be spoilers here, but I gotta be honest. It doesn’t really matter. 

Of the various controversies surrounding the latest Star Trek film, the earliest one I recall hearing about was that it was too action-packed, and not cerebral enough. And one of the people associated with it (I don’t remember who, maybe Chris Pine) said that modern audiences couldn’t handle a Trek that was more about ideas than explosions. Well, I have to say that this new film fell short for me for that very reason. I like stories about characters and relationships. You can do that in an action movie. (Don’t believe me? There’s plenty of proof, even in the majority of Star Trek movies to date, including the first two from the “Kelvin timeline.”)

It’s not that the new film is completely devoid of ideas. It’s got kind of a tepid message about globalism vs nationalism (which, in an era of space travel might be called something else, perhaps planetarianism vs universalism?), but this is a very old trope that the Roddenberry religion has peddled since before Bones ever uttered the lines, “He’s dead, Jim.” And while I appreciate many aspects of the Star Trek universe, I’ve never really bought into this concept that one day, all nations (or planets) will get along. In fact, I think it’s a dangerous philosophy. That’s right, I think Gene--the "Great Bird of the Universe"--was naïve and delusional in his politics, but it’s a fiction, and so I can go along with it.

Another great debate that seems patently absurd once you see the movie is whether they should have made Sulu gay in the Kelvin timeline. Listen, folks, let me break it down for you: There is one shot in the movie that lasts about a second in which Sulu hugs his husband. There is one shot of a photograph of his daughter sitting on his control panel in the bridge of the ship. The truth is, if you didn’t hear from the media that “Sulu is now gay!” you would not even notice. I’m serious. It would not even register. It is a total non-issue.

As usual, Pavel Chekov had the least to do among the crew of 7, a constant complaint of mine. And of all the lines they could have lifted from the original series, they picked one of his silliest, the one about Scotch being invented by a little old Russian lady.

One welcome addition was Sofia Boutella, as the scrappy alien, Jaylah. She was both tough and sympathetic, and I wouldn’t mind seeing more of her in future installments. Idris Elba, who has earned the unique honor of starring as Roland in the much-anticipated film adaptation of Stephen King’s The Dark Tower, is somewhat wasted as a rather bland villain, even more bland than Nero from the first Abrams Trek. Oh, in the end, they decided to impart some humanity on him (literally) and maybe a hint of regret, but it doesn’t have any real payoff.

Perhaps the biggest surprise is that Simon Pegg didn’t write a better script. With his background of witty adventures, including Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, I figured he would inject some new life into what was clearly going to be a slump, now that Abrams switched from Trek to Wars. But all he could manage to do was selfishly write in more screen time for his Scotty. (Not that I’m complaining about that; I like Scotty.)

If you love action above all else, you may like this movie. For me, there were so many long action sequences, my eyes started to glaze over and my mind wandered, and by the end, I just had to pee so bad I missed the lovely closing credits sequence which are always so good. They save a space station, but you never really get to know the station or the people on it, so why do you really care? These giant vessels fill the screen to the point where you’re not even sure what you’re looking at. The whole thing has kind of a dark cast to it. I’m not sure if it’s because of the 3-D component. (We don’t see live action films in 3-D, generally—a waste of money.) And the sound quality was poor, at least in our theatre. Oh sure, Scotty and Chekov may have thick accents, but you can usually understand them okay. Not here.

And why couldn’t they start the closing credits sequence with “in loving memory of Leonard Nimoy and Anton Yelchin?” I realize there doesn’t seem to be a precedent for that in Star Trek movies, but maybe there should be. But at the end of the day (which is what watching this movie kind of feels like, a whole day), people aren’t what matter anyway. It’s the franchise, now 50 years old, always reciting that silly speech at the end, but never really boldly going anywhere new at all. 

On Anton Yelchin

Two weeks ago, one of my favorite actors died in a way that could have come straight from a horror sequel like Christine 2 or Final Destination 12, a freak accident that could well have been an auto malfunction or simple driver negligence. Either way, when I heard about it, my first thought was, At least it wasn’t drugs, as it so often is. And then I grieved, and then felt guilty for it because the depth of my feeling for this was greater than my sorrowful ruminations on the Orlando tragedy only a week before. And I thought how celebrity is a funny thing because when you admire somebody and his work, you can come to feel like you know him, even though you don’t. And certainly for a theatre and film guy like myself, you fantasize about working with your idols someday. It doesn’t help when you have a bit of crush for them. So like a friend who has to speak at the funeral, I find myself having to do something to celebrate this actor that I admired, and to talk a little bit about his work. I haven’t seen everything; he’s got 65 acting credits on IMDb, and he was only 27 years old. But I wanted to cover the stuff I have seen, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Hearts in Atlantis (2001)

This adaptation of Stephen King’s novella, Low Men in Yellow Coats, adapted by William Goldman and directed by Scott Hicks, is a charming and affecting coming-of-age drama, less fantasy than King’s story, more cold war reflection, with the bonus of the always-wonderful Anthony Hopkins as the centerpiece, or one of the centerpieces anyway. The other would be Anton, in his first performance I had ever seen. And I really wasn’t crazy about this casting. I had a different kind of Bobby Garfield in my head, a little more mature, a little less awkward. Seeing the young Anton Yelchin in this role, I could understand why the other kids picks on the character!  And when he imitates a comic bit from Hopkins in the closing shot (in which he demonstrates to his mom what flatulence is), I found it cringe-worthy. So while I liked the film as a whole, I would not notice Anton again or become a fan until years later when I saw Charlie Bartlett.

House of D (2004)

I bought this DVD shortly after Robin Williams died (I grieved big time for him as well), and the fact that it had Anton in it was a bonus. As it turns out, I really don’t like Williams very much in this film (too much face mugging), but Anton’s work was a pretty big step forward from Hearts in Atlantis. Written and directed by David Duchovny, it’s another period coming-of-age story, this time set in New York, where Anton’s character goes to a somewhat oppressive religious school, is best friends with a mentally disabled janitor (Williams), seeks relationship advice from a mysterious female black inmate, and has to cope with the loss of his father and the encroaching madness of his mother. It’s a lot for a young boy to handle, but Anton manages to deftly portray the broad spectrum of his quirky childhood with a mix of humor and pathos.

Fierce People (2005)

Yet another period coming-of-age story where Anton has dysfunctional parents. This time, while his dad is studying tribes in South America, his addict mom moves into the estate of an extremely wealthy, older man, played by Donald Sutherland, where Anton’s character runs afoul of the old man’s privileged grandson (Chris Evans), while at the same time finding a girl to crush on (Kristin Stewart) and another father figure (or perhaps, more accurately, grandfather figure). The strange thing about this film is the tonal shift that takes place in the third act, from quirky comedy to dramatic suspense. You really do feel like you’re watching two different movies here.

Alpha Dog (2006)

Though I haven’t seen all of Anton’s films, I would be willing to bet that this one is the most tragic. Inspired by a true story, he plays a kid who is kidnapped by a gang of thugs to get revenge on his brother. Zack does not really realize the gravity of his situation; he’s so unhappy at home, and he’s actually eager to win the approval and acceptance of these gang-bangers. But his trust and appreciation is very sadly misplaced. This film, which features another favorite actor of mine, Emile Hirsch, as well as Justin Timberlake, and the best (unrecognizable) performance I’ve ever seen from Sharon Stone, is what I call a “kick in the gut” movie. This is what it does to you. And if you’re like me, you’ll be thankful for it.

Charlie Bartlett (2007)

This film has been compared to a number of high school comedies, from Rushmore to Farris Beuller’s Day Off, but the one it reminds me of the most is Pump Up the Volume, a film for which I’ve always had a great deal of affection. Yelchin plays a spoiled, wealthy trouble-maker who gets kicked out of every private prep school, only to end up finding his niche in public school, which seemed to be the last place he would belong. Seems pretty cliché so far, but then it branches off into its own territory, and Charlie Bartlett becomes the kid you actually wish you knew in school. So enamored was I with the charming, funny, yet sweet title character that I had to look up the actor who played him, and I was shocked that he was that kid I didn’t like so much in Hearts in Atlantis. Here was a young actor who seemed completely uninhibited, willing to do almost anything on camera and make a total fool of himself, and look good doing it. There is a little bit of screwball content in Charlie Bartlett, and it doesn’t quite get the subject of psychotropic drugs right, but what I love is the sweet earnestness of the character and how accepting he is of everyone (even a stern, sad sack, alcoholic principle, played by Robert Downey Jr.), showing that it’s possible for people to be good to one another, even in a vicious place like high school.

New York, I Love You (2008)

A fun collection of 10 short films by different directors with the common theme, which is expressed in the movie’s title: a love of the big apple. In Anton’s segment, directed by Brett Ratner, he plays a high school kid who was dumped on the day of his prom. But his boss at the pharmacy has a surprise for him, which will make this prom night one to remember. I dare not say anything more, except that it’s a charming and funny piece of an overall delightful film.

Middle of Nowhere (2008)

More teen angst and dysfunctional parents here. Anton plays another privileged kid who doesn’t appreciate what he’s got, so he rebels, and is sent off to live with…an uncle? (That part was somewhat unclear.) He starts working at a crappy urban water park, where he meets a girl he likes named Grace, who is extremely unhappy with her mom (Susan Sarandon, who always plays bad mothers) for blowing all the family money on a modeling career for her younger sister, which the sister doesn’t even want. Anton’s character, Dorian, agrees to let Grace help him sell pot to make money to pay for college—her ticket out of her unhappy life. At some point, he also gets the gumption to find his birth mother and ask why she gave him up. This is fairly melodramatic, Lifetime movie-type material, but if you are a Yelchin fan, you’ll enjoy it for that reason alone.

Star Trek films (2009-2016)

I’m combining all the Trek films in this section because when it comes to the character of Pavel Chekov, it’s all pretty much the same. In the original Star Trek series and films, Chekov always had the smallest of the 7 “lead” roles. And the same thing is true here. Did this make me sad? Did it make me mad? Well, yes, to be honest, I hoped for more. But it was delightful seeing Anton in his bundle-of-rabid-energy mode (ala Charlie Bartlett) and that beautiful native Russian accent. Some would say the accent was over the top, but in paying homage to Walter Koenig’s performance in the original, it was necessary. And I’m guessing it was a lot of fun for Anton, who was born in Russia, to ham that up a little.

Terminator Salvation (2009)

I avoided this one for a long time. In fact, I only saw it this week for the first (and probably last) time. Part of the problem was some of the publicity surrounding it. There was Christian Bale’s meltdown in which he screamed at the cinematographer on set. Then there was the bashing of Terminator 3 among the cast, including Bale and even (gasp) Anton. The earlier film wasn’t great by any means, but it had one of my all-time favorite actors, Nick Stahl, who did a noble job with less than stellar material. I just read that Bale blamed the failure of Salvation on its director, McG. Why can’t people just be nice and supportive of each other’s work? But it was difficult all these years never watching it because Anton played my favorite character in the series, the one occupied in the first film by the incomparable Michael Biehn, who is another actor that I love. What would Anton do with this character? I only just found out. The trouble with this installment of the franchise is that all the human drama is drowned out by endless action sequences. And while its predecessors had their share of such sequences, they managed to at least make you care about the outcome of what you were watching.

Like Crazy (2011)

Possibly the most critically acclaimed film of Anton’s career, this Sundance prize winner was the story of young love and forced separation, due to the kind of dumb mistakes that people make when they’re young. She (Anna, played by Felicity Jones) overstays her student Visa, and can’t come back. Jacob (Anton) has a great career here and doesn’t want to move to Britain, and they both wander in and out of each other’s lives, in and out of love, trying to make it work, hooking up with other people only to break their hearts to return to their first love. It’s a statement to the honesty of this film that the most sympathetic and heartbreaking character is neither of the leads, but the “other woman” played by Jennifer Lawrence.  Her pain of being rejected in palpable, and somehow more affecting than most similar scenes I’ve seen in movies. She is truly amazing. One interesting note about this film that I only recently found out is that much of the scene work was improvised. The filmmaker had a rough outline of the events that were to take place, but the actors had a huge level of freedom and responsibility to not only flesh out their characters but to come up with their own dialogue and actions.

You and I (2011)

A couple of lesbian teenagers in Russia meet online and bond over the music of a faux-lesbian band called T.a.t.U. and their dreams of fame, fortune, and modeling. Anton plays a sleazy rich guy who promises to hook one of them up with a famous fashion photographer, but when she refuses to sleep with him, he becomes less than supportive. One girl ends up in jail, and the other ends up drug addicted and on the street. But it all ends happily enough when the manager of T.a.t.U. discovers the girls’ YouTube video and saves them from prison, drugs, homelessness, and obscurity. The band T.a.t.U. really did exist, but I hear they were not actually lesbians. This movie plays like one of those tacky pop star promo films, with a bit of Lifetime movie cautionary tale thrown in. Not much Anton here; his picture on the cover is deceptive. He does, however, get to use his Russian Chekov accent again!

The Beaver (2011)

Jodie Foster directed this highly unusual film starring Mel Gibson as an extremely depressed man named Walter who suffers a mental break after failing to commit suicide. In that act, he happened to be holding a beaver hand puppet (which he had found in a dumpster earlier that night) in his right hand, and suddenly Walter’s fractured personality is channeled into The Beaver, a tough-talking life coach with an Australian accent who’s determined to help Walter get his life back together. His wife (Foster) and resentful son Porter (Anton) can only talk to the Beaver; Walter’s not available for comment. While Walter’s life actually does find stability, his family life falls apart ever further than it had before the breakdown. Porter has a troubled romance with classmate Norah, who hides tragic secrets from her past. Another great performance from Jennifer Lawrence here. I love this movie. It is absurd in the way that Walter uses the Beaver to cope with his broken psyche, and it’s also hilarious, and it’s also very poignant in the way it deals with the effects of mental illness, and the love that can hold a family together. Of all the movies Anton has been in, I think this one most closely resembles the type of thing that I would write myself.

Fright Night (2011)

This is his worst movie. Well, I know I haven’t seen them all, but I’m pretty sure. There was no reason for this remake of the 1985 film with Roddy McDowell as the old horror movie star and Chris Sarandon as the evil vampire. Anton filled William Ragsdale’s shoes okay as Charley Brewster, but Christopher Mintz-Plasse was no substitute for Stephen Geoffrey’s wild, wacky, but ultimately tragic Evil Ed character. Even the likes of Colin Farrell and David Tennant couldn’t save this cheap knock-off. You don’t care about any of the characters. Where in the original, they seemed like real (if eccentric) people, here they just serve the plot. The friendship between Charley and Ed is downplayed, as is the homoerotic subtext surrounding Ed’s character. Everything that made the original interesting and fun to watch was absent here.

Odd Thomas (2013)

A long-time fan of Dean Koontz, and a big fan of his Odd Thomas book series, I can’t tell you how excited I was that Anton was chosen to play the main character, a young fry cook who could see the dead and whose mission it was to help resolve their problems, which, in many cases, involved solving and preventing murders. For some reason, Koontz—who is in his 70s—has a knack for writing a really strong voice for young people, a voice filled with wit, intelligence, and a solid sense of morality. All of these things Odd uses to fulfill his duty, his purpose for being on the planet. Anton was perfect for this role, and the only disappointment was that it was not commercially successful.Well, and also the fact that Anton would not live to star in sequels, although it's doubtful that there would have been any in spite of seven successful books, some better than others. This film is enhanced significantly by the casting of Willem Dafoe as Chief Wyatt Porter. And like the book, this movie will leave you in tears by the end. Koontz is often a powerful writer, and Stephen Sommers' faithful adaptation checks all the boxes to make this movie work on the same level. It is one of the only adaptations of Koontz's work that has ever met his approval. 

Rudderless (2013)

Sam (Billy Crudup) loses his son to an act of school gun violence. The son was a musician, and his dad hears his son’s compositions for the first time, and decides to learn them and perform them live. He passes them off as his own, and attracts a young man who wants to join his band: Quentin, played by Anton. If Sam was somewhat of an absent father to his son, maybe he has another chance in Quentin, who seems to be lonely, shy, and somewhat awkward. A nice little indie film, perhaps a bit slow in pacing. One of several films that portray Anton as a musician of one kind or another, and indeed he did play guitar and piano, and wrote and performed in a band.

5 to 7 (2014)

Anton plays an aspiring writer who meets an attractive woman one day on her smoke break. She offers him an ongoing fling, but it must be between the hours of 5 to 7 each day. After that, you see, her husband comes home. Well, it all becomes emotionally complicated, as you can easily predict, and at least one person’s heart gets broken. I love to watch Anton in a romantic role, but this harkens back too much to the territory of Like Crazy.

Dying of the Light (2014)

Nick Cage plays a dying CIA agent, out for revenge against some mofo who tortured him years ago. Anton plays a fellow agent, in one of his only roles that I found a little hard to swallow. He’s a good guy, and loyal to a fault. Cage’s character is obsessive and deteriorating, and his mission is fraught with danger, but the young protégé will follow, even unto death. This is actually a more thoughtful film than it sounds. Cage has more humanity in it than you would think. Some of the violence is unnecessary and gratuitous, but the film has heart that you don’t expect.

Broken Horses (2015)

In an isolated desert town close to the Mexican border, two brothers share a special bond. One of them (Jacob, the adult version played by Anton) is a smart musical prodigy, destined to get out of this shit town. The other (Buddy, the adult version played by Chris Marquette, in a performance that actually outshines Yelchin) is mentally disabled and winds up being brainwashed by the head of the town mob (Vincent D’Onofrio), following the death of the boys’ father, and recruited to do his dirty bidding. Of course, Jacob is oblivious to all this while he’s gone. One day he comes back and learns the truth, throwing a wrench into the empire that D’Onofrio has built. Part family drama, part suspense, part action film, this stylish thriller is a cut above almost everything that you can find for free On Demand because it never got good distribution for some stupid reason. I repeat, Marquette steals the show here.

The Driftless Area (2015)

The title refers to an area of land in the Middle of Nowhere, a place where the glaciers stopped moving so many eons ago and left random patches of mountain in their eventual wake. (Something like that…although I took geology in school, I never understood it all that well.) A strange ghost story of sorts, Anton plays a young man who is actually kind of adrift himself, with nothing really going on in his life, until he falls in a well and is rescued by a beautiful young woman…who happened to have died in a fire a while back. Pierre falls for the woman rather quickly, and there are some nice romantic and sexy moments. An old man played by Frank Langella informs her that Pierre is the guy who is meant to bring retribution on the man who started the fire, and these events are set in motion with nothing able to stop it. This all sounds pretty heavy, but the characters themselves—especially the villains—are treated with a rather light touch and a slightly warped sense of humor. They are imbeciles, and you really don’t want them to meet a dark fate, because they barely seem to have any understanding of how life works, much less right and wrong. This movie is a little bit like Fierce People, in that it has wild shifts in mood, and, as an audience, it can be hard to know how you’re supposed to respond to it.

Green Room (2015)

I saw this filmed-in-Oregon horror flick with my friend James. It’s one of the only Yelchin films I’ve seen on the big screen (the others are the Star Treks, Like Crazy, and maybe Hearts in Atlantis). I remember there was a screening a few week prior at the Hollywood Theatre, and I didn’t know if Anton would be there. I kind of wanted to go if he was, but I stayed home. I don’t know if he was around. Apparently, it was shot around Astoria. Patrick Stewart played the head of some scary neo-Nazis who are bent on killing Yelchin’s punk band because they witnessed a murder. Most everyone in the movie dies. I wish that this had not been the final release before Anton’s death. Apart from his music ability, which was real, this role could have been played by a thousand other actors. It wasn’t a great note to end on, but there is comfort in the fact that his career and life really did not end on this. There are a number of films that are in post-production, a handful of more chances to see this unique talent and his ever eclectic project choices.

So I hope this blog entry got some readers, and that some of you will check out some of these films. Most of them are worth seeing. Anton Yelchin wasn’t just another hot young leading man type. In fact, one you could argue that he wasn’t all that conventionally handsome. And he often excelled at roles that were not the traditional hero or romantic lead. He loved telling an interesting story and creating complex characters. He was an actor and an artist, in the truest sense.

Flashback: Forever Plaid

This entry is part two in my series of reflections about plays that I have directed, talking about choices I made and things I learned.

In the blistering heat of mid-summer one weekend in 2009, both my parents and I had a nasty stomach flu. Day and night, we lay around the living room—the coolest place in the old non-air-conditioned house—with all the fans on, trying to sleep through as much of it as we could. Man, it was awful. One afternoon, the phone rang. It was HART Theatre out in Hillsboro. I had responded to a notice from them looking for directors for their upcoming season of plays. I was given the second show of the season, Forever Plaid. That phone call turned an otherwise abysmal day of suffering into an abysmal day of suffering with a silver lining. I had been away from theatre since 2001, having gotten a “real” job in retail which, for six years, sucked out my energy and ambition for all creative endeavors. When I quit my job in ’08 and was subsequently unable to find another one (or get back the one I quit which is something I actually wanted), I was at loose ends, flailing in life, directionless, and hopeless. I had no idea that this play—which I really didn’t know much about—would end up being a whole new beginning for me. But that afternoon, I was certainly grateful for something to come into my life.

The first meeting I had at HART was with the two co-artistic directors, Carrie Boatwright and Paula Richmond, along with all the other directors for the season. We all had a notebook full of rules and procedures, and the whole thing—while surely expedient for the ADs—seemed a bit awkward to me. I learned we had to make actors sign in and out of rehearsal, and that no nepotism was allowed. (Gee whiz, what kinda place was this? I did get passed their nepotism rule though; my dad was a huge part of this play, being the voice of the introduction, as well as stage manager.) But it was all right. I was happy to have something to sink my teeth into.

Forever Plaid by Stuart Ross is a musical about a boy band…not the kind of boy band you have now, but the kind they had in the 60s. Not rock and roll, but something of a more barbershop variety. I was completely unfamiliar with this type of music, so I had some research to do. I checked out a bunch of albums from the library of vocal groups from the era. A lot of it was quite dull, but there was some really catchy stuff as well. To this day, I listen to a lot of it that I put on the preshow playlist,  including “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)” by the Four Lads, “Italian Street Song” by the Hi-Lo’s and “I Like it Like That” by the Crew Cuts.  I researched old Ed Sullivan Show clips on YouTube to get a sense of some of the entertainment that was popular, both for context, and because there was a whole scene dedicated to emulating an episode of that show.  By the time auditions came around, I still felt woefully unprepared in terms of my familiarity with the period, but I thought I could fake it well enough.

I had only directed one musical in the past…and that show had been an unmitigated disaster (in spite of having some good people involved)!  And regarding this, I didn’t fake it; I was very honest about what I would need to make this thing fly. And fortunately for me, I had an amazing vocal director (Alice Dalrymple) and choreographer (Kate Jahnson) already lined up to do the essential things that I knew I couldn’t do. Like most musicals, Plaid is mostly song and dance, and so the success of this show was mostly theirs, and of course the performers who did such an awesome job.

That last point about performers was a minor miracle though. We had very, very few auditions. All four of the characters were young men, and I think we had six auditioning for us. Three of them were former students of Alice’s, and that’s why they were there. They were cast, not for that reason, but because they were the best singers. And then we just happened to have a guy show up who could sing a bass part. In the end, it was so easy…so little to choose from, yet the perfect cast. There did happen to be one actor I wanted to cast because I had seen him rock an amazing performance in a production of Dog Sees God, and I knew that he was an up-and-coming star in the Portland theatre scene. (I was right too; everybody now knows who this person is.)  But I had to defer to Alice’s expertise in putting the right group of vocalists together, and I don’t regret it at all. (As for this other actor I wanted to cast, I’m quite sure we’ll work together some day.)

Preliminary rehearsals took place a few blocks from the theater in the Pythian building (which I affectionately called the Python). It’s sort of a lodge, like Elks or Masons or Odd Fellows. It’s got that sort of ancient, dark, dank, and haunted feeling about it. You climb up a narrow flight of stairs (which had a broken track along the side for one of those chairs you can ride up and down, like that mean lady from Gremlins had, which was sabotaged and sped her up super fast before tossing her ass out the window) and go through a few rooms that seem to have no purpose, and into a giant carpeted hall with weird shaped wooden tables and podiums all over the place. You feel like you should be wearing a robe and a funny hat, in preparation for some bizarre ritual.

Kate had told me that not every song would require a lot of choreography, so she was going to primarily focus on the ones that were big dance numbers, leaving me to come up with the small flourishes of movement that the rest of the songs required. This terrified me. I mean, terrified. And with good reason. The first song we worked on was “Three Coins in a Fountain”, and I’m thinking to myself, Okay, how can I visually express this? So I had them slowly raise their arms in unison with three fingers indicated to show that, indeed, they meant three coins and not four or five. It was a little embarrassing, but I was surprised by some of the things that I came up with, of course with some help from the cast and even my dad who came up with a smart movement during “Moments to Remember” where they all took pictures of their loved ones from wallets and passed them around.

I had initially intended to attend vocal and dance rehearsals, but after a few, I quickly realized that for the observer who wasn’t participating, it got quite tedious and repetitive. And I realized that I trusted Alice and Kate with what they were doing, so I didn’t need to supervise. I’d have a chance to scrutinize everything later anyway, when we put the pieces together. There may have been a few things that I was dissatisfied with in Kate’s choreography that I may have brought up to be tweaked a bit, but I honestly don’t remember. Mostly I was thrilled beyond measure at the talent and work that both Alice and Kate put in. As director, all I had to do was fill in the pieces in between the numbers. (With a few notable exceptions; for the Ed Sullivan piece, three out of the four actors frantically came on and off the stage several times as various famous acts that appeared on the show, like Señor Wences, Jose Jimenez, and Topo Gigio. This all had to be timed very carefully and blocked in such a way that nobody ran into each other…unless they were supposed to.)  And that was pretty simple to do. I was also able to work with the actors on character analysis a little more than I think you would usually see in a musical like this. I honestly think some directors would not have bothered, but it really added depth and texture to the piece. There was an element of tragedy to this story, and also a lovely portrait of friendship and camaraderie, which was very important to me to capture. I wanted the audience to feel like they knew these characters, apart from the song and dance. And I think they did, thanks to the thoughtful and emotionally open performances of Frank Strauhal, Joe Aicher, Erick Valle, and Leland Redburn.

I don’t remember if Alice was always going to be the accompanist on the show, or if that just happened because we couldn’t find another one. It worked out great though because the relationship was already there between her and the actors, and the piano player is a character in the show, so the familiarity really helped. There is a very amusing moment in the script where Frank introduces the piano player, and he would give her different names on different nights. A couple of the names never made it beyond rehearsal because they caused hysterical laughter which made it hard for the actors to go on with the scene. I regret that audiences never got to hear Alice introduced as Nelly Belly or Blanket Jackson, but it’s probably for the best.

For a long time we were panicking over who was going to be our bass player, another musician who was onstage the whole time. I did know a guy from my former job who played bass, but really didn’t imagine he’d be interested. But I just walked into the store one day and asked him, and he surpassingly said okay. That’s how Chris Ronek and I started what would end up being a fairly frequent creative collaboration over the years; I’ve relied on him not only for his playing, but also composing in other works I’ve done that required original music.  

Forever Plaid is a prop-heavy show, and my dad and I worked with Paula to track down the many, many things the show required: various instruments (maracas, claves, melodica, accordion, hi-hat), puppets, stuffed animals, bamboo sticks, candles, an old school Milk of Magnesia bottle (supplied by my friend Holly Heft), and much more. Many of the items Paula sent out for from another company who had produced the show in the past; most of these props were rather terrible, like the Perry Como cardigan and the fake Plaid albums. We used most of it, but we made our own albums with the help of my friend Michael Stringfield, who also did all the promo shooting for the play. (It was a very good day with the gang, piled up in our van going to various locations like Mt Tabor Park and the Grotto. The guys had their beautiful teal plaid jackets on—which we ordered from another company—and we walked into a Plaid Pantry waiting for someone to comment, but they never did.) The album covers Michael did ranged from classy to campy and hilarious. It was nice getting a comment from Carrie and Paula that we had, in those covers, really captured the essence of this play and its lovable characters.

Another outside talent we had to recruit was Rose Barclay, who showed Leland the art of fire-eating, which was a part of the Sullivan sequence. And on top of that, she gave the guys incredibly authentic period haircuts, which took several hours (glad I also didn’t feel the need to supervise that).

Once rehearsals shifted from the Python to the actual theatre, it was exhilarating to own and occupy that space. I came to love the HART theatre space. I loved the stage, the auditorium, the prop room, the little storage cubby in the lobby, the lobby itself, the kitchen. I loved being there. I felt so alive and at home. In a way, I loved it too much because I wanted to be actively involved in things like lobby decoration, and Carrie and Paula discouraged that. “Just focus on what’s on the stage”, they said, but that’s not the kind of director and creator I am. I ended up going behind their backs and sticking Michael’s art on the lobby walls, and while I got a lecture, they didn’t take it down. The people coming in to see the show were quite fascinated by it.  

The set was fun to conceptualize and to build. I’ve always had a fetish for royal blue and silver, so that was the color palette we used for the backdrops. Four 4x8 flats to make two entrances, in addition to a raised platform with two 4x8 flats as the backdrop, and a beautiful fabric rendering of the title, created by Paula. Behind the platform and off the exits to the sides were the many, many props that were used. There was a lot of coming and going. There was a smoke machine and two bubble machines, one on each side. (Unfortunately, one of the bubble machines—provided by Chris—was quite impressive, putting out a lot of stuff, but we couldn’t find another one like it, and ended up getting a really wimpy one from Party City, and so what was coming from the left side of the stage didn’t match at all what was coming from the right.) There was supposed to be a mirror ball, but our technical director couldn’t get it to work right, so we had to do without.

Prop work and set work became a family project. Dad and I picked up four wooden stools and painted them black; they were an integral part of the show, used mostly during slow numbers. Dad also put together the long-handled plungers that were used in the crowd favorite, “Crazy About You Baby”. My brother Mark was recruited to build the storage area behind the backdrop, so that everything would have a neat place to go. Actually, he also helped build the backdrop. My mother worked on props, like the plaid package that opens for a little Mexican doll to pop out. All in all, I loved the way both family and friends were drawn into this, and I have since longed for that kind of involvement from my creative friends since then, but it’s been mostly elusive.

The unique sense of joy I experienced when doing this show, which has been mostly unsurpassed in my other shows before or since, got the better of me, in that I felt the need to document everything. I decided to make a documentary video about the process, taping bits of vocal warm-ups, interviews with cast and crew, and backstage antics. I hung out backstage a lot, because I just loved the people, and wanted to be in the thick of it. But not everyone was happy with the video or my presence backstage. At least one person was quite uncomfortable with it, and I did not know this until I had already offended the person, and by then it was too late to undo. (Attempts by me to work with this actor again have been unsuccessful.) It was a hard lesson. When you’re a director, you have to have a sense of detachment. You’re not one of the cast. You’re not their “friend”; you’re the director, and it means there are boundaries.

On a happier note, someone got it in their head that we should do a little something extra for the closing matinee audience. We settled upon a performance of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”. We went to Frank’s place—then in Beaverton—and they rehearsed the song several times and ran lines. That was a lot of fun, and I did tape most of it. When the show was over on that Sunday, they came out, out of character, and performed the song, which the audience seemed to really think was a nice bonus. It added some “sweet” to the always-bittersweet nature of closing.

In the years following, I tried several times to get Plaid Tidings, the holiday sequel of sorts, produced, but was unsuccessful. I really wanted to bring all the same people back, because that was the magic that made our production so good. But eventually it became clear that they were not all interested in doing it again, so I lost interest. Then recently, I got the opportunity to do it at HART (of all places), and even though I knew I couldn’t get all the same people, I was going to have a go at it anyway. But like before, there were very few people who came to audition, this time too few. Things fell through the cracks, and truthfully, I’m okay with it. Forever Plaid was an amazing experience, and I’m not at all sure that that kind of lightning was meant to strike twice.