Just Wrought

Recovering playwright, once won a STRANGER Genius Award for theater. Now writing a bloated novel about… G-d help me! Theatre.

Tag: Marya Sea Kaminski

  • Sincerely, Good Luck

    Sincerely, Good Luck

    Of course I believe in free will.  I have no choice.
    Isaac Bashevis Singer

    Imagine that I am essentially cynical and selfish. Imagine that what a friend of mine who works at one of Seattle Big Houses once told me is true: that the only reason I write this blog is because I’m mad that they won’t produce my plays.  Imagine that my outrage has always been, and will always be, essentially self-serving.  Come on.  Imagine.  Like the man says, it’s easy if you try.

    It would explain a lot actually, like why nearly a year ago I felt safe saying in a post titled “On Institutional Arrogance”:

    Allow me to honor the clarity of Intiman’s ultimatum with some clarity of my own: I hope they die.   I hope they do it soon and with a minimum of suffering.  And most of all I hope they do it without siphoning precious funds from the rest of us who make theatre in the Pacific Northwest.

    It didn’t take a psychic to know that , despite then Artistic Director, Kate Whoriskey’s guilt-trippy pandering plea, they were highly unlikely to raise the half a million dollars they were asking for in what I called their “shoot-the-puppy” campaign.  So I bet the safe money and called for them to close their doors.  Cynical.  Self-serving.  And ultimately dead accurate.

    Similarly but conversely, when the Intiman announced last August that they would keeping Andrew Russell on as “consulting artistic director” and that his goal for 2012 would be “….to establish a loose collective of playwrights, directors, actors, designers and others to devise projects for Intiman to produce, in a short “micro-season” mounted next summer…” I kept my mouth shut.  Here was a situation not so easy for a self-serving cynic to prognosticate. 

    Then in November Russell made his plans plainer.  This from The Stranger’s Slog:

    At a press conference earlier today, Intiman announced it was going to make a go of it after all, with a four-play summer festival, a repertory company of 12 actors, and artistic direction from Andrew Russell. The four-play season is a “split focus,” as Russell put it, between Intiman regulars and a potential new crowd that wants to see newer, weirder, more local work.

    Reading further down I learned that Russell had recruited for his bold new strategy some of Seattle’s most exciting (and mostly young) talents like Marya Sea Kaminski, Michael Place, and Jennifer Zeyl; topping it off by somehow snagging the venerable Dan Savage to provide the original work for Russell’s four play plan.  This was no longer a “shoot-the-puppy” campaign.  This was a “Honey-look-at–this-adorable-puppy-I-brought–home-for-Christmas!” campaign.  And a very sexy puppy at that.  When you’ve been as cynical and self-serving as I have, for as long as I have, you learn not to bet against this kind of talent.  I kept my mouth shut again and waited to see if the “phoenix Intiman” could raise the million they were now asking for.  I suspected they would.

    And late last night we found out they did.

    I have met Andrew Russell.  He was gracious enough to come hear an early reading of my new play Ballard House Duet.  Along with a handful of other trusted colleagues, he gave some truly insightful feedback.  It’s clear to me that Andrew is extraordinarily talented at motivating people and, more importantly, money.  In the world of 21st Century regional theatre, you really cannot ask for more of an artistic director.  And Andrew has a few other things going for him.  He’s young.  He’s ambitious, and unlike his predecessor Kate Whoriskey, he owes his position not to sinecure but his own pluck and determination.  In short, he earned it.  What’s more, he’s making deep connections with the amazing talent native to Seattle.  All this bodes well for the success of his career, if not necessarily for the sustained success of Intiman.  But then again, I think I have been clear in the past how much I care whether the institution we formerly knew as the Intiman lives or dies.  Instead I say, long live the talent represented in the team Andrew has assembled, and long live his own talent for recognizing and organizing it.

    And if, as I cynically suspect, Andrew ultimately winds up on the same path as a few promising rookie Mariners, eventually proving himself worthy of a trade to the Yankees in a few years, well then, I may grumble and bitch, but I will still watch in quiet admiration when he belts one over the bleachers in New York.

  • It’s Been a Year

    I launched Just Wrought a year ago today with the essay “Towards a World Class Theatre”.  I am glad I did it, but now for reasons completely different from those I had when I started.  Back then I had no idea that through this blog I would gain the good friendship and professional working relationship I have with Jim Jewell, now the Managing Producer of NewsWrights United; or that I would get to know Lyam White, Jose Amador, and Omar Willey so much better.

    Conversely, I honestly did not suspect that I would lose some friends simply by saying publicly what I had always said to them in private bullshit sessions; but alas, this too is true, as some have conflated my arguments here about failures of leadership, courage and imagination in Seattle theater with personal aggression towards them and their livelihoods.  Some, but happily not all, or even most; because even more surprising than the estranged colleagues have been the artistic leaders who have reached out to me to say essentially, “I think a lot of what you say is crap, but I am glad you are saying it.”

    Just like nearly everything we do as artists—or really, humans— I have no idea if this project has succeeded, and I may never know.  I do not suspect for a minute that I have yet made even the slightest dent in the status quo of how theatre gets done in Seattle, but I do sometimes flatter myself with believing I have helped simultaneously broaden and sharpen the conversation.

    Of the thirteen formal essays I set out to write, I have managed to finish only five over the last 365 days.  Looking at the list now, I realize with certainty that I will never write at least three of them.  “Since When Are Directors Indispensable?” was going to point out that directors are a relatively new species in the long history of theatre, and that playwrights like Shakespeare and Moliere managed incomparable dramatic brilliance without them; but honestly, I don’t know of a single working playwright who leans more heavily on the talent of the directors he collaborates with than myself.  I literally cannot imagine producing Tuesday at Annex Theatre, or our current Living Newspapers, without Dawson Nichols, and the thought of the erstwhile Empty Space’s production of  Louis Slotin Sonata without John Langs at the helm, bringing together as he did all the amazing acting and design elements (not to mention his kick-ass choreography in the second act dance number) literally depresses me.  I could not do my work without directors, so what sort of non-hypocritical point was I hoping to make?  Perhaps only that the rising stock of the anti-collaborative idea of singular stage director auteurship, borrowed as it is from filmmaking, is a mistaken and destructive direction in theatre, especially when regional houses make season selections based on which plays will entice particular directors to work with them.  Throughout the 20th century stage directors gained power   mostly at the expense of playwrights.  The art form will regain health when that inequity is honestly addressed and steps are taken to resolve it.

    I also no longer plan to write about the deleterious arrangement Seattle theatre has with Actors Equity (the stage actors union), or how the viral nature of MFA programs for actors, directors and playwrights is weakening and rarifying our art form in this country.  I realize after this year of speaking out that as a college-dropout actor-turned-playwright, these are no longer my battles to fight.  Only the actors in this town can fix things so they have the same right to develop new works for the stage as actors in Los Angeles and New York; and only young people themselves can wake up and realize that chasing the imprimatur of higher education only takes them further away from the audiences that really need them, and that the excuse of needing a degree to make a living by teaching their craft only perpetuates the virus, while ultimately helping no one, including themselves.

    Of the five essays I did manage to write I am proud and stand by them.  Locally grown new plays do matter, and I see signs that Seattle is making more of them.  World Class Theatre does mean something, even when it cannot and should not be defined precisely.  Playwrights and designers can form some amazing alliances, and I earnestly hope for more of them, for myself and for the world of play development at large.  One-person shows are an easy way for a theaters to shirk the hard work of actually making new plays.  (All props and apologies to Mike Daisy, Jose Amador, Marya Sea Kaminski and everyone else who does such amazing solo work.  I don’t want you to stop.  I just want theatres to stop selling live story-telling  as “plays” {And yes, I understand that even that won’t happen.})

    That leaves five essays unwritten and unspiked.  The one most likely to see daylight in 2011 is “Stop trying to be Respectable, You’re in Show Business”; because I still see way too many of my Seattle colleagues cozying up for financial support and social legitimacy to the very same powerful interests that they should instead be looking for ways to indict theatrically.  I wish I had a condo payment for every time an otherwise  brilliant artistic administrator has baldly insisted to me that theatre is an elitist art form and therefore must depend on the good graces of corporations and  the upper class for its existence.  If I believed this, I would not only quit today, I would start doing everything I could to darken every stage currently producing plays in this city.  Thankfully, I know better.  As show people, we are at our best playing the dangerous fool, telling the wealthy and well-placed  who would teach us our art, what Lear’s Fool told Lear, “I am better than thou art now; I am a Fool, thou art nothing.”

    Just Wrought’s first year has been an often hectic, sometimes even bruising struggle.  Lately I have had to remind myself and others that I am an artist first, and an advocate only much further down my list of priorities.  Over the last few weeks I have been feeling a growing need to take time to lie fallow here for the sake of my creativity.  I resolve to listen more than I talk in 2011.  Of course that doesn’t mean I won’t be talking at all.

    Expanded conversations.  Bruising struggles over important ideas.  Greater clarity around the issues about which I should just keep quiet.

    Lost friends.  Gained friends. 

    It’s been a year.

  • Another Sample of MSK’s Insight on her Award Day

    Another Sample of MSK’s Insight on her Award Day

    Every truly great actor whom I know personally possesses something that all of the just-almost-great actors whom I personally know utterly lack.  (I must tread carefully now.)  Actors like Marya Sea Kaminski and William Salyers, with whom I inevitably compare her, nurse a kernel of contempt for the charms of their craft.  Or is it contempt?  Disdain? Skepticism may be kinder, if not more accurate.  They quietly eschew that most of loathsome habit of actors, self-back-patting.

    SELF-BACK-PATTING ACTOR: “How many people do you know who can do what I do on stage?”

    EVERYONE ELSE: “Well… not many, but perhaps that’s a blessing?

    Great actors do not celebrate themselves.  Great actors, perhaps to a fault, don’t celebrate much at all in the theatre (unless, of course, the character they are playing is celebrating).  They are almost always too busy, too focused, keeping their heads down and digging deeper.   They understand that the show is not them, but that, counter-intuitively, they are in fact the show.  And thus people keep coming back to see them, or not them, per se, but them breathing, them giggling, them preening prancing prattling, sloppily kissing, them dying and killing, them living.  Or put another way, them [anything but acting].

    One of the reasons Marya is such a pleasure to work with is that she quietly leans her brain more deeply into the art than most of her colleagues.  Evidence, is it, you need?  This from her current Stranger feature explaining why she was given this year’s Genius Award for Theatre.

    …that’s the fear that people have been talking about with the Method since the beginning,” she says. “I can think about my dog getting hit and get teary—until the day thinking about my dog getting hit doesn’t get me teary anymore. And then I’ve failed in two ways: I’ve failed to bring an honest emotion to the stage and I’ve numbed myself to that personal experience.”

    Simply. . .

    Briliant.

    That’s Marya.

  • A Sample of Marya’s Wisdom

    A Sample of Marya’s Wisdom

    Click here for some wisdom about teaching art and doing art from Marya Sea Kaminski, one the finest actors and people I know.  She’s easily one of the top ten reasons Seattle has a shot at being a world class theatre town.  I only hope I get to play with her again on some fun project, like I did with The Ten Thousand Things

    Here she is in her final scene of the Washington Ensemble Theatre world premiere of that play, in the fabulous “octopus dress” designed for her by Heidi Ganser.