Thursday, January 31, 2013

Farce, Part 2: Noises Off

Noises Off by Michael Frayn is, in my opinion, the best farce ever written. For those unacquainted, Noises Off is a play-within-a-play, revolving around a troupe of actors that's rehearsing a truly terrible sex farce called Nothing On. As an audience, we are treated to three versions of the first act of Nothing On, each time with diminishing returns. The first act is shaky, the second dangerous, and the third a fiasco. It's not easy to make failure look successful, but the structure of Frayn's play is so spectacular that he makes it look like a walk in the park. It's not.

Noises Off is almost impossible to screw up, so long as you remain entirely faithful to the stage directions that Frayn has so meticulously conceived. Reading the script is an interesting experience, as there are nearly as many stage directions as there are lines of dialogue. One of the first pieces of advice I ever received as a director was to black out all of the stage directions and come up with my own ideas, which I usually agree is good advice. However, I strongly believe Noises Off is an exception to this rule, and I would never come near Frayn's script with a marker. I believe any director who chooses to deviate from his stage directions is making a pompous mistake. There is simply no improving upon what's on the page. If even one stage direction is changed, it will come back to haunt the actors pages later, when that direction turned out to be the set-up for a later comedic bit.


A typical set for Noises Off. If the director is smart, they will deviate very little from this layout. The only real decision that needs to be made is whether to have the stairs stage right or stage left. Better to leave the rest alone.

Despite the lengthy stage directions and wordy dialogue, there is not an ounce of fat on the play whatsoever. Every word is necessary, either as a set-up now or payoff later. Which means any director in their right mind will let the play speak for itself and instead turn their attention to the performances. This is where a director has the most influence on the material. Because the play is so strong on its own, it's the performances that make or break any given production. I continue to be amazed that no matter how many times I've seen this play, and no matter how similar the staging has been, I find a new favorite character every single time. It's amazing how an actor can hit their marks as written and still find ways to make the character their own.

Case in point, Jodi Kellogg. For years Kellogg has been an admired actress in the Minneapolis/St. Paul theater community. Her range as a performer is extraordinary, and I've had the great privilege of seeing her portray a wide variety of different characters over the years, from Mae West to Maria Callas to Nurse Ratched. Back in 1999 she filled the role of Belinda Blair in Park Square Theater's production of Noises Off, directed by Michael Kissin. For most, I'm sure this production was one of many they saw that year and has long since become dormant in their memories; however, I laughed so hard and so often that I bought tickets to several performances and will never forget it so long as I live.

Cast of Noises Off. Park Square Theater, St. Paul, MN. 1999.

The character of Belinda Blair is not typically the first that comes to mind when a person thinks of Noises Off. It's a wonderful role to be sure, but more of an ancillary character, and certainly less flashy than Brooke (the ditzy ingenue), Lloyd (the put-upon director), Selsdon (the confused drunk), or Dotty (the self absorbed star). Yet in Kellogg's hands, Belinda became a standout character as the production gossip, dripping with false enthusiasm while covertly sabotaging the entire play. Her choices were repeated strokes of genius, backed by an equally stellar cast that never let up for the play's entire three hour plus running time. By the final curtain, I was in hysterics, along with everyone else in the audience.

It's an experience I'll never forget, one I long to revisit, and one whose greatness I strive toward every time I sit in a director's chair. Yet none of it would have been possible without the flawless blueprint constructed by Frayn, which was in turn followed to the letter by Kissin and brilliantly executed by Kellogg and company.

By the way, Peter Bogdanovich made a film version of Noises Off in 1992, starring Michael Caine and Carol Burnett, among others. While it's impossible to capture the theatrical experience on the silver screen, he did an admirable job translating it to film. It's not nearly as funny as seeing it live on stage, but it's still damn funny, which speaks to just how good the play is.




Stay tuned tomorrow for Part 3: What I learned from Noises Off and how I applied it to my role as director on Moon Over Buffalo.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Farce, Part 1: A Flea in Her Ear

To the person who said "drama is hard, comedy is harder," I'd like to suggest an addendum: "Farce is exhausting."

It's no secret that farce is my favorite genre in the theater. It's an adjective specific to the theater, no matter how many times film directors have tried to trap it in the confines of a movie screen. Some Like it Hot comes closest to achieving the comedic effect of a true farce, but even that falls short, in that we know the mistakes have been edited out. And if all the Marilyn Monroe stories are to be believed, we know there were many. To be a good farce, the material requires an element of danger that can only be achieved on the stage. Quick exits, surprise entrances, and doors slamming at an alarming rate can only truly be appreciated when the possibility of actors missing their cues is part of the equation.

I've been fortunate (and in one instance, not so fortunate) to be involved with what I consider to be the three best farces ever written for the stage. As an audience member, Noises Off by Michael Frayn. As a director, Moon Over Buffalo by Ken Ludwig. And as an actor, A Flea in Her Ear by Georges Feydeau. Two of these experiences were terrific examples of how a well-written, well-staged farce can be a rewarding and complex theatrical experience. The third, however, was proof positive how easily the structure, no matter how strong the material, can become a disaster.

PART 1: A FLEA IN HER EAR

The cast, or should I say survivors, of A Flea in Her Ear.

This was the second last play in which I appeared as an actor, back in 2003. I considered giving up acting all together after the final curtain call (and once in the middle of a particularly bad performance), but I summoned the nerve to give it one more go. That production, Twelve Angry Men, went infinitely better than A Flea in Her Ear, but I never quite got over the the jitters that were permanently lodged in my stomach from Flea, so I never acted again.

A well-written farce pretty much directs itself, so long as the director is willing to play the role of a traffic cop. Such was not the case on this production. I knew we were in trouble when on the first day of rehearsal the director had the entire cast form a circle and internalize our characters. I closed my eyes along with everyone else, hoping against hope that they had no idea what the hell he was talking about either. Internalize our characters? Up to that point I had only read the sides handed to me at the audition, and even more confusing, I wasn't 100% sure what role I was even playing. Oh well, "What are details?" I said to myself. After a few more relaxation games and some exercises I'm sure he picked up in Lamaze class, we went home without ever having looked at the script. I thought perhaps this was his ritual for building an atmosphere of teamwork, so I went to the next rehearsal with an open mind. Alas, it was just more games, more games, more games. If memory serves, we spent a couple hours tossing a beach ball around. This went on for what seemed like weeks and I could see others in the cast starting to get concerned.

In the words of my high school drama teacher: "I can shoot you all with one bullet."

I was lucky enough to be cast in the role of Camille, which in my opinion is easily the best character in the play. He appears only sporadically, popping in and out of doors at inopportune moments. Even better, I barely had to know my lines because the character has a cleft palate, which made him unable to pronounce anything but vowels. I had fun with his speech impediment, changing his babble from one rehearsal to the next. This would have been all well and good had the director not changed the set from one rehearsal to the next. Each night I'd return to rehearsal only to find that the doors had been moved, or were leading to different rooms, or were at the top of a new staircase, or worst of all, had disappeared entirely. Now I'm sure the director went to theater school and knew a thing or two about Elia Kazan, but the last thing an actor wants to hear while rehearsing a farce is "find your entrance."

I never did, nor did the rest of the cast. To their credit (certainly not mine because I was ready to jump ship) the leading players arranged a top secret rehearsal, where they mapped out a general idea of what we should do and where we should enter and what we should say. Thank god for their intervention or we'd still be staging the first act. Still, it was tech rehearsal before we had run the play in its entirety. Somehow, and I have no idea how, the play was coherent enough for the director to give himself a huge pat on the back, just in time for him to find his exit.

I think I was shouting, "Let's get the hell out of here!" Also note the effort made to disguise the doors in our door-slamming farce.

I've blocked the performances from my memory, but seeing as I survived, they couldn't have gone that badly. Although I didn't allow any of my friends to buy tickets, I remain friends with many members of the cast to this day, so in that respect it was a worthwhile experience. It's impossible not to admire others paddling water on the same capsizing ship. But actually living out the actor's nightmare of not knowing what's going to happen when you set foot on the stage is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

Stay tuned tomorrow for Part 2: From my seat in the audience, Noises Off. (Or as a I like to think of it, a dramatization of my experiences backstage on A Flea in Her Ear.) And on Friday, Part 3: From the director's chair, Moon Over Buffalo.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Epic Fail=Amazing Success

Thank you to Wade Bradford for his article about Epic Fail on About.com.

plays.about.com/b/2013/01/14/epic-fail-amazing-success.htm

Wade is the author of several of my favorite plays, including Romeo Revised, CSI: Neverland, and my all time favorite, Conflict. Visit his website for many, many, many more!

www.wadebradford.com