(An April) Fool’s Tale

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One of the best scams I ever heard about was one that I read in a Bennett Cerf(!) book many years ago when I was in junior high school. In the spirit of April Fools Day, I’ll tell it here. It goes like this:

A Texas oil biilionaire, compete with jeweled-studded belt, cigar, and cowboy hat, gets out of his chauffeured Porsche and walks into Tiffany’s jewelry store in New York City. He goes up to one of the swanky ladies at the counter and asks to see the manager. The saleswoman, suitably impressed by the high roller, calls in the manager.

The billionaire reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. He opens it, and there it is: an exquisite diamond earring with small rubies around the 18k setting. The manager looks at it, and his trained eye knows right away, this is the real thing. “Lovely. Do you mind if I ask of its provenance?”  the manager asks, with more than a touch of envy.

The Texan explains. “Given to me—or rather I should say to my beautiful wife—by a Saudi prince who appreciated her charms and my oil fields. He gave her two of them, of course, and somehow the little lady lost one. Three weeks ago, she came home from a party at the Governor’s mansion, and she only had one on when she got home. They looked high and low for it, but nada. Well, it’s insured, so I’m not too sad, but the missus has been inconsolable for the past three weeks. Truth is, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since she lost it. She keeps me awake every night moaning about it.”

The oil man puffs on his cigar thoughtfully. “Her birthday is coming up, so I thought to make her happy, and to get myself some rest, I’d replace the earring she lost. So what I need is an exact match to this one here. I figured if anyone would have such an item, it would be you folks.”

The manager used the opportunity to pick up the earring again and look at it even more closely. He called over his partner to take a look, and sure enough, he, too, was impressed by what he saw.

“Look, I’m going to cut to the chase here with this,” said the Texan. “I’m willing to pay two and half million for a perfect match. You got it or not? Otherwise I’m on my plane back to Texas.”

The manager smiled helplessly. He looked at his partner. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry sir; that’s a beautiful piece and we’d love to sell you another one, but we simply don’t have anything like it. You—”

The manager’s partner, however, coughed, and interrupted. “Give us two weeks. We’ll find one for you.”

“Well, that’s what I like to hear!” said the Texan. “I’ll give you a call in two weeks.”

After the Texan left, the manager turned to his partner wondering how his partner could have made such a rash promise to the man. How were they going to find anything of this quality in two weeks? It was madness. But his partner was optimistic, and they advertised everywhere they could think of, and pulled out all the stops with their network of merchants. They spread the word that they were willing to pay a million dollars for a perfect match.

Two weeks passes, and the Texan calls and asks if they’ve found a match yet. The manager and his partner have to admit defeat. Unfortunately, even with their net cast wide, they had had no proper leads. They were sorry they told him. They had misjudged the situation.

“Look,” the billionaire insisted, “I am getting no sleep. She’s barking up my tree every day and night, twenty-four seven. I’m willing to pay five million for the damn thing, just get it for me, and it better look like my wife’s earring. I’ll give you two more weeks!” The manager and his partner just shake their heads ruefully. They are no longer optimistic.

But a week later, luck comes their way. They get a message through one of their contacts that a French woman they know of knows of another French woman who says she has a very similar earring. She’ll sell it for four million dollars.  The jewelers are skeptical. It’s probably not the real thing, but finally the manager decides to fly to France to take a look.

The next day he arrives in France and is greeted by a very young, very attractive French woman at her estate in the rolling countryside outside of Paris. He is invited in, served expensive wine, and then finally she shows it to him—the earring. He looks at it, wondering if it is going to be a fake. From a quick look, it was clear that while not an exact match, it was very similar to the Texas oil man’s wife’s earring; with a little expert work, it could pass. The only problem was, was it real?

“May I?” he asks the woman. She nods her head, and he picks the earring up to examine it under a loupe. There’s no doubt. It’s genuine. He thanks her, and expresses his interest. Within the hour, he is giving her a cashier’s check for four million dollars, and walking off with the earring locked securely in his briefcase.

As soon as he arrives back in New York, the manager calls the Texan with the good news. The Texan is thrilled, and says he’ll fly in to pick up the ring that evening. How would they like to be paid—in cash, check, bank transfer, whatever? The manager talks it over with his partner, and they agree, that cash would be best. The Texan is amenable to this arrangement and says he looks forward to getting the earring tomorrow.

“It’s an exact match, right?” asks the Texan.

The manager panics for an instant. He realizes, it’s not exactly the same. It needs to be re-set to be a closer match to the other earring. He has to buy some time. “How about you come down here in a week to pick it up. This way we can give you the proper attention you deserve. We’ll show you around New York.”

“A week?’ says the Texan. “I’m not going to last another week. I’ll be down there in exactly a three days from today, and you had better have my earring!” He slams down the phone and the manager is rattled; but he regains his composure when he reminds himself that he knows a few good craftsmen who can do the necessary work in three days if need be.

Three days goes by, and the earring is re-set. But, oddly, the Texan doesn’t show up that day. Or the next day. Or the next. When they call his phone number, they find it has been disconnected.

And one day, perhaps the First of April, they realized what must have happened. There was always only one earring all along. The earring they bought was the same one the Texan had shown them originally. And so they also finally understood why the attractive young lady who they visited outside of Paris, spoke French with what could only be described as a Texan accent…

Made In China: An Irish Comedian’s Journey Performing Stand-up in China

Imagine you are an Irish kid from Queens, New York thrown out of school in your teens for alcohol. Your parents, who evidently have no sense of irony, send you away to Ireland to punish you for your drinking. You subsequently grow up to become a comedian and a celebrity in Ireland, and you are looking for new venues to conquer. Then it hits you: If you perform in China you’ll have a potential audience of billions. Only two problems: one, you want to perform in Mandarin, but you don’t know the language at all; and two, you want to perform stand-up comedy, but the Chinese don’t know what stand-up is.

Well then you would be Des Bishop, who did exactly that. He went to China, learned Mandarin, and performed a stand-up comedy act for Chinese audiences. What’s more he went on the Chinese equivalent of The Dating Game and conversed with his potential dates in fluent Chinese.

Des tells the story of his Chinese encounters, and his love of the country in his very funny new one man show called Made in China. I interviewed him for the Arts Express program on radio station WBAI 99.5 FM NYC. You can hear the fascinating show by clicking on the gray triangle above.

I Scorn to Change My State With Kings

Part of the pleasure when I participated in the Central Park Shakespeare Sonnet Slam last year was listening to the other actors. I remember really liking the performance of the actor who went four sonnets before me, doing Sonnet 29–“When in disgrace with Fortune and men’s eyes.” I had no idea who he was.

Last night I happily came upon a YouTube video of that actor performing the sonnet at the Sonnet Slam; I know it was the same actor, because I could see myself in the video, sitting on stage, waiting to go to the mic. The actor’s name is Ben Crystal. You can see the video above.

But it also turns out that Ben Crystal is a brilliant scholar of Shakespeare’s verse and an excellent teacher. Below, you can hear him give an extraordinary lecture on the acting and dissection of Shakespearean verse.  You will come away from it equipped with more tools for understanding and acting Shakespeare. If you don’t have the time to view the whole lecture, at least listen to his reading of the sonnet. It’s very, very well done.

Let’s Squish Our Fruits Together

The pranksters at Improv Everywhere are at it again, and they need you!

Improv Everywhere is the group of geniuses who created the No Pants Subway prank. They specialize in seemingly spontaneous musical break outs in public places. In the above video you can see one of my favorite of their pranks (or “missions,” as they call them), a real life musical in a grocery store celebrating the mingling of fruits (don’t ask, the video explains all)!

And now you, too, can participate in their next prank in mid-April. If you live in NYC and have one or more of the following skills: ballet, gymnastics, or ballroom dancing, then get in contact with them at the following urls:

Ballet Project

Gymnastics Project

Ballroom Dancing Project

Script for a One Coin Routine

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The best magicians have long told us that the method is not the heart of a trick. Magic, after all, is a branch of the theatrical arts, not a species of brain twister, puzzle, or mathematics lesson. The premise and effect are what the audience sees. The rest is for backstage discussion.

To that end, when a magician is planning a routine, a script is very helpful. Here’s a sample script involving a very simple one coin routine. Interestingly, there’s no outward dialogue in this script! But by working a script, a performer can take a mundane set of tricks and create a more compelling performance piece, as follows.

The following effect is what Gerry Deutsch might call “‘perverse magic.”

Effect: a confused, but lovable old man or woman gets very lucky. S/he is not sure if this good luck is a hallucination or not.

Character: A Chaplinesque poor tramp who can’t believe his or her eyes. Older than Chaplin though, not drunk, but the eyeglasses are not always reliable. Time isn’t what it was.  Was it ever?

This is all performed silently. The dialogue in the script you’re reading is the performer’s silent script. Nothing is spoken out loud. Method is not important right now. The script, as per Pete McCabe’s advice in Scripting Magic is from the audience point of view.

1) (An old man or woman with glasses enters. Looks up to the right, then the left, then back to the right, puzzled.) “A coin in the air? No, can’t be. Coins in the air! I’m seeing things. (Takes off glasses and rubs them against shirt.) There they are again! Maybe it’s a spot against my eyeglasses stuck. (Rubs finger from inside to outside–no glass!) Huh? That’s weird, how did my finger…? (Looks at finger) Hey I got an idea–this is strange, I hope nobody is watching this–I’m going to grab one. (Reaches out, there it is!) What the–OMG–This is like when I–let me look at this–Wow.”

2) (Spinning coin in between both hands) “This is so beautiful–from up there! (Holds up in LH) This is so precious. (Puts in RH, closes hand tight. ) Wait is someone there? (Look around for anyone.) The coin is still there, yes! (Checks the coin, close hand again) I’m so happy I found this.”

3) “Wait a second, something funny is happening with that coin, it’s jumping in my hand it’s weird it’s trying to get away!  Omigosh, I think it’s gone. I can’t bear to think that it is. Is it? (Slowly open hand) It’s gone!”

4) (Looking around) “Where did it go, is it back where I got it from? No, did I drop it, no. Did I–wait–what’s that weird twitching under my right arm? It’s omigosh, it’s my coin (Kissing it). So glad. You bad boy. (Deliberately put it back into RH. Shake tight. Wags finger at it:  ‘Bad boy’. Kisses it.) Wait a second, something funny is happening again with that coin, it’s jumping in my hand, it’s pulling my hand away. It’s gone!  Wait something strange happening now with my left armpit (grab the coin from under the L armpit with RH, transfer to LH in order to adjust glasses to see it better.) Oh you crazy coin.”

5) “And it’s real silver! (Bites it, nods his head to confirm, yes it’s real. Bites it again, swallows it. Look of panic.) I swallowed this thing! I’ve got to get it up! (Coughs and eventually a whole slew of coins comes up which he catches in his hat.) Where did all those come from? That’s really strange. (Looks up at audience for a moment, then back at hat. S/he is startled. Turns the hat upside down) The coins are all gone! what’s going on here?”

6) (Stands motionless for a few moments) “Gone. They’re  nowhere. I screwed up. Maybe it wasn’t even real. (Walk towards Stage Right, looks behind him Stage Left, where he first saw the coin. Walk back slowly to that spot and looks again) I just–I know I –how can I –I’m just a loser. What–what’s that? an echo…a shadow…” (S/he reaches gently into the air again with the RH. S/he has something now. S/he rubs the fingers of the right hand together and a slow, long, pour of silver glitter flutters to the floor. S/he looks up, shaken, thankful, at the magic portal that was open for a brief time. See Chaplin photo above. S/he backs away slowly from the remains of the glitter on the floor until s/he is offstage.)

No One Asked Me

No One Asked Me is a new play about recently arrived undocumented immigrants in NYC. I interviewed the director, actors and writer about the play for radio station WBAI 99.5 FM NYC. The play is not an agitprop presentation of noble golden children, but about real flawed teenagers trying to make their way through life. In the interview we talk about the play, the lives of undocumented immigrant teens, and the process of putting together a piece like this in the tough environment of New York City. You can listen to the interview by clicking on the grey triangle below.

The Last Angry Moose

From The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, one of the delights of growing up in the 1960s.

I Lie For Money

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He had me at ten-foot nose hair.

But let me back up  a moment. Steve Spill is a magician. Probably a lot smarter, harder working, and more creative than your average magician. And he’s written a ridiculously entertaining book about his life and adventures as a journeyman magician trying to make a living from his art. As it turns out, he’s been pretty successful at it for over forty years, and in the process he has built his own magic theater, Magicopolis, in Santa Monica, where he and wife, Bozena, star.

Now when I say successful, I don’t mean David Copperfield successful or David Blaine successful, but successful in that every night he gets to go out and entertain people with his art. Every day he gets to think about crazy ideas that he can add into his show. And lucky for us, magic fans and general readers will soon be able to read Spill’s account of his creative life, due out in May, called I Lie for Money: Candid Outrageous Stories from a Magician’s Misadventures.

The book is a trip through the mind and life of Spill, a man who has met everybody. Well, that is, if your idea of everybody is Dai Vernon, Charlie Miller and, Francis Carlyle. It’s certainly my idea of everybody. Reading Spill’s book is like sitting at a bar hearing entertaining stories told by a really good raconteur, and the more you want to hear, the more he tells. You know you should be getting on home, but you can’t resist one more drink and one more story. Though the book is about 250 pages, I read it all in one night. It’s very quick reading, and you’ll chuckle throughout. The book is well-written and well-edited. But above all, Spill knows how to tell a good story. Though I’ve never seen Spill in person, you can tell that he must please his audiences greatly with his quick wit and well thought out magic.

Back to the ten-foot nose hair. Spill has a chapter on his failed ideas. I really like this chapter because as Spill says, “Part of the reason I wrote this book was to share with those who wish to craft a self-directed creative life—be it an actor, painter, writer, comedian, magician, or whatever—and describe how one can survive in rarely profitable but rewarding professions.” That’s why this book is for the general public as well as magic aficionados. He talks about the relentless drive to create and improve, and that drive necessarily entails failing.

One of these (brilliant!) failed ideas was to put a tiny reel in his nostril and then pull out a ten-foot length of thread from it. As he pulls on the thread he complains that his damned nose hair is growing too fast again.

How could you not love the guy after that? He actually built a prototype of the reel and tried it out before audiences. They, unfortunately, were not as enthusiastic about the idea as Spill was. Philistines.

Other chapters in the book include “Out of Africa,” a chapter about his encounter with an African medicine man (spoiler: the medicine man steals Spill’s Bill in Lemon method for his own purposes), and in a final romantic valentine to his wife Bozena, he has a chapter touchingly titled “How Joan Rivers Got Me Laid.”

Spill drops more names than a Metro PCS phone drops phone calls, but it’s all in good fun, and hey, he’s entitled to it. Bob Dylan, Penn and Teller, Sting, and many more get mentioned. He writes, “I’ve tried to beat down my vanity, but anyone who writes about himself is apt to fall into the magician’s habit of peeking at the deck to find out where the aces lie. This tome is my fist full of aces.”

If you have any interest at all in any of the creative arts, or if you are just looking for some good gossipy fun, then I recommend you cut to the aces and pick up Spill’s book as soon as it comes out. Click on the above photo for details.

P.S. You can hear me interviewing Steve for radio station WBAI 99.5 FM NYC here and here

The Great Stone Face

The finest physical comedian, bar none, in the history of the cinema. No CGI. He broke his neck doing the water tower stunt, but he didn’t discover it until decades later when he complained of severe headaches, and X-rays revealed broken neck vertebrae. Buster Keaton.

My favorite is the newspaper gag. What’s yours?

Mary Elizabeth Doyle and Hershy Horowitz Make Love

Jerry Stiller and Anne Meara, a billion years ago. So sweet.

Hey There

Last week I went to a delightful community theater production of The Pajama Game. The songs were written by Jerry Ross and Richard Adler, and the show was a big hit when it first opened in 1954. They followed up a year later with Damn Yankees which also was a big hit. Unfortunately, Jerry Ross died shortly afterward at the age of 29, and Adler, who lived to be 90, never had a Broadway hit again.

The action of the play is the love story between a union leader and a supervisor of the Sleep-Tite pajama company. The love plot is set against the background of an impending strike demanding a 7 and 1/2 cents an hour wage increase. While not politically sophisticated, the story actually celebrates the struggle of union members for better wages, a sentiment you would be hard-pressed to find in today’s popular entertainment.

The score delivered some pop songs that are still standards today. Here’s “Hey There,” sung by John Raitt, who created the lead role in the original Broadway production and the movie. Raitt had one of the great Broadway voices, perfectly suited for the strong leading man tenor roles of Rodgers and Hammerstein as well as The Pajama Game.

Shakespeare Sonnet Slam

Last April, I participated in the 4th Annual Shakespeare Sonnet Slam in Central Park. It’s a lot of fun—participants perform all 154 sonnets in order, one per person, all in one afternoon. It’s open to anyone who wants to do it. Email them about a month before Shakespeare’s birthday, April 26th, 2015, and they will assign you a sonnet to perform for this year’s event on April 24th.

I was assigned Sonnet 33 last year. I have to admit I wasn’t familiar with it beforehand. You can read it below. (BTW, it’s easier to deconstruct the meaning of a sonnet by breaking it up into three quatrains and a final couplet.)

Sonnet 33

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack, he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask’d him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven’s sun staineth.

Just for fun back then, since I was playing around with learning how to edit sound digitally, using computer software, I made this recording of the sonnet.

Pro audio editing tip: You can make anything, even reading the phone book, sound a hundred times better if you layer it over a bed of Pachibel’s Canon in D.  🙂

(Click on the triangle to play)

The Compleat Magician

Ask a magic-loving friend who s/he thinks is the best all-around magician today, and you might get disappointed. Your friend could very well name someone you’ve never heard of. Not David Copperfield, Criss Angel, or David Blaine.

The key here is the phrase “all-around.” That qualifier makes the question a tough one to answer, because magic is not just one art, it’s a collection of many specialties. There’s close-up cards, close-up coins, mentalism, escapes, stage illusions, comedy magic, children’s magic, bizarre magic, even gospel magic. There are similar basic principles of magic that underlie all of them, but each field has its own subtleties and methods as well. It’s unusual for a magician to be expert in more than a few areas. It would be like expecting one person to excel at singing opera, country, rock, gospel, and jazz. Or expecting one doctor to be a surgeon, ophthalmologist, and psychiatrist as well.

So, if called to answer, my choice would be Johnny Thompson. Thompson was a student and friend of two of the greatest close-up sleight of hand magicians ever, Dai Vernon and Charlie Miller. But Thompson also had an extensive stage career as well, not only as a magician, but as a musician and actor. Unlike some of even the best sleight-of-hand guys, Thompson understands the stage and what it means to perform. He knew everyone in magic, and now at age 80+, he has earned the respect of all of his peers. His resume includes the behind-the scenes advisement of Penn and Teller, Criss Angel, and Lance Burton.  There’s a bio of Thompson by Jamy Ian Swiss that’s slated to be published this year. It’s going to contain a lot about Thompson’s life and magic. Fans have been eagerly waiting for this, as it has been almost a decade since plans for the book were first announced.

So here’s my Johnny Thompson story. I was at the Texas Association of Magicians 2013 convention, and two of the headliners were Thompson and Tom Mullica, who is also a very funny and skilled magician. Mullica was performing a stage show, and I was sitting one empty seat away from the aisle. Mullica has a spectator pick a card without looking at it, and has it put aside. Mullica then takes out a big pad, writes something on it, and sets the pad face down.

Next, Mullica steps downstage to the proscenium edge and asks for a volunteer from the audience to name a card. At that moment, I hear some panting and hard breathing on my right, and I turn and there is Johnny Thompson walking quickly with a bit of a limp, down the aisle. He sits down in the aisle seat, right next to me, and I can see that he is working hard to catch his breath. I can hear his heart pounding. Mullica points to him and says, “Sir, name any card.”

Thompson is now wiping sweat off his brow, and manages to get out, “The F-F-F-Five of S-S-S-Spades.” Now I’m starting to really worry about him, and I’m wondering if I should lean over and ask him if he needs some help. I can see close-up he’s an old man, no kid anymore, his face is twitching. Mullica, however, seems, oblivious, and continues. “I’m sorry, what did you say, the Five of Hearts?” And Johnny, now breathing more heavily than ever sputters out, “Not the F-F-F-Five of Huh-Huh-Huh-Hearts, the F-F-F-Five of S-S-S-Spades.” He’s gasping. By this point I’m looking around for someone who can help me carry the magic legend out of the theater. But Mullica remains unperturbed.

“Just as I predicted!” says Mullica; he shows the selected card, then walks over to the face-down pad, turns it around, and now the whole audience can read what’s written on it.

It says: “You will choose the  F-F-F-Five of S-S-S-Spades.”

The Rule of Disorder

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Almost exactly a year ago, an old high school friend, Burt Rochelson, called me out of the blue and asked if I would audition for a part in a staged reading of his new musical play about Albert Einstein called The Rule of Disorder. The request was a surprise since we had last worked on a play together 45 years ago!  I don’t have a trained singing voice, and since the last time I sang publicly on stage was also 45 years ago, I was somewhat skeptical. But, anyway, I did it and it was a lot of fun.

The beautifully done musical score is by Jonathan Glickman, who in his spare time works for NASA as a rocket scientist. (Really!) Here is one of the lovely songs from the score, sung by real singers:

The play had won a musical play competition, and we performed it in the lobby of a beautiful old former vaudeville theatre in Patchogue, LI. Unfortunately, even though we were sold out, and got a very good response, we were funded only for that one performance, and the play didn’t get to be seen by a wider audience.

I had lunch with Burt yesterday (who, incidentally, among other things, happens to be a doctor, currently head of OBGYN at a major hospital on Long Island), and he was telling me about his current campaign to get the play seen by more people. He has been submitting it to the many different organizations around the country that produce musicals. It’s a difficult, tedious, and often arbitrary process, but a necessary one that musical creators have to go through. In the meantime, however, in between baby deliveries, he is working on other playwriting projects. So, if you know someone who knows someone who produces musicals…please let me know.

My Son the Waiter: A Jewish Tragedy

Last week, the national version of Arts Express radio aired an interview I did with Brad Zimmerman, the star and writer of an amusing new one-man show called My Son, the Waiter: A Jewish Tragedy. Zimmerman talks about the process of creating such a show, of his time sharing the bill with such comedy greats as Joan Rivers and George Carlin, and what he learned from them about comedy.

By the way, I’ve upgraded the site, so there should be no more annoying ads at the bottom of the posts. There’s also a slightly different format for audio clips. Just click on the grey triangle to play.

The Devil Welcomes You to Hell

Americans know Rowan Atkinson best for his hilarious portrayal of the wordless Mr. Bean, but he’s been a staple of British sketch humor of all kinds for decades. Here is one of my favorite pieces of his.

Bodyless Head by Topless Body: Shakespeare’s Cymbeline

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A group of friends and I meet each month to read a Shakespeare play, one act at a time. For the past few months we’ve been working on Cymbeline, one of the more obscure plays in the canon. We’ve finally finished reading it, and what a wild ride it was! We were laughing out loud at all the crazy twists and turns of the story.

It’s unlike anything else I’ve read by Shakespeare. It’s plot, plot, plot, plot, and then more plot. But the plot makes almost no sense. It’s large doses of randomness and chaos. Deceived lovers, pretenders to the throne, headless bodies, bodyless heads, women dressed as men, kings in rags, poison that is not poison; it’s a romance, it’s a tragedy, it’s a comedy, it’s a history, it’s an all-in-one, all-purpose, all-singing, all-dancing, Shakespeare Uberfest. It can be called a truly post-modern play, written centuries before that word post-modern was even a glint in some corduroy-jacketed academic’s vocabulary.

What’s fun is to see how Shakespeare takes his previous plays, and William Burroughs-like, cuts and pastes his way to creating a new work. Our group caught echoes of King Lear, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, As You Like It, Titus Andronicus, and The Merchant of Venice in the play. We imagined Shakespeare rummaging through the prop closet and finding different props, fashioning a play as if he were Jonathan Winters improvising with found objects. The apparent method of construction is also very amusing—as soon as one character’s entanglement is depicted, another character gets involved in another improbable subplot and so on, until it seems as if there is no way that all the threads could be unravelled and resolved. Add to that, that almost every character ends up in some sort of disguise, and you have a recipe for total miscommunication. And yet Shakespeare does, in the end, pull it all together. In doing so, however, he violates,—purposely?—every one of Aristotle’s recommendations for the drama.

What are we left with? I think, more than anything, I was strongly left with Shakespeare’s deep belief in reconciliation, repentance, restitution, and redemption. No matter how chaotic the world gets in a Shakespeare play, it does, in the end, return to sanity. And almost always, the return to sanity is made possible by forgiveness on the part of those wronged, and apology by those who did the wrong. Claudius in Hamlet says:

Whereto serves mercy
But to confront the visage of offence?
And what’s in prayer but this two-fold force,
To be forestalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon’d being down?

and:

Try what repentance can: what can it not?

Even Claudius the murderer understands the power of forgiveness and repentance.

At the end of Cymbeline, like so many of the plays, the world is made livable again by  acts of forgiveness, along with the consequent apologies by the wrong-doers. The King and his daughter forgive, the deceivers apologize, and the world is set right again.

Shakespeare is calling us, telling his audience, that in such a dangerous and chaotic world, there is only one strategy for continued survival. Humankind is endlessly fallible; if we want the world to continue, then only continued forgiveness will keep the Globe intact. It’s a fascinating play, and a production of it is slated to play this summer at the Delacorte Theater in NYC. Can’t wait.

I Coulda Been a Contenda . . .

Here’s an interview I did with Betsy Daly, one of the founders and directors of the Working Actor Studio, the place where I took my stage combat class. It was broadcast last week on the national Arts Express radio program. We talked about what the aspiring and beginning actor need to know in order to survive in the business. It begins at 20:45 and ends at 35:10.

If you, too, wish to be a contenda in the theatre game, you can donate to listener-sponsored radio WBAI 99.5 FM in NYC. The kind people at WAS are giving away two cut rate scholarships as a thank-you gift for donating.  If you’re interested in getting a scholarship for the Stage Combat or Musical Theater class, listen to the interview for details, and then listen to Arts Express live between 2-3pm EST, Thursday, Feb 12th.

The Last Laugh

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I’ve heard this story told about a number of actors. But the best evidence has it belonging to Edmund Gwenn, the actor who played Kris Kringle in Miracle on 34th Street.

Gwenn had had a long friendship with George Seaton, the director of Miracle on 34th Street. Seaton and Gwenn often argued about which was the more difficult—playing highly dramatic parts or the more comic ones. Seaton insisted that the height of the player’s art was tragedy, while Gwenn, who had toured England as a journeyman rep actor playing Shakespearean tragedy and comedy, maintained strongly that it was more difficult to make an audience laugh.

Gwenn was considerably older than Seaton, and in the late 1950s fell into ill health at the Hollywood Motion Picture Actors’ Home. Seaton would visit him from time to time, but on one particular day, Gwenn was in his bed, looking very tired and ill.

Seaton, sad to see his old friend so sick, said, “This must be very, very difficult for you.”

And Gwenn replied weakly, “No, no, no. You still don’t understand, George. Dying is easy. Comedy is hard.”

And with that, the veteran actor died.

(With thanks to http://quoteinvestigator.com/2010/10/26/comedy-is-hard/)

She Was Only Sixteen Years Old…

Bob Brydon and Steve Coogan, play two competitive actors who take a trip together, ostensibly as restaurant reviewers, in an improbably entertaining and wonderfully aimless movie, The Trip.

Breathing Room

Post-It

I hate what I’m writing. But I’m writing. My job is not to like it or not like it. My job is to write it.

This is novel number two. While number one is out for feedback, I’ve been working on number two. That was my New Years resolution. Eight hundred words, four times a week. In six months that’s about 80,000 words. That’s an average-sized novel.

But I hate it so far. It doesn’t breathe at all. I’m not excited. Why? Because early on, while working on the first novel, I was outlining this new one. I had a very specific idea in mind. This, unlike the first one, is going to be a mystery/ thriller, and I did some extensive outlining. I basically had written a synopsis of every scene in the book, and because the setting bounces back between the present and the past, I did a lot of historical research. I thought I was prepared to write.

But I write and everything seems terribly cliched and lifeless. I’m not enjoying doing this. It feels like plodding, plodding. It’s a mountain of gruel on my plate, staring me in the face.

When I started writing the first novel, I had no idea what it was going to be. i just wrote. Each day, I barely looked back at what I had written. I never knew what was going to come out. My first draft was basically a series of character sketches. I didn’t even know how the characters related to each other. Eventually, a few drafts later, I found out who they were to each other, but it was surprise after surprise for me.

But now. No surprises. The language is wooden, the characters are wooden, even as they fulfill the demands of the plot. Ughh.

I interviewed the excellent actor Roger Guenveur Smith a few months ago. I asked him to say what the most important thing was that he knew about acting. He barely hesitated, and said: The Breath. Breathing. That’s the source. And more and more, when I watch actors, that’s now my number one criterion. Whatever else it is, for god’s sake, be alive. I don’ t care how technically good it is, so much as that the thing breathes. In a world where everything is roboticized, it seems like our imperative is to breathe.

When I first learned to edit audio for radio production, I was enamored of the way that the editing software could cut out the imperfections, the umms and errs, the wanderings of thought. An interview could be edited together from raw audio and appear seamless. But the more I do this, the more I understand that the danger is that the edits can be too perfect. You can edit so tightly, that no breath is taken before the next thought. It will sound seductively perfect, but there’s no play in the voice, and eventually it registers as mechanical and lifeless. The listener might not even be aware on a conscious level what the problem is, but the voice will sound canned, like an answering machine message. I learned that even if you are cutting from one paragraph to another in a person’s speech, you have to leave in the breath to connect them.

So my problem now is, how do I allow breath back into my writing process? On the one hand, I don’t want to be judging myself as I write. Not in this phase of the writing. I’m just trying to get out the words, any words. But I need to let in some air or it’s going to drive me crazy. I’m making some progress. I wrote about digressions once before. So now, while writing in this phase, I’m allowing myself to digress for the slightest reason and not let it bother me. I know that, eventually, I will get back to my outline template.

It’s like doing improv acting. There’s a classic improv exercise where the audience gives the actors the first and last lines of the scenes,  and the actors must improv everything else in between. It sound difficult–how do you know that you will end up where you need to be for the last line? But the secret to doing it well is to not worry about where you are going to end up. Your unconscious will get you there if you keep going. You just need to trust that you will arrive there in its own good time.

As a writer, I have even more of an out than the improv actor. The actor feels the pressure to be interesting for the audience’s sake. But the writer doesn’t have to worry about the audience yet. I can let the breath go, and I can go where it takes me. If, in the end, it doesn’t go to an interesting place, and it doesn’t fulfill its other obligations, then I can revise –when the time for revision comes.

But for now, my obligation is only to write eight hundred words. In the breathing room, I can play as I wish.

Blabbermouth!

With the Honeymooners, Jackie Gleason created one of the first television comedies of working class life. It may also be the best. The glorious talents of Art Carney and Audrey Meadows created an irreplaceable ensemble. Audrey Meadows’s characterization of Alice, a loving woman with a steel core, was Gleason’s perfect foil.

Here’s a classic scene that fans rank as one of their all-time favorites.

The No Pants Subway Ride

If there’s anything more wonderful than a well thought-out prank, it’s a well thought-out prank that involves thousands and thousands of people. Your intrepid reporter is here to give you the skinny on the recent New York No Pants Subway Ride. The basic idea is this. New Yorkers of all ages, genders, and colors enter a subway car on a cold winter day, and one by one take off their pants. Now the beauty of this is, that they act as if they are doing nothing unusual, and they continue their normal subway activities, that is, reading, texting, looking at the subway map, but all the while they are without their pants.

This prank was organized by a group called Improv Everywhere and it has been an annual thing, and has grown to be an international prank having been done in 60 cities in 25 countries around the world. In New York, people were organized according to what borough they were coming from. I interviewed, on assignment for WBAI radio, a group of eager No-Panters, including a young couple named Hannah and Mark, standing in a park in 32 degree weather. They were preparing to receive instructions from the Improv coordinator and then to head towards the subway to de-pant. They discussed their fears and excitement, and I’ll post the radio segment next week.

But, in the interest of hard-hitting investigative reporting, I also de-panted. I had bought myself a brand new pair of lime green boxers for the occasion. If it’s not too much information, I’m usually a brief, not a boxer guy, but I was too shy to wear briefs, being a No- Pants Subway Ride virgin.

The brilliance of Improv everywhere’s plan was in the details. Here’s how it worked. We all headed to the R train and about 25 of us were assigned per subway car. At the first stop, 1 person would take off their pants and get off and stand on the platform in the same place. Then another person would do the same at the next stop. At the third stop, 2 people would de-pant, at the fourth stop 4 people would undress, at the fifth stop 8 people, and at the next stop, everyone else who was left took off their pants and stood on the platform.

Then everyone would get on the next train to arrive. Now see if you can picture in your minds the genius of this strategy. First of all, riders on the first train, would get an increasing dose of craziness as more and more people, perhaps the people who had been sitting next to them, took off their pants. But the truly great part was what would happen on the next train. Because if you picture it from the point of view of the riders on the oncoming train, at the first stop they see one person get on pantless, then another pantless person at the next stop, but then 2 people get on without pants, then 4, then 8, and it’s like an hallucination coming to life.

So I was assigned to take off my pants at the fifth stop. I was wearing a suit and tie. Since people were getting off at the first four stops, the woman sitting next to me and I exchanged glances over these strange misbehaving pants shuckers. When I started to take off my pants, she gave out a loud, Oh, No. I stuck my pants in my back pack and got off the next stop to wait on the platform.

jack

Now this was the hardest part. Because it was really really cold on that platform. And it seemed like forever before that train would come. I tried to appear like I was just acting normally, playing Sudoku on my cell phone,. Usually I can do a 7×7 puzzle on the train, but, man, I couldn’t even solve a 4×4 one, I was so nervous.

Finally the train comes and I walk on, and there’s a little kid holding his mother’s hand, pointing at me. By this time, there are a bunch of my pantless compatriots in the car with me, so I don’t feel so lonely. I sit down next to two women who appear to be tourists. They were speaking with each other so I don’t think they realized I had no pants on. I got a little courage and stood up and leaned over them, as if I needed to study the subway map behind me. They started giggling aloud. I think we made their trip to NYC very memorable.

Well, we finally reached our destination, Union Square, where all the No-Panters from all over the city had a rendezvous. Joyous celebration. Pantless kicklines. Cops and scantily clad young ladies posing together. Somehow I managed to find Hannah and Mark again, whom I had interviewed earlier in the day, and they were very happy, too.

And what, you may ask, have I learned, grasshopper? This: Next year, I’m going to graduate to briefs.