Ignore This!
Editorial
6:00 PM. August 10, 2009.
5:17pm I arrive at the Southern Theater. The terrifying-but-beautiful Deborah C. Tallen leads me to the booth where I will spend the next (nearly) six hours. Debbie’s been there since 4:30 (actually, she’s been there since noon, working as a representative of Gopher Lighting) sweeping the stage. She would have mopped the stage, but during “channel check,” which I eventually deduce has nothing to do with watching television, a lighting instrument blew and she had to venture out onto the Southern grid to change the lamp. 5:20pm As the audience enters the theater, Debbie checks in with the performers, volunteers and house manager to make sure everyone is ready to go. I look around the booth. There is a new, on-loan light board next to the Southern’s sound board. The new light board is very shiny and complicated. I avoid it. At one end of the tech bench are the marked scripts for eleven Fringe shows that perform at the Southern, along with CD’s of music and sound cues. There are no pillows, which makes me sad because I’m very tired from staying up too late at Bedlam the night before and working all day at my very important job. 5:28pm Debbie sweeps through the theater again. The first show doesn’t have a stage manager, so Debbie calls “places.” I note that the job of the venue tech is a combination of stage manager, house manager, technical director and designer as well as board operator. 5:30pm The performance begins. It’s Like You Mean It, a dance improv show. Because the show is improvised, there’s no light plan. The intimidating-but-lovely Debbie Tallen spends the next 48 minutes improvising the lights, reacting as she goes to what the performers do. She improvises the lights! I’m impressed, but I don’t let Debbie see this because it might make me look weak and I suspect she pounces on weakness and destroys it in comely Darwinian fashion. 6:18pm Like You Mean It ends. Debbie walks the theater again, clearing the microphone from Like You Mean It and checking the house with bewitching competence. This is her sixth Fringe Festival as a venue tech. She has performed the same function at Hey City, the Theater Garage and Pillsbury House as well as the Southern. 6:30pm Ten minutes early, the stage is clear for the next group of performers. They are The Return of Lick. Lick starts setting props. Lick has a stage manager. A good stage manager can be enormously useful to the venue tech. She will know what to ask for during the tech rehearsal and know how to call a show in performance (down to details like word order – there’s a big difference between “Cue 16 – standby - go” and “Standby – cue 16. Cue 16 – go.”) A poor stage manager will not know these things. 6:34pm Lick needs gaff tape. Debbie provides gaff tape. 6:37pm Lick needs a flashlight. Debbie provides a flashlight. 6:45pm The stage is set and Debbie tells the volunteers to open the house early – there’s a big crowd gathered for the show. As we wait for the audience to get settled, I ask Debbie about her worst tech experiences. 2005 is called the “year from Hell.” There was a shooting outside her venue at the start of tech week. The area was roped off and no one was allowed in. The tech schedule is very strict – 3 hours per show, with no room for delays. Plus, the venue contained rental gear that was needed by venues throughout the Festival. Within the next few days, one tech went to the ER with an anxiety attack. Another was hit by a car and a third went into a diabetic coma. 6:58pm The Lick stage manager arrives in the booth after calling places. She informs us that she discovered the cast members in the green room, “all looking at their wieners.” I suspect this will be a good show. 7:00pm Lick begins. The stage manager sits next to Debbie and calls the show. Of the four shows I will see this night, Lick makes the most use of the special lighting effects possible at the Southern. This show, like the other non-improv shows at the Southern, has a series of light cues programmed into the shiny light board. In addition, there are a few light “bumps” that Debbie does manually as part of the show. Lick is a good show. Long before the audience shows up, the venue techs have been in communication, telling each other which shows are the best in their venues. I ask about the bad shows. Debbie, as well as the other venue techs I’ve talked to, don’t like to slam any of their shows. With many of the Fringe-goers I know, there’s a sense of wicked pleasure in talking about the really awful shows you find, but not with the techs. If anything, they express a gentle sadness about the worst shows and then quickly get back to talking about the good ones. 7:54pm Lick ends. As they clear the stage, Karin Olson pops into the booth. She is Debbie’s “tech buddy.” Most Fringe venues have two techs. (The Xperimental stage at Rarig and Bryant Lake Bowl each have only one – so those techs are working every single show that performs there.) Both are on hand throughout tech week, working twelve hour days. Most of the Fringe venue techs are working lighting designers – which makes sense since they have to design lights for 10+ shows in just a few hours. Ideally, they spend one hour setting light and sound cues. Then run the show. Then make any changes. Some shows use much less than three hours. Others don’t ever get beyond writing cues. At the Southern, Karin did most of the lighting design, while Debbie marked the scripts they’ll use. Now that the shows are up and running, they take turns working the booth. Each will run 27 or 28 shows throughout the Fringe. I’m astonished that Karin has stopped by on a night off. She brings snacks for Debbie and the two of them discuss super-secret tech stuff that I cannot divulge. 8:05pm The stage is clear and the next show moves in. Lost and Found – many, many woman and girls from Nebraska. Dancers with a Christian theme. I’m terrified. But Debbie seems unconcerned, so I draw strength from her. 8:18pm Group prayer. If there was a group prayer moment for Lick, I missed it. 8:20pm The dancers leave the stage and the house opens. Debbie plays the pre-show music, which seems to be a lot about Jesus. I get very shaky and nauseous – maybe it’s my tiredness from the night before. 8:30pm After an opening greeting from a local pastor, Lost and Found begins. This show has no stage manager either, so Debbie has called places and runs the show from the marks in the script. I wonder how a dance show marks cues. With a play, most cues can be connected to a line of dialogue. This show has no dialogue! I end up enjoying Lost and Found. I should really call my mom. 9:18pm Lost and Found is finished. As the dancers clear the stage and the audience files out, the stern-but-winsome Debbie Tallen slips out into the house to walk the theater yet again. I leave the booth for the first time since entering to use the men’s room. Because of an obscure but hilarious mental condition, I spend a lot of time in men’s rooms. The Southern, a terrific venue for dance, has a very poor men’s room. The urinal is out of order, leaving one sad little stall. The action of the handle on the toilet is mushy and vaguely resentful. Hand drying is meant to be accomplished by means of those cloth towel dispenser things that are always broken and always damp – better at breeding pathogens than drying hands. I give “F” to the men’s room at the Southern. 9:35pm The next performers arrive. They are Monica and Dan! of Holding Patterns. I love Monica and Dan and hope they notice me sitting in the booth looking important. As Monica and Dan set props and stretch out, I peek at their cue sheet. Another dance show, there’s no script, but a series of cue sheets they’ve provided for the tech. It includes pictures of Dan, drawn by Dan, that Debbie’s meant to use for cuing. Because of the vagaries of scheduling, Debbie’s never run their show and hasn’t seen it since tech, six days earlier. I get very nervous just thinking about this. But, of course, I don’t let Debbie see my fear. She eats fear for breakfast. 10:00pm Holding Patterns starts. The sound and lights all happen. It’s sort of like magic. By this point I’m going cross-eyed with exhaustion, but Holding Patterns still delights and transports me. 10:52pm Holding Patterns ends. Dan and Monica clear out – they didn’t see me – and the audience scatters into the night. 11:08pm I’m going home, but the kind-and-generous Debbie Tallen is still at work - making sure the theater is properly put to bed and locking up for the night.
Alan Berks (from MN Playlist) and I were standing around discussing favorite literary theorists the other night…and I saw casebolt and smith: Speaking Out! last night. I guess you can see where I’m going with this. I’ve seen a bunch of shows and, in the back of my head, I’ve been trying to sift out what makes me like one show more than another. Casebolt and Smith helped clear things up. I walked out of their show thinking about Italo Calvino. (That’s really almost true – I’m barely even lying to make myself sound smart.) As per Italo Calvino, I want a Fringe show to have lightness (light like a bird, not like a feather), quickness (of thought, of motion - conciseness), exactitude (clear, incisive, memorable), visibility (images that “rain down into fantasy”) and multiplicity (images, thoughts, themes that can radiate out, creating ever vaster horizons).* casebolt and smith: Speaking Out! is the show I’ve seen that comes closest to incorporating these qualities. They’ve got one show left, tonight (Friday), 8:30 at the Southern. *sort of taken from Six Memos for the Next Millennium by Italo Calvino
It has come to my attention that there’s some unfairness going on at the Minnesota Fringe Festival. A producer friend of mine was grumbling that shows assigned to “destination” venues like Gremlin or the Ritz don’t get the incidental traffic that a show at, say, the Rarig receives. I see his point. And with a few modest tweaks, I think we can fix this. Let us pick a point that is more or less equidistant from all venues – I suggest Southdale Mall. Audience members will meet there one hour before show time. They’ll be divided equally among shuttle buses that will take them to the various venues. One “Rockstar Story Teller” will be assigned to each shuttle to entertain people en route. Every show gets the same number of people. Problem solved! Oh, wait. Some of the venues are nicer than others – and that’s not fair. Okay. If you find yourself taken to a theater with more comfortable seats, better sightlines, acoustics, etc., you will be given the choice of either A) holding a dead fish in your lap for the duration of the performance, or B) getting a sharp smack to the back of the head just before the performance begins – we’ll use a hardcover copy of The Empty Space, by Peter Brook. And, of course, everyone knows the Fringe website audience reviews are subject to all kinds of abuse. Not fair. Therefore, in the future you will be able to review anything you like, but your review will be randomly assigned to a show. All shows will receive the same number of reviews and receive an aggregate rating of 3.5 kitties. Some show titles seem to generate more audience interest than others, so they will be eliminated and replaced with numbers. Oh, and no more postcards. And if you have somebody awesome in your show – like Sam Landman (now appearing in Buyer’s Remorse) – then you have an obvious and unfair advantage. Ergo, if you cast Sam Landman, Sam Landman must appear in every Fringe show. I’m sure there are other iniquities I haven’t addressed (show times/dates?) How would you make a more just Fringe Festival?
Some will win. Some will lose. Some are born to sing the blues… My Minnesota Fringe Festival hard-hitting investigative reports continue. Today, I probe into the cheerful, efficient world of Fringe volunteers. Can they really be friendly and positive all the time? What dark shadows lurk beneath the smiling, helpful façade? I talk with the spectacular Kate Elise, Deputy Volunteer Services, to find out. What does Deputy Volunteer Services do? Deputy Volunteer Services handles all things volunteer-related. We find, schedule, train and manage all the volunteers that it takes to run the festival. Who volunteers for the Fringe? Are they theater folk or civilians? Anyone can volunteer for the Fringe and just about anyone does. This includes families, co-workers, friends, retirees, college kids, people who usher at other theaters, and just about any other group you can think of. Their ages range from preteen to great grandpas. Most of them are familiar with theatre in the area year-round but many of them wait for the 11 days that are Fringe-specific. Do you get many repeat volunteers? About 60% of our volunteers return year after year. Many of them pull friends into it and the cycle continues. We also go to events in the Twin Cities to get new volunteers. Believe it or not, we get the most new volunteers during Pride Week every year. Do you get enough volunteers? The festival has grown in the 16 years it has been around and every year we need more and more volunteers to keep it going. We are lucky that the reputation of the Fringe encourages so many people to get involved just on word of mouth. This year we have had a major increase in the number of people who want to volunteer - maybe due to the bad economy. For every show a volunteer works we give them a comp to go see another show. It’s the economical way to Fringe, plus you get the inside scoop of what's going on during the Festival. What makes a good volunteer? The perfect volunteer is someone who is friendly and helpful in any circumstance even if they don't know an answer to a question. Someone who goes above and beyond to keep the Fringe growing. What's a typical volunteer shift? A volunteer arrives before the audience and gets everything ready in the house and in the lobby. Then we have 10 minutes to get the audience out from the previous show, 10 minutes to give the artists and tech time to set up, and 10 minutes to fill the house again. At that same time they are selling tickets, tearing tickets, handing out programs, answering questions, and problem solving! It’s a lot! and we typically have 3 to 5 volunteers per show for that reason. Once the show starts, they’re the ones to put everything back together in the lobby for the next show. Do they get to keep the shirts? Yes, they keep the amazing orange shirts. Some even cut them up and personalize them. They’ve had them made into aprons - even dresses. Any good stories about dealing with the public? One of our House Managers last year had a song stuck in his head. The volunteer at the theater told him the only way to get a song out of your head was to sing it. So the House Manager, the volunteers and all of the audience in the lobby started singing it together – a whole lobby singing Don't Stop Believing by Journey. Now that is in the true spirit of Fringe. What should people know about what goes on in an orange shirt? They are some of the most committed people involved in the Fringe and do it just to keep the Festival running. A lot of them take time off from work. Many of them work upwards of 30 or more shows. Some of them help in the office before the Festival starts and many help us clean the venues at the end of Fringe. Anything else you can think of... Fringe is 11 days of tons of theatre, little sleep, not much to eat, lots of late nights at Bedlam, tons of stress and chaos and the thing I look forward to every year. When you get involved in the Fringe you really gain another family with all the dysfunction and love of a real family.
12:30 PM. August 5, 2009.
The Fringe Festival really shouldn’t be possible – all those shows in all those places all at the same time - but it is. I’ve been asking around to find out what makes it work. In today’s episode, I ask the breathtaking Caitlin Sheaffer at Box Office Central a few questions: What does it mean to be "Box Office Central?" Box Office Central (BOC) is the nerve center for all things front-of-house at the Fringe. We are responsible for all the house managers (blue shirts!) and volunteers (orange shirts!). We staff all 21 venues and help to ensure that audiences across Fringeland have a pleasant and professional theater experience. What kind of calls do you get? Mostly we just deal with calls from our own people - house managers and volunteers. They call about things like "No one took out the trash at Rarig" or "I'm gonna miss my volunteer shift, so sorry, you'll manage fine without me I'm sure, ok, bye." I think the only time audience members call us is if they lost something in one of the theaters. Weirdest calls? We have a complicated (and top secret!) system of code that we use to communicate with each other over our walkie talkies. It can get kind of convoluted and sometimes results in complete confusion. Like, someone will be looking for help with a credit card machine and we'll misinterpret and send a bag a Fringe buttons. Like that. Most common questions? How the hell do I get to [insert BYOV or "Gremlin" here]?
[Here's a map to Gremlin.] What should people know about what goes on behind the scenes? If we're doing our jobs, you'll have no idea what we do. If you're nice to us we'll be far more willing to accommodate your request. We have lots of dance parties. Recommendations? Like, show recommendations? I'm technically not allowed to make any, what with being staff and all. I'll say this, though. I think the Fringe Festival is an excellent opportunity to get out of your comfort zone. I know that I don't see a lot of dance throughout the year, so I always make a point of getting to some dance shows during Fringe. I also think it's quite the experience to spend a whole afternoon at Rarig, bopping from theater to theater. Anything else you can think of... We like pie. And chocolate. And the Ting Tings. I swear, we listen to "That's Not My Name" in the office at least twice a day. [Now you can have a BOC dance party, too!]
1:00 PM. August 3, 2009.
Two “kids” shows that I enthusiastically recommend: The Harty Boys in the Case of the Limping Platypus and Sideways Stories from Wayside School. Both are very funny. Both have great performances from great casts. Both are inventive, theatrical and as much fun for adults as for children. The Harty Boys... spoofs the old Hardy Boys stories with big, broad, but affectionate digs at the innocence of the originals. It’s full of excellent jokes – about Minneapolis, misogyny and storytelling. I laughed really hard, lots of times. Special mention must be made of the two youngest cast members - Sulia Altenberg and Spencer H. Levin – they’re great. Sideways Stories... is based on a series of books I’ve never heard of. It, too, is very, very funny. But under the very, very funny surface is a very, very real understanding of how deeply strange the world is. By getting us to look through the eyes of third-graders (maybe?) who are still trying to figure out the world, the play surprises us with the grotesque, baffling life we’ve cobbled together for ourselves. Good and evil sprout up in astonishing ways. People disappear. Dead rats might be working along side us. Ridiculous rules are strictly enforced for no good reason. The world is terrifying, thrilling, dangerous and mystifying. The best way to get through it seems to be to grab onto a few friends and haul each other along as best we can. Either show is great for a laugh-filled 55 minutes. Sideways Stories... will stick with me for a long time.
10:00 AM. August 3, 2009.
How are you supposed to write about dance? Dancers don’t need words, yet they are able to express passion, rage, lust, disgust, ennui, disappointment, fear, hunger, etc. They can be funny or heartbreaking, romantic or political – all with no words. But now I’m supposed to use words to express what watching dance is like? That’s bogus. And not even spoken words, delicately colored by my silky baritone – just the symbol of words electronically creeping along a monitor. Yuck. Hey, I had a great piece of apple pie – let me share the experience with you using this deck of playing cards. It’s stupid. But I’ll try. Reach. Reach. Reach. Quit that. Jumpy, jumpy, jump, jump. Puuuuussssh. Puuuuuussssh. Skip, hop, reach. Ooh, this light is scary but I’m drawn to it. No, that’s not so good. I’ll run over here. That’s worse! Oh, look – there’s someone else. Want to be my friend? I like the shape of your head. Whoops. Now I hate you. Go away, go away! I think I’ll lie down for a while. Roll over. Now I’m going to roll back. Now I’m going to scooch backwards. Hey, fish! This is dumb. I like the dance shows. They’re humbling, in a good way, to an actor (the skill, training and discipline it takes to be a dancer is awful to contemplate). I recommend seeing dance shows, especially if you’re an actor. The two I’ve seen and enjoyed are: You/Provoke/Me and Holding Patterns. Jump. Jump. Sliiiiiiiiiiide. JUMP!
1:30 PM. July 31, 2009.
I'm easing my way into the Fringe. Thursday night I saw my first two shows - both at Rarig. I arrived a few minutes before 7:00. Being profoundly uncomfortable around crowds (and parking ramps, and bicycles, and expensive things, and anyone in uniform) I squinched my way through the crowds waiting to see shows on the proscenium and thrust stages. I got confused about which stage was which and ended up at a show that I hadn’t planned to see. There were no crowds at all. I slid into the house and took my place as one of seven audience members. Ouch. Of the seven, at least two didn’t pay for tickets. Me (I have a Gold Pass!) and the guy sitting across the aisle from me. A reviewer. I know this because he wore his Gold Pass clipped to his sport coat, used a brilliant little clip light to illuminate the crisp notebook on his lap in which he jotted furiously every ten minutes or so. He was reviewing. My review of his performance as a reviewer? D-. Trying WAY too hard. Good use of props, though. The show was The Tenth Muse, a one-woman show by singer/songwriter Elisa Korenne. The framing device which gives the show its name didn’t do much for me. But didn’t really have to. This show is a chance for Ms. Korenne to sing eight songs about real people – about them or in their voices. The songs were mostly catchy and tuneful and Ms. Korenne is an appealing performer. But we, the audience, sucked. Not our fault. Just too few of us. A number of times during the show, we were asked to sing along with the choruses. Oh, dear. We tried - except for The Reviewer, of course - but we needed at least 20 more people or so to get past the anxious embarrassment of it all. So I hope more people go to see The Tenth Muse. If you’re only seeing one show at the Fringe, don’t see this. See something more like a play. But if you’re seeing lots of shows, think of this as a musical diversion amidst the more theatrical works. Wait! If you’re only seeing one show at the Fringe, what’s wrong with you? Would you go to Old Country Buffet and just have the Jello? You’re doing it all wrong. Have some soup, some salad, some ham and mashed potatoes. Then unbutton your pants and go back for the roast beef, the green bean casserole, the ribs, the chocolate cake and pecan pie. Think of The Tenth Muse as the lemon sorbet that serves as a palate cleanser between courses. What? You want to tell me that there’s no lemon sorbet at Old Country Buffet? Now you’re just being an ass. You probably wear your Gold Pass clipped to your sport coat and have a book light in your pocket. (That D- might have been too generous.)
11:30 AM. July 30, 2009.
While waiting for the Fringe Festival to start, I read an excellent article on cocktails in the Weekly Standard and it inspired me to come up with a Minnesota Fringe cocktail. I am hideously well-qualified for this challenge. I've both participated in the Fringe Festival and worked as a bartender - how many actors can say that? What makes a Fringe cocktail? First: booze - you're welcome. Two: something summery. And C: an experimental, edgy, my-dad-didn't-pay-enough-attention-to-me sort of whimsy. For the cocktail base I quickly decided on cachaça - a sexy Brazilian rum, because that's how I roll. Next - a generous squeeze of lime juice, to ward off scurvy. Then, a splash of absinthe - nothing says fringe artist like absinthe. A pinch of sugar to smooth the edges, shake over ice (it's more theatrical than just pouring into a glass), strain over ice into a tall glass and top with soda water. Garnish with a slice of lime. It looked great. Cool. Clouded with mystery. And maybe bi-curious. The problem was the flavor. My co-sampler declared it tasted too much like anise (she pronounced it differently). I tinkered with proportions, added a few other aromatics (a splash of gin, a dash of bitters) but the absinthe just wouldn't agree with the rum. Perhaps a dark rum could hold its own, but I didn't have any dark rum and science waits for no man. I said goodbye to the absinthe and replaced it with pomegranate juice. This was better. There must be some umami in pomegranate juice. The cocktail grew meatier, more satisfying. But the overall effect felt a little flat. I needed something to add a Fringey kick. Something unexpected and lumpy. Something like ginger. I added a good splash of ginger syrup to the mix. We were closer yet. At this point in the tasting my co-sampler demanded cookies. I had to sit quietly on the floor and explain to my co-sampler why Cat Deeley is so awesome. Then I cried softly and sang Never Gonna Let You Go to the dog. Then, it was back to the kitchen for more experiments! In a spasm of inspiration, I tossed a fistful of fresh mint into the shaker along with the rum, lime juice and ginger syrup. Aha! The mint brought a brightness and immediacy to the cocktail that totally fringed it out. My co-sampler agreed that this was the one - then pointed out that I had come dangerously close to inventing the mojito - a fact I choose to ignore. So here it is - cool, surprising, a little sweet, a little sour, a little spicy. I call it The Wobbles - the name of the Fringe mascot. It's a cute name and I object to cute names for cocktails, but, in the spirit of the Fringe, you take what's offered and go with it. The Wobbles Makes 2 cocktails 4 oz. cachaça or white rum Juice of one lime 1 oz. pomegranate juice 1 oz. ginger syrup* 4 sprigs fresh mint Shake vigorously with ice for at least 30 seconds. A minute is better. Strain into a tall glass over ice. Top up with soda water and garnish with mint leaves.
*If you're not cool like me with a jar of homemade ginger syrup in your fridge, you can omit this and use a good, spicy ginger ale to top up the drink rather than soda water.
NOTE: The photo is not out of focus. This is how the drink looks.
12:00 AM. July 29, 2009.
There are a thousand stories in the Minnesota Fringe Festival - stories of adversity, triumph, love, hope, despair, robots and mimes. Sometimes it's a story of a great idea that turns out not so great in execution - and this is the story of my first blog entry. I had the great idea of sifting through the show descriptions to uncover this year's hidden themes before the festival even begins. I painstakingly copied every one of the three-line blurbs and pasted them into a text file. I then ran the text through a series of on-line word frequency counters and "word cloud" generators. Then sat back to see my results. Here's an example:
What pops? Show. Love. Comedy. Life. Stories.
Accurate? Probably. Revealing? Not so much.
Things get more interesting when you dig into the low-to-mid-range words like dark spirit fairy, crazy death crime, sexy boobs revealed, bad solo theater adventure.
Feel free to analyze the cloud yourself and find the unexpected terror drama journey!
NOTE: The title of this post is made up of words that each occured 16 times in the analysis.
Dear Fringe Festival – thanks for the awesome party!
I’m glad you’re over and I miss you already. Did I ever tell you about the time the Minnesota Fringe Festival saved my life? No? Well, it’s too late for that. Instead, I’ll end as I began – with a word cloud. The first time, I used the words that the Fringe artists used to describe their shows. This time I use the words the Minnesota Playlist bloggers used to describe those shows. Looks like the Fringe audience really good shows experience just see.
My night with a Fringe Festival Venue Technician
6:30 PM. August 7, 2009.5:17pm I arrive at the Southern Theater. The terrifying-but-beautiful Deborah C. Tallen leads me to the booth where I will spend the next (nearly) six hours. Debbie’s been there since 4:30 (actually, she’s been there since noon, working as a representative of Gopher Lighting) sweeping the stage. She would have mopped the stage, but during “channel check,” which I eventually deduce has nothing to do with watching television, a lighting instrument blew and she had to venture out onto the Southern grid to change the lamp. 5:20pm As the audience enters the theater, Debbie checks in with the performers, volunteers and house manager to make sure everyone is ready to go. I look around the booth. There is a new, on-loan light board next to the Southern’s sound board. The new light board is very shiny and complicated. I avoid it. At one end of the tech bench are the marked scripts for eleven Fringe shows that perform at the Southern, along with CD’s of music and sound cues. There are no pillows, which makes me sad because I’m very tired from staying up too late at Bedlam the night before and working all day at my very important job. 5:28pm Debbie sweeps through the theater again. The first show doesn’t have a stage manager, so Debbie calls “places.” I note that the job of the venue tech is a combination of stage manager, house manager, technical director and designer as well as board operator. 5:30pm The performance begins. It’s Like You Mean It, a dance improv show. Because the show is improvised, there’s no light plan. The intimidating-but-lovely Debbie Tallen spends the next 48 minutes improvising the lights, reacting as she goes to what the performers do. She improvises the lights! I’m impressed, but I don’t let Debbie see this because it might make me look weak and I suspect she pounces on weakness and destroys it in comely Darwinian fashion. 6:18pm Like You Mean It ends. Debbie walks the theater again, clearing the microphone from Like You Mean It and checking the house with bewitching competence. This is her sixth Fringe Festival as a venue tech. She has performed the same function at Hey City, the Theater Garage and Pillsbury House as well as the Southern. 6:30pm Ten minutes early, the stage is clear for the next group of performers. They are The Return of Lick. Lick starts setting props. Lick has a stage manager. A good stage manager can be enormously useful to the venue tech. She will know what to ask for during the tech rehearsal and know how to call a show in performance (down to details like word order – there’s a big difference between “Cue 16 – standby - go” and “Standby – cue 16. Cue 16 – go.”) A poor stage manager will not know these things. 6:34pm Lick needs gaff tape. Debbie provides gaff tape. 6:37pm Lick needs a flashlight. Debbie provides a flashlight. 6:45pm The stage is set and Debbie tells the volunteers to open the house early – there’s a big crowd gathered for the show. As we wait for the audience to get settled, I ask Debbie about her worst tech experiences. 2005 is called the “year from Hell.” There was a shooting outside her venue at the start of tech week. The area was roped off and no one was allowed in. The tech schedule is very strict – 3 hours per show, with no room for delays. Plus, the venue contained rental gear that was needed by venues throughout the Festival. Within the next few days, one tech went to the ER with an anxiety attack. Another was hit by a car and a third went into a diabetic coma. 6:58pm The Lick stage manager arrives in the booth after calling places. She informs us that she discovered the cast members in the green room, “all looking at their wieners.” I suspect this will be a good show. 7:00pm Lick begins. The stage manager sits next to Debbie and calls the show. Of the four shows I will see this night, Lick makes the most use of the special lighting effects possible at the Southern. This show, like the other non-improv shows at the Southern, has a series of light cues programmed into the shiny light board. In addition, there are a few light “bumps” that Debbie does manually as part of the show. Lick is a good show. Long before the audience shows up, the venue techs have been in communication, telling each other which shows are the best in their venues. I ask about the bad shows. Debbie, as well as the other venue techs I’ve talked to, don’t like to slam any of their shows. With many of the Fringe-goers I know, there’s a sense of wicked pleasure in talking about the really awful shows you find, but not with the techs. If anything, they express a gentle sadness about the worst shows and then quickly get back to talking about the good ones. 7:54pm Lick ends. As they clear the stage, Karin Olson pops into the booth. She is Debbie’s “tech buddy.” Most Fringe venues have two techs. (The Xperimental stage at Rarig and Bryant Lake Bowl each have only one – so those techs are working every single show that performs there.) Both are on hand throughout tech week, working twelve hour days. Most of the Fringe venue techs are working lighting designers – which makes sense since they have to design lights for 10+ shows in just a few hours. Ideally, they spend one hour setting light and sound cues. Then run the show. Then make any changes. Some shows use much less than three hours. Others don’t ever get beyond writing cues. At the Southern, Karin did most of the lighting design, while Debbie marked the scripts they’ll use. Now that the shows are up and running, they take turns working the booth. Each will run 27 or 28 shows throughout the Fringe. I’m astonished that Karin has stopped by on a night off. She brings snacks for Debbie and the two of them discuss super-secret tech stuff that I cannot divulge. 8:05pm The stage is clear and the next show moves in. Lost and Found – many, many woman and girls from Nebraska. Dancers with a Christian theme. I’m terrified. But Debbie seems unconcerned, so I draw strength from her. 8:18pm Group prayer. If there was a group prayer moment for Lick, I missed it. 8:20pm The dancers leave the stage and the house opens. Debbie plays the pre-show music, which seems to be a lot about Jesus. I get very shaky and nauseous – maybe it’s my tiredness from the night before. 8:30pm After an opening greeting from a local pastor, Lost and Found begins. This show has no stage manager either, so Debbie has called places and runs the show from the marks in the script. I wonder how a dance show marks cues. With a play, most cues can be connected to a line of dialogue. This show has no dialogue! I end up enjoying Lost and Found. I should really call my mom. 9:18pm Lost and Found is finished. As the dancers clear the stage and the audience files out, the stern-but-winsome Debbie Tallen slips out into the house to walk the theater yet again. I leave the booth for the first time since entering to use the men’s room. Because of an obscure but hilarious mental condition, I spend a lot of time in men’s rooms. The Southern, a terrific venue for dance, has a very poor men’s room. The urinal is out of order, leaving one sad little stall. The action of the handle on the toilet is mushy and vaguely resentful. Hand drying is meant to be accomplished by means of those cloth towel dispenser things that are always broken and always damp – better at breeding pathogens than drying hands. I give “F” to the men’s room at the Southern. 9:35pm The next performers arrive. They are Monica and Dan! of Holding Patterns. I love Monica and Dan and hope they notice me sitting in the booth looking important. As Monica and Dan set props and stretch out, I peek at their cue sheet. Another dance show, there’s no script, but a series of cue sheets they’ve provided for the tech. It includes pictures of Dan, drawn by Dan, that Debbie’s meant to use for cuing. Because of the vagaries of scheduling, Debbie’s never run their show and hasn’t seen it since tech, six days earlier. I get very nervous just thinking about this. But, of course, I don’t let Debbie see my fear. She eats fear for breakfast. 10:00pm Holding Patterns starts. The sound and lights all happen. It’s sort of like magic. By this point I’m going cross-eyed with exhaustion, but Holding Patterns still delights and transports me. 10:52pm Holding Patterns ends. Dan and Monica clear out – they didn’t see me – and the audience scatters into the night. 11:08pm I’m going home, but the kind-and-generous Debbie Tallen is still at work - making sure the theater is properly put to bed and locking up for the night.
Calvino, Casebolt and Smith
2:00 PM. August 7, 2009.Alan Berks (from MN Playlist) and I were standing around discussing favorite literary theorists the other night…and I saw casebolt and smith: Speaking Out! last night. I guess you can see where I’m going with this. I’ve seen a bunch of shows and, in the back of my head, I’ve been trying to sift out what makes me like one show more than another. Casebolt and Smith helped clear things up. I walked out of their show thinking about Italo Calvino. (That’s really almost true – I’m barely even lying to make myself sound smart.) As per Italo Calvino, I want a Fringe show to have lightness (light like a bird, not like a feather), quickness (of thought, of motion - conciseness), exactitude (clear, incisive, memorable), visibility (images that “rain down into fantasy”) and multiplicity (images, thoughts, themes that can radiate out, creating ever vaster horizons).* casebolt and smith: Speaking Out! is the show I’ve seen that comes closest to incorporating these qualities. They’ve got one show left, tonight (Friday), 8:30 at the Southern. *sort of taken from Six Memos for the Next Millennium by Italo Calvino
Iniquity!
12:00 PM. August 7, 2009.It has come to my attention that there’s some unfairness going on at the Minnesota Fringe Festival. A producer friend of mine was grumbling that shows assigned to “destination” venues like Gremlin or the Ritz don’t get the incidental traffic that a show at, say, the Rarig receives. I see his point. And with a few modest tweaks, I think we can fix this. Let us pick a point that is more or less equidistant from all venues – I suggest Southdale Mall. Audience members will meet there one hour before show time. They’ll be divided equally among shuttle buses that will take them to the various venues. One “Rockstar Story Teller” will be assigned to each shuttle to entertain people en route. Every show gets the same number of people. Problem solved! Oh, wait. Some of the venues are nicer than others – and that’s not fair. Okay. If you find yourself taken to a theater with more comfortable seats, better sightlines, acoustics, etc., you will be given the choice of either A) holding a dead fish in your lap for the duration of the performance, or B) getting a sharp smack to the back of the head just before the performance begins – we’ll use a hardcover copy of The Empty Space, by Peter Brook. And, of course, everyone knows the Fringe website audience reviews are subject to all kinds of abuse. Not fair. Therefore, in the future you will be able to review anything you like, but your review will be randomly assigned to a show. All shows will receive the same number of reviews and receive an aggregate rating of 3.5 kitties. Some show titles seem to generate more audience interest than others, so they will be eliminated and replaced with numbers. Oh, and no more postcards. And if you have somebody awesome in your show – like Sam Landman (now appearing in Buyer’s Remorse) – then you have an obvious and unfair advantage. Ergo, if you cast Sam Landman, Sam Landman must appear in every Fringe show. I’m sure there are other iniquities I haven’t addressed (show times/dates?) How would you make a more just Fringe Festival?
Volunteers!
12:00 PM. August 6, 2009.Some will win. Some will lose. Some are born to sing the blues… My Minnesota Fringe Festival hard-hitting investigative reports continue. Today, I probe into the cheerful, efficient world of Fringe volunteers. Can they really be friendly and positive all the time? What dark shadows lurk beneath the smiling, helpful façade? I talk with the spectacular Kate Elise, Deputy Volunteer Services, to find out. What does Deputy Volunteer Services do? Deputy Volunteer Services handles all things volunteer-related. We find, schedule, train and manage all the volunteers that it takes to run the festival. Who volunteers for the Fringe? Are they theater folk or civilians? Anyone can volunteer for the Fringe and just about anyone does. This includes families, co-workers, friends, retirees, college kids, people who usher at other theaters, and just about any other group you can think of. Their ages range from preteen to great grandpas. Most of them are familiar with theatre in the area year-round but many of them wait for the 11 days that are Fringe-specific. Do you get many repeat volunteers? About 60% of our volunteers return year after year. Many of them pull friends into it and the cycle continues. We also go to events in the Twin Cities to get new volunteers. Believe it or not, we get the most new volunteers during Pride Week every year. Do you get enough volunteers? The festival has grown in the 16 years it has been around and every year we need more and more volunteers to keep it going. We are lucky that the reputation of the Fringe encourages so many people to get involved just on word of mouth. This year we have had a major increase in the number of people who want to volunteer - maybe due to the bad economy. For every show a volunteer works we give them a comp to go see another show. It’s the economical way to Fringe, plus you get the inside scoop of what's going on during the Festival. What makes a good volunteer? The perfect volunteer is someone who is friendly and helpful in any circumstance even if they don't know an answer to a question. Someone who goes above and beyond to keep the Fringe growing. What's a typical volunteer shift? A volunteer arrives before the audience and gets everything ready in the house and in the lobby. Then we have 10 minutes to get the audience out from the previous show, 10 minutes to give the artists and tech time to set up, and 10 minutes to fill the house again. At that same time they are selling tickets, tearing tickets, handing out programs, answering questions, and problem solving! It’s a lot! and we typically have 3 to 5 volunteers per show for that reason. Once the show starts, they’re the ones to put everything back together in the lobby for the next show. Do they get to keep the shirts? Yes, they keep the amazing orange shirts. Some even cut them up and personalize them. They’ve had them made into aprons - even dresses. Any good stories about dealing with the public? One of our House Managers last year had a song stuck in his head. The volunteer at the theater told him the only way to get a song out of your head was to sing it. So the House Manager, the volunteers and all of the audience in the lobby started singing it together – a whole lobby singing Don't Stop Believing by Journey. Now that is in the true spirit of Fringe. What should people know about what goes on in an orange shirt? They are some of the most committed people involved in the Fringe and do it just to keep the Festival running. A lot of them take time off from work. Many of them work upwards of 30 or more shows. Some of them help in the office before the Festival starts and many help us clean the venues at the end of Fringe. Anything else you can think of... Fringe is 11 days of tons of theatre, little sleep, not much to eat, lots of late nights at Bedlam, tons of stress and chaos and the thing I look forward to every year. When you get involved in the Fringe you really gain another family with all the dysfunction and love of a real family.
They like pie
12:30 PM. August 5, 2009.
The Fringe Festival really shouldn’t be possible – all those shows in all those places all at the same time - but it is. I’ve been asking around to find out what makes it work. In today’s episode, I ask the breathtaking Caitlin Sheaffer at Box Office Central a few questions: What does it mean to be "Box Office Central?" Box Office Central (BOC) is the nerve center for all things front-of-house at the Fringe. We are responsible for all the house managers (blue shirts!) and volunteers (orange shirts!). We staff all 21 venues and help to ensure that audiences across Fringeland have a pleasant and professional theater experience. What kind of calls do you get? Mostly we just deal with calls from our own people - house managers and volunteers. They call about things like "No one took out the trash at Rarig" or "I'm gonna miss my volunteer shift, so sorry, you'll manage fine without me I'm sure, ok, bye." I think the only time audience members call us is if they lost something in one of the theaters. Weirdest calls? We have a complicated (and top secret!) system of code that we use to communicate with each other over our walkie talkies. It can get kind of convoluted and sometimes results in complete confusion. Like, someone will be looking for help with a credit card machine and we'll misinterpret and send a bag a Fringe buttons. Like that. Most common questions? How the hell do I get to [insert BYOV or "Gremlin" here]?
[Here's a map to Gremlin.] What should people know about what goes on behind the scenes? If we're doing our jobs, you'll have no idea what we do. If you're nice to us we'll be far more willing to accommodate your request. We have lots of dance parties. Recommendations? Like, show recommendations? I'm technically not allowed to make any, what with being staff and all. I'll say this, though. I think the Fringe Festival is an excellent opportunity to get out of your comfort zone. I know that I don't see a lot of dance throughout the year, so I always make a point of getting to some dance shows during Fringe. I also think it's quite the experience to spend a whole afternoon at Rarig, bopping from theater to theater. Anything else you can think of... We like pie. And chocolate. And the Ting Tings. I swear, we listen to "That's Not My Name" in the office at least twice a day. [Now you can have a BOC dance party, too!]
Kids Shows
1:00 PM. August 3, 2009.
Two “kids” shows that I enthusiastically recommend: The Harty Boys in the Case of the Limping Platypus and Sideways Stories from Wayside School. Both are very funny. Both have great performances from great casts. Both are inventive, theatrical and as much fun for adults as for children. The Harty Boys... spoofs the old Hardy Boys stories with big, broad, but affectionate digs at the innocence of the originals. It’s full of excellent jokes – about Minneapolis, misogyny and storytelling. I laughed really hard, lots of times. Special mention must be made of the two youngest cast members - Sulia Altenberg and Spencer H. Levin – they’re great. Sideways Stories... is based on a series of books I’ve never heard of. It, too, is very, very funny. But under the very, very funny surface is a very, very real understanding of how deeply strange the world is. By getting us to look through the eyes of third-graders (maybe?) who are still trying to figure out the world, the play surprises us with the grotesque, baffling life we’ve cobbled together for ourselves. Good and evil sprout up in astonishing ways. People disappear. Dead rats might be working along side us. Ridiculous rules are strictly enforced for no good reason. The world is terrifying, thrilling, dangerous and mystifying. The best way to get through it seems to be to grab onto a few friends and haul each other along as best we can. Either show is great for a laugh-filled 55 minutes. Sideways Stories... will stick with me for a long time.
Jumpy Skip Hop
10:00 AM. August 3, 2009.
How are you supposed to write about dance? Dancers don’t need words, yet they are able to express passion, rage, lust, disgust, ennui, disappointment, fear, hunger, etc. They can be funny or heartbreaking, romantic or political – all with no words. But now I’m supposed to use words to express what watching dance is like? That’s bogus. And not even spoken words, delicately colored by my silky baritone – just the symbol of words electronically creeping along a monitor. Yuck. Hey, I had a great piece of apple pie – let me share the experience with you using this deck of playing cards. It’s stupid. But I’ll try. Reach. Reach. Reach. Quit that. Jumpy, jumpy, jump, jump. Puuuuussssh. Puuuuuussssh. Skip, hop, reach. Ooh, this light is scary but I’m drawn to it. No, that’s not so good. I’ll run over here. That’s worse! Oh, look – there’s someone else. Want to be my friend? I like the shape of your head. Whoops. Now I hate you. Go away, go away! I think I’ll lie down for a while. Roll over. Now I’m going to roll back. Now I’m going to scooch backwards. Hey, fish! This is dumb. I like the dance shows. They’re humbling, in a good way, to an actor (the skill, training and discipline it takes to be a dancer is awful to contemplate). I recommend seeing dance shows, especially if you’re an actor. The two I’ve seen and enjoyed are: You/Provoke/Me and Holding Patterns. Jump. Jump. Sliiiiiiiiiiide. JUMP!
Discomfiture
1:30 PM. July 31, 2009.
I'm easing my way into the Fringe. Thursday night I saw my first two shows - both at Rarig. I arrived a few minutes before 7:00. Being profoundly uncomfortable around crowds (and parking ramps, and bicycles, and expensive things, and anyone in uniform) I squinched my way through the crowds waiting to see shows on the proscenium and thrust stages. I got confused about which stage was which and ended up at a show that I hadn’t planned to see. There were no crowds at all. I slid into the house and took my place as one of seven audience members. Ouch. Of the seven, at least two didn’t pay for tickets. Me (I have a Gold Pass!) and the guy sitting across the aisle from me. A reviewer. I know this because he wore his Gold Pass clipped to his sport coat, used a brilliant little clip light to illuminate the crisp notebook on his lap in which he jotted furiously every ten minutes or so. He was reviewing. My review of his performance as a reviewer? D-. Trying WAY too hard. Good use of props, though. The show was The Tenth Muse, a one-woman show by singer/songwriter Elisa Korenne. The framing device which gives the show its name didn’t do much for me. But didn’t really have to. This show is a chance for Ms. Korenne to sing eight songs about real people – about them or in their voices. The songs were mostly catchy and tuneful and Ms. Korenne is an appealing performer. But we, the audience, sucked. Not our fault. Just too few of us. A number of times during the show, we were asked to sing along with the choruses. Oh, dear. We tried - except for The Reviewer, of course - but we needed at least 20 more people or so to get past the anxious embarrassment of it all. So I hope more people go to see The Tenth Muse. If you’re only seeing one show at the Fringe, don’t see this. See something more like a play. But if you’re seeing lots of shows, think of this as a musical diversion amidst the more theatrical works. Wait! If you’re only seeing one show at the Fringe, what’s wrong with you? Would you go to Old Country Buffet and just have the Jello? You’re doing it all wrong. Have some soup, some salad, some ham and mashed potatoes. Then unbutton your pants and go back for the roast beef, the green bean casserole, the ribs, the chocolate cake and pecan pie. Think of The Tenth Muse as the lemon sorbet that serves as a palate cleanser between courses. What? You want to tell me that there’s no lemon sorbet at Old Country Buffet? Now you’re just being an ass. You probably wear your Gold Pass clipped to your sport coat and have a book light in your pocket. (That D- might have been too generous.)
The Wobbles
11:30 AM. July 30, 2009.
While waiting for the Fringe Festival to start, I read an excellent article on cocktails in the Weekly Standard and it inspired me to come up with a Minnesota Fringe cocktail. I am hideously well-qualified for this challenge. I've both participated in the Fringe Festival and worked as a bartender - how many actors can say that? What makes a Fringe cocktail? First: booze - you're welcome. Two: something summery. And C: an experimental, edgy, my-dad-didn't-pay-enough-attention-to-me sort of whimsy. For the cocktail base I quickly decided on cachaça - a sexy Brazilian rum, because that's how I roll. Next - a generous squeeze of lime juice, to ward off scurvy. Then, a splash of absinthe - nothing says fringe artist like absinthe. A pinch of sugar to smooth the edges, shake over ice (it's more theatrical than just pouring into a glass), strain over ice into a tall glass and top with soda water. Garnish with a slice of lime. It looked great. Cool. Clouded with mystery. And maybe bi-curious. The problem was the flavor. My co-sampler declared it tasted too much like anise (she pronounced it differently). I tinkered with proportions, added a few other aromatics (a splash of gin, a dash of bitters) but the absinthe just wouldn't agree with the rum. Perhaps a dark rum could hold its own, but I didn't have any dark rum and science waits for no man. I said goodbye to the absinthe and replaced it with pomegranate juice. This was better. There must be some umami in pomegranate juice. The cocktail grew meatier, more satisfying. But the overall effect felt a little flat. I needed something to add a Fringey kick. Something unexpected and lumpy. Something like ginger. I added a good splash of ginger syrup to the mix. We were closer yet. At this point in the tasting my co-sampler demanded cookies. I had to sit quietly on the floor and explain to my co-sampler why Cat Deeley is so awesome. Then I cried softly and sang Never Gonna Let You Go to the dog. Then, it was back to the kitchen for more experiments! In a spasm of inspiration, I tossed a fistful of fresh mint into the shaker along with the rum, lime juice and ginger syrup. Aha! The mint brought a brightness and immediacy to the cocktail that totally fringed it out. My co-sampler agreed that this was the one - then pointed out that I had come dangerously close to inventing the mojito - a fact I choose to ignore. So here it is - cool, surprising, a little sweet, a little sour, a little spicy. I call it The Wobbles - the name of the Fringe mascot. It's a cute name and I object to cute names for cocktails, but, in the spirit of the Fringe, you take what's offered and go with it. The Wobbles Makes 2 cocktails 4 oz. cachaça or white rum Juice of one lime 1 oz. pomegranate juice 1 oz. ginger syrup* 4 sprigs fresh mint Shake vigorously with ice for at least 30 seconds. A minute is better. Strain into a tall glass over ice. Top up with soda water and garnish with mint leaves.
*If you're not cool like me with a jar of homemade ginger syrup in your fridge, you can omit this and use a good, spicy ginger ale to top up the drink rather than soda water.
NOTE: The photo is not out of focus. This is how the drink looks.
Who tales like fringe
12:00 AM. July 29, 2009.
There are a thousand stories in the Minnesota Fringe Festival - stories of adversity, triumph, love, hope, despair, robots and mimes. Sometimes it's a story of a great idea that turns out not so great in execution - and this is the story of my first blog entry. I had the great idea of sifting through the show descriptions to uncover this year's hidden themes before the festival even begins. I painstakingly copied every one of the three-line blurbs and pasted them into a text file. I then ran the text through a series of on-line word frequency counters and "word cloud" generators. Then sat back to see my results. Here's an example:
What pops? Show. Love. Comedy. Life. Stories.
Accurate? Probably. Revealing? Not so much.
Things get more interesting when you dig into the low-to-mid-range words like dark spirit fairy, crazy death crime, sexy boobs revealed, bad solo theater adventure.
Feel free to analyze the cloud yourself and find the unexpected terror drama journey!
NOTE: The title of this post is made up of words that each occured 16 times in the analysis.
