Check it out.
(And these are just the books. No movies here.)
Saturday 10 December 2011
Thursday 1 December 2011
Failure: A great teacher (or memories of Rosebud)
Rosebud, a small Christian theatre guild school in east central Alberta, is where I went my first year out of high school. I was told, early on, that I had the makings of a very powerful actor, but I sabotaged my career there by being such an arsehole.
A few people, Royal and Doug in particular, tried to talk to me about my attitude, but I just kind of shrugged them off. What I really needed, I think, was to have some angry Christian dude grab my shirt and throw me against a wall and scream at me about what an idiot I was being. "Rosebud has thrived without you in the past and it will thrive without you in the future," they should have said.
Later, I'd be kicked out of Rosebud and enrol in the theatre studies department at Mount Royal College, where I continued to destroy any chance of success I might have had. I was unteachable and I refused to take direction. Not good qualities for an actor to have. I don't blame them for asking me to leave.
One of the best days of my life was Feb.22, 1995, when I wrote, directed, produced, and starred in a double-feature play called BARBECUED CHOCOLATE CHRISTMAS BALLS AND THE WRIGHT WAY TO LOOK AT LIFE. The play opened at the Calgary one-act play festival and absolutely bombed. We didn't even get polite applause. The adjudicator tried to be positive, told me that she admired my courage, but I knew that I had just lost the respect of everyone in the audience. I left the theatre and "ran away" for a bit. I didn't go home for three days.
I spent those days going to movies (which I saw with movie gift certificates I'd received for my birthday) and eating out of Petro Canada gas stations (I had a Petro Canada credit card.) I also spent a few hours wandering through Fish Creek Park in the freezing cold. During that walk, I looked at myself self-critically for the very first time. I realized (or, since I'm Christian, I guess I should say that God helped me realize) that it's dangerous to think of yourself as a genius. Not everything I write is going to be excellent simply because I wrote it. If you really want to create a magnificent piece of art, then, brother, you're going to have to work at it. And don't ignore other people's opinions because chances are, they can see something that you can't.
It was great. My attitude virtually changed overnight. The next year, I won the best original script award at the Calgary One-Act Play Festival for THREE SCENES FROM A BUS SHELTER. An actress from Mount Royal, who I'd always admired, even agreed to act in it, and this was one of the most flattering moments for me as a playwright. My sister and brother also took roles in that show. Interestingly enough, my sister is not an actress, though she's the only one who has acted in three of my plays.
I've never had a play professionally produced. It's a dream of mine, but not a big one. Still, the guys in Rosebud flattered me last winter by agreeing to do a reading of my fledgling script, MINIMUM WAGE, which was heavily influenced by David Mamet's play LAKEBOAT.
Sitting back in "the Bud", surrounded by all the new technology and seeing all the old faces, made me wonder what life would have been like if I'd had a winning attitude when I was 19. Maybe I'd still be in the Bud. Maybe I'd actually be able to sing (not likely.)
Well, we are our experiences, I suppose. I just felt it comforting to know that there is forgiveness.
My memories of Rosebud are good. The only bad ones are of the stupid things I did.
--
I like to think that the failure of Barbecued Chocolate Christmas Balls was the single greatest thing that ever happened to me. If I could have gone back to the theatre with a post BCCB mindset, I might have developed into a decent actor.
A few people, Royal and Doug in particular, tried to talk to me about my attitude, but I just kind of shrugged them off. What I really needed, I think, was to have some angry Christian dude grab my shirt and throw me against a wall and scream at me about what an idiot I was being. "Rosebud has thrived without you in the past and it will thrive without you in the future," they should have said.
Later, I'd be kicked out of Rosebud and enrol in the theatre studies department at Mount Royal College, where I continued to destroy any chance of success I might have had. I was unteachable and I refused to take direction. Not good qualities for an actor to have. I don't blame them for asking me to leave.
One of the best days of my life was Feb.22, 1995, when I wrote, directed, produced, and starred in a double-feature play called BARBECUED CHOCOLATE CHRISTMAS BALLS AND THE WRIGHT WAY TO LOOK AT LIFE. The play opened at the Calgary one-act play festival and absolutely bombed. We didn't even get polite applause. The adjudicator tried to be positive, told me that she admired my courage, but I knew that I had just lost the respect of everyone in the audience. I left the theatre and "ran away" for a bit. I didn't go home for three days.
I spent those days going to movies (which I saw with movie gift certificates I'd received for my birthday) and eating out of Petro Canada gas stations (I had a Petro Canada credit card.) I also spent a few hours wandering through Fish Creek Park in the freezing cold. During that walk, I looked at myself self-critically for the very first time. I realized (or, since I'm Christian, I guess I should say that God helped me realize) that it's dangerous to think of yourself as a genius. Not everything I write is going to be excellent simply because I wrote it. If you really want to create a magnificent piece of art, then, brother, you're going to have to work at it. And don't ignore other people's opinions because chances are, they can see something that you can't.
It was great. My attitude virtually changed overnight. The next year, I won the best original script award at the Calgary One-Act Play Festival for THREE SCENES FROM A BUS SHELTER. An actress from Mount Royal, who I'd always admired, even agreed to act in it, and this was one of the most flattering moments for me as a playwright. My sister and brother also took roles in that show. Interestingly enough, my sister is not an actress, though she's the only one who has acted in three of my plays.
I've never had a play professionally produced. It's a dream of mine, but not a big one. Still, the guys in Rosebud flattered me last winter by agreeing to do a reading of my fledgling script, MINIMUM WAGE, which was heavily influenced by David Mamet's play LAKEBOAT.
Sitting back in "the Bud", surrounded by all the new technology and seeing all the old faces, made me wonder what life would have been like if I'd had a winning attitude when I was 19. Maybe I'd still be in the Bud. Maybe I'd actually be able to sing (not likely.)
Well, we are our experiences, I suppose. I just felt it comforting to know that there is forgiveness.
My memories of Rosebud are good. The only bad ones are of the stupid things I did.
--
I like to think that the failure of Barbecued Chocolate Christmas Balls was the single greatest thing that ever happened to me. If I could have gone back to the theatre with a post BCCB mindset, I might have developed into a decent actor.
Monday 28 November 2011
Stalking David Mamet at the Rainbow Sweets
In his essay The Diner (contained in the collection Make Believe Town) David Mamet implies that the Rainbow Sweets on Route Two in Marshfield, Vermont is a great place to write.
I bought Make Believe Town in Alberta when it came out in 1996. It traveled across the country with me in 1999 after I secured a reporting job at The Sherbooke Record. It was a job I would not hold for long, but that is a different story altogether.
The Sherbrooke Record's office was actually located in the nearby town of Lennoxville, which is also home to Bishop's University. While working for The Record, I reviewed two plays at BU: Neil Simon's The Odd Couple and William Inge's Picnic. To this day, the latter remains the finest production put on by a post-secondary institution I have ever seen.
I lived in a boarding house with three BU students who were younger and rowdier than me. They often threw wild parties in the living room and I, the resident old man (at age 26) would confine myself to my room where I would read or write.
And one of the things I read was The Diner. After reading it, I said to myself: "Hey, Vermont isn't that far away. Why not drive down there one weekend and visit the Rainbow Sweets? Maybe David Mamet will be there."
Being the romantic that I was (and still am, I suppose) I took my advice. And that's how one rainy November afternoon in 1999, I found myself behind the wheel of my 1985 Pontiac T-1000, driving south into a strange kingdom, which was Vermont.
And Vermont was just like Canada. It had trees and roads and people in cars and gas stations and restaurants. Yes, Vermont, to my eyes, was just like Canada. The only difference was that if I got in a car accident and had to go to the hospital, I'd have to pay for it myself.
But I didn't get into a car accident. I went to a gas station and I bought a map of Vermont and I found Marshfield on it and then I started to drive. And it rained the entire trip and I started to think it would be better to turn back because David Mamet probably wouldn't go out to write on a cold and rainy night like this. But I didn't turn back. I kept driving because I knew that there was only one thing that would terrify me more than not meeting David Mamet at the Rainbow Sweets and that was meeting him at the Rainbow Sweets.
And then I was on Route 2 and the Rainbow Sweets suddenly appeared on the right. I think the sign had a neon rainbow on it but I can`t be sure. I parked. I grabbed my notebook and my pen and my copies of Make-Believe Town and Glengarry Glen Ross and prepared myself to meet David Mamet.
But David Mamet was not there.
And what do I remember of the Rainbow Sweets? I remember a display case that was filled with cakes and pie wedges and assorted pastries. I remember a few tables. I think one of the tables was occupied but I can't be sure. I do remember that none of the tables were occupied by David Mamet.
There were framed photographs on the wall. Beside the photographs was some text. The text was signed by David Mamet. It became obvious to me that the photographs had been taken by David Mamet and given to the Rainbow Sweets proprietor as a gift. I touched the photographs, which showed people inside the Rainbow Sweets. I touched them because David Mamet had once touched those photos too - nay, he had sired them.
I asked the proprietor if he knew David Mamet and he shrugged and said he popped in from time to time. Of course I wanted him to say that David Mamet lived right up the lane and he would surely be here in 10 minutes. But he did not say this. He looked pointedly at me and I ordered a piece of chocolate cake and I paid more than five dollars for it and I took my cake to a table and I took out my notebook and I tried to write.
But I couldn't write. The magic of the Rainbow Sweets might have inspired David Mamet, but it did not inspire Shteevie. So I ate my cake and I daydreamed. I dreamed that David Mamet was there and we were having a conversation and that I told David Mamet that I had written a play and it was dedicated to him and in my daydream, he said: "Wow, I'm deeply touched."
I hope he would say that. But I believe he would be entirely justified in rolling his eyes and saying: "Another one?"
I bought Make Believe Town in Alberta when it came out in 1996. It traveled across the country with me in 1999 after I secured a reporting job at The Sherbooke Record. It was a job I would not hold for long, but that is a different story altogether.
The Sherbrooke Record's office was actually located in the nearby town of Lennoxville, which is also home to Bishop's University. While working for The Record, I reviewed two plays at BU: Neil Simon's The Odd Couple and William Inge's Picnic. To this day, the latter remains the finest production put on by a post-secondary institution I have ever seen.
I lived in a boarding house with three BU students who were younger and rowdier than me. They often threw wild parties in the living room and I, the resident old man (at age 26) would confine myself to my room where I would read or write.
And one of the things I read was The Diner. After reading it, I said to myself: "Hey, Vermont isn't that far away. Why not drive down there one weekend and visit the Rainbow Sweets? Maybe David Mamet will be there."
Being the romantic that I was (and still am, I suppose) I took my advice. And that's how one rainy November afternoon in 1999, I found myself behind the wheel of my 1985 Pontiac T-1000, driving south into a strange kingdom, which was Vermont.
And Vermont was just like Canada. It had trees and roads and people in cars and gas stations and restaurants. Yes, Vermont, to my eyes, was just like Canada. The only difference was that if I got in a car accident and had to go to the hospital, I'd have to pay for it myself.
But I didn't get into a car accident. I went to a gas station and I bought a map of Vermont and I found Marshfield on it and then I started to drive. And it rained the entire trip and I started to think it would be better to turn back because David Mamet probably wouldn't go out to write on a cold and rainy night like this. But I didn't turn back. I kept driving because I knew that there was only one thing that would terrify me more than not meeting David Mamet at the Rainbow Sweets and that was meeting him at the Rainbow Sweets.
And then I was on Route 2 and the Rainbow Sweets suddenly appeared on the right. I think the sign had a neon rainbow on it but I can`t be sure. I parked. I grabbed my notebook and my pen and my copies of Make-Believe Town and Glengarry Glen Ross and prepared myself to meet David Mamet.
But David Mamet was not there.
And what do I remember of the Rainbow Sweets? I remember a display case that was filled with cakes and pie wedges and assorted pastries. I remember a few tables. I think one of the tables was occupied but I can't be sure. I do remember that none of the tables were occupied by David Mamet.
There were framed photographs on the wall. Beside the photographs was some text. The text was signed by David Mamet. It became obvious to me that the photographs had been taken by David Mamet and given to the Rainbow Sweets proprietor as a gift. I touched the photographs, which showed people inside the Rainbow Sweets. I touched them because David Mamet had once touched those photos too - nay, he had sired them.
I asked the proprietor if he knew David Mamet and he shrugged and said he popped in from time to time. Of course I wanted him to say that David Mamet lived right up the lane and he would surely be here in 10 minutes. But he did not say this. He looked pointedly at me and I ordered a piece of chocolate cake and I paid more than five dollars for it and I took my cake to a table and I took out my notebook and I tried to write.
But I couldn't write. The magic of the Rainbow Sweets might have inspired David Mamet, but it did not inspire Shteevie. So I ate my cake and I daydreamed. I dreamed that David Mamet was there and we were having a conversation and that I told David Mamet that I had written a play and it was dedicated to him and in my daydream, he said: "Wow, I'm deeply touched."
I hope he would say that. But I believe he would be entirely justified in rolling his eyes and saying: "Another one?"
Saturday 14 May 2011
Welcome to my blog: Goldberg Street
Hello there. My name is Shteevie and I am a failed actor.
I probably could have been a good actor if I had any common sense when I was a younger man. (I coulda been a contender.) I went to high school in Calgary and I was accepted into Mount Royal College's theatre program when I was 19. I was an okay actor, but a terrible student. I was virtually unteachable. In my heart of hearts, I believed I knew everything and that I was beyond criticism. I made life difficult for my teachers and my heart goes out to them almost 20 years later.
But something very good happened to me in the two years I was at MRC. I discovered David Mamet.
A local director/playwright/actor named Dan Libman had the great idea to direct some of David Mamet's short plays and scenes, which he had published in a collection called Goldberg Street. Mamet, as my readers probably know, won an Obie for American Buffalo and the Pulitzer for Glengarry Glen Ross. said that some of the short plays in Goldberg Street "are the best writing I have ever done, and what in the world are they good for?" Maybe in the course of this rambling hybrid of an essay and a memoir, I can answer Mr. Mamet's question.
I was cast in two short playlets. One was called Two Conversations (Two) and the other was called Yes But So What. My scene partner in the former was Curt McKinstry, who is a successful Calgary actor today. In the latter I was paired with a wonderful actor named Bob Manitopyes, who passed away in 2005.
You have to remember that when I went into Goldberg Street, my theatre experience was limited to high school and a one-year stint at a Bible college/theatre school. So I pretty much had zero acting chops. Whenever I was cast in one of the school plays, I would go to the first page, find out what my character's name was, and read a short description of him. Mamet didn't do that in Goldberg Street. He didn't even provide his characters with names. Thus, in Two Conversations (Two), my character was listed as A. Curt was B.
An example:
A: ...hold on:
B: ...if we...
A: Hold on:
B: If we weren't...
A: Yeah, yeah, yeah... if we weren't wrong...
B: ...if...
A: If we weren't wrong...
B: The sci...
A: Yes. The scientific things. Yes.
B: All the, yes.
That's not a nice thing to subject a crappy 19-year-old actor to.
As an exercise, Dan had us create personas for our characters. I chose a hot dog vendor who plied his trade outside a bar. It didn't help me get into the head of A. Judging from Mr. Mamet's later writings on theatre and rehearsal, he probably wouldn't be too surprised at that revelation.
I stumbled through the rehearsal process. I was pissed off at David Mamet for not giving me, the actor, anything concrete to hold on to. It was just a series of "yeses" and pauses and eff-words. This, of course, was Mametspeak - a strange hybrid of poetry and an imitation of how people talk in everyday life.
The show opened and the show closed and I think Dan gave me a C minus (he was being kind.) He told me that I worked for praise (that was true) and that I thought of acting as speaking in a funny voice (I adopted a Brooklyn accent for one of my characters and Dan never told me to scrap it. Either he liked it or thought it was fruitless to tell me to stop doing it. Probably the latter.)
I resented Dan for a while, but that resent later turned into regret. Now, 20 years later, I'm still mad at myself for not taking Goldberg Street more seriously. I want to apologize to Dan for being such a pain in the ass. I want to apologize to Curt and Bob for being a crappy stage partner. And I want to apologize to David Mamet for not learning my lines exactly.
I will have more to say about Goldberg Street in subsequent posts.
I probably could have been a good actor if I had any common sense when I was a younger man. (I coulda been a contender.) I went to high school in Calgary and I was accepted into Mount Royal College's theatre program when I was 19. I was an okay actor, but a terrible student. I was virtually unteachable. In my heart of hearts, I believed I knew everything and that I was beyond criticism. I made life difficult for my teachers and my heart goes out to them almost 20 years later.
But something very good happened to me in the two years I was at MRC. I discovered David Mamet.
A local director/playwright/actor named Dan Libman had the great idea to direct some of David Mamet's short plays and scenes, which he had published in a collection called Goldberg Street. Mamet, as my readers probably know, won an Obie for American Buffalo and the Pulitzer for Glengarry Glen Ross. said that some of the short plays in Goldberg Street "are the best writing I have ever done, and what in the world are they good for?" Maybe in the course of this rambling hybrid of an essay and a memoir, I can answer Mr. Mamet's question.
I was cast in two short playlets. One was called Two Conversations (Two) and the other was called Yes But So What. My scene partner in the former was Curt McKinstry, who is a successful Calgary actor today. In the latter I was paired with a wonderful actor named Bob Manitopyes, who passed away in 2005.
You have to remember that when I went into Goldberg Street, my theatre experience was limited to high school and a one-year stint at a Bible college/theatre school. So I pretty much had zero acting chops. Whenever I was cast in one of the school plays, I would go to the first page, find out what my character's name was, and read a short description of him. Mamet didn't do that in Goldberg Street. He didn't even provide his characters with names. Thus, in Two Conversations (Two), my character was listed as A. Curt was B.
An example:
A: ...hold on:
B: ...if we...
A: Hold on:
B: If we weren't...
A: Yeah, yeah, yeah... if we weren't wrong...
B: ...if...
A: If we weren't wrong...
B: The sci...
A: Yes. The scientific things. Yes.
B: All the, yes.
That's not a nice thing to subject a crappy 19-year-old actor to.
As an exercise, Dan had us create personas for our characters. I chose a hot dog vendor who plied his trade outside a bar. It didn't help me get into the head of A. Judging from Mr. Mamet's later writings on theatre and rehearsal, he probably wouldn't be too surprised at that revelation.
I stumbled through the rehearsal process. I was pissed off at David Mamet for not giving me, the actor, anything concrete to hold on to. It was just a series of "yeses" and pauses and eff-words. This, of course, was Mametspeak - a strange hybrid of poetry and an imitation of how people talk in everyday life.
The show opened and the show closed and I think Dan gave me a C minus (he was being kind.) He told me that I worked for praise (that was true) and that I thought of acting as speaking in a funny voice (I adopted a Brooklyn accent for one of my characters and Dan never told me to scrap it. Either he liked it or thought it was fruitless to tell me to stop doing it. Probably the latter.)
I resented Dan for a while, but that resent later turned into regret. Now, 20 years later, I'm still mad at myself for not taking Goldberg Street more seriously. I want to apologize to Dan for being such a pain in the ass. I want to apologize to Curt and Bob for being a crappy stage partner. And I want to apologize to David Mamet for not learning my lines exactly.
I will have more to say about Goldberg Street in subsequent posts.
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