Showing posts with label Sarah Ruhl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sarah Ruhl. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Auditions in San Antonio for Eurydice by Sarah Ruhl, Woodlawn Black Box Theatre, September 10 - 11
Woodlawn Theatre in San Antonio auditions for Eurydice by Sarah Ruhl, directed by Matthew Byron Cassi at the Woodlawn Theatre - Black Box, 1920 Fredericksburg Rd (click for map) on Mon Sept 10th and Tues Sept 11th, potential callback on Wed, Sept 12th. Performance Dates: November 9th - 25th, 2012. Rehearsals: October 2012 Sun-Thurs 7-10pm. Read Through: Sunday, Sept 30th, 2012 7pm
Ruhl's vision of the Orpheus myth from Eurydice's point of view begins as Eurydice dies on her wedding day. "Determined to be reunited with his beloved wife, Orpheus journeys through the Underworld intent on bringing Eurydice back to the land of the living. Eurydice, now reunited with her dearly loved late father, must choose between the love of her father and love for her husband. Emotions collide as she tries to hold on to love and life while discovering the harsh and tragic rules of death, memory and choices." Please prepare a 1-2 minute Comedic and/or Dramatic monologue. The auditions will consist of monologues and cold readings from the script. Please come in comfortable clothing and be prepared to move around on stage. No roles have been precast, all roles are open.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Thomas Jenkins of the San Antonio Current on 'VibratorGate'
Two weeks ago San Antonio theatre critic Thomas Jenkins pointed out unauthorized alterations to the script of Sara Ruhl's In the Other Room, or The Vibrator Play at the San Pedro Playhouse, causing a stir among theatre circles in the town. He describes the current state of play, comments on the role of the theatre critic and outlines the implications for theatre art in San Antonio.
The Wicked Stage on Vibratorgate at the Playhouse
June 29, 2012
By jenkins
Well, I’m afraid I’ve been AWOL in the Bay Area while the spectacle of “Vibrator-gate” continues to unfold at the Playhouse (see my initial review of Sarah Ruhl’s “The Vibrator Play” here, the Playhouse President’s subsequent interview here and a fascinating piece by Jade Esteban Estrada for Plaza de Armas here). The good news is that the production of Luis Alfaro’s Bruja that I saw in San Francisco was really deft and affecting and perhaps some enterprising troupe in San Antonio will pick it up; but the bad news is that we’re forced to still ponder the lessons and meaning of what happened in the Cellar in SA.
So, some thoughts:
As I suspected, the Cellar did not seek permission to change the script. When I discussed Vibrator-gate with some of my non-theater-savvy friends, they were surprised to discover that licensing agreements generally preclude any alterations to the script, even a single word or setting. Indeed, Samuel French’s licensing agreement states: “The play will be presented as it appears in published form and the author’s intent will be respected in production. No changes, interpolations, or deletions in the text, lyrics, music, title or gender of the characters shall be made for the purpose of production.” This might seem draconian and legalistic, but in fact, such language protects playwrights from renegade productions—like the Playhouse’s—that misrepresent the author’s intention: after all, The Vibrator Play is not the Playhouse’s play. It’s Sarah Ruhl’s play; and if she wants to write about race, or magical realism, or boogers, or anything at all, that’s her prerogative. If the Playhouse didn’t want to produce her play as written, surely they had other plays to choose from, and better things to do.
So, some thoughts:
As I suspected, the Cellar did not seek permission to change the script. When I discussed Vibrator-gate with some of my non-theater-savvy friends, they were surprised to discover that licensing agreements generally preclude any alterations to the script, even a single word or setting. Indeed, Samuel French’s licensing agreement states: “The play will be presented as it appears in published form and the author’s intent will be respected in production. No changes, interpolations, or deletions in the text, lyrics, music, title or gender of the characters shall be made for the purpose of production.” This might seem draconian and legalistic, but in fact, such language protects playwrights from renegade productions—like the Playhouse’s—that misrepresent the author’s intention: after all, The Vibrator Play is not the Playhouse’s play. It’s Sarah Ruhl’s play; and if she wants to write about race, or magical realism, or boogers, or anything at all, that’s her prerogative. If the Playhouse didn’t want to produce her play as written, surely they had other plays to choose from, and better things to do.
Now, changing the play is bad enough, but the Playhouse might have at least mentioned the changes to the character and the ending in, say, the program.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Auditions in San Antonio for The Vibrator Play, San Pedro Playhouse Cellar Theatre, April 30
San Pedro Playhouse
San Antonio
AUDITIONS 
Actors should prepare a comedic monologue of their choice and be prepared to do some cold readings as well.
In the Next Room or The Vibrator Play is the laugh-out-loud, provocative, and touching story of a proper young Victorian scientist and physician who has innocently invented an extraordinary new device for treating hysteria in women (and occasionally men), the vibrator. Nominated for the 2010 Tony Award for Best Play and a finalist for the 2010 Pulitzer, In the Next Room is as rich in thought as it is in feeling. Production dates are June 8-July 8, Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 2:30 p.m. No performance on June 10. All roles are available.
[poster image via www.speakeasystage.com]
Friday, September 9, 2011
Upcoming: Dead Man's Cell Phone by Sarah Ruhl, Southwestern University, April 18 - 22, 2012
Found on-line:
presents
Dead Man's Cell Phone
By Sarah Ruhl
Directed by Heather Huggins
Apr 18-22, 2012
7pm | Wednesday & Thursday
8pm | Friday & Saturday
3pm | Sunday
Jesse H. and Mary Gibbs Jones Theater, Southwestern University, Georgetown
click for campus map click for driving instructions
The man at the next table just died and his cell phone won’t stop ringing. When Jean answers his phone, her fateful act dials her deeply into the dead man’s mysterious business and his eccentric family – not to mention trips to the afterlife and the black market. This imaginative and dark-edged comedy is the captivating odyssey of a woman forced to confront her assumptions about morality, redemption and the need to connect in a technology-obsessed world. (Mature themes and some strong language)
Click to view production photo at AustinLiveTheatre.com . . .
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Eurydice by Sara Ruhl, Mary Moody Northen Theatre, St. Edward's University, February 3 - 13
In Sarah Ruhl's world, stones can talk, the dead can send letters to the living, and the devil connives to send a fragile bride to her death so he can court her in the afterlife. On the far side of the river of forgetting, memory fades and the ability to read disappears. Young Orpheus, bereft in this life, telephones a long-distance information operator in an effort to try to locate his dead wife.
Despite the striking mythic beauty of its concepts, Ruhl's Eurydice made me profoundly uneasy last year when Different Stages did it at the City Theatre. Perhaps because the shade of Eurydice's father clings to his memories and continues to dream of her, despite the emptiness and unchanging nature of life after death.
Jamie Goodwin as the quietly grieving dead father has depth, dignity and stature, in contrast to the simplicity of Nathan Brockett and Cassidy Schiltz as the eternally naive lovers.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Eurydice by Sarah Ruhl, Different Stages at the City Theatre, January 8 - 30
Sarah Ruhl's version of the Eurydice myth begins as a fable. Nicole Swahn, the childishly enthusiastic and simple-minded Eurydice, frolics at the beach with Bastion Carboni as her beau, the music geek Orpheus. They're on their way to an unreflecting storybook wedding. Little matter that she has no comprehension of the music in his head and apparently no head for her own history.
In part, because she's not getting the mail. We learn that Eurydice's father, a deceased man without a name, has been writing letters to her from the underworld. A bit of a simple dreamer himself, he has somehow proven resistant to the anesthetic properties of the River Lethe. Dad remembers her; he remembers and enacts his dreams of squiring her to her wedding. He even remembers how to read and to write, aptitudes that are supposed to drop away in the shades. His epistles, trusted to the worms for delivery, are regularly intercepted by a smirking, swaggering Marc Balester.
This is an imaginative turn on the ancient myth. By tradition, Orpheus with his musical gift is the protagonist of the story, charming his way into the afterlife and almost retrieving his wife. Ruhl's reformulation is a curious mash-up of myth, coming-of-age fable and naive Christian tale-telling. Concentrating on the father-daughter relation, she is exploring the persistence of memory and of human attachment in the face of death.
Read more and view performance images at AustinLiveTheatre.com . . . .
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The Clean House, Zach Scott Theatre, July 10 to August 17
Everyone in the full house at the Whisenhunt Stage at the Zach Scott enjoyed this four-actor comedy by Sarah Ruhl, winner in 2006 of a MacArthur “genius” fellowship.
I was lucky to be able to see the show at all. As a newcomer to the Zach Scott, I had assumed that the reduced prices for Wednesday evening shows were intended to scrape up an audience – after all, almost none of the other companies in town function on Wednesdays.
When I showed up 35 minutes before the curtain, I found myself given a “standby pass” for my $15. I was number 14 in the line of hopefuls. We watched the mixed crowd file happily into the theatre ahead of us; at curtain time the house manager brought out ten tickets and passed them out. He spotted an additional seat during the wait; and then a single spot was left. The couple holding numbers 12 and 13 decided not to split their evening, so I arrived as the final bottom to fill a seat, still not knowing what to expect.
The show started with a lithe young Brazilian woman telling a joke – in Portuguese. A super-title helpfully explained, “A young woman tells a joke in Portuguese.” And in fact, it was funny – not for the text, which I followed only vaguely (“A doctor tells his patient to . . . “) but for the abandon, the hip motions, and the timing of the final “boom – boom – boom.”). Given the suggestive pose of the poster, I wasn’t at all certain what we were about to receive.
From there, Ruhl’s piece rapidly set up the farce: we begin in the living room of middle-aged but very well kept and attractive Lane, a physician (Lauren Lane, billed for her 6 years on the TV series The Nanny and now teaching at Texas State at San Marcos). She discovers that her newly-hired Brazilian maid (Smaranda Ciceu) has been sitting glumly in the house and not cleaning. Lane is discomfited, uneasily suggesting to Mathilde, the maid, that perhaps she might wish to do something about the bathroom. . . .
Uh, oh, I thought, we are in for an exploration of social class and exploited migrant labor. . . . but no, in a rapid set of developments Lane’s plain, socially stunted sister Virginia (Barbara Chisholm), a fanatic for cleaning, arranges to sneak into the house and do Mathilde’s job for her; Mathilde tells of her deceased parents, “the greatest jokesters in Brazil” (who obligingly appear as fantasies, incarnated by Tom Green and Alicia Kaplan); the women gradually realize that Lane’s surgeon husband Charles must be having an affair; and eventually Lane discovers both their conspiracy and that of Charles, who has run off with one of his aged patients immediately after performing her mastectomy.
Lots of commotion, lots of fast and zany dialogue, and suddenly Charles and his new paramour Ana are announced at the front door. Blackout, intermission.
In the second act, these characters collide with the agreeable energy of pinballs. Charles and Ana (played by Green and Kaplan) earnestly explain that they have found in one another their soul mates, and entreat the others to understand; Mathilde, briefly fired by Lane and then reinstated, is immediately at home with Ana, who is from Argentina. When Lane sends away the new couple, Mathilde winds up splitting her time between the two domiciles. But Ana’s cancer quickly recurs and she determinedly rejects medical care. . . prompting Charles to silly, desperate tactics and serving to realize a series of reconciliations.
There are many delights here. Smaranda Ciceu as Mathilde the maid is appealing - - for her earnest devotion to following up her parents’ love for jokes and her adroit portrayal of miscomprehensions both cultural and linguistic. Her concentration and big-eyed intensity in reacting to the other characters speak worlds of innocence – and in a crucial scene near the finale, her bewonderment and grief are heart-breaking.
Lauren Lane merits her star billing. She functions as the “straight man” for all the others’ eccentricities but her superb timing and subtle, visibly progressing reactions hold her at the center of the action. Here is a disadvantage of theatre in the round – inevitably she has her back to some part of the audience, who get a completely different “read” of the action, unable to follow it in her face. The tradeoff, of course, is proximity, so that the audience feel that they are sharing a living room with the characters. Director Dave Steakley has worked conscientiously with his blocking to minimize the disruption, but the fact is that if one were seated across the playing space, one would see a different play.
The author and director at times happily disrupt the audience's suspension of disbelief, provoking sudden laughter with "magic realism" when hallucinations become shared or defined playing spaces unexpectedly, absurdly merge. Suddenly the sea becomes the living room becomes an Alaskan snowstorm, to our shared delight.
Each actor completely inhabits his or her character. . . and yet, and yet. . . .At the end I joined the good-hearted ovations for the actors, but later, upon reflection, I found myself profoundly uneasy with the play.
Not for the presentation, but for the text itself. And all the more because of the plaudits given to the author.
This is cruel comedy, as all comedy is, and it is administered with a stiletto touch.
These characters are as thin as paper dolls. For example, Charles, the successful surgeon, is presented as a genial idiot (no blame accrues to Green, who does wonders with a character written as impossibly simple-minded).
This is a play for and about women. Lane and Virginia, the sisters “who do not look alike” are differently obsessed with control and are unable to deal with men or with their own emotions. The melancholy Mathilde has no back story other than that of her joke-infatuated parents and her desire to become a comedian. (How did she get to the United States? How did she wind up as Lane’s employee?) Mathilde serves as the “Innocente,” foil to Ana, and observer of the madness of others. And the noble Ana. 30 years a widow - - when facing death, she becomes the voice of commitment to whim and of resistance to the medical establishment.
And what is the Great Joke, the best joke in the world, the one that Mathilde seeks without cease to articulate? This is the secret that she communicates to Ana as the end approaches. We are left to imagine it – and to suppose that the Great Joke may turn on the futility of passion, on the incomprehension between the sexes, or on the fact that whatever we do or seek, we are all doomed to die, leaving our ends unaccomplished.
“The Clean House” is a box of chocolates laced with belladonna. One might taste and enjoy it just once, without harm, but one is tempted to dip into that box again and again.
Click for:
Austin Statesman review by Jeanne Claire van Ryzin, July 17
Interview with Lauren Lane by Jeanne Claire van Ryzin, July 17
Lauren Lane on early sci-fi influences, Austin Chronicle, July 24
Austin Chronicle review by Elizabeth Cobbe, August 1
I was lucky to be able to see the show at all. As a newcomer to the Zach Scott, I had assumed that the reduced prices for Wednesday evening shows were intended to scrape up an audience – after all, almost none of the other companies in town function on Wednesdays.
When I showed up 35 minutes before the curtain, I found myself given a “standby pass” for my $15. I was number 14 in the line of hopefuls. We watched the mixed crowd file happily into the theatre ahead of us; at curtain time the house manager brought out ten tickets and passed them out. He spotted an additional seat during the wait; and then a single spot was left. The couple holding numbers 12 and 13 decided not to split their evening, so I arrived as the final bottom to fill a seat, still not knowing what to expect.
The show started with a lithe young Brazilian woman telling a joke – in Portuguese. A super-title helpfully explained, “A young woman tells a joke in Portuguese.” And in fact, it was funny – not for the text, which I followed only vaguely (“A doctor tells his patient to . . . “) but for the abandon, the hip motions, and the timing of the final “boom – boom – boom.”). Given the suggestive pose of the poster, I wasn’t at all certain what we were about to receive.
From there, Ruhl’s piece rapidly set up the farce: we begin in the living room of middle-aged but very well kept and attractive Lane, a physician (Lauren Lane, billed for her 6 years on the TV series The Nanny and now teaching at Texas State at San Marcos). She discovers that her newly-hired Brazilian maid (Smaranda Ciceu) has been sitting glumly in the house and not cleaning. Lane is discomfited, uneasily suggesting to Mathilde, the maid, that perhaps she might wish to do something about the bathroom. . . .
Uh, oh, I thought, we are in for an exploration of social class and exploited migrant labor. . . . but no, in a rapid set of developments Lane’s plain, socially stunted sister Virginia (Barbara Chisholm), a fanatic for cleaning, arranges to sneak into the house and do Mathilde’s job for her; Mathilde tells of her deceased parents, “the greatest jokesters in Brazil” (who obligingly appear as fantasies, incarnated by Tom Green and Alicia Kaplan); the women gradually realize that Lane’s surgeon husband Charles must be having an affair; and eventually Lane discovers both their conspiracy and that of Charles, who has run off with one of his aged patients immediately after performing her mastectomy.
Lots of commotion, lots of fast and zany dialogue, and suddenly Charles and his new paramour Ana are announced at the front door. Blackout, intermission.
In the second act, these characters collide with the agreeable energy of pinballs. Charles and Ana (played by Green and Kaplan) earnestly explain that they have found in one another their soul mates, and entreat the others to understand; Mathilde, briefly fired by Lane and then reinstated, is immediately at home with Ana, who is from Argentina. When Lane sends away the new couple, Mathilde winds up splitting her time between the two domiciles. But Ana’s cancer quickly recurs and she determinedly rejects medical care. . . prompting Charles to silly, desperate tactics and serving to realize a series of reconciliations.
There are many delights here. Smaranda Ciceu as Mathilde the maid is appealing - - for her earnest devotion to following up her parents’ love for jokes and her adroit portrayal of miscomprehensions both cultural and linguistic. Her concentration and big-eyed intensity in reacting to the other characters speak worlds of innocence – and in a crucial scene near the finale, her bewonderment and grief are heart-breaking.
Lauren Lane merits her star billing. She functions as the “straight man” for all the others’ eccentricities but her superb timing and subtle, visibly progressing reactions hold her at the center of the action. Here is a disadvantage of theatre in the round – inevitably she has her back to some part of the audience, who get a completely different “read” of the action, unable to follow it in her face. The tradeoff, of course, is proximity, so that the audience feel that they are sharing a living room with the characters. Director Dave Steakley has worked conscientiously with his blocking to minimize the disruption, but the fact is that if one were seated across the playing space, one would see a different play.
The author and director at times happily disrupt the audience's suspension of disbelief, provoking sudden laughter with "magic realism" when hallucinations become shared or defined playing spaces unexpectedly, absurdly merge. Suddenly the sea becomes the living room becomes an Alaskan snowstorm, to our shared delight.
Each actor completely inhabits his or her character. . . and yet, and yet. . . .At the end I joined the good-hearted ovations for the actors, but later, upon reflection, I found myself profoundly uneasy with the play.
Not for the presentation, but for the text itself. And all the more because of the plaudits given to the author.
This is cruel comedy, as all comedy is, and it is administered with a stiletto touch.
These characters are as thin as paper dolls. For example, Charles, the successful surgeon, is presented as a genial idiot (no blame accrues to Green, who does wonders with a character written as impossibly simple-minded).
This is a play for and about women. Lane and Virginia, the sisters “who do not look alike” are differently obsessed with control and are unable to deal with men or with their own emotions. The melancholy Mathilde has no back story other than that of her joke-infatuated parents and her desire to become a comedian. (How did she get to the United States? How did she wind up as Lane’s employee?) Mathilde serves as the “Innocente,” foil to Ana, and observer of the madness of others. And the noble Ana. 30 years a widow - - when facing death, she becomes the voice of commitment to whim and of resistance to the medical establishment.
And what is the Great Joke, the best joke in the world, the one that Mathilde seeks without cease to articulate? This is the secret that she communicates to Ana as the end approaches. We are left to imagine it – and to suppose that the Great Joke may turn on the futility of passion, on the incomprehension between the sexes, or on the fact that whatever we do or seek, we are all doomed to die, leaving our ends unaccomplished.
“The Clean House” is a box of chocolates laced with belladonna. One might taste and enjoy it just once, without harm, but one is tempted to dip into that box again and again.
Click for:Austin Statesman review by Jeanne Claire van Ryzin, July 17
Interview with Lauren Lane by Jeanne Claire van Ryzin, July 17
Lauren Lane on early sci-fi influences, Austin Chronicle, July 24
Austin Chronicle review by Elizabeth Cobbe, August 1
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