"Variations on a Theme"

In January, Heidi Van asked me if I'd be interested in presenting a reading of a short play (60 minutes) at her space, The Fishtank Performance Studio, for her series called Spring Shorts. I jumped at the chance.

 

Then I pondered, with my partner Bryan, what to do. There was less than two months before the performance date, so we were considering doing something that was already finished, or at least started. Writing a new play was out. No time.

 

But then Bryan suggested putting together a play that was several short scene that were variations on a theme, so there would be minimal writing. I changed that up a bit, and within three days, I was writing a new play.

 

Because, of course, I knew there was no time to write a new play. But there I was, typing away.

 

Seized by a wave of inspiration, I cranked out 28 pages in three days. Then, my brain breaks screeched to a stop. It took me awhile to get going again, but within a couple of weeks, I had the first draft of (duh) Variations on a Theme.

 

The play consists of two actors portraying different characters in fifteen short scenes that all begin and end with the same few lines, and carry a common theme (well, of course). It was read by the incomparable Teri Adams and Parry Luellen to a crowd of thousands (the Fishtank seats about 50).

 

There was a talkback afterward, where the audience asked me various questions such as why I was moved to write it, how much we rehearsed, and if I had a favorite scene. There was also a heated discussion between audience members about whether it was "too long" or "perfect the way it is," that sort of thrilled me. It's nice when a work you've created gets people riled up.

Project Pride

PROJECT PRIDE
Back row, from left: Amanda Tilden, Josh Metje, Izze Loos, Martin Tomlinson.
Front row, from left: Leanna Varney, Christian Williamson, Claire Davis, Leah Brownlee.

 

 

Recently, I had the extraordinary good fortune to participate in the development of a performance piece with the brand-new LGBTIA-and-straight-allied teen theatre troupe, Project Pride. The Coterie Theatre's Education Director, Amanda Kibler, started it, and I elbowed my way in. (Just kidding. I only begged.)

 

As I believe I've mentioned in previous posts, devising theatre is the direction that my passion is taking, and working with LGBTIA youth is high up on my list of priorities. For months, we worked together (with co-director Zac Parker) to develop a show that was, at once, hilarious, touching, angering, and inspiring.

 

On March 8, we had our only performance (this year), with a pre-show by The Pride Players from Omaha. The audience was large, and receptive. They laughed, they hooted and hollered, they cried. I burst into proud tears at curtain call.

 

These teens (including my amazifying niece) are gorgeous examples of love, beauty, passion, collaboration, communication, and acceptance. The future looks bright.

 

 

 

It's a Beautiful Day for Good News, Volume 1

Earlier this year, I started a semi-regular newsletter to friends that I call "It's a Beautiful Day for Good News." It's intended as my counterpoint to regular news outlets that would have you believe that the world is a scary and dangerous place, filled with rape, murder, abuse, fraud, and robbery around every corner, and 95% on fire at any given time. I can't watch the news anymore, because it depresses me to an intense degree. So, every so often, I gather stories that are refreshing and inspiring, about people doing lovely things for others, and it has been recently suggested (by my awesome brother) that I include this in my blog here. The motion was seconded, so here we are.

This first installment is made up of stories that I've shared through the newsletter previously, but I love them so much, I offer them here.

Seattle is planning to create a city park, wherein they will plant edibles that are free to anyone:
http://www.takepart.com/article/2012/02/21/its-not-fairytale-seattle-build-nations-first-food-forest

The Friendliest Restaurant in the World:
http://gimundo.com/news/article/tims-place-the-restaurant-that-serves-breakfast-with-a-side-of-hugs/

The Jiffy Mix company may not be perfect, but it's still a role model:
http://www.policymic.com/articles/30626/7-reasons-this-muffin-mix-can-save-America

This little guy is pretty awesome, the way he pieces together where his dinner came from. Also, I applaud his mother, who really listens to him and respects his choice. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJNntUXyWvw&feature=youtu.be

If you haven't heard about Caine's Arcade, you absolutely must go here. It's one of my favoritest stories ever, ever, ever.
http://cainesarcade.com/

Dramarama Presents: Works-in-Progress

I love the term "work-in-progress." It means, "I know it's not finished, but I want to share what I've got so far."

I used it a lot last night, when the fourth- and fifth-grade Dramarama acting students presented readings of scenes that the third- through fifth-grade Dramarama Playwrights worked on in class earlier this fall. The playwrights were the directors and narrators of their own plays.

This whole thing was an experiment in curriculum for me. I'd never offered a playwriting class before, and then, to attach it to the acting class was kind of risky. But the students did super, and I was very proud of them.

As families were arriving, I gathered the students at the front of the room to chat. "Is anyone nervous?" I asked. Several hands went up. I asked the lone boy, a fifth-grader, why he was nervous. "I'm afraid my voice will crack. Sometimes it does that." I smiled. Puberty's a struggle.

Every single student, actors and playwrights, had family members at the presentation. That is a wonderful, inspiring thing. 4:00 pm is a difficult time to get working adults to attend anything, and surely not everyone who wanted to come was able to, but there was not a single student who didn't have someone there to support them. That's thrilling.

I've posted a photo of the playwrights earlier, so here are the acting students:

 

 

I love my job.

 

The Ephemeral Nature of Theater

Carrie the Musical closed over a week ago. I'm still sad.

I wrote this as a Facebook status after Chicken Heart closed in July. When Carrie closed, I thought about it again. I had intended, before re-posting it here, to embellish it a little to include the tender feelings I have towards this most recent theater experience, but I don't know what I should add or change. The feelings of writing/directing/producing a show and acting in one are very different, but both are deeply personal and extremely delicate.

Oh, I should say that I stole the title from a comment made by Robert Trussell when I originally posted it: "This is the best essay I've ever read on the ephemeral nature of theater." Thanks, Bob.

 

July 28

Theater is a funny art form. We work for weeks, months, even years toward the singular goal of putting up the best production we can. We must put so many everyday-life elements on hold during that time: adequate rest, relationships, regular meals and other self-care, other work, house work, any semblance of free time... We hope that we are able to communicate our intentions for the play, and worry... that we won't. At the first audience laugh, we exhale... just a little. But there's the next laugh line, the next visual gag, the next tense moment, the next calculated reveal... And before each one, we pray that everything we've done up until that moment was the right way to do it, and that audiences will find your work, in some way, moving.

Then, it's over.

That's the nature of the beast. Theater is temporary. That goal, that has consumed our lives for so long, is just...gone. Forever.

So we clean up the detritus of the production that strewn all over our homes and cars, and we try to get back into "real life," without The Play. Laundry and grocery shopping and social functions and family, oh, a meal, served on plates, eaten with forks, sitting at a table at home.

But there's been a death, of sorts. A major part of your life is no longer there, and we have to bury it before we can get back to the land of the living. There is a mourning period when it's gone. Sometimes it's just a flash, a minor adjustment, but sometimes, it takes longer to get over the loss, and it hurts.

Theater is a funny art form. It's exhausting and frustrating and joyful and challenging and delicate and maddening and beautiful and triumphant and a will-o-the-wisp and a siren song and a phantom and a mirage. And it's why I have such a long, long list of projects, always waiting for me to come back to them.

Performance Reviews for "Carrie the Musical"

Yesterday was Review-reading Day. I did not read reviews of the show while it was still running. Even if they're good, reviews affect a performance, and I want to concentrate on doing the job I've been training for during the rehearsal process. A review is just one person's opinion.

Still, it's nice when you work so hard at a job, and get positive recognition for it. Everyone loves to be validated.

Robert Trussell, Kansas City Star:
"Chief among the show’s pleasant surprises is that Tara Varney, perhaps best known as a director of original work at the annual fringe festival, possesses a formidable voice, which she demonstrates as the religiously obsessed Margaret White."

Steve Wilson, examiner.com:
"Tara Varney plays Margaret White, the overly controlling and religious fanatic mother of Carrie. Her acting is robust and deliberate, yet her singing voice is even stronger. Her interpretation of the mother makes you first despise her and feel even sorrier for Carrie. Later you can feel her anguish as she begins to lose control of Carrie."

Bob Evans, examiner.com:
"...Margaret White, craftily portrayed by Tara Varney..."

Kristin Shafel Omiccioli, KCMetropolis.com:
"Leading the pack is Fringe Festival regular Tara Varney as Margaret White, Carrie’s fanatical mother. Varney’s mature voice expressed a range of emotions from “the crazy” to overprotective to even tender and regretful."

Read more here: http://www.kansascity.com/2013/10/06/4535479/egads-theatre-companys-carrie.html#storylink=cpy

The Most Magical Place

I was pacing in a corner backstage during "Carrie" last week, running lines, when I came out of my circle of concentration for a minute and looked around.

I saw people in costumes, getting ready to go onstage, and some were coming off. I saw people in tech blacks, setting props. I saw blue-light silhouettes and shadows, weaving in and out of each other. I saw ropes and pulleys and run lists and set pieces. I saw costumes laid out for upcoming quick-changes. I saw masking. I saw props tables laden with incongruous items like a basketball, a candlestick, a laundry basket, a chopping knife, a skateboard, a pin cushion, drug pipes, a tiara, plates of apple pie, and empty beer bottles.

People were running to get where they needed to be on time. People were waiting for their cues. People were quietly joking with each other. People were hugging. People were tucked in corners, trying to get focused.

I sat in a chair behind the set and looked up at the two levels, joined by steep escape stairs. I saw screws and staples and stage light filtered through "window" coverings. I saw the shadows of actors onstage, and listened to their amplified voices singing, so richly. I imagined the stage manager in the tech booth, calling cues to the light board op and the sound op. I thought of the spot ops in their crow's nests, above the audience's heads. There are a lot of tech cues. A lot.

Backstage is not pretty. It's plywood and 2x4s and glow tape, stitched together in workable, but decidedly unattractive ways. It is usually crowded and often dirty. I get splinters constantly.

I took all this in, the sight of a place I've been thousands of times before, and I started to cry.

All these people, working together to create something that the audience won't ever completely understand the workings of. Even if they're in the industry, if they're not backstage, right now, they have no idea. And I don't either, when I'm the one sitting in the audience.

It's amazing. It's mysterious and inspiring. The energy and passion represented backstage during a performance is staggering. The whole of the production process is hidden away behind the curtains and flats. It's this massive, delicate secret that even the people involved don't always realize they are inside. It's fragile and ugly and chaotic and really, the most gorgeous, magical place there is.