Casting and Comments - Part II

Posted by Bruce Miller
In a previous blog, I jumped recklessly into the ongoing debate regarding whether Barksdale and I (and by extension all Richmond theatres and directors) are open to casting newcomers. As I have stated, I believe that all of us are not only open to new talent, we’re downright eager to introduce new faces to our audiences.

Still, the perception persists that directors prefer to cast a disproportionate number of those whom we already know and love.

To test my belief against that perception, I decided to go back and review my casting record for the dozen shows I’ve directed at Barksdale since becoming artistic director in 2001. Here are the results.

I use the words “pals,” “friends” and “colleagues” interchangeably. If I say someone was “new to me” or “never worked with me,” I mean I hadn’t cast or directed them before, not necessarily that I’d never made their acquaintance, heard of them, or seen their work, although that is often true. In like fashion, the term “newcomer" means new to Barksdale.

I suspect I’ve made a mistake or five. A fair amount of this was done from memory. As you notice that I’ve left someone out, screwed up the math, misspelled a name, or mislabeled a “newcomer” or a “veteran,” please let me know and I’ll fix it.

I’ll leave it to you to determine what, if anything, this casting history suggests.

The Little Dog Laughed – Cast of four. I brought veteran Susan Sanford back from LA, and I cast Laine Satterfield, who had been in one Barksdale show previously but was new to me. I also cast two newcomers, John DeBoer and Matt Hackman.

Swingtime Canteen – Cast of five. I cast Vilma Gil, Jan Guarino, Audra Honaker, Katrinah Lewis and Debra Wagoner, all of whom had worked at Barksdale before.

Smoke on the Mountain – Cast of seven. I cast Julie Fulcher and Eric Williams, who were Barksdale veterans and longstanding friends of mine. I cast David Janeski who had acted at Barksdale in two previous shows, but had never worked with me. I cast Billy Christopher Maupin and Aly Wepplo, both of whom had acted once previously at Barksdale, but had never worked with me. I also cast two newcomers, Emily Cole Bitz and Drew Perkins.

Over the River and Through the Woods – Cast of six. I cast Dave Bridgewater, Jolene Carroll, Matthew Costello, Jackie Jones and Stephanie Kelly (Dray), all of whom were Barksdale veterans, and four of whom had worked previously with me. I also cast newcomer Christopher Clawson in the lead.

No Sex Please, We’re British – Cast of nine. I cast Dave Bridgewater, Dave Clark, Larry Cook, Jan Guarino, Cathy Shaffner and Erin Thomas, all six of whom were Barksdale veterans and longstanding pals of mine. I cast Jeff Cole and Chris Stewart, both of whom had worked with me and with Barksdale on one show prior to this one. I also cast newcomer Monica Dionysiou.

The Lark – Cast of 15. I cast Andy Boothby, Rick Brandt, Dave Bridgewater, Larry Cook, Matthew Costello, Debbie Gayle Taylor and Erin Thomas, all seven of whom were Barksdale veterans and prior colleagues of mine. (Allow me to note that Debbie Gayle hadn’t done a show at Barksdale in more than 20 years.) I cast Stephanie Kelly (Dray) and Roger Gregory who were new to me, but who had done one Barksdale show previous to this one. I also cast five newcomers: Pam Arkin, Jeff Cole, Jeff Hendrickson, Stephanie O’Brien and Chris Stewart, three of them in leading roles.

The Man Who Came to Dinner – Cast of 24. I cast Larry Cook, Lauren Leinhaas Cook, Matthew Costello, Thomas Cunningham, Robyn O’Neill, Joe Pabst, Derek Phipps, Susan Sanford, Jill Bari Steinberg, Jody Strickler and Joy Williams, all 11 of whom were Barksdale veterans. I also cast 13 newcomers: Brett Ambler, Josh Bufford, Jeff Clevinger, Sam Cook, Frank Creasy, Barry Ellenberger, Jonathan Hardison, Leigh McSweeney, Scott Melton, Curt Miller, Daniel Strickler, Kim Weeda and Lynn West.

Anything Goes – Cast of 24. I cast Larry Cook, Heather Fox, Jan Guarino, Jennifer Hammond, Robin Harris, Audra Honaker, Chase Kniffen, Richard Koch, Mollie Meagher, Robyn O’Neill, Jack Parrish, Derek Phipps, Russell Rowland and Cathy Shaffner, all fourteen of whom were Barksdale veterans and had worked with me before. I cast Matt Shofner, Jonathan Spivey and Alex Teachey, all three of whom were appearing at Barksdale for the second time, but had never worked with me. I also cast seven newcomers: Brandon Becker, Liz Blake, Charlie Chan, Ryland Dodge, Alexis Goldstein, Travis Kendrick and Eddie Tavares.

Fifth of July – Cast of eight. I cast Steve Perigard, Jody Strickler and Scott Wichmann, three Barksdale veterans who’d worked with me before. I cast Riley Koren, who had done one show with me and Barksdale previously. I cast Chris Evans and Jennifer Massey, both of whom had acted in one Barksdale show previously but had never worked with me. I also cast two newcomers: Peter Schmidt and Jill Bari Steinberg, plus a third newcomer Kristen Swanson, who replaced Jen Massey when she had to leave the show for a prior commitment.

Annie Get Your Gun – Cast of 24. I cast Dave Bridgewater, Billy Dye, Robert Fix, Jan Guarino, Michael Hawke, Chase Kniffen, Robyn O’Neill, Steve Perigard and Susan Sanford, all nine of whom were Barksdale veterans and old pals. I cast Crystal Bailey and Annie Hulcher, both of whom had done one show previously at Barksdale, but were new to me. I also cast 13 newcomers: Gray Crenshaw, Heather Fox, Emily Gatesman, Josh Lane, Craig McFarland, Andy McLeavey, Mollie Meagher, Juli Robbins, Russell Rowland, Gavin Waters, Cory Williams, David Winning and Tamia Zulueta.

The Crucible – Cast of 19. I cast Dave Bridgewater, Matthew Costello, Lou DiLalla, Richard Koch and Jack Parrish, all five of whom were Barksdale veterans who had worked with me before. I cast Kelly Kennedy, who was a Barksdale vet but was working with me for the first time. I also cast 13 newcomers: Pat Anthony-Aleman, Amy Barrett, Dale Church, Jamme Coy, Stephen Coy, Kady Fleckenstein, Chelsea Franges, Arthelia Gatling, Audra Honaker, Riley Koren, Joe Mattys, Alice Schreiner and Dan Summey.

The Little Foxes – Cast of ten. I cast Matthew Costello, Jack Parrish and Jody Strickler, all three of whom were Barksdale veterans and longstanding colleagues of mine. I cast Kweli Leapard and Robbie Winston, both of whom had been in one previous Barksdale production. I also cast five newcomers: ‘Rick Gray, Daniel Moore, Erin Thomas, Timothy Thomas and Harriet Traylor.

Total Actors Cast – 156
Total Newcomers – 65 (42%)

Among the “newcomers” – Brett Ambler, Frank Creasy, Audra Honaker, Heather Fox, Daniel Moore, Russell Rowland, Jill Bari Steinberg, Chris Stewart, Erin Thomas, Harriet Traylor and David Winning – all of whom would now be considered Barksdale Theatre and/or Richmond Theatre All-Stars.

--Bruce Miller

Language - Part II: Copyright ... the Religious Right ... It's Your Right to be Offended ... etc

Posted by Bruce Miller
Warning: To add clarity to this discussion of "offensive language," a few words are used that you may find "offensive." Continue at your own risk. Thanks.

Under U. S. copyright law, it’s illegal for any theatre to rewrite or edit a single word in any play published after 1923 without first receiving written permission from the author or his/her agents. It’s not only a legal issue; it’s an ethical issue. If you’re going to tell people that you’re producing a play written by, say, Tennessee Williams, then the only honest thing to do is present the play as Williams wrote it. Williams no doubt chose his words carefully and with purpose, and it’s unethical to “sanitize” his language and then market the play as the authentic original. That’s why Barksdale, along with every other professional theatre worth its salt, presents plays as they were originally written.

Our 2004 production of The Man Who Came to Dinner starred Jill Bari Steinberg and Joseph Pabst (pictured to the right), and was written by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart in 1939. During the run I received several letters from audience members complaining that I’d “added” profanity to the play. Of course I hadn’t. The few mildly profane words that were spoken from our stage all came from the minds and pens of those beloved, iconic American playwrights, Kaufman and Hart (pictured below and to the left). In the popular culture of 1939, their language caused nary a ripple. In today’s cultural climate, heavily influenced by the rise of the religious right, these same words prompted a small parade of conservative audience members to march to the exits in a huff.

When I assured the complainers that I had not added profanity to this cherished American script, they told me I was lying. They had “seen the movie,” they said (and perhaps a couple high school or community productions), and “those words were not spoken." What they may have failed to consider is that the film codes of the ‘40s were more Puritanical than the Broadway codes, and so Kaufman and Hart apparently chose to cut a few words from the movie version while keeping the original stage version in tact. The high school and community producers who had removed the words on their own accord most likely did so illegally.

Yes, I know this happens all the time and I'm making no judgements about high school and community theatres. They face their own challenges and I applaud their work. I also believe that professional theatres are held to a different standard.

As we engage in Part II of this discussion about “offensive language,” I’m using “profanity” as the catch-all word. At its root, “profane” means “worldly,” as in the opposite of “spiritual.” Profane language—profanity—can be sub-divided into four categories:
· blasphemy (taking the name of a diety in vain),
· obscenity ("crude" words for sex acts or private body parts),
· scatology (having a fascination with excrement or urine), and
· cursing (“damn you,” “go to hell” etc. and their abreviations and euphemisms).
There are other offensive words having to do with race, but we’re going to discuss race in a separate blog entry. Slurs and profanity are not really the same thing.

By far the most objections I hear relate to blasphemy and stem from offense to religious principles. (If you like, you can read my thoughts on “offensive language” and Christian faith in Language – Part I: From Potter to Shakespeare to Jesus and Beyond, Jan 12, 2008.)

Sometimes it almost seems ludicrous. We produced The Lark in 2006, written by Jean Anouilh and adapted by Lillian Hellman, and the central character of the play was Joan of Arc (pictured to the left in a painting by Dante Gabriel Rossetti). This is, of course, the same Joan who was at first persecuted and later sainted by the Catholic Church. A couple audience members were offended when Joan cried out to God in her moments of greatest spiritual despair. “Why did you have to make Joan of Arc use the Lord’s name in vain?” one chastiser wrote. IN VAIN!!?? What on earth led any audience member to think that Joan’s cry to God was in vain?

When we produced The 1940's Radio Hour in 2002, one congregant really let me have it over the telephone for performing “Satanic music.” “That old black magic has me in its spell,” she eerily chanted into the phone. “That old black magic that you weave so well. Those icy fingers up and down my spine…” Finally the images became too much for her to continue.

Sometimes religious concerns cross over into moral situations. When we produced Winnie the Pooh at Theatre IV, a very sweet grandmother called me to ask if we couldn’t rewrite A. A. Milne to make it clearer that Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit were married. “I mean they keep talking about having all those babies, and you never really make it crystal clear that they’re married.” When I reminded her that Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit were, in fact, rabbits, and that rabbits didn’t get married, even in the days of A. A. Milne, she simply said, “Oh, you know what I mean.”

I did know what she meant. But still...

Another animal that never ceases to rile the religious right at Theatre IV is the ass referred to in Peter Pan—come see it this spring; my mailbox is ready and waiting. When Tinkerbell becomes frustrated with Peter’s attentions to Wendy, she calls Wendy “a silly ass.” Of course, Tinkerbell “speaks” only through the tinkling piano (or is it a flute?) that represents her fairy voice. Peter giggles when Tink calls Wendy the name. When Wendy inquires as to what funny thing Tinkerbell just said, Peter translates, and you can often hear the gasps.

I’m frequently told that language is so much more coarse in popular culture now than it used to be—and in many ways that’s true. But what’s also true is that there’s a growing group that becomes offended far more easily than people used to. When Mary Martin (pictured to the left) said “a silly ass” on the national airwaves in 1954's TV version of Peter Pan, no one batted an eye. Everybody accepted the word “ass” as another word for donkey. Today, some people hear “ass” and all they can think of is someone’s buttocks.

So is the problem with the word or the person hearing the word?

Thousands of audience members have loved our current production of Moonlight and Magnolias (pictured to the right, starring Dave Bridgewater, Scott Wichmann and Joe Pabst). And 20 or 40 audience members have been really offended by the language. A group of well-meaning folks from Good Samaritan Ministries called and asked for comps to one of our shows. They do amazing rehabilitation work with indigent men dealing with addiction in Richmond's South Side, and we were eager to help them out. We gave them comp tickets to the show of their choice, and they selected Moonlight.

The woman who set up the group called the box office to double-check the language. “No, the language isn’t bad,” our box office representative assured her. “They say the d-word once…I’m a little embarrassed to say it over the phone…but other than that, the language is fine.”

The woman thought, well, they only say “damn” once, and I think we can handle that, so we’ll accept the 15 free tickets and have a lovely evening out. What she didn’t know—what we didn’t make clear—is that “the d-word” was not “damn” but “dick,” as in Selznick’s graphic line about Hollywood pandering, “We suck the collective dicks" of our audience.

In fact, the actors in Moonlight say “damn”—and the far more controversial “God damn”—several times long before they get to the “collective dicks.” Our box office representative never even noticed that language when he saw the show. It simply rolled by him without calling any attention to itself. I'm not faulting him for this. He is pure of heart and more power to him. I'm just telling the story the way it happened.

When our urban missionaries arrived at the theatre and took their seats, they lasted only about 10 minutes before they couldn’t take it anymore. They stood up en masse and beat a hasty retreat to the lobby. Others in the audience looked at them and hadn’t a clue as to what was the problem. I called them on the following Monday, after hearing about their departure, and learned the whole story.

One of the challenges we face is finding the correct way to communicate with our audience about the language they can expect in any particular production. It is never our intention to surprise or offend. It is also not our intention to bowdlerize the language of the great playwrights to meet the particularly sensibilities of our times.

Coming soon – Language Part III: a history of censorship

--Bruce Miller

Thoughts on Offending the Audience - Intro

Posted by Bruce Miller

I don’t enjoy offending people. Honestly I don’t. The graphic to the right, I've been told, is borrowed from boy's lacrosse. It's a signal that relates to "offensive screening." It was mailed to me by an audience member who wanted to remind me that what I do is potentially offensive.

I value this signal. I also increasingly buy into that old saw that says if you’re not making somebody mad, you must not be doing it right.

Offending someone is, of course, not the same thing as boring someone. Two of my favorite productions at Barksdale (The Crucible by Arthur Miller and The Lark by Jean Anouilh, adapted by Lillian Hellman) bored some members of our audience. I directed both productions.

Both plays relate to history (the Salem witch trials and the McCarthy era in the case of The Crucible, the Joan of Arc story and the McCarthy era in the case of The Lark). Both plays are politicized (we’re talking Arthur Miller and Lillian Hellman after all). Both plays are narrative and language-heavy, written by playwrights who thrive on polemics, unapologetically requiring audience members to care about the issues the playwrights care about. Both plays are long by 21st century standards—The Coast of Utopia notwithstanding.

I love(d) both plays and both productions. And I know lots of other people who do (did) too. But on different nights during the runs of both shows I found myself sitting next to John Q Public audience members who fell asleep about ten minutes into Act I, clearly bored out of their minds.

Offending someone is, of course, not the same thing as confusing someone. The Lark confused some people in addition to boring them—two, two, two mints in one. Two other personal favorites at Barksdale (James Joyce’s The Dead, written by Richard Nelson with music by Shaun Davey, and The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers) confused some members of our audience as well. The remarkably talented Steve Perigard and Scott Wichmann (does Richmond know how lucky it is to have these guys?), respectively, directed those two productions. They directed them beautifully.

The Lark is character and theme-driven; The Dead and The Member are both character and language-driven. Unlike most dramatic literature, these three plays are not particularly plot-driven. Take away a strong linear plot, and some people feel lost. “What the hell was that all about?” was a question I heard more than once after each of these three shows.

To me, these plays were “about” a hundred things, and I felt emotionally richer for having seen them. Again, I know lots of other people who also loved these productions.

Offending someone can be the same thing as challenging someone. Personally, I like my beliefs, feelings and thoughts to be challenged. More to the point, I need my deeply held convictions to be challenged. Unless and until they are tested, how do I know what I really value and hold dear?

But many people have different brain chemistry, I know. The minute you challenge one of their beliefs, they perceive you are heaping contempt on their innermost selves. This is never our intention. Nonetheless, they are offended.

There are scores of ways to offend audience members, but over the years it seems to me that we’ve offended people in three main arenas: language, race and sex. What different people find to be offensive interests me. And since this season seems to be offending its fair share, and, come Little Dog Laughed, promises to offend lots more, I figure now’s a good time to discuss these issues.

Part of the value of this discussion will be to organize and clarify my own thoughts. An equally important part will be to ask for and welcome your opinions.

So plug in your offendometers (I pronounce it with the emphasis on the third syllable) and get ready to rumble. Coming soon – language!

--Bruce Miller