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STAGE U Studio

New opportunities for local actors to hone their craft in an exciting and supportive workshop setting! Watch for a new session to start shortly after the first of the year.

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The Sunday, June 7 matinee performance of Edward Albee’s The Goat was another significant milestone for Willamette STAGE Company — the end of our second five-show season. I hope all who attended would agree that we ended with a bang, not a whimper. The Goat was certainly our most provocative show to date. And I’m particularly gratified by the positive responses we’ve received from audience members. Here, for example, is what one of you had to say:

“Thank you for a year of provocative theater here in Corvallis. As time goes on, I am seeing more and more what your vision is for this company, understanding what you mean by provocative, and appreciating it. The plays you pick are ones that we all just have to come out and talk about, and we do. We talk at dinner afterwards, and then often for a long time after. They ride the edge of our experience… I am grateful to have [people] in the community who know how to pick great plays, not to mention [people] willing to actually produce them here in town.”

I’m especially gratified because that’s the kind of thing we’ve gotten used to hearing.

And, based on that feedback, I’m very happy to say that Willamette STAGE Company will be back again next fall to open our third season. And I promise that we won’t let up. Oh, sure, we’ll continue to entertain and divert you. But we’ll also continue to provoke you and, yes, to make you a bit uncomfortable from time to time, even in those ever-so-much-more-comfortable new chairs. (By the way, if you haven’t yet gotten around to “buying” your chair(s), just click here to donate; they cost us $40 each with shipping, and we really need your help.)

As I write this, we’re very busy getting that season lined up, and we’ll announce it, as we did last year, just after Labor Day, at our annual gala — STAGE-Fest 2009. Look for an invitation later this summer.

As Willamette STAGE Company’s season two comes to an end, and summer approaches, I’m delighted to announce some very exciting new developments at Willamette STAGE Company.

The first development brings me great personal and professional pleasure. This summer, a new Associate Artistic Director joins Willamette STAGE Company. Brian Newberg (MFA, UC-Irvine) will help manage the company and will direct three of our 2009-2010 shows.

But the biggest change Brian will bring is exciting for the entire mid-Valley theatre scene. Brian will serve as Director of STAGE U Studio, an actor-training studio serving actors of all ages and experience.

STAGE U Studio is part of wSc’s commitment to serving the community by providing exciting theatrical experiences — in this case, cutting-edge actor training led by a professional acting teacher and director. STAGE U Studio will be patterned on similar studios in New York and Los Angeles. Actors at all levels of training and experience, from beginners to veterans, will grow in a competition-free environment that nurtures the artist in everyone.

Click here for more information about STAGE U Studio. Or, email studio@willamettestage.org.

The second change needs no further introduction to those who attended our production of The Goat: After hearing countless (and entirely justified) complaints from audience members about those black Black-Box chairs, we took the plunge and bought 100 new padded chairs, sturdy enough to assure your comfort for seasons to come.

But, please, remember: We’re a young non-profit on a shoestring budget, and the chairs represent a substantial monetary investment in our future together. Please, do your part by contributing to the purchase of your chair(s). They cost us $40 each with shipping; please add on a tax-deductible contribution of whatever you can give to cover the cost of your new chairs. We’ll be very grateful. (Just click here to visit the Donate page on our website; or call 514.368.7092, leave a message, and we’ll call you back to process your donation.)

Thanks so much for your continued support.

From the Artistic Director

It’s a clear, cool Saturday morning in March. At my home south of Corvallis, I’m awaiting Marion (Henri) and Calvin (Philippe), and readying my deck for an outdoor rehearsal of Heroes. Poetically, squadrons of Canada geese crisscross the skies above, rehearsing, as I fancy, for their annual expedition to arctic climes. Watching them, and listening to their frenzied chatter, I think of Søren Kierkegaard. I had been reminded of Kierkegaard’s parable — reproduced below — by my friend Tom Walmsley, who attended an early read-thru rehearsal. Though I have found no acknowledgement by either playwright or translator, the parable must have been very much in Sibleyras’s mind as he conjured his heroes and their plight. And I think it has a place in ours as we travel with them to confront our common existential dilemma. (Thanks, Tom, as always, for the nudge.)

A Modern Parable of Kierkegaard

A certain flock of geese lived together in a barnyard with high walls around it. Because the corn was good and the barnyard was secure, these geese would never take a risk. One day a philosopher goose came among them. He was a very good philosopher and every week they listened quietly and attentively to his learned discourses. ‘My fellow travelers on the way of life,’ he would say, ‘can you seriously imagine that this barnyard, with great high walls around it, is all there is to existence? ‘I tell you, there is another and a greater world outside, a world of which we are only dimly aware. Our forefathers knew of this outside world. For did they not stretch their wings and fly across the trackless wastes of desert and ocean, of green valley and wooded hill? But alas, here we remain in this barnyard, our wings folded and tucked into our sides, as we are content to puddle in the mud, never lifting our eyes to the heavens, which should be our home. The geese thought this was very fine lecturing. ‘How poetical,’ they thought. ‘How profoundly existential. What a flawless summary of the mystery of existence.’ Often the philosopher spoke of the advantages of flight, calling on the geese to be what they were. After all, they had wings, he pointed out. What were wings for, but to fly with? Often he reflected on the beauty and the wonder of life outside the barnyard, and the freedom of the skies. And every week the geese were uplifted, inspired, moved by the philosopher’s message. They hung on his every word. They devoted hours, weeks, months to a thoroughgoing analysis and critical evaluation of his doctrines. They produced learned treatises on the ethical and spiritual implications of flight. All this they did. But one thing they never did. They did not fly! For the corn was good, and the barnyard was secure!

Anonymous English translation as quoted by Athol Gill, The Fringes Of Freedom

Søren Kierkegaard (1813-1855), a prolific 19th century Danish philosopher and theologian, is sometimes called the “Father of Existentialism.” Kierkegaard’s writings range across the boundaries of philosophy, theology, psychology, and literature; he has remained an influential figure in contemporary thought.

The reappearance in my artistic life of Margaret Mann (Alice), a source of joy and inspiration in itself, has also led me to reflect even more than I usually do on the roots of my intellectual and theatrical journey.

I would like to dedicate this production of The Retreat from Moscow to the Edward in all of us — to the discovery and pursuit of passion — and to two of the people who most helped me discover my own passion and believe in myself enough to follow it.

Murray Innes III was my first teacher of literature, later my colleague, and ultimately my closest friend; his love of the humanities and humanity opened doors I hadn’t even known existed; his educated palate introduced me to my own neglected one; his brilliance and eloquence and wit nourished my mind and spirit; and his love and encouragement continue to empower me every day, twenty-five years after his untimely death.

Robert Clapp was my theatrical mentor and my colleague, and remains an inspiration to my work today. Among the many things I learned at his knee are that theatre is truly a collaborative enterprise; that collaboration can foster artistry; that artistry can be lighthearted; and that a light heart can accomplish serious work. Advancing these ideals continues to be a major goal of my work with Willamette STAGE Company.

In Act II of The Retreat from Moscow, Alice returns home from a servce commemorating Remembrance Day, the British equivalent of Veteran’s Day in the U.S. As the scene opens, the audience hears a bugled rendition of the traditional call. Wikipedia says:

“Last Post” is a bugle call used at Commonwealth of Nations military funerals and ceremonies commemorating those who have fallen in war. “The Last Post” is also the name of a poem by Robert Graves describing a soldier’s funeral during World War I.

“Last Post” was originally a bugle call used in British Army camps to signal the end of the day. The name derives from the practice of inspecting all the sentry posts around such a camp at the end of the day, and playing a bugle call at each of them. The “last post” was thus the last point of this inspection, and the bugle call signalling that this post had been inspected marked the end of the military day. This custom dates from at least the 17th century, and originated with British troops stationed in The Netherlands, where it drew on an older Dutch custom, called Taptoe. The Taptoe was also used to signal the end of the day, but has more prosaic origin. Taptoe originated signalling the moment that beer barrels had to be shut, hence that the day had ended. It comes from the Dutch phrase Doe den tap toe, meaning “Turn the tap off” (not to be confused with “Taps” which has a similar function but different tune and origin).

Yes, all right, it’s a bit of a shock to my system, but there’s just no denying it: Willamette STAGE Company’s second season is here! Our inaugural 2007-2008 Season was magical for me, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am to our loyal audience members and to the dozens of talented people who joined us for the ride.

Our celebration of that success — STAGE-Fest 2008, held September 7 at Iovino’s in Corvallis — drew an enthusiastic crowd and helped us launch the 2008-2009 Season. And launched it is.

Rehearsals are ongoing for our first show, Shelagh Stephenson’s “touching and hugely entertaining” The Memory of Water, winner of the 1996 Laurence Olivier prize for Best New Comedy. Once again, we’re blessed with a cast drawn from the finest local talent, and they’re preparing under the skillful direction of long-time local favorite, Pat Kight. Cast members are Ariel Ginsburg, Cathleen Hockman-Wert, Harriet Nixon, Kelly Powers, Charlie Prince, and Paul Watts. It promises to be a delightful beginning to our second season.

And there’s a whole lot more to come:

In December, it’s William Nicholson’s lovely, poetic family drama, The Retreat from Moscow. This wonderfully insightful script explores a foundering marriage and the impact of the growing estrangement, not merely on the couple, but on their emotionally entangled adult son. John Simon of New York Magazine called it, “A finely perceptive, eloquently tender and exquisite new play.”

But my excitement about this project runs deeper. Margaret Mann, a long-time friend and one of my earliest theatre collaborators, is visiting from New Haven, Connecticut to join our cast as my onstage wife. Our first shared stage time was as Gwendolyn and Jack in The Importance of Being Earnest. It’s a reunion I’ve looked forward to for years.

And, as if that weren’t enough, Peter Platt is coming down from Portland to play our son. Local audiences last saw Peter as the predacious Don John in the 2007 Bard in the Quad production of Much Ado about Nothing.

And more:

In February, Pat Kight and Kimberly Gifford (both from last season’s Rabbit Hole) will bring us Pulitzer Prize winner Donald Margulies’ acclaimed two-hander Collected Stories.

And, in April, another pair of STAGE favorites — Marion Rossi (Russian Andrey Botvinnik in A Walk in the Woods) and Calvin Ward (centenarian Louis in Skyscraper) will join me on the boards for a three-hander, the Northwest premiere of Heroes, by Gérald Sibleyras. Brilliantly translated by Tom Stoppard, Heroes won the 2006 Laurence Olivier Award for Best New Comedy.

Heard enough? Well, there’s even more. The season concludes with the May opening of three-time Pulitzer Prize winner Edward Albee’s “challenging” and “outrageously funny,” Tony Award winner, The Goat, Or Who Is Sylvia? Pat Kight directs, and the cast…well, I’ll keep a little something back for a while, just for dramatic tension.

But stay tuned…

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly
. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.” –The Beatles

Even more than I realized, when I scheduled it last summer, David Harrower’s Blackbird is a fit ending to Willamette STAGE Company’s fledgling season. For openers, it’s a piece that — despite the recent announcement of plans to create a film version — begs to be experienced “live,” and in a setting like our intimate black box venue. And it meets our “small cast, simple settings” standard. Most importantly for me, it certainly meets the “provocative” test announced in our slogan — not because of its “controversial” subject matter, but because of its unflinching insistence on looking under the rocks of society’s tendency to pronounce verdicts and ignore complexities. Blackbird resolutely refuses to offer clear answers to the multitude of surprising, disturbing questions it raises.

One Scots reviewer of the original Edinburgh Festival production put it this way: “The brilliance of [Blackbird] is that it goes into places you wish it didn’t. This is neither a newspaper article nor a black-and-white morality play, baldly explaining the grim consequences of underage sex. Rather, it is a compellingly uncomfortable drama that encapsulates the unresolved, misshapen, emotional mess that might accompany any suddenly interrupted relationship, legal or otherwise.

“What if there is a part of the woman that does not feel abused? What if her feelings towards the man are amorous as well as angry? What if there is a part of him that was genuinely, not exploitatively, in love with the child? What if the terrible damage inflicted on the girl was as much because of the way the abusive relationship ended as because of the abuse itself?

“These are the unpleasant questions the playwright dares to make us ask…Blackbird is a profoundly alarming work not because it excuses pedophilia — it doesn’t; it is unambiguous in its condemnation of sexual abuse — but because it shows us the muddiness of water that we like to think is clear.”

Harrower challenges us to run alongside Una and Ray on a fifty-yard dash fraught with ambiguity, ambivalence, uncertainty, guilt, desire, despair…with the awful, astonishing complexities of life.

Thanks for coming with us on the ride. And we hope to see you back for our second season, beginning next fall.

“No one can love or understand me. Oh, what hard luck stories they all hand me. Make my bed and light the light, I’ll arrive late tonight. Blackbird, bye bye.” –Mort Dixon and Ray Henderson

“Rabbit Hole,” the woman in the Connecticut Repertory Theatre lobby said to me, shaking her head. “Oh, yes, I’ve read about that. I don’t think I’d want to see it. It sounds so sad.” How many variations on that theme had I heard in the past year, months, weeks? I shuffled my feet and shifted my gaze, fled to the defense, muttered something about how much humor there is in the script. She nodded, but seemed unconvinced.

Two hours later, I was seated in a darkened theatre watching the last moments of Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weil’s The Three-Penny Opera. The actor playing Peachum stepped forward, fixed the audience with a steely glare and said, “The powerful of the earth can create poverty; they just can’t bear to look at it.”

I was immediately reminded of my lobby conversation, and I blenched at my unwillingness to confront her reluctance. There are, it seems, so many things we “can’t bear to look at.”

Like all powerful works of art, David Lindsay-Abaire’s Rabbit Hole challenges that aversion. It beguiles us, tempts us to look at life as it is lived. A life-shattering event turns a family’s world upside down, and leaves a couple emotionally stranded, drifting perilously apart. We accompany them as they flounder and struggle to put their lives back together, to find a pathway through the fog of despair.

Lindsay-Abaire provokes us to feel, to think, and — yes, all right, frequently and crucially — to laugh. But Rabbit Hole’s humor is precisely modulated. It never blocks our deeper emotional responses; instead, it catalyzes and augments them. We laugh not in isolation, but in communion with our fellow audience members, and with the unique and endearing characters whose journey we share.

That vicarious journey leads us inward, toward our own hearts and spirits, our own sorrows and joys, our own lives in all their challenges and promises and unpredictabilities. And the response lingers, accompanying us out of the theatre, kindling — if we allow it — an urgent and universal conversation about loss, coping, and recovery.

Once again, welcome to live theatre!