The Healing Power of Laughter

I just realized that this is my first blog post of the Jewish new year. Someone should say a Shehecheyanu.

It's December and that means it's time for "Holiday Hoopla!" On Wednesday, I will drive down to Ashland for the annual reunion of The Hamazons. Three shows over three nights, the last two at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival's Black Swan theatre. I love that venue. A three-quarter thrust black box is not a typical space for doing improv. But it compels us to open up the action, to include every audience member in the play. And I worked at OSF for eight years, so it feels like coming home.

This is also the 10-year anniversary for the Warrior Princesses of Comedy. And since the traditional gift for ten years of "marriage" is aluminum or tin, we are decking our halls and ourselves in silver and blue. This Friday night is also the first night of Chanukah, so the blue and silver theme is very apropos.

I am looking forward to reprising the role of Charlemagne in "Elf Interrogation" and baffling the audience with my literary prowess as a "World Poet." And what show would be complete without "Gibberish Fairy Tale Opera"?

So, look for a new post next week when I return from Ashland with more Hamazon tales. Until then, I wish everyone a glorious Season of Light, filled with peace, love and laughter.

Studs Terkel and Me

I was browsing through my theater memory book the other day and I stumbled upon a number of photos and clippings from "Working" by Studs Terkel. It was produced, like so many of the shows I did, at San Luis Obispo Little Theatre. It was also the first and only show I did with my daughter, Lisa.

Ed Galena, who had previously directed me in “Same Time, Next Year,” directed the play. My dear friend, John Bartelt, who was my George in "Same Time," was the music director. I played a number of roles, as did most of the cast, the most memorable being Kate Rushton, the housewife. And, once again, my ability to improvise saved me on opening night. More on that later.

I returned to theater in early 1983, when Lisa was a little more than three years old. Most nights, her father looked after her while I was rehearsing or performing. But sometimes she accompanied me to the theater. We would bring her sleeping bag, pillow, snacks, books and coloring books, and she would make herself at home. She grew up around actors, directors, and designers. She always knew my lines and let me know when I got it wrong.

Lisa was with me when I auditioned for "Working" and ended up being cast as one of the children. As I recall, she appeared on stage four times, had one line, and sang in the big company numbers at the end of both acts. This helped to assuage my guilt for dragging her to the theater every night. I imagine she was bored to sobs during her long stints in the green room. I'll have to ask her.

Back to opening night. John had recorded all of the music to tape, in the order it was to be played. The sound tech had a copy of the script with the cues highlighted. It should have been a no-brainer. Unfortunately, there was this guy Murphy and his stupid law.

By the time I appeared on stage as Kate, my music was to be already cued up. So, I said my lines... no music. I ad-libbed a line thinking, perhaps, the sound tech hadn't heard me. (I don't know why. It's not like it was a Beatles concert.) Still, no music. So, I just started improvising, about how I always wanted to be a singer. I had no way of knowing that the sound tech had advanced the tape past my song and was frantically trying to find his way back.

In the meantime, the director and the rest of the cast were back in the green room watching the show on the monitor. My friend, Martha Hawley, said, "I don't remember her having that many lines." The director suddenly realized what was happening and ran to the booth. I was just about to start singing my song a cappella, when the sound tech found my music and hit "play." I carried on like nothing unusual had happened.

When I finished the scene and exited the stage, the director was waiting for me in the wings. He put his arms around me and said, "If it had to happen to someone, I'm glad it happened to you." He knew that if something went wrong on stage, I would just reach into my improvisational grab bag and carry on.

Considering how often things go "wrong" in life, I am very grateful to have this skill. I wish they taught it in high school.

Life at the Five and Dime

Earlier this week, my mother and I were reminiscing about a play I did many years ago, "Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean." It was produced by San Luis Obispo Little Theatre, where I did a lot of acting (and volunteering) during the 1980s. It was also the first time my mother saw me on stage.

When I heard that the play was to be directed by Mark McDougal, I started preparing my audition piece. Mark was a director with whom every local actor wanted to work. He was intelligent, insightful, innovative and able to convey his vision with crystal clarity. A rare creature in the world of community theater.

When I arrived at the audition, all of us were asked to fill out the typical one-sheet with basic info about ourselves, theater experience, availability, and the role(s) we would like to play. It also asked which role(s) we would not like to play. I indicated that I did not want to play Sissy, the role immortalized by Cher in the Robert Altman film.

Sissy is a brash, buxom, foul-mouthed flirt with a drinking problem. Frankly, I had played my share of BBFFs and had no desire to explore the depths of another dysfunctional woman with a substance abuse problem. It was a role that many female actors would die for, but I didn't see it that way.

So, we auditioned, Mark thanked us for coming and said he would call each of us within the next couple of days. He did call the following day and said, "Deborah, I would like you to play Sissy." As you can imagine, I was not happy. I actually whined. Then he said something I will never forget. He said, "Deborah, you were born to play this role." Well, gee whiz.

We started rehearsals the following week. Mark pushed me in directions that no director had ever pushed me before. He encouraged me to divest myself of all preconceived notions about this character. To explore my own soul (and my own pain) and find the truths that both Sissy and I share. I got so far inside her skin that, for several months, I walked, talked and laughed like her. I learned how to get drunk without drinking. I learned how to trip down a set of stairs without spraining my ankle.

There is a scene toward the end of the play where Sissy finally reveals the truth about herself to her friends. It is a heartbreaking scene and, in rehearsal, I always ended up crying as I spoke my lines. Mark, our brilliant director, told me not to. He told me to bring myself to the edge of tears and then stop. He said, "If you cry, then the audience doesn't have to."

He was right. On opening night, there was a veritable storm of hankies. Even my mother cried. After the performance, she came up to me and said, "For awhile, I forgot it was my daughter up there." I don't believe she realized it at the time, but it was the greatest compliment she could have given me.

Thanks, Mom.

Girls Just Want to Have Fun

"Laughter is the closest distance between two people."

So, the other night I got together with three very funny and talented women to do some improv. We started warming up with "Snap, Clap, Stomp," which is closely related to but not to be confused with "Whoosh, Boink, Pow," a favorite of The Hamazons. The exercise forces you to stay in the moment: to watch, to listen, to be flexible and, most of all, to stay good hearted.

It was wonderful to play with women again. The room was filled with creativity and generosity. Adrienne and Kim did some "mirror" work that was astounding and Toni's "sound and motion" work had me laughing out loud. And, considering we were playing together for the first time, some very fine scene work emerged at the end of the evening. I am so pleased that we were able to work around our crazy schedules and come together. And I am really looking forward to playing again in September.

By the way, I never did hear from my old boyfriend and theater playmate, Tedd. But I have been recalling some old theater experiences, especially those that challenged my ability to stay in the moment and improvise.

Many years ago, I did a production of "Same Time, Next Year" at San Luis Obispo Little Theatre, an intimate venue with about 130 seats. The play opens with the two characters, Doris (played by Ellen Burstyn in the film) and George (played by Alan Alda), waking up in bed after a night of... well, you get the picture.

This is the way it was supposed to go: lights fade to black, John (my George) and I enter in the dark and get under the covers, lights come up as we're just "waking up." However, that is not the way things went on opening night. Yes, opening night, when all the critics were in the audience. The lights faded to black, we entered, and the lights came up while I was making my way around the end of the bed. Apparently, the director was supposed to cue the lighting technician after we were in place, but he got distracted with a patron. So, the tech did his best at estimating where we were and missed it by about five seconds. Which left me painfully exposed to the audience. Thank heavens I was wearing a slip.

After a moment of panic, I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I walked around the bed to my side, climbed under the covers, "fell asleep" for a few heartbeats, then "woke up" next to my George. We carried on as if nothing had happened and because we stayed in the moment, the audience stayed with us. We got a standing ovation at the end of the show... and I got a profound apology from the director.

As you can imagine, there are plenty of stories in my theater trunk. Tune in next week for another tale from my life on stage.

All Roads Lead to Where You Are

"No matter where you go, there you are."

So, the other day I got a note from my old friend, Gordon, whom I haven't seen in years, but we continue to keep in touch via email and Facebook. He sent me a link to a review of a play starring our mutual friend Tedd Zzenia (formerly known as Ted Samuels). Ted and I dated during my junior year of high school. He also played Petruchio to my Katherine in a scene from The Taming of the Shrew, which included the best stage slap of my entire theater career.

My relationship with Tedd ended, as did my junior year at Ulysses S. Grant. I then migrated from the San Fernando Valley to the San Bernardino Mountains to live with my father. It was an amazing summer filled with new discoveries about myself and the world. It was also an amazing year for music. The Beatles released Let It Be, broke up, then each of the Fab Four released solo albums. There was After the Gold Rush by Neil Young, Deja Vu by CSN&Y, Ladies of the Canyon by Joni Mitchell, Pearl by the magnificent Janis Joplin, Sweet Baby James by James Taylor, Tea for the Tillerman by Cat Stevens, Tumbleweed Connection by Elton John, to name just a very few.

As the summer rolled on, I knew I had to start thinking about my senior year of high school. So, my father and I drove to Lake Arrowhead to register me at Rim of the World. Yes, that was the name of my high school. As it turned out, I already had enough credits to graduate. But the powers that be required me to take one more semester of PE (who knows why), Civics and Advanced Comp. I needed two more classes to make it an official half day, so I added Cultural Anthropology and, of course, Drama.

Our senior production was the stage adaptation of Roshomon by Fay and Michael Kanin, based on the 1950 film directed by Akira Kurosawa. It sounds ambitious, but it was a surprisingly good production for a high school ensemble. I played the Wigmaker, who steals hair from the dead in order to survive, a role normally played by a man. It suited my counter culture, feminist mindset. And it was my first venture into the theatrical world of aging through body language, vocalization, hair and makeup. After we closed, I was hooked, a bona fide theater hound.

Fast forward almost 40 years... I auditioned for The Brody Theater last Saturday with my dear friend and fellow Hamazon, Sierra. It was an interesting experience, improvising with men after so many years working exclusively with women. A very different kind of energy. We both came to the conclusion that it was not a good fit for us. So, I am looking forward to playing with my gal pals later this month at IFCC.

Back to Tedd. After a little more web research, I discovered that Tedd had done a few productions at The Thorny Theater in Palm Springs, one of my old playgrounds. So, I sent them an email asking them to pass on my contact info to my old boyfriend.

Stay tuned.

Me and The Universe

"Every moment of your life is infinitely creative and the universe is endlessly bountiful. Just put forth a clear enough request, and everything your heart desires must come to you."

I love the way the Universe works. It seems that all one has to do is express one's desire - tell a friend, say a prayer, write it in your journal, create a soul collage, post it in a blog - and the Universe responds. Most of the time.

A week ago I sent off my improv resume to The Brody Theater requesting an audition and within 24 hours I had a response... and an audition. In four days, I will be on stage stretching my improv muscles in group exercises, two-person scenes, and some improv games. And it gets better.

My dear friend Sierra Faith - a very talented actress and co-founder of The Hamazons - will be auditioning with me. She is performing in the Writers/Actors Lab at the Willamette Writers Conference this Friday and decided to check out some local improv troupes while she was in town. And it gets even better.

After I posted my last blog, I got an email from Adrienne Flagg, the beautiful and talented creative director of Interstate Firehouse Cultural Center. (We worked together on IFCC's 25th anniversary bash last fall.) She said, "Fellow Princess! Come play with me!" So, we are getting together with a bunch of fabulously funny women later this month to do some improv.

O, Serendipity, you playful and adventurous spirit!

So, my search for my improv soul mate has taken on a life of its own. I have no idea where it will lead me, but my intention is to embrace what the Universe brings my way.

Stay tuned.

Me and Brody

"Living requires us to step off the edge of the world each day, daring to greet the sun. Life is a leap of faith."

I am a very talented improviser. I am agile, flexible and adept at finding opportunity in the unexpected. In fact, I wrote a whole blog about that when I was a partner in The Canoe Group. What many of you may not know, however, is that I have a passion for improvisational comedy.

In the summer of 1999, I got together with six fabulously funny women in Ashland, Oregon and created The Hamazons. Our original intention was just to play, to explore some improv games and see where that led us. It quickly became apparent that we had chemistry. And we were really funny.

In September 1999, we presented our first performance at the Town Hall in Ashland. It was an intimate venue, with a small riser at one end and 100 white plastic chairs. We sent a press release to the local media and plastered the town with flyers. We charged $5 at the door and had low expectations.

What we were not prepared for was the 150 people that showed up to watch us play. They sat on the floor in front of the stage, they stood on the sides of the room... and they laughed. Their laughter fueled our creativity and 90 minutes went by in the blink of an eye. And when we took our bow, they leapt to their feet for a standing ovation. We were overwhelmed.

What became very apparent was that people were ravenous for the kind of experience we had to offer: comedy improv that eschewed profanity, graphic sexuality, gratuitous violence and the degradation of others. We created an environment where all were welcome. And the trust we developed within our "fun cone of protection" allowed us to explore improv in new and exciting ways.

Since moving to Portland last year, I have missed my fellow warrior princesses of comedy. And I have been searching for new partners in improvisational crime. Today I took the leap. I sent my resume to The Brody Theater in the hope of getting an audition for their fall/winter season. That's what this blog is about: my search for my improv soul mate.

Stay tuned.