Just Wrought

A Show You Don’t Have to Come See

How often do you get a plug for a show in which the plugger says he doesn’t really care if you come see it?  Well, that’s exactly what I’m telling about this second edition of Sandbox Radio Live: The Halloween Episode.

 

 

Well, all right, hold on a second.  Fact is, I really would like to see you there in the audience, but our seating at West of Lenin is extremely limited and we will sell out.  So no matter what happens, some of you who show up without reservations will be frozen out, S.O.L, on the sidewalk outside, while the happy few who booked at Brown Paper Tickets early enough watch it live.  (Book ahead here.)  But do NOT despair.  It’s Sandbox Radio remember?  And the whole point of us doing it is to make a permanent recording.  Our first episode is available for you to listen to right now, for free! at iTunes.  (Listen here.)

The podcast of Episode One, at 90 minutes, is admittedly quite sizable.  In future, perhaps The Sandbox might look at ways to create a table of contents with time-stamps so you can go to the sections of the show that most interest you.  In the mean time, download it so that you have something to play the next time you’re stuck in traffic.  You won’t regret it.  (And after you have a listen, please consider posting a review of the show.  It’s the best way for you to let us know what you do and don’t like, and it also raises Sandbox Radio’s profile on iTunes.)

And look for the podcast of Sandbox Radio Live: The Halloween Episode coming out shortly after the live performance on October 10!

Unlosing the Lost Plays

There are great plays that you can never experience fully. Sure, you might see them as movies, or read them as “literature”, but despite what your high school English teacher sold you, plays are not literature, any more than music or sculpture are. You may think you are special and that you can wring every artistic significance from a play by reading it; but you’re not and you can’t. There are aspects of dramatic character that only an actor can convey by speaking out loud, live, in front of you. (Not to get pedantic, but this is why we call it an audience.) Because of this, there are great plays you will never experience—at least not as plays—because of very practical reasons excluding them from the possibility of ever being professionally staged again. 

Stalag 17 by Donald Bevan and Edmund Trzcinski* is just such a play. The original 1951 Broadway cast contained 21 men, a size which is simply not financially sustainable in today’s theatre economy. Beyond cast size, a myriad of other reasons doom to the dusty shelf some of the canon’s greatest plays. Once these plays cease to be performed, they are essentially lost to our culture as works of art, though of course they still have value as artifacts.

To the rescue rides Seattle’s Endangered Species Project, dedicated to giving monthly staged readings of plays that seldom get full productions.   As they explain on their website:

In the present economic straights in which regional theatre now finds itself, much of the so called established international repertoire is neglected, for various reasons: there are too many different settings, or the casts are too large, or simply, the publicity requirements of selling a play that is both “old” and unfamiliar to general audiences may seem too daunting.

We feel that while it is an essential duty of theatres to read and develop new work, our group sees a parallel need to celebrate older or otherwise neglected plays….

Through our free, simply staged readings, we hope to lend live voices to plays that are now silent on our bookshelves.

It is the blossoming of projects like ESP that continually renew my faith in Seattle theatre’s progress toward World Class standing.

Next Monday evening, September 19, at 7 pm you can defy the entropy of modern theatre and see a one-time-only reading of Stalag 17 artfully staged by director Leslie Law, with such brilliant casting as Shawn Law as Sefton (an even more natural choice than William Holden) and Richard Ziman as Sergeant Shultz.  (No, this ain’t Hogan’s Heroes’ Sergeant Shultz**, though he obviously inspired the sitcom role.  This German non-com has no compunction about torturing a POW on stage to determine the whereabouts of a missing American pilot.)

Even if you only live another ten years, my best guess is that you’ll have about 12 more chances to see Twelfth Night, six to see American Buffalo, and between five and five hundred opportunities to watch something scripted by Sarah Ruhl; but unless my prodigious predictive power fails me now, you will never, not as long as you live, get another opportunity to hear Stalag 17 performed by such a cast as this.

Don’t miss it.

 

Heather’s Eleventh of September

I told my 9/11 story with the playwright’s notes in the program for the world premiere production of The Good Ship Manhattan,  my hemi-demi-autobiographical play about those days in New York.  That short raw essay also serves as my forward to Original Works Publishing’s printed edition of the play.  So you can check out my version of events from Sunnyside, Queens online here (go to page 4).

My wife, however, saw the second plane hit the towers with her own eyes from mid-town Manhattan.  For the first time ever, Heather Curtis Mullin has recorded in writing her memories of that day and the days to follow; and I am so grateful that she has given me permission to share them here with you.

I was working in the Conde Nast building at 42nd and Broadway on the morning of September 11, 2001.  I was in an extremely good mood because my husband had celebrated his birthday the night before and we had been up late but I still felt pretty good.  I was logging in and getting settled at my desk when a co-worker came out of her office and said a plane had hit “the towers." We walked together to the conference room on the southern end of the building which looked straight downtown to the World Trade Center.  As I made that walk I remember wondering to myself if we'd even be able to see the plane or the damage. One look out the window told me something terrible had occurred. Our view allowed us to see the missing parts of the building where the plane had entered and the enormous fire raging inside. Already at this time the thick black smoke was billowing into the blue and otherwise sunny skies.

I called my husband who was at home and asked him what was going on. He turned on the TV and informed me that a passenger airliner had hit the tower. As other co-workers began arriving at work there was some discussion as to whether this was an accident or a targeted attack. Many were convinced it was an attack and we all stood in shock and horror as the second plane hit the towers.

I remember yelling and placing my hand to my mouth. From our vantage point we did not see the plane and the uniform fire-burst made it look like a bomb. I had the sense at this point that we were indeed under attack and wanted more than anything else to get home. I also remember looking down at Times Square below which under normal circumstances would have been crowded with tourists and not seeing a single person.

Awhile later I called my husband from my desk and asked him what was going on. He confirmed the second plane and seemed in shock by what he was watching. He became extremely emotional when he told me people were jumping off the towers. That was the first moment that I cried and felt truly frightened. I really wanted to leave and try to return to my apartment in Sunnyside Queens, but my husband was concerned the streets would be chaotic and dangerous.

Around 10:30 -11:00 am most of our cell phones had stopped working and dialing out of the office was met with a recorded message that said "all circuits are busy at this time" so I decided not to break the phone connection with my husband and simply set the phone down on my desk. I asked my husband to call my family in Washington State and he was able to reach my grandfather who relayed a message that at that time I was still alive and well. There was already panic from several people who were unable to reach loved ones near ground zero.

I honestly have no idea what time the towers collapsed but I heard shouting and screaming from the conference room and went running there to investigate. All I could see was a giant cloud of black and grey smoke towering toward the sky. It 'was then that I decided I would leave the building and make my way across Manhattan to the 59th Street Bridge.

The subway was not running so I would have to walk the five-plus miles to my apartment building. Someone had gone to the cafeteria and made sandwiches for us to take with us, along with bottled water. Several of us were walking the same way and went together. Before I left the office I told my husband where I would meet him and what I was wearing. He told me he loved me and I hung up the phone. I walked through midtown Manhattan to the sounds of sirens wailing and F16 fighter jets patrolling the air. What struck me most was the silence. The street was thronged with people and every single one of them was speechless. As we walked across the bridge we looked downtown where the tip of the island was belching thick black smoke at least a mile into the sky. Underneath the bridge were boats loaded with firefighters headed downtown to help with the rescue efforts.

I will never forget to this day the sight of those boats, the beautiful September sky, the black pillars of smoke wafting up, the unique stench of burning materials and the sound of feet hitting the pavement.

I managed to meet my husband and make it safely to our apartment around 3 pm on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. Like most people we watched tv through the night and into the next morning. Finally I turned it off and went to bed but was unable to sleep  - “what is happening?” I kept asking myself. I knew that I would never be the same.

The next day New Yorkers were asked to stay home so I did, watching TV and crying with my husband.  On Thursday I went to work but due to numerous bomb threats and the chaos of the aftermath of the terrorist attack our company graciously allowed us to go home for two days of paid leave and return the following Monday.  Again I went home to watch tv and cry – only leaving the apartment to buy beer and cigarettes!

On Friday of that week we were all asked to hold a vigil and my husband and I went down to our local fire station where they had lost three men. Their photos were taped to the side of the station house along with flowers and candles left by neighbors. About 25 of us stood around with candles and then we started singing "God Bless America" -which most of us couldn't remember. The firefighters stood around looking sort of uncomfortable and then one by one they all began to cry. I don't know why but at that moment I knew I would be OK and that America would be OK.

I still get nervous in large crowds. I still look for all the exits in large buildings and I still hate to fly. My husband and I left New York City after our first son was born in May, 2002. I just couldn't imagine trying to survive another attack with my infant. I miss the city and I miss the towers. I still think about 9/11 every day.