The Icon Faerie

I just finished the first, very rough draft of my MFA thesis. 44/40 pages, literally 110%.

oh my god what is air.

I have so much I want to talk about. But since brevity is the soul of wit and tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.

My sister is still in Japan of this moment. She's okay, there wasn't much damage in Nagoya from the earthquake, but she's going (I keep typing 'coming' but I'm not there) home for a bit and she'll get in on Monday. I don't know if my mom will ever let her go anywhere ever again, but maybe now at least she won't drive me crazy for a bit. I love my mother and understand being worried, but seriously. (I also understand that she is ~mother and her worry probably outshines any that I had -- and I was a bit worried but my sister is a smart girl and the Japanese know how to handle it.) I told Gretchen to grab something good when the looting started, but apparently they don't do that. Which is cool.

Sunday I went and saw Angels in America at Signature again. They changed the cast, and Michael Urie was playing Prior so obviously I had to go. As much as I hesitate to say it... Michael Urie is totally my Prior. Justin Kirk is wonderful in the film, and Christian Borle was amazing, but Michael? He was inspired. He was just the perfect combination of righteous, queeny rage, fear, awareness of the absurdity of it all, and at times, utter contempt for the world around him. And how he looks in a dress is exactly as unfair as you would think it is.

Adam Driver was a newcomer as Louis. I LOVED him. He LOOKED like a neurotic Jewboy, and had amazing comic timing. At first I thought he was a little stiff but I warmed up to him. I actually ended up liking Louis a little lot more than I usually do -- which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Considering some of the things he does, it increases my sympathy and emotional reaction when he does or says reprehensible things. Truthfully, Bill Heck puts too much ANGRY~ in his Joe for my taste. I get that he's supposed to be confused and maybe a bit self-loathing, but I don't think I should fear for Harper's safety when they're arguing. I didn't like Keira Keeley (I think that's her name) as Harper as much as I liked Zoe Kazan. Zoe was a bit younger, more ethereal -- I could believe she went flying and saw ex-drag queens in her hallucinations, but Keira went a bit more zombiesque with her interpretation at times. And there was a lot of yelling. :\ Bill Porter was still Belize and he was STILL fabulous. Jeffrey Wright is Jeffrey Wright but Bill Porter was DIVAING OUT. The angel was good. I don't know if I like her as much as Robin Weigert, but it was a different interpretation. A lot more human at all times, not just sometimes.

I didn't want to stalk too much -- stagedooring Off-Broadway is a different culture than Broadway shows, I'm finding -- but I wanted to fangirl Michael Urie a little and was under orders from occultebelta to do so. So he signed my copy of The Temperamentals and told him I'd enjoyed that play as well, I'm teaching it in my 101 class this semester (last semester wasn't so impressed with Angels), and it was in part due to that play that I want to pursue my MFA project in queer dramaturgy. I voiced a concern about identifying straight -- in my experience, cautious self-deprecation and disclaiming works out better in the end when it's genuine -- and he blew it off. He said, "You may have more to say than a queer artist." So therefore I intend to make no more apologies about it. Onward and upward. Michael Urie said so.

Last week I applied and interviewed for a customer service position at Old Navy -- so basically what I'd been doing at Lane Bryant, but I'll be able to do it in jeans. Except when they offered me the position and tried to set up a time for me to come in for training and such, they proceeded to ignore the availability I gave them when I applied and tried to get me to come in Monday during classtimes, Tuesdays when I'm teaching, and damn. I don't even. Why? So I gave him my availability AGAIN and he said he'd call back. That was Wednesday. So if this is going to be a chronic problem I'm not sure I want to work for them. Because my school and teaching job are going to come first. Sorry. The end.

I had two major writing assignments due last Monday. Of course I left them until the last minute. One was a ten minute play, which I actually ended up being proud of despite not considering myself a playwright (it's hard to give all the information the audience needs just in dialogue without being didactic or fake). I got a B+ on a paper on Elizabethan foreign policy. I probably would have gotten higher if I'd been able to bother with MLA formatting and edit properly, but no. She did compliment my handling of the history though, so I will take it.

I've sort of started using my tumblr that I made to see what the fuss was about. And when I say 'using' I mean I'm reblogging shit like it's going out of style. It's here.

I am giving serious thought as to when I want to move, and 'soon' is what comes to mind. Twice this week I have been woken at 9:30 by a roommate (the same roommate) wailing the song "Fuck You" at the top of her voice. First of all, that's a god awful song 24/7, and second, 9:30 is not the proper hour to be shouting songs.

I just have this fear of not having enough money to stay in an apartment elsewhere and getting evicted and having to live in my car. Which is stupid. But I get anxious, I get depressed about being anxious, I get anxious because I don't get anything done when I'm depressed and it piles up, etc.

Also, Galileo is going to suck. And that is an objective assessment.

Since I don't think I'm smart enough for "The Politics of Aesthetics," let's have an LJ update instead.

Last weekend I was feeling a bit sick, and by Monday night I had a raging sinus infection. So I cancelled my class for Tuesday and went to the doctor and got some drugs. He was a nice doctor; we had a lovely conversation about Iowa because I was wearing my Coe College sweatshirt (I need a new one, this one's getting all ratty) and apparently his mother grew up in Cedar Rapids. Wednesday I was still on my back, but I woke upon Thursday and cared about things again, so I decided I could teach and go to Galileo rehearsal -- which is going really well. I'm enjoying it.

Friday was hella busy. I went into the city to run some errands; I dropped off/picked up scripts at Young Playwrights and got my brother a birthday gift. I walked around in the theatre district. I love the city so much, sometimes it actually hurts me.

Then I went with another woman in the program to see an NT Live broadcast of Donmar Warehouse's production of King Lear with Derek Jacobi. Now, I am a huge fan of Michael Grandage and the Donmar. I think they do beautiful shows that are not dependent on design or spectacle, but instead allow actors and plays to do the work for themselves and letting talent shine through. I would seriously give my right arm to work for that man.

That said, I also don't have another Lear that I've seen to compare it to -- but it was stunning. Derek Jacobi is just as marvelous as you think he would be from beginning to end. Gina McKee was an awesome stone cold bitch as Goneril. The brothers were also great, and the whole thing with them and Gloucester was so wonderful it hurt. Edmund was compact and sort of weaselly looking, and Edgar was tall, gallant -- basically everything he's supposed to be. (And he was doing some dead ringer Matt Smith and his confusing yet sexually exciting facial hair action as Tom, which was only a little distracting but it was working for me.) There was this wonderful/awful moment after Gloucester's been blinded and meets with Edgar again, still as Tom, he slips and calls him "father" when me and probably a good 70% of the audience all went, "Ohh" because it hurt so good. Ron Cook made me cry as the Fool -- he was superb. I have seen him onstage twice (I suppose technically three times?) and he is just so great every single time.

I don't know if I've ever had my heart broken quite like when Lear came on, wailing -- not so much crying as just a full out cry of despair -- with Cordelia's body.

They also advertised the next NT Live broadcast which is Johnny Lee Miller and Benedict Cumberbatch trading off lead roles of the Creature and Victor Frankenstein in "Frankenstein." They're going to do one broadcast for each and DO WANT. I want to see both.

Spider-Man is hiring a script doctor which is honestly what needed work but there is a part of me going ASSHOLES I'M A DRAMATURG THAT'S MY JOB.

Also I'm coming to that time where I have a lot of things to do and I don't want to do any of them, and some of them don't have a penalty like not doing homework does. These are things like finding a job, and finding internships to apply for.

ETA: Since I'm a big old slut for production/rehearsal photography, here's some for Lear.

Since I have absolutely nothing better to do these days than trawl the internet and post links, today, you get an interview with Eddie Redmayne by Black Book Magazine. HEARTS. I love Eddie, I think he's a monstrously talented actor who is going to go so, so far. You can read my review at Theatre Geekery on Red for the full extent of my fangirling on that matter, but suffice to say he and everyone else blew me away.

So a couple of entries ago I posted an essay by Adam Rapp talking about the life that a work has after it leaves the author's hands. Today, a piece of the interview has me wondering: whose interpretation of a character is more valid?

<There’s a scene where Ken is talking to someone on the phone, trying to decide whether to show Rothko his own paintings. Who was he talking to?
That’s a very good question. I think it’s his girlfriend, and John Logan (the writer) thinks it’s his boyfriend. It remains a bone of contention between the two of us.

Understand: this is a person who is never on stage, never spoken about between Rothko (Alfred Molina) and Ken. The matter is never brought up, and if it is, I think it is only indirectly -- I think Rothko might jeer Ken and taunt him about playing with his friends or something, but it's not a discussion. So I can see (and I know that there are several people out there going) where someone would say: does it really fucking matter?

The answer is yes, it does really fucking matter. Even though you may not think twice about it, sexual orientation is a huge part of a character, especially when we're talking about a time period like the 1950's, when Red takes place. Even if it is never the focal point of a single conversation that the character has, it's still going to inform everything else they do as an integrated part of their character. This is an argument I've had many times and I'm sorry for being so blunt about it, but yes, if you want a fully formed character who comes across as a person and not just a meat puppet on stage, it does matter.

Now that I've gotten that soapbox out of my system for the minute, my real question is this: is the playwright's interpretation of the character more valid than the actor's? Why or why not?

I don't think that it necessarily is, in this case, since it's not a large part of the dramatic action of the play. But it interests me and as a dramaturg it's something I'd like to talk to both of them about, but while I'm dreaming I also want a pony and to live in a treehouse on a desert island.

(For the record, I thought that Ken was talking to his sister on the phone -- the only other person of any significance mentioned in regards to him. The language doesn't necessarily indicate a romantic relationship, from what I remember, and it seemed reasonable enough to me at the time.)