Leaving Iowa

Jeff Fazakerley


10/4/10 Dr. Kirkland

Advanced Directing 1

Critical Review: Leaving Iowa



Leaving Iowa was a delight to watch and to perform in. As an actor it offered me the challenge of playing multiple roles and switching from character to character within seconds. As a production, the company—led by Eric Harrell—had a similar but grander challenge: a memory play that shifted locations and time periods numerous times, but somehow primarily stayed inside a station wagon.

Harrell utilized the thrust well, but after a lot of headache . In the end, there were still seats in the house that he preferred no one sat in. The station wagon that the majority of the play was performed in consisted of two car seat/benches that were utilized in a variety of ways other than a vehicle: they were a couch in the living room, seating for a civil war reenactment and a place for contemplation. The play ran the risk of becoming stagnant because so much of it centered on the family car, but Harrell found a lot of creative ways to keep the action moving like a twisting two-lane highway through the fields of Iowa. For example, one of my characters entering as a hotel clerk with a desk on wheels did a complete figure eight pattern on the stage and then backed into his final place for the scene, all the while dealing with a customer on the phone.

The ground plan was simple: three benches lining the downstage area, an obscurely shaped ramp or “road” where the car sat at a decline and what came to be known as the “amoeba,” another oddly shaped platform surrounded by stalks of corn. Entrances could be made from all corners of the stage and down the center aisle . This allowed the lead character Don to literally be attacked from all sides by his memories. Locations were made clear by an ever-changing billboard as images were projected to denote where Don was at the moment and numerous other small set pieces that could be wheeled in and out. All of this worked quite well. It was interesting to learn that when you have numerous locations in a play, your safest bet is to have a minimalistic set.

It was the transitions that gave the entire company the most stress. There were essentially no blackouts in this show, the light just shifted from one location to the other and another unit of the script was shown by the sound of a car passing. Costume changes for most of the characters were very fast and because most of the entrances had to be made from the house, props could not be preset and needed to be handed to the actors by crew members. As difficult as these transitions were, they could make or break the show if something went wrong. This play flowed like a well-constructed piece of music. My only complaint would have been the car passing sound effect. Because there were so many, they all started to sound the same after a while. This could have been on purpose because the director didn’t want people focusing on the sound of the transition and rather wanted the audience to begin to trust the sound cue to take them to the next part of the play. I am not saying this wasn’t executed well, only that there could have been a difference in car sounds.

Other than some boring sound cues, my only point of contention with the process of doing Leaving Iowa was some of the acting coaching. I started this process excited to work with Eric because he usually speaks my language when it comes to coaching me through a character’s life on stage. Most of my characters were found by exploring Michael Lugering’s expressive action continuums. I felt it necessary to work from the outside-in because the dramatic function of my characters were mere pit-stops on the lead character’s journey through self-discovery. This all seemed to work fine until we hit one particular character of mine that literally speaks the central theme of the play. It was as if both Eric and I realized some false sense of importance about this character that comes and goes in a matter of seconds. In short, I felt I was over-directed . All of the coaching became about adjectives instead of objectives, nit-picky physical adjustments instead of the reality of doing. It was not until two days before opening that I rid myself of everything I had been told, found a simple objective, an “as-if” to emotionally prepare and throw myself onstage. The result: Everything Eric was looking for .

As I mentioned before, this show was a delight to be a part of. My only true regret is that because of the nature of my role (or roles) there are chunks of this show that I never got to see for numerous reasons. I heard them through the monitor, and from that I gathered that audiences enjoyed them very much. This show was a success overall: the audience laughed and cried, I did not kill anyone doing my quick changes, and most importantly I learned things that I can take with me to future productions.



Jeff,

Thanks for sharing your thoughts on both process and product. You hit upon some interesting insights. One in particular, the “over-directing” issue, is the result of episode that may stick with you—and impact upon your own approach to directing actors as you move forward from here.

- Dr. Kirkland

This is Shep. He saw my show twice. :)

The Wreck of My Timidity

This summer I spent a total of three months working on a one man show called The Wreck of the Dictator. The show was written and directed by Gary Spell, a pastor here in Virginia Beach as well as a brilliant composer and musician. The task was to memorize a half-hour long monologue, time it perfectly to music and perform it three times a night in front of wandering drunk tourists a total of 72 times. 

I can't say I wasn't warned. Gary told me at my audition that this would be one of the most difficult experiences of my career and he wasn't exaggerating in the slightest. So much so that when I left the audition I became complete okay with not doing it. I auditioned because it felt nice to be asked to audition for something professional, that paid, and that would finish around when school started. I left the audition thinking first of all there was no way I would ever get cast as I knew there were other actors who already had their MFA's who were auditioning, and secondly who in their right mind would want to take on that kind project?

A week later I got the call and without thinking I accepted the part over the phone. After I got off the phone reality set in, in a very dramatic "dun-dun-dun" sort of way.

Something you should know about me: I've done a lot of theatre. I'm at the point where I can't even tell you how many shows I've done, but the majority of them have happened in an educational, mind you a Christian educational, setting. I'm not one to ever put my self out there professionally and audition like a lamb in line for slaughter, waiting to be told "No" a million times a week and expect to have a thread of self-esteem afterwards.  So you can imagine the idea of doing this show was terrifying to me; especially one where there was no one else to make the mistakes, where it is painfully obvious when you mess up a word or timing, where any random crazy person can yell anything like, "Penis!" "You're Gay!" "You're Beautiful!" "You're going to hell! Turn or BURN!" "AGHHGHGHSDLLWOIGOWDSLKDF!!" and (from the front row) "This is F$%KING TITANIC!" during the emotional climax of the story. (Yes, they did.)

Everything inside of me wanted to turn down this role. There were so many reasons not to do it. But every time I decided I shouldn't do it, I came back to the same thought...I need to do this show for me. After all, if I can survive this, I can survive anything...

I immediately took to my calendar and no joke, timed out my life hour by hour until the show opened. This included working 30 hours at my desk job, teaching acting at a three week theatre camp for jr. highers, spending three hours a night on memorizing and character work, and attempting to still be an amiable husband and pet owner.

I did it. I memorized the show, I survived the camp and I didn't get fired from my job or get a divorce. I was the first actor in the show's 11 year run at the oceanfront to open on time, completely memorized, and able to get through the entire show without stopping. My opening performance was terrifying. I don't think I've ever prayed so much before a show. When I finished, I sat proudly next to my large, smelly tech man and said, "One down."  He immediately responded, "71 to go. Excuse me I need to go change my sweaty boxers."

Two months and 71 performances later (that included building and striking the stage, lights and sound every night) I closed The Wreck of the Dictator. I survived everything including, street preachers, drunk bikers, laser pointers, 45 mph winds, unpredictable pyrotechnics, unruly teenagers mocking me in the front row, performing for no one, and people laughing at me and leaving in the middle of the show.  How might you ask? Why didn't I quit like the guy last year who called Gary bawling his eyes out after two weeks and who was apparently having nightmares about doing the production and asked to quit? 

Because of people like the Posey's, a random couple from New York who took my information to share with theatre people they knew on Broadway. And people like the old lady who saw my show three times in a row one night and cried at every performance. People like the couple from Moss, Norway, the home port of the Dictator who thanked me in strong Norwegian dialect for keeping the memories alive of the Norwegian crew that died in the shipwreck. I kept doing the show for all the countless kids that loved the booms of the cannons, the Virginia Beach locals who walked past the statue of the Norwegian Lady and never knew why she was there, the old retired Navy men who would cheer when I'd reach the point of the show where I say, "Mr. Drinkwater, you have to go out, you don't have to come back!", and the young man who came up to me with tears in his eyes thanking me for helping him propose to his fiance during my show.

I rid myself of timidity this summer thanks to this show. I gained a healthy amount of self confidence and respect for others who put themselves out there and do really lame stuff at the risk of public scrutiny.  Here's to you civil war reenactor, bad street magician kid, and "internationally known" hula hooping girl. I salute you.

Hello Gibson!

These are my kids that I taught fight choreography to...check out those boots!

Spring & Summer Update

I hope you know that my lack of posting anything of substance on this blog is because I am busy. Very busy. This blog and website as a whole was created to market myself and fortunately I haven't needed to do that very much as of late. Here's a bit on what I've been up to:

The spring semester was jam packed with four more amazing classes; Rapier & Dagger, Mastering the Dance Call, Text Analysis, and Scene Study. All of these had their disparities and their triumphs. I discovered that I can, when forced, dance. I don't consider myself a dancer but the dance class I took covered so many styles I was able to find out my strengths, not just weaknesses.  I also discovered that I struggle sword fighting those half my size, objective driven acting is such a simple concept yet incredibly difficult to master, and analysing text according to Freudian conceptualization makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

I was the lead in my first film this semester. It was an amazing experience. The project was called Drained and I played a young completely burnt out pastor addicted to pills. Film is quickly becoming my new favorite toy; I only want to do that right now and I'm practically begging the film students here to put me in their movies because I want as much experience as possible.  The film tuned out great, hopefully I can put a link up somewhere for you all to see.

I concluded my first year of grad school with Godspell.  This show was also an amazing experience and a definite lesson in humility. Opening weekend I realized that I was performing for the largest house I've ever performed solo for, just shy of 700 people. Well, the first Saturday night performance I fell on stage; completely face planted during Babel and nearly took at the band in the process. So embarrassing. Babel, if you don't know is the first song of the show, so it wasn't until intermission that I realized I'd cut my ankle really bad and was bleeding all over the place. Bruised emotionally and physically, the show went on and I went home and put my foot up as the pain was pretty bad. The next day I came in ready to do the show again. The director was ready to adjust things if need be but I said it wasn't necessary and went on as normal; completely jacked on pain meds. Well I don't know if it was the pain meds or just some sick turn of fate but I fell again...in the exact same way, in the exact same spot in the show during Babel. However this time it hurt, bad. I went running off stage and for a good 30 seconds was fairly certain I wasn't going to be able to go back on stage as I was humiliated and felt like my ankle had been severed. I finished the show. Didn't enjoy it...and couldn't wait for the run to end. I had to wear so many braces and things just to keep my self from injuring my leg worse. Two months and $900 in medical bills later, there was nothing wrong with me. The doc sent me to get ultra sounds on my legs to determine if there were any babies in my legs, gave me some meds for the infection that I received from not getting stitches right away, and sent me on my way. I have some scars but that's about it.

It's sad because I've always heard the experience of doing Godspell is a spiritual one that is to be treasured. It was less than that for me. However, sitting in church these days, I have amazing visuals in my head to go along with the words of Jesus spoken from the pulpit. The show as a whole was a success, Steven Schwartz was actually made aware of it because our concept was so good I guess. So that's cool...

The summer started off so relaxing. At first I hated it. Now I miss it. I was cast in my first professional credit on the east coast. I am currently doing the one man show, The Wreck of the Dictator. It's basically a half hour monologue about a ship wreck. True story, very emotional, lots of characters, so much to memorize. The process was hard but I feel it will be very rewarding after a two month run. I'm sure I'll have way more to write about it after I close at the end of the summer.

I also taught acting for a Jr. high camp here at Regent. I love teaching and can't wait to do it with students who are little older. It was a challenge to take Lugering's physical properties and dumb them down into pre-teen speak. Most people would say that I put too much thought into the stuff that I taught them, and I was beginning to think so as well, seeing all the blank stares I was getting, until the last day of class when I asked what they had learned and all of them raised their hand and recited back all the stuff I'd taught. Awesome feeling.

My fellow cohort member and staff member of the camp has vowed with me to keep the other from committing to so many projects in one summer. Next summer will be researching my thesis...and doing nothing else!!! I expect all 12 of your who are following this blog to keep me accountable on that. Got it?  Good.

I'm looking forward to the school year ahead. I was accepted into the directing concentration here at Regent which only a select few are asked to participate in.  What that means is, of all the people that actually wanted to do it were accepted and now I have more classwork to do. But my degree at the end will say Master of Fine Arts in Acting with an emphasis in Directing, in other words, I'll be an educated and trained actor who directs...booya.

Andy would rather do this than suck a toe.