American Theatre

Having erected The Tree — we have begun The Decoratoring™ even earlier this year due to an upcoming trip to Germany — I sat to read a bit, and my eye fell on the issue of American Theatre magazine that came last week.

There was something about seeing that issue lying there that kept nagging at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it until I opened it and began reading: This is American Theatre’s first print issue since the pandemic began in 2020. I realized with a shock that I knew that but had completely forgotten about it.

Now the Theatre Communications Group is back with a major reset, at least for this issue, focusing on heretofore marginalized theatre practitioners. A challenging, informative, and inspiring issue, to be sure. (I was most glad to see they had ditched the impossibly twee font they had been using in headlines.)

The full script featured in this issue is Dark Disabled Stories, by Ryan J. Haddad, himself a gay man with cerebral palsy. The script is a challenge to read; at least part of my brain when I first read a script is assessing whether I could/would direct the show, and this one seems out of my areas of expertise. (Not to mention it would be an impossible sale to any theatre hereabouts…) But I have noted its laser-sharp commitment to the disabled experience in a very inventive script. Kudos to Mr. Haddad.

The last show I directed was last spring’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, and I have nothing on my plate, nothing scheduled. If I were asked to direct a show of my choosing, though, what would I choose? That’s a very good question and I’m glad I asked it.

Let me be clear: Theatre is no longer my central passion and has not been for a while. But there are plays I wouldn’t mind getting back in the saddle for.

As You Like It, which we had to abandon in 2020, would be a pleasure to work on again. I have some bizarre ideas for King Lear which I developed back in the days of the Lacuna Group workshops that would be challenging for me and a cast. Any other Shakespeare? Maybe Twelfth Night again, but otherwise I can’t think of one I actually want to do at the moment. (Not Romeo & Juliet. Never Romeo & Juliet.)

Marjorie Prime (Jordan Harrison) still haunts me with its examination of memory and what it means to be human.

Mr. Burns: a post-electric play (Anne Washburn) would be a fun poke-in-the-eye for our “post” pandemic/climate-changed society. (I first read both of those in American Theatre.)

Middle-Aged White Guys (Jane Martin) has been a favorite for a long, long time. Three brothers in a small town have shown up in the town dump (over their high school baseball field) to drink a toast to the deceased wife of one of them when LO! her spirit arrives, bringing a message from GOD: They have been chosen to lead a march of middle-aged white guys to Washington, DC, bearing a banner that proclaims WE’RE SORRY for how they’ve ruined the planet. Elvis and their dead mama are also involved.

My Christmas Carol, last seen in 2016, is always fun to direct. I wouldn’t even mind doing the “Little Girls” version again.

And of course, I would love to workshop and present the world premiere of William Blake’s Inn.