The View From Here #116: Edmonton, AB

Just when you think the whole “struggling” thing is behind you, there seems to be more struggling yet in front of you.

I had looked forward to Edmonton, as rather the Shangri La of Fringes, knowing that there was a huge audience out there to be gotten, and assuming that they were already mine.

I’d assumed that a couple of the Edmonton reviewers had found their way out to Winnipeg, catching my show already on a couple of my better performances there. I don’t know why … perhaps seeing men “of a certain age” sitting off to the side at my show, or towards the back, left me to assume that my Edmonton reviews were already mostly written. Those had been among my best performances, so I was feeling pretty confident.

But I had the small matter of an opening night show yet to perform, before any reviews were to come out. An annoyance, really, but there it was. I was on at 10:30 on the opening night of the fringe. I could have gone to more effort to recruit an audience, giving away free tickets and flyers, but why bother? People would see what shows they wanted to see, and if the show they wanted was mine, then, great.

I had, maybe, twenty people there for opening night.

And at least three reviewers.

And no laughs.

Okay, it had been a long day of putting up posters in the hot weather. I marched in the opening night parade, passed out flyers and finally succumbed to the desire for a beer at the beer tent, before going on to do my show. Yes, of course, Canadian beer was a little stronger than American beer, but I was totally in control of my show.

Except that there were no laughs. And all I could do was to push the emotional expression of the character. He got bigger and louder and more powerful … but perhaps without a bit of the nuance that he’s had on some other occasions.

And they totally didn’t get me. I’ve never seen so many reviews that didn’t seem to understand the intent of the play. One of the major papers devoted extended passages trying to recount the timeline leading to the action of the play, largely recapping the slide that is up during the preshow. The only salvageable quote was: “Amazing manic zeal… funny and frantic brilliance” (which looks pretty good standing alone).

Another dwelt with such concern with the scene that finds me down to my underwear that I found myself thinking, “This guy’s got some unresolved issues!” And one of the weekly papers took the intent of the play in the exact opposite manner than intended. After several comments that led one to believe that this was a positive review (“Mooney succeeds in making his one-man genuinely engaging…”), he finished off his review with: “If this is the intended interpretation, “Criteria’s” political moral will thrill the dogmatic and irritate the contemplative: the Middle East’s Islamic fundamentalists need only embrace what is great about America for peace to occur.”

Except that that is one-hundred-eighty degrees AWAY from the intended interpretation. Somehow, this guy had missed all of the clues. The point of most sci-fi dystopias, is usually to suggest that we are NOT heading in the right direction!

And so, this guy, along with the two Edmonton Dailies, could only conjure up two-and-a-half stars for my show.

I’ll own that. Whatever should have been happening between myself and the audience clearly was not happening in this performance, and I, myself, would have had a hard time giving me anything more than three stars on this particular night.

The only problem is that in Edmonton, once you are reviewed, you stay reviewed. Unlike Minnesota, where the bloggers and audience reviewers can redeem you up to a point, here, on a daily basis, they continue to reprint the show titles, sorted by the number of “stars” that each given show has earned, to the point that it feels like struggling against the tide to get anyone to attend your show.

But, backing up a bit …

My last performance in Minnesota went great, with several of my fellow actors in the audience. The show “came down” at around 6:30, and I was back on the road within the hour, sprinting west and north. I gave in somewhere around Fargo, getting a hotel for the night, before jumping back on the road the next morning.



Sunday I crossed the border without much hassle, skirted around the southeast end of Winnipeg, and continued on towards Saskatoon, taking the “scenic route,” known as the Yellowhead Highway. I pulled into Saskatoon at about 9 pm, just as the final shows of the Saskatoon Fringe were finishing up, and actors were heading toward the cast party.

Saskatoon had been a rough fringe this year, and most of the actors were grumbling about issues with the management of the festival. I was glad to have finally made the right choice for once, opting for the Minnesota Fringe instead.

One year ago, the Broadway Theatre in Saskatoon had hosted the closing night party, and I had run the karaoke event myself. This time around, they had no idea that I was coming, and the owner had arranged for another karaoke jockey for the night. In fact, I kept getting the “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Minnesota!” response most of the night.

I stuck around for a few hours, catching up, especially, with a few people who were Saskatoon locals, but headed back out shortly after midnight. I pushed on ahead, towards Edmonton, stopping for a nap every hour or so, and pulling into town at around 10 a.m.

I was quite conscious of the fact that the Saskatoon crowd were perhaps only now waking up, and I wanted to put my head start to good use. After checking in at the fringe, I went around postering throughout a quarter mile radius surrounding the fringe grounds.

Meanwhile, the fringe had lost my billet request, and so they were hunting for a place for me to stay, while I was postering. Ultimately, they found me a place north of town, a half hour from the fringe grounds. It was a great house, with a really nice family, with a guest room and bathroom all to myself. (They also had a hot tub out back, and wireless internet hookup. I was set.)

With three days to go before my first performance, I dove in to work on my personal development book (“Currency”). I hadn’t really lost any data on that book with the loss of my computers, but I had a new chapter to add, and formatting ideas that I worked through the text.

And then, Thursday night, I flyered, stopped at the beer tent, and performed, for the tiny, quiet audience.

I was trying something different for this performance. I shut off the projector halfway into the show, when I figured the audience didn’t really need it any more. I noticed that it made the rest of the show much darker, and it took away the occasional fun distraction of looking at the map for reference. I decided that this was probably a mistake, and have reinstated the projector throughout, ever since that performance. (I have also insisted that we leave the very dim houselights on, so I can make some kind of eye contact with the audience.)

Friday, my Pathways friend Stacey flew into Edmonton for a visit. I’ve known Stacey on and off for about five years, but we’ve been chatting over the couple of months since the latest Pathways event, and she’d taken an interest in coming to see what the fringe was all about. I picked her up at the airport, and took her around to see shows for several days, while she helped distributing flyers on occasion.

I’ve learned that it’s helpful to have a friend in town when I am promoting my show. Having someone else to talk to keeps me from “getting psychological”, and all wrapped up inside myself about whether or not people want to know or to hear about my show. I tend to stay much more on task, when I’m discussing it with someone other than myself, inside my own head.

And then, it was also good to have somebody there who knew better about the quality of my work when the stupid reviews came in.

My second show was on Saturday, and there were just over fifty people in the audience. This was an afternoon show, and people were wide awake and laughing this time. I had one big laugher in the front row who “got” everything, and she seemed to pass an infectious laugh around the rest of the crowd.

On performance days, I would go running, reciting my lines as I ran. On days off, I would catch shows, though I never quite geared up to seeing more than two on a single day. My friend, Stephen, from San Francisco (my billet at the San Francisco Fringe two years ago) was here with a new show, and was getting excellent reviews in the papers. I made the acquaintance of another Fringe performer, Tom X. Chao, who has a bizarre sense of humor, and a similar taste in music. His show joked about the band King Crimson at great length, and it tickled me to no end. I bought him a beer in the beer tent, and he responded by giving me a CD featuring four of his original songs. (Link to Tom's ongoing podcast.)


I had another show on Monday, this one at 8:30. In response to bad reviews coming in, I had given away a lot of free tickets to get some “buzz” going about my show, but there were still only about 30 people in the audience to this performance.

An audience review appeared on the Fringe website:

“Set against a backdrop of future terrorism, this story demonstrates the triumph of humanity. Politics, national boundaries and the “criteria” of worth may have changed, but it is that which has not changed that proves to make all the difference. After an initial, brief historical setup, Tim’s delivery pulls you in and holds you to the very end. Both funny and thought-provoking. 5 stars.”

Tuesday was Stacey’s last day in town, and we went to dinner before calling it a night, early. I drove her in to the airport early the next morning, before coming back to dive back into my work.

I was rebuilding my address book, and sending out a message to everyone in the book. These were addresses that were at least two years old (which is the last backup I’d had), and I was sending out the same e-mail to everyone, alerting them to my data loss. I would write to all of the addresses beginning with “A”, wait for the “bad” e-mail’s to bounce back to me, and then delete those addresses from my system. I may have started out with 3000 addresses in my book, but for the moment, at least, I’m down below 2000.

Gradually, I was finding inroads into my data, and my “View From Here” list is edging up close to 400 addresses again. (There were probably about 450 when the computer was stolen.) Of course, they’re not all the SAME addresses, but I have to accept that things will never be exactly the same.

I’ve also recaptured about 80% of my tour schedule information, and after consolidating various drafts of the schedule, I’ll be sending out another mailing in the next weeks, reintroducing myself to all the people who have expressed interest in booking my show over the years. Who knows? The loss of data may have reenergized my commitment to the work in a way which would not have happened otherwise. One way or another, bookings continue to come in.

Wednesday at 12:30, I had another show, this one with barely 10 people in the audience.

And Wednesday night a new review finally showed up in the papers. The Vue Weekly published a collection of Fringe reviews, and seemingly this one did not attend on the terrible Thursday:

“Timothy Mooney's (writer/director/actor) “Criteria” is an imaginative science-fiction play set in the 24th century United States -- a time when racism has been replaced by regional prejudice and identification numbers reign supreme. The play opens with a history lesson of the future: Americans have gotten bored of conquering the world and are now attacking each other within their own borders. This one-man show features Albert Gardiner, born in Two land but tasked to go undercover in Five land in a deadly mission to destroy. But his exposure to this new and fascinating world leaves him struggling to complete the mission. The story is initially hard to follow, but overcoming the challenge of the dense setting is well worth it, in an engaging and brilliant performance that sustains itself throughout. (4 stars)”.

At last.

Of course, not that many people read the Vue Weekly, and Thursday’s 4:30 show had just about 20 in the house, but they were a friendly group, with at least four of my peer actors in the audience, including Tom X. Chao and Paul Thorne (of “Dancingmonkeyboy”).

I had a better house on Friday, which was a 6:30 slot. This time 57 people were in the audience, and I was flying pretty high. (In fact I have a new mantra that I repeat before the show: “I am dancing on air.”) Halfway into the show, my computer decided that it wanted to do a virus scan on itself, which I didn’t notice was screwing with the image on the screen until I happened to turn around and look at the screen. I leaned over, closed out of the virus scan, and resumed my monologue.

My timing with the slide show has gotten really good lately, and even though the show is an hour long, the slides tend to shift almost exactly when I want them to, or within about five seconds of when they should. Of course people just assume that the stage manager is somehow controlling it from the booth. When I explain to them that it’s all timed out, their jaws drop.

And now I await the final show of the fringe. I have a midnight Saturday show, and there are at least four shows that have been selling out their performances, pitted against me in this same slot. I somehow can’t bring myself to passing out flyers any more. I just can’t get into the spirit of promoting a show that the audience will have to stay up until midnight to see. I’m sure my numbers will suffer as a result, but I’ve decided that there are plenty of other productive directions to expend my energy. If I get more than five people in this audience, I’ll be plenty happy.

I’ll have a few days off, here in Edmonton, before moving on to Grande Prairie for performances of all three of my shows over the course of three nights. And then I’ve got about two weeks off before starting the school tour, with a show in Missoula, Montana. I was going to be doing the Vancouver Fringe during that time, but some mixup in paperwork and payment took me out of the queue of that one, and left me with time to work, instead, which seems to be just as well.

At the moment, I have no idea where I am going to spend that time. I could stay up in Canada, swing down to Vancouver and Seattle and Portland, or … I don’t know. All I want is a cheap hotel, preferably with some kind of a nice view, and internet hookup.

[It turns out that 12 people came to the Midnight show on Saturday, and while I had been telling people that “I’d be happy with five people in the audience,” when pressed, I said I’d probably have twelve. When I noted this, people responded: “You need to set your expectations higher.”]

On Sunday, I just went to see shows, most notably "The Centering" by a Portland performer, Chris Harder, who I've just recently started hanging out with. Really a harrowing performance, which is pretty rare for a one-person show. I also went to see Tom X. Chao's show a second time, as well as "Drawn Abroad," and "Teaching Shakespeare III", which is also terrific.

Oh, and one final thing ...

Over the past week or so I've been preparing to go back to work on my acting textbook, and I printed out a copy of Draft #4, which seemed to be the most recent one I had, until somebody sent me a copy of Draft #5 via e-mail. Sheepishly, I printed out a copy of Draft #5 to work on, onto the backsides of Draft #4. I even started to edit a couple of these pages last night. However, today, while digging around in my car for more lost e-mail addresses, I noticed a binder. Cracking it open, I discovered that inside was the elusive Draft #6 of "Acting at the Speed of Life," which had, in fact, all of my diacritical markings for the update to Draft #7, the draft which I was in the middle of completing when my computers were stolen. So, it looks like I've caught a break. Usually, I throw out old drafts as I rewrite so that I don't get buried under a mountain of paper, but this throws me right back into the project.

All of this reminds me of the fact that I've been looking long and hard at the whole fringing experience, and wondering if my time wouldn't be better spent next summer working on my writing, instead. Somehow, I got myself onto this roller coaster in an attempt to get more exposure for my Moliere work, but the tail now seems to be wagging the dog, as the whole fringe process (and all of the ego issues that get caught up in making sure I've got a successful show) takes away any time that I might possibly be able to devote to my writing, which is, in the long run, what I'm hoping will make a difference in the world. And so, the next few months will find me reassessing that whole process.

Temperature: 25 C
Miles on the Vibe: 193,500
Reading: Isaac Asimov’s Robot Novels
In the CD Player: Lisa Olafson’s website: http://www.lisaolafson.com/
Discoveries: Just when you think the whole “struggling” thing is behind you, there seems to be more struggling yet in front of you. * Never take the first performance of any given fringe for granted. * Things will never be exactly the same. * In fact, they may be, ultimately better, as the loss of data may have reenergized my commitment to the work in a way which would not have happened otherwise. * Expectations are self-fulfilling. Set them higher. * Perhaps fringing is starting to work at cross-purposes with my intended results.
Next performance: Grande Prairie, AB, September 1-3.

The View From Here #115: Minneapolis, MN

First, just a quick heads-up to anyone who might have missed the last two issues: My computers were stolen in Winnipeg, and I am slowly rebuilding the reader list (now up to about 338 of what had been 425). If you think you missed an issue, please jump down to the previous issues, below on this blog. In fact, you can revisit anything dating back as far as 2004 at this site. (By the way, as you can probably see as you’re reading this, I’ve just now learned how to add photos to my blog [... or perhaps just one photo to my blog ... I'm still trying to add incriminating shots from some of the recent parties...] so this should be a much more fun way to read the View From Here.)

After a week of waiting, and yet another break in to my car (stealing my passport this time), the glass finally arrived in Winnipeg on Monday morning, just as I was about to leave town. I stopped and had it replaced, before hitting the road with Amy Salloway, heading back to Minneapolis, arriving at around 11 pm that night.

While normally I hit the road running when arriving in a new town, I was making headway with the new computer, and couldn’t bring myself to pull away to spend several hours flyering the town. They set me up with a billet that didn’t quite work out. (They set two fringe performers up in essentially the same room, and we both kind of needed our own space.) And so, as the last one arriving in town, they reassigned me to another billet: essentially a fold-out couch, but in a place with some really nice folks and a wi-fi signal that I could pick up and get my work done with.

Wednesday morning was my tech rehearsal, and I loved the space I was working in (Intermedia Arts). My technicians were efficient but a little inflexible, at least at first. They seemed to come around when they could see that I knew what I was doing. More or less.

Wednesday night was the Out-of-towner showcase at the bowling alley (the bowling alley has a nice little stage in a neighboring room). I performed a bit of the “Diner scene” from the show. I did the latter half of the diner scene which is a little racier, and I think that people had difficulty picking it up in the middle like that. I may have left them more confused than anything, but they could at least see that the piece was executed with some precision.

Thursday was my opening day, and there were perhaps 25 people in the audience. Not bad for an out-of-towner. The only person there that I knew, was my old friend Bruce Heskett, who used to play all of the father roles in the Stage Two presentations of my Moliere plays. Bruce had transferred in his job up to Minnesota some time back and this was the first time I’d seen him in about 6 years. He laughed all the way through the show, as did the rest of the audience, and I felt like I was off to a great start.

Except that, when I got up the next morning, the following review was already posted by the Pioneer Press. It was posted under the heading “Avoid Like The Plague.”

"Imagine a world where everyone's just a number and uptight Midwesterners love to loathe the Californians, who seem to be having too much fun. Add the imminent threat of nuclear annihilation and you've got [my name here]'s one-man science fiction fantasy flop. [My name] starts with a stale storyline and then sucks what's left of the smile off your face with a timeline, an overhead projector and a laser pointer. In [My name]'s 24th century reality, everyone has their Social Security numbers tattooed to their palms, the country is divided into factions and he's a nameless secret agent with a bomb on his belt. But there's no suspense about where [my name]'s bomb is going." — Shannon Prather

[I've gone back and re-edited the above review, removing every instance of my name. I recently "googled myself" and among the top 10 entries was a reference to this negative review, posted on my own website. While I don't mind providing my readers with the entire panorama of critical response to my work, it's really not in my best interest to PROMOTE negative response that suddenly finds its way to the top of the search engines!]

Strangely enough, I wasn’t taking this review personally. At least, I wasn’t letting it diminish my view of the quality of my show. This person had obviously missed the point, or chose not to notice the point, and was going out of her way to score insult points where there was no need. Terms such as “flop,” “stale,” “sucks,” and “bomb” may give her some smug satisfaction to toss around, but she really wasn’t describing my work. And certainly, the audience response last night had been anything but hostile. No, this review was more about her than about me. (Someone later noted that, with the overwhelming number of plays to cover for the fringe, they’d brought in someone from the Crime Beat to write reviews.)

Sure enough, other reviews started to collect on the Fringe website, and over the course of the last several days, here are the responses that have come in:

(5 Stars) "Meets All Criteria for Great Fringe" by Kale Ganann: We rearranged our schedules to catch a showing of Criteria last night, and it was well worth doing. Timothy Mooney's epic one-man journey into a possible future carries with it wonderful humor, dark speculation, and a damn great time. The piece dwells on such topics as discrimination, security, arrogance, and identity, and it will leave you thinking about the themes for a long time. (Posted on Aug. 7)

(5 Stars) "Funny & Riveting" by April Peterson: Simultaneously kept me laughing and engaged in the plot. Amazing balance of suspense and humor, delivered with an energy and style that let me see the countryside and feel the saboteur's internal journey. Futuristic and yet relevant to today's world. Loved it, I'd see it more than once! (Posted on Aug. 6)

(5 Stars) "Thoroughly Engaging" by Peter Fleck: We ended up at Criteria because Kevin Kling's show at Theater Garage sold out. What luck for us! If you like near-future science fiction that links back to the current war on terror, then you'll like this. Tim makes you think but he keeps a humorous touch going throughout. He does an excellent job constructing the historical background to anchor the tale, beginning with displaying a timeline on a screen before the show starts. Read the timeline! It will help in following the rest of the story. One show left; see it if you can. (Posted on Aug. 9)

(4 1/2 Stars) "Makes you think" by Sandra Mason: We rearranged our schedule to see this and glad we did. It makes you think that we may not be too far off from this idea. Tim Mooney did an excellent job of blending humor and suspense. Amazing how he can run and continue to tell his story without seeming to be out of breath or break a sweat!!! Add to your list!! (Posted on Aug. 7)

(4 1/2 Stars) "Bright and Engaging" by Leigha Horton: What a great surprise! I went to this show after being chided for wanting to stay home and clean my apartment, and decided at 8:20 pm (show started at 8:30) that this was the closest venue with the most enticing show description. Plus, the out-of-towners need the extra love. It turns out that Minnesota Guilt actually did far more good than harm this time – Criteria is a gem, and should definitely be at the top of your To-Consider List. Tim Mooney is bright and engaging, and his tale is fantastical yet so incredibly, and poignantly, timely. Skilled storytelling and clever, intricate physicality. Recommended. Horton's (and Netflix's) rating system: 5 – Loved It; 4 – Really Liked It; 3 – Liked It; 2 – Didn’t Like It; 1 – Hated It. (Posted on Aug. 6)

(4 1/2 Stars) "Fun, thoughtful comic thriller! Don't miss it!" by Cuppa Coffee: Criteria is a very fun hour of theater! Tim Mooney is spot on with his energetic performance, by turns benign, threatening, suspenseful, satiric, yet never losing a human focus. Like William H. Macy he projects an everyman likeability and also a chameleon-like mystery. As with the best speculative fiction the show presents an entertaining story, then sending you home with new perspectives. A show not to be missed! (Posted on Aug. 7)

(4 Stars) "Five and Prejudice" by Dave Romm: Tim Mooney's one man show starts off slow by explaining the sorry state of the country in the 24th Century, but the exposition is necessary to set up his character and the situation his character is put in. Tim effortlessly switches between several secondary characters and himself as the tension builds. An examination of the roots of irrational hatred, and how one person can make a difference. A Shockwave Radio review. (Posted on Aug. 9)

(4 Stars) "Imaginative and Thought-provoking" by August Berkshire: This one-man show by an out-of-towner should not be overlooked. Imagine the Balkanization of America begun by the Republicans taken to an imaginative extreme, with redeption at the end. Though advertised as "science fiction," it's really more "speculative fiction." Check it out. (Posted on Aug. 3)

(3 1/2 Stars) "A bit of a "history lesson" but otherwise good." by MICHAEL HEISE: Criteria is a great show, but the beginning is slow. This is because the actor must describe (or "teach") the audience about the world as it exists for the purposes of this one-man show rather than get into the story. So the result is that the first portion of the show is a bit like a history lesson of this fictional world we are about to experience. But then the play "starts" and the actor begins telling his story. It's a great story and I was taken into his world. This show is worth watching. (Posted on Aug. 9)

(3 1/2 Stars) "NRG" by Jason Hilde: This was my 1st of 6 shows this year. I found it VERY intense and it kind of wore me out a bit. I found it funny and engaging (maybe too engaging?). This guy has a lot of energy and maybe that wore me out. (Posted on Aug. 7)

I found the last one actually quite a compliment. He didn’t like it as much because it “wore him out.”

Meanwhile, the fringe has its “official bloggers” who see as many shows as they can catch throughout the festival. Some of them had responded to the preview on-line, but one of them actually came out to the show, and wrote the following:

"Now here's an actor's show! Very well done. Well written. The actor, Timothy Mooney, knows his body and knows how to use it. I was sucked in right away and intrigued by the alternative history thrown at me. Lots of back story given and the whole point is who are we and why do we want to live. A very sweet tale, very well done. Thank god I'm a 5. Don't worry - you will be too if you go. And please do go. You will enjoy this one!" —Sara Cura

This fringe does a nightly pub-crawl … a different bar every night, and I found myself getting better acquainted with performers, fringe staff and friends as the week progressed. I got into a conversation with one of the bloggers, who had apparently extended a challenge to the performers. He would give them exposure and cover their shows, IF they would promote their show in the form of a sonnet. He indicated that there was still time for me to get one in, if I wanted, and I started to explain that rhymed iambic pentameter is kind of my thing. “You see, I kind of specialize in writing new versions of the plays of Moliere …”

Suddenly he realized where he had recognized my name from, and insisted that Moliere was his favorite playwright of all time. … After that, we hit it off quite nicely. I wrote a sonnet that night, which I didn’t like very much (probably because I was writing at the bar), but I got up the next morning and slapped something else together, based mostly on the bad review I’d gotten in the Pioneer Press. I e-mailed it off to him, and then noticed that the topic on the Pioneer Press blog had actually shifted to the subject of plays that were labeled “Avoid like the plague,” and whether that designation was not a bit harsh. And so, I submitted my sonnet as a comment under one of the replies.

Well, this morning, Phillip had posted my sonnet on his blog as follows:

FILED UNDER LASCIVIOUS LOQUACITY
"I've been talking to Tim Mooney lately at the various nightcaps, and let drop the fact that I was still accepting sonnets. This meant that I actually got the chance to witness the process of composition for the first time, albeit over beer and burgers. Here are the results:

"AVOID IT LIKE THE PLAGUE," SAYS PI'NEER PRESS
“Avoid it like the plague,” says Pi’neer Press,
While missing every message that it bears,
There’s reasons life is later in such mess,
It seems something to do with just who cares.
Three hundred years from now we see the fallout
Of actions we are only starting now,
But with an idle warning or a callout,
We may get clues of when or why or how.
The arrogance of bloated, bastard fives,
The reckless tyranny behind the fours,
The thoughtless rearrangement of our lives,
The elephant who’s here, which each ignores.
It’s just a play, a few thoughts out on loan;
The plague you miss, though, may well be your own."

"I speak from experience when I say that only really awesome shows end up on the Pioneer Press' AVOID LIKE THE PLAGUE section.

"I saw a preview for the show at the first Out-of-Towner Showcase which didn't leave a very strong impression on me, but I find the description 'A One-man Comic Sci-fi Thriller!' to be intriguing.

"In conversation with him, I finally recalled where I'd heard his name before: he's written several adaptations of Moliere plays, in addition to creating the one-man show Moliere Than Thou. I find this worthy of note because Moliere is one of my heroes, in my opinion nothing less than the greatest playwright who ever lived.
In any case, science fiction is notoriously difficult to pull off onstage without looking silly, and I'm curious to see how he approaches it (in a one-man show, no less)! I'm not aware of anything else quite like it in the Fringe, and I'm looking forward to it." —Phillip Low

Parallel to this, on the Pioneer Press blog, the main reviewer (not the one who’d written the review), noticed my sonnet comment, and lifted the entry up to the main page of the blog (where it’s remained for two days now), with the following note:

A Bard of the Fringe
"In case people aren't reading the comments appended to the various postings here, I wanted to pull up Tim Mooney's literary-minded thoughts on our reviews, as well as the "star" system of reviews on the Fringe website. [followed by the full sonnet]
Thanks, Tim!"

He had kind of missed the point about the sonnet, and I didn’t want to be the one to point it out to him, so I just wrote another “comment” to the effect of:

"Thanks for the notice, Dominic! FYI, coded within the sonnet are references which will only make sense by seeing my show, so if anybody actually wants to understand it, they will need to attend 'Criteria' which has two performances left, Wednesday night at 7:00 and Saturday night at 5:30."

It was another fringer, who has a pretty great show herself (“Dancing Rats and Vampire Moms”) who replied to note:

"Having seen "Criteria" I want to clarify something for those who haven't. The "fives" and "fours" in the sonnet refer to segmented groups of people in the America of 300 years hence imagined in the Tim Mooney's show. Fives, fours (and threes) anchor one's sense of identity in 'Criteria.'

"Layers of meaning are always to be treasured but I suspect that Tim was not making direct reference to the star system of reviews on the fringe website."

Anyway, it all gets to be quite a bit of infighting after a while, with comments leading to comments leading to comments which eventually lead to articles in the paper, and then another dwindling round of comments until somebody stirs up the pot again.

The good news is that it’s all publicity, and I’m waiting to see just what impact it will have on my attendance tonight. I had three performances in pretty quick order, with 25, 40 and 40 people in attendance (not bad for an out-of-towner at an “American Fringe,” but not a sellout yet by any means. It seems that people pay a lot more attention to the blogs here than they do elsewhere, and it all becomes rather addictive as you check back and check back to see if anybody new has had anything to say about you lately. All in all, it seems to be a good fringe for me. I’d skipped Saskatoon in order to do this one, and certainly my attendance has been better here than last year in Saskatoon. And if there’s a blogger who’s a fan of Moliere in town … I may just come back to this one next year.

Parallel to all of this, I’ve been working the internet, trying to get into communication with faculty members I’d been trading e-mails with about possible shows. I realized that I actually DID have a way of getting through to people whose information had been lost.

About a month ago, immediately following the AATF conference, I sent e-mails to everyone who’d filled out a raffle ticket form with me (raffling off a discount on the show). But this time, I’d gone an extra mile, in sending them information about other schools in their area who’d also been trying to line up a show. In other words, I had scattered all of my tour schedule information (or at least the contact names) to about fifty different people. And so, I wrote to them all again, explaining the situation, and asking them to send my original e-mail to them, back to me. And so, in this fashion, I’ve re-collected about a hundred more contact names, and I expect there are about a hundred yet to go. In the process, I’ve given those teachers yet another reason to think about booking my show, and a reason to step up and participate.

I also sent out press releases for the Edmonton performances which are coming up quickly. I pushed on that at great length yesterday, and only pulled away from the table at about 8 pm, ready to go out and see some shows.

Only my car wasn’t where I’d left it.

I had parked in a new spot, late the night before, when I’d come back to find the usual block that I park on entirely full.

I now noticed that this new spot was “no parking” from 4-6 pm.

My car had obviously been towed, while I typed.

I started to head back into the apartment. Walked two steps. Stopped. Thought.

What could I accomplish tonight that I couldn’t accomplish tomorrow morning? I still wanted to catch a show, but stopping to find out what happened to my car would only make me miss it.

And so, I jogged the couple of miles to the theatre, arriving about 10 minutes before the show was to start. Discovering that it was sold out.

Looking up across the lobby, I saw a familiar face. A face that didn’t quite belong in these surroundings.

It was Kelly, the friend from Milwaukee who, two years before, had traveled to Orlando to watch the Orlando Fringe.

With the show sold out, she and I, instead, headed on to the fringe “Nightcap” spot (aka the pub crawl), and caught up on conversations dating back two years.

And then this morning, I got up early and walked to the city impound lot. $156 later, I had my car, and was back at work.

****

Since writing this, I’ve done another performance, to about 45 people, this time with blogger, Phillip Low in the audience. He indicated that he thought the show was “awesome,” and his review on his blog, today, confirmed that:

"Something I remember about September eleventh. A reporter, talking on the news, being handed a sheet of paper, and reading that an airplane had just crashed into the world trade center. She paused, read it again, furrowed her brow, and said: 'Is that right?'

"A lot of reporters seemed to be shell-shocked for weeks after that, having to turn from manipulative human-interest stories to actually start coming to terms with geopolitics. I remember one woman, interviewing an "expert" on Arab culture, saying: "I don't understand. I mean, they lived among us for weeks. And -- how could they still hate us?" As though we were so charming, so inherently lovable, that it would be impossible to hate us after having been exposed to our culture. ---

"That's just one of the memories that was drifting through my head as I watched this play. There were countless more.

"At its core, the show is a simple sci-fi story, that hits all of the expected notes and follows a fairly predictable formula. The reason it works is this: the world that Tim Mooney creates is so richly detailed that those kinds of parallels are impossible not to draw.

"For my part, this show spoke to me most profoundly as a libertarian: the protagonist's realization of the self as a thing of value was an almost Damascene revelation that would have made John Locke stand up and cheer. I doubt that's what the author intended, but it doesn't really matter. He could claim to be a Maoist for all I care, but he's written a deeply libertarian play.

"Or maybe not. See, again, those kinds of parallels are almost superficial -- yeah, it can be connected to the war in Iraq. Or the war on terror. Or the fucking French Revolution, for Christ's sake. Because the world the play creates is one that any society can be reflected in.

"I'm mad at myself for having glossed over his preview; I'm mad at the fact that it took him writing a fucking sonnet to catch my attention. It approaches the arena of politics more successfully than any other show I've seen in this Fringe, because it does it through metaphor rather than through preaching. It's smart, it's nuanced, I loved it -- and everybody needs to see it. It's got exactly one performance left in Minneapolis. Don't let it slip away." —Phillip Low

And so; one performance left, and some nice critical recognition. Phillip’s is one of the very few think-pieces that has emerged about my show, judging it on more levels than whether the sci-fi/comedy/thriller work in their own right. I’m going to spend much of this morning figuring out how to work this blog to do photographs and then get it out to you. My feeling is that if this works, I may actually be inspired to post more often, but with less lengthy essays, as I’ll just be sending links to material that will probably be easier on the eyes, and not long tales clogging up your inbox.

In fact, I may even find ways to do hyperlinks! [Yipes! I have!]

Love,
Tim

Miles on the Vibe: Somewhere around 194,000
Temperature: 80s and humid
Reading: The Robot Novels by Isaac Asimov
In the CD Player: Maroon by Bare Naked Ladies
Attendance: 25, 40, 40, 45 = 150
Discoveries: People “get” my show. * A crappy review doesn’t have to “touch” me personally, and may in fact inspire other people to rally to my support. * The whole blog-thing seems to be a major force to be reckoned with (perhaps as demonstrated in the ousting of Joe Lieberman), and working the blog more effectively may be give me a head start on “the future.” * Giving people a reason to step up and support you engages them on a much more friendly, familiar level. They rise to the occasion in amazing ways.

The View From Here: "Help ... "

Hello my Friends,

Help!

I’ll be sending out the latest edition of “The View From Here” in a very short while, but first, I wanted to alert you to a rather important request. (To make sure it doesn’t get buried in my lengthy chat.)

Help! My computer equipment all got stolen in Winnipeg! (They broke into my car.)

Fortunately, I have such a great group of supporters out there. Over 400 people reading “The View From Here.”

Unfortunately, I’ve lost about half of their e-mail addresses. Any address added or changed since July 2004.

Apparently, yours, I still have.

If you are reading this note on one of my websites, and are wondering what happened to the View … I need to get your e-mail address again. Please forward it my way.

So, here are my requests:

If you know of anyone who has belonged to the “View From Here” list, who’s information may have changed, or who may have joined in the last two years, please forward me their info. If you’ve retained any e-mail I’ve sent to a group of people, please forward that e-mail back to me so I can check those addresses.

Or, if you’re just aware of someone who OUGHT to be on this list, let me know. (Weeding through my rolodex, I’ve added back some of you who I think were, or I think ought to be on this list, so again, let me know if you’d rather not receive these.)

Also, there are some key documents that I’ve made new drafts of in the past two years, which I’m trying to recapture. If you have any of the following, please forward me a copy:

TOUR SCHEDULE
THE VIEW FROM HERE (edited copy; i.e., less than 400 pages)
ACTING AT THE SPEED OF LIFE
Moliere Than Thou HOSTING HINTS and PRICE LIST
KARAOKE KNIGHTS (Script)
IMAGINARY INVALID
THE MISANTHROPE
SECRET OBSCENITIES

Thank you for your support in this challenging time! You guys are the best.

Yours truly,
Tim

The View From Here #114: Chicago, IL; Winnipeg, MB

I take it as a great sign of my own personal evolution that I am still upbeat these days.

As my previous message has indicated, I lost quite a bit in a car break-in the other day. Data that I have been assembling, generating and accumulating for 10 years was lost. I have started over from zero, and am currently caught up to somewhere around the fall of 2004.

Either I have lost my mind, or there is something refreshing about actually being able to start over from zero. Perhaps for once I don’t feel responsible for stuff I’ve been carrying around with me for years.

And all around me, people are rallying to my aid: Donations, equipment loans, a beer here and there. An article in the newspaper. If you never fall, you never give the universe the opportunity to catch you.

I will be recovering from this loss for at least the next three months. Probably the next year. But for the moment, the slate is clean, and I can choose my priorities.

But back to where we left off … a month or so ago … (cue flashback music here)

I got a 30-day trial download of Adobe Illustrator, and went to work on all of my promotional stuff. I re-did flyers, advertisements, brochures. I updated my 3-show brochure, and put together a new poster featuring all three shows. My former roommate, Deb, took over getting them all copied, and two big boxes arrived just before I left town. (Word on the street in Winnipeg is that my “Criteria” poster is quite arresting.)

My last weeks in Chicago featured mailings, especially to French Teachers, organizing and reorganizing my tour schedule. Working my way through my acting textbook. And setting up and performing six shows in two nights in Chicago.

Attendance was fairly light at the performances, but there were some good friends who hadn’t seen all of my shows before, who came and were very responsive. I was generally pretty exhausted by the end of each evening. But again, it was good to know that it could be done. One question that came up for me, though, was whether it devalued the worth of any individual play by doing all three of them in a single night. Was I making it look “too easy?”

Saying goodbyes to family and friends, I set out onto the road, with plans to be gone for as much as four months this time around. I drove to Minneapolis, where I unloaded the props/costumes/equipment that I would not need in Winnipeg into Amy Salloway’s apartment, thus making room for Amy and her stuff in my car, and the two of us rode up together. We made the border crossing smoothly, and arrived in Winnipeg mid-afternoon on Monday.

I hit the ground running, getting a few posters up around the ticket sales area, and checking in with my billet before racing on to the media event at my venue (“Ragpickers”). They were about a half-hour into the event, and apparently two of the University radio stations had come out especially to interview me. Either my “comic sci-fi thriller” genre appeals to the University crowd, or it appeals to the techno-philes who work at radio stations.

The next day was more postering, and I set out in a fairly systematic way, grabbing what I felt were the most effective spots for posters that I could find, and working my way from one side of the fringe to another. “You’re everywhere!” is the response that I’ve been hearing from some of my fellow fringers.

Tuesday, I was to have my tech rehearsal, except that it turned out that I had no technician. While the fringe usually supplies the single technician that I need, this year I’m in a BYOV (bring your own venue), and some miscommunication left the venue host with the assumption that I wouldn’t need anyone. I still managed to set up my stuff, and figure out where the projector and the screen would “live” through the course of my show.

That night, I reunited with my buddy, Robin, at the King’s Head Pub, and we caught up on old times. Robin has done a nice tribute page to me at phantomfringer.com, and has been looking forward to seeing the “final” version of “Criteria” as he’d only seen a workshop of the show three years ago.

Wednesday was the fringe “free-for-all”, and I prepared two minutes of “Criteria”. They ran way behind, though, and it seemed that all of the media people were gone by the time I got onto the big outdoor stage.

Halfway into my free-for-all routine (the encounter with the waitress), a fire truck went by, getting louder and louder. At first I tried to top it, but eventually I simply had to pause, as it passed within about 50 feet of the stage, before continuing. By this time, however, I was distracted, and couldn’t remember exactly which lines came when, and where I’d planned to make a cut, and what I was going to leave intact. I pushed my way through to some semblance of an end with the punch-line I’d been saving (“The sleazy waitress was the love play-thing to every passer-by who came through her stop!”) and got off the stage.

In spite of the confusion, people said they enjoyed it, and at least one couple reported that it was seeing that preview that got them interested in attending.

Later that day, I finally held my tech rehearsal, with a stage manager who had been recruited from another show. She was efficient, and very logical, and I ended up getting the benefit of two tech rehearsal slots: one Tuesday, setting up my stuff, and another one Wednesday, figuring out the cues, and running the show.

Thursday, I opened the show, to an audience of perhaps 22. Great response from the audience, so I felt things might go well. I then took in a couple of friends’ shows, and relaxed at the beer tent, visiting old friends Melanie and David. I had been telling a new acquaintance about my promotional campaigns, and wanted to show her my latest brochure. I made a run out to my car to grab a brochure from out of the passenger seat.

And there I noticed that the laptop computers weren’t where I’d left them … on the floor of the passenger side.

I looked across at the other side of the car, and saw it: the driver’s side window had been smashed in. The impact hit me all at once. Everything was gone. Everything. Inside the cases holding the laptops, were discs that I’d backed up all of my works onto, including a large independent hard drive.

Actually, the thieves hadn’t stolen my projector or my digital camera.

I stumbled around the fringe grounds for a bit, getting a call in to the police (a fringe volunteer gave me a beer), and eventually driving back to my billet. The next morning, I put in calls to the insurance company, stopped at a glass repair shop, and tried to figure out how I would do the show without a computer.

Eventually, Kristen, from Ragpickers, loaned me the use of her computer, and I downloaded the key maps onto her hard drive. I explained to the audience of twenty that the usual Power Point slides would not be transitioning so smoothly, and I began the show. The audience was extremely responsive, and things were going great. And then about 40 minutes into the show, a circuit went out in the theatre. The slides went black, the air conditioner went silent, and two lighting instruments remained on. I paused for about a half-second, and continued. I could see the audience smiling as they realized that nothing was going to stop me from finishing the show. Suddenly, there was greater depth and excitement to every moment. With the air conditioning off, I could include quiet moments as well as loud in my range of expression, and it was extremely effective.

I looked forward to Saturday. My BYOV had simplified the scheduling by putting all of the shows at the same time every day, and my slot was 4:30. This meant that a lot of people who work during the day would have to come on the weekend. A review had already showed up on the Free Press blog (later printed in the paper), and it was mostly very positive:
“It's a sci-fi action flick, a thriller, a mystery and a road movie all boiled into a riveting one-man show. The setting is bleak 24th-century America. Oil and gas have been depleted, the United States is divided into three warring unions, and the social insurance number tattooed on your hand determines all aspects of your existence. Seasoned Illinois actor and playwright Timothy Mooney convincingly -- and with great range and depth -- plays an identity-less terrorist who is taken from his mother at birth and raised in seclusion to be a killing machine. Now he's traveling across America to fulfill what he believes is his heroic destiny. This hour-long show is dense and a bit dry at first, and at times Mooney gets bogged down in details about the social security system, politics and racism. But if you stick with it, you'll be well rewarded. The intrigue culminates in an edge-of-your-seat finale in which the terrorist quite literally holds the fate of America in his hands.” -- Cheryl Binning
The odd thing was that she finished off by assigning the show “3 1/2 stars”, which on the 5-star Canadian scale is pretty close to average. Odd, I guess, because words like “riveting,” “great range and depth” and “edge-of-your-seat finale” seem to lead one to a different conclusion. (Fortunately this was not my own observation. Keir Cutler of “Teaching Shakespeare” pointed it out, asking “Do they even read their own reviews?”) The problem is that a lot of theatre-goers here look first for the number of stars, and then, maybe, read the reviews.

But certainly, there are some good pull-quotes there, and some increased attendance. Saturday’s show, however, did not show much improvement. A Fringe employee had come to my rescue, putting together a computer for me to use in my show through the remainder of the festival, and I began rebuilding the slide show once again. There were about 30 in attendance, including four reviewers, and at least one reviewer sat off to the back, away from everybody else. I took this as a bad sign, as he wouldn’t feel the impact of the communal laughter. And, probably wanted to maintain an intellectual “distance,” which is death.

It turned out that there wasn’t much communal laughter in this performance anyway. One of the college radio station guys showed up with a microphone, to record the performance (I’d given him permission), and I think that when an audience sees this, they try to remain politely quiet, so as not to ruin the recording.

During the day, I’d been reading a book, perhaps my first bit of recreational reading in a year or so. The lack of a laptop computer was keeping me from doing some of the busy work I’d need to do with the upcoming bookings (I’m going shopping mid-week), and it felt good to indulge myself, reading Isaac Asimov’s “The Robots of Dawn.”

Sunday things took a turn for the better. The audience was up around fifty, and they were responding heartily again. A couple more good reviews were starting to appear. My friends Melanie and David wrote:
“An unusual thriller based 300 years in the future, this one man show will both make you laugh and puzzle over the future of the united states. Actor Tim Mooney (still single... hee hee) cleverly examines how numbers define cultural identity. A must see!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
(The “still single” part was their idea.) Melanie and David brought their Asian friend, Gio, with them to the show, and afterwards they were joking around at the beer tent. I assume that somebody had made a racially tinged joke, and Gio held up his hand, where the “tattoo” from the performance of “Criteria” still remained, and exclaimed “Did this mean NOTHING to you, man?!”

And a woman attending the power-failure performance wrote:
“Despite production woes (2 stolen laptops needed to project his supporting backdrop, an overloaded electrical circuit which blew halfway through the show, knocking out his replacement laptop and the air conditioning), Tim Mooney did a very professional job of performing his new play, Criteria.

”It's set in a dystopian future somewhat reminiscent of Orwell's 1984, with its warring superstates. These superstates are 3 new nations carved out of the existing USA, based (rather cleverly, I thought), on US Social Security Numbers, which start with the numbers 0 through to 5 and which are based on where you're born (e.g., if born in the western states, your SSN starts with a "5"). Mooney plays a terrorist from the "3" state (Middle America, from Texas to Minnesota, an straightlaced militaristic country) who has snuck into the "decadent 5" state to blow up a train carrying nuclear waste. He's trying to pass as a "5" but keeps giving himself away, particularly in a hilarious interchange with a friendly waitress at a dinner in Kansas.
“Don't worry about the laptop glitches - this is a solid "4 star" performance well worth coming from out of town to see.”
There were more reactions, positive and negative, and to me, at least, they seem to correspond with which performance the viewer happened to see. Sunday’s performance was one of my best, but when I found myself at the end of the play, I lost my way through some of the final wrapping up of plot threads, and kind of worked my way into the end, somehow. Monday’s performance was much more exact, but the audience was subdued, probably from the oppressive heat that was in the room that day.

My friend April had been planning a vacation to Winnipeg to finally see what fringe festivals are all about, and as she also happens to be my computer guru, I got her stop at my folks house to pick up some discs and some paperwork to help with the rebuilding process. I met her at the airport just before Wednesday’s show, and she helped pass out some flyers. It turned out to be a well-attended show, perhaps partially because it was my “volunteer appreciation show” and a bunch of them got in for free.

This was followed by an evening at the beer tent, mostly, with a couple of really good shows. Really good shows so far have included: “Burden of Poof,” “Britchick,” “Switchback,” “Kind Hearts and Coronets,” “Josie With The Toes” and “dancingmonkeyboy.” There are other great ones, but I haven’t had much time for viewing, with all of the mishaps.

I’ve been in an odd suspended state these past few days. Dealing with the break-in, while trying to perform a show every day, and riding the roller coaster of good and … less-good audiences from one day to the next. It’s almost an existential quandary: with no record of the last ten years of work, do they still exist? Am I my writings? Is lost work reworkable? Would I want to rework it if it were? Do I want to begin from scratch in rebuilding my contacts amid the theatre/French faculties? Or is this the perfect chance to chuck it all, move to L.A., and start auditioning for movies? Is fate / karma sending me a message about where I really can begin to focus my energies?

I don’t know the answers to any of these, and my answers seem to change on an hourly basis. I figure it will be at least three months to a year before I’m back up to the speed that I’ve been at. But do I want to be on the road while I’ve got that kind of a project now pending? But if I go off the road, can I afford to do the things I want? For once, I just don’t know the answers to this. And perhaps the hardest part is to live in the state of not knowing.

Love,
Tim

Addendum:

I wrote these thoughts mid-week, and couldn’t send any of them, since I didn’t have my computer back, and my contact list restored.

Since that time, I’ve bought a new computer. It seems I always end up spending the same amount for a computer every time I replace my laptop (usually about $1500), but as the technology continues to improve, I get much more value with each successive purchase.

On Thursday, the “Jenny Revue” newspaper came out, with the following reviews:

“When was the last time you attended a Fringe show where, all around you, audience members were literally leaning forward in their seats, virtually mesmerized and determined not to miss a single word? It happened the other afternoon with “Criteria”, a very clever cautionary science fiction tale.
“Mooney starts his show with a timeline of American history from the Civil War to the 24th century “present”, paying special attention to the era known as “The Terror”, which began in 2001 (wet it?). During this time, the United States Department of Homeland Security began classifying, and then segregating, all Americans according to their Social Security Number.
“Like all good sci-fi premises, it’s just plausible enough to be creepy. And in Mooney’s universe, it leads to the breakup of the country into three parts, each ignorant and suspicious of the other two.
“Mooney plays a spy sent to destroy “California”, as the Western half of the nation is now called, with a nuclear device. His sure-footed and often intense delivery as he acted out his character’s mood swings from self-doubt to bouts of hyper patriotism to pangs of conscience, won the audience over within minutes. And when he reached the climax of the story on the almost bare stage, straddling a bridge preparing to drop his nuclear device onto a train moving beneath him, the entire audience was up on that bridge with him.
“One of the best and most original things in Fringe 2006. Welcome back, Mr. Mooney”
(Janice Sawka)

“Written and performed by Tim Mooney, Criteria is a futuristic, sci-fi conspiracy thriller that will have you on the edge of your seat.
“Set in the 24th century, we follow the story of a special agent as he sets out on a secret mission to tip the balance of power in the fractured American political landscape.
“After taking us through the events that have led to the current situation in United States of the 2300s, Mr. Mooney embarks on an adventure that will satisfy the most ardent fans of the sci-fi genre.”
(Ken Gordon)

It seems “edge of your seat” is a favorite phrase describing the end of my show. That, along with “riveting” or “gripping” have popped up more than once.

Attendance was back down on Thursday, with just about a dozen in the audience. And then, also on Thursday, the Uptown review came out.

"A" (Rating)
“In the future, an energy-starved United States will be torn apart by divisions based on people's social-security numbers. Silly what inconsequential things discrimination is based on, isn't it? Timothy Mooney's one-man show is provocative, funny, thoughtful, shocking and compelling. Stuff like this is what the fringe is all about. See it.”
(Quentin Mills-Fenn ,Winnipeg "Uptown")

And so, Friday’s attendance started to creep up again (about 50 in the audience), with lots of fellow actors in the house, and, I suspect, a reviewer from Edmonton. April was in the audience again, and the audience seemed to pick up her infectious laugh. Saturday’s audience was up to 60, with more great laughers, and Sunday’s fell off slightly, to 40.

Sunday was a blizzard of activity, with closing night get-togethers and parties. The wrap-up “Jenny Revue” party was at the King’s Head, and I found myself going from one conversation to the next almost non-stop. They wind it all up with an awards event, of sorts. They divide the plays into a series of categories, usually based on some theme, such as “Time,” which was where my play, set 300 years in the future, was placed. And then they announce each contestant and judge them based on applause. They announced my play and a healthy roar went up from the crowd, myself included. And I won! It is, of course, simply a popularity contest, but when was the last time I won a popularity contest? I proceeded to drink and schmooze for another two hours.

Next performance: Minneapolis, MN: The Minnesota Fringe
Attendance: 369
Miles on the Vibe: 192,000 (with a broken window)
Discoveries: There is something refreshing about being able to start over from zero. * If you never fall, you never give people the opportunity to catch you. * The hardest part is to live in the state of not knowing. … It’s probably also the only state in which we are open to learning anything.

PS: I have begun my own personal boycott of Diebold ATM’s. I don’t believe in letting them extort two dollars from me every time I need some money, particularly as they simply take those two dollars and use them to rig elections.

The View From Here #113: Arlington Heights, IL

Okay, I’m going to write fast. This is an interim “View From Here,” to give you a quick heads up as I gear up for the next big traveling season.

Contrary to some suggestion from the last “View”, I am NOT going to stop sending out these updates, but rather was drawing that particular line of narrative to a close, to give some sort of punctuation to the book I am pulling together.

What have I been up to? Mailings, Posters and Books. I’ve sent out lots of e-mails, mostly to French teachers, in anticipation of the annual American Association of Teachers of French Conference, and the response is still active and lively.

I downloaded a 30-day trial of Adobe Illustrator, and re-did all of my flyers and posters and brochures in about 30 days. As of today, I’m cut off again, but I may be able to live off of the advertising I’ve pulled together for the next 5 or 6 months.

I’ve updated most of my books with new drafts, and gotten some copies into the hands of some publishers / editors / agents, but still have LOTS to do before I get on the road again for good on July 16. Somehow, editing is always the thing that I leave for last. I don’t know why, I’m always excited to read the material I’ve created so far, and new ideas pop all the time for new chapters and sidebar comments. I think it’s the cynicism of “none of this will ever get published anyway; why bother?” Gotta lose that.

Also, I did another Pathways weekend, which gave me yet another fresh outlook on life! Life is good. Really, it is.

Tomorrow I set off for Chattanooga, Tennessee, where my new event: THE ONE-MAN, ONE-MAN PLAY FESTIVAL, is making its world premiere at the Barking Legs Theatre, June 29 through July 1. You can see three shows in a single night, with “Criteria” at 6 pm, “Moliere Than Thou” at 8 pm, and “Karaoke Knights” at 10 pm. The press releases alone (along with good word of mouth from Sabra) seem to have stirred some interest, and the Chattanooga Pulse has named the event “OUR TOP PICK” for events going on this summer! Likewise, I’ve had two interviews over the phone with the Chattanooga press, so I have high expectations.

If Chattanooga is too far to go, I’ll be coming back to Chicago to do it all again on July 14 and 15. You can catch all three shows in a single night at the Actors Workshop Theatre, 1044 West Bryn Mawr, in Chicago’s Edgewater District. Info and reservations at: http://www.actorsworkshop.org/. There are only 35 seats in this space, so reserve your seats ahead of time!

Also, you’ll notice that the Vancouver Fringe is back OFF of this year’s schedule. Confusion in the application process led me to believe, incorrectly, that I was “in” for this year’s fest. I’m not, but that means my September is open for events in the Pacific Northwest! I’ll let you know as things develop!

That’s it! See you soon!

Love,
Tim

Discoveries: Stop being so cynical!

The View From Here #112: Lexington, KY, Richardson, Brownwood & Houston, TX

And so, we steer another year of the View From Here to the end … I fear.

It’s now been four years on the road. Four years smacks of the academic calendar, and I hereby declare my graduation with a Masters in Touring. (Technically, I began all of this in September of 2002, but I’ve progressed through four “school years” in the process.) I have spent the last week re-reading the entirety of the “View From Here,” struck, repeatedly, by how often I have managed to make the same, banal, observations, over and over again. But I’ll get to that, soon.

My final day in Scotland featured a visit to Edinburgh, getting info from the Fringe Headquarters (Edinburgh hosts the granddaddy of all fringes), and scoping out possible venues. It was a cloudy day, so the photos may not be spectacular, but I managed to pick up a few souvenirs, including a tartan scarf for mother’s day, in the plaid pattern of the MacKays, which I’m told are close relations to the McGees, which is Mom’s side of the family.

After one more dinner out, in Stirling, Martin, Liz and I called it a night early. Driving back to Kippen, I am reminded of another dialect quirk: People who cut you off in traffic are “Cheeky!” Usually “Cheeky” is followed by some sort of a noun.

Back at Martin and Liz’ house, a thank you card awaited me from the cast, along with a bottle of “Aberlour” a single-malt Scotch whiskey.

The next morning, Martin and I were up at 3 a.m., on our way to the airport. He sent me off with one final Scottish figure of speech: “Haste ye back.”

Following a short hop to Amsterdam, I boarded the flight to Chicago. The sun was up already, and would remain up throughout, so I put on my sleep mask and tried to catch a few winks. There was an Indian couple sitting next to me, but as I wanted to get all the sleep I could, I didn’t strike up any conversation. As I started to doze, I noted a scent in the air. The woman next to me was applying some sort of “Vapor-Rub,” which I could feel burning the back of my throat.

(I’ve heard of people getting upset about peanuts being served on a flight, but I can imagine little worse than Vapo-Rub amid the recirculated air of a plane cabin.)

In my half-asleep state, I didn’t want to wake myself further with the commotion of trying to relocate, so I simply tried breathing less. Upon reflection, probably not the best idea.

I arrived in Chicago, released quickly through customs, but there was no sign of my dad, who was to pick me up. I checked the baggage claim at another terminal, and then doubled back to find Dad and Mom, watching the passengers emerging. Apparently they were unable to get short-term parking at O’Hare, so it was another tram ride, followed by a bus to the parking lot, and a protracted search for the car in the long-term lot. It was about an hour after landing, that we were on the road again, heading home. I spent about 10 minutes throwing luggage into the car, and raced off on my way, stopping only at April’s house, to send off the most recent edition of the View From Here.

I was slowed for about an hour in traffic on the Dan Ryan not-so-expressway, making my way into southern Indiana, where I slept, finally, before continuing on to Lexington the next morning.

In Lexington, I was performing in what was essentially the lobby/foyer of a private school. I was suddenly anxious upon seeing the hustle of between-class foot traffic, swarming through the space where I would soon be performing. They assured me that, since all the kids in the school would be attending (with 100 or so chairs to be set up in the lobby), there wouldn’t be any such traffic during my show.

Meanwhile, they were concerned that my show, which cannot possibly be done in less than 55 minutes, would run over the time scheduled, particularly as the students each had to return to their home room to cast a student council vote before proceeding to the performance.

While I’d brought my projector, the school already had a projector and a screen set up in the foyer, which would dominate the background, casting images ten feet tall and fifteen feet wide behind me. It took me most of the hour leading up to my show to figure out how I would stage the thing without getting caught in the glare of the projector. I had to stand a good 7 feet downstage of the screen, which put me very close to the students, forcing them to adjust their chairs backwards.

When the students came in to sit down, they didn’t all sit in the chairs, but on the staircase, up on the second floor, looking down at me over, or through a railing, and wrapping around to my sides, upstage left and right of my position. I was essentially performing the show in about 270 degrees, to an audience that was both on my own level, and one floor above me. It was disorienting.

Also, once I began the show, I could feel just how much vocal strength it would take to “fill” this particular space. Even though the students were all within about 50 feet, the space was not confined, and the voice would trail off down adjacent corridors. Anything delivered under my breath would be lost on most of the students.

And so, it was a long improvisation, creating a style of delivery to fit this odd environment.

The kids took it very seriously. Which isn’t to say that they took me very seriously (a couple in the first row seemed to be having a laugh early on at my running pantomime), but they took the plot seriously. I saw a couple of teachers who appreciated the fact that the dialogue was “winking” beneath the stern attitude of the character, but the students didn’t “get” any of it until the diner scene was well underway, about 25 minutes into the show.

I kept the prop script very close this time, allowing my character to turn pages in the early scenes, as insurance against getting lost. (The setting was so unusual that I thought it would be worth the slight distraction of turning pages in order to make sure I didn’t have to stop dead.) I gathered confidence as I went, and by the time the diner scene came up, I didn’t look back, even though I may have ad-libbed my way out of a couple of jams. The final scene demanded an intensity and vocal output that was extreme, and I sensed that I “had them.”

I finished, walked off, returning for a quick bow. I exited to the classroom from which I’d entered, and the applause kept coming. I flirted with the idea of returning, but felt that the applause would die the moment I committed to another bow, and so I stayed offstage.

I packed up my props and went to lunch with my host, all the while being congratulated by students who anointed the show as “awesome.”

I continued south, into Tennessee, catching up once more on e-mails, and hitting a karaoke bar with Sabra. We returned to a place where the response had been lukewarm on my last pass through, but this time we were the only ones singing, and eventually the crowd was chanting “Ti-im! Ti-im! Ti-im!” As much as I enjoyed the attention, the smoke was killing my already tired voice, and we continued on to a much quieter joint, where the bartender and the only three patrons remembered us from the last visit. They had no “KJ” in place, but I figured out how to start up the machine, and we had a real game of “karaoke roulette,” as three of us would jump up to sing along, every time we recognized a song. In this fashion I sang “American Pie” for the first, and hopefully only time ever. I also sang the Olivia Newton John song, “I Honestly Love You,” in the style of Tom Waits, or, as he’s known in my play, “Charles.” When I announce that I’m doing the Tom Waits version of the song, everyone assumes that Tom Waits must have done some obscure cover version on one of his many albums. It’s pretty hilarious.

Saturday I worked, once again on the “Karaoke Knights” DVD. I had a performance coming up in Texas in a few days, and I wanted to readjust some volume levels, as well as put “chapter headings” into the disc. This way, if I should screw up a number somehow, I would be able to skip back or forward just to the beginning of this particular song, without starting the whole disc over. The process demanded that I go all the way back to the start, fixing the mp3, making that into a “wav” file, which I then apply to the “cdg,” which I make into an “avi”. I then “render” the avi’s into a DVD, and “burn” the DVD. It took all day on Saturday, but I finally came up with a finished product at around midnight, and just to be sure, I burned 5 more copies of “Version 6.2” of the disc, as backups. (I’ve been walking a tightrope with a single copy for too dangerously long!)

Meanwhile, I was negotiating a schedule via e-mail. My Monday gig in Richardson, Texas had written to say that my show would start at 12:30, and that I could do the tech rehearsal any time that morning. It gradually dawned on me that if I were rehearsing in the morning, and performing from 12:30-2 pm, then when, exactly, would I do the workshop we’d arranged?

Apparently they wanted a 2-hour acting workshop AFTER the show, during a time that I’d planned to make the 3-hour-20-minute trip to Brownwood for a 7:30 performance of “Karaoke Knights.” (I’d never had a high school gig go this late, and had felt somewhat secure in arranging the Brownwood performance, which by now had been plastered on posters and into the newspaper.)

Eventually, I got Richardson to settle for a 1-hour workshop (with a significant discount), and Brownwood agreed to start as late as 8 pm, if necessary.

They put me up in a terrific hotel in Richardson. Monday morning I rehearsed “Karaoke Knights” with the new disc, and headed in to the school, performing Moliere to about 70 kids, as well as my old friend, Kevin Page. (Given the interaction that I have with High School girls, Kevin writes that he wants to be me when he grows up … of course, he didn’t use those exact words.)

Changing costumes quickly, I repacked my trunk and addressed the theatre students. I took them through the first half of my workshop, with the “Hamlet” exercise, and though the hour had expired (with me doing further damage to my throat), I stayed just a little longer for a brief Q&A with the students.

I loaded back up and jumped on the road, racing out of the Dallas/Fort Worth area as quickly as I could, with only the slightest of slowdowns as rush hour approached. From then on it was clear sailing, and I raced west and then south, sucking on cough drops all the way.

With the help of Nancy Jo’s best tech student, James, I unloaded the car and set everything up in record time. We were actually able to open the house by 7:30, but only after making the unfortunate discovery that my separate Karaoke DVD, featuring 15 songs for the audience to sing along with, had warped in the car in recent months.

This meant that any Karaoke Warm-Up Event, which had been advertised in the newspaper already, would need to be a cappella. I did the two songs I knew by heart, “Lion Sleeps Tonight,” and “Why Don’t We Get Drunk,” and launched into the play. (Nancy Jo later got hassled by her administration when a student apparently complained about the song “Why Don’t We Get Drunk.”)

The rest of the show went well, and I somehow managed to sing through the entire show, with James improvising on the lights as we proceeded.

The next day, I did an acting workshop, which again taxed my voice to the limit, and returned for a final performance of “Karaoke Knights” that night, after building a few karaoke videos that I could actually play through my computer for the advertised “warm up,” keeping us away from the scandalous, “Why Don’t We Get Drunk.”
From there, it was south to Houston, where high school teacher Nancy Varga had arranged a living room party performance of Moliere as a preview for local high school teachers. Unfortunately no local high school teachers were available, so she populated the living room with her friends, her kids, and their friends, all of whom contributed a few bucks into the basket for gas money.

With the spring semester hereby complete, I drove east to New Orleans once more. I gave myself two days to relax and enjoy the sights. Sabra had likewise come down on a break, and Playwright Gil Martin was in town, too, working on the relief effort. We hung out at the Cat’s Meow, drinking hurricanes, singing and collecting beads. My voice had begun the recovery process, but I now had weeks before the next scheduled performance. For the moment, it was hard to imagine ever being able to pull off the “One-Man One-Man Theatre Festival” in a single night, but perhaps by late June, I’ll be there.

Word comes in from the University of Oklahoma: They want to hire me to perform in “Precious Young Maidens” and “School for Husbands” next January/February.

Sign seen in Arkansas: “CRETIN HOMES.”

Word from Grande Prairie, Alberta: They spotted an open weekend on my schedule between the Edmonton Fringe and the Vancouver Fringe, and have requested that I come to them to perform “The One-Man Fringe Festival” with all three of my plays in a single weekend.

Meanwhile, I’ve committed to group leading for the Pathways weekend coming up June 8-11, and as a part of my objective-setting exercise, I’m committing to having my four books complete by that time. I’ve spent the last week at home rereading this entire collection of “letters home,” getting 530 pages of “The View From Here” down to 323 pages. I am shocked at how many times, through the course of the last four years, I have repeated the same damn thing over and over again, and am especially impressed at the tolerance you all seem to have for me doing so.

I realize that you may not need to be reminded after every performance that the audience “enjoyed” “Moliere Than Thou”, and perhaps that continuous reassertion is mostly about me assuring myself. Certainly you’ve read more than enough about how the various “volunteer scenes” play, and of course you know that I spend a lot of my time e-mailing, if only to make all of these bookings possible, and a lot of time driving, elsewise, how would I be earning this living? (I’m working on extracting some percentage of these tired references from the book.) And while, by now you all know that Isaac is in Detroit, Maureen is in Baltimore, Pat is in Salem, and Forsyth is in North Carolina, I may take some of these names and episodes “as read.”

For what it’s worth, I’m declaring this the end of the book. Of course the process never ends, and any beginning or ending is pretty arbitrary, and sequels are always possible but four years of school performances seems to make a punctuation mark of some sorts. With the recent addition of European travel, pending publications, and longer-term performance bookings, as well as a very busy Fall on the horizon, the nature of the thing seems to be making a sea change, of sorts. And since there is really no one to insist otherwise, I hereby assert that I have graduated, and wherever it is that I go next will be the “next level.”

Time to declare victory and go home.

Haste ye back.

Love,
Tim

Attendance: 90 + 70 + 60 + 30 + 25 + 18 = 293
Temperature: 70s
In the CD Player: Le Grande Debacle
Discoveries: I have managed to make the same, banal, observations, over and over again. * I have graduated, and am moving up to the next level.
Miles on the Vibe: 187,000
Next Performance: June 30, Chattanooga (The One-Man One-Man Play Festival)

The View From Here #111: Carbondale & Chicago, IL; Pitlochry, Scotland

So, cutting to the chase, two things that you may want to know:

I did, in fact, go to Scotland.

The Fintry Amateur Dramatic Society production of “The Doctor In Spite of Himself” did, in fact, win Third Place in the Scottish Community Theatre Association Finals.

Getting home from the quick westward swing, on April 9, I dove back into the usual self-promotional program, continuing work on editing a version of “The View From Here,” a version of “Moliere Monologues,” my acting book, “Acting at the Speed of Life” and my self-help book, “Currency.” Mostly, though, it was bookings for the show, focusing on Florida and Georgia, with several inquiries coming in for next fall and winter.

I also investigated flight schedules to and from Scotland, and found that, as my April 27 performance at DePaul was set for 6:00, I would be done by 7:30, which arguably left me with enough time to catch a 9:50 flight to Scotland.

My general sense is that if Fate has arranged events in such a way that they CAN be done, then really they MUST be done, even if I don’t fully understand the reason, or even if the action is not self-evidently the most sound financial move.

Amid this break, I paused, of course, to sing karaoke, and celebrate April’s 50th birthday party. (April has been invaluable the last few years, helping me with mail pick-ups, and faxes and bank deposits when I’m not around to attend to such matters.) (Not to mention that she has recorded almost every installment of “24” that I have missed!)

April 17, I headed down to Carbondale, where the Southern Illinois Theatre Department had just celebrated their 40th anniversary. I was unable to attend the party, but they saved me a goodie bag, and brought me in to do a workshop and a performance of “Criteria.” I, of course, graduated from SIU, way back in 1981, but, as they’d hosted “Moliere Than Thou” three years ago, most of them still remembered me, and we all seemed to feel like the last visit had been much more recent than all that.

Their coordination of my visit, was as effective as the last time, and I was readily checked into the hotel, set up with a parking pass, and shifted into the performance and workshop space. They had an enormous poster up, featuring my face in the “Criteria” publicity photo, and smaller flyers scattered throughout the theater building. The Tuesday workshop was well received. (My “Writing, Producing and Touring the One-Man Show” workshop has stretched to two hours, and now integrates bits of all three of my shows (with very little on “Criteria,” as I would be performing it the following night). The benefit of including teasers from all of the shows is that it gives the host venue ideas about hosting another one of the shows on a subsequent edition of the tour.

I had the night and the next day mostly to myself to attend to more e-mails and rehearse, and I returned the next afternoon to run a tech rehearsal for “Criteria” and perform the next night.

I never know how many people to expect, and the SIU studio theatre holds about 100 people in a three-quarters arrangement. My show is designed for a proscenium setting, but just in case some audience should choose to sit in the farthest upstage arms of house-right and house-left, I pushed the projection screen, and my main acting area upstage as far as I could. This turned out to be a good thing, as the house was entirely full.

I changed the opening of the show, slightly, making an entrance to start the “Power Point Show” which now runs parallel to my performance. Whereas previously, I had flipped through placards that the audience could read, I now integrated the projection unit to show the images from those same placards, but in a much larger version, which can be read from much farther away. I had spent the afternoon timing out the changing of the slides, but knowing that performing in front of an audience always adds time to the process. I was hitting the spots within 15 to 30 seconds of the intended changeover, which was close enough for all practical purposes, though the hardest change to time out, the final one, which brought the audience back to the initial screen, was always switching over during some climactic moment, when I most wanted the audience to remain focused.

For the opening, though, I walked out, pressed the button on the computer which started the process of the slides changing. This cued the stage manager to play the opening song, “What Will The Martians Think?” I gave the audience a stern stare, which got a laugh, and returned backstage, coming back on as the song had faded out.

They were a terrific house, laughing in odd places, which threw me off once early on, forcing me to check my script, but hanging in there through the rest, and responding vigorously at the curtain call. The faculty lingered afterwards for a visit, and I was surprised to see Dawn, my host from a Tennessee Moliere performance last fall, was in attendance. She had also seen “Karaoke Knights” at SETC in Orlando, which means that not only is she one of the very few people who has seen all three of my one-person shows (She reports “Criteria” is her favorite), but has seen each show in an entirely different venue. And state!

The next morning, I headed on to Tennessee. In Cookeville, Tennessee, I visited, once again, with Sabra, my Mensa friend, who has been helping me arrange for an event in Chattanooga, Tennessee (the “One-Man One-Man Play Festival”). We relaxed for a couple of days, hit the karaoke bar, which I was unable to do on my last pass through, as I was suffering from a sore throat at the time, and went down to Chattanooga to look over the theatre space and plot out our plans.

Sunday morning, I raced north, dropping in on Cousin George, who has finally moved into his beautiful new Kentucky home on a hill overlooking Georgetown, who insisted that I had to drop in on our Irish cousins while I was overseas, supplying me with their phone and address information. [Info that I neglected to pack when traveling overseas.] And from there, it was on to Detroit, where Isaac and I went out to dinner, and watched television. The next day I drove him to school, got more work done, and picked him up again, grabbing dinner and picking up a video. We watched “Brassed Off,” which is an old favorite of mine, reminding me of the upcoming competition in Scotland.

Tuesday I headed home, stopping at April’s to try to figure out how to rework the “Karaoke Knights” video, with no luck. On Wednesday morning, the article about me appeared on line, and I distributed the address for that one (http://www.beepcentral.com/story.aspx?story=2699) far and wide. I had a workshop and a performance of Moliere at North Park University. I was being hosted by the French teacher, and the deal had almost fallen apart at the last minute because their auditorium was in use that night, but they’d found available space in a very large chapel, and the show worked very well there. While there were only about 40 or 50 in attendance (the small audience probably due to the uncertainty of the venue), this performance was attended by the president of the American Association of Teachers of French, who teaches out of Northwestern, and who I see every summer at the conferences, though she’s always too busy to attend the events that I perform there.

Also in attendance was Patty Lahey, one of my students from when I used to teach at NIU (She’s now an event coordinator at U of Chicago), Ted Banks, from Kraft Foods, who’d edited the Law Textbook which was actually my very first publication credit (“The Use of the Dramatization in Teaching Legal Compliance,” which I’m told is the funniest chapter in that particular book) and Bill Nicholson, a friend and former roommate from SIU, back in 1981, who’d just recently found me on-line. Finally, there was the author of the Daily Herald/Beep article, who’d seen me do Karaoke Knights before, but had not seen “Moliere Than Thou.” She came with a friend, and the three of us went out to sing karaoke afterwards.

I headed home, early, for me, as an enormously big day was ahead of me.

I struggled to work my way through business early in the day, and only barely got a start on laundry and packing before discovering that I was running late for my workshop at DePaul. The traffic was terrible, and the parking was worse, but I managed to make it to the classroom just two minutes late. The students were not especially responsive to the “Life of Moliere” workshop, and I later discovered that they were largely a general-education class. I headed back home (after taking a quick peek at the performance venue, a lecture hall), and resumed packing. I was packing, essentially, for two trips, one to Scotland, and another two-week driving tour that I would set off on, almost immediately after my return. (I’m due in Lexington the following day.)

While I’d hoped to check my luggage and get my boarding pass before the DePaul performance, I found that traffic was once again clogged, and I could barely get into the venue an hour in advance of the show.

In attendance at this one was Claudia Anderson, my fellow teacher from the days at NIU (she now teaches at DePaul), my friend Rita McConville, and another friend, Deb, who I managed to coax up on-stage to play out the “Tartuffe” scene with me.

The show went very well, though there were, again, only about 40 people in attendance. I think my motor was really running, both from having such good friends in the crowd, and knowing that immediately afterwards, I’d be racing to the airport.

The show was done and packed up in near-record time. The host was very gracious about helping me on my way, and I was very concerned that I not short-change his event, even though I was concentrating so much on getting to Scotland. I visited briefly with my friends, as I repacked the trunk, and then ran off to get my car from the parking garage. By the time I got back, my Dad, and brother Kevin were waiting and the three of us caravanned out to the airport. By this time, the traffic had cleared and we made the trip in record time. Dad switched out to drive my car back to the house, and I went through the airline check in (with no line) and the security check (with virtually no line), and was at the gate ninety minutes in advance of the flight.

It was almost as if I’d been struggling against the tide for the past two days, trying to get a million things done, with the constant fear that I would miss the flight, but when the moment arrived, to mix my metaphor, the clouds parted and I passed right through with no struggle.

Someone had alerted me to the effectiveness of Dramamine, in enabling one to sleep on a long flight, so I took a couple of those as the boarding time neared, and another one, with my on-flight meal, and I could feel myself getting drowsy. I had, however, brought my lap-top bag on board with me, storing it under the seat in front of me, which made it very difficult to stretch out and relax. I watched the television embedded in the seat in front of me, and eyed the progression of the flight detailed on the big screen at the front of the cabin, as it traced its way northeast, over Ontario and Nova Scotia. Eventually, I nodded for perhaps an hour. Woke up again for a bit, as the sun rose outside the plane at what was, to me, still about 2 a.m., and dropped off for perhaps two hours after that. My blissful repose was interrupted by neighboring passengers who needed to get to the bathroom. I didn’t mind that so much, but they seemed to be hanging out in the back, chatting with the flight attendant for about an hour, and I couldn’t get back to sleep, knowing that I would likely be interrupted the moment that I dropped off again.

Eventually, we landed at Heathrow Airport, which is a confusing rabbits’ warren of hallways, staircases and tunnels, seeming to double back on themselves again and again, always uncertain if this was indeed the direction that I needed to be going. The name “Heathrow Airport” has always had a romantic air to it, if only because it is the gateway to arriving in London. I’d imagined it to be sleek and sophisticated, but in actuality, it’s pretty much a dump; dirty and grimy, with a carpet that smells of mold.

I passed through security once again, and headed to the ticket counter, which then directed me on to the customs agent. While this gentleman was polite to begin with, he stumped me with the question of what address I’d be staying at during my visit. I knew that the competition was in Pitlochry, and the theatre group was from Fintry, but I’d never actually obtained the specific address of my hosts. In fact, under pressure, I could barely recall the fellow’s name. I remembered “Martin” but hesitated on the surname. This enabled the agent to go into a well-rehearsed lecture of how one is supposed to know the address of the place one is going when entering a foreign country. (On at least three passes, he repeated the line “You’re going into a foreign country …”) I offered to crack open my laptop to call up the name and e-mails of my host, when I recalled the last name, “Turner.” This seemed to placate the agent, who continued to mutter about “You’re going into a foreign country …” and then remarked, offhand, what seemed to be the real issue, which was that apparently the US Customs agents are delaying British travelers at great length, and that they could, if they wanted, have tied me up for a couple of hours while checking on my story.

Off I went, with a brief flight to Edinburgh, and as I emerged into the luggage area, there stood Martin’s wife, Liz, holding a sign saying “Tim Mooney”. We got my luggage, changed over some money (which I’d failed to do in London, so I’d gone a bit hungry in the interim), and headed onto the road.

It took some time before I got accustomed to the car being on the left side of the road, particularly when the traffic was two-way, as I found that we were dependent upon the social contract that we will all drive on the left side at all times, which means that should someone, such as myself, forget that contract for the briefest moment, that would be the end of us.

Liz and I proceeded north to their beautiful home in the village of Kippen, surrounded by sheep farms and overlooking a valley stretching many miles into the distance. At the far edge of the valley is a tower known as the Wallace Monument (in the town of Stirling), but more on that later. After a quick shower, we pushed on north to Pitlochry, where the competition was being produced at the local theatre. My presence was being kept a secret from the cast, and we didn’t want word of my arrival to reach them backstage from a slip of the tongue, so I adopted the name “Angus” for the moment, when being introduced to friends of the director.

I settled into the lobby with a bottle of good Scottish beer, and we went inside to watch the first show in the series of three being performed that night. Performed in a heavy Scottish brogue, it was almost unintelligible to me, and the frustrating thing was always the fact that the audience was getting jokes that I was not. More than once have I heard the old saw about the British and Americans being “two peoples separated by a common language.”

Next up was “The Doctor in Spite of Himself,” and the cast dove into the action and the dialogue with relish. While the words were sometimes a little uncertain from my listening point, the Scottish brogue actually worked extremely well with my dialogue. Seven years ago, when I wrote this, I’d instinctively written certain characters with a touch of cockney or Scottish brogue, as they tossed in the occasional “Cor!” and “Aye …”.

More than this, though, the actors had penetrated through the formality of the verse dialogue to find the very ribald, lusty, boisterous action beneath. When we’d first produced this show, in 2001, the director that Stage Two (and I) had brought in, struggled throughout with the script, trying to keep it workable for a modern, politically correct world, filled with rules of behavior that probably would have confounded Moliere. This cast was having none of that, throwing themselves mightily into the action, with husband spanking wife, wife slapping husband, and woodcutter-turned-phony-doctor groping at, and nuzzling the nursemaid, again, and again, and again. No one in the audience could miss the implications of the action, and they all laughed boisterously.

Afterwards, I followed the director into the hallway, backstage at the theatre, leading me into the dressing room. As I awaited, just outside the door, I could hear him say, “You know how I told you that ‘Tim Mooney was here with us tonight?’ Well, I wasn’t just being metaphorical when I said that. In fact, he’s right here!” At which point the door was opened and I entered to see the surprised, delighted faces of the actors. I went around hugging and shaking hands and congratulating them all on a “terrific” “brilliant” job.

Martin, Liz and I ditched out on the last play of the series and went out for dinner, joined by the fellow who’d played Sganarelle, still in full costume. We went back to the theatre for the adjudication, and sat in the back row while a feisty Irish gentleman led the audience through a series of rhetorical questions as he talked of the various performances … “A fantastic set … was it not?” He seemed especially taken with “The Doctor in Spite of Himself,” and acknowledged the fact that “The Adaptor, Timothy Mooney (“Brilliant dialogue, was it not?”) had flown over from the United States, arriving this very day … let’s give him a big Scottish welcome, shall we not?” And the crowd of 500 responded dutifully with a big round of applause.

To give a taste of the response, the very first adjudicator’s response, from the District finals, was given to me and it noted: “Very assured direction. A cracking pace established and maintained throughout, with clear verse dialogue, good timing, excellent use of pause and emphasis. … Excellent teamwork, with unselfish playing and excellent reactions; unfailingly excellent facial and physical reactions … an exceptional production in every way. I’m sure Moliere would have loved it!” (Winner of the Munro Trophy.)

We stayed out at the theatre, toasting and drinking until perhaps 1 a.m., with Liz, who was our designated driver for the evening, driving us home as I dropped off sleepily in the car.

The next day, I slept in until 11:30, and following breakfast and lunch, we headed in to Stirling to visit the William Wallace Monument. William Wallace was the great Scottish hero depicted in “Braveheart” which led to the unfortunate by-product of a statue that had been added to the grounds carved with the image of Mel Gibson. Some of the gift shop chatchkis: key chains and fridge magnets also looked much more like Mel than the original Scottish hero, which struck me as rather a diminishment of the legend of a man that had inspired millions since the twelfth century.

We climbed to the top of the tower, probably the equivalent of a 15-story climb, where we could look out at the Scottish countryside, and see Stirling Castle in the distance. [Stirling Castle has recently been renovated leaving one cream-colored wing standing out like a sore thumb. It will take several hundred years for the weather to bring this wing of the castle into compliance with the overriding color scheme.] My fear-of-heights kicked in for a few minutes until I got somewhat accustomed to being at the top of the tower, and then climbed back down, continuing on to the final night of performances at the play competition.

The last set of three plays included a dull Hugh Leonard production (“Roman Fever”) and a very sharp 4-woman ensemble piece (“Shakers Re-Stirred”) which was disappointingly good. Disappointing because, as far as we knew, then, “Doctor” had been in the lead of the competition. The four women were choreographed with great detail, and there was no significant lapse in the production itself. While I may not have entirely understood every line, clearly the rest of the audience did, and it seemed likely that this group would take home the trophy. They were followed by a production of Brian Friel’s “Winners,” an Irish play of which I have seen at least two full productions, and which I have worked on, myself, in classroom projects. As such, it strikes me as a tired acting exercise, and however good the performance was, there are no surprises left in it for me.

After a break, the adjudicator got up and engaged the audience, once again, in his rhetorical by-play, “didn’t he?” He clearly enjoyed “Shakers” quite a bit, and the only question left, was “how much?” There was another break, and the award process eventually began, with everyone who had participated in any part of the process thanked and congratulated, and awards given for best original play, best stage décor, best “Scottish life and character” and highest production marks. “Doctor in Spite of Himself” was given honorable mentions in both the stage décor and production marks categories, so we knew that we were in the running, but when they turned to announce third place, we were a little disappointed to hear “The Doctor in Spite of Himself” read out so early. None of us had seen the third play in Friday night’s line up (we’d gone out to dinner then), and a Harold Pinter play (“Celebration”) had moved into the second spot. Meanwhile, of course, none of us could argue with the selection of “Shakers” as the eventual winner, though we might have wished for a different result.

Regardless, “Doctor” had placed third out of a field of one hundred sixty-nine total plays, nine of which had gone on to this week’s finals competition, and though spirits were somewhat dampened for the evening, it was clear that this was a success, especially considering that this was the only classical work that we’d seen in the finals, at least, and the nine performers were attempting something that they’d imagined to be well above their heads.

They closed up the theatre bar early that night, and we continued on home. The next day, Martin arranged for a flying tour of Scotland with a friend who belonged to the Glasgow flying club, and I was a little nervous about going up in a 4-seater. While the weather had been exquisite the first two days of my visit, the clouds had begun to move in and there was rain in the forecast for the next two days, so the best time for a flight was probably that afternoon.

The airplane was a tiny propeller-driven item, and the pilot, was a short, grinning fellow who was just as quick to joke about the condition of the craft as we were. He primed the pump with a device that seemed much like a device on my Dad’s lawnmower, and he suggested that was where he’d gotten it from. My biggest concern was that they’d put me up in the co-pilot’s seat, and if any tragedy should ensue to our pilot in the air, I would suddenly be responsible for getting us down. We queued up to take off in between the large 747-type craft that were flying in and out, and I found that we were airloft within seconds, perhaps after less than 30 yards of taxiing.

We climbed to perhaps 2500 feet, looking down over the Clyde River, and Loch Lomand (Scotland’s longest “loch”), but stopped short of the hoped-for trip up past the western islands, which are reportedly beautiful, as the clouds seemed lower and denser on the western shore. Instead, we turned east, toward Stirling, passing over Martin’s home, and continuing on to take more photos of the Wallace Monument and Stirling Castle, before turning back to Glasgow. They pointed out to me Lake of Menteith, Scotland’s only “lake”. I, of course, asked what the difference was between a “lock and a lake,” and both Martin and the pilot shrugged and admitted that they didn’t know.

That night was the cast party, for which Liz had spent the past two days cooking and preparing. Forty people were expected, and I’d offered to perform “Moliere Than Thou” for them. I wanted to give them a little more of the flavor of how I work with the words and the style of performance, but also I wanted to lay the groundwork for a future appearance at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Previous to this I hadn’t imagined the possibility of doing Edinburgh, as it seemed to be quite a risk in a city where no one knew me, but if I could start some buzz circulating a year or two in advance, then perhaps I might have a core of support for an opening night.

It seemed that all forty people arrived between 7:30 and 8:30, and I held myself to a single beer, and resisted the buffet until after the performance. No one actually knew what I was going to do, so they looked at me a bit curiously when I didn’t fill a plate, but they accepted that I was probably up to something and left it at that.

Before long, they all gathered in the conservatory (a beautiful glassed-in area overlooking the valley), and some announcements and thanks and awards were given. John, the fellow who played Sganarelle, was given the award for best exemplifying the “woah factor” (all cheered “woooaaahhh”), with Rosellen, as the Nursemaid, Jacqueline, a close second.

Martin proceeded to get up to thank everyone who had contributed to the show, and following a brief bathroom break, introduced me, in my guise as Moliere. I anchored myself at one end of the room, along with a couple of costume pieces from their production, and worked my way through the show. It was an audience that “got” all of the backstage humor, as well as the ribald innuendo, though I occasionally wondered whether they might not prefer to be socializing with each other at this point of the evening.

The “Tartuffe” monologue woke things up a bit, and I was later told that the woman I chose to deliver it to was a well-known sportscaster in the area, and when I needed a volunteer, Rosellen was nominated by popular acclamation.

When it came to the monologue from “Doctor in Spite of Himself,” I could sense everyone listening in an entirely different way, as they were mostly hearing words that they already knew very well, and I wondered whether I was being a bit presumptive in performing a speech that a member of the company was already delivering as a part of the show. The last segment, however, was from a portion of the monologue that had been cut in the process of bringing their production in under an hour, and they laughed boisterously at Sganarelle’s “… as tested ‘gainst control group of castrati!”

I pushed forward towards the end, with the fellow who had played Geronte volunteering as Argante in the Scapin scene, and finishing it off with the “Precious Young Maidens” “Stop thief” monologue. Following Moliere’s thanks to the audience, I took a moment to thank my hosts and the entire company, especially for having given me their attention as I commandeered the party. John (Sganarelle) rose to commend me, suggesting that this was an hour of theatre that none of them would ever forget.

“Back to the beer!” I called, and we resumed the party. Guitar and violin were produced and many of the company engaged in singing for the remainder of the evening, mixing popular songs with traditional Scottish Folk Songs. I threw in “Lion Sleeps Tonight” and “I’m Looking for a Groupie” in the process, and the party continued on until perhaps 3 a.m.

Monday was a quiet day. I worked on my script for “Doctor” a bit, with an eye toward submitting it to the publisher as soon as I got back to the states, and I added into the prefatory notes the cast information for this latest production, knowing that it would tickle my new friends to be included in the published version. I typed up these notes of the last few weeks for a bit, before heading off to a local pub late in the evening.

A couple of Martin’s friends were there, and I made some notes to myself of their particular dialect. I note that the Scottish use “wee” in almost every possible context. You can have a “wee bit of beer,” drive a “wee car”, fly in a “wee airplane” or have a “wee bit of a lie down” (a nap). But when a fellow mentioned “the wee fat one”, I couldn’t help laughing out loud. As last call was announced, Martin went for one more round of beers, and offered to get this fellow a half-pint (as his pint was still relatively full), the fellow responded “Onyago, aye,” and Martin immediately understood this as a “yes.” I inquired, and the gentleman insisted that “On ya go” would have been sufficient to indicate the affirmative, but that he’d thrown in “aye” as a bit of a redundancy.

Other Scottish quirks: “Is this a queue?” is a question to be asked of anyone standing outside of a bathroom. It means, “Must I wait to go in until after you’ve gone?” They have “Roundabouts” everywhere! Traffic does not travel in neat north/south, east/west patterns. You proceed to a roundabout and then angle off in the general direction of the next roundabout which will send you heading toward your ultimate destination.

Traffic signs in construction zones apologize “Sorry for the delay,” rather than “Thanks for your patience,” which strikes me as much more apt, considering that the American sign assumes that I have, indeed, been patient. Finally, signs warn of “Contraflow” where what they really mean is “Two-way traffic.”

By the way, my Scottish accent is terrible. While I may be able to imitate individual voices and intonations, any time I try to ad-lib anything in Scottish, they immediately turn up their noses and indicate “That’s Irish.”

Back at home, Martin and I watched the final couple of games of the world-wide snooker tournament, with a Scotsman firmly in the lead. While I’d never understood snooker before, Martin quickly explained the rules, to the point that before the game tournament was over, I was criticizing the players for lousy shots and bonehead moves.

And today, it’s Tuesday. Martin, Liz and I are going in to Edinburgh to see the castle, do a bit of shopping and nose about at the Fringe headquarters, and check out a couple of venues. The weather, which has been thoroughly agreeable up until now, has turned rainy and windy, and my departure is pending tomorrow, demanding a 3 a.m. trip to the airport. As I’ve slept in until 11 or noon most days of this visit, I’m not sure what condition I’ll be in that early in the morning. Nor do I have any sense of what kind of sleep I might catch on the plane, but almost as soon as I land, I’ll be off for a performance in Lexington, Kentucky the next day. I’ll try to hook up to get this missive into the e-mail before then, and jet lag will probably necessitate a couple of naps at rest stops along the way.

Temperature: 40s-60s
Attendance: 8 + 50 + 12 + 40 + 40 (not including the 500 who saw “Doctor” in the festival) = 150
Discoveries: if Fate has arranged events in such a way that they CAN be done, then really they MUST be done, even if I don’t fully understand the reason, or even if the action is not self-evidently the most sound financial move. * While I may feel as if I am struggling against the tide, trying to get a million things done, as long as I continue to believe in my plan, when the moment arrives, the clouds part and the struggle relents. * Moliere works best unburdened by any of the politically correct assumptions of the modern age, and “The Doctor in Spite of Himself” is a lot funnier than I recall. *
Next Performance: May 4, Lexington, Kentucky, (Criteria)