It's been almost a week since we were all together.
I apologize in advance for being long winded and for sounding a bit self serving but I can only confidently talk about things as I personally perceive them.
I don't know about you, but as a result of last week, I feel more aware, more alive, more intelligent.
There are so many thoughts and visions that have passed through my brain this week (as is probably true of all of you) and I want to share some of them.....
First and foremost, I want to express how great it was to get to know you. The group blows me away. How often do you get to spend a concentrated period of time with a group of individuals who have lived and continue to live such full and stimulating lives. There is the humor, the intelligence, the love of Shakespeare we all share. We so enjoy each other's company. Robert, Alice, Mary, Terry and I have gone decades without speaking but the moment we were in each other's company, it was as if we had never separated. From the moment I met Craig and Gail, it was as if we were close childhood friends. The nobility of Clayton, Madge's genuine warmth, I could go on and on in this way about every one of you. I will state confidently, however, there is no other club in the world that would have all of us as members. How great is that?
Around 30 years ago when I began in the movie business I worked at United Artists in a big room, a sea of clerks and cubicles. The German filmmaker Volker Schlondorff had just made The Tin Drum and whenever he came into the building to meet the big boss he had to walk through this room. He always stopped at my desk to talk. After the third or fourth time he invited me to dinners and parties where he introduced me to people like Billy Wilder, Arthur Miller, and Louis Malle (who became a close personal friend). Over 25 years later at a panel Volker and I were both on in New York I publicly thanked him for what he did for me and said how glad I was he didn't stop at one of the other desks in the room. His answer was as follows:
"What you have to understand is, life is like making a movie, it's all in the casting. You were perfect casting, meant for the role."
And you better believe, Erving Goffman and Jim Ayres came to mind when he said this.
Enter Jim Ayres. The guy has a perfect eye for casting in life as was evident of the 21 people selected for last week and those selected over the last 40 years. How does he know a guy speaking bad German with no knowledge of Shakespeare is ideal. I'm sure every one of you has his/her own eccentric and unique story (I wanted to hear them all Saturday night, but there was no time). The criteria is all in his head, and we all have to agree, it is rarely erring.
I know, I know, a committee supposedly made these decisions, but I'm not buying it. Sorry for the film analogies (unfortunately it's all I know), but Doc for me is comparable to John Huston and Clint Eastwood in what he achieves and how he achieves it.
John Huston was one of those great directors who gave everyone the impression he delegated everything to others, saying the decision was made by the crew and the actors. But the fact of the matter is when the movie was finished and finally seen, everyone knew it was a John Huston film and everything that occurred on that set was in the palm of his bony hand. When I visited the set of The Dead (Maggie's husband, if I recall correctly, was one of the producers), John was in bad shape, he had an oxygen tank on his back and he could only speak in a whisper. The whole crew was bustling about in a studio in the desert north of Los Angeles. He was sitting quietly in his chair. I watched him. He corrected errors in the details of contimuity noone else on th set noticed. There was an excellent elderly Dublin stage actress who had to sing a song and she was so self conscious about it that every take was a disaster. John pointed his finger to her and beckoned her to come over to him. She came to him, he whispered a few words in her ear, she then performed perfectly on the next take.
I could not help but think about this when Doc mosied over to each of us under the pecan trees rehearsing last week. "Michael, you will never get the character if you don't emphasize the pronouns." "But Doc, as I recall you never liked emphasizing pronouns." "Not in this speech, buddy." And damned, if he wasn't right. I found Grumio emphasizing those fucking pronouns (although I'm sure not to Doc's satisfaction).
And then there's the Clint Eastwood analogy. My friend Kathy Kennedy likes to talk about how when you go on a set of a movie and you look for the director you can always find him/her because he/she is always at the center of wherever you hear the loudest noise and where the largest concentration of people are gathered. Except when it comes to a Clint Eastwood movie. You go on his set, he's impossible to find. He's quiet, he's furtive. You can't find him in the midst of a hundred people working on a movie and he's probably shooting a major scene at that very moment. Here's Doc again always appearing on the perimeter, yet running the show (I figure Shakespeare must have been a bit like that too).
To my mind, all three of these guys are birds of a feather. One minute they can be remote and analytical, and then, totally unexpectedly, warm, emotional and engaging. And with all these guys the final performances are similar as well. While rough around the edges, the really good shows are satisfying as hell.
John Huston, Clint Eastwood, and Jim Ayres never sweated the small stuff in the work. They may not share everything on their mind with you, BUT, they always have a vision of how the final performance will turn out. It's never perfect, but that's part of the organic beauty of the piece. It's the important stuff that stands out: with Huston, it was character, with Eastwood, it's always the story, the rest be damned, and with Doc, it's Shakespeare's power of thought AND persuasion and fun, but also Shakespeare's deep relevance to our roles in life. There is no question we put that performance together on Saturday, but the performance overall was Doc's and I really feel, although rough around the edges (like Huston and Eastwood), the goal was achieved both for the performers and the audience. All hail Huston, Eastwood, and Doc!
I digress...... Here are a few personal priceless memories of last week.
1-Every night following the first appearance Oberon (Matt, amazing), I would walk out of the barn and look at the sky, the stars, and that tiny cloud or wisp of mist always over part of the moon, and the world of A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM was as real for me as midtown traffic. I was transported and convinced.
2-On the day of the performance, lots of people are milling around. I'm filling out my name tag at the ticket desk next to a little girl who looks at me as I'm writing. I look at her and she whispers to me as a fellow conspirator, "How do you spell Shakespeare?" I see she has just written the word "Camp" on her name tag and I whisper the spelling very quietly back to her as she writes slowly and carefully. Whispers again, "Thank you very much." "My pleasure, you're welcome." Not one hour later I see this little girl again, performing the best Puck I have ever seen in my life! Is this the stuff dreams are made of, or what?
3-A surreal experience on stage: A Winter's Tale, Act 5, and I am into it as Camilo. Mary as Perdita and Jeff as Leontes are weeping, Susan's Hermione is so engaging and persuasive (she's a knockout) and Mike and I are clutching each other deep in the drama agape at the human statue. I'm under the spell. I know my line is next but in my mind, I'm thinking, "I cannot give my line, I donot want to break this incredible spell, it's unbelievable." The spell, however, is broken when I look into Susan's eyes and it says to me, Jeff, and Mike, "Ok, fellas, I don't know if it's my line or one of yours, but somebody better say something." I delivered my line. I have never experienced personal immersion like that before.
4- A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 5, as Peter Quince on stage I am to prompt the mechanicals for any missed cues and lines. On the day of the performance I decide to use the actual scene on the page to prompt the mechanicals. I felt like a Samuel Beckett play had taken over our lives. The mechanicals were perfect in all their lines, the members of the court were a disaster (with the exception of Alice's Demetrius). As I read the script and the characters of the court were making up lines all over the place or moving back a few pages and then forward a few pages (Mike's Lysander became a Robin Williams improvisation compared with what was on the page), I really thought I was losing my marbles and started thinking, jesus, in our version of the play the court are the wacky mechanicals and the mechanicals are the correct characters. It was a whirlwind, I thought I was in the Twilight Zone. But it all turned out well, the audience was not looking for a wacky court and the mechanicals delivered on the wackiness they expected. I have to say, I was breathless when I left the stage.
Forgive my musings. I just can't stop thinking about this stuff.
More later and I hope to hear from you as well on your memories.
I wrote this on a plane, am headed for the Sundane Producer's conference, instead of working on a speech I'm supposed to deliver. But as I learned from Terry and Camp Shakespeare students last Saturday, the key is to play. And last week for the first time in 35 years I played and they're in for a hell of a speech this weekend, because I am going to play. Will let you know how it goes.
But thank you for all, you all really mean the world to me and long may memories of last week grow and linger and I really hope and pray we can keep up our connections. With deep love and appreciation, michael