When I started stage managing and production-assisting at the Lyric, I got adopted by my two big sisters, Flawn Barber and Lisa Anderson Bongers. I was twenty-five, and they called me "The Baby" (they're five-foot-ten and five-foot-twelve, respectively, and had lots of fun high-fiving over my head). I made rookie mistakes, tons of them, but I fixed the mistakes and learned.
In stage management - any management, from what I hear - you can't give everyone what they want all the time. If you see a behavior that's hurting the organization and/or the production, you have to do something about it. Being nice and accommodating, excusing the behavior, deferring to (for example) a heavenly vocal talent that happens to belong to a total scrote-bag... all of it only compounds the problem. And when you do something about a problem, someone's going to think you're a Bitch, because someone isn't going to get to do whatever the hell they want anymore.
Flawn and Lisa, though never bitchy, were The Bitch when it had to be done, and we all drank a lot of wine on those nights, because nobody ever wants to be The Bitch. For a naturally nice person, it's a little traumatic. And I knew I'd grown up, and learned to stand up for myself and work for the good of the production, when they started calling me "Baby Bitch." It was a badge of honor.
There were a couple instances when I tipped the scale a little too far, and threw what could only be called a Crazy Screaming Bitch Fit. In public. At the workplace. Not the proudest moments of my life. That sort of thing doesn't say "respect my authoritah." It does indicate that things have gone too far, and something should have been changed before that point. And eventually, I found balance (which, technically, must be found at every moment, but I don't want to get into metaphysics just now).
Fast-forward to 2009. Baby Bitch is a baby improviser, in a troupe with nobody in charge. I don't want to be in charge - I'd rather focus on learning the craft and having fun (which is an important part of the learning, too). It's not fun to be in charge. The worst thing about stage managing was having to be The Bitch when everyone else was having fun. "Sshhhh!" "You missed your costume fitting." "Please don't eat the props until we've gotten through the scene they're in." "When you peek through the curtain, the audience can see you. I know you're the lead tenor, and they're here to see you, but right now you're in a cell waiting for the guillotine."
Side note here: 9:KCiF will probably be the most fun I've ever had as a stage manager, and I can't wait! The best thing about stage managing is that you get to make a show run smoothly for amazing people.
Anyway... nobody in charge. Not fun to be in charge. Then some problem starts, nobody deals with it, and it reaches a point that makes everything else less fun. I wasn't the only one to recognize it. So, The Bitch paid the troupe a visit this week. She'll probably hover nearby for a while to gently point out problems at an earlier stage next time, so they can be fixed and we can move on to the fun.
I miss Flawn and Lisa, and I want some wine.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
It's a sign.
Taken at the KC Renaissance Festival, at the SpherePlay contact juggling booth, on a rainy day in October 2008.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Seven and the Ragged Tiger
Quick, who's the band?
It was Duran Duran, and that's the name of the last studio album they released, in 1983, before taking a twenty-year break. There were only five guys in the band, but (as explained by Simon LeBon), adding their two managers made it seven. The ragged tiger was a metaphor for success.
Saturday night, before the final blackout, the Hypothetical Seven were briefly seven again. Two of the founding players, Matthew Reiss and Dan Spurgin, came out to Bonner Springs for the show, and were kind enough to join us onstage for our last game, 189. Matthew used to host the shows, so Joe asked him to get the ask-for, and when I heard his stage voice for the first time in nearly two years, I got a little teary inside, in a warm, long-lost way.
It didn't make me think we should keep being the Hypothetical Seven. In fact, I feel that much stronger that we're doing the right thing. In anything but a one-liner (or other fairly superficial) game, you really couldn't throw a few H7's from the 1990's onstage with the current bunch and come out with anything but mud - whereas before Matt and Dan left, there was enough continuity in style that some players would come back after a few months off or even a couple years.
Heh... H7 also used to play a clean show. Nothing wrong with that. It means you can invite more people (like kids) without fear of offending or traumatizing them. It means you don't go for the easy gag, you can make the funny without resorting to lowest-common-denominator blah-blah. But, man, oh man, was the show raunchy. There may have been more f-bombs dropped in that hour-forty-five than in the entire previous fifteen years of the troupe's existence. Our "Musical Improv" game ("Day in the Life" plus guitar) revolved largely around the toileting habits of Dan's new baby. We had an especially good round of "I Like My Men/Women," and by good, I mean rrrowwwrr.
It wasn't just a blue show, though. It was a good show. The energy almost crackled out loud, we were so on. We had our best turnout in a while, too: enough people to make the Imp look reasonably full, and they were really into it. Our first half was a marathon of twelve-count-'em-twelve games, all of them longtime H7 favorites that we had to play one last time. Then we played Hypertext for the longform, with a one-liners encore. It. Was. Exhausting. The audience edits Hypertext, and they kept us moving!
I'm pretty sure I stayed out of my head most of the show, and by the end of it I felt almost drunk with happiness. The good kind of drunk. I was too happy to sleep, like my smile was keeping me awake, and I was really trying to sleep because we had a tech rehearsal for Sketchy Thoughts at ten-freaking-ay-em Sunday morning. Yay, coffee, and thanks for the donuts, Nick!
So, what does the future hold? Maybe a reunion of original H7'ers, for one thing, which I hope I'll get to tech if it happens. I love those guys (and occasional gals). I'm getting my sketch fix with Sketchy Thoughts - please come see the show next Saturday! - and I'm even writing something for the following show. As for the small bunch of us now improvising without a name, we're keeping the June 13 booking at the Imp, and we can't tell you what we're doing. It's a surprise.
It was Duran Duran, and that's the name of the last studio album they released, in 1983, before taking a twenty-year break. There were only five guys in the band, but (as explained by Simon LeBon), adding their two managers made it seven. The ragged tiger was a metaphor for success.
Saturday night, before the final blackout, the Hypothetical Seven were briefly seven again. Two of the founding players, Matthew Reiss and Dan Spurgin, came out to Bonner Springs for the show, and were kind enough to join us onstage for our last game, 189. Matthew used to host the shows, so Joe asked him to get the ask-for, and when I heard his stage voice for the first time in nearly two years, I got a little teary inside, in a warm, long-lost way.
It didn't make me think we should keep being the Hypothetical Seven. In fact, I feel that much stronger that we're doing the right thing. In anything but a one-liner (or other fairly superficial) game, you really couldn't throw a few H7's from the 1990's onstage with the current bunch and come out with anything but mud - whereas before Matt and Dan left, there was enough continuity in style that some players would come back after a few months off or even a couple years.
Heh... H7 also used to play a clean show. Nothing wrong with that. It means you can invite more people (like kids) without fear of offending or traumatizing them. It means you don't go for the easy gag, you can make the funny without resorting to lowest-common-denominator blah-blah. But, man, oh man, was the show raunchy. There may have been more f-bombs dropped in that hour-forty-five than in the entire previous fifteen years of the troupe's existence. Our "Musical Improv" game ("Day in the Life" plus guitar) revolved largely around the toileting habits of Dan's new baby. We had an especially good round of "I Like My Men/Women," and by good, I mean rrrowwwrr.
It wasn't just a blue show, though. It was a good show. The energy almost crackled out loud, we were so on. We had our best turnout in a while, too: enough people to make the Imp look reasonably full, and they were really into it. Our first half was a marathon of twelve-count-'em-twelve games, all of them longtime H7 favorites that we had to play one last time. Then we played Hypertext for the longform, with a one-liners encore. It. Was. Exhausting. The audience edits Hypertext, and they kept us moving!
I'm pretty sure I stayed out of my head most of the show, and by the end of it I felt almost drunk with happiness. The good kind of drunk. I was too happy to sleep, like my smile was keeping me awake, and I was really trying to sleep because we had a tech rehearsal for Sketchy Thoughts at ten-freaking-ay-em Sunday morning. Yay, coffee, and thanks for the donuts, Nick!
So, what does the future hold? Maybe a reunion of original H7'ers, for one thing, which I hope I'll get to tech if it happens. I love those guys (and occasional gals). I'm getting my sketch fix with Sketchy Thoughts - please come see the show next Saturday! - and I'm even writing something for the following show. As for the small bunch of us now improvising without a name, we're keeping the June 13 booking at the Imp, and we can't tell you what we're doing. It's a surprise.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Requiem for a Legacy
Look, I've had a lot of death-y things happening lately. Grandma Sophie passed away in January. Last week I found my cat unconscious in insulin shock, and I thought it was the end (she made a miraculous recovery at the vet's, and her diabetes may have gone into remission). I spun myself out on the highway the other day, my own damn fault.
And then there's the impending end of the Hypothetical 7.
I don't want to write this. I don't want to explain. Jess has already explained, and did a good job of it. Go read her blog instead.
A photo in the Facebook group album spurred a discussion a few weeks ago between a few original H7 members from the 1990's, about a reunion show. I think that would be amazing -- a hell of a complicated feat to pull off, as they're spread about the country, but amazing. But something in the tone of the discussion made me feel like I was at my own wake, hearing people talk about how much they missed me, only I wasn't dead, I was just horribly paralyzed and couldn't tell them not to bury me alive.
What's the point in sustaining a legacy, when the people you do it for bury you alive?
But they're right. The true character of the Hypothetical 7 was lost when the last two founding members left in the summer of 2007. The remaining players made a great effort, but struggled with relative inexperience, teaching newbies (from a relatively inexperienced position), adapting to a changing artistic environment in the improv world, geographical relocation, loss of the audiences who came to see specific players...
And why stick with a name if that fifteen-year history doesn't do jack for your box office? I suspect that a couple years of that legacy actually hurt our reputation. Like when this shit resurfaced... Whoever Alan was writing about, that is NOT us, not now. We aren't even the same troupe (though we're mostly the same individuals) that played a so-so set at 8:KCiF.
Oh, we aren't trying to fool anyone. We aren't putting on false mustaches and accents: "Ze Hypot'etical quoi? I do not know zis Zeven of vhich you zpeak!" On the contrary, we're stripping it down to the real us, a few people who love playing together, and have a lot to learn, and can put on a good show when we aren't trying to wear someone else's skin. H7 brought us together. From here, we go forward.
And then there's the impending end of the Hypothetical 7.
I don't want to write this. I don't want to explain. Jess has already explained, and did a good job of it. Go read her blog instead.
A photo in the Facebook group album spurred a discussion a few weeks ago between a few original H7 members from the 1990's, about a reunion show. I think that would be amazing -- a hell of a complicated feat to pull off, as they're spread about the country, but amazing. But something in the tone of the discussion made me feel like I was at my own wake, hearing people talk about how much they missed me, only I wasn't dead, I was just horribly paralyzed and couldn't tell them not to bury me alive.
What's the point in sustaining a legacy, when the people you do it for bury you alive?
But they're right. The true character of the Hypothetical 7 was lost when the last two founding members left in the summer of 2007. The remaining players made a great effort, but struggled with relative inexperience, teaching newbies (from a relatively inexperienced position), adapting to a changing artistic environment in the improv world, geographical relocation, loss of the audiences who came to see specific players...
And why stick with a name if that fifteen-year history doesn't do jack for your box office? I suspect that a couple years of that legacy actually hurt our reputation. Like when this shit resurfaced... Whoever Alan was writing about, that is NOT us, not now. We aren't even the same troupe (though we're mostly the same individuals) that played a so-so set at 8:KCiF.
Oh, we aren't trying to fool anyone. We aren't putting on false mustaches and accents: "Ze Hypot'etical quoi? I do not know zis Zeven of vhich you zpeak!" On the contrary, we're stripping it down to the real us, a few people who love playing together, and have a lot to learn, and can put on a good show when we aren't trying to wear someone else's skin. H7 brought us together. From here, we go forward.
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