He has often been called the greatest actor of the 20th century. Certainly, he had a glorious career. From age 10, when he captured the attention of the celebrated Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson who saw him play Brutus in a school play, Olivier was destined to be on the stage. His repertoire of Shakespearean roles is unlikely to be excelled for its fame and acclaim.
And, there is the film career. Wuthering Heights, Rebecca, That Hamilton Woman, Spartacus, The Entertainer...Well...Do I really need to go on? He was versatile, charismatic, and accomplished. He was a minister's son who became a peer of the realm. "I know the Olivier career must seem effortless to all of you," he says in Orson's Shadow. To which Orson replies, "It does, yes." Let's be clear - the man worked very hard at his craft, and beat himself up to get it right.
He learned to take risks, largely due to the efforts of Kenneth Tynan, and continued to be relevant just as the English stage became a fertile field of modernism. His excellence as a producer and director earned him the respect of many backstage. Olivier never pretended to be above anyone else, and that became a kind of legacy in and of itself. He was, famously, Larry to one and all.
We find him, in Orson's Shadow, at a career and lifestyle crossroads. His marriage to Vivian Leigh, which was the most glamorous and celebrated union in show business for many years, was ending. Larry could no longer deal with her mental illness and marital indiscretions. He had found the younger, and more grounded, Joan Plowright to share bed and dreams. Professionally, he was about to become the director of Britain's National Theater. This would make him the perfunctory head of the English stage.
One suspects that all of the stories about Olivier are true. He was too public a figure to hide, and too earnest to obfuscate. Yet, all the putty and greasepaint over the years blur the perception of the man as a man. Rightly or wrongly, we see him today only as an actor. Albeit, the greatest actor of the 20th century.
In my junior year of high school, following the Christmas break, I began a half year course called Film. My instructor, Mr. Henry N. Littlefield, began by telling us what the course was all about, and what we could expect. He said that we would, in a few weeks, be seeing the greatest movie ever made. Did anyone know what that movie was? I confidently raised my hand, and answered, "Citizen Kane". Go to the head of the class, young man. I graduated that semester with 3 Ds and an A. The A was in Film. After that semester my academic career took off, largely because I finally knew what I really wanted to study.
There was, at the time, a cultural landmark in Cambridge known as The Orson Welles Theater. Tommy Lee Jones was once the House Manager. It had three screens, a restaurant, a bookstore, and an academic institution known as The Orson Welles Film Institute. Housed between Central Square and Harvard Square, cinephiles flocked to it in those days as much as coffee hounds seek out Starbucks today. It was also known, in my house, as Mecca. Imagine if there was only one Starbucks in the world today.
In 1976 I was in Europe studying cinema and Shakespeare when a new Orson Welles film, F For Fake, was released. I'm pretty sure that I saw it at the National Film Theater in London, but I honestly can't be sure. In any case, it was a documentary (sort of), and quite unique. Friends back home didn't know anything about it. As usual, Orson had trouble finding distribution in the US for one of his films. I came back to the states just in time for Christmas, itching to talk to someone about it, but realized that it would have to wait.
In January of 1977, Orson announced that he was coming to the theater which bore his name to premiere the film in the US. Before that, however, his minions in the Boston area put up the money to have Orson appear, one night only, at Symphony Hall in Boston for what was billed as An Evening with Orson Welles. I booked tickets faster than you can say, "Rosebud". What could go wrong?
Well, it was January, and you know what that means. My girlfriend and I left early that day, as there was the prediction of some snow. That prediction proved to be an understatement. It became a blizzard. Orson made it, amazingly enough, but most people didn't. The grandiose Symphony Hall, sold out, became an intimate setting for less than two hundred snow covered patrons who wouldn't have cared if Orson Welles read from the phone book that night. He was one hell of a storyteller. He entertained us for over two hours with stories, Shakespearean monologues (Anthony's speech from Julius Ceasar and Shylock's famous soliloquy from Merchant of Venice), and he took questions from us. When he mentioned F For Fake, I blurted out, "It's great!", and the great man looked me in the eye and thanked me. And that's no story.
The Orson Welles Theater closed in 1986, the result of insurance problems following an electrical fire. By that time, the institute and bookstore had closed, and the restaurant had become a Chi-Chi's. And the man who had inspired it was dead. I was married, and running a wine shop less than 2 miles away in Harvard Square. I mourned in my own way, as much for my dreams as for the past. How, I wondered, could I ever capture that magic again?
"What's that, sir? I used to be a magician? Sir, I'm still working on it."
This is a long story, so please bear with me. In December of 2009, looking for a project to follow up my staging of Hedda Gabler at The Player's Ring in Portsmouth, NH, I decided that I should try directing something from the Absurdist movement. Ianesco, Beckett, Genet - really challenging dramatists. Since most of these plays exist in various translations, I just began hunting for information about notable productions, figuring that I'd find some comment about the translation that way. It's a scattershot method, I'll admit, but that's how I found Judith Thompson's adaptation of Hedda.
As I scanned the internet, I came upon a reference to a production of Ianesco's Rhinoceros directed by Orson Welles and starring Laurence Olivier staged in 1960. I believe I uttered the words, "No shit!", ignored my main goal, and tried to dig up any information I could find on that particular production. Within minutes, I learned that there was, of all things, a play written about this show by, of all people, Austin Pendleton. Well, hell, I figured, I have got to read this!
By the time I had finished my first reading of the play, Orson's Shadow, I had laughed until I hurt, and gulped back about a pint of tears. At once hilarious and heart-clenchingly sorrowful, I felt that Pendleton had written the play specifically for me. I understood it as if I had written it myself. It was about people whom I had regarded as godlike in my youth, and it was filled with rich insight about my two greatest passions - theater and film. I was born to stage this show!
So, I pitched it to at the annual Producer's meeting at The Player's Ring, with all the commited drive that I could muster. No luck. It was rejected.
Now, ordinarily, that would be the end of it. I considered proposing it to other theater groups closer to home, but if anybody was going to stage it, it was likely to be The Ring. Luckily, Bruce Allen was at The Player's Ring the night I pitched it. He offered to bring a staged reading of it to the Kittery Library, if I was interested. Well, hell - better than nothing, right?
I assembled a cast, took one of the roles for myself, and we staged it roughly a year after I had first read the play. There was a nice crowd in attendance, and they really seemed to love it. And so did the cast! I just knew that we had something here, and I loved the show more than ever. So, I spit in the wind like a stubborn old fool and pitched the show again at the Producer's meeting in 2011. I guarantee you that I was going to shop the show around until I found it a home, but the Ring has been my theatrical home for a decade, and I wanted it to be staged there.
We go up at The Player's Ring for three weekends, beginning September 23. I have a remarkable cast and stage manager. Barbara Newton is costuming the show, and my niece is choreographing a brief scene. In the weeks to follow, I'll post some thoughts about the production and the play itself. For now, it is enough to say that the show that I was born to direct is coming to life.
Well, here we are. Harvey, Mary Chase's surprisingly sophisticated comedy, opens tomorrow night (as I write this), in Concord. I must say that the experience has been wonderful. Concord Community Players is a class act. They are extremely well organized, and have given me considerable latitude to realize my vision.
Along the way, I have had my usual second thoughts and self doubts, but they have receded easily enough. I questioned my decision to take a three act play and turn it into a two act. I worried about the set not fulfilling my expectations, I had reservations about playing down the special effects to focus on the humanity of the story. There was an actor who had to leave the show quite suddenly, and another who had trouble getting to rehearsals. All of these problems eventually resolved themselves, and I stuck to my guns. I also reminded myself that theater is the most collaborative of all the art forms, and one must trust the team. Always trust the team!
Still, as has also been reiterated throughout the creative process, someone has to be responsible for the final result. I have always maintained that the only person who has to be made to be happy throughout the production is the director. Because, ultimately, it falls to the director to make the audience happy.
I was given the job as a result of my presentation to the board which hired me. I told them what I was going to do, and what I expected to see when all was done. They liked my ideas enough to hand me the responsibility to entertain their audiences. If people don't laugh, if something seems false and forced, there is nothing for it but to point the finger at me and say, "Blame him."
This, to a certain extent, actually happened to me one time. I directed a production of Neil Simon's Rumors, and a group of conservative Christians complained to board members following a performance about the language in the show. I literally watched the board members point fingers at me, and sent the complainers in my direction. That memory remains one of the highlights of my stage career. Incidentally, two of the actors from that show will be on the Audi stage this weekend.
Fact is, I love this particular show. The cast, especially Chris Demers as Elwood, is great. The look is exactly what I want. I gave the script uncommonly high respect. I genuinely believe that Mary Chase would be pleased. But, if I'm wrong, and the audience reacts with a cold scorn; or if the members of Concord Community Players believe that the whole thing was a fiasco - so be it. The Director is very, very happy.
We think of Harvey as a rabbit - big, white, and friendly. In fact, the Pooka (or, Puca) of Irish lore is not all that friendly a spirit. According to various legends, this legend of Celtic origins is, at best, a mischievous sprite. At worst, it is a fearsome creature. Many have claimed that the Pooka has manifested itself as a glowing horse-like creature who breathes fire.
My favorite interpretation of the Pooka comes from rural Ireland. In County Down it remains a custom to make the right side of your front door and gate comfortable, with the top of the gatepost smooth, and a with a bench alongside. The gatepost to the left is just a tall pillar of jagged rocks. The good friendly pooka will sit for a chat outside a house on the right of the door. The more malicious little fairies would be on the left if they were given a chance.
A Pooka will stop and talk for perhaps an hour or two. A favourite opening gambit is "You are new here, I think. Many years ago I used to live in this house." This is usually followed by long stories and tall tales. It sometimes seems that conspiracy theories started with Irish Pookas. Fortunes swindled away from families are one of the main topics of the tales told by these visitors. The odd thing about these visits is that the person seems so real, until they go. They just disappear, without warning, and with the listener hardly noticing they have gone. And they never leave any sign behind, or do any harm.
Generally, the Irish classify a Pooka as one of the "little people", or wee folk. However, Mary Chase made her Harvey to be 6 feet tall. For our production, I decided that Harvey was as big as our Elwood. Chris Demers is 6'4". I wanted Harvey and Elwood to be able to look eye-to-eye. Frankly, it seemed only natural that Harvey and Elwood would be the same height.
As a director, I approach a script from so many different angles, it is often easy to lose track of what may be its most precious commodity - the language. I've worked with directors on Shakespearean productions who never touched on the gorgeous rhythms and sumptuous vocabulary within the text. Wrap your mouth around the Queen Mab speech, or Malvolio's letter, and you'll see what I mean.
Now, Mary Chase isn't Shakespeare. I get that.Still, her script contains some delightful use of language. She uses very precisely chosen words which roll around the tongue. There are consonants that clip and alliteration which vibrates with erudition. Some words are repeated within the same scene for rhythmic effect. Listening to the play in rehearsal gives me an appreciation for Chase's work which I couldn't get from the page. And, let's face it, that's as it should be. We can read a play, but the real pleasure comes from it being performed - which was the whole point in writing it in the first place.
Nevertheless, my cast and I have an obligation to deliver these lines with the respect that they deserve. What good is it to present a production with all the nuances of character, lovely costumes, period props and furnishings, great lighting and set design...all the elements of a great show...yet confound the audience by not being understood? Rhetorical question, yes, but it happens all too often. I have instructed the cast to notice Ms. Chase's use of language, to appreciate it, and to give it full respect. I spend time in rehearsal cautioning the cast not to rush their lines (which usually get more rushed in the anxiety filled moments of an actual performance), and to relish the words that they are given to speak.
The audience, and the spirit of the dramatist, will thank us.
Let me begin with a confession - I love to audition! Absolutely LOVE it! Okay, I don't love auditioning for musicals. Too much work. I've gotten myself in trouble over the years because I frankly will audition for shows that I really don't want to do. One of my best roles ever, Dr. Miranda in Death and the Maiden, was handed to me after I accompanied a friend to auditions for support, and couldn't resist putting my name in the hat. Because I had to commute to Arlington, MA to rehearse and perform, I tried to talk my way out of it (seriously), but eventually took it.
Here's the truth about auditions: You are only acting for yourself. Remember, you have no idea how many factors go into a director's casting decisions. You can give the greatest audition in theatrical history and not get the part because, simply, no one else matches up with you. Maybe the director has too many people in the cast with the same color hair, or the same height, or needs them all the same height. Look, you can't control anything at auditions except your own performance when the bell rings. If you love acting, then you should love auditioning; because the only one you can assure yourself of pleasing is yourself.
And that brings me to casting. As a director, I have so many things to consider when I'm assembling a cast that I need a very precise method of keeping track of everybody. I take few, simple notes which get reviewed in private many times over. Most importantly, I watch the actors auditioning for certain signs that they are going to fit my scheme.
Do they demonstrate instincts?
Everybody can have a bad audition, for a variety of reasons. So, I watch for instinctive moves as they audition. Did they gesture with an upstage hand? Did they punctuate a movement or a line somehow? Did they make eye contact? Did they play to me, as their principle audience? I may read with an actor, in an attempt to regard them as a fellow actor would. It works.
2. Did they surprise me?
There's nothing that I'd like to see more than an actor make a choice which I wasn't expecting. That shows imagination, and I can always work with someone who is imaginative.
3. Are they fearless?
I remember the first time I was cast. My director told me that I wasn't afraid to look foolish. Actors can't be hesitant about how they seem to others. Ever.
4. Are they respectful of the process, and of others?
Don't give me excuses, attitude, or complain. There are always others who want that role.
The Cast of Harvey:
Elwood: Chris Demers
Veta: Valerie Jean Kerr
Myrtle May: Nikki Akrabof
Mrs. Chauvenet: Debra Buckley
Nurse Kelly: Jessi Cole Duane Wilson: Mark Landry
Dr. Sanderson: David Afflick
Dr. Chumley: Erik Hodges
Betty Chumley: Mary Case
Judge Gaffney: Roger Albright
EJ Lofgren: Jon Doherty
