I contain multitudes. And antibiotics.

Mirror selfie at the Four Seasons

Last week, I was a VIP guest at the St. Andrews Society of Los Angeles for Robert Burns Night at the Four Seasons of Beverly Freakin' Hills. I was rubbing elbows and seated beside luminous Scottish humans (Brian Cox, ffs), dressed in black tie, celebrating art, culture, the Scots language, poetry in general, Robert Burns Poet Laureate of Scotland and of course HAGGIS.—in Beverly Hills amongst very fancy socialites, like a person who definitely owns matching luggage.

This was my second Burns Night of the year. And before you think I’m getting too fancy, this is the part where I tell you that I was wearing the same dress that I donned at the New York Burns Night at the University Club. It has pockets. It was also? rented. 

I was in town because the St. Andrews Society is sponsoring the Pasadena Playhouse’s world premiere of the Brigadoon I have rewritten, and I was tasked with giving a 4 minute speech plugging our lovely show for a room full of Scots. Did I know I was giving a speech? No. Did I write the speech during the salad course on the back of my menu? I did. 

I also was tasked with getting Tyne Daly to and from the event. There is very little Tyne loves more than poetry, and we were looking forward to getting gussied up and having a three course meal in a fancy place (even IF the world is burning down! Especially if the world is burning down!)

My gracious and wonderful host—not busy himself that evening— offered to let me borrow his extremely fancy car to drive to Tyne’s, pick her up and escort her to the Four Seasons, and drive home in style. WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

On my way there, I realized I didn’t feel as comfortable driving as I wanted to (living in New York, I only drive occasionally, and when I do I always need a couple of days to acclimate). Do I really want to be driving back at night? Do I really want to be driving TYNE DALY?! No. 

Al + Tyno: thrilling crowds since 2010

New plan: 

1. Drive to Tyne’s. 
2. Park somewhere safe. 
3. Take an $11 taxi to the Four Seasons. 
4. Taxi back to the parking spot. 
5. Drive home. 

After an absolutely splendid evening (my speech went well, thankyouverymuch) I return to the parking spot in West Hollywood. I am in black tie. My phone is at 11%. It is Saturday and pitch black. 

To my horror: I quickly discover that the beautiful borrowed car—a BMW worth the GDP of a modest principality—was GONE. 
Had it been stolen? 
Had it been towed? 
Who was to know. 

I call Alec. He manages to brilliantly figure out the car has indeed been towed, encourages me to get a taxi home with the remaining battery on my phone, and retrieve the car in the morning. 

The next morning I stood not-so-proudly among the detritus of Los Angeles’ most panicked citizens in the fluorescent underbelly of Hollywood Tow Yard, wearing yesterday’s eyeliner and the facial expression of a Victorian orphan. Somewhere nearby a printer screamed continuously, like it too had made terrible choices.

with Brian Cox because of course

I handed a man $280 in cash to retrieve a vehicle whose cup-holders alone were worth more than my first apartment. Juan slid my $1 in change beneath the bulletproof glass—the kind of glass that has absolutely witnessed screams, threats, tears and at least one thrown Monster Energy Drink—and smiled warmly.
 

“Welcome to Los Angeles.”

Thanks, Juan. I hope you never have to grow as a person.
 

 

I returned to my digs and fell asleep instantly, the way you do after your nervous system spends six consecutive hours pretending to be a raccoon in a kitchen (alert, sweaty, and morally compromised) because cortisol is real I guess, and my body had decided we’d run a full Fight-or-Flight marathon about a luxury sedan that, oh, that’s right: did not belong to me.

Two hours later I was at urgent care being diagnosed with a UTI. The doctor said it with the same calm tone one uses to announce light drizzle. I considered asking the Urgent Care Do: can humiliation infect kidneys? If I wrote this into a play the dramaturg would gently suggest we ground the stakes in reality.
 

This is the perfect metaphor for life:


reciting poetry with Tyne Daly → municipal consequences → bladder betrayal.

 

I'm pretty sure I have learned by now that life is mostly just being glamorous for 90 minutes and feral for the remaining 23 hours of the day.

And yet, in that same week, I:

• finished a draft of my brand new play adaptation (news to come) 
• Fully cast the world premiere of Brigadoon (!!)
• work-shopped another project I passionately love
• froze in negative-twenty-degree New York weather so thoroughly my thoughts crystallized

All to say: growth, apparently, does not present as a tidy montage. 
It presents as tonal whiplash. 

Because I am both Four Seasons gal and Sherman Oaks Urgent Care gal. 

I contain multitudes. And antibiotics. 

Things I Want to Remember about April 2020: a List

The Quiet.

- The slow closing up of the world…

- The Quiet. The beautiful, terrifying Quiet.

- Pink blossoms in full bloom on the corner of 33rd and Broadway, with beautiful Edison bulbs hanging inside them. It took my breath away!

- a two-hour conversation on the phone with Tyne. My beloved friend and mentor.

- An extraordinary email from Ruthy Froch, that left me reeling

- Sending and receiving postcards and letters.

- Watching Trump destroy our country and himself, being filled with anger but mostly extraordinary sadness; and a fire in my belly to do everything in my power to contribute to changing the future.

- The passing of my friend, colleague, and inspiration, Terence McNally. 

- And how many wonderful texts, emails, phone calls, and conversations with those who shared his days his passing inspired, and how grateful I feel to have been lucky enough to have been in his circle. 

- Lessons from Tati (Eat that snack. Take the nap. Don’t morally assess anything. Don’t do. Be.)

- The incredibly somber moment Alec and I stopped in our tracks as we came across the impromptu refrigerated morgues outside on the sidewalk of Mt Sinai Queens.  

- Everything I learned whilst teaching

- Learning that thinking outside the box about how to stay connected whilst apart has provided all of us with huge new ideas and experiences never previously explored. Digital classes, weddings, funerals, birthdays… a way to be included where we’d previously assume one could not be included.

- Cooking with Alec

- Watching “Sister Act” with Alec and bursting at the seams with joy [and full choreography performed at 100] sharing it with him

- Dawn FaceTimes with Bobby every Tuesday.

- The birds that are starting to figure out that our bird feeder is a new local hangout in the neighborhood (and of course, Tati’s response…)

- This new concept of time... 

- The freeing, masked, frightened and dangerous walks we took, almost every day

- Supporting Etai. And Alexandra. Proverbially holding them.

- Alec, making a sweet little breakfast (grain-free) toast and egg every morning, and brought it to me on a blue plate and with the proudest grin. 

- Confronting The Quiet. 

- ...and welcoming it, too. 

- The discovery that "returning to normal" is not possible, and not going to happen, and the accompanying grief in response to that reality...

- ... and Yet. Yet. The recognition that our world's "normal" was not sustainable; our planet could not survive it, our bodies could not endure the stress, the hustle, the culture of lack. That we have been forced to face the consequences of our actions and thus, must build a new world. We have thus been invited--inside this horrendous global catastrophe filled with plague and fear and death-- to imagine a world with less hustle, less poverty, less inequity, and filled with more compassion, fairness, empathy, and wellness for ourselves and our one and only planet.

- Dawns. Lots of Dawns.

Spring isn't canceled.

FAQ - Part 6

1. You’ve premiered a bunch of new works (such as Arlington at the Vineyard Theater and Love Story at Walnut Street Theatre). What is the best thing about premiering a new theatrical work to an audience?

In my experience, there is absolutely nothing that can compare to being present at the birth of new work. I think the most profound experience I had with that was Arlington by Polly Pen and Victor Lodato— a solo (with a pianist/vocalist played brilliantly by Ben Moss) piece, told in direct-address about a woman waiting for her husband to return from fighting in a war that I debuted at Inner Voices in 2012, that went on to a fully realized production in 2014 at the Vineyard. It was one of the most challenging, confrontational, exhilarating experiences of my life in any arena. To be inside the creative crucible at the birth of a new work that felt so relevant, contemporary and important, crafting it daily with the creators, was the absolute honor of my life.

The world we live in deserves, craves, and needs new stories. Sometimes difficult, sometimes hopeful, stories.



2. Are there some specific works of art that have gotten you through tough times?

©hula seventy

A  real mixed bag here but here we go:

"Kid" Stuff:

• The Magician’s Nephew
• The Secret Garden
• Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Funny Stuff:

• It’s Called a Breakup Cuz It’s Broken

Deep Stuff:

• The works of Marcus Aurelius
• Far From the Tree
• Braving the Wilderness

I find children’s literature to be particularly soothing in times of crisis—perhaps because when I was a child, my life was in a state of low, sonorous, but constant crisis. I identified with the protagonist children in the stories above because I recognized their conditions—not necessarily the exact conditions, but close. I identified with The Magician’s Nephew because the protagonist wants nothing more than to retrieve a magical apple to make his dying mother well again. I wanted that for my father.
    Similarly,  The Secret Garden’s Mary Lennox saw the power of nature heal her chronically ill cousin back to health.
    By the time my father had passed away I was sharing my days with Harry Potter, who, in The Prisoner of Azkaban, thinks he sees his dead father perform an act of heroism in a time turning spell, only to learn the profound lesson that he did not, in fact, see his father—he saw himself. And Harry this performs the act of heroism because, having seen the image of himself perform the act, he now knows he is capable. That image has never left me.

It’s sardonic, brutal, best-friend-holding-your-shoulders bracing. It’s hilarious, painful and real: It’s Called a Breakup Cuz It’s Broken was given to me like a Holy Bible of how to break up by a friend from college passing through New York after her own horrendous breakup, at the dawn of one of mine. It’s not great deep literature but it’s fantastic. And crucial? It actually helped.



3. How do you feel you've grown artistically since your career began?

Tyne Daly taught me a phrase that her mother (also an actor) taught her:
    “Deeper. Fuller. Richer. Better.”
I think that sums it up as well as anything ever could. It’s my intention, it is my aspiration, it is my devotion.

I give fewer f*cks about the stuff that doesn’t really matter (praise, awards, fame, followers), and a lot more f*cks about the stuff that does (ethics, growth, lessons learned, relationships made, contributions to society at large). It’s less about me and more about how I can serve.


4. Where do you see yourself artistically in 5 years?

I would love to see each of my artistic “arms” lengthening and broadening.

I’d love to be consistently working as an actor and theatrical writer— contributing to the theatre.

I’d love to continue to relinquish my singing baggage and sing with greater ease, less drama, more joy, more clarity, and feel freer inside my technique so that there isn’t a single sound I don’t feel confident making.

I’d love to write more books. I’d love to see my books dramatized for the screen and play an active role in manifesting their creation.

Overall: I intend to continue to create and make works that matter to me personally as well as socially. I want to continue to learn new things and sharpen old knives. I intend to make personal, profound, universal, connective, and relevant work that matters to humanity on any scale.

I intend to keep walking my talk.

©hula seventy

Mentorship: Modern-day Alchemy

Introduction

Some mentors are easy to spot: they work for the Y, they have an office, a piece of paper that says they’re “allowed” to be looked up to and followed.

Often, they also have a specific connection to a vocation, like the apprenticeship model of ye olden days.  A young up-and-comer with reasonable potential, a fair amount of chutzpah and a spark of fire in the their belly dutifully reports to the workplace of Ebenezer Scrooge to learn a trade (hopefully with more coal and fewer ghosts…)

In modern times we have less and less of these relationships. The internet has become our universal teacher and connect-er—an “apprentice” can learn almost anything from the world wide web— from make-up tutorials and de-husking corn, from tiling your own bathroom to the intricacies of complex computer fixes. We no longer look to others we know—but to helpful, anonymous strangers.

I’m not complaining. I’ve credited YouTube countless times for assisting me in getting shit done (thank you for helping my mom reverse flush her engine core The Internet!)

But what gets lost is palpable— a relationship cherished and nurtured since Ancient Greek times, ingrained deep in the mire of our culture: true mentorship.

And what, truly, is mentorship? Traditionally it is defined as a relationship in which a more experienced or knowledgeable person helps to guide a less knowledgeable or experienced apprentice (sometimes also called a protégé—or, in contemporary times even referred to wryly as a “mentee”), so that the master’s knowledge and mastery becomes that of the protégé, giving them a launching pad with which to create their own path to individual mastery.

A great mentor knows where to focus attention, how to properly challenge the protégé; providing the most productive and meaningful kind of insight. Great mentors provide immediate and realistic feedback on the protégé’s work, so they can refine their skills in a streamlined and often, transcendent manner.

But those are all big fancy words.

True mentorship is above all, an interconnection based on Ye Olde Human Interaction; a learning partnership between someone with vast experience and someone who wishes to learn on a deeper level. One in which the tribal elder exceeds the practical role of teacher—that is to say, one who passes on factual information—but goes beyond to the highest reaches of human connection.

In essence: the way one can spot a mentorship is that in its presence, both parties are forever transformed.

*

Tyne and I

I first met Tyne Daly in March of 2010, when I was fortunate enough to be cast as Sophie DePalma in Terrence McNally’s Master Class at The Kennedy Center as part of a festival titled “Nights at the Opera”—a trilogy of McNally plays about McNally’s greatest passion. On day one I learned my first lesson from Tyne:

    “Hey kid: breathe. It’s free.”

Not bad advice for anyone, let alone someone who probably hadn't exhaled since 1991. 

I sat in the bowels of The Kennedy Center smack dab in the middle of what I now fondly refer to in public as "a period of extraordinary personal change" but what in private I recall as akin to ripping off my own skin. It was alchemical transformation and adversity, the very best kind of ass-kicking grow-up-or-else kind of moment. 

A gaggle of beautiful actors were all gathered together in our Nation’s capital, who, as it happened, were all also a period of the exact same nightmarish skin-ripping life exercise for all of our company, including Tyne. Marriages were over, pregnancies discovered, apartments lost, loved ones passed on. What an operatic-sized palaver. The details of that are unimportant, suffice it to say everyone was going in through it, looking-up-to-see-the-bottom kind of struggles. Heart-broken, grief-stricken, stupefied, broken-up-with, lost, and God-oh-God: out of town. 

Despite what could have been a group of suffering individuals in their isolated pools of light, we somehow made the collective choice to come together, and feel like shit as a collective, and allow the art to move through us and heal what was left of our hearts. Heck: it beat isolating ourselves in our individual misery-soak hotel rooms. (I mean, it was 2010—we still had to pay extra for WiFi...)

The climate of tenderness that surrounded that process was a kind of an aperture into the deepest recesses of human vulnerability.  It was then I learned my second lesson from Tyne: 

     Q: What does it mean to truly be a leading lady?

    Tyne: “Two things only: a leader, and a lady.”

We were brave because she helped us to be, and because she encouraged us to be and bring our highest selves to the process, it lead to our greatest work, a Broadway transfer, not to mention  lifelong relationships.

But what happened between Tyne and I specifically was magical. We shared something on a deeply spiritual level; had a connection in our eyes that I lack language to express. And as Sophie learned from Callas, so did Al from Tyne, and all the combinations therein.

The day we meet Sophie DePalma in Terrence McNally’s beautiful play, she has a great deal to prove—to the Julliard faculty. To her classmates. To Bellini. To that hateful ex-boyfriend we know nothing (and everything) about. But the day we meet her, all of that is secondary. That day Sophie has everything to prove to herself. And when I first met Sophie, so did I.

Tyne trusted me enough to bestow upon me the honor of truly playing with me.  Playing in the fencing-master-tossing-a-rapier-at-the-student-who-has-some-potential sense of the word.  She picked up her blade and challenged me with a valiant, open heart and a wry smile. To this day, it was the best match of my life.

She treated me like an equal (on and off stage), and I endeavored to deserve that honor. Her “game” improved mine, and what we created together is, without exception, my greatest, and most precious creation. We played the kind of “Deep Chess” Lawrence Ferlinghetti talks about in his poem of the same name:

“For you must play deep chess
Like the one deep game sparky won from fisher
And if your unstudied opening is not too brilliant
You must play to win
Not draw...”

Her Callas was towering, tender, monstrous, human, vulnerable, honest, and ultimately, incandescent. 

 As long as I live, I shall never forget it.

*

Mentorship: Modern-day Alchemy

It is known fact that when we admire people, we become more impressionable to everything they say and do.  We pay a fervent attention, a deeper kind of regard, and because our souls are engaged, it allows for a more powerful kind of learning.

After the run of (the aptly titled) Master Class in Washington, I was at a loss for what to do with my life, more specifically, where to live next. I had spent the last decade or so in the United Kingdom, and did not have a base in any American city…

…So what did Tyne suggest? Why, moving in with her of course. What followed was (yes, as you probably imagine) a series of Auntie Mame-like tales of absolute joy, friendship and epic learning—a back-and-forth dynamic that fueled, and perhaps healed, us both. An electric spark that only burned brighter as I gazed deeply into her mirror.

Lessons like going for walks:

    “How about we walk from the top of Central Park to the bottom? All we need is the right shoes and the right ATTITUDE. Which, come to think of it, is all we ever need…!

Lessons like, believing in your own longevity:

    “Long after the world has forgotten so many, I am going to come see you play Cleopatra. Just keep going kid.”

Lessons like:

    - day trips
    - poetry recitations
    - how to make the perfect ginger beer
    - Countless trips to concerts and the theatre (naturally)
    - Poker night
    - An actual 'Twelfth Night' ritual (where we invite everyone over, and we eat and drink the very last bits and bobs from every tupperware and wine bottle til nothing is left) 
    - The listening of radio plays
    - Writing
    - Discussions of theatrical greats of yore
    - The moving of my 110-year-old Chickering piano to her New York apartment, where it currently still lives.
    - Tarot card readings

And, when my heart broke recently in the presence of another theatrical experience, she offered the following:

    “You are gonna be heartbroken, beaten to death, crushed to a pulp, disappointed and obliterated. But other than that? You’re gonna be okay.”

*

Life is ephemeral. So is the theatre. We cannot hold it in our hands. We all love that which vanishes. The play must end. The company shall disband, life will march on.

And just like the ephemeral theatre, thus is life: our time here on earth for learning and growth is finite. Nowadays we often think it is admirable to “become ourselves” all on our own, to DIY the apprenticeship phase of development and emerge fully formed as if artistry and mastery hatch out of an egg with no visible signs of effort or training.

I encourage you to humble yourself to the apprenticeship process, for without role models, teachers, parental figures and mentors, we can waste valuable time attempting to gain knowledge from un-serviceable sources.

Further, be courageous enough to ask for mentorship. There is always a quivering ego involved in asking for help from those we admire, but trust that those with lessons to offer more often than not, truly wish to have the opportunity give back in a meaningful way, they are merely waiting to be invited to do so. Have faith that the process will be mutually beneficial, and remember: no matter what there is nothing to be lost by complimenting a master, and asking for their guidance. 

Above all, while we must always strive to grow beyond those who came before us, we must revere and learn from those that broke the ground originally, and endeavor to honor their legacy; then continue it in our own vision.

*

A Moment

Hours before our first preview on Broadway, Tyne asked me to come down to her dressing room to run our lines together in an "Italianne”— a run of the lines at increased speed. Italiannes are like calisthenic warm-ups for your brain, and with so much talking and nerves high, they are a great tool in moments such as these.

We settled down, placed our bags, zipped our cardigans, and sat down in her room—not yet moved into, not yet her own.

And then, without ceremony, we began.

There was no music. There was no one else. It was just us and the words.

Throughout this experience, I had accustomed myself to criticism—I needed Tyne’s feedback to be a realistic appraisal of who I was as a human being and actor; through that kind of evaluation, we all develop a confidence that is much more tangible.

One might  think that in that dressing room—flourescently lit and unceremoniously dressed—that  this little exercise of the run would be dry, hollow.  But the words were so powerful, and our feelings for those words, and above all, for each other, so unutterably potent, we both directly went ”there."

Tears fell.
Hands were grasped.
It was our own little theatre, our own magic, right there in that sterile little room.

It is in this sacred moment that I realize I have chosen, and been chosen by, the perfect mentor according to my dreams and Life’s mission—the future artist I aspire, endeavor, and dream to become.  The mentor you choose must be allied in the same way.

    "... I want you to imagine you are Amina. This is opera Sophie. You're alone on a great stage. Make us feel what you feel. Show us that truth..."

That's it.
We finished.
There was a silence and in it, we both looked away.

Then she leaned in, held my hand and uttered,

     "I love this. And you."

©clinton brandhagen

Favo(u)rite Performances: A List

1. Charles Dance in Shadowlands 
I spent the first 8 years of my adulthood in the UK, first training in Glasgow at The Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, and then working in the West End in London— so many of my early, endemic theatre experiences are from those years. There were countless performances I’d describe as “wonderful,” but the one that sticks out as unspeakably thriling. That was Charles Dance as C.S. Lewis in Shadowlands at the Novello in 2008.

I was performing in Fiddler on the Roof (because, yes, it is the only show I do…) down the road at The Savoy so I took in a mid-week matinee and scarcely had any tears left for my own show that evening.

I was so overwhelmed by the entire production that I returned a second time (something I had, up until that point, never done before) and was, in fact, moved even more intensely upon re-viewing.

Incidentally [*crazy alert*] later that week, I happened to see Charles Dance purchasing (of all things) a meat pie in Covent Garden. I tried with all my might to muster up the courage/language/scrap of dignity to speak to him, thank him, be even remotely articulate. But alas, I hid behind a pillar starring at him like a stalker and just watched him buy and eat that pie… what a weirdo... Clearly, he truly left me speechless. 

It is/was my favorite performance I have/had ever seen in London.


2. American Idiot 
I can’t even talk/write about this one— woof (look: animal noises are a more apt description of my emotions than human language). It is so fascinating because AI isn’t really my “aesthetic” (I tend to enjoy classics more than contemporary things), nor is rock really my thing. But 9$84yo3h&l@ksjdnb*%clka¢sj¡, it didn’t just move me: IT TOTALLY DESTROYED ME.

How much you ask? It is the only time I have ever been obliterated so completely by a piece of theatre that the ushers came up to the puddle that was me after the theatre had cleared out and said “Um, miss? Uh, everything…okay? [*sobs more*] Okay well, um, we’re closing up…”

That music was the un-intentional soundtrack to my adolescence. And I know those people. They are my people.


3. The entire original cast of Ragtime 
There is no other piece of theatre that meant more to my family. The Original Cast recording pretty much orchestrated our lives in the late 90s, and no other piece of contemporary theatre has ever rocked me like it. I think you could say that long before I ever saw Ragtime live, it had already formed and shaped my personal connection to, my aesthetic, and my feelings for and about, the theatre. So when my father made it his mission to take our family to New York to see it, suffice it to say: WE MELTED. We cried a lake of tears and it not only met our expectations, it exceeded them.

4. Angela Lansbury in A Little Night Music. 
Anyone who even REMOTELY knows me personally, or follows me on social media, or happens to casually see my iPhone wallpaper knows that I have a mild (read: ridiculously-out-of-control) obsession with my only idol: Angela Lansbury. Can you believe it took me 26 years to see her live on stage?

Having admired her on television, in films and on every cast recording she EVERMADEINTHEHISTORYOFEVER, the very first time I saw her live on stage was as Madame Arcadi in the 2009 revival of A Little Night Music and… I died a little.

Could I meet her afterward at stage door? Nope. I’m actually quite shy, and I also would never have known what to say… it was pretty magical to be 25 feet away from your only idol for the first time, and also? She was marvelous and classy and beyond beautiful in the role.


5. The Seagull at Lake Lucille 

 This cannot even be called a production, but is more accurately to be titled an “event” of epic proportions. I am a major fan of both Chekhov and “marathon theatre,” but this took both to the utter extreme. Founded by Melissa Kievman and Brian Mertes in 2003 the Lake Lucille project re-framed their Rockland County home as a performance venue. Basically? You drive out to Lake Lucille. You park near their house. And you (and maybe 90 other people) witness an all-encompassing, site-specific, marathon theatre event where 4 acts of The Seagull takes the entire day to witness.

In between Acts 2 and 3, you eat a gigantic potluck meal in a field. Actors enter from across the lake, they swim when they exit. Live music accompanies a parade that walks the crowd to the following scene. Mind. Blown.

It didn’t hurt that my treasured pal Gabriel Ebert played Konstantin with such depth and vigor, who is absolutely the best Kostya I have ever seen live (and I’ve seen a baker’s dozen).

6. Danny Burstein in The Drowsy Chaperone 
Just…
GUYS: Adolpho.

We were in the presence of genius there, folks, and anyone who saw it knows it. I don’t think there is anything else to say other than it is a performance that was so out-of-this-world I’m still not quiiiiite sure it was real.

7. Hoon Lee in The King & I 
I saw Bart Scher’s revival in October and while the entire production was wholly spectacular, Hoon Lee blew my brains out. Allow me to quote from the email I sent him 45 minutes after seeing it:

Hoon. I just wanted to tell you that I saw the matinee of The King and I today and the entire production, but particularly your performance absolutely blew me the f*** away. I was wiping tears from my NECK. What you did was so incredibly nuanced, genuine, funny(!), overwhelmingly powerful, and detailed— a true work of art, not to mention beautifully sung. You moved me so deeply— I just absolutely had to reach out! You're turning something out that is SO classy and breathtaking. 

Hoon is an amazing guy too— a Harvard grad, humble, funny, nerdy, a family-man, and one OUT OF THE WORLD KING OF SIAM.

You can still see him through February.
Run to see it.

8. Urinetown. 
Oh my Lordy loo. (Pun intended) All of it.

Like: what the actual HECK Original Cast of Urinetown? I'm gonna need you to dial the awesome down because us mere mortals cannot cope.

Theatre legends paying to pee, schooling us in irony and nuevo-farce, and off course, John Cullum, Jeff McCarthy, Hunter Foster, and Nancy Opel belting Zs. It was painfully hilarious, not to mention oddly poignant.

I saw it with Michael Arden in limited view seats and still, when it was over I wanted to press proverbial ‘rewind’ and just see the spectacular insanity again.

9. Alan Cumming in Cabaret 
I was lucky enough to see Alan (fellow RCS alum doncha know) in both the 1998 revival (and the 2014 revival [of the revival?])

The 1998 viewing rocked me—and not only had me thinking outside the box, but it blew UP the box and likely scorched my previously-held, teenaged “aesthetics” to ash. His was the first time I had ever seen an actor dare to not just “get dirty” (and not—though definitely appropriate—in the sexual sense). I mean he was b*lls-to-the-wall, cover-yourself in muck and glitter and disgrace and don’t give a solitary f*** what anyone thinks: just get out there and put it all on the line without a scrap of fear or shame.

Not a worry.
Not a speck of fear.
Just tons of grit.
Humor.
Generosity.
Creative flow.
 It left me awestruck.

The cheating answers:

from Oedipus at Colonus

10. My students at Pace University 
Okay. I know they are not On, Off, or Off-off Broadway, but they might be anyfreakinsecond. I have the honor of being an acting professor at Pace University in the extraordinary School of Performing Arts, and what I have witnessed in these bright, beautiful, open and glorious young people is the future of our industry and nothing short of miraculous.

My class specializes in classics, so the work I’ve witnessed and lead has been primarily in five (mind-melting) ancient Greek tragedies, The Seagull, and The Spoon River Anthology. I could never select just one performance, but suffice it to say that Hammerstein’s words ring true:

“It’s a very ancient saying, but a true and honest thought, that if you become a teacher, by your pupils you’ll be taught.”


11. Tyne Daly in Master Class
I know it is sort of cheating to talk about an actor one has shared a stage with, but Tyne’s performance as Maria Callas in Terrence McNally’s Master Class revival in 2011 is one that rises to top of best stage partners I’ve ever had the honor of playing with.

 Tyne treated me like an equal (on and off stage), and I endeavored to deserve that honor. Her “game” improved mine, and what we alchemically created together was one of the greatest, and most precious creations of my life.

Her Callas was towering, tender, monstrous, human, vulnerable, honest, and ultimately, incandescent.

As long as I live, I shall never forget it.

'The Maid-Servant At The Inn' by Dorothy Parker

"It's queer," she said; "I see the light
As plain as I beheld it then,
All silver-like and calm and bright-
We've not had stars like that again!

"And she was such a gentle thing
To birth a baby in the cold.
The barn was dark and frightening-
This new one's better than the old.

"I mind my eyes were full of tears,
For I was young, and quick distressed,
But she was less than me in years
That held a son against her breast.

"I never saw a sweeter child-
The little one, the darling one!-
I mind I told her, when he smiled
You'd know he was his mother's son.

"It's queer that I should see them so-
The time they came to Bethlehem
Was more than thirty years ago;
I've prayed that all is well with them."

- Dorothy Parker

"Ac-cen-tuate the Positive": or, A Phone Call with Tyne Daly

Things you need to know to appreciate the following:

1. So I'm going in for Gypsy.
2. I obviously told Tyne about it. 
3. Senses of wonder, humor and irony... (as in "how is this my real life...?")

This is the "transcript" from the middle of our phone call:

*

Tyne: So when are you going back in?
Me: Next week.
Tyne: Haven't we discussed that you don't really have the legs?
     [::sigh::]
Me: ..... yes Tyne.
Tyne: Well you have everything else!! You have the soul! AND you have TITS--and she didn't have those. Plus I think science has proven that if you have tits no one cares about your legs. But you should probably wear dark hose. NOT patterned hose, just DARK, SOLID HOSE--
Me: --Okay
Tyne: If all else fails there are always SHOES--
Me: --OKAY...Thanks Tyno.
Tyne: [singing] --AC-CEN-TUATE THE POS-I-TIVE!
Me: I get it.
Tyne: ...Anyway, are we meeting this weekend? I thought we could go for a walk.
Me: Sure. I could use some exercise for my hideous legs.
Tyne: I'm ignoring that. How about we walk from the top of Central Park to the bottom?
Me: Sure.
Tyne: All we need is the right shoes and the right ATTITUDE. Which, come to think of it, is all we ever need...!
     [Call waiting beeps]
Me: I gotta go Tyno, Len Cariou is calling me back.
Tyne: Tell him he owes me a phone call! And roughly $30.
     [Pause]
Me: ... I will.

[Scene] 

Letting it go...

Did you know that Sophie is a derivative of Sophia - derived from σοφία, the Greek word (and philosophical concept) for "Wisdom?" Well. There are no coincidences. Oh Soph, how your wisdom took me, took all of us, in fact, by surprise...


Sophie DePalma has been in my life since November of 2009. Believe it. I just checked through my emails. I first heard and learned "Ah, Non Credea" on a trip back from London when I was still under the impression that I lived there and would be "right back."

Remember that?

And remember when I was late for the audition because I accidentally locked myself in the utility closet? And remember singing "What's The Use of Wonderin'?" followed by the aria, all for Terrence and Stephen and the rest of the Kennedy Center team, and then, in a rush of nerves and nerdiness admitting that you learned the thing from YouTube?

And do you recall walking out of the audition and wanting it so badly but knowing that you had just locked yourself IN A CLOSET and that things were looking a little grim?

And how you met with Kevin Emrick (portentously outside of Manhattan Theatre Club) when you found out that you had, in fact, as if by magic, somehow gotten the job and you celebrated with pickles and matzoh ball soup because suddenly the next few months of your life made some sense?

That was before Washington.
Before the Terrence McNally Triptych.
Before I had really come to grips with "what had happened in London."
Before the first time I fell on my knees with Tyne, Jeremy, and Stephen, rehearsing the aria ... 
Before singing at Terrence and Tom's wedding.
Before staying in Tyne's apartment.
Before committing to making New York City my home.
Before Broadway.
Before I, or perhaps anyone else, even knew that Sophie was going to mean, to be, far more than simply fun.

The day we meet Sophie, she has a great deal to prove--to the Juilliard faculty. To her classmates. To that ex-boyfriend we know nothing (and everything) about. To the girl he walked away with. 

But today, all of that is secondary. Today Sophie has everything to prove to herself. 

And when I first met Sophie, so did I.

I believe that every one of us, no matter what we do, or how well we seemingly do it; no matter our status, security, the number or depth of relationships-- every single one of us fears that we are Not Enough.

And so, in a series of attempts to be "enough" we add to ourselves--  we wear the wrong thing, talk too much, give too much, are too much, because we don't realize that the only way to be? Is to simply Be.

And there Sophie is-- emotionally poverty-stricken and in the wrong outfit. She is overly solicitous, eager and cute, and full of inappropriate one-liners, all in attempt to beg for a scrap of love. . . Sound familiar?

That said, I also believe this: we all possesses a kind of greatness inside of us. Something-- no matter how miniscule it may seem with our own judgmental gaze upon ourselves, it is there. It may be locked away-- tied up with chains inside a cage of self-doubt, imprisoned in anxieties and crushed by fears. But it is there: waiting, surging with a kind of ancient longing. It is holding on for the day you find the courage to burst through.

The truth is, so few of us ever do. That is okay. That is allowed. But when it happens, it is a trans-formative, deeply miraculous thing. 

The day we meet Sophie? She does it.
It happens.
That miracle.

Callas demands "juice, passion," Self from Sophie. Callas' techniques may be clumsy, violent, harsh, oddly caring and sensitive, definitely unpredictable, and probably accidental, but it doesn't matter. What they find together touches upon the wisdom derived from that ancient longing. Sophie gets it. And both are transformed. Or shall I say, all are transformed? Yes. I think that is accurate, for we all take that journey with them. I know that I shall never be the same myself.

Perhaps that is why I love Sophie DePalma so much-- hers is a tiny story, but one as old as the world. A story of hope.

"They should teach us a lot of things they don't."

Life is ephemeral. So is the theatre. We cannot hold it in our hands. We all love that which vanishes. The play must end. The company shall disband, life will march on.

So here's to you, Sophie, and all others like you.
It has been my honor to tell your story.

Remember the links.
Remember a pencil,
and above all, remember,

"It's all there, Sophie. These composers knew the human heart. All we have to do is listen..."

*

To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

  -  Mary Oliver

 

A Moment

©clinton brandhagen

Hours before our first preview on Broadway, Tyne recalls our terrifying first preview in DC. She asks me to come down to her dressing room to run our lines together in an "Italianne"-- a run of the lines at increased speed. Italiannes are like calisthenic warm-ups for your brain, and with so much talking and nerves high, they are a great tool in moments such as these.

We settle down, bags placed, cardigans zipped, and sit down in her room--not yet moved into, not yet her own.

And then, without ceremony, we begin.

There is no music. There is no one else. It is just us and the words.

One might  think that in this cozy dressing room--flourescently lit and unceremoniously dressed--that  this little exercise the run would be dry, hollow.  But the truth is, the words are so powerful, and our feelings for those words and above all, for each other, so untterably potent, we both go directly "there."

Tears fall.
Hands are grasped. It is our own little theatre, our own alchemical magic, right there in a sterile little room.

"... I want you to imagine you are Amina. This is opera Sophie. You're alone on a great stage. Make us feel what you feel. Show us that truth..."

That's it.
We finish.
There is a silence and in it, we both look away.
Then she leans in, holds my hand and utters,

     "I love this. And you."
 

I've Been

Al & Sierra: toes in the sand

re-discovering Sophie De Palma!

drinking peach martinis with Tyne.

engaging in "The Adventures of Sophie & Sharon" with fellow Master Class-er Sierra Boggess, which includes:
     18 holes of mini golf
     visits to The Intrepid
     shoe parades
     deep-and-meaningfuls deep into the night
     planning our epic dressing room
     and biking the entire isle of Manhattan.

...speaking of which, filming "The Last Street in Manhattan" on Law & Order Criminal Intent and adoring it.

the freakin' Squad Room!!

Rocking adulthood.

Writing. Every day.

Meeting my hand twin: English actress and singer Gina Beck. It was pretty crazy.

Running along the East River. Every day.

Singing like never before!

Staying healthy.

D.I.Y-tastic! WHO INSTALLED (with her fierce-as-you-know-what-DIY-tastic-Mommy) 4, count them FOUR of HER OWN CEILING FANS WITH ONLY MINIMAL ELECTRICAL DRAMA?! (Okay. Look. There was only one teeeeeeny tiiiiiny fire which required professional attention and that was only because the wires were over 100 years old...) BUT WE DID IT AND I SIT HERE TYPING BY THE COOLING BREEZES COMING FROM MY CEILING....

dying Easter eggs with pals! 

Having the most incredible week-long reunion with my brother, sister-in-law Maggie, Maggie's mom Leslie, nieces Hannah and Madison, and my Mom in The Big Apple. Magical.

Really plugging into New York City: The Big Apple (as I enjoy calling it...)

Reuniting with the Hello Again family ON "The 12th of Maaaaaay..." (dorks.)

the gang reunites

Enjoying watermelon season. YES. A lot. 

Seeing all sorts of theatre.

Loving Brother John Glover in the city of Brotherly Love. (This, specifically included, in order... 1. Tyne had no lipstick (?!!) 2. Glove and I offer to have an adventure by running across the street and buying her "Diva Red" from the Mac store 3. which Glover subsequently tries on...declaring "Patti Lupone taught me about Diva Red when I was playing Bunny the Drag Queen..." 4. We quoted Thornton Wilder's The Matchmaker when agreeing we were on an adventure, this engaging in "PUDDING" 5. Ultimately, we were clique-y today. Guilty.)

whhhhhaaaat?!

Riding to Philadelphia IN. A. STRETCH. LIMO. BY. MY. SELF...

...and back to New York with Marc Bruni: a man I barely knew but we now know EVERY detail of one anothers' life stories. Fact.

Oh yeah, and I've been making my debut on THE BROADWAY.

Master Class on Broadway

First Tech Week on Broadway

Never in all my life have I experienced so pleasant, stress-free and flat-out dreamy a tech week.

This company, valiantly spear-headed by our immaculate leading lady Tyne Daly and charismatic fearless leader, director Stephen Wadsworth, has engaged with one another, taken care of each other, and managed to finish every aspect of this beautiful Broadway show ahead of schedule without a single tear or raised voice or actor meltdown.  We are all still passionate, energized and completely in love with one another.

That is a miracle.

...So. Tuesday the audience arrives and we all eagerly await our "seventh character" and look forward to telling and sharing this story with all of you. Here's to my first tech week on Broadway. I hope and trust it will not be my last. I am a lucky and grateful lady.




all photographs by Clinton Brandhagen

* * *


Terrence McNally’s music-kissed biographical drama about opera diva Maria Callas, Master Class, begins previews as Broadway’s Samuel J. Friedman Theatre June 14.According to MTC, “McNally’s award-winning play about Callas takes us to one of her famous master classes where, late in her own career, she challenges the next generation to make the same sacrifices and dare to rise to the same heights she did, making her the most celebrated, the most reviled and the most controversial singer of her times.” Tyne Daly leads a cast that features Sierra Boggess, Clinton Brandhagen, Jeremy Cohen, Alexandra Silber and Garrett Sorenson. Stephen Wadsworth directs.

Sometimes there is just nothing to say...

So...I'm not gonna lie: I burst into tears when I got this in the post today. 

I cannot believe I am fortunate enough to be involved in such a beautiful event, honoring so special a person, and with such distinguished people. 

Yep, I cried. 

Dork. 

But a grateful dork. 

Men of Parts

There was a period of time in 2010 when I lived with Tyne Daly.
I know.
I know what that sentence sounds like and—just to anticipate all of your questions—yes, it was everything you thought and imagined and hoped it would be. There were late night musings, strong drinks, records of Olivier's Hamlet, trips down memory lane, chandeliers given by June Horvath, hours and hours (and hours) of shared poetry, and crucially: hot pink bed-sheets; all in an apartment that once belonged to Lotte Lenya. She’s both a classy broad and a true lady, an old soul who can play like a child with a sharp-as-cheddar mind and the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen.
I love her.
We’re family.
I’d give her a kidney.

Tyne does not have a television set, but someone, (I am thinking either the Emmy Voting committee or her television-loving friend Rosie O'Donnell?) bought her a small screen DVD-only player. I am not going to lie here, I really love television. In fact, I'm pretty passionate about it. I am not someone who casually watches or just has it on all the time, no. Televisual consumption is an active thing, I sit down with a box set and dive. in.

Having never had Sky Plus or Tivo, I have never been able to record TV, so I have been perhaaaaaps known to schedule stuff around programming. (Tuesday nights in Glasgow when I was in college and should have been partying or studying or doing something suitably youthful? I said this sentence more than once, "Tuesday? Ooo I can't I have plans so sorry." Which roughly translates to: "Sorry dude, back-to-back CSI is on. I have crime to fight.") So living in a flat/apartment without one was... a true test. So thank goodness for Emmy voting season and Tyne's ‘For Your Consideration’ box sets and my still-clinging on Region 1 DVD collection.

Tonight? I watched Shakespeare in Love.

And I have to say, I do not feel that I have ever truly watched this film. When it came out in 1998, I was 15-- already a great lover of the theatre, but unfamiliar with so many of the British actors who grace the screen (and many who would become my friends and colleagues), with so much of the factual nods, the inside jokes, the delightful word-play that peppers the incredible screenplay, nor was I as appreciative about the natures of both creativity and love itself as I would eventually grow to become. I was still a teenager. I enjoyed the film, it was about everything I enjoyed but I did not 'get' it.

I did not get it until tonight.

My Dad really loved this film, he watched it over and over again, sometimes all by himself. Dad was a certified genius and it took a lot to get him to focus on television for an extended period without his mind wandering to the thousands of calculations and ideas that constantly flooded his brilliant mind. But this film? He adored. And tonight I profoundly understood why. I don't want to go into the why too much, but I will say that it had a great deal to do with this quote:

"The Master of the Revels despises us all for vagrants and peddlers of bombast. But my father, James Burbage, had the first license to make a company of players from Her Majesty, and he drew from poets the literature of the age. We must show them that we are men of parts. Will Shakespeare has a play. I have a theatre. The Curtain is yours."

I think we all experience moments such as these, but how curious: adult Al profoundly connecting with adult Dad. And so absolute was the understanding, so acute was this moment of connection, I actually picked up the phone to call him and share...

... I know what you are thinking. But you know what? It wasn't sad. Rather, it felt that for a brief moment he was still here. In fact, this experience is proof that in so many ways, he still is. Alone in a beautiful apartment on the island of Manhattan I looked briefly out at the sky and put my phone down. I smiled.

Love keeps going.

Al & Dad - 1998

I've Been...

Writingwritingwriting

Couch-hopping like a pro

Enjoying a few hearty platonic sleepovers with incredible musician and friend Gabriel Kahane

Dreaming of Russia...

Singing with Ted and Chris and Santino and Victoria

Putting it all in a box. Literally.

Living in Tyne Daly's apartment. Fine.

…That was once the home of Lotte Lenya, Noel Coward and Hermione Gingold. Also fine.

Meeting with Sony

Reunitiung on Cinco de Mayo with the Interlochen Sextet

Sorting out Santino’s wardrobe once again (particularly proud am I of the S.O.S t-shirt worn on the Drama Desk Nominee gathering)

Ruling, I mean really truly, ruling, the skee ball machine at Coney Island

Pool sharking

Treated by a doctor whose every look and manner bespeaks Keanu Reeves…

Apartment hunting

Present in a room with so many celebrities it felt downright inappropriate

Running in to Chelsea Clinton’s broken leg. Oops.

Finding honesty, openness, warmth, generosity, connection and a true new friend in the beautiful Jill Paice— (to whom I owe much more than I could ever articulate here, but luckily managed the courage to express to her recently over cappuccino. Which was, incidentally, delicious...)

Staying up until 5:30 am laughing, crying and catching up with Ruthiewithaheart in our greatest ever slumber party

Stealing Dan Ackroyd’s internet. (You can thank him for this very blog publication)

In a single week, the recipient of many an ancient affectionate confession…

Obessesed with Tyne’s HBO “For Your Emmy Consideration” box set— has anyone seen all of these incredible shows? Bored to Death, Hung, Big Love, Curb Your Enthusiasm? A.ma.zing.

Planning a cabaret debut. (More to come!)

Exploring New York City.

Putting down some permanent roots. 

A Pilates PRO.

Serenaded by Mandy Patinkin. (Daaaamn….)

Capturing the Zeitgeist, Part Four: One Last Hurrah

I feel inclined, on Ms DePalma's final day of performance, to share with you one last Sophie Hurrah. She will be missed, but clearly she shall continue to live on... perhaps in her very own Vegas show... you never know... her off stage persona gets a lot of air time... clearly...

Future possibility:

Sophie DePalma: A Road Trip with Sharon
     [includes preliminary scenes composed yesterday with Laquita that go roughly like this:

1.

Sophie: Hi Sharon, um... I heard you live in Ohio and I live in Michigan so maybe we could roadtrip it back together after the semester is over...? I have a car, pop some Rossini in the tape-deck and ride into the Midwest together? ...

Sharon: [pause] No.

2.

Sophie: Hi there Sharon

Sharon: [silence]

Sophie: Okay. Well sooooooo sorry to bother you about this but could I borrow your Norma score? I'm working on Teneri figli and was studying in the bath and whoops! dropped it in and I have a coaching in an hour and.. you know... it would be soooo great if you would lend me yours and I'll give it right back safe and sound I promise! [smiles]

Sharon: [eyes wide, not blinking, stares at her in total whyareyoueventalkingtome astonishment] No.

[she walk away, and just before she turns a corner--] and girl, you should stop studying in the bath!

After these scenes Sharon's flight is cancelled due to apocalyptic winter weather and she concedes to go with Sophie on the road trip in order to make it back to Ohio in time for Christmas... with hilaaaaaarious consequences! Thoughts?

*

And other possibilities include:

Sophie DePalma and the Lost Umbrella 

Sophie DePalma: Down Under

Sophie on the Roof

Sophie DePalma's SCHOOL OF ROCK

Sophie Knows What You Did Last Summer 

Sophie at the Bat

Are you there God? It's me Sophie.

Sophie DePalma  Explains it All For You

Basically, Sophie DePalma is the gift that keeps on giving...

*

And a final word from Genius and Director Stephen Wadsworth [pictured left]:

"Sophie takes out full-page advertisement in New York Times (paid for by her Russian mafia sabrillionaire boyfriend): SOPHIE DE PALMA, STUDENT OF MARIA CALLAS, NOW OFFERING VOICE LESIONS.

Only after it goes to press does someone bring her attention to the fact that it says lesions and not lessons.

She is however contacted by several late-career singers looking for a way to wind down.  She succeeds in giving them vocal lesions through the same exercises she used for vocal lessons, they file for workman's compensation on their last job, her husband pays their legal bills, and she becomes quite famous for destroying voices on a tight schedule.  Late in life, after her trial in the Hague on charges of genocide, she tells the Washington Post, "There are so many teachers out there building voices, I thought it would be good to help people destroy them.  I mean, what are you going to do with a great big voice if you're just going to end up in a little room in an old people's home?  Where are you going to put it.  Do you really think the family is going to STORE it?"

xx"

Farewell Sophie DePalma: You were not only a lovely, well-meaning, sensitive girl capable of such depth and feeling... you were also a hell of a hoot. Don't be a stranger.

Over and out.