Cue Fagan earworm for the rest of the day.
A particularly complicated space I have managed to carve out for myself is that of reviewer in the field in which I try to have a career (word used because there isn’t a proper one to describe the all over dabbleness of what it is I actually do). It is between a huge rock of irony and a hard place of communal despair (universal and timeless when it comes to theatre that isn’t in New York City and On Broadway) that I put myself. Because I write about other people’s theatre work to get people into the theatre. And I am honest (even though it comes at a terrible price) because I want people to be able to trust me, and get to know me by my likes and dislikes.
But it is a dance, and I suck at the choreography of innuendo, and politic, and getting comps, and being part of the system, and being outside of the system, and having to rely on the same when I put on my own work, and then seeing something that is brilliant that isn’t getting audiences, and then feeling like I can’t get my own work into the spaces because I am more valuable as an external voice, and then seeing something terrible and having my heart fill my mouth and make me wordless, and then straying from the pack and doing something different that nobody sees, and appreciating the effort and hating the result of something, or seeing through the hype, or believing my own hype, and around the mulberry bush I go, mostly at 430am in the morning.
So, I am going to say it here, and test it out on myself. It’s good to be writing from meganshead again.
Last night was the final performance of our 5 night run of The Deep Red Sea at the Alexander Bar. I loved getting the piece onto stage, and am absolutely convinced it has a life beyond, and now I need to start thinking about what that looks like.
Lost Property found a home last night, at the Jersey City Theater Center and I am exhausted, happy, proud, excited and hopeful about this play. Olga Levina, Catalina Florescu, and your team you were so welcoming, encouraging and supportive. It was also a privilege to be in great company with the other writers.
Yesterday was hot. The cool aircon of the Path Subway to Jersey City was a delicious respite. Our rehearsal was intense. I have written a really hardcore play. Jaci and Zane are dream players. We always feel like we want to be doing the full production.
After rehearsals we traveled back to Manhattan and caught a 5pm show of by Bill Posely in a gorgeous old theatre The SoHo Playhouse. It was a very special one man show; a personal, funny, well observed journey towards bi-racial identity and how it plays out in a world obsessed with binary labels, boxes and things. I was charmed and moved by him.
Day 2 was me thrown into the deep end, extreme walking jet lag off, a visit to the Biennale at The Whitney, a trip back up to the Upper East Side, then back down to almost where I was before, to wait in a queue, watching the sailors in their white on the beginning of Memorial Day Weekend, while we waited for the ‘gate’ to open. Then it was the trek up to the top deck of The Intrepid, an actual airplane carrier, with planes on it (and a museum below) for the yearly outdoor screening of Top Gun. I will never be able to accurately explain what it was like. Mad, strange, hilarious, nostalgic, cute, mad, funny and bizarre. Google it. Beyond.
