Kate Mulley

Another French title, another star turn for a British actor. This time it was Douglas Hodge in La Cage Aux Folles. I don’t know if it’s because I lived in London during a very impressionable period of my life, but there is something about these subtle British actors that just slays me in a way that doesn’t happen as often with their American peers. Now, having written that, I suppose I can’t really say that Mark Rylance’s* performance in La Bete is in anyway subtle, and I found David Hyde Pierce’s performance in that show the epitome of subtle brilliance.

I had seen the West End production of La Cage Aux Folles almost 2 years ago, with Jodi, my former colleague at Nick Hern Books. We were a little embarrassed to see it, but thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. We didn’t have the good fortune of seeing Douglas Hodge’s performance though, so I was hoping to see it when he came to Broadway. And I’m incredibly glad that I did. The musical itself is a bit of a confection, though filled with hummable tunes and farcical situations. Hodge, however, is utterly heart-breaking as the aging drag queen cast aside by his son. Am embedding a montage from the show, which is probably more entertaining for me than for people who haven’t seen it, alas, but it gives you a good sense of how unapologetically entertaining the show is. Hodge and Kelsey Grammar are only in the show for another 3 weeks, I’d definitely recommend seeing them before the new (equally entertaining, but less subtle) cast members arrive.

* Speaking of Mark Rylance, apparently he came into the bookshop when I was on a plane to Los Angeles. But he also said he would be back. Fingers crossed. And, of course, I didn’t see any celebrities in LA.

There’s been a lot circulating about the Wasserstein Prize since Friday afternoon when I happened to see a link to Michael Lew’s post on facebook. I was working at the bookshop at the time with a colleague who is also a female playwright. I read his post out loud and we spent much of the afternoon discussing what it meant and how odd the decision was. For those of you who aren’t up to speed, the jist is this. The Wendy Wasserstein Prize is $25,000 awarded to an emerging playwright under 32. The committee receives nominations from artistic directors, literary managers, etc and then narrows them down. Most startling to me was that there were only 19 nominees. 19! The definition of emerging for the purpose of the award is not having received a major regional theatre production or New York production in a theatre larger than 199 seats and not having worked for television. I personally have no problem with these constraints, but they mean that the committee probably should work harder to find nominees than going through established artistic directors and literary managers. Monday afternoon, the committee announced they would reevaluate the 19 nominees after online petitions and a host of bad PR.

A lot of people have thrown Annie Baker’s name around and while I’m a big fan of her work, I think that it would be silly to refer to her as emerging at this stage in her career. She’s had three productions in New York alone, productions across the country and in London and her play Circle Mirror Transformation has received tons of accolades. She’s also appeared on the cover of American Theater magazine. I imagine that takes you beyond the auspices of “emerging” or at least I would hope. As someone firmly in the “emerging” stage of my career, I don’t think that Baker and I should be considered in the same pool.

My senior year of college, Wasserstein was a visiting fellow for the semester. She provided me with valuable feedback on a reading of my first full-length play and spurred me to follow my dream of writing for the stage. Before her illness kept her from teaching a summer playwriting class, I was set to be her teaching assistant. I moved to New York, doggedly pursued internships at off-Broadway theaters and assumed I would apply to MFA programs in the next couple years. My dream, of course, being Yale. That was the track that I thought everyone, especially writers like me, would take. I soon realized that I was far too young and inexperienced to seriously consider applying. There are exceptions to that (a classmate at Dartmouth, Carly Mensch, is one of them), but for me, I needed more time. I found that time in my MA at Goldsmiths in London. Surrounded by 9 other writers at various stages of their lives as playwrights I got to spend a year playing around with form and style. After my masters, I took part in writers groups at the Soho Theatre and the Royal Court (where, notably, I was one of few writers with an MA, which is NOT true of emerging writers groups in New York). In London, most of the playwrights being produced have not received a masters. They have developed their work through workshops, starting theatre companies with friends from school or other means. In the US, you’re hard-pressed to find someone being produced on or off-Broadway who doesn’t have an MFA in Playwriting. It’s another hoop that playwrights are expected to leap through, and one that doesn’t necessarily further your career any more than spending three years working and writing and producing your own plays might.

Now that I’m back in New York, I facilitate a writers group that is currently collaborating on a new piece and have helped develop an upcoming season for NyLon Fusion Collective, the company for which I am the Literary Manager.* And I have about 4 projects in various stages of development, partly out of diverse interests, partly out of my inability to say no to a project I’m excited about. But because there are so many of them, it’s probably valid to suggest that none of them are, at present, “sufficiently realized” to use the words of the Wasserstein prize rejection letter. To be sufficiently realized, it usually helps to have actors, a director and a dramaturg to help you hone your play (unless you are Martin McDonagh, it seems). All that is to say that the life of an emerging writer is one that is generally more piece-meal than one would prefer. And one where there are very few hard and fast rules. An MFA in Playwriting doesn’t guarantee a production or an agent in the same way that an MD guarantees that you’re a doctor. An MFA doesn’t even guarantee you a spot in an emerging writers group!

A few weeks ago I attended a seminar with Robert McKee where he dismissed writers complaining about not getting produced by telling them that maybe their plays just weren’t good enough and that rather than complaining they should just write better plays (or produce them themselves). At the time, I laughed and agreed with him. I’ve seen and read a lot of terrible plays during my 5+ years in New York and London. But it’s also a sentiment that I wouldn’t expect to hear from someone like Wendy Wasserstein who was always so generous with her feedback and her time. And I wouldn’t expect to hear it from the committee awarding a prize to emerging writers on her behalf.

*Interesting side note: When NyLon posted a notice for a writers group we had slightly more female submissions than male submissions. When we posted a notice for new American plays, we received many many more male submissions than female. Hmm…

I’ve just returned from a week long trip to London where I saw 5 shows (4 of them during the first 2 days of my trip!) and used my umbrella quite often.

The first show I saw, fresh off the airplane, was JT Rogers’ play Blood and Gifts. Considering the 2 hours of vertical sleep I had had the night before, I was worried that an almost three hour long show would be a little too ambitious. But it’s a very clever and entertaining take on a serious subject (the US’ role in Afghanistan during the 80s) and held my attention throughout. The performances were good, the characters were nuanced (despite having the opportunity for them to be one-sided) and the payoff was unexpectedly excellent. The people behind me actually said afterwards, “that’s the best thing I’ve seen here!” Which considering it’s the National is quite a statement. One that I don’t necessarily agree with, though I’m not sure what the best thing I’ve seen at the National is.

Later that night I saw Krapp’s Last Tape with Michael Gambon. Again, I may have been too ambitious while booking this and definitely found myself nodding off, despite Gambon’s excellent performance. As pedestrian as it may be to say, I think I prefer reading Beckett to seeing it. I’ve seen some very talented people perform Beckett plays and I’m never quite convinced (except Baryshnikov, who in my opinion can do no wrong). During this particular performance, a woman nearby started laughing about 5 minutes in (5 minutes of watching Gambon sleeping). And as a polite audience member, my first instinct was irritation. And then I realized that this is actually what Beckett is about: making the audience a little uncomfortable and question what they are seeing onstage. For those of us expecting a significant lack of movement, we were prepared to take it all seriously, for those who weren’t prepared, it was funny.

Wednesday afternoon I headed over to the Globe to see Henry IV, Part I, my favorite Shakespeare play. I’d never seen Henry and was looking forward to seeing it as it’s meant to be seen: outside, standing near the stage. Of course because it was September it started raining at the end of the first act and continued for the rest of the performance. When it was over my hair was soaked, but I enjoyed it so much that it didn’t bother me. The performances were all very good and seeing Hotspur, my greatest Shakespearean crush, live onstage was thrilling (though I don’t like what they did with his wife, Kate).

That night was another father-son play, Caryl Churchill’s A Number. I had read this play in college during a “Theatre of Utopia” class, but had never seen it performed. It’s a stunning play about science and family and identity, but again, my jet lag, its occasional slowness and the red wine I had before the show caused me feel a little drowsy during it. Performed by Timothy and Sam West in a production that originated about 4 years ago, it was a little gimmicky to see the play performed by a real father and son, and the only part that really engaged me was the last scene. But it was the first night of this particular run and it may have been a little rusty. If I had been more alert, I probably would have enjoyed it more.

After that whirlwind of theatre I took a few days off before taking my father to see Deathtrap in the West End. A comic thriller about a struggling playwright who is sent a “perfect” script by a playwriting student of his and tries to determine what to do with the script, It’s one of those plays that makes me wish I didn’t overanalyze theatre as I watch it. I kept wondering why it was being produced now. Because it’s a play about two competing playwrights and the jealousy that crops up when someone creates something with more potential than anything you’ve ever done, it resonated with me to a certain extent (though I have never actually wanted to murder any of my contemporaries). But it’s a fun trifle of a play with good performances. I kept willing Jonathan Groff to stop playing with his lovely hair and Simon Russell Beale could have slowed down a little, but otherwise fun to watch.

And while it’s not theatre, I saw Made in Dagenham on Sunday night. It’s a very solid movie about the fight for equal pay in England during the 60s. Funny, poignant and smart. The ads on the sides of buses made it look not great, but I was pleasantly surprised. Lots of great British actresses and Bob Hoskins, once again, playing the cuddly good guy.

The most amazing thing about this trip? The tickets for the four shows I saw on Tuesday and Wednesday added up to 40 pounds total (which, at the current exchange rate, is about $60). If the Arts Council cuts mean theater prices go up, a lot of people will be very very unhappy.

With all the current media speculation about the Great American Novel after the recent publication of Freedom by Jonathan Franzen, it seems appropriate to wonder about the Great American Play. At the book shop on Friday, someone called asking for a list of the ten best American plays written after 9/11, about 21st century America. We turned this into a game (and never ended up calling the person back, which I suppose I will do tomorrow) and then realized how difficult it was to do. Plays like August: Osage County and Topdog/Underdog were easy to come up with and we could think of lots of great British plays that have dealt with the 21st century, but our list of the “best plays” ended up looking kind of weak. Which intrigued us even more. Where were the great plays being written about the state of America? Even looking at the list of Pulitzer winners and finalists didn’t inspire much confidence. Interestingly, I had just read a review of Blood and Gifts by JT Rogers (an American who gets produced in Britain more than in America) by Michael Billington, who tends to irritate me with his brazen anti-Americanism. The first line? “JT Rogers is that rare creature: an American dramatist who writes about global issues.” This made me livid on Wednesday morning when I read it, and yet, by Friday evening it seemed all too true. But you could substitute “global” with “substantive.” Of course the blame cannot be put solely on the playwrights. Artistic directors, producers and audiences all dictate what gets produced and what stays locked away in one’s computer or on one’s shelf.

Someone who could vie for best (and most prolific) American playwright of the 21st century is Sarah Ruhl. On Friday I saw her adaptation of Virginia Woolf’s Orlando and found it lovely and stunning and smart. So much so that I went immediately to the Strand to buy a copy of the book, where it was, distressingly, absent from the shelves. I’ve instead taken it out of the library, along with many other books about “difficult women.” All in the name of research for my Great American Play (which is set in… London).

In Sunday’s heatwave, I broke away from a day of birthday celebrations and culture to catch the new show at the Atlantic, Gabriel by Moira Buffini. It’s about a displaced family on the island of Guernsey (which was occupied by the Germans during World War II) and what they do when a naked stranger washes up on their shore. The play explores the role of women during an occupation when all the native men are fighting or dead and many of its moments are very poignant and subtle. It’s a fine play and the design is absolutely gorgeous, but I kept thinking that it was, perhaps, too earnest. And some of the actors seemed a little bit off with their lines, which always throws me. The play was produced at the Soho Theatre in 1997 and I’m not sure what the process behind putting it up here 13 years later was. Ever since my freshman year of college I’ve been very interested in the decision making behind “subsequent performances” and this is one that I would be interested to know, because either the cultural relevance is too subtle for me, or they just liked the play and wanted to do it.

In the meantime I’ve been reading Laura Wade’s play Posh because it arrived at the book shop last week and the cover image(on the left) is excellent. I’m pretty disappointed that I won’t be able to see it (and I highly doubt it’ll transfer across the Atlantic, it’s too timely and British), but reading it has been an absolute delight. It’s equal parts hilarious and scathing. I found myself laughing on the subway while reading it and horrified by other sections. There’s a good review of it that’s just been posted on the NY Times website, but it’s essentially about the members of an Oxford club (modeled, supposedly, after the club that David Cameron and George Osbourne were both in as students– though I’m sure there are others like it) on a night that they get together and get drunk and postulate on their position in the world and the decline of the Empire. It’s a state of the nation play, much like Jez Butterworth’s Jerusalem, but from a very different side of it.

I’m always intrigued by state of the nation plays, and while I’ve never really attempted to write one for America, I would like to try some day.

I hadn’t ventured out to BAM in about 4 years until last night, which is shame because they really have some great shows. A lot of them, admittedly, are things that I have already seen in London (a trend that will be less true with time) or things that have sold out before I’ve had a chance to get tickets. They also have a slightly ageist rush policy, so I haven’t been able to try to go at the last minute to anything.

Last night, I met up with two friends I hadn’t seen in almost 9 months to see Creditors, a transfer from the Donmar Warehouse (can they do anything wrong?) directed by Alan Rickman* and translated by David Greig. It’s a darkly comic melodrama about relationships and jealousy and the art of moving on from one relationship to the next. Strindberg’s misogyny is pretty well-documented and it shows here, but in this production it’s a point of humor. I found myself laughing out loud fairly frequently and the slower parts only amped up the tension between the three characters (I won’t give anything away, because it’s rather well-crafted and I’d hate to spoil it). Rickman’s taut direction (documented here in this article by my favorite displaced American, Sarah Lyall) gives the actors the opportunity to really explore the dramatic and fiery scenes without “acting.” It’s a very subtle show with some killer lines. Definitely worth the trip out of borough, especially since the bar we went to for a drink before had $3 beers.

*Rickman’s one of those actors I see all the time out and about and was a little disappointed to not see him last night.

I’ve just returned from a trip to London where I caught three shows that were very tied to their native land.

Alan Bennett’s The Habit of Art is a charming, well-staged play about art and theatre and creation and collaboration. Set as a play within a play, the action of the play takes place during one rehearsal of a new play about WH Auden and Benjamin Britten at the National Theatre, during which the director has left the stage manager in charge while he attends a conference in Leeds. The actors all have their issues with the play and the playwright. Bennett has an innate ability to create witty, quippy dialogue that made me laugh a lot (despite having gone almost right from Heathrow to the National). It’s also about how closeted sexuality changed  during the 20th century and the play is full of insightful bon mots. It’s a very National play. I sensed some self-congratulation amidst the audience (it was a Sunday matinee after all), but I probably was guilty of it myself. In fact, I was so charmed by the world Bennett created that I bought a signed copy of the play in the bookshop afterwards. Looking back on it a week later, I wonder what I found most moving about it or most powerful, and I cannot recall. The use of Britten’s music was appropriately moving and the acting and design were top-notch. But I kept thinking that this is not a play that could take New York by storm the way that The History Boys did, though, mostly because it’s a play so much about it’s own creation.

The next play I saw was Jez Butterworth’s Jerusalem. This too is a play that feels as much as an event created for its particular circumstances than anything else and I was disappointed to be seeing it in the West End as opposed at my beloved Royal Court. I had told my father that we were seeing the new English state of the nation play and at the end he said that if this is considered the state of the nation he was glad he wasn’t British. The play almost entirely belongs to Butterworth’s fantastical imagination and how it manifests itself in Johnny “Rooster” Byron, a rebellious, drug dealing squatter who lives in a trailer in a park in Wiltshire. He’s being evicted because of a new estate nearby. The play is chockful of literary, theatrical and regional references and is grand in its scope, but it really only captures one day in Rooster’s life, with his band of misfit children, his sad friend Ginger (of course he’s named Ginger), the local publican and others. In that way it’s actually very similar to The Habit of Art, the scope is grand and yet culturally specific and yet it only takes place during one day (St George’s Day, which is also Shakespeare’s birthday). It’s a stunner of a play, one that makes me want to be more ambitious and more brave with my own writing. I love when that happens.

On Wednesday and Thursday I had the pleasure of seeing Sarah Sigal’s Alice’s Adventures in the New World at the Old Red Lion(full disclosure, Sarah and I were roommates in London). The play follows Alice, a young Irish girl who finds out that her late mother is in fact not dead, but divorced, as she seeks out her mother on an adventure from Victorian London to the Wild West. It’s an all-female cast, an unapologetically feminist play and an absolute delight. I’m still humming songs from the play days later and found a second viewing to be enriching and illuminating (even though it was the result of a cancelled flight back to New York). With influences ranging from Brecht to Edith Wharton to Annie Oakley, the play deftly walks the line between comedy and pathos as the audience grows along with Alice, as she learns that becoming a woman is full of sacrifices and hard decisions. Sarah’s an American, as is the director Jessica Beck, so it’s a very clever piece about discovering life as an American in the UK/Ireland and the reverse. And I realized that if Sarah can write a musical, I can too.

This past weekend I went to Boston to watch the Head of the Charles and catch up with old friends. I also happened to see the US premiere of Punchdrunk, the site-specific movement-based company that has caught the UK by storm.

When I arrived in London for my Masters three (!!) years ago, one of the productions we were told to see was Punchdrunk’s Faust. I had no friends in London at this point and had booked my ticket on a day that none of my coursemates had, so I headed out to an old warehouse in Wapping with my comfortable walking shoes and my warm coat, as I was instructed. The show was a complete revelation to me. I felt like a child discovering things at my own pace and enjoyed the spectacle that I was exposed to. Our class even had a session with Felix Barrett, the artistic director (who at the time was 26, which I didn’t think was young back then, now that it’s a week before my 26 year old birthday, I’ve realized it is) who spent two hours with us talking about the process, what they hoped to bring to the audience and how what we saw related to the story of Faust, but he also wanted to know what we thought, how we experienced it, what we liked and didn’t like. About a year later, Punchdrunk saved the Battersea Arts Centre from certain doom when it staged The Masque of the Red Death there and it became the must-see show of South London. When I saw Masque I was less blown away, but still impressed by the level of detail, the specificity of the choreography, the props and design and the way that audiences could follow their own interests. But I also felt as if I had figured out how to manipulate the show for my own benefit. Within 10 minutes I procured a free glass of wine and was quite pleased with myself. Once I got over my self-satisfaction, however, I delved into the production and the image I most remember is seeing a man carry what appeared to be a beating heart. Creepy, but awesome.

So when I read somewhere that Punchdrunk was coming to the American Repertory Theatre with their show Sleep No More, I jumped to get tickets. I brought along one game high school classmate and my theatrically-adventurous parents and we headed to the Old Lincoln School last night for the show. I won’t write much about it because I worry about giving things away with these shows. So much of the appeal is the act of discovery. My two pieces of advice to my theatre companions were for the four of us to to go our separate ways and also to follow actors when the opportunity presented itself. What I like the most about Punchdrunk’s work is that it doesn’t dumb itself down for the audience. You arrive with very little information and you leave with lots of details and movements to piece together. One of the best experiences is talking about what you have seen and what your theatre companions have seen and realizing what you missed, but also comprehending more of the story. After last night’s show, but before we got our coats from coat check, there was a fire drill (probably from too many fog machines). So we walked down to the fire meeting point and talked about the things that we had all seen and the things that only we had seen. My father had experienced a “one on one”, as I believe Felix referred to them three years ago, and was just astonished by it. We kept talking about the show until we got back into the building and throughout the car ride home. My father and my friend have decided they want to go back to try to see all the things they missed.

If any of you are in or near the Boston area between now and January 3rd, I highly recommend this show. It will completely change the way you view theatre and will challenge you as an audience member in ways that I promise you will enjoy. Seriously.

I’ve just returned from a week of theatre and coffee/lunch dates in London. I did just miss the openings of some very exciting looking shows, but got to see some fun things and appreciate the difference between theater in New York and theatre in London. On the whole I was skeptical to return to London so soon after I moved to New York, but once I headed out to Shepherd’s Bush for tea and a frantic trip to the National with my former colleagues at NHB it felt like I had never left (even though they have a stunning new refurb).

So, first up was a Platform at the National with Richard Eyre. He has a new book of interviews with “theatre people” called Talking Theatre and was interviewed by Susannah Clapp (Observer theatre critic) for the platform. Was quite fun to hear from him, after being around the offices during the editing process. I’ve brought a copy home with me, and can’t wait to read some of the interviews. It’s a real range of theatre artists from the twentieth century.

Friday night was a trip to the Southwark Playhouse to see Home, a “happening” by Tangled Feet, directed by my friend Nathan. Most of their performances of the show have been spontaneous and outdoors, so it was interesting to see how it worked in the cavernous space of the Southwark. As a “theatrical tourist” I found it quite fascinating. With very little dialogue and 6 actors using igloo tents to represent their houses, I found myself wrapped up in the music and the movement, but occasionally looking for a storyline. Since it dealt with what we consider “home” and I was in the second day of a trip to my former home, it definitely rang true for me.

Sunday afternoon I took an annual(ish) trip to the Globe to see Troilus and Cressida. It’s a play I’ve seen before and read, but I never really remember (maybe because it’s one of Shakespeare’s “problem plays”). An actor I quite like was playing Achilles, so I bought tickets despite the middling reviews. So my lowish expectations were exceeded by the fantastic design (lots of attractive men in awesome skirts), strong ensemble acting and, of course, Achilles didn’t disappoint (he spent the majority of the play loafing around wearing a kimono and kohl-enhanced eyes, brilliant). It’s a very funny play and trying to remember who all the Greeks and Trojans were took me back to my freshman Humanities seminar and a fantastic lecture about Patroclus and Achilles. I was also convinced halfway through the play that Keira Knightley was there incognito wearing a jaunty cap, which made it seem all the better. It closes this weekend, so catch it soon, if you’re interested!

Finally, last night, I saw The Pitmen Painters. The first thought I had when the show began was how on earth Broadway audiences are going to understand what the characters are saying. There are lots of thick Northern accents in the play, so it might be difficult (after two and a half years, I have still had some trouble). But the play is ultimately about class struggles in England, the role of the artist in society and the nuances of patronage. I found it very well-acted and well-crafted, but for me, it ultimately fell short of brilliance by being a play about a new subject matter, but not really doing anything new with it. Very entertaining though. It’s a bit like a Northern History Boys with old men instead of Dominic Cooper et al. And I discovered (of course, after I move out of the country) that you can get half price tickets at the National an hour before the show starts. I think in the past I never wanted to chance it, but it’s a pretty great deal.

To cap off the weekend, I watched Easy Virtue on the plane. Very cute, and actually still a little relevant for Americans abroad. I love Noel Coward. I know he’s a little out-dated, but seriously, so clever.

As for things in New York, I’m seeing Hamlet next Tuesday, Superior Donuts next week (I think) and will be volunteering at the New Island Festival (a Dutch cultural extravaganza on Governors’ Island), so I’m throwing myself at New York culture with wreckless abandon.

Sunday’s New York Times had a very good article about West End shows coming to Broadway. When I lived in London, I loved the fact that I could see plays before they made their way to New York. Out of the transfers coming this season (La Cage aux Folles, A Little Night Music, Hamlet), I’ve seen two and have booked for the third thanks to some cheap Amex pre-sale tickets. There was also something nice about being able to have a conversation about a play that friends had seen in New York when I had seen the original production in London.

Occasionally this goes the other way, especially at the Royal Court, where plays like The Pain and the Itch and Wig Out! opened after productions at new writing theatres in New York. I liked being able to see good productions of American plays when I was there, even if the accents were occasionally spotty (though not as spotty as British accents in New York!), especially if I had read favorable reviews of them.

In two weeks I’m heading back to London for a week of theatre-going and catching up with friends. I’ve been trying to determine which plays to see, but unfortunately I’m missng ENRON and the Barbican will be dark. So am leaning towards some good old Shakespeare at the Globe, something at the National (Pitmen Painters or Lolita) and possibly getting some half-price tickets for a good West End romp. Sister Act? Hello Dolly? Maybe I’ll indulge myself in some Jersey Boys, though that seems a little weird.