The Plan

First up, the Backstage West review of the show. I can’t really take issue with it; it says a ton of good things and adds a few criticisms that I think are sort of par for the course when a show tries to pack so much into such a short time. Still sounds like she had fun:

Westward Expansion
November 29, 2006
By Jennie Webb

Okay, who doesn’t like trains? And I’m not talking the metro rail or subway. No. Real trains that travel from coast to coast. Trains are fabulous things, whether it’s our personal memories or imaginary musings or just the idea of ’em: traveling across the country, inevitably reaching their destinations at a speed that allows for oh-so-many possibilities, undeniably mechanical yet somehow magical, grounded yet capable of taking us on wonderful flights of fantasy. But in this day and age, in America, as a reasonable means of cross-country transportation, they’re pretty much dinosaurs. Writer-director Cecil Castellucci gets this and then some. Her new play is a love letter to all things Amtrak, and it has a definite charm and is well-mounted, with skill and affection. Unfortunately, it’s so stylistically schizophrenic that after it’s over we haven’t arrived anywhere it seems we’re supposed to.

On a simple set, Castellucci puts two pairs of sweet young things traveling in opposite directions. Going west in 1881 we meet a stylish man seeking his fortune (Ransom Boynton) and a woman (Darcy Martin) heading toward a teaching job and possible rancher husband. The 2006 eastbound couple is made up of a woman (Royana Black) on her way to meet her Internet pal, hoping it’ll be a romance, and a quirky philosopher (Jeremy Sean) looking for answers. Rashelle Stocker plays the conductor, interacting with the couples in both centuries and guiding the audience through the history of trains, among other things. The actors relate to the audience as well as to each other, and they narrate from correspondence and diaries, relate itineraries, divulge secrets, enact fantasies and scenes from Alfred Hitchcock movies (complete with video), sing and dance, and so on.

Although the talented actors seem to have a grasp on the all-over-the-map pieces of often-fun material—the playwright’s honest and humorous dialogue works particularly well in the hands of the vulnerable Black and Sean, who couldn’t be more adorably dysfunctional—and Castellucci makes use of her admirable chops as a director, at this point Westward Expansion has a ways to go before it becomes a journey audiences will get much out of.

$10! Come see it….

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“I don’t recognize myself anymore” is a bit of a cliche, but I find myself thinking it more and more often these days. It starts with the physical changes, mainly due to exercise and weight loss. I found a couple of little ridges on my eye sockets that I’m fairly sure I’ve never seen before. I look in the mirror, and not only do I not recognize the face, I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. Then I start to feel like I don’t recognize my facial expressions anymore, and then my thoughts. I don’t know if any of that makes any sense, but it freaks me out a little bit.

—___—___—___— It’s been really cold the last few nights, and when you live in a car, cold is COLD. I can’t help but think how much worse it is for those who don’t even have that. Every night in Santa Monica, near the Promenade, you can see people sleeping in the parking lots of closed businesses. They use the little cement blockers as pillows, and roll themselves up in blankets and sleeping bags like stinky little Blunts. That must suck.
 

Some things I’ve realized over the last few days:

• I’ve gotten to the point where my belt and pants are all loose, and it occurs to me that it would be a lot cheaper to just fatten up again than to buy new clothes. It may be time to start beating people up and taking their clothes, like a smaller but more charming Terminator.
• This creeps me out.
• This even more so. Thanks, Jasmine.
• It hit me over the holiday that there are people rooting for me to succeed out here. I don’t know why I didn’t see that before; probably mind-numbing egotism.
• Apparently, I don’t type very fast when I’m fiddling with 8 IE windows. See, the library has a one hour limit, then they boot you offffasdfawerg4y

A big chunk of Alliance members attended the Valley League Theatre Awards (called, for some reason which I do not care to research, the A.D.A’s) last night, where as far as can be determined the company finished an incredibly close second in every category where we were nominated. There was a surprising amount of overlap between presenters, League board members and winners (not that I’m suggesting anything….) but it’s pretty cool that the company picked up as many noms as they did in what seems to be a pretty insular little club. The ceremony ran longer than it should have (Fred and Mary Willard hosted entertainingly, although as the evening wore on their patience seemed to wear out) but it was nice to see everybody and hang out with the Kids.

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So I’m trying to be good about…pretty much everything, at least in terms of my general physical health. This past weekend marked the first time in my life where I could suddenly fit into something that was too small when I bought it. The downside is that I’ve given up so many bad habits and such over the past two years (and, let’s face it, I’m pretty addicty) that when things get tough I get all sorts of cravings. Not so much for alcohol, definitely for cigarettes and pills and stuff. With food I go the other way, and decide that instead of eating a burger I won’t eat anything. For a few days at least, then the burger

But I’m realizing now that the worst, most dangerous cravings aren’t for food or drugs, they’re for people. Insane cravings for absolutely the worst possible people. Damned if I know why.

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I told you I was going to steal it.

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From the L.A. Weekly:

WESTWARD EXPANSION Cecil Castellucci’s one-act emerges as a lighthearted potpourri about railroad travel, combining two fragmentary plots with documentary footage of trains, dialogue from Alfred Hitchcock’s North by Northwest and Strangers on a Train, a brief rendition of “On the Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe,” and a chatty conductor (Rashelle Stocker) who rhapsodizes about railroads. (She points out that long, cross-country train journeys foster personal encounters as shorter air trips never can.) Two women from different eras are traveling across the country in opposite directions. The Woman From 1881 (Darcy Martin), going from Boston to Tucson to take up a teaching job, meets a reckless young man (Ransom Boynton) who’s seeking a new life in the West. The Woman From 2006 (Royana Black) is traveling from L.A. to Boston to hook up with a guy she met on the Internet, but she has a potentially life-changing encounter with a shy, erudite young historian (Jeremy Sean), who’s addicted to quotations. The piece is pleasant but slight: long on charm but short on narrative heft. Of the quartet, Black and Sean have the more richly developed characters to play, which they exploit by skillfully sketching their comic tics and idiosyncrasies. ALLIANCE REPERTORY COMPANY, 3204 W. Magnolia Blvd., Burbank; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; thru Dec. 16 (no perfs Nov. 23-25). NOTE: Performances nightly Dec. 11-17, in tandem with plays from Suzan-Lori Parks’ 365 Days/365 Plays. (800) 595-4849. (Neal Weaver)

This makes me happy. Quite happy. Even the criticisms really aren’t - the thing runs under an hour, after all. Come see it.

L.A. Weekly

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The Dopler Effect: I don’t know when it’s coming, but I can’t wait. I keep hearing ever cooler things about it. It’ll be fun.

Don’t Gag Me!: Getting together with the entire crew soon. I don’t want to say too much because Carla hasn’t given me permission, and I think she likes hurting me.

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Westward Expansion opened on Friday and seems to be going over well. One of the things that drew me to the Alliance in the first place was the quality of the people there. I’m not exactly the Old Man of Los Angeles Theatre, but I’ve been around enough to know that far too many companies are either vanity projects for one giant ego, giant balls of bickering or some other ugly little collection of neuroses (that’s what ACTORS are supposed to be.)

I say this so you know that when I say I love being with this cast, you will hopefully take it as something other than ‘what people always say.’ I don’t always say those things, but I really like these people.

I like the show, too, although I always have trouble discerning the ‘read’ - I’m pretty happy with the work I’m doing, everybody else is doing a good job, and Cecil’s a hell of a writer. The first review should come out this week or next, for what it’s worth. All in all, I expect this show to do well, artistically and otherwise.

Go see it. Right now. Well, not RIGHT now, but, you know, soon.

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I spent a good portion of Sunday at the Southern California Regional Bikram Yoga Championship, essentially by accident. Fun fact: Bikram is a dude.

I went along with Carla after rehearsal, in the interest of doing something I hadn’t done before. I need to get this out of the way right now, lest it give me a tumor: nothing in the world - nothing - can smell as bad as a giant room devoted to Bikram yoga. I don’t care how bad your bipedal snow cow smells, inside or out, this is worse. Apparently, they heat the room to 105 degrees for Bikram, which is oriented more towards strength and flexibility than other yogic disciplines. The room could probably hold, oh, 18,000 people. that’s 18,000 people bending and sweating in 105 degree heat. Hence the smell.

When I wasn’t wondering if my nose would shut down before I went into shock, I was admiring the competition. It works like so: each hopeful gets three minutes to perform seven poses (five compulsory, two they choose themselves.) The question of ‘competitive yoga’ was dealt with by explaining that, even though there were other people up there, it was still really about competing with one’s self. All I know is that the only pose I could have complete was the Rabbit, which could just as easily have been called the ‘Nap.’

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A couple of days ago, my shampoo bottle opened up inside my gym bag - especially irritating since, even though I live in a car and have extremely short hair, it’s expensive shampoo. Luckily, it managed to concentrate itself on my electronic equipment (gym radios; 1 for FM/AM, 1 for TV) which should weather the sudsy storm nicely. Sigh.

The panic moment came when I tried to clean the shampoo off of my combination lock and all the paint came off of the dial. It took me a minute or two of trying to figure out what the hell to do with a lock with no numbers before I realized that there were numbers imprinted into the metal. Catastrophe was, once again, averted.

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Westward Expansion opens tomorrow night at 8pm. There’s a link to the NowCasting page for it on the sidebar, as well as a link to the Alliance. $10

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This isn’t a political blog, but I want to point out once again the fact that the ability to hand power over from one party to another without bloodshed is still a relatively rare thing in the world. Regardless of your political persuasion, congratulations, America.

WESTWARD EXPANSION

Opens November 10th, runs Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays until December 19th

With special wackiness as 365 Plays runs. Closed Thanksgiving.

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This is Tech Week for Westward Expansion. If you don’t do theatre, tech week is supposed to be the time when the acting work is done and the lighting, sound and prop people take over. In reality, it’s usually that plus unfettered panic from just about everybody.

This always happens. That’s theatre.

This should be an interesting show; it has a lot going on, it melds experimental and conventional elements and it’s short - which should serve to enhance the aforementioned melding. The final week is going to run concurrently with the Susan-Lori Parks ‘365′ week for the Alliance, which means we run every night that week. I’m strangely excited about that. It makes me feel nostalgic for a time that I’m fairly sure never actually happened in my life.

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Don’t Gag Me!

We’ll shoot Carla’s movie December 3rd & 4th. It should be a ton of fun. The script is snappy and funny, and Carla’s hot as hell. The acting will, of course, be outstanding.

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Last night, whilst attending Brendan’s birthday celebration at the Whaler on Washington, an extremely drunk woman either fell or bent over a table at me. Lacking any other means of support, she latched onto my neck with fingernails that must have been eight inches long and made of adamantium. I’m not saying she hit my brain stem, but I can still smell colors. She said something that might have been angry and might have been erotic, but I was too busy not feeling anything to know for sure.

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