[post 457]
I hope you enjoyed this blog's previous post, a history of the Valley Studio by Jef Lambdin. I just want to add a short anecdote that I think is kind of funny but also carries a message. Okay, maybe not a profound message, but I'll let you be the judge of that...
This past June, we had a huge clown reunion, Clownmageddon, at our Falling Coyote Studios here in Greenwood Lake, NY, with tons of food, four shows, and some 80 people in attendance. (More on the studio in a future post.) At our first gathering in the studio, I took the time to introduce the folks who had come from faraway, which included Italy, Croatia, New England, the west coast, down south, etc. One such guest was Mike Pedretti, who starting in 1979 produced a long string (10?) of influential international movement theatre festivals, first at Davis & Elkins College in West Virginia and later in Philadelphia. Movement Theatre International (MTI) produced over 170 movement theatre shows from over 30 countries. Before the internet and YouTube, we American performers who were into mime, clown, circus, etc. were for the most part woefully ignorant of what was going on beyond our borders. Mike helped change all that, for which we should all be grateful.
When Mike got up to speak, he told a short anecdote, which I was surprised to find myself a part of. In the summer of 1978, armed with a strong background directing traditional theatre, he ventured to the Valley Studio to explore all this new movement training that was becoming more and more popular. He told of seeing a piece I performed that summer at the Studio. He spoke of how refreshing it was in terms of breaking down the fourth wall, and said it widened his perspective as to what was possible.
Wow! I couldn't help but be flattered that he would mention me in such glowing terms in front of all my friends. There was only one catch: I had no idea what he was talking about! But of course I did not publicly contradict him. A few days later, I was looking at his excellent history of his festivals, The Inside Story of Movement Theatre. (More on the book in a future post.) And I did not have to read far (p.7) to find the same anecdote in print:
On the same bill, John Towsen delighted the audience with histrionic tumbling that lacked theme or story, was rough around the edges, but was rich in understanding of the human challenge and pushed to the edge the idea of intimate —a prototype for rough and immediate theater.
Sounds wonderful. If only it had been me! But there I was, a (small) part of official theatre history —and feeling like a total fraud.
More time passes and it suddenly dawns on me. It was me! Holy Moly.
But not just me. I had been there all summer, and during the last of the two-week sessions, I had a lot of fun working on partner acrobatic stuff with Mary Dino and Jerry Falek, both of whom I had just met. It wasn't what you'd call advanced technique, but it was new to a lot of people at the time. Every two-week session ended with a "sharing," an open stage for anyone who wanted to perform. Egged on by friends who saw us practicing on the front lawn, we decided to throw together a short act, and being who we are, it was to be a comedy acrobatic act. We decided to bill ourselves as the Dover Trio, from the old joke name for a Vaudeville acrobatic act, Ben Dover and Aileen Dover. But since there were three of us, we needed an additional first name. It was probably Hung Dover, but Jerry recently suggested that it should have been Flip Dover. (Now he tells us.)
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| The Dover Trio interrupting emcee Jimmy Urban |
It's not a miracle that I still have some scribbled notes, but it is miraculous that I could lay my hands on them almost 48 years later. I've appended them below, but what they seem to show is that the piece was framed as a series of interruptions of the emcee, Jimmy Urban. I think the "Pilobolus trick" was what you see in the photo above, with me as the understander. (Or underwalker, since it was an entrance.) Sure, nothing brilliant, but we got our laughs. What I remembered was the fun of working on it and doing it, but it wasn't impactful enough for me to put 2 and 2 together enough to even get Mike's reference.
But to the point of this post: Was this a brilliant piece worthy of high praise? Not really. Was Mike being naive to lavish this praise? Again, not really.
When we perform, we are often our own harshest critics. We envision this ideal performance where everything goes right and the audience is moved to laughter and tears, perhaps showering us with gold coins. Likewise, some audience members are no doubt constantly comparing what they see to the best thing they've ever seen... or to how much better the performance would be if only they had written it or directed it or performed in it. (Guilty as charged.)
If you ask a visual artist about the "meaning" of a painting or sculpture, they will often say that it's open to interpretation. Its power lies in the fact that it affects different people in different ways, which makes sense considering there are 8 billion of us on the planet. And that's a good thing. Mike probably did not think it was a great piece, but we were all in the right place at the right time (a.k.a. the Valley Studio) and it triggered new possibilities in Mike's theatrical brain. Which is great!
Popular advice about performing before a small audience is that you should give it your all, because you never know who's in the audience. That was certainly true here. I would add that you never know what effect you are having on individual spectators, even if they are not "influencers," not even in the performing arts. In this case, we had enough of a critical mass to generate laughs, and being friends they were inclined to be supportive. But that's not always the case...
In 2018, Angela Delfini and I were doing a nationwide tour of Angela Delfini Explains It All for You, a one-woman show starring Angela, which I directed and co-wrote. Our first stop (2 evenings) was at the Baltimore Theatre Project, a well-known and prestigious venue. We were excited! On our first night, about 20 minutes before showtime, they informed us that they wouldn't need to open the balcony. Okay, no big deal. But as 8 pm arrived, we realized there was hardly anyone there. I am remembering 8 people, 10 at the most. And what was worse, they were scattered all over the place, separated by as much as 50'. Of course with more advance notice we would have put 10 chairs on the stage and turned it into an intimate performance. Needless to say, the laughs did not come as plentifully as usual.But then something rewarding happened. I left the booth to join Angela, wanting to console her, and I found the entire audience had come up onto the stage to chat with her. Some were saying how much the emotional aspect of the show had resonated with their own experience. "You never know who's in the audience" is most often used to mean there might be a top producer out there, or at least someone who might spread the word. That may never happen, but every audience member has the potential to be positively affected by what you do.
That's my message!
I last saw Jerry in 2018 in San Francisco, but I guess we forgot to take a photo. But here's Mary and me at a Super Bowl party on the circus barge in Brooklyn earlier this month. It's true what you're thinking, we haven't aged a bit!
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