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Estelle Parsons on acting

But theater is terribly important. I mean you have to exercise all of your instrument, your emotional skills and everything. It’s important for actors to be in the theater. Nowadays, there are people who just do TV, and I don’t really call them actors, you know? If you’re not able to fill up a theater and entertain people for two or three hours, who are you? You’re a puppet!

~ Estelle Parsons via phone, in an interview about her role in August: Osage County (which hits Boston this week). What a badass lady.


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Harry & the Potters: Only playing Aztec pyramids from now on

[[Preface: I’m a big ol’ huge Harry Potter geek. Scoff at me if you must. But don’t scoff at these guys. Love them, instead.]]

From Teaparty Boston, Jan. 29, 2010

Harry & the Potters: Paving the Way for Wizard Rockers Everywhere

Who ever decided that only the cool kids get to be rock stars? There’s a place on that bright, grimy stage for nerds too, and that’s where bands like Harry and the Potters come in. Yes, they wear round-framed glasses and red-and-gold Gryffindor ties onstage. Yes, they sing songs about magical potions and Quidditch and three-headed dogs and teen-wizard angst. And yes, you’re totally jealous.

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In which everything is floating away from everything else

I recently started reading Why I Write: Thoughts on the Craft of Fiction, which has essays on raisons d’etre and raisons d’pick up a fucking pen, from the likes of Norman Mailer, Mary Gaitskill, David Foster Wallace (who was apparently at the time still in a big deformed-baby-metaphor phase), Mary Gaitskill, on and on. In the intro, editor Will Blythe talks about the many, many raisons d’not pick up a fucking pen. He’s pretty spot-on:

Unquestionably, there are many compelling reasons not to write. Some are mundane, like having a job, a spouse, a headache. These things can take time and energy away from the creation of literature. So can not having a job, a spouse, and a headache. (In regard to the absence of the headache, it must be said that you can feel too good to write.) There are other mighty rationales for shirking the pen. Not enough money. Too little experience. Bad speller. Not good enough yet. Not good enough compared to Garcia Marquez. Not good enough compared to Shakespeare. Better than Shakespeare but no one seems to agree. Too much ambition. Insufficient ambition. Paranoia. Alcohol. Heroin. Gas pains. Gout. Hay fever.

And of course, there are always powerful metaphysical reasons for not writing. For instance, deep existential dread. The distortions of solitude. The ravages of time. Black holes. The eventual death of the solar system. Being adrift in a meaningless universe in which everything is floating away from everything else. The temptation of silence. By this, I mean that sometimes silence seems more articulate, more full of possibility than language itself; it is the realm of vision, of the masterfully unwritten, of astounding books that will forever be undiminished by their narrowing in reality.

And yet, we go on. Cause… why not?

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Al Gore gored

From Bostonist, Apr. 2, 2009

Al Gore at the Wang: When Moderators Attack

Like a teenager with a new LiveJournal, MSG Entertainment’s 2009 Speaker Series is starting to ask itself the big questions: Why am I here? What do I want to be? Does anybody love me?

After a disastrous birthing period featuring Ann Coulter, Bill Maher and a hapless moderator, the series stumbled into its awkward adolescence Monday night with Al Gore as its guinea pig. The Nobel Peace Prize winner and former Veep struck an easy, confident presence at the sold-out Wang. His main topic, of course, was the need to address climate change. But his remarks on the subject, while informative, were nothing you couldn’t have gleaned from Netflixing An Inconvenient Truth. So why the live appearance, aside from the fact that he had been in town to back Menino’s green initiative? Nobody, least of all the event’s organizers, seemed to know the answer.

Into this vacuum swooped moderator Susan Milligan, who seemed much less interested in Al Gore’s energy initiatives or the audience’s interests than in her own agenda. A political reporter for the Boston Globe, Milligan was two things an interviewer should never be: combative, and far more interested in herself than in her subject.

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An odder “Odyssey”

From Bostonist, Feb. 26, 2009

Review: The Odyssey at Charlestown Working Theater

The Charlestown Working Theater may be one of the most overlooked performance spaces in Boston. A weirdly beautiful space at the base of Bunker Hill, the theater is built inside what was once a 19th-century firehouse. The CWT plays host to smaller local companies like Theatre on Fire and Molasses Tank Productions, plus out-of-town fringe wanderers.

The CWT also occasionally puts up its very own work, and that’s the case with The Odyssey. Yes, it is the Homeric epic you read in high school English class. And yes, it’s done here by a two-person cast. Impossible, you say? Nothing’s impossible when there’s a rocker-mounted rowboat onstage.

The brains and muscles behind The Odyssey are Jennifer Johnson and John Peitso, two of the CWT’s helmsmen (no pun intended). They created and perform in the piece; they even found the boat. In the course of the show, the two take on characters ranging from Odysseus to the Cyclops, and everyone in between.

Well, not everyone. Clocking in at less than an hour in length, this Odyssey isn’t so much the full shebang as it is an arty CliffsNotes version of the epic. But really, the story of Odysseus’s journeys upon the wine-dark sea is little more than a jumping-off point for a mood piece of astonishing beauty.

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Hollywood onstage, again

From the Weekly Dig, Feb. 25, 2009

The Random Caruso

The Random Caruso, a new play by Andrew Clarke currently at the BCA from Centastage, is the work of a Hollywood burn victim. It’s the kind of bitter, hard-edged, I-hate-the-biz-so-much-I-love-it comedy written by scarred veterans of the Hollywood meat factory, walking the same stilettoed path as Douglas Carter Beane’s The Little Dog Laughed and Theresa Rebeck’s The Scene. That is to say, it’s nothing much new. But the stage’s love affair with the movie business will never wane, even though the screen rarely reciprocates. And for a world premiere by a playwright with few credits to his name, Caruso is a slick and well-turned-out package.

Caruso is a toast to the symbiotic relationships that keep the movie machine humming. Screenwriter plays toadie to asshole star till get his script gets optioned; actress-cum-waitress boffs asshole star till the Lohans come home, lands a bit part in upcoming movie; asshole star doesn’t drop out of upcoming movie, producer gives screenwriter’s script a shot. You get the picture. In the hands of the underrated Centastage and artistic director Joe Antoun, Clarke’s poison-tipped repartee seldom flags; he even gets the stage crew in on the game. In Michael Forden Walker, Robert Pemberton and Tracy Oliverio, Antoun has found actors more than up to the task of Caruso‘s acidic humor.

The play’s most vindicating moment comes in the main character’s eleventh-hour diatribe about the lowly lot of the screenwriter. Clarke’s commitment to that particular subject is what sets Caruso apart from other screen-on-stage fare. It all makes for a solid, if not surprising, evening of Tinseltown bitchery.

[The Random Caruso. Until 3.7.09. The Boston Center for the Arts Plaza Theatre, 539 Tremont St., Boston.

617.933.8600. Times vary/$25.,]

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House of Blues hits Lansdowne St.

((Last week, camera in hand, I got an advanced glimpse inside the much-anticipated House of Blues opening on Lansdowne Street, in the shadow of the Green Monster. It was kind of cool to see, amid all the doomsaying talk of total economic meltdown and every venture closing and failing left and right, so much business and communal preparation–even if it is for a big ol’ franchise. And FYI: The music hall is looking kickass. Click the link to see my photographs.))


From Bostonist, Feb. 16, 2009

House of Blues Preview

We knew the Blues would be back one of these days. The House of Blues‘ flagship venue in Harvard Square closed back in aught 3, and the HoB brass have been promising a return to the Boston area ever since.

Now the organization has returned with a venue nearly 10 times larger than the intimate Cambridge joint, in the former location of the Avalon/Axis/Modern club complex. The shiny, new and huge House of Blues opens its doors to the public next Thursday with a concert by the J. Geils Band.

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