Last night I attended the Big Apple Film Festival. The program I saw included a short film that I was in. I played a character called Non-Stickman in a series of one minute shorts called New York Minutes. The filmmakers did excellent work. All three shorts packed a lot of impact in a very short space of time (contrasted with the feature length film in the program which had less impact stretched over a long period of time). The film I was in was well edited, had great music and exciting images. My character was a fat guy running on the Brooklyn bridge. The audience laughed a lot for 60 seconds. Now I am well aware of why I was in the film and what the point was. I got that before I agreed to do it. But watching it with the audience, I couldn’t help but feel a little isolated and downhearted about it because they were not laughing at any skill or talent that I have. They were laughing because I am fat. It’s nothing new and I did like the film. But there is a little bit of hurt.
The film will be online in the future and I will provide a link.
Yesterday I saw a performace of “Eye of God”, a play by Tim Blake Nelson. This is Nelson’s first play written in 1992 when he was 24. It is only now making its New York debut, the innaugural production of the new theatre company, Theatre East.
Tim Blake Nelson also has a successful acting career. You might remember him as Delmar, one of George Clooney’s sidekicks in the Coen Brothers’ “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”
The story is compelling on a human level. About seemingly ordiary people in Kingfisher, Oklahoma, the story has operatic dimensions. It is about love and the lack of love, faith and the lack of faith, life and death. And it is about eyes, anatomical and metaphorical. A 13 year old boy witnesses something horrible which propels him on a journey through the darkness that is his sad life. A released prisoner propels himself upward from darkness on a journey towards what he believes to be light. The nexus that crosses their two lives is a woman of optimism, but no faith, and a need to love. It is all overseen by a kindly sheriff who dispenses homespun philosophy, thankfully without being folksy.
While I thought it was absorbing and engaging, the play did show some signs of the youth and inexperience of the author. Some metaphors are heavy. Some scenes take too long for what they contribute and sometimes the play loses its narrative momentum. At times the structure suggest there might be a detective story in the offing, but the mystery is too obvious for that. It did work for me as kind of a morality play, but unlike the Medieval morality plays, the morals here are a bit more complex. And there certainly are elements of tragedy. I thought the flaws were minor and the play was quite satisfying.
I don’t think the set designer helped much. Playing areas were raked for no good reason, curved like one side of a half-pipe. It cluttered the stage and was distracting. The rest of production was impressive, despite the limitations of the space. I did like the minimalist approach of the director. Rather than pursue verisimilitude, the stage comprised bare playing areas in which place is indicated by a spare selection of props, lighting and sound elements. The audience is given the pleasure of filling in the details and filling out the ambiance in their imagination.
The actors are all fine, especially Ehad Berisha who plays the 13 year old boy. Though his words were few, he made a harrowing impression of a young life in a dark storm of feelings.
Tim Blake Nelson directed a film version of the play which was released in 1997, with Mary Kay Place, Martha Plimpton, Richard Jenkins, Hal Holbrook and others. I have added it to my Netflix queue. I am eager to see what Nelson did with his own story.
If you are in New York, check out Theatre East. I expect good things from them.
(Disclosure: Daryl Wendy Strauss, one of the producers of the show, is a friend of mine. However, I believe my opinions were not swayed by that.)
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The late Henry Gibson wrote this poem for my friend Jeff on the occasion of his 50th birthday. I post it here in remembrance.
Possessed
by Henry Gibson
(For Jeff on his birthday – June 27, 2003)
Film documentarians document things
Like why dodo birds died, the creped shape of their wings.
They analyze data with such circumspection
That – name any two subjects, they’ll detect some connections:
Atoms and gingerbread - - - Stonehenge and gin,
Xerox machine and original sin.
They take notes and they film and they tape and record,
So seduced by their stuff that they never get bored.
It’s no big surprise their eyes constantly stare,
For they see things we don’t that are not even there.
Over months, sometimes years, by dribs and by drabs
They assemble the pieces in dimly-lit labs
Until snippets of dialogue which once seemed prosaic
Soar like a symphony and score the mosaic.
The mania recedes. The lips curl with a smile.
Satisfaction returns. But just for a while.
The Universe is lovely at night. (Click to enlarge.)
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Moon over Manhattan (Gansevoort Hotel seen from the Highline.)
Empire State Building