After working on my musical WELCOME TO THE AFTERLIFE! (fka ANGELS and ANGELS WE HAVE HEARD ON HIGH) for almost two years, I finally had the opportunity to stage a fully-funded workshop production up at California State University Stanislaus. The premise of the show is simple – the audience is dead and on their way to the Afterlife. While they wait for their paperwork to be completed, a group of angels entertains and informs them with a musical revue. Fun for the whole family!
As John Mayer, chair of the CSU Theater department, was casting the show (I wasn’t there, all shows are cast at the beginning of the semester), he cautioned me to keep my expectations realistic. “We don’t have the talent pool of some universities. And we’ve never done a musical without the participation of the music department. So you’re going to be doing a lot of teaching when you get here to direct…”
Up until that moment I hadn’t considered the teaching aspect of directing a show at a university. Sure, yes, “teaching” would happen. But my goal for the production was to give my script a good shake and fix what wasn’t solid. Teach? Like, really teach? I’d avoided teaching for years, mainly because I felt there wasn’t anything in which I was so well-versed I could teach without feeling like a complete fraud.
But the universe had other plans, and two different moments during my time at CSU would change a standard directing gig into a transformative experience.
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As I made the five-hour drive to scenic Turlock, CA (home of CSU Stanislaus), I reached out to my friend Alexandra, an amazing teacher with legions of students who adored her. She gave me a simple piece of advice – “Remember, the best teachers teach by doing.”
I agreed with this in principle, but had a hard time parsing the meaning fine enough to apply to my situation. Alexandra teaches acting. How do I “do” when I’m directing? Certainly not line readings. I was rolling this around in my head as I walked into one of our first rehearsals a week later when a thought struck me. “If I want them to be fearless, I have to be fearless.” This is not hyperbole – I stopped in my tracks. It was as if the thought had manifested itself physically in my body, and I had to stop moving for a moment to readjust. As I stood there, I thought, “Yes, yes, yes! That feels absolutely right!” I was on to something. But after the first rush of “Eureka!” still I was left with the central question – how do I “do” fearless as a director to inspire fearless in the actor?
Despite that unanswered question, as of that moment, I was a different person. My intentions changed. As my preconceived idea of myself shattered, the pieces started to fall into place.
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A few days later, as I was driving back to Los Angeles on our first weekend off from rehearsal, up popped Christian talk radio. Normally I would change the station immediately. But before I could turn the dial, I heard the host say, “…and God created the angels to be of service to man.” Wow, that’s the premise of my musical! I figured this was a sign to keep listening, so I did for a few moments. As the host droned on and on (Don’t Christian radio hosts, if they aren’t fire and brimstone, always drone on and on?), I realized the purpose for my time at CSU was right there in my own script – I was there to be of service to these students.
In that moment I realized what Alexandra meant by “doing.” “Doing” in this context meant to be open to input, criticism, knowledge, new ways of tacking problems, experiences of others – all things expected of actors, and now of me as well. By unabashedly opening myself up to the process, being fearlessly willing to fail as a director in front of my cast in the pursuit of success, I would be teaching by example. Yes, while I was there I would workshop my show. But the reason I was there was to help a group of people leap off a cliff…by leaping off first.
A good performance can be created out of any number of things – imagined back story, Viewpoints exercises, good old fashioned pretending, etc. But the basis of a great performance is always being open to being great. I had to be open to being a great teacher, and in turn, hopefully, the students would follow. I expanded in a way I can’t explain when I realized I didn’t have to have all the answers, I just had to be there to guide the students to discovering them for themselves. Here’s the edge. I’m going to leap off. Are you?
As we made our way through a way-too-short rehearsal process, the student performers continually amazed me at how receptive they were. I worried less and less about how “good” the show would be as a whole, and more about how to bring the best out of the actors as individuals. Sometimes it was as easy as saying, “You have this in you already…” And sometimes it was as tough as brushing off excuses for “Why I can’t…” These performers were sponges, soaking up the experience. (I discovered that sometimes the sponge is full and will resist more input, so you have to gently wring it out so it can absorb even more.) In turn, I learned how to teach in a genuine way.
My goal changed from “a great show” to “everyone at their best.” I pushed them further than they were used to, they let me, and we were rewarded with a show that was, indeed, great.
I became a teacher during my time in Turlock, and I can’t wait to do it again. There were five actors and one director during the rehearsal of the show, but there were six students…
