Aggravation (143) Anxiety (94) April Fool (1) Bitchiness (65) Bobby (84) BP (7) Burning in Hell (36) Bush (66) Calme au Blanc (13) Catholic Church (33) Charlotte Cushman (11) Cobalt Blue (26) Confusion (11) Crime (22) Daily Life (145) Dangling Conversations (46) Deep Thoughts (47) Depravity (29) Depression (45) Divertissement (15) Embarrassing Moments (17) Family (44) Friends (110) Frozen (15) Fun (60) Gay (67) Gertrude Stein and a Companion (19) Glass Menagerie (34) Good Things (72) Government (58) Gustav (16) Hate (20) Holidays (36) Hope (37) Hugging the Shoulder (6) Humid City (9) Humor (155) Hurricanes (3) Internets (8) Jesus (5) Justice (6) Katrina (119) Latrine (15) Life in the Quarter (353) Louisiana (12) Mardi Gras (85) Mark Rylance (1) Movie Stars (35) Music (22) Nagin (20) New Orleans (126) News (28) Nighthawks (29) NOLA Partee (1) Obits (12) Our-Leaders-in-Their-Wisdom (111) Outlaw City (126) Personal (405) Photography (532) Pity Post (11) Politics (79) R I P (12) Religion (20) Retirement (11) Righteous Shit (24) Sadness (37) Saints (19) Search-Engine Crap (20) Sex (34) Sick Humor (61) Silly Stuff (151) Southern Decadence (22) Striking Words (23) Stupid Shit (217) Take Me Out (41) Tattoos (18) Tennessee Williams (65) The End (1) The Human Comedy (15) Theatre (510) Thinking Blogger Award (1) Thrill Me (37) Treme (7) Valhalla (42) War (28) Weekly Photo Challenge (41) Weird Shit (9)
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Passing Through the Dark
That's a good thing - and a bad thing, too. A good thing because it's rewarding in ways hard to imagine. A bad thing because I end up scared and worried the production won't work for my audiences.
This play I'm working on now, Hugging the Shoulder, means a lot to me. It's an original work, never been published, and it speaks to me in ways not many plays do. It's a story about brothers - and my own blood family is only my two brothers and me now - and it's a story about guilt and loneliness and the journey through darkness toward a hoped-for day of reconciliation. I love the beautiful, wounded losers whose story the playwright, Jerrod Bogard, tells. We're all of us wounded in some way, after all.
I love, too, the fact that Jerrod has built his play out of bricks. It's structurally sound and built to withstand the weather.
I'm working with a gifted cast. The first couple of weeks of rehearsal were awkward for me as I tried to learn their languages. I've made some progress there, and we are beginning to cohere. Like stone and mortar maybe? They're good, and it's apparent they have as much regard for the play as I do.
If you happen to come across these words sometime, Jerrod, I'm just trying to say, "Thanks."