Schoolin'

Once again, if you haven't read Scott Walters and Tom Loughlin's excellent five-part series on the state of theatre education (nicely organized by the folks at Praxis Theatre here), do it now. This post was originally going to be a reaction, with my thoughts on their thoughts, and it still will to some extent, but I don't really have a wide knowledge of the theatre education system, at least not in the sort of programs that Walters and Loughlin are speaking of/working in. Instead, this will be a reflection on my experiences in hopes that I will discover something or two in the process. Coincidentally, I just directed the chair of my old theatre department to my blog a few days ago. Let's see how I juggle that knowledge with this post.

Basic info on my education: I graduated from Wartburg College in Waverly, Iowa. The current incarnation of the theatre department is extremely young, now sneaking up on just under a decade or so. (If I remember correctly, there was a program at one point in time that was dropped long ago and needed to be restarted from scratch.) I was one of the first few graduating classes to come out of the program with a major, which is actually a Communication Studies major with a Theatre emphasis. I was one of three majors who graduated in 2005. Small school + new program = tiny numbers.

Basic info on my specific experience: I didn't have an inch of a clue what I wanted to do coming into school, but theatre wasn't on the list of interests despite a lot of involvement in high school. I ended up focusing on Radio and Television Production, but got bored after mastering the basics. I took an acting class spring of my sophomore year and ended up coming back that fall as a theatre major. I hit the ground running and did quite well for myself in the last two years, but the fact remains that I didn't even set an eye on the theatre department for almost half of my education.

There was a decent period of time not long after I moved to Chicago that I felt very unsatisfied with the education I had received. I was discovering all of these other techniques and movements and styles and endless possibilites that hadn't even crossed my ears in college and I was frustrated, because it seemed as though my education had been on a much more elementary level than that of the people I was encountering. And to a certain degree, it was. But I no longer blame the program for that nearly as much, for a number of reasons.

First of all, it was a relatively elementary program. Not only was the curriculum in its infancy when I arrived, it was also a BA (without the 'F') program at a small Midwestern Lutheran liberal arts-oriented school. The basics are exactly what we should have been learning. Plus, it certainly didn't help matters that I tore through the program in two years. What I got was the basics of the basics, taking in 100% of the information in 50% of the time, never a good learning environment. The discoveries I have made my first two years in Chicago are discoveries I should have been making my junior and senior years of college. And probably would have been, with a little foresight and/or patience.

Preparing to graduate, I was in a total lurch in the 'what next?' department. I did the whole grad school search, paid out for the URTAs, went completely unnoticed, and got really down on myself. I knew a few people who were in grad school, a few who were on their way to, and a few who were doing intern stints in places like Milwaukee and Louisville, but I didn't really know that many who had gone out and done their own damn thing. Not only was it frightening, it felt like the leftovers, the island of misfit theatre practitioners.

First pause for topical enlightenment: this is exactly the sort of status quo mentality that Scott and Tom are talking about: "Step 1, Step 2, Step 3, Now I'm a real artist!" It seems ridiculous in hindsight, but not going for my MFA seemed to be a very real concern at the time. This was not something I was taught, either. I should be clear that my education did not actively instill these steps in me. It just seemed to be the way things work. And someone like myself, who very rarely buys into the "way things work" excuse and often fought it even at that point, still felt utterly inadequate for falling outside of the system. This says to me that it's not enough to passively skim over the Goliath effect of the system; educators must actively encourage students to take the David role and find unique ways around the big problems.

Regularly scheduled blog: I do lament the lack of, shall we say, variety presented to us. But this comes with a program whose chair is also the department's only dedicated faculty member. (Hi, William! Welcome to my blog!) When the same man who is teaching Acting is also teaching Stagecraft, Directing, Survey of Drama, etc., his opinions are bound to seem a little universal. He wasn't tyrannical in his views at all and I'm certain that he would have encouraged a little dissonance every now and again. But theses are 18-22 year olds we're talking about, an age with a great capacity to get uppity countered with an intense need to not be seen as foolish. We could've provided the dissonance, but some poking and prodding would have been necessary. And as a result of me not questioning as much as I otherwise would have, I had to come to certain realizations long after I should have. A specific example: I didn't gain an appreciation of Beckett until way late in the game. While Beckett wasn't ignored, nor was an anti-Beckett regime taught, it was obvious that our chair was not a fan. Which isn't a bad thing in itself -- in fact, in a traditional theatrical department, that would be the dissonance -- but without any other views to take into account, we generally paid little mind to Beckett, which is a shame.

Second pause for enlightenment: Students, especially in undergrad, are bound to adopt the views of their professors. Countering this must come from more than one direction. Yes, our chair could, and probably should, have more actively encouraged us to challenge him (or read more Beckett). However, I think that more essential (through leading by example) is a theatre department whose members hold a variety of opposing artistic beliefs and who are visibly productive both as individuals and as a community despite (and hopefully because of) that variety. Having professors who enjoyed Beckett as well as those who didn't would have been far more helpful than one who didn't or many who did (as I'm sure is the case in many departments). It's much in line with the anti-gated community that Scott talks about in his most recent post. More important than students being told to think for themselves is being able to closely observe experienced artists thinking for themselves and using that to further each other's (and their collaborative) work. Leading by example and all that.

Regulary scheduled summation: So this ended up being closer to a love letter to my education that I would have ever guessed. While I am coming to appreciate my earlier formative years (because they're still happening, of course) more by the day, there were definitely some problems, both major and minor, with Wartburg's program. But I'll save those, and maybe suggestions for possible solutions, for the next post.

P.Rekk
2007

Pizza! Pizza!

A Little Caesar's just opened three blocks from my house. I had brief consumer relations with the Caesar while living in Sioux Falls, South Dakota for a summer, but it was nowhere near the stone's throw away this one is. I predict much one dollar Crazy Bread in my future; this is either a very good or verrrrrry bad development.

Marisa and David have tagged me [edit: Ack! Rob got me, too!] with a 'lameness' blog that was actually started by Marisa. That's right, people, I'm important enough to be included in the first wave of a meme. Boo-yah.

Here's the meme:

List 5 things that certain people (who are not deserving of being your friend anyway) may consider to be "totally lame," but you are, despite the possible stigma, totally proud of. Own it. Tag 5 others:

I'm actually having a bit of trouble with this one, not because I'm not lame but because I'm gleefully unaware of just how lame I can really be. Here goes nuttin':

1. I was a spelling bee kid. A fair chunk of my junior high years were spent spelling. According to the Knights of Columbus, I was third best speller in the state of Iowa in 7th grade. (And I still hold a grudge against the moderator/judge: if you pronounce "accessible" like "assessable", my 7th grade self is going to spell "assessable") My shining moment was winning the South Dakota regional Scripps Howard spelling bee -- that's the one whose national competition is broadcast on ESPN. Unfortunately, because I was an Iowa resident, I wasn't allowed to move on to the state competition and the runner-up took my place. I did get to keep the three-foot-tall trophy, though.

2. I have a history of blood-related fainting. It used to be horribly embarrassing, but I'm coming around to it slowly. Seeing blood doesn't really bother me, but my imagination is what you might call active, so when I hear stories or only get snippets, I can visualize the rest and often much worse than the reality of the situation. (It is probably also a big contributing factor to my extreme phobia of accidentally slitting my wrists.) Among the inconvenient places I have (or have almost) passed out: my college cafeteria, a movie theatre (two, almost three, times!), the Red Line (almost), my childhood pastor's home, and Konak.

3. I spent a summer (that same one in Sioux Falls) as a door to door meat salesman. It was for a small company similar to Omaha Steaks, and every morning we'd toss cases of frozen meat into the back of our delivery trucks with a big chunk of dry ice and set out to random small towns in South Dakota, Minnesota, Iowa, and occasionally Nebraska and peddle our wares from one house to the next. Meat peddling can be surprisingly fruitful if you can make it past the first few weeks (working on 100% commission leads to a very high turnover rate), and I can also now say that I have been ticketed and fined for "soliciting" my meat.

4. I grew up in one of those small towns. Small like you can't understand type small. My high school graduating class was a whopping 37 people. I could still name everyone in my senior yearbook, first name and last -- the entire high school. And my hometown of George (Yes, George, which is right down the road from Edna. They were brother and sister. I shit you not.) is actually relatively normal in size for the area. As opposed to Ritter, about 20 miles away, with its entire population of six people last I had heard.

5. I use three different names. This baffles people, and I think it's probably the sort of baffle that swings towards the 'lame' side. Depending on when, where, and in what capacity you met me, you might think of me as Adam Van Briesen, Bries Vannon, or Paul Rekk. I really don't have a preference, nor am I concerned with the 'real' one. They're all real in my mind. Although, I'm quite certain that three is the limit.

Alright, who wants to play? I pick Tony, Joe, Adam, Rebecca, and the Devil Vet himself. Go!

P.Rekk
2007

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

It's here! The full schedule has been released, which means we can officially announce the arrival of the: (insert town crier voice)

CHICAGO FILM FESTIVAAAAAL!

Pardon me as a geek out for a second. Unfortunately, as I was last year, I will be in tech during the festival, proving that the gods of theatre and film jointly have it out for me. And, as last year, I am promising that next year I am going to completely blacken my calender for the first half of October, buy a full pass and have my very own two week filmic vacation. Swear to god, it's gonna happen this time. I will still have four days and two weekend evenings to fill this year, so's I'm picking up a ten film pass. And I will be doing it today, because I have an irrational fear that everyone will suddenly discover how freaking amazing the film festival is and shit's gonna sell out instantaneously. Hey, it keeps me on my toes.

Here's the probable Paul Rekk Viewing Experience so far -- much of the lunch hour will be spent in a daze over the film schedule and my planner.

Noise (Matthew Seville, Australia)
Flight of the Red Balloon (Hou Hsiao-hsien, France)
4 Months, 3 Weeks, & 2 Days (Cristian Mungiu, Romania)
Silent Light (Carlos Reygadas, Mexico/France/Netherlands)
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Julian Schnabel, France/USA)
One Hundred Nails (Ermanno Olmi, Italy)
Scream of the Ants (Mohsen Makhmalbaf, Iran/France)
The Walker (Paul Schrader, USA/UK)
A Walk Into The Sea (Esther Robinson, USA)

and one of the following:

The Duchess of Langeais (Jacques Rivette, France/Italy)
The Man From London (Bela Tarr, Hungary/France/Germany)

It's going to be a tough choice.

I know this request will be met with the same unblinking response it is every year, but if anyone has any recommendations or disrecommendations, these ears are open for biz-nass.

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Also, I probably shouldn't completely go without plugging Signal Ensemble Theatre's foray into S-LP's 365 Days/365 Plays project. It's going on tomorrah night at the Signal rehearsal space (the same place as Per Diem's slam bang) at 8 pm. Deets are to the right. What's my connection? Who knows? Maybe I'll be directing! Maybe Bries'll be acting! Maybe I'll be directing and Bries'll be acting!! But I will be there -- first sign of a good time -- and so will Signal -- second sign of a good time -- so make yourselves the third sign. Or the sign of the cross. It might be necessary.

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I have also been tagged for the Five Strengths meme by scholar and gentleman extraordinaire, David Alan Moore. I'm in a much less conceited mood today, so I'll let the previous five resound rather than coming up with another five backpats.

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Theatre lessons learned and reinforced in the past two weeks (without going into too much dirty laundry):

• You can learn a lot surrounded by artists better than you. You can also learn a lot surrounded by artists worse than you. The latter is far less enjoyable.

• If a director has a character-related question for an actor but only sees one answer as acceptable, it's best to forego the whole question process and just give the only answer that will be acceptable.

• Organization is not everything. Planning ahead is not everything. But god damn it if they aren't a lot of it.

• Paul's Priorities: Character, then stage picture.

• Paul's Priorities: Blocking, then off-book.

• Shit don't have to make sense in regards to the real world, but shit gotta make sense within the created world.

• Lesson still in progress: the effects of zero marketing (I have a hunch I know the outcome.)

• If you can't remember worth a good god damn, Write. It. Down.

• Rehearsals involve actors. If you're going to turn one into a glorified production meeting, call it a production meeting and release the actors.

Needless to say, I'm in a frustrating situation artistically. I'm almost a bit hesitant to post this, as it'd be easy enough for it to make it's way back around to the wrong parties. However, I'm baring much less teeth than I would like to and if I don't get it out I might just explode.

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And, I'm sure you've seen them by now, but be sure to check out Scott Walters and Tom Loughlin's series on the state of theatre education. It's wrapping up and is an enlightening read. I'll put some of my thoughts (and experience) up next week.

P.Rekk
2007

*kick, kick, shuffle, shuffle*

I attended The Nod With Don Hall And Joe Janes (henceforth: TNWDHAJJ, phonetically: TEHN-wuhd-hahzh) last night. There was much Noddage to be had, because all of these people kick ass (sorry, I planned that link-tence poorly). There was also much snacks to be had. There were no puppets to be had, but I place no blame. I had a great time menos puppetos, so all is forgiven.

Other discoveries:

- Pringles: highly appealing. Pringles with words printed on them: unappealing. Pringles with movie trivia printed on them: Better, but only slightly; might be read, will not be eaten.

- Joe Janes and Don Hall stumbled across a Dutch-esque cookie sampler pack that was not only edible but tasty. I stand in awe, but I imagine that Dutch people everywhere are recoiling as their culinary trickery is overthrown.

- I pay an inordinate amount of attention to free snacks. Funny that.

- Don Hall is real.

- The list of people who might possibly be a figment of my imagination is rapidly approaching extinction. Still remaining: Tony Blair, Picabo Street, Rob Lowe, the ticket lady at the Landmark Century Cinema with the really funny-ass accent, Chef Boyardee, and Gregory the 5'8" Invisible Lemur.

- Poop is funny. (Alright, this wasn't a discovery. More of a reinforced fact.)

- Most funny, personable bloggers translate into funny, personable persons.

- Except me.

I kinda sorta had that lingering back of the brain dread that I get in any situation in which I will be all by myself meeting all sorts of new people in a social environment. It's the junior high dance mindset: "Boy, it sure would be great to talk to those people on the other side of the gym. Girls, I believe they're called. I've heard the stories; sugar, spice, other nice things. But how, oh how, am I to begin a conversation with these maidens? Do we even speak the same language? I will have been to France by the time I reach college, and my awesome pubescent powers of foresight tell me that situation will prove that language barriers will be hard to cross. It might be best if I just stay over here in the comforting shade of this brick wall. And after another Fresca, weh-heh-ell, who knows what kind of shenanigans I'll get into? I may even walk over, stand a few feet outside of an already established conversation, smile awkwardly and occasionally nod! Paul Rekk's going nuts tonight! Woohoo!"

God, junior high is a weird place.

And yet, this is how I still act around new groups of people. But it's not just girls anymore. Oh, there were plenty of disarmingly attractive/witty/lots of other good qualities lady bloggers (is bloggerettes un-PC?) at The Nod, to be sure. (ed. note: You see, what I just did there is called the Post-Compliment. Ideally, Charming Lady Blogger will stumble across the Reve by association or linkage and be taken in by the endearing qualities that I am unable to imbue myself with in social settings. Then the Post-Compliment strikes, smiting [in the hearts-in-eyes manner, not the plague-of-boils manner] Charming Lady Blogger and increasing potential for further interaction. [ed. note within note: And what I just accomplished here was a sense of Self-Referential Ease. In the off-chance that the Post-Compliment is seen by Charming Lady Blogger as, for lack of a better word, creepy, a ridiculously lengthy, layered parenthetical will be sufficiently unexpected so as to diffuse the online awkwardness.]) However, in the years since J-High, I have discovered that I am not, it turns out, made of snakes, snails, or dog tails -- puppy or otherwise -- and that there is a slight possibility that other boys, who I've been told are made of such things, may speak in tongues as well. So, really, why chance it?

So congratulations Nodders, on a great event. And don't mind the tall, skinny, blonde kid in the corner. He's just looking for the Fresca.

P.Rekk
2007

Heartbreak in (not quite) ten frames.

I went bowling on Sunday.

Of course, whenever anyone announces that they went bowling, the next thing out of their mouth is how much they suck at bowling. Sorry to be predictable, but I do too. Suck at bowling. Oh, I'm not the most hideous of hideous, as my downstairs housemate proved with her valiant attempt at staying in the single digits. But the last time she bowled was over a decade ago. In Bali. And who knows what kind of bowling rules they kept in Bali at the turn of the '90s. Me? I was last bowling three or four years ago. In Iowa. Where the rules are the same. Except for this automatic foul bullshit if you accidentally slide the teeniest fraction of a centimeter past the line. (I fouled three times my first game. No fukkin' mercy, I tell ya.)

Maybe I don't suck hard. But I am on the low end of mediocre. My all-time high score is somewhere in the 160s. But that was high school; I was at my athletic peak. Now I'm ecstatic to break three digits. Which I promptly did not do on Sunday. I missed the first game because I'm the sort of asshole that shows up late to birthday parties. That counts as a zero. The second game started with a spare and it was all denouement from there, though I managed to sneak in at the mid-50s, a marked improvement.

And as Olivia Newton-John crooned "Xanadu" [note: The video screen for the Rock n' Cosmic Crazy Times Look At The Pretty Colors Bowl was directly above our lane. Not only did I have the toothy maw at the end of the lane to contend with, but also the likes of Prince, Michael Jackson, and Madonna traipsing two feet above the straight line I was trying to telekinese my ball onto. No, Ricky, neither me nor my fourteen pound friend are in the proper headspace to live la vida loca. And put those hips away.], I burst into the final game balls a-blazin'. It was an erratic battle, but I started to pull it together towards the last. And as I got up to bowl my tenth frame, a mere three pins from the mythical 100, I was informed by the bowling computer gods (I think En Vogue had a hand in it as well) that our pre-paid allotted time had expired. Everything shut down: the scorekeeper, the ball return, the pin sweeper, my soul...

And here I am, stuck at 85 going into a ninth frame strike.

Thank god for Don Hall. He graced me with a Five Strengths meme today. It's a feel good meme, and Madonna's not allowed. Here's the scoop:

"Make a list of five strengths that you possess as a writer/artist. It's not really bragging, it's an honest assessment (forced upon you by this darn meme). Please resist the urge to enumerate your weaknesses, or even mention them in contrast to each strong point you list. Tag four other writers or artists whom you'd like to see share their strengths."

1. I don't often 'fess up to it, but I'm really fucking intelligent. The way I am able to analyze and process on my feet is almost abnormal.

2. I have a knack for seeing a different way to do things. I also have the bullheadedness to insist on doing it.

3. I am Fonz-cool and relaxed when in the early discovery stages of a production and single-track focused and decisive when crunch time hits and shit needs get done. It's a good balance.

4. I am able to recognize talents greater than mine (and that they are legion), and learn from them without defaulting to them.

5. I have a fuse like no other. You have to be actively going out of your way to destroy my being in order to get me to fly off the handle. And even then your chances are only 50-50.

Your turn! I pick Bil, Dan, Rob, and Mac. Go!

P.Rekk
2007

Just another Paul Rekk Monday. Oh-Ooo-Oh.

Hello friendly online friends! And welcome to Monday!

Well, Friday went off without a hitch. Per Diem's Hitchless Event, one might call it. Or HiTCHLeSS, in big red rubberstamp letters. Why? What a dumb question. Of course I don't know.

Pardon Paul, he's a punchy little bugger today.

Yes, yes, without a hitch indeed. We had a great turnout -- in the whereabouts of 30 or so -- and everyone was willing to play, whether that meant getting on their feet and jumping into a ten-minute play they had never seen hide nor hair of before or just kicking back and enjoying watching others put their neurons in overdrive. There was a surprising (in a very good way) mix of comic and dramatic performances and a lot of surprisingly (in a very amazing way) great performances, considering the zero hour prep time. It was a credit to the level of talent we have to work with in the city. People milled a little afterwards and a few of the more familiar faces hopped down to Goldie's for some cheap PBR and loose post mortem. I had a great time, and it sounds like everyone else did as well, which is all I can really ask for.

Plus, we now have a few interested candidates for that exclusive third ensemble spot. Hopefully we'll be able to meet up with them and have an official ensemble within a matter of weeks. I'll keep you posted, Interweb.

I also caught Sunday's industry matinee of the highly acclaimed Soiree DADA -- and I know you've all been hanging onto the edges of your seats for Senor Rekk to give his thoughts on the show, right? Alrighty then. I don't think you can really spoil the experience of the show by simply talking about it (Don, Joe, Bob, anyone else involved, would you (dis)agree?), but if you are especially adverse to spoilers, you may want to turn away, as I will be going into detail.

It was like nothing I have seen before. Which is a good chunk of the point. After hurting DADA Flutter's feelings and falling prey to DADA Rusty Cluster's misleading ways, I found my stride, impressing DADA DomDeluise with a card trick and eventually being brought into the DADA Brova fold with my keen eyesight, soft hands and ID card declaring my post-21ness. I kicked back at the Brova bistro tables and had a glass of wine. He slid a handwritten Non-Aggression Pact my way, which I happily signed. The guy to my left signed away his Power Of Attorney to Brova, also on a handwritten note. I question that decision.

Then the whirlwind began. And Don was right -- I was never bored. I was challenged at every bend, but always in different ways. Physically, as we were encouraged to (and did) fondle another audience member's ass in order to bring him to a proper level of offense or as DADA Boxcar began to profess her feelings for me before being interrupted by Rusty. Morally, watching the another audience member mercilessly shoot the freak and watching yet another audience member -- this one a friend of mine -- refuse to stop DADA Dabo's burning of an innocent tissue. I urgently wanted to stride across the room and take the tissue away from Dabo's sadistic flame. And had I fully allowed myself to get into the spirit of the show, I probably should have. I suck. And emotionally -- which was the least expected -- inexplicably from DADA Nip's paen to her half-devoured baby and from Dabo's ultra-climactic "One Of Me" a moment of catharsis that hung heavy on an audience aware but unable to meet it.

The show ran about an hour and 15 minutes, felt like 45 minutes, and left me as exhausted as if it were three hours. And magically, after it was all over, Joe Janes was there. I hadn't seen him come in, but I could've been too distracted to notice. Either way it was good to finally meet him and affirm that he is an actual person. There was no Don Hall. The alibi was Work(shop) in Progess, but my suspicion, as from the start, is that he's a figment of my imagination. However, I'm going again on Friday (consider the gauntlet dropped, Don!), determined to honor my heritage by being accepted by the Germans (consider the gauntlet dropped, DADA Mondo Yippeeeeeeeee!), and with a friend in tow. A friend who knows nothing of Dada and who I have instructed to learn nothing of Dada in the coming week. And that's a big gauntlet. Excitement abounds!

By the way, Don -- not only was I not bored, I absolutely liked it and had a great time. Sincere thanks. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a project to work on: "Make a mobile: Influence: Ch-" The DADA box has spoken.

P.Rekk
2007

Announcement! Psst, it's about tonight!