Crazytown

WE'RE ALL MAD HERE.

In this review: SPOILERS for the experience of seeing Then She Fell. You've been warned.
By Alisha Giampola (writer/performer)

I am a sucker for immersive theatre experiences. I loved Sleep No More. I want all of my future theatre experiences to involve snacks and/or alcoholic beverages and even slightly intense prolonged eye-contact. Perhaps because I know what it feels like to be on the actor's side of the fourth wall, I love shows that totally destroy that wall and ask the audience to step over the crumbled ruins of it and into the action. If Sleep No More offers a voyeuristic haunted house for guests to explore masked, unguided, and at will; Then She Fell is a much more intimate, playful, disorienting experience that you engage in alone but constantly accompanied by members of the cast as well as nurses and orderlies of the institution. Oh, did I mention that you'll be spending the evening in a Victorian mental hospital? 

Inspired by the works of Lewis Carroll and his real-life, possibly romantic relationship with the child Alice Liddell, Then She Fell is a theatre piece I have come to, rather typically, several years after it started getting rapturous reviews in the Times. Honestly, it fell under my radar for a while, and then when it popped onto my radar I had to wait to rationalize the ticket price (admittedly, not cheap, but then the experience is WORTH IT), which I'm glad I did because they have a closing date of April 30, 2017. They've extended before, but who knows? So if you want to definitely go see this amazing production, I recommend getting tickets now and seeing it this spring.

Knowing that you're seeing a wildly popular show that only sells 15 tickets a performance is intimidating. For most of it, you are being directly performed to. I spent several minutes sitting silently across from an actor who was a sort of non-literal representation of the White Rabbit, painting a white rose red with a tiny paintbrush, feeling a genuine stress that we wouldn't be done in time. I participated in a mad tea party, smashing my tea cup on the table with the White and Red Queens, Rabbit, and Hatter, and then sipping a deliciously brewed concoction that I had helped choose before being whisked away again for a bedtime story (and being literally tucked into a crisp, white bed). I watched two Alices dance through a mirrored glass, once from inside the Red Queen's luxurious apartment, and once from inside a sparkling fairy burrow, while being fed purple grapes by the White Queen. Later, one of the Alices had me hand her clothing after her bath, all while asking me questions about love. At the end of that scene, we were looking directly into each other's eyes between the bannister of a staircase and she queried if I had lived happily ever after with that first person, that first person I ever loved. When I laughed lightly and said "No," her face darkened abruptly, and she ran up the stairs in a huff, too fast for me to run after. 

After the show, my husband Daniel and I tucked ourselves into a nearby bar and over a nightcap excitedly exchanged stories of everything that had happened to us since we'd been split up. We had seen part of the show together. For a few scenes, like when the Red Queen spiraled into insanity with a bottle of pills in a locked ward, we had been the only two audience members watching. But once we were separated, Daniel was led off by the Mad Hatter, a redheaded chanteuse whom we'd watched dance on top of a wardrobe earlier in the evening, and was asked riddles. I was redirected into a room with a gramophone and instructed to open increasingly large books with bottles hidden inside as a Doctor concocted me a cocktail. Then he left me alone with a stack of letters to read and the voice from the gramophone reciting The Walrus and the Carpenter. I barely had time to skim the first letter before the White Rabbit retrieved me to come paint roses with him. Meanwhile, Daniel peeled and ate an orange with one of the Alices while I, somewhere else in the building, was watching the other Alice wrestle with the Red Queen. 

Like Sleep No More, this is dance theatre. Most of the scenes have a movement-heavy element driving them. Unlike Sleep No More, the experience feels tailor-made for you and you alone. You aren't eavesdropping on these people, they are inviting you to take part, have a sip, take a bite, answer a question. "Do you take dictation?" the actor playing Lewis Carroll asked me in a room that would have been a regular writer's study, except for the pools of water sinking into the floor in unexpected places. After I wrote his letter, he signed it, placed it in a bottle, and waded into the black water barefoot to send it off with all the others. The Doctor retrieved me and brought me upstairs to play a game of chess with him. I knew immediately that it was the chess game from Through The Looking Glass. He explained the entire sequence of moves to me, guiding me through playing Alice's white pawn, as if he was reading a particularly perplexing case study. At the end, he handed me a cup of tea, retrieved the ring of keys I'd been entrusted with during the performance (and encouraged to use on any lock I found), and suddenly orderlies began bringing the 14 other people of the audience, including Daniel, into the room where I sat. The show was over. I had been the only one, maybe, to play chess with the doctor. I definitely had been the only one to finish my stay in Wonderland with the chess game scene. 

As a long time lover of Lewis Carroll's Alice books, I was delighted to recognize so many moments from the stories and from the sad and strange real-life tale of Carroll and Alice. The show is a beautiful and beautifully sympathetic exploration of duality, sanity, reality, and the magic of childhood. At the beginning of the show, just as the audience members are starting to be whisked off by different actors to begin their own personalized journey through the piece, the Doctor offers a definition of liminality. From the Latin limin, meaning "threshold". We get our English word "lintel" from here. Liminality is the quality of ambiguity and disorientation experienced by participants in a ritual, usually magical or spiritual, that occurs midway through- before the participant has been changed completely by the ritual, but are no longer what they were before they began. The show attempts to make adolescent Alices of us all. Not quite big, not quite small, not quite having drunk all of the bottle yet, but definitely having taken a nice sip. Few shows have touched me and haunted me as much as this one has, and I am excited to see more from Third Rail Projects, who developed this and other immersive pieces, as theatre like this becomes more and more prolific and available. I look forward to the day when the idea of seeing a piece of theatre that isn't located in a repurposed warehouse space in Brooklyn is unusual. 

The only photo here that I actually took (after the show was over of course) of my "prescription" for the tea I chose during the Mad Tea Party and the stamped program I was given at the end of the show. The two other pictures in this article are press photos. The current company of Then She Fell can be found here.

 

ALISHA GIAMPOLA is an NYC based actor/teacher/writer who did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
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SUPER SHITTY SKETCH THURSDAYS!

Or, Jennifer attempts to get her ass in gear.
By Jennifer Anderson (actor/singer/writer when she has a deadline)

Crazytown, it's time for me to admit my failings as a burgeoning sketch writer. One of the first rules of starting to do this thing is to, simply, write. And write. And write some more. And write a lot more. And at that, I am terrible. Unless I have someone standing over me, or a group to hold me accountable, or a gun to my head, I can't ever sit down and barf out even the shittiest of sketches. I'll be inspired by an idea, start the first few lines, then give up when it's not as funny as Melissa McCarthy as Sean Spicer. So I've decided to use my Thursdays here at Crazytown as a tool to get myself writing. And because I like transparency and the least amount of pressure possible, my goal is that this will be the space for all of the crap I come up with but can't finish because I feel like it's not good enough. So, feel free to make fun of it. Feel free to question my ability and talent as a writer (I know I will). But my hope is that once all of the constipation of terrible ideas have passed, the really good stuff will start moving though. So enjoy! (Or don't. Probably don't.) Today's pass: "Tough and Dirty Race"

PROTEST IS THE NEW BRUNCH

It's only February.
By Alisha Giampola (writer/performer)

When satire has become reality, when those leading our government are making Orwellian propaganda seem tame by comparison, when the creators of South Park don't even know how to make fun of the current administration, because truth has become too much stranger than even the fictions of their twisted minds... what is the right approach? What tone do artists take during times like this to resist fascism and authoritarian moves like literally attempting to destroy the amendment that maintains our government's fine line of separation between church and state? It isn't funny anymore, and making fun of it feels daunting. Why bother satirizing a man who can tweet stuff like this with a dead-straight face: "I don't know Putin, have no deals in Russia, and the haters are going crazy..." I mean.... okayyyyy, dude. I literally don't know what to say about that. When you spend your entire Black History Month speech talking about how everyone likes you and you got more votes than anyone in the whole world ever and everyone else is losers, and then say things like: "Frederick Douglass is an example of somebody who's done an amazing job and is being recognized more and more, I notice," as if Frederick Douglass is a real up-and-comer in middle management of a small but promising office supplies company... I just literally don't know what to say. 

Which is why I'm realizing more and more that the only way to respond to this preposterousness is with total and complete sincerity. (Although, there is absolutely a time and place for wit, and this is making me laugh today in the face of the utterly ridiculous confirmation of Betsey DeVos as Secretary of Education.) So. What do I mean by sincerity? I don't mean a total lack of irony. I don't mean "eschewing the lifesaving gift of comedy altogether". I just mean like, show up. I, a total and utterly insincere jerk, have been going to protests. Singing "This Land Is Our Land" alongside people holding homemade signs. Writing postcards to my congresspeople. Calling my senators and representatives EVERY SINGLE DAY (and also calling the ones in Florida, where I grew up, because I still have a Florida area code, and enjoy calling Marco Rubio and reminding him that he got bought by Betsy DeVos). 

Some people have gotten really fired up about caring about the future of our democracy. A lot of awesome people I know have always cared about the political climate of our country, and are not foul-weather activists like myself, who suddenly realized a few months ago that being mildly displeased about things but only actually bothering about them when they affect you is a really shitty way to be a human. But some of us needed things to become really horrible to become involved. As a kid I remember reading about Anne Frank and Sojourner Truth and the French Revolution and thinking: "Oh, so like if I ever saw things get bad politically, it would be pretty clear who the good guys and bad guys are. Everyone I know and care about would also be like 'Yeah, clearly those are the bad guys and here's our secret hiding place and here's our box of stolen ration cards.'" But that's not how things are. Yeah, it's pretty easy to see who the bad guys are, but it's really unclear how to deal with them and how bad they actually have to let things get before it's justified to begin calling them bad guys. And it is certainly surprising how many people don't clearly see the same distinctions between good guys and bad guys. 

I guess what I'm saying is, life is way more complicated than I expected when I was eleven, but is also surprisingly way more simple. I'm mortified that our country isn't accepting refugees from the country my own family escaped from during the last century, and I'm even more mortified that I feel so utterly helpless about how little I can ultimately do. Some of my friends are deciding to refocus their careers and run for office and help become one of the good guys in our government. Others are leading the resistance and gently pushing back on every human rights-compromising decision coming out of the White House today. Educators like myself have their work cut out for them for these next few years. Raising more tolerant, kind, inquisitive, questioning, inclusive humans is clearly in order. Humans who don't bully, who understand that the success of a group can be really good for the success of each individual in the group. Humans who are confident enough to accept that not everyone has to think exactly the same way, but we do all have to find a way to work together or our planet is doomed. Humans who recognize that just because someone believes in a different religion than you, that doesn't mean they're dangerous. Humans who are students of history and encourage others to be lifelong students as well. 

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair… we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way…”
- Charles Dickens "A Tale of Two Cities" (how did he KNOW, AMIRITE?!) -

If you live in (or are planning a visit to) NYC, and you'd like to partake in some art that embodies the sentiment of "resist, with sincerity", may I recommend a few things that I'm currently interested in?

-The Museum of Modern Art's curated displays of art from the countries affected by the administrations' unconstitutional travel ban.
- An upcoming production (starring a former director of mine, Kevin Del Aguila! Yay, Kevin!) of Brecht's The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui, a parable play about a dictator to be performed on February 20th, with ticket sales benefiting the Southern Poverty Law Center. 
- Sweat, a widely acclaimed Public Theatre drama about the struggle of the working class transfers to Broadway in March.

A couple other things I'd love to recommend this week are an Oscar-nominated documentary that I loved (and at our house where Daniel tries and frequently succeeds at seeing every nominated film every awards season, I can tell you that I see a lot of Oscar-nominated documentaries): Life, Animated- a beautiful story about a young man with autism who communicates through the films he loves. Also, this week's This American Life was heartbreaking and timely.

A picture I took during this week's protest in Washington Square Park. #thisiswhatdemocracysoundslike
I am proud to live in a city that stands strong with refugees from the devastation in Syria (and every other place in need of hope and freedom). 

ALISHA GIAMPOLA is an NYC based actor/teacher/writer who has no idea why La La Land has been nominated for so many Oscars.
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RISE UP

All the ladies who truly feel me
Throw your hands up at me
By Alisha Giampola (writer/performer)

I visited the Whitney Museum this past weekend with a dear friend on her birthday. She's an artist herself, and as a writer, I deeply respect anyone who can create a picture to replace my thousand words. We stopped at one point in front of the same piece, by Annette Lemieux, titled Left Right Left Right. 

Reading a bit about the artist and the piece, which was created in 1995, I learned that the piece used to be exhibited upright, with the fists (some of which are of famous activists and leaders such as Martin Luther King, Jr.) shown right side up. Although, even upright, "several of the images are flipped, so that the same fist appears raised in opposing directions, and the use of photographs from various decades injects difference into what appears on first glance to be a unified front." Originally the work was meant to indicate (continuing in the words of the curated description): "that protests—and the political and ideological issues that occasion them—are more complex, encompassing contradictions and opposing views." However, in the wake of the recent election, the artist requested that her work be flipped upside down: “Lemieux’s gesture suggests a commitment to individual agency, the continuing power of protest, and a feeling, in her words, that the ‘world has turned upside down’,” the museum explained in a statement. 

I think it's fascinating, and not unexpected, that the artist has found new and refreshed meaning in her own art. Originally questioning the unity of any protest, the artist now sees her own work as a statement about the continuing power of such protest, including her own ability to participate through her chosen artistic voice. 

Meryl Streep stated last week in her powerful speech as she received a lifetime achievement award at the Golden Globes that an actor's "only job is to enter the lives of people who are different from us, and let you feel what that feels like." I daresay that is the only job of any artist. Writer, composer, actor, painter, sculptor. Artists everywhere have always been the empathizers of the world. We remind others to think outside of themselves even for just a minute. To remember how a mere breath, a tiny edit on a strand of DNA, a hair's breadth, separates them from a life immeasurably different from their own. 

The Women's March on Washington is this weekend. There are marches planned all over the nation, and in several countries, but I am going to Washington D.C. with my husband and some friends. I know I'm lucky to be able to go directly to our nation's capital to peacefully petition and protest the administration there. If you are interested in attending, or standing alongside us in an affiliated march in your city or town, you can read about the Mission and Unity Principles of those participating here and here. If you, like me, are afraid of what the next few years of leadership in this country could upend, and especially if you (like me) are new to activism (I used to think that my only responsibility as a citizen was showing up to vote once every few years) - I urge you to join us! I am heartened to know how many of my creative, artistic, inclusive community will be supporting the march on Saturday, and if you're planning to go to D.C. may I suggest availing yourself of one of these helpful lists of what to bring/how to stay safe? 

Other protests and rallies in light of recent political events are scheduled around the inauguration weekend, including one for those who work in the theatre community, called The Ghostlight Project, which is scheduling a simultaneous, peaceful event for January 19th at theatres all across the country. 

Visit their site to see more stories and join their social justice campaign. 

It's easy to be inactive when we see injustices in our world. It's a little harder right now, when so much injustice is happening every day, but it's still more comfortable to sit back, especially if you occupy a position of privilege, which I am very aware that I do. But I will say that choosing to be a part of this, to not allow my silence to validate the oppression I see, feels great. It feels active. It feels supportive of those who have the potential of being in a much less safe place four years from now than I will be. 

If you want to support some awesome artists who are supporting the March, you can get some swag over at The Outrage or support a cause that supports women's rights, like protesting the defunding of Planned Parenthood or aiding the Malala Fund by adding this adorable "Smash The Patriarchy" pin to your protest-ensemble. 

It feels like there's a lot to take in right now: threats to the environment, our foreign alliances, the freedom of the press, healthcare and social safety nets for those in need, women's reproductive rights, the security of minorities, refugees, and immigrants...but there is a clear way to speak truth to power next weekend. And by power, I don't just mean You Know Who. This rally for him will be mostly Tweet-fodder (I can see it now: "Women rallying in Washington today: didn't see any tens, all clearly bleeding out of their wherevers. SAD"). But the Executive is not the only branch of our government, and Rome didn't transition from Republic to an Empire in only a day. For the first time in my adult life, I recognize an opportunity to remind those in positions of leadership who are supposed to be in Washington to represent my interests and the interests of all Americans that I am watching them. I am paying attention. I am remaining vigilant. 

See you there, ladies.

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:

The Women's March on Washington is the day after the inauguration, Saturday, January 21st, beginning at 10am at the intersection of Independence Avenue and 3rd Street near the US Capitol. This march is free and open for all (and not just women of course- people of all genders, colors, and creeds who are allies of women and the marginalized are encouraged to participate), but you are urged to register at the march's website if you are able, so a semi-accurate headcount can be used to ensure proper security and resources (more than 200,000 people are already expected). 

ALISHA GIAMPOLA is an NYC based actor/teacher/writer who will be in D.C. this Saturday wearing a hat her Syrian great-grandmother crocheted.
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LET'S DO THIS.

Welcome to 2017, year of the FIRE ROOSTER. Seriously.
By Alisha Giampola (writer/performer)

Has anyone in this family ever seen a fire rooster?

When I was little I loved looking at the Chinese zodiac paper placemats that would invariably be under your plate of egg rolls and duck sauce. I loved how arbitrary the parings of years to animals seemed. I loved that awesome or mystical creatures like dragons and tigers held the same positions of importance as goats and rats. I loved that animals who would never in real life hang out together were considered compatible as friends or partners. Oxen and roosters. Dragons and monkeys. 

Roosters, according to Chinese astrology (and also basic common sense for anyone who has ever been near a farm), are the punctual waker-uppers of the animal kingdom. They represent timeliness and constancy. I personally have felt very drawn towards making 2017 a year of consistency for myself. Consistency in all areas of life. Writing, charitable giving, activism. Not making changes that are unsustainable, but doing a little bit each day in the things that really matter. I've been working on a new project that I'd like to focus more on in the new year. The book of a musical, which is something I've never tried before. New things are scary, and change is scary, and 2017 might be a little scary, but in the words of the great Stephen Sondheim: scary is exciting, and nice is different than good. I've been really nice for a long time, but this year I'd like to also be good. 

Crazytown is on a break right now, and I won't be posting next week, but I'll be returning the week after and I'm looking forward to seeing the kind of good that can be created by artists and creatives during 2017. 

ALISHA GIAMPOLA is an NYC based actor/teacher/writer and Wood Ox, born in 1985.
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GOODBYE TO ALL THAT

My Last Crazytown Post....For Now
By Sam Perwin

While I think it's safe to say that no one will be sad to see 2016 go, this year brings to the end my time at Crazytown. It's been a wonderful three and a half years and I'm so grateful for what Crazytown has done, not only for my blogging experience but for my writing. The exercise of coming up with a post every week for three years has tested the limits of my creativity - I'm reminded, as I often am, of the Sex & the City episode in which Carrie fears she is about to get fired for writing a column about men as french fries and instead she gets a book deal. Sadly, I'm not about to announce that someone has decided to publish my Crazytown writings (though if anyone in publishing is reading this, the rights are available! We'll talk).

Thank you, Crazytown, for letting me live out all my Carrie Bradshaw fantasies...

I also have always appreciated a good deadline, and my weekly one for this blog has made a habit of putting down my thoughts on (virtual) paper, something I've always done but not with this kind of regularity. There are pages and pages of evidence to show that I am, in fact, a writer. Strangely, that's a moniker I've never been very comfortable with, despite my love for the printed word. Friends and family have been telling me for years to write more, and yet, as I've written about in this very blog (ironically enough), my desire for success as an actor has always been in the back of my mind saying "if you lose focus, you'll never be successful." As much as I know this is true, I have found it hard to make space and dedicate time to writing. Crazytown has helped that immensely - not just by forcing me to write blog posts, but by making think more about my writing and what I want to do with it.

Thus, as you may or may not have known from my post at the end of October. I am going to take my blogging to a slightly wider audience as a new contributor for the Huffington Post. My goal in 2017 is to post there monthly - I've already got something in the works for January 2017. Stay tuned! I'm also trying to make a little room in my life for a new weekly writing project I'll announce shortly on all forms of social media (are you following me!? If not, feel very free to click any of the social media links below). And finally, I've got two plays that desperately need to be finished. This is the year. So thanks, Crazytown readers, David, RSO, and all the lovely writers I've worked with here. You've made me the writer I am today.

SAM PERWIN Actor. Singer. Writer. Tall. www.samperwin.com
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THE GASPS FOR HOPE IN 2016

Looking for glimpses of light as 2016 ends.
by Kathleen Choe (actor/singer/writer)

Honestly I’m just waiting for 2016 to end, though I’ve got trepidations about what’s to come in 2017. I won’t talk about why; anyone watching the news or who hasn’t been living under a rock can guess. I’m exhausted talking about the state of the world and the country, and right now I can only see what’s in front of me…namely, heading out of town to visit family for the holidays.

I’m realizing more than ever about how important it is to hold onto hope. Finding it as 2016 comes to a close has been hard, but not impossible. A company I love, Rising Circle Theater Collective, had an event for women artists of color to come together and share their stories. In a burst of courage I readily said “yes” when my friend Nancy asked me to read one of my Crazytown blog posts out loud (and nearly chickened out when the hour of the event approached).

I showed up!
The proof is in the photo booth.

The night was full of laughter and determination...and hope. For the people who didn’t bring work to share, Nancy had put questions into a hat for them to pull out and answer. One of the questions was this:

photo credit: Chelsea Harrison

Actor, writer, and educator Chelsea Harrison pulled that thought-provoker out of the hat, then proceeded to give an amazing and eloquent explanation. 

Women--in particular women of color--always show up when there’s something that needs to be done. Always. This election was the last gasp of the white patriarchy. “We know we have work to do, we know it will be hard, but we also know that The Future is Female.”

The future.

Hope. I cling to it. I have to. The alternative is to stay still and let the world become a place I don’t want it to be.

I will take it any way I can, and fight for it every way I can, and if what I fight for doesn’t come to pass, I’ll know I didn’t stay silent. And I’ll pick myself up and start again.

Hope. The future.

Here’s to that.

Merry Christmas, all.

KATHLEEN CHOE is a NYC based actor, singer, and writer. www.www.kathleen-choe.com
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WE NEED A LITTLE CHRISTMAS

Right. This. Very. Minute.
By Alisha Giampola (Writer/Performer)

It doesn't feel like Christmas yet in New York. There's only been a brief flurry of snow, nothing to stick, nothing to take a picture of. Even I, grumpiest of cold-weather persons, have not yet unpacked my heaviest winter coat. The overall feeling of sadness and dread that settled over the city after the election has not yet dissipated. Difficult times, corrupt leadership, war and strife, these things frequently nudge our greatest artists to produce their greatest art. Beauty is always best forged in the hottest fire. This week, I took myself to see a dear old friend in a play that I absolutely love, but have never had the opportunity to see. Jonathan Larson, of Rent fame, wrote only one other musical in his too-short life. The Keen Company's Tick, Tick...BOOM! is playing right now at The Acorn Theatre in Midtown, and if you have a chance before your flight home this holiday (it closes for good on December 18th), I highly recommend that you see it. Besides the fact that the three actors in it (including my amazingly talented friend George Salazar), are all phenomenal- this show resonates right now in a way that feels incredibly contemporary, despite being set in 1990. Disillusioned by friends having to sell out and work for soulless corporations, struggling with the pull between creating art and seeking stability, uninspired by Bush-era politics, wondering what the decade of one's thirties will bring, and set deep in the heart of the AIDS crisis, I had forgotten how relevant so much of the script is. The AIDS crisis aside, it's basically the life of me and like 90% of my friends.

This holiday season, it feels like we just voted in the Grinch, Mr. Potter, Ebenezer Scrooge...(just basically every bad guy from every Christmas movie ever but with none of the redeeming qualities rolled into one) into office. It felt good to take in art- challenging, beautiful, heartbreaking art. It was a reminder that there is always ugliness, and the job of artists is to shine flashlights into the corners and make the cockroaches scuttle. And there are a lot of dark corners right now. When bullies vie for other bullies to be put in charge, when refugees are being turned away and innocent people are ducking bombs, when an entire country has been conned, it's easy to feel like kindness and generosity are sorely lacking in this world this holiday season. But what George Bailey and Tiny Tim and Mrs. Claus and the Cratchits and Susan Walker and Buddy the Elf and all the Whos down in Whoville want you to remember is that kindness and love and art are the best and really only way to protest anything.

2016 has been a hard year for our world and this new year feels both promising and slightly ominous. So much rests on the small, everyday actions of all of us. The kind of person who assumes the mantle of the most powerful person the world stage, yet feels the need to write a tweet every time someone satirizes him, is the kind of person who requires attention, positive or negative, at any cost. That's the kind of person who will continue to surround themselves with yes-men and sycophants, regardless of their danger to others or to democracy in general. Journalists have their work cut out for them, as do all persons currently in or planning to run for office in this country and in other world democracies. What can artists do in 2017? What should our New Years Resolution be? We can refuse to bend our moral compass towards the closest, brassiest magnet. We can choose our ability to express ourselves to others as a platform for love instead of hate, for inclusivity instead of hostility. We can call the emperor out for wearing no clothes, in numbers too multitudinous to be retweeted. We can keep creating. Keep questioning. As the last song of Tick, Tick...BOOM! reminds us: "Fear or love baby? Don't say the answer: actions speak louder than words." 

I've been thinking a lot about the finale of the operetta Candide by Leonard Bernstein. In college, I sang the role of Paquette in a staging of that final song we performed in a small cabaret of several opera pieces. It is a beautiful song with beautiful lyrics and when I try to talk about what I hope artists do with the time we all have in 2017, when I think about the words I would most like to be my New Years Resolution, if such things can be resolved, these are the words that keep playing through my mind:

Let dreamers dream what worlds they please
Those Edens can't be found
The sweetest flow'rs, the fairest trees
Are grown in solid ground.
We're neither pure nor wise nor good,
We'll do the best we know
We'll build our house and chop our wood
And make our garden grow
And make our garden grow.

ALISHA GIAMPOLA is an NYC based actor/teacher/writer who would like to wish you all a Merry Christmas. Kiss my ass. Kiss his ass. Happy Hanukkah.
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RULES

A New Writing Challenge
by Sam Perwin

One of my favorite quotes that I may or may not be mistakenly attributing to Stravinsky is "The more I limit myself, the more I free myself." (Google was no help). It's almost ironic coming from him, a composer who did so much to shatter boundaries of musical forms, but I like it because I think it's a quote about discipline and structure, particularly when it comes to the creative process. In Stravinsky's case, as in the case of many poets or lyricists, he's talking about the freedom of composing of composing within a structured form like a sonata or a rondo. Similarly for a poet, structures like sonnets and villanelles have conventions and limitations for syllables, rhyme scheme, etc. In short, forms give us rules. And sometimes, counterintuitively, as I think Stravinsky was saying rules and limits can actually help the creative process. As we all know, the hardest part of the creative process is knowing where to start (a blank page or canvas isn't everyone's favorite, George). Having some rules for what you're putting on the page can get you going, tell you to start here with this many words, syllables, lines, or whatever. 

I've been working under a different set of rules recently as a participant in The Tank Theater's Rule of 7x7, a monthly show in which seven playwrights each come up with a rule for the plays. The playwrights then write a 10 minute play that incorporates all seven of the rules. Some are incredibly specific, others are much more open to interpretation. A few friends participated in a round a few months ago, and I was intrigued enough to want to try my hand at it. I e-mailed the producer and here I am, furiously revising my ten pages before the final deadline tomorrow night. Coming up with my rule was actually the fun part. I sent in a few options to the producer and he picked the one that seemed to fit with the other ones. Here's what we're working with:

RULE #1 | Brett's Rule | The play begins with a character holding an item/prop, in silence, for ten seconds. Then, (s)he says the line "I think this is good" or the line "I think this is bad."

RULE #2 | Sam's Rule | Vitamins.

RULE #3 | Lizzie's Rule | Snowman.

RULE #4 | David's Rule | "We're not that different."

RULE #5 | Rosalind's Rule | A fart?

RULE #6 | Rachael's Rule | Someone quotes a poem.

RULE #7 | Cary's Rule | Somewhere in pages 8-10, the characters experience the tenderest moment of their lives.

Want to know what we do with them? Then you'll just have to come out on December 15th!! Tickets available here.

SAM PERWIN Actor. Singer. Writer. Tall. www.samperwin.com
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EVERY ACTION HAS AN EQUAL OPPOSITE REACTION

aka. It's Hamilton lyrics from here on out, people.
By Alisha Giampola (writer/performer)

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and a lot of New Yorkers are making the pilgrimage (haha, see what I did there?) back to the small midwestern hometowns that they moved away from to be the artists, writers, and other assorted over-employed roles this city requires of them. The holidays can be tense for a lot of people, and this year, 2016, the most ridiculous year of all time, is probably going to be an especially tough one for some. Before we go a step farther, may I recommend something that you should absolutely read in preparation for spending time with people who may not agree with you? (All credit for finding that goes to my thoughtful husband, who has been calling the SHIT out of our elected representitives this week, regarding Trump's appointment of Steve Bannon- and you can too.)

There has been a lot said since the election. A lot of noise from both sides. A lot of reminders that it's so important to fact check one's news sources. A lot has also already been said about how all this infighting by the electorate is distracting people from what is actually happening in Washington right now- or rather, a lot of it's happening right here in NYC since the president-elect has that perfectly nice tower here that he'd like to stay in. I have feelings that change every day about how much this political upheaval is affecting my life and the lives of those I care about. Some days I feel like a navel-gazing millenial who is as entitled and stuck up as the right claims the liberal elite is, and a lot of the rest of the time I am so nervous that I'm going to become one of those people who stand by and watch as totalitarianism takes over. I am afraid that one day in the next four years, I'm going to look around and not be able to tell the pigs faces from the faces of the people. 

This past weekend, after the cast of Hamilton publicly spoke after their Friday evening performance that Mike Pence attended, Donald Trump wrote a series of tweets demanding that the cast apologize for addressing Pence, calling the Broadway production of Hamilton overrated, complaining that Pence was booed (by the audience, not the cast), and hilariously invoking the sentiment that theatre is a "safe space" and by respectfully addressing Pence the cast somehow broke that bond. He has since tweeted about his hate of SNL, and Alec Baldwin's impression of him, demanding "equal" time, for the "other side", whatever that means (he does know there isn't another "side" to make fun of now that he's won, right? Not to mention that some of the funniest skits this week on SNL skewered liberals). 

"Thank you so much for joining us tonight. You know, we had a guest in the audience this evening. And Vice President-elect Pence, I see you're walking out but I hope you will hear us just a few more moments. There's nothing to boo here ladies and gentlemen. There's nothing to boo here, we're all here sharing a story of love. 

We have a message for you, sir. We hope that you will hear us out. And I encourage everybody to pull out your phones and tweet and post because this message needs to be spread far and wide, OK?

Vice President-elect Pence, we welcome you and we truly thank you for joining us here at Hamilton: An American Musical, we really do. We, sir, we are the diverse America who are alarmed and anxious that your new administration will not protect us — our planet, our children, our parents — or defend us and uphold our inalienable rights, sir. But we truly hope that this show has inspired you to uphold our American values and to work on behalf of all of us. All of us.

Again, we truly thank you for sharing this show. This wonderful American story told by a diverse group of men [and] women of different colors, creeds, and orientations."

- statement read by Brandon Victor Dixon (who plays Aaron Burr) after curtain call on behalf of the cast and creative team.

Pence's attendance at the show, Trump's outrage at the cast exercising their free speech, and the subsequent attention paid by the artistic community and others alike have been called a distraction by many. And there's a lot to distract from. What has actually happened in the week and a half since the election? While we are being distracted by tweets? During the internet's infighting about what constitutes peaceful protesting? SO MUCH STUFF. The president-elect's recent Trump University fraud settlement and ongoing accusations of molestation, his daughter who runs his business sitting in on a meeting with the Japanese prime minister, hiring a white supremacist as his chief strategist, his hotel in DC being a conflict of interest as foreign dignitaries are beginning to use it to garner favor (and his statement that presidents don't have to worry about conflicts of interest), the hedge fund heiress who is one of his primary backers and a powerful voice in how he runs things, Melania and Barron's decision to stay in Trump Tower and his plans to return there as frequently as possible (costing the NY taxpayers millions), his meeting with the press in which he complained about unflattering pictures used of him. By the time this post publishes he will have probably tweeted about like 50 other things.

But I disagree with some that this is merely a distraction that liberals are "falling for" and coming off as pretentious artists who are sore losers. I think it's also an indication that Trump is exactly as thin skinned as he has always seemed, so LET'S GET UNDER THAT SKIN. Sometimes things can be more than one thing at a time. We can note that he intends to distract and obfuscate real issues, that he has no intention of attempting to appear more "presidential" on twitter, while still remembering all the very real and scary things that he continues to say, do, and not stand up against. Having people continue to infight is good for the business of Trump. It's good for those he's put in power. Artists must remember their power as well. Satire, skewering, bringing things from shade to light is what artists do best, and despite what Trump may think, it's literally what theatre was created for. Props to Mike Pence for one thing (and one thing only, mind you): when he heard the booing from the audience as he walked into that theatre, he says he told his daughter "this is what freedom sounds like". Damn right, Mike Pence. Damn right.

Now is the time to focus more on him and the government that has been elected and those he appoints to surround him. We must not get wrapped up in our own internet battles about what constitutes racism and if political correctness has gone too far. Those are valuable conversations, but only if they're actual conversations. Everyone in America, left and right, is tired of the corruption in government and leadership that only serves itself and the 1%. It's time to take him seriously- he wanted us to, and a lot of us didn't. On both sides. He's an incredibly easy man to not take seriously and it is the primary mistake almost all of his opposition (average voters and the DNC like) made during the election. Let's remember --as his opposition now has over 1.5 million more votes than him (as far as the popular vote goes)-- that this is the most unpopular president-elect of all time. No one has entered the office with a lower approval rating. Like a lot of unliked bullies, Trump is jealous of those who are well-liked. He is protective of those who show any loyalty to him, regardless of their beliefs or qualifications. This is important. We must be paying attention, we must be listening. It sucks that this election has finally ended and yet we can't get on with our day, month, year, without thinking about politics again for a nice long while. But that clearly hasn't worked well for us in the past, has it? I'm talking to us, my bubble of  liberal elites here in NYC. I'm talking to our families in the midwest and other assorted small towns, some of whom were vocal during the election and now have become eerily silent, or who had remained silent the whole time and are now frustrated that things aren't going "back to normal". I'm talking to the most vocal of Trump's supporters, who are thrilled and victorious and wondering how many days into his inaguration he will wait before completing that wall- a month? Two? (Spoiler alert: nope).

Despite America's long history of political satire and using comedy to make clear that our politicians are members of a democracy, rather than a dictatorship, Trump finds this element of his new leadership position distasteful. Very much like when Gob in Arrested Development temporarily becomes president of the Bluth Company, demands that his employees roast him and then fires them all when they actually take him up on it, Donald Trump would love nothing more than to only surround himself with yes-men. Let's make that hard for him. Let's inundate him with sketches, satire, political criticism, peaceful statements of protest, until he can't possibly respond to each one with a snippy short-sentenced tweet. ("Very sad." "Overrated." "WRONG.") We have a long history of placing our leaders under scrutiny through the arts. In recent years, Obama, George W, Reagan, and Bush were all recipients of memorable satire and creative critique that I remember well, and they accepted as part of their jobs. The time for quietly ignoring, passing blame, or hoping someone else will take care of things for us is over. As for us theatre kids, let's remember those freshman Theatre History classes and get excited to be the political activists that the Greek originators of the modern art form of performance intended. 

ALISHA GIAMPOLA is an NYC based actor/teacher/writer who would like to use this space to wish her Dad a very very happy Turkey Day Birthday!!!
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