When I first walked in to Writers’ Theatre two years ago, I thought I was lost. “Surely,” I thought, “this can’t be the place. Surely this isn’t the theatre I had heard so much about, the theatre all of my friends raved about, the theatre one of my favorite teachers had often cited as the very best Chicago had to offer. This place is in the back of the Women’s Library Club in a tiny town on the North Shore that I have never heard of. I wonder if I was supposed to stay on I-90…”

As it happens, I was walking in to Writers’ that day to audition for the following summer’s production of A Streetcar Named Desire.  I was 22 and fresh out of college. I had booked my first ‘real’ show a few weeks earlier, but it would be several months before it started rehearsals. In the meantime, I was busying myself as a seasonal employee at Toys-R-Us near my hometown, idling away my free time in my mom’s basement, and wondering just what the hell the last four years had been all about. I was going through the motions, experiencing the self-doubt and dread that plagues so many people my age as they are thrust out of the relative safety of a virtually consequence-free college environment and in to The Real World.

My first few months out of school found me auditioning at all of the major Chicago theatres. I was ecstatic to be in the city, finally starting my journey, and was hopeful that opportunities would come my way. But as May turned to June and July turned to August, and as the calls and emails from casting agents waned, and as I traveled up for one disappointing audition after another for dubious agents and in front of rude casting interns, I began to feel weary. So far, The Real World was decidedly disappointing. And it was with this prematurely-acquired cynicism that I drove up to Glencoe in November of 2009, still in my bright red Toys-R-Us polo, for what I fully expected to be another frustrating waste of time and near-crippling blow to my self-esteem.

Upon entering the theatre and being greeted by the production’s director, David Cromer (whom I thankfully hadn’t heard of, or my nerves would have surely derailed my audition), I was immediately struck by its size. It was small, but in that beautiful and wholly pleasing way that is the hallmark of great Chicago storefront theatres.  There’s something about the Tudor Court space that immediately welcomes the actor; you feel at home. I was so busy admiring the space, the politeness of the director, the talent of the actress reading as Blanche, and the friendly nature of Michael Halberstam (who was seated up in the back row, almost out of sight) that I forgot to be an entitled, spoiled twenty-something. I left the theatre feeling something I knew I should have been feeling all along: grateful for the opportunity. It really is amazing what can happen in seven minutes.

There’s a lot I could say about this place and about the extraordinary staff that makes it what it is. There’s a lot to be said for the two theatres (I haven’t had the opportunity to see a show in the Books on Vernon space, though I have had the chance to go in and walk around) and the intimacy that is their gift to the actor. There are a lot of things to be said for the community that supports this place, and for the subscribers that keep coming back year after year with such passion and joy. But in the interest of brevity I’ll simply say that there have been many times when I’ve looked around—either backstage or on stage during a show, or on a break in the middle of a tech rehearsal, or just sitting with the cast having a post-show drink—and a thought will occur to me: this is the way it’s supposed to be.

I’ve had the chance to work and audition at some really wonderful places and have gotten to know some great people, but Writers’ remains the yardstick by which all other theatres are measured. And sometimes, standing out on that stage with these extraordinary actors, I am still struck with disbelief that I have been gifted with such a rewarding experience, and graced with such magnificent good fortune.

There are several tools that I use to develop every role I play: casting unseen characters, filling in minute details, and creating a character playlist. I applied all of these to the development of Debbie in The Real Thing, but I also discovered a new tool in the process: using design elements for inspiration (particularly sound and costume design in this case).

I usually begin developing a character by “casting” all of the people who are mentioned in the play but don’t actually make an appearance. In Act 2 Scene 3, my character (Debbie) is making preparations to leave her family and go on the road with a guy she’s supposedly in love with. I wanted to have a clear image in my mind of who this guy was so I picked a real person. Sometimes I choose someone I know personally, but in this case I chose a celebrity: Ryan Gosling. I mean, who wouldn’t run off with Ryan Gosling, even if he were some kind of gypsy? He’s someone who I think would mesmerize even a very intelligent 17-year-old.

Since the play takes place about ten years before I was born, I had to do a little research to familiarize myself with concepts such as free love, and to work on interpreting Stoppard’s language. Then I was able to fill in the more minute details of Debbie’s life like her birthday, address, favorite color, and other things that every person knows about themselves, and therefore every character should too. I go even deeper and start thinking about things like what career she wants to pursue, what her favorite band is, and even whether or not she believes in God. I’m not sure yet whether having these answers enhances my performance, but they reassure me that my character is fully developed, and that I am presenting as whole of a person as I can.

I mentioned earlier that I thought about things like what her favorite band may be. Because my scene takes place in 1983, I looked at some UK music charts from 1980-1983 and discovered a lot of hits such as Duran Duran’s Hungry Like the Wolf, The Jam’s Town Called Malice, and others that I thought Debbie would listen to. That brings me to the point about how other artistic elements of the show actually informed my character, which has never happened to me so substantially before. I think Debbie may be like Henry in the sense that he doesn’t like artists; he likes singles. And perhaps she even shares his affinity for 60’s pop music, and therefore likes many of the songs played throughout the play that I jam out to while performing scene changes: The Zombies’ Time of the Season, Wayne Fontana’s Game of Love, and the Hollies’ Look Through Any Window. These artistic choices definitely informed my character’s music taste, as much as they informed what I listen to on the Metra to Glencoe.

Perhaps the element that affected my character the most was my costume. In addition to the ripped black jeans, checkered vest, and feather earrings, I have also dyed my hair red and painted my nails a solid black. Costume Designer David Hyman’s vision for Debbie really helped me tap into my character’s eccentricity, and also how she wears her ideals on her sleeve. It reinforces Debbie’s modernity especially in contrast to her father, and how cool Debbie is in contrast to me. Honestly, it’s awesome playing a character that is so much cooler than me.

Hi, I’m Dylan Stephen Levers and I’ve been lucky enough to watch Director Michael Halberstam in rehearsal on The Real Thing through an observership grant from the Stage Directors and Choreographer’s Foundation.

Several months ago at a dinner party, I was introduced to a friend of a friend who was getting married. I asked the bride-to-be how preparations were coming along for the big day, thinking her answer would concern the details of the event—floral decorations, seating charts and other specifics. Instead, she replied that she had been reading several books with titles such as “What To Do When The Butterflies Stop.” I was taken aback at this seemingly pessimistic action. Wouldn’t she want to revel in the joy of love for a little longer? In reality, she was making preparations for the longevity of the relationship, not just the first jovial steps.

Throughout the artistic canon, art makers have focused on a very specific segment of the romantic narrative—the act of falling in love. It’s chronicled in iconic works from Shakespearean sonnets to Cole Porter lyrics to cinemaplex romantic comedies. In his opening speech to the cast and crew, Michael pointed out that our constant exposure to this specific section of a relationship can make one feel inadequate to the great lovers of iconic works. But, as my bride-to-be acquaintance rightfully knew, love extends beyond the first crescendo to when “the butterflies stop.”

This first segment of romance often has more to do with lusting than the practical realities of love and relationships. How many of us are thinking about whether or not our partner will put the toilet seat down on first dates? But, once this sheen wears off and we look at our partners in a practical light, relationships become contracts. This isn’t to say that romance is out of the equation. But, as The Real Thing points out, relationships are pacts that must be made on a consistent basis. In a recent Op-Ed piece for The New York Times, novelist Jonathan Franzen wrote, “Love is about bottomless empathy, born out of the heart’s revelation that another person is every bit as real as you are… to love a specific person, and to identify with his or her struggles and joys as if they were your own, you have to surrender some of your self.” What are the rubrics that we use to evaluate the strengths of our bonds with each other? What do our partners need from us and what do we need from them to continue a healthy pact? As one character in The Real Thing puts it: “There are no commitments, only bargains. And they have to be made again every day.”

These questions are at the heart of The Real Thing. One of the beauties of working on a text by Tom Stoppard is that the author goes to great pains to argue many sides of the coin. Whatever the state of your romantic life, I’m confident you’ll see a bit of yourself in the work. We’re so excited for you to see the production!

Jordan Lane Shappell

Two years ago I met The Love Of My Life. After a few months of passionate dating, she decided to travel eastern Europe and declared that she simply could not be hindered by a relationship whilst abroad. So she dumped me.

In times of heartbreak I cope by putting on sweatpants and binge eating. That summer I discovered Taco Burrito Palace #2. It was certainly not a haven from my pain, but it was the solace I needed. Eventually, the employees knew my name and called me friend. It was the greatest Mexican food I had ever eaten. Ever! When TLOML returned, we tried to make it work, but school and life got in the way. The night of our last kiss (which is always the saddest kiss) I cried and ate tacos.

Recently, I revisited TBP#2 and, honestly, the food was bland. Standard Mexican fare. Where did all that splendor go?!? Where was the greatness? I realize now, my heartache informed my taste buds. I lost love and found it somewhere else. Rather, I forced it somewhere else. Taco Burrito Palace #2 is good, but it is not love.

Ryan Hallahan

When I was 10 years old, all I wanted was to be one of the popular kids. One day, on a field trip to the Adler Planetarium, all of my dreams came true. I was sitting in the food court with some of my friends, when I was approached by several girls. It was an unusual for even one girl to talk to me except to borrow a pencil, so my already heightened nerves kicked in to overdrive when they asked me the question: “Do you want to go out with Jenny?” This was huge. Jenny was, quite possibly, the most popular girl in school. I was unable to swallow my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, so I simply nodded. Word spread like wildfire, and within minutes this was the center story of the Mokena Elementary Gossip Mill. I stayed cool under the glare of the spotlight by avoiding Jenny like a Lepper for the rest of the afternoon. But inside, I was doing cart-wheels. I had made it. I had arrived.

The next day, I was sitting next to one of Jenny’s friends. In the middle of a Social Studies lesson, she leaned over and whispered, “Jenny doesn’t want to go out with you anymore. She actually never did. We just made everyone think she did because we were playing a joke on her.” I felt something in my chest equivalent to the collapsing of a dying sun. Tears swelled in my eyes. Not only was I not popular, I was so unpopular that the funniest joke the popular kids could think to play on their queen was to make everyone think she was dating me. As I got older, I eventually became apathetic to the social class system that defines growing up, and was a happier young person because of it. But I’ll be damned if 10-year-old Ryan wasn’t sure that the whole world had come to an abrupt and devastating end.

Hi, I’m Avital Schoenberg and I’m the assistant director for Writers’ Theatre’s production of The Real Thing.  It is an honor to be working on this brilliant and deeply moving play. The Real Thing is often pointed to as intellectual playwright Tom Stoppard’s most personal play, and yet when I read it for the first time my head got very caught up in the neat turns of phrase and brilliant dialogue.  It’s been a gift the last couple of weeks to hear these words brought to life by such a talented cast of actors willing to take risks, be vulnerable, and bring to life the soul and the humanity in this brilliantly clever dialogue.

As an assistant director, one of the most fascinating things to learn is not only what notes a director gives to the actors, but when the notes are given.  Director Michael Halberstam crafts a journey over the course of the rehearsal process that enhances an actor’s own ability to explore the role.  In the first week of rehearsal he’s reminded us that we are playing – “no results,” he says before each scene.  This encourages each artist to trust their instincts and be willing to play with their fellow actors, without a correct answer in mind.  The emphasis on play trains us to listen and engage with our other actors in the moment rather than manufacturing a performance based on an idea of what these lines mean, independent from an experience of how the other actors are playing them.

Authentic behavior is a particularly interesting challenge for actors.  We work in pursuit of truth while engaging in an activity that is inherently unreal.  Yet, it is essential that as artists we are able to engage in authentic, truthful behavior under this set of imaginary circumstances.  This play, which is in fact about theatre artists navigating their onstage experiences and real-life relationships, spirals in on itself as we are forced to constantly reassess our understanding of “reality.”  Even as Stoppard creates a distinction between the world of the play and the world of the actors offstage, we cannot help but be aware of another layer of meta-theatricality – that we are also in a theatre, watching a play.

Stoppard has crafted such a brilliantly structured script that the biggest pitfall is actually getting lost in his structure, bringing attention to the play’s cleverness instead of simply letting that go and challenging ourselves to find the authentic behavior in the moment.  This is the magic of seeing The Real Thing, rather than simply reading it.  It’s on its feet that we discover the heart amidst the beautifully crafted, clever language Mr. Stoppard has given us.  Since day one, Michael has emphasized the importance of playing the authentic need underneath the cleverness rather than constantly playing clever – these people are clever, so they don’t need to play clever. When I first read this play I was stunned by the ways in which Stoppard’s language could capture human experience in a brilliant turn of phrase – yet it has been the actors’ willingness to live that human experience that has made this language not only intellectually resonant but also deeply true.

I am learning that if you think it’s the real thing, and it turns out not to be so, it is still the real thing for you — however painfully unrequited or quietly lost. To doubt your instincts or deny your feelings does little to prepare you for the actual real thing when it finally comes along. If you shut down and withdrawal and stop trusting, you may miss it. The actual real thing probably looks nothing like what you’re expecting; it may bear very little resemblance to the real things that came before. Maybe that’s exactly how you know. Be honest, be bold, be honest, be brave, be vulnerable, risk everything, be honest. Simple, but not easy. Not easy, but better than being afraid.

From the ages of five to seventeen, only one thing stayed constant in my life: my dream university. Other aspects changed – interests, friends, hairstyle – but I always wanted to end up at this one school. When college application time came around my senior year, I wasn’t scrambling like everyone else to figure out what I wanted. I was going to my dream school, and made sure just about all my classmates knew it (they would have had to have been pretty thickheaded not to know this already but I told them again anyway).

Decision time came around and WHAMMO! Rejected. Not waitlisted. Not deferred. Flat out rejected. I was emotionally totaled. Now, I had experienced disappointment before – rejection is one of my constant companions, being a professional actor and all – but this was my dream! The one thing! The only thing! And it was down the tubes with the opening of an email, the click of a mouse. By some strange stroke of fate, or, perhaps, just a lucky coincidence, I got into another school that, at the time, didn’t seem like the right place. Now that I’ve been there a year, I know it’s the real thing. My freshman year was certainly the best year of my life. I can’t imagine going to a better school than the one I do now. I could go on and on about how great it is, and how it’s even better than my first choice, but my point is (and this applies to all kinds of dreams) that people get fixated on one thing, what they think is “the real thing,” and a lot of the time, it doesn’t happen, or doesn’t turn out the way they want it to. But I also find, a lot of the time, what happens instead is even better.

To launch Writers’ Theatre’s 20th Anniversary 2011/12 Season, Artistic Director Michael Halberstam has assembled a collection of Chicago’s finest actors to take on Stoppard’s modern classic. With a blend of new and familiar faces, including some Writers’ Theatre favorites, this is a cast you’re sure to fall in love with!

Carrie Coon makes her Writers’ Theatre debut as Annie.  Coon recently starred in her breakthrough role as Honey, opposite Amy Morton and Tracy Letts in Steppenwolf’s production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf.  She will reprise the role of Honey when the production transfers to Broadway in fall 2012.  Coon has also appeared in productions at Goodman Theatre and Remy Bumppo Theatre Company. She can be seen in the film One In A Million (Fulton Market Films) and various commercials.

Sean Fortunato, a Writers’ Theatre favorite, returns this season as Henry.  Fortunato has captivated our audiences as Aunt Augusta/Henry in Travels With My Aunt, Rosencrantz in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, The Chosen, Rough Crossing, A Phoenix Too Frequent and Spite For Spite. A multi-Joseph Jefferson Award nominee, Fortunato has made his mark in the Chicago theater community appearing in productions at Drury Lane Oakbrook Terrace, Chicago Shakespeare Theater, Marriott Theatre in Lincolnshire, Theatre at the Center, Remy Bumppo Theatre Company, Goodman Theatre, Northlight Theatre, Court Theatre and The Old Globe Theatre.  In addition, he can be seen in the film The Merry Gentleman directed by Michael Keaton.

Rae Gray makes her Writers’ Theatre debut as Debbie. She most recently appeared in That Face (Redtwist Theatre), Circle Mirror Transformation (Victory Gardens Theater) and Jailbait (Profiles Theatre), and is currently a sophomore at the University of Chicago.  Other Chicago credits include work at The Gift Theatre Company, Steppenwolf Theatre Company, Drury Lane Oakbrook Terrace/Gateway Playhouse, New York, Northlight Theatre, Marriott Theatre in Lincolnshire, Ravinia Festival, Goodman Theatre, TimeLine Theatre Company and Theater at the Center.

Ryan Hallahan returns to Writers’ Theatre as Brodie.  Hallahan last appeared on the Tudor Court stage playing The Young Collector in the hit A Streetcar Named Desire.  He has also appeared in Sideman (Metropolis Performing Arts Center) and The Chicago Landmark Project (Theatre Seven of Chicago). Hallahan is a graduate of the School of Theater at Illinois State University and has competed nationally in Washington DC in the Kennedy Center American College Theater Festival.

Natasha Lowe returns to Writers’ Theatre as Charlotte. Lowe has been performing on Chicago stages for many years, garnering numerous awards and accolades. Lowe received a Joseph Jefferson Award for Actress in a Leading Role for her portrayal of Blanche DuBois in Writers’ Theatre’s production of A Streetcar Named Desire. Other Writers’ Theatre appearances include Picnic and Benefactors, for which she received an After Dark Award for Best Actress.  A Chicago favorite, Lowe has appeared in productions at Steppenwolf Theatre Company, Roadworks Productions, American Theater Company, Next Theatre Company, Live Bait Theatre/Prop Theatre and City Lit Theater.

John Sanders returns to Writers’ Theatre as Max. Previous Writers’ Theatre appearances include Oh Coward!, A Minister’s Wife and The Uneasy Chair. Sanders is an Ensemble Member Emeritus at Stage Left Theatre, an Associate Artist with Chicago Dramatists and a regular on the Chicago stage.  Recent Chicago credits include Drury Lane Oakbrook Terrace, First Folio Theatre, Chicago Shakespeare Theater, Visions & Voices Theatre Co. and Stage Left Theatre. Film and television credits include Last Man Standing (Lifetime Television Movie), Alleged and No God No Master.

Jordan Lane Shappell makes his Writers’ Theatre debut as Billy. Shappell’s Chicago credits include Sketchbook: Evolution (Collaboraction), The Lady And The Tyger (Point of Contention Theatre Company) and several productions at the Theatre School at DePaul University. His film credits include Dear Hope, Sloppy Joe and Sometimes (RLS Creative). Shappell is not only an actor, but a playwright as well, having published two plays that have been adapted to film. He is also an acting teacher and forensics coach all across the country.