Question #1: Ian was as complex a character as Trevor.  How did Colburn manage to make him at once seductive, sad, manipulative, lonely, heartless and frightened?

Randall: “Trick and Ian are both human beings and to deny them a multi-facetted personality, is to me, not good art.  Not honest…people embody a lot of different things at every moment.”

To watch the entire video response visit: Question #1

Question #2: Why did you have Claudia return to Trick?

Randall: “What is interesting about Hesperia is: What if I don’t really want to be who I am?  That to me is really hard and really interesting and really human…I don’t see it as an unhappy ending, I don’t see it as a happy end; but that’s the point… It’s more complicated than that.”

To watch the entire video response visit: Question #2

Question #3:  If you had an extra 30 minutes, what component of the plot would you develop more?

Randall: “I will say, if I had an extra 30 minutes, I wouldn’t take it because I think the story is where it is suppose to be at this time… If I were going to dig deeper into the show, I think I would almost want to make the world of Hesperia bigger, so that we could see the world of Hesperia more.  The one thing that is missing for me is seeing them in the society, in the community…”

To watch the entire video response visit: Question #3

Anish Jethmalani is currently appearing on the Books on Vernon stage as Aston in The Caretaker by Harold Pinter. Jethamalani–who was last seen at Writers’ in 2005′s To the Green Fields Beyond–chatted with us about Pinter’s style, director Ron OJ Parson, and working at Writers’ Theatre.

What attracted you to this project?

Harold Pinter is perhaps one of the most revered  and celebrated writers of our time and I think for most actors, the opportunity to have a go at his work is not only thrilling, but a great challenge.  Also, I jumped at the chance to work with Writers’ Theatre again and to work with Ron OJ Parson on this piece.  I think Ron’s vision and approach to The Caretaker was something fresh and exciting without really changing or updating the piece.

What was the process like of rehearsing The Caretaker?

We had a great time during this process.  In addition to doing our own individual prep work on the play weeks before rehearsals started, we each came to rehearsals ready to just experiment, play, take risks and try different things.  Ron really gave us the freedom to be as creative as possible and we worked hard as a team to find those moments that resonated for all of us and build upon that to bring our production to life.  To also work in such an intimate space at the bookstore where the audience is literally right there with you on stage really forces you not to overplay and to be as honest, simple and true in the work you do.

Has Pinter presented any particular challenges?

Yes – we have all strived to stay as perfect as we can with regards to Pinter’s rhythm and text – his pauses being probably the most well known part of that rhythm that he establishes for actors.  There is definitely so much going on in those pauses for each character that we have had to be as clear and specific with what was happening in between the lines.  We also had to find that balance between both the humor and tension in the piece and worked quite a bit on this during the rehearsal process.  There is also a certain level of ambiguity in Pinter’s work that we had to make sure we kept at the forefront of our character work.  It’s really what makes his characters I think quite fascinating and engaging to watch.  I think Pinter challenges both actors and his audience to come to their own conclusions on events that are unfolding in his plays.  He doesn’t necessarily offer all the answers in his work and I think we had to work diligently on finding and maintaining that certain level of ambiguity with authenticity.

What do you enjoy about working at Writers’ Theatre?

I love that Writers’ Theatre stays true to their mission in valuing the artist and the text. The work here is always done extremely well and to be a part of that is a privilege. Writers’ definitely takes care of  all of their artists with tremendous support.  I’m grateful to be back here again.

The MLK Project: The Fight for Civil Rights is Writers’ Theatre’s one-woman education outreach production that tours Chicago and suburban schools every January and February. The show follows a young Chicago student’s personal evolution while studying the Civil Rights Movement. Using poetry, hip-hop and history, the performance features stories of both celebrated and unsung Chicago-based Civil Rights Activists, with one actress transforming into different characters. On the eve of the tour’s sixth year, Education Liaison Nicole Ripley had a discussion with actress Melane Brezill about the production.

Nicole Ripley: Melanie, this is your second year performing in The MLK Project. Can you talk a little bit about what draws you to this project?

Melanie Brezill: I was drawn to the piece because I had never encountered the Civil Rights Movement like this before. First-hand accounts of participants of the Movement, hip hop and poetry, sound clips and photo projections all intertwine to create a living, breathing and purposeful piece of art. I’ve never been so proud to share a piece with an audience. I absolutely had to come to back to dig a little deeper this time around.

NR: In the play, the character Alaya meets many local heroes, both well-known and lesser-known, of the Civil Rights Movement. Since this is a one-person show, you have the challenging job of transforming yourself into so many different characters. How have you tackled this?

MB: First and foremost, I remind myself to go back to the basics and just tell the story. With each of the characters I asked myself “what am I trying to say?” Once I felt like I was telling a clear story, I began to think about layers: physicality, accents, mannerisms, etc. That was the fun part. Of course, the characters in the show are actual historical figures, so I did study their real lives in order to bring them to life.

NR: Yes, these characters are real people – some of whom are still alive. What was your process for discov­ering who these people are? How much is reality, how much is fiction?

MB: I started by reading about each character. I wanted to encounter them this way first so that my imagina­tion could work. Then, I looked at old video footage and listened to audio in order to pick up their unique man­nerisms. My body and voice are the channels through which these characters come to life, so there are many choices I made and details I added working under Jimmy’s direction.

NR: You mention working under Jimmy McDermott’s direction. In theatre, the actor, director and designers work together to tell the story. Can you say anything about how this process worked in rehearsal?

MB: This play is a collaborative piece from top to bottom. I love that about it. For example, our director Jimmy has the ability to see what the piece looks like as a whole. In rehearsal he would often shape pictures or make adjustments that helped to tell the story. In the same way, Mikhail, sound designer extraordinaire, would create beats and arrange sound cues to elicit feeling and convey meaning through music and sound. The same goes for the costuming and props. In the rehearsal process, all of these individuals watched and made adjustments to create the product. Without any one of these elements, the show would fall short in getting the message across to the audience.

NR: One of those messages is that Alaya realizes she has to use her mind and her art instead of her fists in order to reach her dreams. How and when did you know you wanted to be a professional actor? What did you need to do, or keep in mind, in order to achieve your goals?

MB: I knew that I was serious about pursuing acting professionally during my senior year in college when I turned down “real” jobs in order to work in the theatre. I studied theatre at Northwestern University where I used to create lists of the types of roles I wanted to play. Taking class, reading and taking care of my body are all very important to achieving the goals I have. I think the best actors are students of life so I try to be as well-rounded as possible.

NR: What has been the biggest challenge working on The MLK Project?

MB: The biggest challenge has been keeping the show fresh. I think with a one-person show it can be easy to slip into a routine way of doing and saying things because there is no one else to respond to onstage. In order to sustain the piece I have to find new discoveries each time I perform.

NR: That seems like a particular challenge in this one-person play. As a profes­sional actor you have been in many kinds of productions. What is your favorite kind of play to work on?

MB: I love to work on all sorts of plays. Because music is such an important part of my life, I love doing plays with music, regardless of whether there is singing or not. I think that music has a way of completing stories like nothing else can. I also love doing shows that are rooted in some sort of historical context. I love discovering new ways to retell history.

NR: The MLK Project includes both of those things. What has been your favorite thing working on The MLK Project?

MB: My favorite part has been traveling across the Chicagoland area and performing for thousands of students. Each audi­ence sees the show from its own unique perspective, making my role fun each time. I get artisitically inspired when I hear the students’ comments and feedback.

NR: Have you learned anything new working on The MLK Project?

MB: I have learned so much working on this project. I was not familiar with many of the characters in the play before I took on the role. The play does an amazing job of bringing lesser-known figures of the Civil Rights Movement, all of whom have a Chi­cago connection, to the forefront. I had no idea there was so much history in my backyard.

NR: Do you have any message you’d like to leave with the students who watch The MLK Project?

MB: I want to tell students to DREAM. There are so many obstacles and things that may threaten your dreams but you have to fight to hold onto them. Be encouraged and inspired by the characters’ stories in the play. See that even though all of the charac­ters faced obstacles, they never gave up on their dreams. As Reverend Kyles says in the play, “The dream is still alive.”

In the days leading up to the first rehearsal, Ron OJ Parson, Director of Writers’ upcoming production of The Caretaker, sat down with Associate Artistic Director Stuart Carden to talk about play selection, the “Pinter Pause” and the color divide in American Theatre.

Since directing The Old Settler, you and artistic director Michael Halberstam have been talking about the next project you would direct at Writers’ Theatre.  The Caretaker is a wildly different play than the first you directed with us.  How did you decide on this classic Pinter play?

Michael and I had actually been talking even before The Old Settler was chosen.  We really did have an open mind about what we wanted to do together and The Old Settler just seemed to fit at that time.  As far as this choice—(Harold) Pinter was actually talked about before as well as (August) Strindberg.  I wanted to choose authors that aren’t thought about a lot.  Pinter and Strindberg are done but not nearly enough in my opinion.

When I was at the University of Michigan, we explored these authors to learn the craft of acting and directing, which is the foundation of my training but not my professional experience, which was in New York, visiting The Negro Ensemble Company and assisting Von Washington at the University of Michigan with the Black Theatre Project.

But any director worth a grain is itching to try different things to challenge himself and find the new and exciting ways to bring theatre to life—especially in Chicago, which I feel is the greatest city on the planet for theatre.  So Michael and I talked about doing something new and fresh for the Theatre as well as something new and fresh for me.

Pinter is considered one of the most influential playwrights of the 20th century and his work comes with loads of assumptions.  So much so that the adjective, “Pinteresque” has gained popular usage and any undergraduate worth his/her salt has an opinion about the “Pinter pause.”    How useful are these popular notions of his work?  How do you embrace them or move past them in rehearsal?

Well, I never make any assumptions approaching a play.  It is hard not to be “Pinteresque” when doing Pinter, however.  He is known for the silences and pauses that are built in.  One thing about silence for me, in any play I direct, is that the moments of silence can speak the loudest in the story.  Most plays are told between the lines.  No exception here.  Because we have taken a slightly different twist to the piece I think it will allow us to bring a fresh approach to it without “changing” the story.

The play, which had its West End transfer in 1962, was originally written for three Caucasian actors. You have chosen to cast two actors of South Asian descent in the roles of the brothers, Mick and Aston, while the role of Davies will be played by a Caucasian actor.  What was the impulse behind this?

Well, oddly enough I did not have that pre-conceived notion to do anything different with it, necessarily.  It was a pretty open audition and I was open in my thinking and the idea came to me during the audition process.  I had acted in Pinter in college and just looked at what might be interesting to add to the story, sort of updating the story without updating the time or place of it.  My assistant (Jim Manganello) found out some interesting information about the period the play takes place—London in the 1960s—and  I wanted to explore the world of the play.  And then these actors came in with great auditions and I went from there.  I am glad more theatres in Chicago are being more open-minded about casting, especially with the classics.

There is a persistent (and rarely spoken) prejudice in the American theatre that white directors should not direct plays by black playwrights and black directors should only direct plays by white playwrights if the play is about racial issues.  That is a bit of a generalization and there are plenty of exceptions but for the most part this holds true—why do you think this is?

This is the subject of many forums at many theatre conferences and probably will continue to be.  It is a bit of a generalization as you say, but there aren’t plenty of exceptions.  For the most part Black directors are pigeonholed and are usually called upon to direct “Black” plays even though the training goes far beyond that.  I think the same holds true in other mediums as well—such as television and film—directors find the same barriers to overcome.

You used a word in the previous question that I believe applies here, “assumptions.”  Assumptions are made that prevent risk taking.  Of course, some theatres have reached out for change and that is encouraging, but there is still work to be done to break down the barriers.  A good director is a good director and good directors can bring life to a good script, but out in the professional world, the director of color is limited, unfortunately.  But why do I think this is?  I would say it is the same as in any field in American society—fear, prejudice and ignorance.  But hopefully things are changing and the playing field is leveling.

What excites you the most about directing THE CARETAKER in the Books on Vernon space?

Well, I would have to say I am excited most about the challenge of bringing the bookstore space to life.  The audience is right there with us so we have to be real and true in our approach.  I love intimate theatre.  I have seen many plays in the bookstore space and have often wanted to see what it would be like to convert the entire space to the world of a play.  This play in particular lends itself to that conversion very well, there is no escape.  Pinter in particular is great for intimate theatre, to explore and discover the many nuances of his work. I look forward to the challenge.

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.