Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in the Berkshires

Re-posting my lengthy piece on the production I saw of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in 2016, in honor of the anniversary of the play premiering on Broadway.

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On the evening of July 4th, I took the Mass Pike west, far west, to the Berkshires to see the Berkshire Theatre Festival’s production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, directed by David Auburn (not only a gifted director but a Pulitzer-prize winning playwright for Proof). He’s directed a couple of productions in the Berkshires, including Sick and Anna Christie. The main stage is nestled in the middle of the green mountains, trees curving in around the theatre (the theatre has been there since the early 20th century.) It’s a beautiful space.

The production starred Rebecca Brooksher as Maggie, Michael Raymond-James as Brick (he’s mostly known for his role on True Blood, but also the great and unfortunately short-lived series Terriers – and here, he’s coming back to the stage after 8 years away) as Brick, Linda Gehringer as Big Mama, and Jim Beaver (from Deadwood and Supernatural) as Big Daddy. Filling out the cast of characters was Jenn Harris as Mae (that “monster of fertility”, as Maggie calls her), Timothy Gulan as Gooper, and David Adkins and Brian Russell as the tipsy preacher and the doctor, respectively.

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“We just always did what we fucking wanted to.” — Kevin Seconds

“We had all types coming to our early gigs – new wavers, stoners, Rocky Horror Picture Show kids, bored and rowdy native kids who lived in the nearby Indian reservation and colony. We always kind of related to a mixed bag of people.” — Kevin Seconds

It’s Kevin Seconds’ birthday. Front man of 7 Seconds, the influential punk band from Reno, part of the “straight edge” sub-genre of punk – for their so-called idealistic and positive messaging. The band featured two brothers (Kevin and Steve), a passionate fan base, and a hefty nonstop touring schedule that lasted for three decades.

They were off and on as a band, as Life happened to all of them, and they announced about 5 years ago that 7 Seconds was no more. But I just checked Kevin Seconds’ Twitter feed and lo and behold he announced that they were up and running again and going on tour. I also came across a really interesting interview with Kevin Seconds, where he reflects on the last 30 years, and what the experience of 7 Seconds was like.

As I periodically like to do, I’m resurrecting a piece my brother Brendan wrote on his old blog, which I rescued (as I did all of his music writing). Brendan was a massive 7 Seconds fan and he wrote about seeing them live at The Living Room in Providence. The essay has a killer last line. (Bren is very good at last lines, which is not a small skill!)

 
 
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.

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2026 Shakespeare Reading Project: King John

My progress:
Shakespeare Reading Project
Henry VI, parts 1, 2, 3 and Richard III
Two Gentlemen of Verona
The Taming of the Shrew
Titus Andronicus
The Comedy of Errors
Love’s Labour’s Lost
Romeo & Juliet
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Richard II

King John

“King John” shouldn’t be the title. The title should be “Three Mothers and One Illegitimate Man”. King John barely registers in comparison to the wailing vicious women and Faulconbridge the Bastard. And unlike, say, Mercutio, who could be Faulconbridge’s brother, Faulconbridge does not go down in a blaze of glory, he’s not murdered. He triumphs. The final lines of the play are his. He’s such a cool character.

The only thing I know about King John is he is the Magna Carta guy – and Shakespeare never mentions it. And based on what we see here, John does not inspire confidence. He is woman-pecked all around. These mothers are at each others’ throats. The framing makes things complicated. The women are vivid and histrionic. There are a lot of speeches. Hubert is almost immediately corrupted by power. John asks Hubert to kill the child Arthur, and it’s almost shocking Hubert’s response. These one-word replies and one-word responses. It’s brutal. John is basically trying to get rid of his competition, but Arthur is a child. Like the two little princes in Richard III. Or, later, the horrific off-stage murder of MacDuff and his whole family. You can feel Shakespeare shuffling off the compulsive lyricism and rhetoric. You can definitely feel it in Faulconbridge’s vivid language. Faulconbridge uses slang, he’s direct. He can see how the world works, how Commodity rules all.

I’ve never seen King John in production. It’s not exactly a thrilling read. I feel like it’s not done all that much. Constance’s wailing ancient-Greek grief goes on for two pages. I know she’s sad, but it’s tiresome. The whole thing is a little declamatory, especially with a central character as uninteresting as John! Henry V takes up the rousing center of his own play. King John is a bore. Shakespeare couldn’t help himself. Maybe he knew Faulconbridge was the scene-stealer Mercutio was. Maybe he didn’t care. Berowne in Love’s Labour’s Lost is another precursor.

I don’t need scholars and experts to “help” me with my favorite plays. Like Midsummer, As You Like It, Much Ado, The Tempest: I know these plays very well. I can always learn more and I appreciate it, but Midsummer is so magic I honestly don’t CARE about the background. But with King John … I really need them. There’s a wealth of good information provided by my chosen scholars (i.e. the ones I happen to have in my current library), including the observation that Faulconbridge is a breakthrough for Shakespeare, making room for Falstaff, who is about to make his appearance.

Oh and I feel pretty proud of myself for piecing together a couple of scenes where Faulconbridge’s behavior was attention-getting even though he barely says anything. I’ll break it down below. Shakespeare here makes a character eloquent when he’s NOT speaking.

Quotes on the play

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“If you want to see the girl next door, go next door.” – Joan Crawford

Today is Joan Crawford’s birthday. Some links first:

World-Class Acting: On Joan Crawford and Sudden Fear

Here are the re-caps of Feud: Bette and Joan I did for The New York Times. Lots of discussions of Joan Crawford’s career and acting woven throughout.

A while back, Mitchell and I had a discussion about her. Well, we discuss her all the time. But this time I recorded it.

The setup of the conversation went as follows (an ongoing series): I throw names of famous people at Mitchell, and ask him to describe each person in only “one word”. Then we both take it from there. Enjoy.

JOAN CRAWFORD

Sheila O’Malley: One word.

Mitchell Fain: I’m looking for a word that means “of an era”. I guess I’m going to say Of Her Time. She invented film acting. She was this girl from the wrong side of the tracks, and a dancer, it was the flapper era, she was a wild girl. Talk about a chameleon. Fuck Madonna.

MF: (continued) She was the flapper girl, she was the good time girl, she was the girl from the wrong side of the tracks who makes good, she was the modern businesswoman, and then she was the hardened older woman, and then she was the grotesque. Very few people have careers who last as long as hers.

MF: (continued) It’s hard for me to talk about her because I know so much about her personal life, or what I think I know about her personal life. This was a person who loved being famous more than she loved anything else. And being famous meant she had to get good at her job so she became a fabulous film actress but it was about being famous. It was about saying “Fuck You” to the trashy weird place that she grew up in, living in the back of a laundry with her mother on a cot. But as an actress, she really did perfect a kind of film acting. First of all, the camera loved her face. Interestingly enough, she was a blue-eyed freckled girl with red hair. We’d never get that from black and white movies. Her freckles were covered. We never got the sense that she had blue eyes. Cinematographers loved her for her angles.

MF: (continued) So she learned the art of film acting while it was being formed, and everybody has benefited from Crawford’s discoveries.

My favorite Joan Crawford performance is in The Women.

MF: (continued) It’s a great example of her work because she’s surrounded by women who were her contemporaries. You look at Joan Crawford now and we see her movies and the acting may seem archaic in the way that people don’t understand that style anymore, which I get. But you put her around her contemporaries, like Norma Shearer, and she is so utterly real and contemporary. Crystal Allen, the woman she plays in The Women, is so going to get what she wants. And she’s so funny. The scene in the dressing room where she says to Norma Shearer, “Whenever so-and-so doesn’t like what I’m wearing, I take it off.” She is sexual, she is a sexual threat. That role is the personification of Joan Crawford. Working girl, clawed her way to the rich side, she’s stunningly beautiful, she’ll do what she has to do to get there, she knows what she looks like and how that works, she’s brutally honest with herself. To me, it’s her perfect role, because she’s funny and she’s real and she’s stunning and she is the kind of woman that we want to judge, but that we all secretly want to be. It is the way we hope we would be, that kind of tenacity, that kind of “Fuck you, I’m getting what I want.”

SOM: You know what else I love about her is how smart she was about material for herself. The story of Crawford, on bended knee, begging Otto Preminger to put her in Daisy Kenyon. She knew: This is mine. Nobody else can do this. She courted projects, she courted directors. She was in it for the long haul from the beginning, which I love, because she was a jazz baby dancing on tables. Who knew where the movies were gonna go?

MF: There were no VCRs. They didn’t know we were going to study these films with a fine-toothed comb. There weren’t film studies classes. That’s my whole point about what they did back then. When I try to explain to people about old movies and how fabulous they were, my point is they were making these films as entertainment. The idea of the auteur, the artist/director wasn’t really in play, not at the beginning. Roger Ebert does that thing where he watches a film frame by frame with an audience. Back then, there wasn’t even the possibility for people to do that, there was no thought that that was going to happen. So the kinds of movies that were made back then have an unconscious level of artistry to them. We now can study the unconscious intentions, the unconscious moments that came from all of these very conscious decisions. For example, watching Meet Me in St. Louis.

MF: (continued) Vincente Minnelli chose every moment specifically, maybe more so than any director who was a big director at that time. But he made so many different kinds of films that to see him as an auteur is almost difficult because he seemed to be a workman, a journeyman. However, the story that emerges from the details he chose back then then tells the story that we can look at 60 years later.

Then there’s a story that really warms my heart and that is Joan Crawford’s relationship with Billy Haines.

MF: (continued) Billy Haines was a number one movie star in the silent era, he was openly gay, he had a partner. Louis B. Mayer said, “You have to fake a marriage like everybody else or I’m going to fire you” and Haines said, “Would you leave your wife?” And Mayer said, “Make a choice, Hollywood or your partner.” They fired him and put it out that his popularity was going down because of sound, which wasn’t true. He was a top box office person in the country for three years running, and then they kicked him out of Hollywood. He decided to become a designer, which had been his hobby. Joan was a really good friend of his. They had worked together in silent films. In fact, he named Joan, I think. Anyway, she stuck by him. She would have him decorate her house, and would have people over, and people would ask, “Who decorated your house?” He became one of the most influential interior designers in American history and it was partly because of Joan Crawford’s loyalty.


Joan Crawford in her living room, designed by Billy Haines

MF: (continued) So the idea that she was a monster who used people and threw them away is not true. There were people who very loyal to Joan. And she was also a loyal friend for many many years.

Unfortunately, because of Mommie Dearest, which may or may not be apocryphal but which Christina Crawford has certainly dined out on ever since, the book and the movie has made Faye Dunaway‘s impression of Joan Crawford into Joan Crawford.

Nobody’s watching Possessed and no one’s watching The Damned Don’t Cry and no one’s watching Daisy Kenyon, which is one of my favorites. It’s such a beautifully ambiguous movie. Dana Andrews, Henry Fonda, it’s so beautiful. You have no idea who to root for.

SOM: Exactly.

MF: Who’s the good guy here? You don’t know. It’s so brilliant. I also think that she, like Elizabeth Taylor, although Taylor was more hit or miss, Joan was best when she was pushed, when she was challenged. If she had a director like Otto Preminger, who expected her to be an actress, she pulled it out. If she had a weaker director, she was just going to play Joan Crawford. Like with Elizabeth Taylor, when she was working with Rock Hudson or James Dean or Richard Burton or Mike Nichols or Monty Clift, she gave some serious performances.

MF: (continued) When she was working with Paul Newman, she was like, “I gotta bring my A game”. But left to her own devices, when she was the one who was calling the shots, just because she was the biggest star on the lot or the biggest personality, she phoned it in a bit. I think Joan was a little bit like that. For Elizabeth Taylor, it was like she was a little girl trying to prove something, and Joan Crawford was a poor girl trying to prove something.

But like Cary Grant, I am not sure anyone else has known how to use a camera better than Joan Crawford to tell a story. Her face and the camera working together, understanding what that meant, and how that tells a story.

There’s that scene from Sudden Fear where she’s in the closet.

SOM: The slant of light across her eyes.

MF: She knows exactly how much to do with the camera, and what it is, and what the lighting meant. That’s what I mean about film acting. They were creating film acting. In movies now it’s mostly natural lighting, and realistic acting, and we don’t have to worry about those elements so much anymore, it’s not the same artform in a lot of ways. The idea of moving the pictures forward is now all in the director’s and cinematographer’s hands, except for people like Meryl Streep who is still doing that old-school kind of acting work. But back in the day, your face WAS the architecture of the movie. Your face, your body, your shoulders. Look at how Bette Davis walked. The stars were the architecture, their shape meant something to a camera, and I think they knew it and I think they were making it up.

MF: (continued) She’s so fabulous-looking. The image of her will always be jarring and beautiful. There are certain images of her, from the 1940s, with her hair in a snood, and the cheekbones and the lips, and the light across her face, that noir lighting that they perfected on her, that is just so iconic. And then Adrian, the designer, who created the big shoulder thing for her, which made her look like an Amazon.

SOM: She was probably very tiny.

MF: She was tiny. There’s ways that she used herself that they didn’t even know what they were doing, because there weren’t gender studies programs at the time. It’s like Johnny Guitar. Nicholas Ray may have known it on some subconscious level because he was dealing with those things in his own life, but Joan Crawford didn’t know it. But even before that, there was something masculine about the way she strolled across a film. The Bride Wore Red.

MF: (continued) Even though she’s very feminine and very beautiful in that movie, there’s something very masculine about how she goes about getting what she wants, and so the fact that her style became these huge shoulder pads, as though she had these crazy broad football player shoulders, was very deliberate and interesting, in terms of gender. And they put the shoulder pads in everything. It became ridiculous. She’d be wearing a dressing gown with shoulder pads the size of Gary Cooper. It’s also interesting that she did a lot of films with Clark Gable, successful in their time, although they weren’t as famous a duo as Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy or William Powell and Myrna Loy. But they were very successful, and there is something there in the dynamic that reminds me of what Robert Redford said about working with Barbra Streisand: She’s so masculine that you get to be your most feminine, and she’s so feminine you get to be your most masculine. Now, Clark Gable isn’t gonna say that, but that’s what happened with her and Gable.

MF: (continued) He ended up looking pretty compared to her. He had to use feminine wiles to win her over until he became “the man”. Her persona was masculine and feminine. She is a pre-gender-studies classic gender studies subject.

SOM: That’s what we were texting about with Johnny Guitar.

MF: That whole movie is a gender studies class. All of those roles existed, the lipstick lesbian, the bottom boy who was there to please and complement the top guy. It all existed. It’s just that nobody talked about any of it until there were gender studies classes and queer filmmakers and female filmmakers.

SOM: Most of the great movie stars, especially of that era before the sexual revolution, the ones who still resonate for us today, are the ones who have that mix of feminine and masculine. So Joan is hard, Clark gets to be soft. Or Cary is soft and Hepburn gets to be hard. But then they flip. And it’s all delightful. Who’s doing that now? It’s kind of out of style, I guess, but it’s so attractive.

MF: I mean, think about Kristen Wiig‘s persona in Bridesmaids . She’s so honest. And there’s something stereotypically male about her neuroses. She ends up being the female Woody Allen.

SOM: That’s more interesting than the one-note characters of uptight bitch, or an entitled Sex and the City Carrie Bradshaw type … maybe funny, but not attractive, ultimately, as a leading lady, at least in the classic sense.

MF: By the way, these are all Joan Crawford prototypes. I could pick a Joan Crawford movie that is the “entitled bitch”, that is the “uptight ice princess”. Crawford did them all. She practically invented them.

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Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.

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Dynamic Duo #48

Stephen Sondheim and Leonard Bernstein

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“Every choice I’ve ever made has been dictated by a formless hunch rather than by strict logic.” — Peter Brook

“I can take any empty space and call it a bare stage. A man walks across this empty space, whilst someone else is watching him, and this is all that is needed for an act of theatre to be engaged.” — Peter Brook, born on this day

Peter Brook’s illustrious career earned him the right to be called a visionary. You’ll hear it a lot. He was one of the most influential theatrical directors of all time. Generations have learned from him, found inspiration in his work, his visions, his bold-ness. He died in 2022 at the age of 97.

He helmed so many groundbreaking and famous productions. He brought Marat/Sade to England for the first time. (He also directed a film adaptation of Marat/Sade.) His Shakespeare productions were talked about far and wide, often the hottest ticket on both sides of the Atlantic, as well as continental Europe. He brought his adaptation of Mahabarata to New York, and it caused a tremendous stir (positive and negative: this was not a new response to his work. He was so far “out there” he often went up against pushback. His bold style and “why the hell not” approach often drew complaints from more conservative theatrical establishments.) He leaned towards the abstract, the surreal. He was not linear or conventional.


Peter Brook’s “Mahabarata”, 1989

“The thing that I have a horror of is ideological theatre – Shakespeare never told us how to think.” — Peter Brook

Let’s start with the most important of his productions: his famous Midsummer Nights Dream, produced in 1970 at the Royal Shakespeare Company before moving to the West End. There is no recording of the production, so we have to just take the word of people who saw it. The few photos we have are striking: the set was a white box, no adornments: just a white clear pure space. His motif was the circus, and his production included clowns and gymnasts, trapeze artists – trapezes dangling over the stage and actors would swing, or slump, or stand on them, swaying above the action. These images have traveled through the decades.


Peter Brook’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1970

Actors know about this production. Or they should. People who saw it still talk about it 50 years later. There are very few productions like this in the theatre. Theatre is here today, gone tomorrow, unless it is captured on film. Orson Welles’ 1937 production of Julius Caesar, its set and costumes reflecting the rise of fascism in Europe. There is no record of it but it left a mark, it still inspires.


Orson Welles’ Julius Caesar

The original Glass Menagerie with Laurette Taylor is another production like this, where Taylor’s performance remains so influential – even though there is only a couple minutes of footage of it – you can say it changed acting forever, 10 years before Brando came along.


Laurette Taylor in The Glass Menagerie, 1946

The Victorian-era’s Lyceum Theatre’s productions of Macbeth and Much Ado About Nothing, with one of the most famous actors of her time, Ellen Terry – and innovative stage techniques, set design, lighting – caused a sensation which you can still feel over a century later. Those productions revolutionized stage lighting/set design.


Lyceum Theatre, Much Ado About Nothing, 1882

Midsummer Night’s Dream seems like it couldn’t generate much buzz beyond “we love this famous play” – but Brook’s handling of it was so distinct, it opened up a world of possibilities for other productions.

Word of Peter Brook’s Midsummer filtered down to us acting students in college, two decades after the production. The chairperson of our department saw Brook’s Mahabarata in New York and told us about it, how he designed it, its mood and set, she walked us through the whole thing. She gave us the context of who Brook was, the gigantism of his career and his impact. She passed this information on to us. The controversy around Mahabarata was par for the course, completely valid in many of its particulars, and yet also slightly irrelevant, considering the impact. The same was true of his Marat/Sade and also Midsummer. Purists resented him. C’est la vie.

Brook’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream is often called “Peter Brook’s Dream“, that’s how singular a vision it was!

We need to understand we are in a continuum. We need to understand the tradition of experimental theatre is in Brook’s debt, although he did not get there first (which he acknowledged – Artaud’s “theatre of cruelty” was a major influence on Brook, as was the revolutionary career of Joan Littlewood, who brought Brendan Behan’s The Hostage to America). Brook was totally establishment – which was part of why his career was so radical and startling. He wasn’t some outsider. He was artistic director of the RSC! But he was also a dynamic and inventive storyteller.


Marat Sade, Peter Brook 1966

His book The Empty Space should be required reading for theatre major undergraduates (we read it in our theatre history class), and if you haven’t read it, there’s my recommendation! Like I said: the past has valuable lessons for us and it’s important to understand the continuum of the avant-garde, so that we can recognize it – and not instinctively reject it – when it shows up again. There is still a fear of the new, and not just in politically conservative circles. I see it all the time in film critic circles, and it’s true in theatrical circles too. New things are often rejected out of hand. Before they even have a chance to take hold.

There aren’t many pictures of Peter Brook’s Dream, but what we have is eloquent.

I have dreamt about going back in time so that I could see that production (among others).

“The meaning of a theater event is that none of us could see something so clearly as with the new energy that is brought with the meeting of a theme, actors living it, and an audience gradually entering it to live it with them. At that moment, a certain light appears, revealing what we would never have thought of on our own.” — Peter Brook

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Review: Tow (2026)

I reviewed Tow, based on a true story, starring Rose Byrne, for Ebert. I liked writing this.

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The night we performed for William Hurt

It’s William Hurt’s birthday today.

Back in the day, when Twitter was still a thing, I would often write long stories which occasionally went viral. My story of meeting William Hurt was one of them. When I deactivated my account, I lost those stories. Recently, someone reached out to me via DM, someone I don’t know, who told me she loved the William Hurt story, as a young actor herself, and wondered where it was, since she found it inspirational. I told her I would re-tell it here, and decided to do so for his birthday.

When I was in Chicago, the first play I got cast in was Clifford Odets’ Golden Boy. This was an ensemble company, with a regular roster of actors, and they had a reputation for putting on visceral and exciting productions (this was their second Odets, I believe), with a devotion to deeply connected acting. I signed up for an acting class, run by this group – it’s how I met my great friend Ted, one of the teachers. This was how I got looped in to this group. Normally, they cast mostly from within their ensemble, but they needed someone to play Joe’s sister, married to the cabbie. My friend David was cast as the cabbie.

It was a very intense rehearsal process. They were a very insular group. Cult-like, I might say? David and I were welcomed, but “outside” the main dynamic. There were romances and unrequited loves going on, a lot of drama. They were struggling financially. The company felt like it might be on its last legs. None of this impacted my experience. It was my first show in Chicago, and it was Odets, one of my favorites! I was determined to have a good time and I did.

The show opened and we got good reviews but the audiences did not come. It was rough. There were times when just 15 people showed up, for a 99-seat theatre. Our run was long, six weeks or something. I’m sure the company was draining money, although I was separated from those anxieties. I was also having a blast with M., whom I had just met, and in fact the “tsk tsk” message from M I describe in that post happened across the street from the theatre where I was rehearsing Golden Boy.

One of the company members was a guy named Michael, a great actor and an entertaining presence, albeit a little intimidating. Michael was kind of over the whole thing, the drama of the company, the fact that we got copious notes after each performance, long into the run, even when it became apparent that basically nobody was coming to the play. The director gave Michael a note on something and Michael drawled, “Sorry, I just froze with all eight eyeballs on me. I’ll do better tomorrow.” He was necessary comedic relief.

Michael must have read an interview with William Hurt somewhere where Hurt expressed a yearning to get back to the theatre (where he got his start), how much he’d like to find a passionate theatre ensemble to involve himself in. He was a member of Circle Rep. He missed that kind of artistic community. A light bulb went on in Michael’s head and he wrote William Hurt a letter, telling him about our theatre company and our current production of Golden Boy, inviting him to come check it out if he had the time. I don’t know the details of how this occurred and how Michael figured out how to get to Hurt. I am assuming this was a hand written letter not a phone call.

At any rate, none of us knew Michael had done this, and suddenly we got the word Hurt would be coming to the show the following night, or that weekend, or whatever. He must have contacted Michael to arrange. There was excitement but also trepidation. We had had to cancel some shows because literally nobody showed up. Sometimes we did the show to just a handful of people. Sometimes we waited until the last minute – literally a minute before 8 p.m. – before admitting defeat and canceling the show. It was demoralizing. What if William Hurt was the only person who showed up? He was literally flying in to see it. We cringed at the thought. We would look like a bunch of losers to him!

This is exactly how it went down.

He – and his friend – were the only people who showed up that night. I think we had maybe 10 reservations, which was horrible enough, but on the night William Hurt came, those people were no-shows. As I said, we regularly canceled shows, refunded tickets to the three people who showed up, gave them tickets for another night. But on this particular night, we couldn’t cancel. We had to go on and do the whole damn play for just two people, William Hurt and his friend.

To date, this is one of my most surreal moments as an actor. We played the thing full out, we played the show, we could do it in our sleep. Hurt sat about 10 rows back, and of course if there are only two people in an audience, you are fully aware of them. You can FEEL them. I so wanted to be anywhere else. I said to Michael backstage, “This is horrible. I feel so ashamed.” Michael, in his fedora, said, “Fuck that. Do the work.” He was right.

Side note: one of the lessons of this story is that if you are an artist and you feel like you want to invite so-and-so, or extend an invitation, or request their presence for whatever reason … write that letter. They might say no, they might ignore you but … you never know. They might just accept the invitation.

We came out for our bows. In this company, we didn’t do individual bows. We bowed as an ensemble. We didn’t pretend we had a full house. We all bowed directly AT William Hurt. I still remember his glasses gleaming through the darkness of the theatre, but I could also see his face, reflecting the light coming from off the stage. And as I bowed his way, I felt a little jolt when I saw the tears literally pouring down his face. These weren’t gentle trickling tears. He was openly weeping.

Afterwards, we all went out into the lobby to say hello to him. It was such a strange situation. The impulse was to apologize and be self-deprecating about the clear failure of a play we were in. I’ve been in bad shows. Shows I never in a million years would have invited William Hurt to come see. Or, hell, my parents. This was not a bad show. I was proud of it. It was just kind of a heartbreaking situation. So what do you do? Hurt was still a mess. The lobby was this small space, and I think someone bought a bottle of wine or something. Nobody had any money. Hurt said, in tears, “That’s one of the most beautiful theatre experiences I’ve ever had.” I will never forget him saying that. I so wonder what we looked like to him. This brave earnest theatre company doing a play for no one. Listen, I’m not saying we were brilliant, but for sure we had to have seemed like the purest distillation of the acting impulse and theatre impulse on the planet, because we were pouring our hearts out for an empty theatre. He truly couldn’t even speak.

We didn’t go out to a bar. We didn’t grab a bite to eat. We didn’t even provide him with anything! We didn’t “splurge” on a cheese plate. We had NOTHING. I do remember tiny cups of wine, so someone clearly brought it. It never occurred to me at the time, “Maybe we should pool our money and buy some snacks and drinks for him …” We sat on the floor in the small lobby and talked for a couple of hours. We lost our shyness. There was no hierarchy. He didn’t lecture us. It wasn’t a one way conversation. It was basically Hurt talking with all of us. We were all on the same level pursuing the same thing. Hurt talked about our work, and also shared stories of his own work. Doing American Buffalo, how he thought about acting, what he felt about it, what he missed about live theatre. The atmosphere was very specific. We weren’t all hyped up after our show. It’s not fun to do a show for two people, even if one of them is William Hurt. We were drained and yet hyped up at the same time. I think Hurt was in the same state. He seemed jazzed up, it was so obvious he loved being with us.

I can be almost 100% certain that he, too, would never forget the night he flew to Chicago to watch a group of young actors perform Golden Boy just for him.

Finally, it was around 2 in the morning and time to go home. We all were almost delirious with exhaustion. The mood felt soft and gentle. We all had to go to our day jobs the next day, come to the theatre the following night, do it all again. We left a little reluctantly. I don’t remember the details of how this next part actually happened but it went something along these lines. Normally after the shows, we’d go out for a drink as a cast, blow off steam, and then part ways, or head to the L to go home (or … to meet with M., in my case.). But this night, it was so late (early), Michael offered to drive a couple of us home, if we didn’t mind riding in the back of the truck. The prospect of dragging my exhausted ass to the L and face a 30 minute ride back to my neighborhood was NOT attractive. So I took Michael up on his offer, crawling into the back of the truck with a couple of my castmates.

William Hurt did not come to the show in his own car. He hadn’t hired a car. There of course were no taxis around at 2 in the morning, and Michael said, casually, “You need a ride?” Hurt said, without hesitation, “Yes!” His friend got in the front seat with Michael and Hurt joined us in the back. And off we went into the cool autumn Chicago night. Nobody spoke. We would have had to shout over the wind and engine, and besides we were all talked out. I was almost asleep, the wind battering our faces, and Chicago’s skyline – the most beautiful skyline in the world – glittering and gleaming all around us, not a skyline at all, but our world. We were headed downtown to drop Hurt off at his hotel. First stop.

I remember looking over at Hurt one or two times as we drove along, in the open air, like we were a bunch of farm hands. He sat there holding his arms around his knees, and he looked absolutely ecstatic. In the true sense of the word. The sharp angles of his face and its expression made him look like a wood carving of a medieval saint. He looked ecstatic. I’m serious. I saw … “Life gets busy and cramped and you forget the joy of what you are doing. Don’t forget this moment.” He, a big Hollywood star and Oscar winner, was feeling this, crammed in the back of a pickup truck with a bunch of sleepy 20something actors.

When I think of William Hurt, this is what I see. I see him applauding us in the empty theatre, his glasses gleaming, tears pouring down his face. And I see him in the back of the truck, face lifted into the wind.

“If all the film in the world burnt down today, you’d still have acting.” — William Hurt

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“Reality is always extraordinary.” — Mary Ellen Mark

It’s her birthday today.

My first job was as a page at a local library. I would go there after school, shelve books for a couple of hours, and then head home. I ended up working there all through high school. Because one of my jobs was to return books to their rightful shelves, I handled many many books that were far too mature for me, and were way beyond my years. One of them was Mary Ellen Mark’s Streetwise, an extraordinary book of photos detailing the lives of kids living on the street in Seattle.

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The photo above, of the little girl with the veiled hat, was on the cover, and the image didn’t just strike me, it stopped me dead in my tracks. I didn’t know what I was sensing, I didn’t know what that photo meant. She looked like she was around my age, she could be a classmate, but there was something in her face that seemed entirely … off the map of my own experience, let’s just say that. I didn’t understand. So before I put the book back in its rightful place, I looked through its pages. And the bottom dropped out of my stomach.

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“I think my cinema is minimalist because so is my gaze: I’m very interested in people.” — Joanna Hogg

It’s the birthday of director Joanna Hogg, who hasn’t directed that many films (comparatively) and yet what she has done really matters, so much so that when there are gaps between films, people who always have her on their radar wonder what she’s up to, when we will hear from her again. She goes years between films. Less is definitely more.

The anticipation around Hogg’s 2019 film The Souvenir was intense. Produced by Martin Scorsese, it starred Honor Swinton-Byrne (daughter to Tilda Swinton), Tom Burke, and Tilda Swinton. Hogg’s previous film – The Exhibition – came out in 2013. The Souvenir was ambitious and frankly autobiographical, about Hogg’s experiences as a young film student, but also her experiences in her first major relationship. Hogg is a fascinating case because her work holds you at a distance – she almost never uses closeups, and her camera almost never moves – but the overall effect is deeply emotional. It’s not “spare”. Minimalist is a word I wouldn’t use either, that seems like a film critic word. I’d just call it “focused.” And also very disciplined.

The Souvenir is a fascinating film and it was beyond thrilling that there was going to be a sequel. For me, it’s the only “franchise” I care about.

I was honored to write about The Souvenir for Film Comment, and – even more special – it was the cover story (my second for them. Listen, if I don’t blow my own horn, who else will.) I did the deepest of dives into Hogg’s career and if you’re interested I recommend you doing the same. She is also a GREAT interview. She seems incapable of giving a boring or rote interview.

Here’s my cover story on The Souvenir.

Then I wrote about it for Ebert’s 10 Best Films of 2019.

In a nice bit of symmetry, I reviewed the sequel – The Souvenir, Part II – which takes up right where the first one left off – for Ebert.

In 2022 came The Eternal Daughter, again with Tilda Swinton – this time playing a double role – the role her own daughter played in The Souvenir, as well as re-creating the mother role. So she was playing mother AND daughter. It’s a spooky fascinating film. I reviewed for Ebert.

Two final things: Sometimes I forget that this happened. That Tilda Swinton and her daughter, Honor Swinton-Byrne, posed on various red carpets, holding up the Film Comment issue with my cover story, or holding the magazine open to the story itself. Seriously. In a freelance writer’s career, you have to revel in the moments of triumph, because they are few and far between. This was a major moment for me. Very VERY proud of the piece I wrote on The Souvenir.

 
 
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.

Posted in Directors, Movies, On This Day | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments