To close the show, I told a Japanese folk-tale while illustrating the story with a special bamboo mat.

(All photos courtesy of Bill Cronin at www.croninphoto.com)

Introducing a 350-year-old piece of Japanese magic -- Nanking Tamasudare.

Using the bamboo mat to depict a large fish, the Sea King.

A mysterious box from the Sea Princess.

Depicting the rising sun

The end.

Like he did in his previous collection of essays, True and False, Mamet pulls no punches as he skewers Method acting and the related schools of training, insisting that an actor’s responsibility is merely to speak the text clearly so that everyone can hear.

This time around he also rails against set designers and directors, declaring that  a group of actors (left to their own devices – sans director) would instinctively know how to create an engaging production.

Let me begin by saying that I’m not convinced that Mamet fully endorses his own arguments. In the same way that Henry David Thoreau once claimed that a person could forgo owning a home and could live instead in a more economical coffin sized box, Mamet’s arguments are designed to force us to reevaluate what element of theatre are truly necessary, though it is not surprising that as a playwright, Mamet should extol the primacy of the script.

It is not my intention to provide a through refutation of Mamet’s claims, as I think his writings on theatre are important and deserve to be read and contemplated.

It is clear, however, that he has had more experience with bad schools of acting, bad designers, and bad directors than I. And having suffered at their hands, he is ready to cast them all out of the temple.

My experience with the Method has been more benign and beneficial. When we worked with Stanislavsky’s emotional memory it was to used to develop emotional facility. It was a part of the actor’s training to foster greater access to one’s emotional spectrum, but was never used on stage, in performance, much the same way that an athlete might warm up using the hurdler’s stretch but never strike such a pose while competing (unless they were a hurdler).

The purpose of such training was to enhance the actor’s range of response so that, immersed the circumstances of the script, they might respond appropriately.

The Meisner technique (as I experienced it) was used to help strip away calculated, overly-polite, and logical responses. Actors who could shed their calculated responses were more able to embody the unfolding drama of the script, the clichéd response being the scourge of all actors as it is simply dull to watch.

Mamet takes to task directors who feel the need to inflict new concepts on perfectly sound scripts. And while I’ve never worked with such a director, I have seen my share of Shakespeare-set-in-a-novel-time-period, which I agree (aside from drawing audiences to admire the shear spectacle of the affair) does little to enhance the production.

Mamet, however, seems to overlook what for me is the key role of the director, and that is that someone must evaluate the performance of the actor, as the actors are rarely capable of evaluating their own performance.

Often, an actor will not realize that their actions are drawing focus, that their exit is too hasty, that their emotion is too big (or too small). Even if the only concern is that the actor speak the lines clearly so that everyone can hear, actors need someone to give them direction.

Mamet suggests that a good actor will be able to self-direct. This may be so, but it does not mean that a director is not necessary, only that in Mamet’s view an actor should possess the skills of both actor and director.

Perhaps (in addition to the skills of the director) the actor could also master the skills of a storyteller so that they might improvise a well-constructed and dramatically compelling story, and we could dispense with the playwright as well.

It’s the kind of community where if you’re wondering where your friends are hanging out on Friday night, you drive down the main street until you spot their car (no need for Foursquare or Gowalla here).

And for some reason, Nederland has an abundance of top-notch restaurants to choose from. The food here is divine!

Also, once a year the community gathers to celebrate Frozen Dead Guy Days, a winter festival in honor of Grandpa Bredo whose body was frozen and stored in a Tuff Shed some 20 years ago, and who is awaiting the day he can be reanimated.

They have frozen turkey bowling, the frozen fish toss, coffin races, and a parade of hearses. And this year, a little magic, too.

I brought my magic to Frozen Dead Guy Days, and I also brought along my video camera so I could have some fun with the Frozen Dead Guy celebrants.

After sharing some of my magic, I asked people to get goofy. Here’s what happened:

Short because musician, Danny Barnes has done all the heavy lifting.

Danny Barnes plays a ferociously twangy banjo with nasal lyrics that draw heavily from folk music traditions, but he also ventures forth to fuse traditional roots with the progressive sound of rock, jazz, and electronic music.

To learn how to make a living performing magic, read his post: How to Make a Living Playing Music. (Just substitute the word “magician” for “musician” and you’ll realize his ideas still apply.) My thanks to Mr. Barnes for sharing his wisdom.

To Mr. Barnes’s 29 theses I would add this observation (this time from magician Billy McComb) that consistency is more important than brilliance. That is, no one wants to hire a performer who is brilliant one night but mediocre the next — because they can never be sure which performer is going to show up when they hire them, and furthermore erratic performances make it impossible to determine what fee would be fair compensation. Billy contends, and I concur, that you’ll have more success if you are consistent and you consistently deliver good value for the money.

And one more thought.

Before I launched into this business, I asked performers of all stripes if it was possible to make a living pursuing this decidedly off-beat profession. In exchange for my query, I receive a lot of quizzical looks and indeterminate answers.

I realize now that the question (as asked) was not one that could be answered, because I hadn’t thought through enough of the details.

To ask if it’s possible to make a living performing magic is akin to asking, “Do you think I could make a living selling some “thing” to some people?”

Of course there’s no way to answer to that question, except to ask a lot of other questions. What “thing” do you intend to sell? To whom will you sell it? How much does it cost to produce this “thing?” Of what value is this “thing” to your prospective clients? Do they have the money necessary to afford this “thing?” How many people are in the market for this “thing?” How will people find out about this “thing” you are offering?

Oh, and if you reply, “What I’m selling is a magic show,” then you need to dig much deeper. Remember the person who goes to the hardware store to buy a drill doesn’t want a drill — what they want are the holes.

The Turn.

The Prestige.

(From a recent performance for Blue Mountain Arts annual sales meeting. All photos courtesy of my friend John Hudetz at www.hudetzphotography.com)

These films are not the greatest films ever made. They are not even (necessarily) high art. They are simply films which — time after time — have proved their worth to me by consistently delivering on their promises.

I’ve limited myself to one film for each director in an effort to diversify the selection.

Here they are in the order they came to mind:

• The Godfather – The film I’ve watched more than any other. Visually beautiful, superb acting, and concise storytelling. Coppola at his best. If I wasn’t limiting myself to one film per director, I’d naturally add the Godfather Part II with Robert Di Niro.
• The Graduate – The epitome of what I call the “Male Chick-Flick,” which (as I define it) is a plot involving a young man, content with his life, who drifts along until meeting a woman who gives his life meaning and inspires him to greater things. The woman’s character is generally thinly written as she is merely the catalyst who inspires the protagonist to action.
• Raging Bull – I’m not generally a Scorsese fan, but for me, all his themes come to life in this film. Plus Robert De Niro playing Jake La Motta playing Marlon Brando playing Terry Malloy, is not to be missed.
• Birdy – Alan Parker’s quirky film about flying, freedom, and passion, with Nicholas Cage and Matthew Modine.
• What’s Eating Gilbert Grape – Another “Male Chick-Flick,” with Johnny Depp and Leonardo DiCaprio (when DiCaprio was still willing to take risks as an actor and hadn’t become so meticulous about managing his image).
• Miller’s Crossing – A Cohen brothers film and another gangster film. I ought to confess that the gangster film is my favorite of all American film genres. I’ve seen them all. From Paul Muni’s Scarface to Dustin Hoffman’s less probable Dutch Schultz.
• Midnight Run – Not high art, but hits all the right notes. Charles Grodin’s dead-pan performance perfectly complements Di Niro’s no-nonsense bounty hunter.
• American Beauty – Sam Mendes’s tribute to the Artist who sees the truth where others are beguiled by lies. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure. But don’t worry…you will, someday.”
• Comedian – Jerry Seinfeld exposes the toil and the insecurity behind the act of creation. The real work revealed.
• Brazil – The ultimate dystopia film. The cameo by Robert Di Niro makes me feel like this list has suddenly become an homage to Di Niro.
• Seven Samurai – I could have listed a dozen films by Akira Kurasawa that deserve inclusion. This is my favorite. Not a single wasted shot.
• Wings of Desire – Wim Wenders incredible film about the beauty of mortality, the joy of engagement, the preciousness of life.
• My Dinner with Andre – The film I’ve watched the most after the Godfather. But it’s likely that you need to be involved in the theatre in order to enjoy watching two men sit and talk over dinner for 2 hours.
• In America – Like “American Beauty” this film shares the conceit of seeing truth through the lens of a character’s hand-held camcorder, but this time we see the world through the eyes of a young girl immigrating to America. And Samantha Morton rocks.
• Mishima: A Life in Four Acts – Paul Schrader masterfully reveals the life of Yukio Mishima through theatrical stagings of his writings, black & white flashbacks, and a dramatic act of pen and sword.
• Do the Right Thing – Spike Lee’s fable of racial tension and misunderstanding in the midst of a heat wave.
• Punch Drunk Love – An unexpectedly great performance from Adam Sandler and some unexpected off-kilter camera work from Paul Thomas Anderson (and another example of the “Male Chick Flick”).
• Blue Velvet – The American small town with picket fence facade hides something strange and disturbing just beneath the surface. The quintessential David Lynch film.
• Broadway Danny Rose – When I lived in California I would spend Thanksgiving weekend watching KCOP’s Woody Allen Marathon, so I could have included many other Woody Allen films on this list, but BDR makes the cut for “Acceptance, Forgiveness, and Love.”
• Princess Mononoke – Really, all the films of Hayao Miyazaki should be listed here. Only animation could begin to capture the fertile vision of Miyazaki. The worlds he creates are unlike any other in the cinema.
• Face Off – Enter the hyper-violent world of John Woo. Fluttering doves and machine gun fire. Plus John Travolta and Nicholas Cage give uncanny performances as each other’s characters. (Ignore the chase scene at the end which was tacked on gratuitously at the behest of the producers I’m sure.)

I’ve lost count, but I think that’s 20 films. Maybe someday, I’ll expand the list to 100 films, though I’m not sure what I (or you) would gain from such an exercise. These 20 films provide a decent cross-section of films that have made their mark on me, and that have influenced my work and my life.

I leave you to draw your own conclusions.

My friend, Frank Georgiana, died on November 22, 2009, at the age of 74. He was an actor and director in the Colorado theater community. You can read about his life here in the Denver Post.

I served as stage manager for a number of his productions with the Boulder Repertory Theater. And from Frank, I learned what it means to be an artist.

As stage manager, my job was to set the stage, lay out the props, coordinate lights & sound, make sure actors were in place for their entrances, communicate with the box office, play the occasional walk-on part, and clean up and repack after the show. In general, I was charged with making sure that thing ran smoothly behind the scenes — dispensing band-aids for unexpected cuts, safety pins to mend torn costumes, and once even arranging a trip to the hospital for someone who was having a heart attack.

Frank and his wife Ernestine had lived in New York and had seen more theater than I could begin to fathom. Oftentimes, after the stage was set, we’d break for a light dinner and Frank would tell us stories about the productions he had seen.

Frank and Ernestine witnessed Peter Brook’s groundbreaking production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” in 1970. And not just any performance of the show — they were present at the legendary performance in which the scenery caught fire. As the crew worked to put out the fire, a tremor of panic began to ripple across the audience, but moving quickly, the actor John Kane (staying in character as Puck) came down to the footlights to reassure the audience that they needn’t be afraid, the fire was a very small one, however, if anyone were the least bit frightened, they were welcome to excuse themselves and wait in the lobby with his solemn promise that the actors would not continue until everyone had returned to their seats. As a theater student I found reference to this production in my textbooks, but the story never came to life until I heard Frank and Ernestine tell it.

Frank would bemoan the fact that the raising of the curtain at the start of a show had lately fallen out of fashion. He felt it was crass to have your set on display before the play even began, cheating the audience out of the feelings of anticipation they receive while they wait for the curtain to rise. He told of a music and dance revue in which, after the orchestra had completed the overture, the curtain rose six inches and stopped, revealing a pair of tap-dancing feet. Then the curtain inched up a little further and two more dancers joined in the rhythm. Creeping up further the curtain revealed a half-dozen, then a dozen, then two dozen dancing legs joining the fray. By the time the curtain had risen to waist height, the stage was filled with hundreds of feet tapping out a furious clatter. And finally, when the curtain rapidly ascended to reveal a spectacular stage full of costumed dancers, the audience let loose with a roar of approval.

Another favorite story of Frank’s was of his seeing a play that featured a peculiar actress: young, frail, and mousy. The actress sat silently in a chair upstage, while all around her, the other actors drove the action of the play. But there was something compelling about her presence; Frank’s gaze was drawn to her like a magnet. Although she said nothing and remained confined to her chair, he couldn’t stop watching her. Then suddenly, as the first act came to a close, she convulsed in seizure and fell to the floor. And the audience erupted with screams of pandemonium, so riveting has been this actress’s performance. The actress was a very young Sissy Spacek.

More important than the stories, however, was Frank’s commitment and devotion to his art. A point that comes across only mutedly in the Denver Post article is that Frank held himself to the highest standards for all his work in the theater. He wasn’t on stage to feed his vanity. He wasn’t there to collect a paycheck. He was there seeking perfection. He could see clearly the deep power of theater to affect an audience, and he set the very highest standards for himself — and for those around him — as he embarked to bring his vision to life.

Working backstage on one of Frank’s productions would catapult me into a state of alert vigilance. I was always fearful of letting my guard down, of making a mistake. And while Frank was quick to anger and showed no tolerance for mistakes, it was not his anger that put me on edge.

What made me anxious and vigilant was that after all the time Frank had invested in bringing the production to life, after all the toil the actors had put into making Frank’s vision a reality, I could sense that he had brought us within striking distance of giving a perfect gift to the audience. And I was keenly aware that the slightest lapse of attention on my part could mar the production, could rob the audience, and could undermine all that we had worked to achieve.

Not everyone could endure the fiery heat of Frank’s passion, but for many of us, working with Frank brought out our best. Working with Frank made us fervent with the desire to create something beautiful, perfect, and worthy.

Working with Frank brought me to realize that I had been a dilettante, that my expectations had been too meager, that I needed to set my sights much higher.

He never settled for less than perfect. He was an inspiration.

In a lecture Steinmeyer gave earlier this year (“Robert Harbin & the Polemics of Modern Illusion,” February 2009), he offered his thoughts on why Robert Harbin’s illusions have become classics of modern magic.

One quality Steinmeyer identified was that Harbin’s illusions have “a way in for the magician.” That is, Harbin’s illusions — in their very construction — give the magician something to do (doors to open, panels to insert).

A good illusion allows plenty of room for the magician: things for them to do, elements to talk about and accentuate, and opportunities to be interesting or charming. Like a good song, they are meant to be performed, and they are designed to show off a great performance.

I would extend Steinmeyer’s observation to the performance of close-up magic by proposing this modification: Good close-up magic will have a way in for the audience.

That is, good close-up magic ought to be constructed to allow room for the audience. After all, the very proximity of the audience means that magician and audience share the stage together. Good close-up magic is magic that gives the audience things to do, gives them opportunities to be interesting or charming, allows them to share the limelight.

Magic that requires an audience member to pick a card and then merely sit and watch cannot reach the same potential as magic that gives the participants a way into the action, an opportunity to shuffle the cards, to secure the magician’s sleeves, to inspect the props.

Over the years, through a process of natural selection, I’ve observed that magic that doesn’t offer a way in for the audience (magic in which the audience simply sits and watches) has not earned a place in my professional repertoire.

My close-up magic that allows a way in for the audience is simply better.

Tis the season for the company holiday party. In general, December is the busiest month of the year for those magicians who perform grown-up magic in the corporate market. I usually see an exhilarating spike in business in the first half of December.

December of 2008, however, was spike-less. A combination of uncertainty (with regards to the economy) and an unjustified stigma against even the appearance of fun within a corporate entity conspired to make it an underwhelming close to 2008.

So what of 2009?

Well, I received more inquiries this year than last, but buyers seemed to be extremely price conscious. I am aware of some gigs lost to lower priced alternatives. And instead of booking their December events 3-6 months in advance, many planners waited until the last minute (unsure, perhaps, of how much money would be available).

I also had more requests than ever before for shorter performances to help accommodate smaller budgets. And more holiday parties were held on week nights rather than weekends (to qualify for non-peak pricing on venues, one assumes).

From where I sit, the economy has not yet begun to recover, there’s still a lot of uncertainty about how businesses will make their numbers in 2010. On the positive side, however, it is no longer optically anathema for a company to have fun and show some love and appreciation to their hard-working employees.

So for my industry, I’m calling the glass half-full for the end of 2009.

During my absence, I’ve continued to think about blogging (observing and reading the bloggings of others) and I’ve begun to develop with a better sense of what I can accomplish, and what I’d like to say about magic and life as a variety arts performer.

But rather than generating a mammoth post expounding upon what I intend to do, I think it best simply to put the plan into action.

So with that, I’ll close (for now).