In the second act of The Whipping Man as Caleb and John prepare for their Passover seder, the elder slave Simon (Johnnie Hobbs, Jr.) announces that Abraham Lincoln is dead, the victim of an assassin’s bullet. He recalls the experience of meeting Lincoln only a few days before on the streets Richmond after the Union army occupied the city on April 4: “I walked out to him. And I stopped right in front of him. And he stopped. And we looked at each other… I bowed… Only thing I could think to do… [and] he bowed back… Only thing he could think to do I guess.”

Hearing these words in the play took me back to a sunny September morning when I stood on the sidewalk outside Ford’s Theater in Washington, D.C. It was the culmination of whole summer’s Lincoln pilgrimage. My mother is a huge fan of the Doris Kearns Goodwin bestseller Team of Rivals and that summer my family did it all: the new Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum in Springfield, Illinois, the solemn Lincoln Tomb at Oak Ridge Cemetery. Standing in the burial room with Lincoln’s body just below our feet was a surreal experience, only equaled by a visit to the colossus Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C.  Ford’s Theatre was now the only stop left.

Ford’s Theatre is still an active venue, restored to its 19^th century splendor. (The Lincoln box forever remains unoccupied out of respect.) The theatre was closed for rehearsals the day of my visit but the basement museum beckoned. Here the displays meticulously recreate Lincoln’s activities that day and offer an impressive array of artifacts, from the suit he wore to Ford’s Theater that fateful evening (his famous top hat rests a few blocks away at the Smithsonian) to the Derringer pistol used by John Wilkes Booth, and most ominously, a pillow stained with Lincoln’s blood.

Every single piece was important and significant, but something seemed to be missing. Here were the real things he wore and touched, but Lincoln still seemed a phantom of the past, close but somehow just beyond reach. Where was the conduit for this Lincoln of the past for us today? Hearing Johnnie Hobbs was the final spark. I saw Lincoln in his famous stovepipe hat bow to Simon on the charred streets of Richmond. He was real for me because he was real for Simon. None of the faded burial curtains or plaster masks seemed significant until that moment.

It’s really easy for a “history play” to become a “history lecture.” It’s a rarity when a figure from history steps out from the dusty pages and becomes something tangible, worthy of the apostrophe: “Father Abraham… there’s your Moses…”

By Mark Kennedy, Arden Professional Apprentice Class 17

I have been fortunate enough to produce, write, and perform a solo performance piece at the Fleisher Art Memorial Sanctuary about a lovelorn little servant named Checkers, which I adapted from an absurdist play called Ivona, Princess of Burgundia. To meet dear Checkers in a few short and silly video trailers, click here and here.

Arden Professional Apprentice

 My time at The Arden as a Professional Apprentice is hurtling to a close. My contract is up on June 19^th, and, in these closing weeks, I’ve begun to reflect upon the lessons I’ve learned, the choices I’ve made, and any other pop song lyrics that come to mind. These “reflection sessions” morph into “uncontrollable wincing sessions” pretty quickly. Which isn’t to say that I’ve had an unpleasant time at The Arden, not at all—just that, well, this apprenticeship has been a real (and ultimately rewarding) challenge. Over the past nine months I’ve learned: I’m not particularly good with a copier, I’m kind of dangerous when driving in a city, basic Microsoft Office programs like Word and Excel are extremely challenging, I might have a dog allergy, sometimes I simultaneously “talk too fast” and “stammer”—which, I guess makes me hard to understand, find multitasking a touch difficult because I think each individual task will get jealous of the others, and, when I’m nervous, get the neck sweats. However, every so often a seemingly insurmountable problem was laid in front of me, and I was able to conquer it. Last week, such a problem was presented to me.

 Around lunch time, I was sitting in the green room (that’s showbiz talk for “break room”) eating my daily ration of Ramen when Bryan— fellow APA and Assistant Stage Manager for The Flea and the Professor—burst through the door.

 “Harry, welcome to the exciting world of theatre,” Bryan said as he quickly unwrapped the cords of a microphone headset.

 “What do you mean?” I asked as little bits of Ramen fell from my mouth onto the table.

 “Keighty’s sick, and you have to operate the follow spot right now.”

 “That’s really funny, Bryan.”

 “Nope. I mean it. You really have to go up to the catwalks and get on the follow spot. Let’s go,” he said sternly as he handed me the mic pack.  

 “That’s super funny?”

 This exchange went on for a while until Bryan got kind of upset. I then dashed up to the catwalks, high above the audience, sat down behind the light, and proceeded to get the neck sweats.

 The Flea and the Professor is the last show that will grace the Otto Haas stage this season. It’s a kinetic musical comedy, reminiscent of the most madcap and sophisticated Warner Brother’s cartoons. I really adore the show, and feel like it’s a joyous way to end the season. Technically, the show is extremely complicated, and requires a large crew of sound technicians, stage assistants, and spot light operators (or follow spots.) These professional stage crew members are essential to the show—so essential in fact, that during the run of the show, apprentices shadow them multiple times. Basically, we have a number of training sessions with crew members to learn what functions they perform so that we can fill in if they were to become unavailable. I was assigned to shadow both of the follow spot operators— far more capable and intelligent people than I named Keighty and Ashley. As a follow spot (I’m italicizing it so you know that it’s an important vocabulary word that will totally show up on the exam. Totally won’t be on the exam.), it’s their job to operate a spot light. Keighty and Ashley light and follow various actors throughout the show, and execute several complex movements to achieve special lighting effects. It’s a difficult job—hats off to Keighty and Ashley, guys. Before the aforementioned episode, I had a couple of training sessions with the two of them—they showed me some basic elements of the lighting instruments, and took me through their responsibilities, light cue by light cue.

 These preliminary training sessions were interesting, and certainly helpful. They did not, however, make me feel as though I were a skilled spot light operator. 

 Bryan asked me to jump on the follow spot a few days after my training sessions with Keighty and Ashley. Of course I didn’t feel ready or capable to operate a spot light—a crucial instrument in the creation of Flea and the Professor’s aesthetic.

 I perched behind Keighty’s spotlight (see scary photo–this was my P.O.V from Keighty’s spotlight. Isn’t it a strange angle?), desperately tried to read her cue list, and listen to commands given to me by the stage manager over headset—all in an effort to execute Keighty’s lighting effects. And I, much to my and I’m sure the entire crew’s surprise, was able to execute said effects pretty gracefully. Now Keighty, being the trooper that she is, was able to complete the bulk of her duties as follow spot that day. I only had to fill in for a terrifying moment or two. Still, I will remember my follow spot adventure as a critical moment that encapsulated my experience as an apprentice. After crouching in the darkness of the catwalks, behind a searing hot light encased in a metal cocoon, executing lighting effects (an act which was totally foreign to me a matter of days before), and staying relatively calm while doing so, I felt pretty proud. I don’t often have that feeling (I usually confuse it with nausea) so when I do, I know something exceptional has just happened. I saw operating the spot light as an insurmountable task; I saw the lighting instrument as a machine with which I would be wholly incompetent. And yet, (with the help of a fantastic team of very smart people) I was able to execute all necessary lighting cues. The light didn’t fall from the ceiling, I didn’t fall from the ceiling, and the show didn’t fall apart. Therein lies the heart of the APA Program’s potential: at its very best, the program has the ability to endow the apprentices with a confidence and skill set that they would never dream of having.

I ran a real live spot light during a real live show. Who’d of thought?

You may have attended A Moon for the Misbegotten and found a survey stuck to the back of your chair with blue tape. You may have attended and asked to stay after the show for a 30 minute interview. These two elements are both part of the Arden’s participation in a national study of theatre audiences aiming to understand more about the intrinsic impacts of live theatre. We are one of 18 theatres involved in The Intrinsic Impact project, which was commissioned from WolfBrown by Theatre Bay Area and underwritten by the Doris Duke Charitable Foundation and the National Endowment for the Arts.

What does intrinsic impact mean exactly? It took me some time to figure it all out. Basically it’s easy to look at charts and quantify how many people come to see a show and how much money a show makes…but it’s a lot more difficult to try to study how those people felt about a theatrical experience.  Companies have been keen to focus on the financial, but money does not necessarily dictate a theatre’s success.

Theatre Bay responds: “But financial data tells only a fraction of the story.  A theatre company may be financially sound, but is it really moving and exciting its audience?  Is it connecting to its audience in a fundamental (i.e., intrinsic) way? And can that connection be deepened? How can artistic staff understand the impact of their programming decisions, and what, if anything, can they do about it?  We have come to see that the theatre field lacks a generally accepted and widely used metric or “outcome rubric” for what matters most: the intrinsic value of the theatre experience.”

How do we measure the immeasurable? Have you ever had an indescribable emotional response to a moment in a production?  Live theatre has the power to move us in unexpected ways. Yes, we are entertained, but how are we affected?  The Arden received the opportunity to select the questions in our take-home surveys. These questions reflect what we want answered by our audiences. Questions that ask our patrons to assess the artistic style of the production, to evaluate if they were emotionally moved, to see if they felt connected to their fellow audience members and to find out if they are more/less likely in the future to follow the work of the playwright. This information will help us to understand not how many tickets we sold but how patrons are responding to the art.  This will help the Arden to continue to provide great stories and be on the forefront of artistic progress in the country. To always connect to the Philadelphia community and continue to challenge our patrons with new ideas and stories.

Post-Performance Interviews: Our in-person interviews cover the same topics mentioned above, just in a discussion based format. Engaging in these interviews with Leigh Goldenberg, Arden Theatre Company’s Marketing and Public Relations Manager has been amazing. To hear how people connected to A Moon for the Misbegotten in different ways has been a truly unique experience.  Many have a quite a bit of knowledge of O’Neill, and give much historical information with their reactions, while others who are less familiar focus on intense production moments.  Intense bonds were formed between audience members and the character of Josie, in her strength, compassion and heartache. Even now it is difficult for me to summarize the feelings expressed by those individuals in the interviews, which emphasizes the main difficulty in trying to gather information on unquantifiable, personal reactions.  This difficulty is what makes theatre a strong artistic form; its ever-fleeting, ephemeral nature gives it the power to present unforgettable, poignant moments that stay with us.

I admire the Arden’s participation in this survey and Theatre Bay’s dedication in attempting to get a better idea of how theatre can have a lasting, emotive impact on society.  We are continuing interviews and surveys for Superior Donuts and Wanamaker’s Pursuit. Thank you for your support!

For more information, please visit Theatre Bay Area.

Okay, listen, I don’t actually know how to manage a stage—it’s only day one. But, I’ve learned a few basic things about stage management, and I’ve been prepping for my Assistant Stage Management gig for about a week. My fellow apprentices have already written some pretty nifty blogs about Assistant Stage Managing (check them out!), and now it’s my turn to give you my initial impressions of this exciting process.

Predictably, I’m a little worried about my A.S.M. gig. My worries come from…well, the chemical imbalance in my brain, and the fact that “stage management” doesn’t really come naturally to me. It seems that a good stage manager possesses skills that are a little foreign to me like: organization, multitasking, a rich understanding of literary text, general responsibility, and basic motor skills. But! I’m doing my very best, and I’m thrilled to be so intimately involved with the rehearsal and production of an Arden show.

Already, after only one day of rehearsal, I’ve gained a tremendous amount of respect for stage managers. Before this gig, I’ve only stepped on stage as an actor, director, or playwright. I’ve never been involved with (or concerned with, really) with the nuts, bolts, gears, and other machine metaphors of a production. I’ve always approached plays artistically, and worked with broad stokes that focused on ideas, feelings, meanings, and atmospheres. Things like prop placement and lighting cues have always been taken care of for me—by (I now realize) remarkable stage managers.

To me, it seems that while actors, directors, technical designers, etc. must be concerned with the microcosms of their respective departments, a stage manager must always keep the macrocosm of a production in mind. From rehearsal schedules to blocking notes, a stage manager must organize, track, record, and communicate a tremendous amount of information for multiple departments to ensure a smooth rehearsal process and production.

I’ll be assistant stage managing Arden’s next main-stage production, Superior Donuts—a complex, subtle character study that is often viciously funny, and always casually profound. I adore this play and I’m a huge admirer of its author: Tracy Letts. I feel like I’ve won the lottery with this assignment. I can’t imagine another play with which I’d like to spend more time.

To prepare for assistant stage managing (…actually, you should know that in the official Superior Donuts contact sheet, I’m listed as “Assistant to the Stage Manager.” Also, someone’s been putting my office supplies in Jell-O.) I’ve completed two major projects. I’ve made a prompt book and taped out the floor. Okay, that sentence sounds pretty nonsensical, but I’m going to explain everything.

What’s a prompt book? I’m glad you asked! A prompt book is a

Clearly made by someone who knows what he's doing.

tool with which I will keep track of all props—their placement, their movements—for the show. A prompt book contains a copy of the play’s text set opposite a diagram of the set. I will mark where and how props move on the diagram, and mark the same movements on the corresponding lines of dialogue or stage directions on the text. This allows me to have both a visual/spatial note as to where and how props move, set alongside a verbal cue. I’ll make these notes during rehearsal—this requires tremendous focus because prop movements change constantly. Props tracking will be one of my main responsibilities with Superior Donuts which, judging by the play’s title is pretty sweet news. Sweet. Get it. ‘Cause of the donuts. It’s a joke because donuts are sweet. I’m going to eat a bunch of donuts backstage that’s all I’m saying.

I’ve also helped “tape out” the rehearsal hall floor.

This is the rehearsal set--complete with furniture, set dressings, and props that simulate the real set.

Essentially, the Stage Manager and A.S.M. create a simulation of the borders of the stage using multi-colored rolls of tape. The image “taped out” is based on an architectural schematic of the set. These taped borders give the actors and director an idea of their blocking choices and limitations when the actual set for the show is not yet available.

So, prep week and Day One of Assistant Stage Managing went well. Today I kept my brow furrowed for about six hours, took copious notes, and paid really close attention to everything. I just have to keep that up for like two months. I think I’m off to a pretty solid start. I absolutely love the show; I’ll be working with a terrific Stage Manager, and I’ll gain knowledge and skills that will be invaluable to me in my future as a theatre practitioner.

Here a little snippet of Superior Donuts:

Arthur: It’s easy to underrate that now, but there’s nothing wrong with comfort, you know? You’re lying in a bed in the city of Chicago and you have your arms wrapped around a person who’s made the decision to move through the world with you. That may be comfort and not much more, but it may be love, too…

Isn’t that something?

By Rob Heller, Arden Professional Apprentice

I am currently Assistant Stage Managing the Arden’s Production of A Moon for the Misbegotten. I have done a little bit of stage managing in the past and have been at least mildly experienced at most of the duties. However, one day during tech week it came time for the “quick-change.”

The leading (and only) lady in the show Josie (played by Grace Gonglewski) has a transition in Act I where the time of day changes from day to night and time has to have elapsed. The transition needs to show her father Phil Hogan (Michael H. Walls) and their landlord Jim Tyrone (Eric Hissom) going to the bar at the inn and Josie setting the scene for a moonlight date with Jim. The transition has 4 sections.

First, the men exit stage and Josie takes down the laundry line, the clothes on it, and moves the table from the porch onto the front lawn.

Next, the men return to stage and exit en route to the inn while Josie brings the struck items into the house and takes off the working dress leaving her in just her slip while the Assistant Stage Manager (that’s me) strikes the dress and turns on the lantern.

She returns to stage with flowers for the table and goes to the well to wash.

Finally, she returns to the house and with the help of her Assistant Stage Manager (that’s me again) dives into her evening dress, gets zipped, velcroed and snapped, peeks out the window, puts on stockings and shoes and exits the house with lantern in hand to start the next scene.

The kicker is that anything we do inside the house (ie. the quick-change itself) occurs while there is NO action on stage. So, it is crucial that do the change as quickly as possible.

We experimented with a lot of approaches to the change and I became more and more adept at helping Grace. Eventually, with a collaboration between myself, Grace and Alison Roberts (costume designer) we found a method that works for all of us and can be done in the allotted time.

My history is as a director and I never thought so much about quick-changes as I have in the past week. So, in the spirit of connecting with the theater as a whole, I did a little research into quick-change as it exists in the theater today:

First, I wondered how long a quick-change generally takes. I quickly found a recent example from the popular musical Wicked:

In an interview with Wicked Wardrobe Supervisor Gillian Kadish on SHNSF.com, she says that “the fastest change we have in the show is when Elphaba goes from her Shiz costume into the Defying Gravity dress, which is 19 seconds.”

Wow, 19 seconds! Perhaps I am not yet in the elite company of quick-change professionals. I wanted to see if this was particularly quick or if other shows were different. I had to venture no further than another staple of the musical theater realm; Hairspray.

Megan Bowers (Tracy Turnblatt’s dresser) in an article on Playbill.com explains the quick change for both Tracy and Edna (her mother) in the opening number: For Edna, the process takes about 45 seconds. Tracy’s change is quicker than Edna’s, taking only 25 to 30 seconds(she doesn’t have to change her wig like Edna does).

Alright, so generally a change takes under a minute and there seems to be a very clear craft and technique. Now, I wanted to hear about the “funny” mishaps as I (knock on wood) pray will not happen with us. I read a variety on Broadwayspace.com called “Crazy Costume Stories” that involve cutting people out of $30,000 dresses, returning to stage half-dressed, and wearing boots instead of crystal-covered heels for a kick-line. Give them a read yourself for some entertainment!

After examining a bit of the professional world of quick-change I feel very much at ease that the skill is learned and practiced and that it is maybe essential to earning one’s stripes to partake of the quick-change.

By Shanna Tedeschi, Arden Professional Apprentice

Greetings friends! Shanna here–an Arden Professional Apprentice and Teaching Artist.

Did you know that every year over 2,500 excited kids in Philadelphia, Ridley Park and Camden get free books, free classes and free show tickets to our Children’s Theatre productions? All this magic is possible through a program called Arden for All.

By Harry Watermeier, Arden Professional Apprentice

This is another cool coffee place in Philadelphia.

I’m not sure if it’s a Philly thing or not, but there seems to be a lot of them in the city. What’s great about this Starbucks place is that they have other stuff too, not just coffee. They have like, cookies and coffee-like drinks and stuff. Check ‘em out!

This is where I ate my very first meal in Philadelphia.
I had a tongue sandwich with onion and spicy mustard and an embarrassingly huge slice of chocolate cake. I’ve really taken a shine to Jewish Deli’s here in Philly, and this one may be my favorite. The waitresses call me “sweetheart”–I think I’m in love with all of them.

This church is right across the street from my apartment.
Every once in a while I’ll be home when a service is beginning. The choir is beautiful, the church bells are stirring. I haven’t been to church in over seven years–I’m thinking about going to this one.

This is the charming little park in Rittenhouse Square. In the fall I would sit on one of the benches and read in the afternoon sunlight. Now, during the winter, I make a point of walking through it on my way home.

I took this picture just to show that I’m sensitive.

My home away from home! I think I’m more familiar with this building than I am with my studio apartment. I spend a huge chunk of time here, but I’m happy to do so. The Arden is an incredible theatre—it’s a defining element of Philadelphia’s cultural landscape, and I’m beyond lucky to work here.

So, I’ve realized a couple of things after working on this blog: 1.) I really need to exercise more. All I do is sit and read and eat. 2.) I need to explore the city. Philadelphia’s made a great first impression—now I’d like to get to know it a little better.

By Harry Watermeier, Arden Professional Apprentice

This is “Creamy,” the other Vespa I pass on my way to work. “Creamy” lives a few blocks down from “Captain” on Spruce. They used to live together, but they had a bit of a falling out, and now things are kind of weird. Yeah, I’ll nod to “Creamy,” but only if he sees me and nods first. I know that’s immature, but, I’m friends with ”Captain,” and…I don’t know. These things get so complicated.

Best cup of coffee in all of Philadelphia. It’s a pretty cozy set up, too. Bring a book, grab a coffee, and sit in a corner booth for hours.

When I sit and have a coffee at Red Hook, I feel like I’m on a date with a girl who’s way too pretty for me. I’m nowhere near cool enough to drink coffee at Red Hook. All the employees are tatted and pierced–and I’m sure they’re all former musicians. I’m a bit of a square, so I stand out a little when I’m there. I’m hoping that the hepcats at Red Hook think I’m wearing Eddie Bauer khaki ironically. My esteem hang-ups aside, they make a solid cup of coffee, they’re always friendly (friendlier than they should be, considering my clothes), and great music is always pumping out of a fuzzy stereo.

I could waste days in this place. This small, dimly lit store, that smells of old paper and glue, contains some of the most beautiful books I’ve ever seen. Pristine, first edition prints of pulp classics like Jim Thompson’s Pop 1280 and Dashell Hammit’s The Maltese Falcon sit quietly on bare wood shelves. Paperbacks from the sixties and seventies are wrapped safely in plastic pockets, and copies of rare Silver Surfer comic books are shelved between leather-bound works by Tolstoy, and massive tomes of Warhol photographs. The organization of Brickbat seems to be scattershot and random at first, but, after a few laps around the store, it makes perfect sense.

This is the greatest album cover of all time.You can find it upstairs at Philadelphia Record Exchange. As soon as I have twelve bucks to throw away, I’m going to buy it and frame it. Look, there’s Dave Brubeck, and those other guys. Wearing suits and eating ice cream. ‘Cause the album’s called “a la Mode.”

Just the right amount of creepy and cool can make a great record store.

Yeah so I like to stop in a comic book store every once in a while, so what?

Harry’s Philly in Photos series will conclude on Friday!

It seems like my fellow apprentices have already written some fascinating and articulate blog posts on children’s theatre, research conferences, and assistant stage management. Unfortunately, I’m not particularly fascinating or articulate. But, I do eat food, drink coffee, read books, and live in Philadelphia. So, for my blog post, I thought I could offer a “photo essay” of sorts that will evoke the impression Philly has made on me since I moved here last August. With the following photos and the passages that accompany them, I’ll attempt to describe the tastes, textures, sights, and sounds of my Philadelphia.

Tremendous tuna melt. Tremendous. I visited Little Pete’s for the first time with fellow APA Rob Heller. We sat at the bar, ate artery destroying sandwiches–Rob introduced me to scrapple–and had a great talk about theatre–what it means, what it should be, what kind of theatre we want to make. Little Pete’s is a great place to have that kind of talk. A passionate talk, a talk without hesitation. The clanging and clacking of plates and cookware, the hiss of scrapple patties on a griddle, the shouting and belly laughter emanating from the regulars who sit in booths that have molded into the shapes of their bodies–all that noise surrounds you like a cloud. You have complete privacy at Little Pete’s because no one, save the person sitting right next to you at the bar–can hear a word you’re saying.

An “eccentric” hair salon that seems to be run out of Barnum’s abandoned attic. It’s a strange place populated by really interesting people. Go for the decent haircut–stay for the most bizarre (if only partially true) stories you’ve ever heard.

Do you like organic mayo, but only when it’s sold to you by preposterously happy employees? Then Trader Joe’s is the place for you! They’ve got everything I love. Hawaiian shirts? Check. Bells to ring? Check. Pirate themes? Check. Little tiny cookies that look like Oreos but aren’t Oreos? Check. Hip chicks with non-prescription Elvis Costello glasses working at the check- out counter? Check. Bag boys that hug their managers when they say hello? Check. Seriously, it’s the greatest grocery store of all time, and I’m pretty sure the company was founded by a cloud made of giggles and Polly Pocket.

This is where I go to exchange my stocks. Stock exchanging is pretty complicated–I wouldn’t expect you to understand it, and I certainly can’t explain it in just a short blog post. I can tell you this–you have to have a pair of wingtips if you want to exchange stock. If you don’t have a pair of wingtips, don’t bother coming in. No, you can’t borrow mine.

This is “Captain,” the navy blue Vespa I pass every morning on my way to work. I’d like to have a Vespa some day. Clearly,  I’ve grown quite fond of “Captain.” Lately, I find myself nodding to him as I pass–that’s right, I’m beginning to acknowledge inanimate objects. Maybe I should take a few days off…

This is an apartment building on the corner of 16th and Spruce. I think it’s gorgeous. Its design is heavy, and haunted–somehow ornate yet humble. It’s clearly been eroded by decades of Philadelphia winters, but it wears its history beautifully. I hope to save enough money (through my enormously successful practice of stock exchanging) to one day live in this apartment building. My favorite part of the building? The beam of light that is constantly shooting across it. Look at that beam.  Mmmm….beam of light…

Harry’s Philly in Photos series will continue shortly!