September 1, 2014 · Speculation
We Players Lear Rehearsal at Battery Wallace in the Marin Headlands Doth any here know me? This is not Lear: Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied–Ha! waking? ’tis not so. Who is it that can tell me who I am? Shakespeare, King Lear, […]
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August 24, 2014 · Industries
We Players Vessels for Improvisation at Hyde Street Pier with inkBoat and Rova Saxophone Quartet. In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed. Charles Darwin
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August 15, 2014 · Speculation
I know this thing is doomed. Katie knows it too, though we don’t say it out loud during our afternoon rehearsals in that sweatbox of a studio space in Los Feliz. Β Michael doesn’t know, which is somehow worse. Or maybe he does. The heat in LA is biblical, relentless. Beckett. Happy Days. A woman buried […]
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August 3, 2014 · FalseArt
So there’s this thing from 1964 floating around YouTube, Philip Saville’s production of Jean Paul Sartre’s No ExitΒ (Huis Clos) for the BBC, retitled In Camera because apparently the British needed something that sounded more like a parking violation than eternal damnation. Harold Pinter is in it. Not writing it, acting in it. Playing Garcin, […]
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August 2, 2014 · Collusion
Here’s a human, here’s a beach, here’s a poem about desire that refuses to behave itself. Figure it out. ο»Ώο»Ώ Maybe that’s the whole point. These words still work. They still cut. We’re still wrestling with the same beautiful mess: who we love, how we love, what we’re allowed to say about it, and whether […]
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July 27, 2014 · Industries
You’ve got these three women, Dread, Horror, and Alarm, the Graeae, those primordial hags who share one fucking eye between them, and they’re not tucked away in some theater where the already converted file in with their tote bags and good intentions. No. They’re at Aquatic Park, which if you know anything about San Francisco, […]
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July 21, 2014 · Collusion
Decay, it doesn’t announce itself with trumpets. It seeps in through the cracks like cigarette smoke under a bathroom door, until one night you’re sitting in what used to be a vital space and you realize you’re watching a wake, not a party. Franconia Performance Salon #11. By this point, the whole enterprise had that […]
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