Everybody Has One

"Opinions are like a**holes, everybody has one!" This is something my father told me time after time. Then again, he also told me, "nobody pays you to think" every time I expressed my unwanted opinion. Well they didn’t then, and they don’t now. Funny how wise my old man was.

This thought crossed my mind as I read a review of my latest play this afternoon. The review was neither glowing nor was it scathing. The critic brought up a handful of points, some of which I could agree with and others that I don’t agree with. So, how do I react, as an actor, to a review? "Is my name spelled right?" That’s it. Otherwise, who really cares? Everybody who sees any particular show (or film, or concert, or whatever) is going to walk away with something different – glorious things we are, human beings – and those opinions are going to run the gamut. As long as it eventually helps promote the show (or film, or concert, or whatever) then I’m happy. After all, the key here is to get butts in seats.

Martin Denton over at nytheatre.com had a really great conversation regarding reviews and the role critics play, especially in off-off Broadway. You can check it out at: http://www.nytheatre.com/nytheatre/i.htm

The Blithe Spirit review

Many years ago I directed a production of Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit. We didn’t have much of a budget, but really developed a fun and lively production of this classic. I had played the lead in a production about five years prior, so I had several solid ideas of what I wanted to do with the show. It was just a pleasant working atmosphere throughout the rehearsal process. The night the critic came we threw a cast party. We stayed up all night singing, dancing and drinking. Then, around 3am, the actor playing Charles and I ran to get copies of the paper. I’ll never forget what happened next.

The review was very positive. Very! My two lead actresses received a paragraph of praise each. They deserved it! (Cassie, Alison ... all these years later, I still agree!) They were awesome and I was lucky to have them in my show. But the lead in to those paragraphs mentioned the actor playing Charles with this, "... does a fine job expressing Charles’ initial worried reactions and later forced resignation, but the more delicious fun is supplied by ..." and then continued praising his co-stars. Not a bad little bit there, huh? Coward always wrote the juicier roles for Gertrude Lawrence and the other ladies who appeared in his plays, so even getting mentioned tells you what a fine job this particular actor did.

So, what happened? He flipped out! That’s right, we received a very nice little review (with a big color photo of the two ladies), boosted the box office significantly and even the smaller roles (including the Bradmans, who tend to be forgotten in this particular play) got mentioned ... and this actor is ticked off! He was genuinely offended that his fellow actors received "better" mention in the review. He pissed and moaned and pouted for the rest of the run. A perfectly lovely experience was almost ruined because of one actor’s ego. Made me want to go all ninja on his egotistical a$$!

Have I mentioned that I hate actors?

I decided then and there to never really care what a review says. My ego would never be that needy. As long as something gets printed and helps promote the show. Too many shows go completely unnoticed, I simply appreciate the effort taken to come see us and write a line or two expressing what they thought. If it’s constructive too, all the better. I’ve found that I’ve lived a happier life with the ability to put my ego in check now and then.

So, for today’s addition to the old Hippopotamus’ blog, I thought it would be fun to throw you a few quotes from the many reviews I’ve received. Yes, I keep them all. I laugh at them and enjoy them ... both the good and the bad. They bring back memories of actors I worked with, good times and horrible arguments, sets that were immaculate and others that were barely able to stand, talented directors who helped me grow and others who I secretly mocked behind their backs, large audiences that stood at my curtain call and small audiences that were already in their cars by the time I made it out for my bow.

More Good than Bad

I hope this doesn’t come across as bragging, but I have been fortunate enough to receive more good reviews than bad. I’ve also received more than my fair share of "blah" reviews that did nothing more than give a synopsis of the show. I’m not going to waste your time by quoting from the good ones ... what fun is that? But here are some of my favorite negative reviews:

In the mid-90's I directed an "original" adaptation of Judgment at Nuremburg. The script was not as strong as it maybe could’ve been. A little too episodic and it borrowed way too heavily from the classic film of the same name. Because an actor left the show just before we opened, I took over the role of the German’s legal counsel. I was concerned about my performance because I hadn’t had much time to rehearse or prepare. Shows what I know. Here’s my all-time favorite quote from a review:

"Rich Warren, who gives one of the plays better performances, also commits near-unpardonable sins as director." The compliment served as the set-up for the knock out punch. Sins? Ha! At least I believe in the forgiveness of sins ... let’s hope this isn’t the one that sends me South when it’s time to meet my Maker. If it is, I will issue a formal complaint.

Another show I directed elicited this response, "... is thoroughly inconsistent, with gaps separating the laughs and certain actors far more willing and able to dive into the required pool of silliness."

Here’s why I got out of the design business: "Rich Warren’s set and lighting design is a bit of a disappointment." The critic was right ... it wasn’t all that great. But it gave me one of my favorite personal mottos: "Stick to the acting and directing thing, ol’ boy."

As an actor, I’ve been accused of chewing more scenery than you can imagine. The list of those quotes could go on for days. But I have to include this one ... from Tom Stoppard’s The Real Inspector Hound ... it rocks!

"A bad sign. The play ends and the audience remains seated, silently stealing glances at one another, waiting for someone to lead. No one has turned on music or houselights. Finally, cast members emerge from backstage, ready to find their cars and go home, and one patron is heard to ask an actor, ‘Excuse me, but is the play over?’ Yes. Unfortunately it wasn’t over 20 minutes sooner."

Lesson learned. Every show I produce or direct has house music at the end of the show. And if the audience is still sitting there, I go out and thank them for coming as I escort them to the door. Turns out audiences want to know when to leave. Who’da thunk it?

The Whales

I invite you all to come form your own opinion of M. Stefan Strozier’s latest play and my performance. We only run for two more weeks, so get your tickets now! Head back to http://www.babyhippopotamus.com/ for info on how to come check us out. Hope to see you there.

Welcome to My Mid-Life Crisis ...

Very poor Alice Cooper reference ... tells you something about my age, huh? I keep telling myself that I’m simply not old enough for a mid-life crisis yet. After all, my 40's are still a couple of years away. The dictionary even gives this definition for mid-life, or middle age:

middle age
n.
The time of human life between youth and old age, usually reckoned as the years between 40 and 60.

... and follows that with this definition of mid-life crisis ...

midlife crisis
n.
A period of psychological doubt and anxiety that some people experience in middle age.

So, I should have a few years right ... ?

I don’t know. Some days I just feel older than other days. The body aches more and more frequently for no apparent reason. Weird cracks and pops emanate from my body from time to time. I look in the mirror and have to admit that’s not the strapping young guy who used to smile back at me. "You’re alright," he used to say. What does he say now? "Jeez, what happened to you? You really let yourself go, huh?" That guy in the mirror ... one of these days I’m just gonna kick his ass. He’s a jerk!

Winter Fat

Last week I went to the doctor’s office (something I never did in my twenties) and was asked to step on the scale. "Do I have to?" I wondered to myself. The thing bounced back and forth for a while and wound up on ... well, I won’t divulge that here. Let’s just say it was a good fifteen pounds more than it was just three or four months ago. I should get an attorney to sue the manufacturers of the scale, right? Sue them for the pain and suffering I endure when I see that number pop up.

This is an annual phenomenon that has been occurring in my thirties. It seems that as the weather gets colder and colder, I get fatter and fatter. Just like a bear getting ready for hibernation season. Storing up all that fat to make it through the winter. Then shedding that fat (and fur ... I’ve been having a similar problem with that too, but we’ll discuss that another day) as the weather heats up. Like the bear, I shed the fat in the summer. I would like to point one thing out though ... even in the summer, have you ever seen a lean and mean bear with six-pack abs? Me either. Hmm.

Now this doesn’t really affect my sense of self-worth too much. Hey, it’s winter. It’s big baggy clothing season. Hardly anybody can really tell what a lard-ass I become each winter, right? Sure ... that’s what I tell myself too. But, unfortunately, I rarely wear that big baggy clothing in the shower. Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Sure would save trips to the laundromat.

Getting out of bed

What a dilemma getting out of bed each morning has become. It hasn’t always been this way. I remember a time when I didn’t even go to bed for days on end. And when I did, I would spring out in the morning ready to tackle the day’s challenges. This morning, however, was a different story. It’s gotten to the point that I set the alarm to go off a full two hours before I really need to get up ... and I spend two hours each morning hitting the snooze button (okay, slamming it violently) every ten minutes and then attempting to steal a few more minutes of sleep. I hate that alarm clock. Even more than I hate Nazis. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if Nazis invented the damn thing to begin with.

Once I’m out of bed, there’s another whole batch of issues. First comes the back pain. Like millions of other folks around the world, I suffer from occasional back pain. By "occasional," I mean "practically every freaking day." I do wonder if that pain stems from the severe tension and aggravation each morning as I slam that snooze button a dozen times or so. Next comes the leaden legs. As I swing them over the edge of the bed, they feel as though they weigh hundreds of pounds each. With all the winter fat I’ve put on, they may very well, but for this argument’s sake, let’s pretend they don’t. "Wow, I’m sore," I think to myself. And then I run through the previous day’s events to try to remember what I could have done to make my legs so sore. "Let’s see, I got up. Took a shower. Went to work. Sat at a desk for 8-10 hrs. Came home. Lounged on the couch and watched hours of mindless television. Nope! Nothing that could have worn my legs out."

Ah ... I can read your thoughts here. "Hey dude, you don’t get any exercise. That’s your problem." Thanks for your input. Next time, keep it to yourself. But, I have to admit, you’re right. I don’t. There was a time (again, here I am, the guy with the mid-life crisis fondly remembering his younger days) when I swam three to four hours a day, spent one hour lifting weights three times a week, played semi-professional baseball, spent my nights dancing and such. But now I have a real job and responsibilities that require I sit in front of a computer for hours and hours each day ... and then I spend my downtime ... eh ... in front of a computer writing this silly blog. Oh. You’re right. Maybe there is a pattern developing here.

More on my mid-life crisis later ... I’m gonna go do some push-ups now.