GRIMMerica runs on Dunkin

Excitingly, Ken Davenport, big-time Broadway producer, listed GRIMM as one of the top ten standout shows to see at this year's Fringe Festival. 

Check out the article here:
http://www.theproducersperspective.com/my_weblog/2012/07/10-shows-that-stand-out-at-the-fringe-festival-2012.html

The one line Olivia keeps referring to is the line at the end that says: "It just feels right, you know?  Let's see if the Big Theatre Company got it right." 

Got it right. Not only are people curious about our show, but they're curious if we can pull it off.  

But I think we're getting it right. The universe has been giving us its fair share of grim(m) signs: the pigeon-corpse Taylor saw on the sidewalk, the flattened vestiges of a rodent Olivia, Nicole, and I saw in the streets, the thunder storm that swept Long Island City during Thursday night's rehearsal.

This guy's shoes.
Get on this, Taylor.

The storm was especially perfect, terribly, magically apropos. Picture it: the lights off in an overheated dance studio, everyone set in position for the top of the show -- actors pretending to be dead acrobats, hunchbacks, and gypsies, a chair pretending to be a coat rack, two chairs pretending to be a trunk, tied together with red and yellow fabric, which we pretend is fire later in the show. But the weather was real; outside, the skies had turned an unsettling shade of gray. The wind had picked up. Vikki, being the good stage manager (and therefore designated safety patrol officer) that she is, wondered if the room could withstand what seemed to be a scene straight out of Independence Day.

Welcome to Grimm. ::punches alien::

In the Flashback number, there's even a moment when the ensemble shines their flashlights on a young Angelica, played by the wonderful Sierra. During a run of the song, as Sierra stood on top of a chair, hands raised, pretend flashlights all pointed at her, thunder boomed and lightning flashed. 

Now if we can just get the weather to do that so we don't have to rig any sound or lighting cues.

Speaking of stormy weather, Nicole and I braved the summer rain yesterday afternoon to drop off our postcards down at Fringe Central. 

We also brought along a box of Joe and a dozen donuts to surprise the lovely volunteers -- all of whom were ecstatic and extremely grateful.  Elena, Fringe director extraordinaire, even came over to give us a hug. The first thing she said to us when she approached, arms outstretched, was "You spelled FringeCENTRAL correctly on the card! Thank you!" 

FringeCENTRAL posted this photo on Facebook and Twitter.
Follow them!

Immediately after our sojourn down to Fringe, Nicole and I made our way to rehearsal. 

A few more casting changes -- to fill out the female voices in our ensemble, we welcome to the cast Sita Sarkar and Jackie Hughes. Already, both girls have shown incredible heart, willing to jump into things without knowing music or blocking yet. Meanwhile, Theresa and Gina have been doing a wonderful job learning the parts of the Queens, which, lest we forget, they only found out they had hardly a week ago. Friday night they worked with Kenny on music and Olivia on blocking. Theresa already knows the choreography to They'll Never Know! Watching her and Jake dance just looks right. Hearing her, Gina, and the rest of the ensemble sing just sounds right.

Indeed, to quote the aforementioned big-time Broadway producer, it just feels right. 

Our designers agree. Last night, they also attended rehearsal to watch a run of the show: Joe, our lighting designer, Keith, our set designer, and Ben, our sound designer (since we can't actually rely on Mother Nature to provide us with sound cues, Ben played for us a spooky storm effect that will weave its way through the show. When you attend Grimm, be sure to bring your thunder buddy).

Also in attendance last night was Sophia, Vikki's adorable daughter and honorary cast member. Be aware, however, her stage name is "Cookie."

I suppose it's fitting we brought the fantastic folks down at Fringe Dunkin. Besides the fact that a significant portion of my income has been going to Dunkin these days, BIG's next venture is America: the Musical. What's it about, you ask? Exactly.

Kenny already wrote the opening number. Hey, remember when BIG was just an idea on the E train?

Rolling with the proverbial punches

The learning center where I work often requires me to have students spell, either by giving them the word and asking for the letters or giving them the letters and asking for the word.  Usually the assignment sheet will specify what kind of word: a CCVC word, for instance, contains a consonant blend in the beginning, a vowel sound, and then another consonant. Grim(m) is a perfect example. The other day, I gave a kid the letters G-R-I-M and asked him to tell me the word. I wanted to hear it out of a complete stranger's mouth, a kid's mouth no less. I prepared myself for the answer, in which case I'd have a nice, secret laugh to myself, basking in the fact that this seemingly insignificant word now carries so much weight in my life. 

Except the little chump said "drum." Fail, kid. Fail. 

All did not go according to plan.

On that note, we've had some last minute casting changes. Two of the cast members had to leave our show, scoring paid gigs elsewhere, which in this business, is fortunate and extremely wonderful. Nonetheless, this has thrown the proverbial wrench into the complex, heavily (s)oiled machine that is Grimm. Now, two of our fantastic ensemble members, Theresa and Gina, are stepping up to fulfill the roles. Mike Wirsch, who has until now offered his services on the production end, is also joining the cast to fill in the missing male voices. Luckily, he was in Grimm 1.0, which means those harmonies are forever embedded in the recesses of his brain. It’s like hearing a song by the Backstreet Boys fifteen years after you were obsessed with them and still remembering every word, every intonation and breath. (...I know I’m not alone on that one). 

Sometimes in life you have to improvise. There's no resistance, no fighting back. You accept the proverbial cards you've been dealt with, slap on a poker face, and aim to win the game anyway. 

Hence the stumble-through on Tuesday, which was really Olivia's way of relinquishing directorial control in an overall situation that warranted none. It didn't matter that both our leads dropped, that we had no props or set to work with (“let's pretend Kenny's keyboard case is the trunk, ok?”), that the cast hadn't solidified the blocking in certain numbers yet. Sometimes you just have to roll with the entropy. That's how great art is often created, isn't it? Grimm: a visual, Pollock painting of the dead, containing the burnt vestiges of fire, the colorful splatters of body-switching, intrigue, and baby-eating monsters -- all with a cherry (house) on top. 

Although this might seem like a setback, this is how the industry goes. Art is improvisation. And lucky for us Olivia hails from an improv background. (Lest we forget, this was the theme of the callbacks.) From the outset, it's been ingrained in us that this process is a matter of “yes and” -- of supporting your teammate no matter what, even if he tells you there's a two-headed alien cephalopod growing in his nasal cavity. 

Or if your director tells you there have been some major changes in casting two weeks before opening. To this, I can't help but smile at the support this cast has provided Theresa, Gina, and Mike, to this show in general, to Kenny’s music and Olivia’s vision. It's because of all their hard work and dedication that I still have complete faith in this production. It's not going to be a worse show; as Abby mentioned at tonight’s rehearsal, it's going to be a different show. And so, I raise my proverbial glass to Theresa, Gina, Jake, Mike, Sierra, Grant, Abby, Kat, Taylor, and Cooper.

Things always do turn out right in the end. This morning I gave a different student the letters G-R-I-M. Last week he couldn't even tell you how to spell “cat," but he got it. 

Cheers everyone. ::proverbial glasses clinking::

Let's refer back to the list...

Even before writing, I anticipated that this entry would be a haphazard array of information, thoughts, images.  Grimm-related, artistic vomit.  Call it Grimmit.  

Order of Grimmit #1 -- 

On the production end, we finally have an official costume designer.  Taylor Pedane, one of my good friends and original cast member of Grimm 1.0, has graciously agreed to lend his artistic talent to the show, in more ways than just performing.  Last night, he showed me some of his drawings, and everything -- from the dead fox Angelica wears for a cape, to the Grecian, Game of Thrones-inspired gown for Catherine, to crowns made of twigs -- is superbly in-keeping with the show’s aesthetic.  Yesterday morning, Taylor and Olivia even sojourned to some thrift stores to begin purchasing fabrics and props.

Taylor Pedane: costume designer extraordinaire. 

Order of Grimmit #2 --

Speaking of props, the set is beginning to take shape.  Wonderful, random, wait-this-was-in-my-attic-next-to-my-old-collection-of-Def-Leppard-records shape.  We have Keith to thank for a spinning wheel made from a bicycle tire.  A forest made from mops and brooms.  The entire thing is very reminiscent of childhood, of the days when buying a new refrigerator meant you could make a time-machine out of the box.  

In this vein, after their thrift store journey, Olivia and Taylor came home with an armful of golf clubs.  Olivia then proceeded to run around her apartment with one between her legs.  Voila.  Horses, man.  Horses.

Order of Grimmit #3 --

Yesterday I attended a Fringe meeting for all things tickets and box office.  I feel incredibly informed and incredibly confused, all at the same time.  As ACR of this production, I alone can sign off on ticket sales and purchase comps.  I alone ensure that our company receives any money at all once this is over.  A wise man once said: with great power comes great responsibility.  I’ll try not to let it go to my head.

Order of Grimmit #4 --

I realized that one of my new pastimes is watching this cast dance.  Last night Olivia taught Clea and Jake the choreography to They’ll Never Know -- a jazzy duet between Angelica and Rumplestiltskin, during which both characters cha-cha their way through their villainous conspiring.  Don’t believe Clea and Jake for a second if they tell you they can’t dance; I might as well have used said refrigerator-box-turned-time-machine to crash a 1920s vaudeville rehearsal.

Check out their little teaser here: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=naX5O5Ipq8w&feature=youtu.be

Order of Grimmit #5 -- 

Here’s a thought I just had: if Grimm had been written by Elton John and turned into a Disney movie, My Sister, The Queen would have been called Oh, You Just Can’t Wait To Be Queen.

Mufasa approves.

Order of Grimmit #6 -- 

Pursuing art is difficult.  It’s also incredibly time-consuming.  Olivia has fallen asleep on her script more than once.  Between the playbill, the emails, the blogs and websites, I’ve been punching out after two the past few nights.  Meanwhile, Taylor and Nicole have been cutting fabrics and trying on costumes.  Mike has been photoshopping the publicity, solidifying our postcards and posters.  Since it’s easier for us to be in the same place while we work (and occasionally break to eat Burger King), Nicole, Taylor, and I have been staying in Astoria with Mike and Olivia.  Olivia even created a workspace in her living room, aptly titled “Grimmquarters.”  Nicole and I recently organized it, but if you still look closely, you can see the drops of fudge brownie ice-cream I spilled on the table yesterday.

Rumplestiltskin, taken from a Grimm graphic novel Samir brought in for the class.
Why on earth would anyone ever suspect him of foul-play and/or infantile cannibalism?

Vikki's note to me during rehearsal. Don't worry; last I checked she's still alive.

Olivia cued me for music and, well... let's just say Grant and Sierra were forced to swap the woods for some Weezer on more than one occasion.

The rule that no one in the space actually follows. 
Things are looking awfully Athlete's Foot. 

Pursuing art is difficult and incredibly time-consuming.  But pursuing art, in the kind of way that keeps you up half the night pulling your hair out, is one of the greatest feelings in the world.

GRIMM, on shuffle.

“Dance Time is All the Time” - O.H.

First off, GRIMM tickets are now on sale!  To purchase tickets online, visit:

http://www.fringenyc.org/basic_page.php?ltr=G

Just pick our show and pick your night.  

Now, last night's post sprung from a much more stable mind, owing indefinitely to the forty-degree difference in temperature of our rehearsal space.  That being said, I tried to keep the cultural references to a minimum.  (For each slip, I’ll snag you a free ticket to our show!)*

I’ll admit, last night I felt a bit of the writer’s block creeping in.  Maybe it was the rain.  Maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t writing under extreme climatic conditions.  (I’m doing that thing that humans do.  You know, when they blame something outside of themselves for a personal shortcoming).  But by Grimm, we must weather through these things.

Speaking of blocks, blocking was the theme of the evening, which was exciting to watch since so far I’d only crashed the music rehearsals.  Before reviewing the opening number, Olivia sat everyone down and asked them what was new in their lives.  Clea made the exciting announcement that she’d snagged a role immediately after our show closes, playing Kathleen Turner’s lesbian lover (that’s more than what most of us can say for ourselves, so definitely wish her congratulations when you see her!).  After the chit chat were the dance diamonds.  I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched everyone in the cast follow the moves of whoever occupied the diamond’s tip, getting down to Gaga, then rolling on the floor to Missy Higgins.  I suppose I shouldn’t have been too surprised the cast could handle whatever the iPod shuffle threw at them, knowing how to stalk it out, pop and lock better than Goldilocks, and krump like Rump.  They did some super sweet arabesques too.

After the dancing, Olivia reviewed the blocking for the opening number.  In true Grimm fashion, it’s a fury of movement and minimal breathing.  At one point, Taylor even flips Abby over backwards, then lifts her onto his shoulder.  It’s like a scene straight out of Grimm Dancing, which critics claim will resurrect Jennifer Gray’s career, you know, after it had died in that fire.  (Or maybe the movie is called Dirty Grimming.  I can’t remember.) 

Something I began to notice about Olivia’s blocking, as I watched the rehearsal process, is the heavy integration of the ensemble -- more so than in Grimm 1.0.  Even in numbers that specifically involve the Queens (No, Wait! for instance), the ensemble is ever-present onstage, good Greek chorus that they are, to weave their ghostly tale for the first, second, third, perhaps hundredth time.    

Since this is the ensemble’s story to tell, it was wonderfully satisfying to watch the blocking for Angelica’s death scene.  As I stated in a previous post, this scene had been written specifically for Grimm 2.0 and features Catherine, in Angelica’s body, confronting her sister to finally switch back bodies after years of Freaky Friday fairy-tale existence (last one, I swear).  The ensemble, in this final scene, enacts revenge upon their murderess, finally inserting themselves into their own story.  Until now, their presence could only facilitate successful storytelling.  There was omniscience, but more importantly, distance.  At the end, however, they finally close this narrative gap, becoming the writers of a tale that, until now, they couldn’t control, only tell.  

Maybe this is just me, but I find this to be an incredibly satisfying metaphor for life.  In a world where so much is out of our control, from rainy days to iPod shuffles, who wouldn’t want the chance to finally write their perfect ending?  To roll on the floor and embrace it? 


I need to think about this more.

More posts to follow within the next day or so.  Later today I’ll be attending a Fringe meeting on all things related to tickets and box office, then I’m off to rehearsal again.  Until then, my little Grimmions.



*Just kidding. But it got your attention, right?

If you can't take the heat, get out of rehearsal. A.k.a. reference joke: Sarah's response to the maddening heat

Tonight’s rehearsal might as well have taken place in a studio-sized barbecue straight off of Satan’s patio.  Even as I sat and typed this post, I could feel the heat radiating off my computer, blending with the body heat from my fingers and wrists.  I know I could also speak for Kenny, who played his keyboard in front of the large, open window.  There might have been some semblance of a breeze, but it was probably just the collective sighs of an oppressed city.

At least the view of Manhattan was beautiful.  

Everything about the night was epic.  While the rehearsal conditions were straight out of Dante, the journey there was positively Homeric.  This was our first night rehearsing in Long Island City.  Green Space, to be exact -- a large, brick building in the middle of Queens and a ten-minute walk from the subways, which, in this kind of weather, makes you incredibly sensitive to every step you take.  While the ice-coffee in my hand seemed like a good idea at the time, I soon regretted the choice (damn you, Manhattan!  Why must you tempt me with a Starbucks on every corner?!): aside from obvious dehydration, the sweat of the cup kept dripping down onto my hand and all over my phone, which I fixed my eyes on for most of the walk so I wouldn’t make a wrong turn into a dark alleyway somewhere and get whacked, Uncle-Ben-Spiderman style.  

On the way, I met up with Isabel, and almost immediately after her, Abby and Clea.  A merry, musical troupe straight out of the mind of L. Frank Baum, except instead of tromping down Emerald City, we were in Long Island City, en route to Green, looking for the cryptic “brick building” described on the website.  Fortunately, spotting said building wasn’t the problem.  Getting in was.  As expected, I suppose.  No one let Odysseus simply traipse into the underworld; he had a 3-headed dog to go through.  Frodo, a giant, flaming eye.  Marty McFly, 1.21 gigawatts and his mother’s advances.

And we!  Fie!  A locked door!

Impenetrable.  Detestable.  Indigestible.  Thankfully, relief came in the form of a kindly man with a wizard hat (kidding) who opened the door.  

Room 301.  Shouldn’t be too hard, we thought, and naturally took the stairs up to the third floor.  Except the numbers on all the doors started with four.  To the second floor it was.  

The hallways were straight out of that iconic Scooby Doo montage -- the one where Scooby and the gang, while outrunning monsters/ghosts/abominable snowmen, enter and exit the doors, all willy-nilly, from right to left, left to right, in every order under the sun.  (Side-note: did you ever notice that all the villains in that show make the same growly noise?  One of my childhood conundrums.)  The room, just as hot as the outside, was a large dance studio with wood floors, a mirror across one wall, and purple and green curtains hanging over the windows.  The woman in charge handed Olivia the keys to the room, and then ordered everyone to take their shoes off.  

Indeed, we had entered the stifling underworld, and already, it had claimed our soles.

Things were looking awfully moist.  Not once did the heat ever let up, despite the best efforts of the open windows and the one pathetic air-conditioner, literally chilling uselessly in the corner.  Regardless, the entire cast remained in good spirits.  Kenny stumbled through the show with them, running through all the songs, as Olivia looked on with her script.  At one point, Ben, our sound designer, even stopped by to hear the cast sing so he could edit the musical tracks accordingly.    

My last order of business for the night: take everyone’s picture for the costume designer.  By that point, when Olivia joked about the cast having to take their clothes off, everyone was almost far too willing to comply. 

The beginnings of topless tech already.

What Doesn't Scare You Makes You Stronger

I wrote most of this post on my phone, half-asleep and hallucinatory on my flight to the West Coast.  Enjoy.  

..................

Anyone who's been on an airplane knows what a complete invasion of privacy it is.  Especially if you have the misfortune of getting the middle seat.  Any time the plane jostles, however slightly, and your arm brushes up against your neighbor's arm on the rest, all because he had the audacity to claim it when you were too distracted pulling your sweatshirt on.  I hope I don't come across as too socially phobic when I say this arm-hair-on-arm-hair feeling greatly disturbs me.

The flight to California is six hours long.  Needless to say, I have time to think.  Lord knows I'm not about to tune into whatever movie is currently playing, something that features Ewan McGregor and a mystical lake. (I make a mental note to look it up on IMDB by the end of this post.)  Lord also knows I'm not about to sleep.  Because the person who designed plane seats is probably related to at least one of the engineers of the Titanic, the lifeboats of which were probably more comfortable.  I'm listening to Mumford and Sons because it's familiar.  And because it's familiar, it's also calming.  Hopefully enough so that I fall asleep at some point, and yet still -- it's noise that will drown out the snoring of the old woman next to me.

Suddenly I realize: the many annoyances of air travel are nothing compared to the paralyzing fear many people have for it.  There are people out there who can't board a 747 without popping a few pills or downing a few gin and tonics at the airport bar.  Yet still, they ride.  Why?  

“Kids, Mommy's going to meet you at the Grand Canyon in about a week.  Of course she isn’t afraid of flying; she just never realized America has progressed beyond the Transcontinental Railroad, that’s all.” 

Or “Sorry, boss, I'm too afraid of planes to go on that business trip.  Looks like you'll have to send the intern, Jimmy, and promote him to regional manager instead.”

These people ride because they have to.

Fear is fear.  Being afraid of something so ordinary, so inevitable isn't any different  from the voluntary kind of fear that characterizes theme park rides or horror movies.  But let’s face it: no one made watching Poltergeist a prerequisite for family vacations, business trips -- or life in general.  So why do people do it?  Why do people willingly drop their psyches to that dark, cobwebby level?  The level that pops the doors open on the Tower of Terror and snaps your picture.  The level that tells you, in spite of all rational judgment that your basement is not a secret breeding ground for raptors or mass murderers, that you still better run for your damn life up the stairs.

Is the thrill of fear something instilled in us in childhood?  When it comes to fairy tales, for example, the process starts off just as it always has -- orally, usually in the form of a bedtime story.  Perhaps fear, which takes the form of these stories, the form of entertainment, becomes a kind of conditioned norm.  Furthermore, fear is an emotion.  And because it's an emotion, it’s also very powerful -- not unlike the sensation of falling in love.  Experiments have been done to show that men and women who meet for the first time on high, rickety bridges have a greater chance of liking one another than if they had met on solid ground.  Why?  Because the brain mistook the pitter-patter of a panicked heart to the pitter-patter of a heart in love.  (“Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but there’s a chance we might die, so call me maybe.”)  Fear is misleading, yet incredibly lasting.  It alters how we interpret the world so that we have a greater chance of surviving it.  As a result, the mind clings to it -- sometimes to the point where we never fully grow out of it.  Fear as raw, addictive power.  

Ask me about the 1992 vintage E.T. doll some time.  Then ask me how long I was afraid of it.  

GOOD GOD.

I would tell you I haven’t seen E.T. since.  

I’m sure I’m not alone.  Freud had a wonderful theory about what he called the “uncanny.”  Essentially, things are terrifying when they have the semblance of being human but are actually not.  Just think of any horror movie that features demon dolls, masks, zombies, exorcisms, and aliens.  

Here's Rumpy!

Think of any horror movie that features children.  Children are prime examples of something so like us and yet unlike us at the same time.  They look like us, true.  But they think on completely different wavelengths, operating under completely different rules of reality.  Our window of understanding is about as opaque as a brick wall.  Ask Henry James in the Turn of the Screw.  Or M. Night Shyamalan in The Sixth Sense.  I can promise you that movie wouldn’t have been nearly as effective if Haley Joel Osment was written to be a 35-year-old male played by Edward Norton.  


This takes us to Grimm.  Rumplestiltskin is scary because he is so very close to human.  He has two arms and two legs, he walks upright, he talks.  But we would be remiss to actually call Rumplestiltskin a human.   Or take the undead chorus -- none of whom are human.  But they’re utterly terrifying because that’s still precisely what they are.  

The Grimm brothers, Wilhelm and Jacob, weren’t aware of Freud’s theory, which explains why their stories might be scary.  But they were still aware that their stories could be taken as such.  And so was the rest of the German public.

Early folk-tales were violent.  Robbers raped and murdered young brides.  Snow White’s stepmother dies after dancing in hot, iron shoes.  In the Princess and the Frog, the Princess throws her amphibious lover against a wall instead of kissing him.  Part of the violence stems from the nature of the medieval era when many of these tales were first written down.  As a result, they were never intended for children at all.  It was only after the Grimm brothers imbibed these stories with a specific, German agenda that they needed to be rewritten to reach the larger German audience.  This meant toning down the brutality, shifting the stories to function as behavioral tools for children.  Suddenly fairy-tales had a  new purpose.  And it involved teaching all the lederhosen-wearing Augustus Gloops in the land that avarice leads to evil witches trapping you in their candy houses and eating you for dinner.

When it comes to fairy-tales, psychology, and Sigmund Freud, I could go on.  But I still have another flight to get through tomorrow night, so stay tuned.

The movie is called Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, by the way.  Yeah, I didn’t see it either.

CrossFit GRIMM

Happy Friday the 13th.

In a previous post, I mentioned that the number 13 should probably never attach itself to Grimm.  Dangerous things can happen.  Your evil twin sister, after being gone for thirteen years, might suddenly return to steal your throne.  A gnomish, pedophilic abomination with a four-syllable name might suddenly show up on your doorstep and demand your kids.  Someone might hit your car. ....

But dangers are dangers nevertheless.

Alright.  At the risk of sounding too much like Jim Carrey in The Number 23 (seriously, did anyone see that movie?  Mr. Popper’s Penguins?  Anyone?), that’s the last I’ll say about numerology.  

On a completely different note, this weekend I’m flying out to California to watch my step-dad compete in the 2012 Reebok CrossFit Games.  Fitness is kind of my family’s “thing” (every family has one of those, right?) -- my parents run a CrossFit gym on Long Island, and Scott, my step-dad, will be defending his title as champion of his division (cue: violent flashback to last summer).  For those of you who might not know, CrossFit is an intense style of fitness, incorporating cardio, weightlifting, and gymnastics, all rolled into one, short, I-might-have-to-step-outside-and-puke-behind-the-dumpster workout.  

Last night, as I sat on Olivia’s floor wondering what I was going to write for my next entry, it hit me that Grimm is essentially the CrossFit of theater.  

Ahem.  For those of you who might not know, Grimm is an intense style of theater, incorporating music, set-lifting, and gymnastics, all rolled into one, short, I-might-have-to-step-outside-and-puke-behind-the-cauldron show.  

Those spinning wheels are heavier than they look. 
That's why grandma's knitted Christmas sweaters weigh as much as they do.

But seriously.  Grimm, back in 2009, was a workout in its own right, calling for extreme physical and cardiovascular endurance, up to and including power-cleaning pine trees and carrying heavy set pieces up and down a four-leveled set, all the while wearing ten-pound costumes and holding out harmonies well beyond normal lung capacity.  

Although Grimm 2.0 won’t be quite as excruciatingly elaborate (no four-tiered sets, no paper machete-monster cauldrons) the nature of both the show and the festival itself is still a kind of high-intensity explosion.  Before the show begins, we only have fifteen minutes to set up.  Fifteen minutes.  When I was a kid, I measured that kind of time as one Rugrats episode.  That’s nothing.  By then, the cast already needs to be ready in full costume and makeup (so don’t be alarmed if it begins to look like Halloween on the New York City subways during the weeks of August).  Then there’s the show itself, which, despite consisting of over half-a-dozen musical numbers and featuring characters that carry the weight of hundreds of years’ worth of oral tradition, lasts only fifty minutes, after which we only have fifteen minutes to strike the set so that the next show can tag in.

Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?  

The cast has been training hard.  Bring it on, Fringe.  Bring it on.

Let Your Heart Lead

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gs4Ezh_pJjE&feature=youtu.be

Angelica's Death Scene... GRIMM!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLO7NHAMncU&feature=youtu.be

The Many Levels of Grimm

Tonight’s rehearsal took place in the same room as the second night of auditions.  Everything was the same as before -- the blue carpet, the wrinkled throw rug Nicole, Kenny, and I had to battle with so we could roll the piano into position, the random watercolor pictures of fancy French architecture hanging on the otherwise bare, beige walls (Vikki, to me: “Paris?” Me: “I guess?”).  The air-conditioner was also on full-blast -- an instant conversation-starter during the auditions when everyone would walk in, sweating from nerves and extreme heat, while we sat at the other end of the table in literal and metaphorical coolness.  

At times the rehearsal process seems like a series of violent flashbacks.  But this should come as no surprise when art imitates life -- or perhaps, more accurately, vice versa.  “Violent flashback” is the name of the Grimm game, even eponymously lending itself to the name of a song six-minutes into the show (the “violent” is implied, however).  No wonder Olivia continues to say that “making decisions” as a director is a violent act.

In attendance tonight: Abby, Theresa, Sierra, Gina, Clea, Jake, Grant, Cooper, and Taylor.  Fittingly, tonight Kenny taught them “Angelica’s Death Scene” -- something he had written specifically for Grimm 2.0 because we decided to rewrite the original ending of the show, incorporating Angelica and Catherine’s climactic body-switching switch-back. 

Tonight was the first time any of us (including Kenny) had heard the song, which features motifs from the entire show, musically escalating until the evil Angelica, back in her rightful body, is consumed.  Consumed by the very ensemble once consumed by the fires in Flashback.  (Oh God.  I could get into even more poetically perfect, lyrically arousing uses for the word “consume” here, but I’ll restrain myself.  I do declare that sentence was high school English paper-y enough).  

Violent flashbacks of “Flashbacks” within flashbacks, all taking place within the imaginative mind of a little girl who decided one night to open up the trunk.

Which is itself all one dramatic illusion.

Inception?  Grimmception? 

Christopher Nolan will see it.

Although most of the cast members didn’t know where all these musical motifs were coming from (not having learned all the numbers yet), I sat and took it all in, recognizing bits of Flashback, Candy, Things are Looking Awfully Grimm.  Everything full circle, everything a violent flashback.  With variation.  

A perfect ending to a show that is itself an imaginative retelling of the world’s most retold stories.