WORKING ON A NEW/OLD PLAY

I'm reviving my play, Waiting for the Podiatrist (2003), for the San Francisco Fringe Festival, opening September 9.  There are many changes:

1.  The title is now Awaiting the Podiatrist.  Although I hated to let go of the witty reference to Beckett's famous play, I could not BEAR being at the end of the alphabet!  You know about the San Francisco Chronicle's alphabetical listings?  Well, sometimes you have to turn the page to get to the W's, and you don't because the last listing on the page you're reading begins with a V, and you just ASSUME -- YOU ASSUME -- that there are no more listings and you just don't turn the page!  And you never find out that the fucking Little Man in the Chair is clapping for Waiting for the Podiatrist! 

Do you know how hard it is for a small grass-roots production to receive a fucking Little Man Clapping from the Critic on High????  No, you don't, do you?  It's very very hard, and hardly anyone saw it because THEY DIDN'T BOTHER TO TURN THE PAGE!

Well.  I didn't realize I would get so exasperated writing this blog.  Perhaps YOU, dear reader, are one of the enlightened who ALWAYS turns the page.  If so, my fervent gratitude and apologies.  

So I sacrificed a brilliant, sly title to alphabetical order.  That's what comes from being a mature artist who wants more attention.  

2.  Podiatrist is no longer two acts that run 110 minutes.  It's one act in 60 minutes. 

In 2003, Act One was about Mom and Alex (who represents me) struggling with the decision on whether to pull the plug on comatose Dad.   And Act Two dealt with Dad's recovery, and Alex convincing Dad that he needed to eat so he had strength for rehabilitation.  

Podiatrist 2003 was kind of a family play, albeit with puppets for parents.  In Act Two, the parents bickered and reminisced, the father wished for death because he didn't want to be a burden to his wife and child, the daughter tried to get her father to eat some chicken Parmesan.  Dad was really the main character of Podiatrist 2003.  

2003 ending:  Dad takes a bite of food (not so easy to do with a puppet -- where does the food end up?).  
2016 ending:  Dad comes out of his coma.  No rehab, no chicken Parmesan, no marital bickering.  

Yes, I do look like my father.  People have told me
that since I was seven years old. 

My father worked very hard his whole life -- six days a week at his own advertising agency until he was 78.  Born poor, he had been the Golden Boy.  Always a success.  He had never had to overcome obstacles.  When he was 83 and in a coma, we all agreed that he would not be interested in the frustrations of rehab.  And when he recovered enough to speak his mind, he told us exactly the same thing and refused to eat.  I thought he was slowly dying.  I didn't know whether to honor his desire to exit this mortal coil or to cajole him to finish his dinner.   I'll never forget when the chaplain, a rabbi, came out of my dad's room after talking to him.  He  said, "I don't see a dying man.  I see an unhappy man." "Well," I thought, "if anyone knows what dying looks like, it's a hospital chaplain.  So Dad's got to face Life!  with a capital 'L'"!  

Podiatrist 2003 was about facing death when you don't want to, and facing life when you don't want to.   

Podiatrist 2016 is a mother/daughter play, very focused on the two of them wrestling with the decision of taking Dad off the ventilator.   This dilemma resonates very differently for me now, because we actually DID take my younger sister Nancy off a ventilator in 2009, so that she could die.   Nancy's husband, George, was the one with the legal power.  Her daughter Rose and I fully supported him.  

Afterwards, I was flooded with feelings of guilt, which I eventually worked through with the help of others.  But now I'm back there again, wondering what Nancy would have wanted, if we did the right thing.  The pushy, determined Alex from the 2003 play seems awfully cold-blooded and self-interested to me now.  And yet, I certainly don't want to write a play that says you should keep comatose loved ones on ventilators indefinitely!

Maybe Podiatrist 2016 is about the impossibility of knowing what is the right decision in extreme circumstances.     

3.  The biggest change since 2003 is that the members of my immediate family -- mother, father and younger sister -- were all alive then.  And now they're gone.  Working on the play reminds me of that, and I miss them.  I feel lonely.  

Not that my family was perfect.  Well, look at this photo.   Nancy WAS the perfect sister. Or I could say we had a perfect relationship -- very loving and honest.  










Which person in this photo is most alive, most joyful, most open?  Nancy lived the last year and a half of her life with such grace.  I was lucky to be her companion on that journey.

Nancy isn't a character in PODIATRIST  because it made dramatic sense for the Daughter to be an only child.  But she shared fully in all the experiences the play is based on, so I felt dishonest for erasing her.  In 2003, I dedicated the play to her, to make amends for her erasure, and to tell the audience about her.  I'm going to dedicate the play to her again.

NEXT BLOG:  THE CHARACTER OF MOM AND THE REALITY OF MY MOTHER:  EXACTLY THE SAME AND TOTALLY DIFFERENT!

SAN FRANCISCO WEEPS FOR ORLANDO

Somehow I couldn't feel anything about Orlando.  I think if it had been three people killed, I would have been shocked and upset.  But the number ... 

I just didn't want to believe it.  It's human nature, I think, when something terrible happens, for our little brains to get busy figuring out how it couldn't possibly happen to US.  But if I really took in the Orlando massacre, I a lesbian who often goes to public places and events focused on gay people -- I would feel VULNERABLE!  My little brain would have a very hard time figuring out how this could never happen to ME.  I don't WANT to feel VULNERABLE!  I'm an American!   I'm supposed to live forever in comfort and ease!  I am NOT LIKE the people that bad things happen to!

Of course I KNOW the world is full of people (even Americans) who have never had the privilege of deluding themselves that they are safe.  In my defense, I must say that I've been practicing Buddhism for a while in an effort to dismantle the walls I put up between myself and others.  

But still, I heard about Orlando, the wall went up, and I was numb.

Also, I happened to be alone.  Much easier to be numb when alone.  

Then, in the course of doing my errands yesterday in my neighborhood, I came upon the altar at 18th St. and Castro.  There are often memorials at the spot for gay men and lesbians who have died.  I am always moved to read about these people who were loved.  Small memorials.  This was different.

 I read the hand-written placards.

I absorbed the loving words chalked on the sidewalk.





I studied the photos of my dear brothers and sisters who had been murdered.





I remembered the night that Harvey Milk had been murdered.

And I wept.

CRONES MEET DYKES -- Finally! (plus Update)

UPDATE OF LAST BLOG:  Finally got Stephanie's great photos of our performance at the University, on Friday, March 18:

A New Scene:  Coming out to Mom as Greek Tragedy

Sit-Com Mom Tormenting Her (rather overgrown) Baby Butch daughter

Audience -- Woman in Foreground is Translating the Show from English into Mexican Sign Language for her Deaf Friend

AND NOW, PUNTO GOZADERA:

On Sunday, March 20, we arrived at Punto Gozadera, an eight-month old feminist women's center/cafe/art gallery in downtown Mexico City.   It was in a great and funky space next to a big church:


Punto Gozadera describes itself as a "cultural restaurant for feminist encounters."  I'm still not quite sure what the name means.  Mariana in Oaxaca said it has to do with multiple orgasms, and these women are extremely upfront and in your face about the power of their sexuality. 

Here's the stage where we would perform that evening:

OF COURSE THEY HAD TO REMOVE THE GAMES FOR US

And just in case you can't read the banner in the back:

The place was filled with young dykes and feminists....


On the card tables, for sale, political and sexual images:



I mean, these young women are very clear that they love their bodies and are NOT in any way ashamed:

"TALKING VULVAS & VIBRANT UTERUSES, ISSUE #1"

Lots of posters for events at La Gozadera that we wished we'd attended:

And us...

Carolyn and I felt like we'd found our own sweet spot, with good vegetarian food!

Everywhere on the walls beautiful political posters:



This poster was very disturbing:

"I DIDN'T KILL MYSELF -- THEY ASSASSINATED ME."

I'm not sure if this refers to an actual murder disguised as a suicide, or actual suicides where women were driven to such despair by the patriarchy that they killed themselves.  With all the crosses, the artist is talking about many deaths.  

To Carolyn and me, it was exciting to see this deep, vibrant feminist response in Mexico.  Not that so many of the same things don't go on in the U.S.  But there's a different level of threat and oppression in Mexico.  Women have been sentenced to prison for 30 years for the crime of having an abortion.  And then there's the disappearance of all those women in Ciudad Juarez.   

Carolyn and I, as older women, didn't experience any of the street harassment by men that young women often endure.  But Carolyn told me that twice, when she was out walking, older men who were chatting blocked the sidewalk.  Even though her bad knee forced her to walk with a cane, these men glared at her and refused to move aside.  She felt, at that moment, their contempt for her as a woman.  They WOULD NOT make way for her!  

But in general, we found Mexicans overwhelmingly kind and considerate.

This poster, so simple, moved me deeply:

"ONE DAY, WE'LL WALK WITHOUT FEAR."

Finally, we got our backdrop up.  Of course we needed a photo of the woman, Libertad, with the word "Libertad" on our backdrop:

And then it was time for the audience to arrive! Would they show up?  This was a concern at ALL our performances, but especially the ones around Easter vacation.  Supposedly, everyone LEFT Mexico City for Holy Week, as it's called. Carolyn worried much more about audience numbers than me, since she had done all the work to get the bookings and do the publicity.  In fact, the whole Mexico adventure was her idea and her work.  I was just happy to be along for the ride.  

But it turned out the place was PACKED!  They were a wild crowd, hooting and hollering from the beginning.  

Again, as at the University, there were almost no native English speakers.  So that meant that we had to be big and physical in our acting.  Here's a moment from the "Coming-Out Transformations" that shows Minerva narrating in Spanish while we're frozen in position, waiting for her to say "Back to the scene!" in English, before we go on:

The response to us was overwhelming.   These young Mexican women loved them some Crackpot Crones!  During the Horror Movie Coming-Out, where I transform into a lesbian werewolf -- the only scene we performed in Spanish -- they were howling along with me from the very beginning.  We've never gotten that reaction before.  

And, because La Gozadera is also a cafe, everyone hung out afterwards and chatted.  People were not just enthusiastic.  They were GRATEFUL.  It was a response that reminded us of the 70s with Lilith Theater, and the early 80s with DOS LESBOS, when we had the feeling we were doing something that was NEEDED.  "You have to come back!"  "You have to come to Guadalajara!"  "You have to bring your show to Spain!"  

A few photos of the after-show gang:

Of course there has to be a gay male ally!

 

This audience confirmed for us that we were doing something important by bringing our theater to Mexico.  For both of us, what started out as an adventure turned into something else on that night.  We know we're going back -- after we learn some more Spanish and translate more of our show!  We have since heard from Minerva that some recent incidents of violence and harassment of women have inspired the feminists to organize demonstrations across the country on April 24!  Wish we could be there in solidarity.

THA...THA....THAT'S ALL, FOLKS!

CRONES GO TO UNIVERSITY IN MEXICO CITY

So sorry no bloggie for so long.  I don't know why I procrastinate because I really do ENJOY doing it immensely and SO love people's responses.  But there it is.  Plus we were working and then we were sick and then we were working and then we were exhausted.  But still.  

Now in San Miguel de Allende.  4 am.  Carolyn and I have landed in the honeypot, after a stay at a rather scruffy but warm-hearted hotel in Mexico City.  We are living in luxury with Carolyn's old friend Emerson, who has spent the last year bringing back to life an abandoned complex filled with rubble into gorgeous tiled and brightly-painted life.  My croney and I each have our OWN spacious one-bedroom apartment. It's nice to have a little break from each other after twin beds in a hotel room.  

I've got laryngitis and a performance in two days, so I guess won't be talking much.  It's kinda nice to be forced to be silent.  I never have to figure out what to say!  Except, when we arrived last night I felt compelled to rasp out "This is spectacular!" multiple times as Emerson showed us around her beautiful home and the apartments and the courtyard and the patios and the roof and the….  People in San Miguel live in spacious digs.  I'm now sitting at the table in my own rather large kitchen/living room, listening to crickets and distant roosters and dogs.  

The ceiling above me is a work of art.

So.  Mexico City.  Theater.  Performances. 

Our first performance was Friday, March 18 at the Autonomous University of Mexico City.  We met Minerva Valenzuela there, a flamboyant cabaret performer who Carolyn had wisely hired to do the narration, the day before to rehearse.  Isn't Minerva a fantastic and unique name?!  Unfortunately, it's so unique, I have a very hard time remembering it.  The only way I can do that is by thinking of Minnie Mouse   Since there is absolutely no resemblance between Minerva and Minnie, except the first three letters of their names, I feel guilty, even traitorous, associating this witty fiery woman with the Nancy Reagan of the Disney universe.  But one does what one must.  

Minerva, a lifelong Mexico City resident, informed us that Autonomous University of Mexico City, whose campus looked like a very down-at-the-heels high school, is a very special place.  It's relatively new and an educational experiment where the students are all chosen by lottery!  UAMC is a very creative and political college.  Political posters are all over the place -- including about The 43, the busload of college students who were murdered -- still with no explanation.  We saw so many posters about this in Oaxaca too.

While we were rehearsing, a folk song concert took place in the courtyard outside the theater.  We were sorry we couldn't attend.   And as we were leaving rehearsal, a student dance troupe moved in to rehearse.  They were going to be taking original work to a festival.  So the Autonomous has a lot going on.  

But would anyone come to our performance at Friday 5 pm on the beginning of Easter Vacation?  And, just as important, would people understand our show?  This was the our first performance for an audience that would have no native English speakers.  

This was in one of those caverous old-fashioned school auditoriums with a stage high above the audience. We had a huge stage, of which we used only part.  We hung Judy's beautiful backdrop on the red velvet curtain.

 

We had a wonderful technician, Gabino, working with us.  Whatever we needed, he found or created.  His wife, Stephanie, came along to help run the sound.

Here's Carolyn, Minerva, Gabino and Stephanie during the tech.

Then it was time for a break for subsidized lunch!  Mexicans don't eat lunch until 2 pm.  The UAMC had a great hearty lunch for 10 pesos.  That's about 60 cents!

As you can see from the photo, Minerva is a woman of strong opinion, happy to educate us about life in Mexico for women, from a feminist perspective.  How Carolyn found two such different fabulous women to narrate our show, I don't know.  

For the performance, Carolyn and I knew that, because of the space and because at least some and perhaps a lot of the audience would not understand English, we had to GO BIG!  When you're touring, you're always adjusting your performance to the space.  If you're too big for the space, then the audience pulls back from you.  No chance of being too big on that vast stage!

So we did have a decent sized audience -- about 100? -- in that huge space, and we so ENJOYED being BIG!  We realized there was so much comedy in our show that we were missing by being too restrained.  Also, one of the wonderful things about touring is that you get deeper and deeper into your show.  There's something about changing up your surroundings all the time that stimulates your creativity, your understanding.  

We had rehearsed the show with Velina Brown before we left San Francisco.  Velina's one of the SF Mime Troupe stars.  She also directed our last Christmas show.


Sorry about the photo.   Had to grab it from the internet.  Yes, she's very beautiful.  And graceful. Her hands…. Fun to watch when she directs us.  Velina takes our writing more seriously than than we ourselves take it and asks us questions that no one else does.  Startling, irritating questions that you really don't feel need an answer the first time you hear them.  When she worked with me on HICK before I went to Baltimore, she asked me, "Who is Hick talking to?"  Me:  "I don't know, but nobody's ever asked that so nobody cares about it."  Velina never demands that you answer her question.  She just gently persists.  Finally, I decided Hick was telling her story to her imaginary friend, and that was a helpful image for me. 

With The Crackpot Crones, she asked us, concerning Rosa in RED HANKY GRANNIES, about two octogenarian activists in a nursing home,  "Why DOES Rosa turn against political action?"  We've been doing the scene for years now, and no one ever asked!  So why bother thinking about it now!  "Yes, but why does Rosa…"  Always so gentle, never challenging.  And then we realized we had to answer Velina's question, because she would never stop asking because she was truly puzzled.  And we decided that Rosa had recently been involved with some young activists who treated her dismissively because of her age, which deeply hurt her.  So now Rosa tells Emma her painful story, and the whole scene goes to a new level and has a new issue.  Exciting.  Oh, by the way, for those who have seen the Grannies before, we've switched parts.  I have NO idea why Carolyn would prefer radical Emma to sensitive, lady-like troubled Rosa, but she seems quite happy with the change too.

Velina also pointed out to Carolyn the import of the moment in EVE IN THERAPY when Eve offers the apple to Lilith.  And Velina's direction bore its full fruit on that big stage before the red velvet curtain.  Carolyn told me after the performance that she finally GOT in a deep way what a truly revolutionary act it was.  Exciting.  Thank you, Velina, for all your probing, questioning work with us.  

Unfortunately, Stephanie took lots of photos of Carolyn and me performing which I somehow could not download.  But here's our sassy narrator.  As you can see, we continued with our tradition of working with Mexican women who looked like us.

The audience was VERY responsive.  The show worked with a Spanish-speaking audience!  That was a pretty damn fantastic moment for us.  AFterwards, I talked to some of the audience members.  There was a young deaf woman in the front row who had come with her friend, a sign language interpreter, who translated the whole show for her.  The interpreter said it was the first time she had ever translated a play in progress --- let alone translating from English into SPANISH sign language!  To me, it was so moving that they had both made this effort to come and hear what The Crackpot Crones had to say.  That was a big.

Coming up:  The Crackpot Crones Meet the Young Radical Dykes of Mexico City. But, before that, a few random Mexico City photos:

For some reason, I had a very strong desire to see an obscure Diego Rivera mural  -- ANY obscure Rivera mural --  and took a taxi to a water pumping station in the middle of a giant dusty area of Chapultapec Park to see Rivera's murals about water.  I had the taxi wait for me, which cost a LOT but it was worth it.  Just a couple of views of the tank that the city's water used to flow through.  I've got dozens of photos.  That man did such beautiful work.  

A taste of the renowned Anthropological Museum.  It would take a week to even begin to absorb it all:

And an exhibit in a tiny museum on La Lucha Libre, Mexican wrestling, a huge phenom.  Of COURSE there are lady wrestlers:

Next blog: Trotsky's house.  Forget about Freda's house.  It was too crowded.

Tha…tha…that's all, folks!