00055: THE SIGNS OF BURNED OUT ARE SHOWING!!!

I have been directing for many years, more than I care to admit. In my long years as a theatre director, I have learned many things, mainly that I don't know everything. Throughout my directing tenure I have made mistakes from which I have learned some important lessons. Regardless of the benefits, the majority of those mistakes have been forgotten; they're gone with the wind. Others, however, still lurk in the back of my mind just to remind me that, although I may be a theatre director, I am not that good of a theater director. In short, the many mistakes I have made in my directing career have kept me in check. 

One of the biggest mistakes I made long ago, was allowing the artistic director of a certain company to influence my casting decision. I had the perfect actor for a specific role. And being that such role was very important within the show, I knew this particular actor was the perfect match for the role. This actor had the commanding voice the character required. They also had the singing chops the role demanded. (I was directing a musical.) They had the acting chops, the attitude, and a very clear understanding of the character. Yet, when it came to casting the show, I allowed the artistic director to dictate who the actor for that specific role should be. I knew it was the wrong choice, so I fought back, but after some going back and forth, I gave in and cast the person they wanted.

Through the rehearsal process, I quickly realized what an incredible mistake I had made by casting such an actor. I went back to the artistic director and voiced my worried about the casting choice. I was told I was exaggerating and that the actor was fine; "They just needed practice." A few days later, I unintentionally learned that the actor I had cast had provided a hefty donation and had also promised free advertising for the theater's season. You cannot imagine the anger and the disappointment I felt toward myself at that moment, as well as the guilt I felt for the rest of the cast. 

Through the rehearsal process I tried my best to ignore anger, doubts, and struggles; I honestly made an effort to work around the actor's inefficiencies. Behind the scenes, the cast worried about the actor's inability to perform its best and, behind closed doors, they continually questioned the reason(s) why I had cast such an actor. The night the show opened, the actor froze in the middle of his most important song. The orchestra kept on playing, revamping over and over, and over, but nothing. The actor just stood on stage, looking out the audience, terrified. Other actors tried to help him by "humming" the lyrics and some even started singing some of the lines. But no one knew what to do because no one ever expected the actor to completely freeze on stage the way they did. And as I witness such event from the audience, my heart sunk along with my body. By the time the actor came back from whatever stage fright trip they had taken, the damage had been done.

After the show, the company hold a reception for patrons, theater donors, special guests, the cast, and crew. The infamous actor didn't show. And I wish I could have done the same but, as a director, I was expected to mingle with the crowd. I tell you, I never felt so uneasy in my life, and if I'm a master at faking smiles and "good times," this was the biggest test and I passed with flying colors. The next day, when the theatre review appeared in the main city's paper (yes, those existed back then), all my greatest fears were confirmed. All the actors were praised for their work and efforts, except one, of course. But the majority of the review concentrated on the directing, stating that I, as a director, did not had a clear understanding of the material because of some of my casting choices. The theatre reviewer went on to say that I perhaps I was not the right person to direct that particular musical or any musical for that matter. That comment hurt me the most for just a few months before, a very successful run of a much bigger musical had ended, and I had been praised for my directing vision and my unique approach to the material. It hadn't been in that particular city with that particular company, but still.  

I tell this story for two reasons: the first one is obvious, such experienced scared me for life and even now, after so many years, it still hunts me. The second, which is something I had never spoken about, is the fact that my biggest theatre mentor, my first acting and directing teacher, my guide, told me how disappointed they were because of show's results. I tried to explain myself and I even said, "Look, you know I got this gig because of my work on Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Raincoat, which I directed and choreographed, by the way." It wan't my fault. I was forced to cast that actor. My mentor got very upset and even told me to stop making up excuses and accept my errors or I would never become a better person or director.

Our talk turned into an argument and I remember seeing my theater idol angrily walking away and leaving me standing in the middle of the room. After that exchange, I felt very disappointed in myself and also very hurt. I thought that if there was at least one person that could actually understand what had happened with that particular production, that person would be my mentor. Unfortunately I had created faulty expectations. As a result, I built a lot of resentment toward my mentor. In fact, after that encountered, we would never speak to each other again and I would never seek their mentorship. My mentor had been a pillar and theatre pioneer for the city and community, so when he passed, I only attended the funeral services, out of respect for said theater community. I was physically present but like Morales from A Chorus Line, I felt nothing. 

Today, I'm directing a play that could have been done with 12 actors. Instead, because I wanted to give opportunities to everyone and also "contribute to the building of our theatre program," I double the casting number. We have only been in rehearsal for a month and I'm already regretting my casting choice. Too many absences, too many unprepared actors, too many... well, no matter the reason(s), It's not their fault. I made the decision to cast them and I'm responsible to make sure they all understand the importance of punctuality and the responsibility of being part of a theatre production. 

I know that at the end, everything is going to turn out fine. The actors will know their lines and they will have their moment under the spotlight. The show will open and close and there will be something to celebrate by the end of the semester. Yet, the incidents happening right now, with students arriving late or calling in sick, is bothersome, and obviously is bringing up emotions and unresolved issues from the past. The skeletons in my closet are showing. 

There are sudden instances where I think I made the mistake of casting against my gut, and all because "I want to give students opportunities and help our theatre department grow". Or maybe my mistake is that I'm too soft nowadays and don't rule with an iron fist as I used to. Or maybe I'm just too old now to deal with the younger generations and their woke approaches to everything. Or maybe I have reached my limit, I'm burned out, tired, old, and directing shows with big cast numbers is no longer something I should be doing. Or maybe the time has come to retire. Yes, that's it! The time has come to retire. Wouldn't it be lovely? Unfortunately I'm too poor to stop working and not old enough to call it quits. I just have to take this project one day at a time, breathing every time I get a notice saying that so and so won't be there because of "this and that," and breathing once again because an actor doesn't have a pencil to take down blocking or they decided to go to the greenroom the moment they stepped out of their scene. Whatever the news, I just have to take big breaths and keep on going. 

Breathe, Carlos-Manuel. Breathe. 

00054: WHY WOULD I MISPRONOUNCE MY OWN NAME?

Let's start with the obvious. Irma Herrera is not an actor, and I don't mean this in a negative way. She's a "writer, solo performer, social justice activista, lawyer, and world traveler." That's how she introduces and identifies herself on her website, irmaherreradotcom. But more than a "solo performer," I would say Irma is a storyteller and she proves that in her one-woman show: "Why Would I Mispronounce my Own Name?" presented at Central Stage in Richmond CA.

The original production was directed by Rebecca Fisher and while I don't know the exact date of the show's original opening, information from Irma's website makes me believe the show first happened around the year 2021. The production I saw last September 2024 still credits Rebecca Fisher as the director. 

The show tells the story of Irma herself, who talks about the fact that her name is pronounce IRMa or, in my better phonetic English assimilation: ear-ma but never ur-ma or ERma. Not only does Irma talks about the importance of standing up to people who mispronounce your name but also about the courage it takes to stand up and correct them when mispronouncing it. I connected with this bit of the show, mainly because my name is Carlos-Manuel and back in high school some teachers called me Karlos-Manual... and I never corrected them.

In her show, Irma also addressed the issue of colorism within our own community and how her mother always told her she was "como una mosca en la leche-like a fly in the milk," referring to the fact that her skin was darker when compared to other family members. This section of the show made me laugh because, when I was young, while we never say anything related to flies and milk, we always use the word "prieto" when trying to remind someone that they were not as "white as they should be" or worse, as "white as we were." For the record, we are brown people, darker than our European American neighbors. We have never, ever been white. 

Irma's show does not just revolved on her personal experiences growing up but also addresses national issues such as politics and the danger of using and/or making fun of names which are different than those used by European Americans. She also highlights the irony about being a person of color and serving in the military but then, when done from your military duties, being ignored, mistreated, and worse, killed in the country you defended. The irony is, if it escapes you, fighting and surviving a war only to comeback to the country you were born and then be shot by racist people, who demand you go "back to your country" because of the color of your skin. Sad but very much a reality in the "greatest country of the world."

As a storyteller, Irma carries herself with ease, and her soft voice forces the audience to closely pay attention to her words and narrative. And while her show is already written, it is easy to note, at least to me, where new information was inserted in order to keep some of the discussed subjects as current as possible, which works fine because the one-hour show is full of insight, educational tidbits, jokes, personal moments, connections with the audience, and a few surprises that make "Why Would I Mispronounce my Own Name?" a must see theatrical experience. 

00049: MJ MUSICAL

MJ: The Musical

I must start by saying I do not like jukebox musicals very much. I have many reasons why I don't like them, but mainly because they seem to be created with little originality, following a simple, uncomplicated, and very predictable structure and storyline. You may disagree with me but that conversation is for another time.

Because of my dislike with jukebox musicals, I was not expecting MJ: The Musical at the Orpheum Theatre in San Francisco, to be much of a show. It is a jukebox musical after all, and my experiences with such shows have been disappointing. The same can be said about musicals based on films, which is a topic I will address in a different blog entry. 

And so, I arrived to the show with conflicting feelings. I didn't expect much of this jukebox musical but deep down I wanted the show to be good because Michael Jackson became my favorite music artist after he came out with "Off the Wall," the only music album by Michael that has been inducted in the Grammy Hall of Fame. And while I don't wear Michael Jackson T-shirts or the white glove, or anything remotely related to Michael Jackson, like many audience members did when I attended the show, I do consider myself a fan. He is the King of Pop after all.

The Orpheum Theater, SF CA

I first have to say how much I enjoyed the beginning of the show, which was "a rehearsal," where a band and dancers were warming up while waiting for Michael to arrive. And when he arrived, he only had a couple of words to say and off they all went into rehearsing a musical number. And from that moment on, I was hooked. And while I knew a lot about Michael's life, musical challenges, and career obstacles and tribulations, it was how the musical was structured and how the plot was set that made this jukebox musical very different from the others I have watched. All thanks to playwright extraordinaire, Lynn Nottage. Yes, there was a plot element that aided in transporting us to Michael's past as a child and slowly moving forward to "the present." But again, its very tight structure and its smart sequence of events within the show made MJ: The Musical a delight and entertaining theatre piece.

One of the many reasons I don't really like jukebox musicals is because, since the majority of songs in such musicals are well-known pop songs or well-known songs by the artists the musical is about, most of the time audience members start to whistle, holler, clap, and/or cheer when they hear their favorite song. At times, audience members get up from their seats and start to dance and even worse, sing, as if they were at a concert. This type of behavior, whether justified or not, is one of the many reasons I dislike jukebox musicals. So throughout the show, while enjoying MJ: The Musical, I was always nervous that some fan would start "joining the fun." And there were a couple of times when that almost happened, but the way the show is written and the way the songs are arranged for the musical, made it difficult for unwanted audience participation to occur. In fact, there was a moment when people started clapping to the beat with a certain song (I think it was Man in the Mirror.) But a few seconds after that, the audience had to stopped because the music rhythms changed and the vocals were done not just by "Michael Jackson" but also by other characters on stage. When that happened, I smiled and I think I even uttered (very softly) the word "yes" in a moment of triumph. 

The merch was selling out! The stage was awesome!

Besides having a very good structure and plot, the acting, the choreography (by Christopher Wheeldon), and the dancing in this musical were amazing. There were times when I thought I was watching a traditional musical with traditional musical numbers with a twist. So as a jukebox musical, the show is so different and so unexpected that it surprises you. At least, it surprised me. 

The show is also very artistic. Even though we are following Michael's life as an artist while putting together his "Dangerous Tour," the show gives the audience the opportunity to understand where Michael's dancing inspiration came from. The transition from the opening number in act two into "Smooth Criminal" becomes a dance history lesson, a homage to great American dancers, such as Fred Astaire, Bob Fosse, and The Nicholas Brothers, artists who made an appearance in the musical, and artists who influenced Michael Jackson's moves, such as the pelvis thrust and the infamous moonwalk. And believe me, the transition from one number to the next is as smooth as the title of the song itself. 

The choreography is top notch; the musical arrangements are unexpected, the dancing is superb, the acting and "off the wall,” and the singing, oh, the singing is just glorious. Everyone in the cast has its moment to shine and everyone in the cast who ended up playing more than one character is magnificent. But of course, the show would be nothing if there wasn't an actor who could embodied Michael Jackson's body and spirit, and the night I went, actor Roman Banks was that vessel, the conduct for Michael Jackson's spirit. Mr. Banks walked, spoke, sang, and dance like the late "King of Pop," making this musical a delight to watch.

At the end, because of the great writing by Ms. Nottage, because of the great Michael embodiment by Mr. Banks, because of the unique choreography by Mr. Wheeldon, and because of the great artistry by the ensemble and the technical team, MJ: The Musical was an unexpected jukebox musical I enjoyable and turned my night at the theatre, truly enjoyable.  

Minimisemos! Let's Get Minimal!

 

(Scroll down for English version) 

Hace algunos meses mire el documental “Mi maestro el pulpo,” el cual tiene que ver con la relación entre un pulpo y un hombre que lo descubre mientras anda de snorkeling. Es un buen documental, lo recomiendo. 

 

El documental me llegó, (como decimos vulgarmente) ya que formuló preguntas acerca de la vida, acerca del significado de la vida, y acerca del propósito de la vida. Por lo menos así fue como me conecté con el filme. La verdad, me dio una buena sacudida por sus temas y me llevé como tres días para poder controlar mis emociones nuevamente. 

 

En parte fue por mi estado de ETA (del cual escribí antes bajo el título Melancolía) y en parte porque en los últimos cuatro meses, debido a la pandemia, he estado lidiando con la muerte de familiares, amigos, y conocidos. No soy el único lidiando con las consecuencias del COVID-19 así que no voy a hundirme en eso. Solo lo quiero mencionar porque en estos días cualquier cosa activa mis sensibilidad. En otras palabras, estoy emocionalmente desequilibrado. 

 

Desde el día que vi “Mi maestro el pulpo,” el algoritmo de Netflix me ha recomendado otros documentales, y he visto algunos, pero nada de que hablar… hasta que vi el documental titulado “Los Minimalistas: Menos es Ahora.”

 

Porque este documental es solo de 53 minutos y porque ya había escuchado de los minimalistas, decidí verlo. Y pues que golpe. El documental es acerca de “las cosas” que tenemos y del hacernos preguntas como: “¿Esto le añade valor a tu vida?” “¿Esto que tienes te hace feliz? “¿Cuándo fue la ultima vez que tomaste en tus manos este artículo porque lo necesitabas?” “¿Desde hace cuanto tiempo es que tienes esta cosa y no lo has usado o le has puesto atención?’

 

Cuando terminó el documental estaba una vez más conmovido. Pero de una manera buena porque lo que estaba sintiendo en ese momento eran las respuestas a las tantas preguntas e inseguridades que sentí cuando miré “Mi maestro el pulpo.”

 

Me di cuenta de que mi vida está llena de cosas, la mayoría solo tomando espacio y acumulando polvo, y que, para poder disfrutar de la vida mucho mejor, para tener una vida mas pacifica, tranquila, y mas motivadora, necesito deshacerme de todas las cosas innecesarias que he acumulado durante los años. 

 

Para poder llegar a eso, necesito aprender a dejar ir, de una manera física y emocional a lo que tengo. Tengo que aprender a apreciar los recuerdos y las experiencias que he vivido desde dentro de mi y no con cosas.

 

No es un proceso fácil, pero uno que he decidido tomar. ¿Será fácil? Claro que no. Pero me conozco, y los retos me emocionan. Me he dado hasta febrero 28 pata deshacerme de todas las cosas que tengo en mi oficina de casa. Así que sígueme en esta aventura/reto para ver que pasa. #carlosmanueldicelaverdad

A couple of months ago or os I was a Netflix documentary titled "My Octopus Teacher." It has to do with the relationship between a Amanda and an octopus he befriended while snorkeling. It is a very good documentary; you should check it out.

I was very touched by the content of the film and the questions it raised regarding life, the meaning of life, and the purpose of life. At least that is how it spoke to me. I was incredibly shaken by such themes that it took me about three days to gain control of my feelings once again. In part, it has to do with my SAD status (you can read about it in my entry titled Winter Blues) and also because the last four months, due to the pandemic, I have been dealing with the passing of family members, friends, and acquaintances. I am not the only one dealing with the consequences of COVID-19 so I’m not going to dwell on that. I simply want to mention it because almost everything triggers my emotions nowadays. In short, I am emotionally imbalanced. 

Since the day I watched “My Octopus Teacher,” the Netflix algorithm has been recommending documentaries. And I have watched a few but nothing to write about…. Until I saw a documentary titled, “The Minimalists: Less is Now.” 

Because the documentary is only 53 minutes long and because I have heard of the minimalists, I decided to watch it. And boy, oh boy! The whole documentary is about the “stuff” we have and about asking ourselves questions such us, “Does this item adds value to my life? Does this item bring me joy/happiness?” “When was the last time I physically grab this particular item because I needed it?” “How long has this item been with me yet I had not use it nor pay attention to it?” 

By the end of the documentary, I was shaken once again. But in a good way, because the feelings I was experiencing at that moment were the illuminating answers to the many questions and uncertainties that I felt when watching “My Octopus Teacher.” 

I realized then that my life is full of stuff, most of it just taking physical space and gathering dust and that in order to enjoy a better, peaceful, fulfilled, tranquil, and exciting life, I need to get rid of a lot of the crap I have accumulated over the years. 

In order to do that, I must learn how to let go, emotionally and physically of the stuff I have. I also must learn to appreciate the memories and experiences I have lived and live by cherish them within me, not with stuff. 

Not an easy process but one I have decided to embark on. Will it be easy? Of course not, but I know myself, and challenges motivate me. And so, I have given myself until February 28 to get rid off of all the stuff in my home office. So follow me in this journey and let’s see what happens. 

#carlosmanuelspeaksthetruth 

MELANCOLIA/WINTER BLUES

(Scroll down for the English version)

El invierno me saca la melancolía. Creo que el término médico es “trastorno afectivo estacional” (TAE), que es un estado de episodios depresivos y ansiedad leve. Mi estado TAE no es severo pero es notable, por lo menos a mi. 

 

Me encuentro menos entusiasmado hacia las cosas, me vuelvo menos productivo, y no me interesa salir de la casa, (esto es algo bueno durante la pandemia). La verdad no tengo energía para hacer cosas, excepto dormir, mirar televisión, y comer (una combinación peligrosa si quiero mantenerme saludable).

 

Se de amigos que compran lámparas especiales para combatir el TAE. Yo no he hecho eso ya que cuando me encuentro en este estado, escribo. Escribo sin parar. Nada especial, solo mis pensamientos, sentimientos, y filosofías que nunca llegan a salir al público.

 

Hace unos días estaba revisando los archivos en mi computadora. Tengo casi 150 carpetas con documentos escritos. Y esas carpetas contienen entre cinco y cien cosas que he escrito que la verdad valen o no la pena. 

 

Tengo carpetas con “las cosas que importan.” Existe, por ejemplo, una carpeta titulada “Plays” (Obras). Esta carpeta contiene otras carpetas clasificadas en diferentes categorías como, “Obras terminadas,” “En progresso,” “En español,” “Bilingües,” “Ideas para obras,” “Resúmenes,” “Sin título,” “Obras cortas, “Obras basadas en casos reales,” y mucho más. Y esta carpeta llamada “Plays” es la ordenada.

 

Tengo una carpeta titulada “Libros,” y otra titulada “Historias,” y una tercera titulada “Cuentos.” La carpeta titulada libros tiene otras carpetas con títulos e ideas para libros que he comenzado pero nunca terminado. Es mas, existen seis diferentes proyectos de libros que están “en camino.” Existe uno, sin embargo, que me orgullece decir continua vivo pues le sigo añadiendo poco a poco.

 

La carpeta titulada “Historias tiene, como ya se imagina, historias cortas. Algunas están terminadas, otras son solo un párrafo, mientras que otras están a la mitad. Algunas historias son cortas, cinco páginas y otras son 20 páginas de largas. Y estas historias están dentro de otras carpetas que han sido clasificadas por género: misterio, ciencia ficción, comedia, drama, etcétera. Lo mismo se puede decir de la carpeta titulada, “cuentos.” La única diferencia es que están escritos en inglés.

 

La carpeta que es el “billete ganador,” se titula “Cosas de Escritura.” Esta carpeta contiene nada más que todo tipo de pensamiento personal que he escrito a través de los años. El contenido es muy revelador de mi estado emocional, intelectual, y personal. La mayoría de lo escrito son cosas muy personales y han sido escritas durante mi periodo de melancolía. Esto significa que esta carpeta es peligrosa pues revela lo mas intimo de mi. 

 

El Trastorno Afectivo Estacional es algo que solo pasa durante los meses de invierno, y porque durante algunos años viví en un lugar donde no salía el sol desde octubre a febrero, hay mucho escrito en esta carpeta. Y porque TAE es provocado por días sin sol, esta es una de las razones por las cuales no viajo mucho a lugares que son muy “invernales” o muy “depresivos.” Y si voy a esos lugares, me vuelvo muy introvertido y callado (quizá una bendiciones para las personas a mi alrededor).

 

El punto principal no es estatus de TAE sino el hecho de que yo lidio  con mi melancolía por medio de la escritura. Y escribo mucho, aunque nadie llegue a leer las ciento de páginas que he escrito. #carlosmanueldicelaverdad.

WINTER BLUES

Wintertime brings out “the blues” in me. I think the medical term is “seasonal affective disorder (SAD),” which is the result of feeling sad and the feeling of having no energy. Those who work in the medical field call people with this disorder, SAD Sufferers. 

My SAD condition isn’t severe, but it is noticeable, to me at least. I become less productive. I become less enthusiastic about things. I become uninterested in anything outside the house, (which right now it is a good thing due to the pandemic). I have no energy to do anything except sleep, watch TV, and eat (a dangerous combination when it comes to staying healthy). 

I know of friends who buy special lighting to fight their SAD state. I have not done that, mainly because when I am in a state of SAD, I write. I write non-stop. Nothing special, just thoughts, feelings, philosophical stuff that never sees the time of day. 

Just a few days ago I was going through my computer files. I have close to 150 different folders with “writing stuff” in them. And those folders contain between five and 100 different items of “written stuff” that may or may not mean something. 

I also have folders with “the stuff that matter.” There is, for example, a folder titled, “OBRAS” (Plays). These folder contains many other folders classified in different categories such as, “Finished Plays,” “In Progress,” “En Español,” “Bilingual,” “Play Ideas,” “Summaries,” “Untiled Plays,” “Short Plays,” “Based-on Plays,” and so much more. And this folder called “Obras” is the “organized” folder. 

I also have a folder titled “BOOKS,” another titled “STORIES,” and a third one titled “CUENTOS.” The “books folder” contains many other folders within it with titles of book ideas I have started but never continued nor finished. There are in fact, six different title books, projects that are “in medias res.” There is one project though, that I’m proud to say, continues to stay alive for I add to the story little by little. 

The “stories folder” contains, you guessed it, short stories. Some are completely finished, others are just a paragraph long while others are half-way done. Some short stories are very short, five-pages long, and others are up to 20 pages long. And the stories are inside other folders that have been classified by genre: mystery, sci-fy, comedy, drama, etc… The same can be said for the folder titled, “cuentos.” The only difference: the writing is in Spanish. 

The folder that is the “golden ticket” is titled “Writing Stuff.” This folder contains nothing but random thoughts I have written over the years. Those writings are very revealing of my state of mind, my emotional state, and the person that I am. Most of the written content is about my inner thoughts, and are mostly written during my “winter blues” periods. This means that this folder is the most dangerous. It truly reveals my inner most self. 

The Sad Effective Disorder is something that happens during the winter months, and because for a few years I lived in a place where the sun will be covered by gray skies from October to February, there is in fact, a lot of inner most self writing in the “writing stuff” folder. And because SAD is trigger by gloomy days, this is one of the main reason I avoid traveling to places that are too “winter-like” or “gloomy.” If I go to this places, I become a very quiet individual (perhaps a blessing to the people around me).

The point here is not my SAD status but the fact I deal with my SAD, by writing. And I write a lot, even if no one ever gets to see the hundreds of pages I have written. #carlosmanuelspeaksthetruth