In its annual round-up, The East Bay Express has named Those Women Productions the best year-old theater company in the East Bay! Woohoo!
Those Women was founded in 2014 by Carol Lashoff and Elizabeth L. Vega, who wanted to explore the flip side of canonical stories about gender and power. I did the fights for their world-premiere production of Carol’s play Just Deserts last year, which was hailed as “innovative and harrowing,” “satisf[ying] as diverse an audience as it attracts.” (I sincerely meant to write all about the show; short version, it was great!)
As you might expect from a Best of the Bay, Those Women are at it again: Carol’s play Disclosure opens August 12th at PianoFight in San Francisco, and a festival of retold fairy tales opens as In Plain Sight on September 4th at the Metal Shop Theater in Berkeley.
Hamlet rehearsal, looking at a few non-fight bits of physicality in the show, including Laertes and Ophelia bidding farewell. Dave Maier watches them, thinks for a moment, and then asks, “Do you guys know what a ‘noogie’ is?”
The Wheel of Time turns, the ages come and go, and once again the spring semester at St. Mary’s College draws to a close. We did unarmed this semester, and even though I had to get up early on Saturdays, the class was the perfect way to start the weekend: hanging out with Dave, a scenic drive, a coffee run, and a nice-sized group of eight gathered in a sunny dance studio.
I really like the vibe at St. Mary’s. The students are mostly theater majors, so there’s an air of theaterness! and theatery things! without the eternal struggle for time and space that comes with working on a show. They all know and work with each other outside class, which benefit to the work outweighs the occasional complication, I think, and they’re excited to be doing something so awesome.
Normally I only partner with a student if there’s an odd number in the class — which there was — so I was fighting the one lefty, but some further enrollment shuffling put me with another student, as well, and a unique challenge: I’ve never fought the same side of the same fight, first as a righty, then as a lefty. Sometimes back to back. Mostly it was fine, the physical logic dictating which side did what (thanks, Dave!), but every so often my brain would short-circuit, bluescreen, and restart. It’s like the rapier-dagger confusion but harder to cover up — I’m just glad this arrangement is unlikely to come up in a show! My partners were very gracious. :0)
No summer plans yet, fight-wise, but I hope to have some soon.
I was back at the San Francisco Opera with Dave Maier last week, helping out at an intro to stage combat workshop for the staff. We did something similar in January for the public as part of the opera’s Overture series, which introduces audience members to various behind-the-scenes aspects of theater. That first workshop got written up in SF Weekly, which I totally meant to post about.
There was a special treat this time, one we didn’t see in January: a clip of the opera’s production of Showboat. We were watching for the fistfight at the beginning — and well done, Dave! — but I also really enjoyed the sheer spectacle of the production, even in the short clip. I don’t usually go to the opera, or to big musicals, and I forget how much fun it is to see a zillion people dance and sing on a life-size set. So maybe I’ll be back at the opera soon — without the weapons bag this time.
The eternal question: How short can a fight be and still get its story across, not just to people who are looking to read the fight like a book, but to a general audience?
Take this fight from my latest obsession, True Detective. Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey are amazing as homicide detectives Marty Hart and Rustin Cohle, who are partners but not exactly friends…
EXT DAY, police station parking lot. Hand-held camera. COHLE, in a plaid flannel and khakis, walks toward the station, looking grim. HART, having left his gun, badge, rings, jacket, and tie behind, bursts from the door and runs for COHLE, who holds his hands out to the side.
Just comin’ for my files, Marty.
HART barrels into COHLE, shoulder in his gut, and they go down to the pavement rather spectacularly — COHLE’s feet fly off the ground, his right arm reaches down to catch himself, and they land with a heavy grunt. HART, kneeling/crouching between COHLE’s legs, punches him in the face, right-left-right, before COHLE grabs his lapels and shoves him back, then gets his feet on HART’s stomach and throws him off. They scramble up.
Stop this shit.
HART aims a left at COHLE, who bobs out of the way, but HART’s following right catches him in the eye. COHLE tries to close and grapple to defuse HART’s punching power, but HART uppercuts him in the stomach. They struggle briefly, COHLE gaining the upper hand. COHLE returns the gut-punch and throws HART over his hip. (For those of us counting, there is an unexplained knap at this moment.) HART rises and squares off again.
Swing, Marty! You’re gettin’ your ass kicked.
HART gets COHLE with a right, and another, but COHLE dodges the third and lets HART’s own momentum take him to the ground.
Stop them! Stop!
HART rushes COHLE again; COHLE sidesteps, grabs HART, and sends him slamming into the back of a red pickup. (COHLE’s truck, as it happens.) HART is nearly horizontal when he hits, and he falls hard on the pavement, face down. COHLE puts out a warning hand.
Stay down, Marty.
Calm down, Marty! That’s enough.
HART gets up and gives COHLE another big, flying punch in the face. COHLE closes with HART and gets him into a joint lock, forcing HART’s doubled-over left wrist to the outside of his left shoulder. Just then, the cavalry arrives and many burly arms pull them apart. Three guys hang onto a struggling, wild-eyed HART, while COHLE backs away and keeps his hands up where everyone can see them. The left side of his face is a bloody mess.
So, in this forty-five second fight, Hart punches Cohle eight times, seven of those in the face. Cohle puts distance between them four times and punches Hart only once.
If you had to guess, who’s the more trained fighter? And who slept with whose wife?
ETA, after this post was linked: This is my own write-up of the scene, done from the video.
A fight buddy recently said, “I have this idea, but everyone thinks it’s fucked up.”
“Now you have to tell me.”
“I want to do The Laramie Project, but… actually stage the murder.”
Okay. Wow. The Laramie Project is a play put together from interviews with residents of Laramie, WY shortly after the 1997 murder of Matthew Shepherd. He was pistol-whipped into a coma and left to die, tied to a fence outside of town. Put that on stage? For a play about a community divided and haunted by violent death? Fucked up, yeah, but not a bad idea, and I said as much. At the time, which was a few months before the national white consciousness turned to racism, my thoughts were on Dave Kipp.
As far as we could tell, Dave and I were the only Deadheads at Andrew W. Mellon Middle School. We spent seventh and eighth grades attached at the hip, arguing about music, rewatching The Matrix, and hanging out in the pagan/occult shop a stone’s throw from school.
We fell out of touch after I moved in mid-2000, and in late 2013, I was shocked when another friend wrote to let me know that Dave had just died. Trying to find out what happened, made uneasy by the lack of information, I found an article detailing Dave’s 2010 arrest on drug charges and how, in the holding cell, he’d been assaulted by a prison guard making homophobic slurs. A court case against the guard dragged on for years, and Dave died the week before his attacker’s sentencing.
There was a picture with the article: Dave with black eyes, a broken and splinted nose. I have never seen a face I loved so ravaged. That image hovers between me and every nice memory of my friend.
In the wake of grand juries failing to indict Darren Wilson and Sean Williams for their fatal shootings, and Daniel Pantaleo for the choking death of Eric Garner, I have been thinking about crime and punishment. What did I want to happen to Arii Metz, the guard who attacked Dave? At first — this time, last year — I was boiling over with rage that his defense included “prison guards don’t do well in jail” and “I have a young son,” and that he was sentenced to only probation and counseling.
Last week, Facebook told me that Turner Smith, one of my NYC fight-quaintances (too awkward?), is working on the new show Gotham. Cool, thought I. He’s the stunt double for some guy named Ben McKenzie.
When I went to actually watch the show, I saw that McKenzie plays Detective Jim Gordon, future commissioner and Gotham‘s main man. Super cool! My dad joined me in playing “spot the back of Turner’s head,” and I look forward to playing tonight, too, same Bat time, same FOX channel.