Handcart
Ensemble: A Young NYC Theatre Company
Part
One in a Two-Part Series
by Barrett Ogden
How,
then, to consistently involve oneself in projects that present
a viewpoint one can feel good about?
Left
to Right and Front to Back: Kevin Ashworth, Erin Treadway, Christy
Summerhays, J. Scott Reynolds, Steven Gridley, James Mack, Mireille
Enos, Barrett Ogden
The squeaking
and rattling noises outside of Scott Reynolds’ 103rd
St East Harlem apartment window are due to rats rummaging through
garbage heaped in the courtyard below (the immediate neighborhood’s
zipcode is aptly listed "Hellgate"). Fancying himself an up-and-coming
artist, these sounds, for him, are not without an oddly gratifying
symbolism. The conceit that one is passing through a sort of existential
abyss wherein only a hardy elect dare venture is the consolation
prize when a career’s returns are other than monetary. And
yet there are plenty of rat-free buildings in New York City that
a person can live in affordably, another 100 blocks up in Washington
Heights. Why live at East 103rd?
The answer
is because he might get up the gumption to go for a jog every
now and then, and Central Park (only three streets away) is a
runner’s paradise. If you do a lap around the reservoir,
the sensation is of New York’s every spire seeming to revolve
around you. The effect is especially liberating when pressures
mount and you begin to feel like an insect with the heel of somebody’s
dress shoe looming overhead. For an exhilarating moment, you’re
the one who appears to be in control of things.
Today, however,
his knee is acting up and he’ll have to find inspiration
through different means. Inspiration on an almost daily basis
is important, because, as previously insinuated, his chosen career
path as a theatrical producer -- to which he devotes the better
part of his time and energy -- does not yet provide financial
rewards. Reynolds fully intends to be able to quit his day job
eventually, but morale in the meantime requires a deep belief
in the inherent worth of making plays for people to watch and
experience.
And he does.
The theatrical moment is a highly concentrated one wherein all
one’s attention falls upon a vision of life enacted by fellow
human beings. The compactness of such moments, combined with their
flesh-and-blood vitality, hold considerable potential to affect
a person’s view of things, so he not only enjoys what he
does, but believes it to be important.
Herein lies
a problem. As a Latter-day Saint, his vision of life includes
such features as the ever-nearness of divinity, a transcendent
morality, and human beings as fascinating, beautiful creatures.
Some of what is produced in the contemporary theater is consonant
with this vision, but a great deal is not.
How then,
to consistently involve oneself in projects that present a viewpoint
one can feel good about?
Handcart Ensemble
was formed in New York City in 1999 to address this concern.
My name is
Barrett Ogden, an old compatriot of Scott’s from our days
as Theatre undergrads at Brigham Young University. Between teaching
seminary, the youth Sunday School class, and helping Molly (my
wife of seven years) in the Nursery in our small branch, my schedule
is tight. After temping 9-5, what little time left is too precious
to buy, even for the Ivy-League bankers whose phones I answer.
I’m also the co-founder and a core actor of Handcart Ensemble.
In 1998, I’d
recently left Rutgers’ graduate acting program in central
Jersey. Scott had just finished a writing workshop at Boston Playwrights’
Theater. In a series of phone conversations, we revisited the
idea of starting up the theater company we’d discussed while
at BYU. Now was the time to move to New York and do it, we agreed.
Not merely as a mechanism for gaining exposure and landing gigs,
but more importantly as an opportunity for actors, directors,
and writers (LDS and otherwise) who value art as a means of accessing
the sublime to create work that would have its own impact.
 |
| From
left to right: Corey Bonvillain, Meredith Higbee, and (behind
curtain) Michael Burns |
Accessing
the sublime is at the center of Spencer W. Kimball’s 1976
First Presidency Message, entitled "The Gospel Vision of the Arts".
Here the prophet framed in emphatic and fiery language compelling
images of Mormon artists yet to come. These, he said, would rival
or surpass the heights of Rembrandt, Beethoven, Shakespeare, and
others whose names are equated with the greatest art of the western
world.
Several would
argue that the content of this message has been oft abused as
license for "Mormon art" of middling quality to proliferate, relying
on its subject matter to make up for its lack of excellence. Others
would answer that in seeking to avoid this trap, several Latter-Day
Saint artists unnecessarily steer away from including the fabric
of religious belief in their works, even shunning the gospel altogether.
In seeking
to combat bland mediocrity and cheap sentiment on the one hand,
and a rising tide of morally corrosive counterfeits on the other,
President Kimball’s words inspired us to consider another
route. His references to the masterpieces of the past called our
attention more carefully to them. The classics endure because
of their inherent worth. In emulating the grandeur of their poetic
splendor, perhaps new masterworks could be born. Even Shakespeare
fashioned his plays in this way, using what had gone on before
him as a model and point of departure.
One cannot
assume the role of fulfilling prophecy. We can’t do God any
favors; He’ll make use of us how/when He will. If revelation
really is "99% perspiration and 1% inspiration", the finding can
only be achieved in the doing. One must simply do all one can
do and, in the words of the late Lowell R. Tingey (my former Mission
President and an exceptional human being) "[pray to] be where
we ought to be, when we ought to be there, doing what we ought
to be doing."
We arrived
at three simple artistic guidelines:
What to do
that would satisfy our spiritual values and set us apart from
the pack artistically? We wanted to create works that a) acknowledge
the existence of a higher moral order and b) are possessed of
or allow the possibility of being represented through formal elements
(language, stage movement) whose bounds are not limited to those
of day to day experience. New translations, new adaptations, or
original works would be our focus. In this way, the material we
selected would be exclusive to our company. The poetry of elevated
language would support the heightened dramatic reality we sought
to embrace.
We would focus
on what is unique to theatre as an art form: the immediacy of
living human beings, the actors with the audience. Rather than
try to compete with film’s ability to dazzle the spectator
with technological wizardry, or attempt a cheap approximation
of the lavish sets and elaborate costumes afforded by a Broadway
budget, we would focus on the actor-audience relationship by going
in a different direction. Spectacle would originate in scenic
effects produced through the actors’ bodies, encouraging
the participation of the spectators with their imaginations in
completing the picture. Rather than seek to reproduce reality
(as evidenced in the naturalistic acting prevalent in film and
much of western theatre) we would embrace the concentrated nature
of dramatic action through a more theatrical, heightened approach;
not wooing the audience or forgetting them, but recognizing their
presence and co-creating with them.
Building our
own theatre company would allow the creative freedom to find expression
of that unique voice, to do the kind of work we would most enjoy,
and to be a potential positive force in the world. Theatre being
a collaborative art, creating a permanent group would be vital.
The work of the 20th century’s greatest theatre
innovators -- Konstantin Stanislavsky, Vsyevelyod Meyerhold, Bertolt
Brecht, Peter Brook, Jerzy Grotowski, Eugenio Barba, and others
-- had been realized through consistent, intensive, rigorous work,
training, and continuing research building on a body of shared
experience. This had been possible only through the establishment
of permanent groups of actors working together over sustained
periods of years, even decades, their energies and efforts focused
and directed as a collective by leaders of a special kind. This
would be essential if work of the caliber, scope, and positive
force that we envisioned was to have the possibility of being
realized.
Left
to Right: Barrett Ogden, J. Scott Reynolds, Michael McCurdy
Michael McCurdy,
a Long Islander we knew at the Y, had just married and left a
Company Manager’s job at the Shakespeare Theater in Washington,
D.C. to work at the William Morris Agency. He was also serving
on the Long Island District Council and therefore had no time,
but we somehow talked him into being our Managing Director. Mireille
Enos and Michael Burns, actor friends that we also knew in college,
were recruited to be in our first production, slated for the summer
of 1999. Next on the list: seed money. From who? The immediate
Reynolds family agreed to a sum that would satisfy a minimum budget.
Nothing left but to designate Scott as Artistic Director: a talented
director and sober yet visionary leader, he was the obvious choice.
As our group’s
existence solidified, we began looking for a play, which Scott
would direct and everyone else would act in. "Shakespeare? Everyone
does him . . . how about Jean Racine’s Phèdre?"
People seemed warm to the idea. One of the greatest Neo-Classic
playwrights of 17th Century France, Racine would provide
a source of heightened language well suited to our aesthetic.
And he’s not done much, not in the USA, at any rate.
Next thing
we knew, a high-profile London production of two Racine plays
swept into town, including Phèdre. Oops. "Let’s
not compete with Diana Rigg," we decided. "How about a lesser-known
Racine play?" Scott proffered. He’d read Andromaque,
and was awed by the intensity of its plot. Michael McCurdy was
worried about its obscurity. Reynolds held that writing a new
translation would create novelty and help draw attention to the
project. This, combined with enthusiastic persistence, finally
won over the business-minded Managing Director.
This was a
tremendously ambitious undertaking on the part of a new company
with such limited resources. Aside from young actors tackling
such heavyweight material for the group’s debut, Scott’s
translation was to be the only extant English version to retain
Racine’s original structure (rhyming Alexandrine verse).
In addition, there would be no time to workshop or compose additional
drafts. Reynolds would have to finish the new translation in time
to meet a swiftly approaching rehearsal deadline, and then switch
immediately to directorial mode.
At this point
the question was raised of what our group should be called. "How
about Handcart Ensemble?" the Artistic Director proposed. We liked
it. Simple, distinctive, the obvious associations with our religious
heritage were present and unapologized for. It was as a red flag
to other Latter-Day Saints, piquing curiosity. The image of the
handcart also spoke of dedication, determination, thrift, economy,
and heroism in the face of poverty, all attributes characteristic
of how wished to be or the conditions we would have to face in
seeking to realize the dream. It was a reminder of trial, sacrifice,
and weaknesses being transformed into strengths by God. That we
must never cease to strive, never settle or give up the journey.
That with our Heavenly Father there are no limits to what we can
eventually do or become.
Those who
did not share an LDS background associated "handcart" with simplicity,
mobility, utility, and minimalism: all characteristic of our desired
manner of presentation, dictated by choice as much as much as
an extremely modest budget. The implicit refutation of glamour
seemed fitting in response to the slick fashion consciousness
prevalent in much of what is characterized as "avant-garde" today.
Scene
from Andromaque
Our name decided,
there was much more to be done. Michael, Scott and I continued
to meet regularly and coordinate our efforts, searching for the
right actors to complete the cast and other necessary personnel.
This was a process very different from that usual in more commercially
minded theatre. Talent and suitability for the role were not the
only requirements. We needed individuals with enthusiasm for the
vision behind this project, who respected the idea of transcendent
moral truth. Generosity of spirit and lack of "showbiz" mentality
were also important. This had to be a labor of love, rather than
just a chance to be seen by an agent.
Angels do
walk among us. Aware that the script had not yet been completed,
eight actors, as well as two designers, a stage manager, and others
embarked upon the project with no incentive other than the satisfaction
of taking part. With one exception, the group consisted entirely
of Latter-Day Saints, several of them BYU alumni. This was determined
not so much by design as by the availability of those we already
knew.
If casting
and staffing a production doesn’t present enough of a challenge,
securing the right rehearsal and performance space can be a precarious
enough business to keep most anyone occupied. When you know that
every dollar saved will be one more towards guaranteeing the next
production, bargain hunting can take on all the shadowy intricacies
of an episode from The X Files. Most theatre groups in
town don’t own an actual theatre space. In NYC they don’t
come cheap, rentals being no exception, and all carry a host of
unforeseen challenges. Minimizing such hurdles is key in aiding
a production’s success.
With space
secured, and a complete cast and crew, Reynolds completed his
marathon translation the day before rehearsals were scheduled
to begin. We were all set. Andromaque would be Handcart
Ensemble’s debut.
TO BE CONTINUED
NEXT WEEK…
*For further
information on Handcart Ensemble, to contact us, or to find out
how you can help or get involved, please see our website at http://www.handcartensemble.org,
email us at handcart@handcartensemble.org,
or call our information line at (212) 726-8054.
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