Strutting And Fretting

Krissa and myself and the rest of the Communicable Arts team, headed by the incredible Barrie and Becky, did two of our run of four shows in outer borough parks this past weekend.

Von King Park in Brooklyn was first on Saturday, and the park was sunny, green and dominated by a baseball diamond in one corner. A Community Arts Center in the middle of the park had a skewed concrete amphitheatre set in front of a baking stage backed with abandoned equipment and detritius of set-making; broken chairs, wooden offcuts, rusting power tools and a set of very dusty golf clubs. The park was lively, with stalls selling lemonade and jewellery, and the arts centre was dotted with rabbits, fish and lizards in glass aquariums. Maybe because of the relentless sun, the noise of the park, the wind and the airliners overhead, or because of the body-language commitment of coming and sitting in the amphitheatre which was set below the paths of the park, our audience was small. Clustered in the little shade beneath a small tree or hanging, curious, over the edges of the amphitheatre, observers were fleeting or diverted.

Towards the end of the play within a play a glass bottle smashed on stage. There was a sudden double-take, and stunned looks up to the parapets of the seating area, but we pressed on and finished the scene.

Great, I thought. Now I know how it feels to be Daphne and Celeste.

The play finished and we felt good; despite the noise and the lack of a thrilled horde of spectators. The bottle had fallen from the roof of the theatre in the wind. I mean, the play within the play is bad...it's meant to be, only it's also meant to be so bad that it's funny. Not worthy of shattered glass...so we hadn't been feeling too bad anyway.

In a way Saturday's performance reminded me of student radio at university. There was an awful lot of effort beforehand for an audience you're not entirely sure of, but in spite of all the doubts you have it's a kick and you enjoy it.

Sunday was an entirely different kettle of fish.

Maria Hernandez Park is a park with a story behind it. This Village Voice article is a handy summary (also rather conveniently detailing the Mexican place a lot of us ate at afterwards).
The park was thronging in the sunshine. A square block with a large open circular terrace in the middle surrounded by baseball pitches and an enormous children's play area. Our stage was a raised section of the central terrace. It was agreed that no-one was too do falls or tumbles on the mosaic-like stage, nor was anyone to lie on the red-hot surface without a blanket or sheet (no small thing in a play where some of the cast spend whole scenes asleep). Kids swung precariously from climbing frames backstage.

We had a tent for costume changes and to hide behind when we weren't meant to be visible to the audience, but from the second we started the bulk of the audience were sitting at the sides enjoying both the play and the drama behind the tent: quick costume changes, hot and hasty gulps of iced water, and fighters who had been giving each other atomic wedgies on stage moments earlier leaning on each other for support in the heat.
After her first couple of scenes in serious makeup and brightly coloured fairy garb Krissa sank to a sitting position under the climbing frames.
"Why summer Shakespeare? What's wrong with spring Shakespeare?"

Kids who had been playing baseball or monkeying about on the climbing frames came and sat in front of and on the edge of the stage. A woman with a cart selling flavoured ices set up shop in the middle of the terrace, watching in between sales (a sure-fire sign that people are gathering in New York is when someone else turns up to sell them things). Families stopped on their park walks. Old guys sat nonchalantly on benches, completely incidentally facing in directions which meant they could see everything going on.

It was great.

It also had an unexpected little bit of added realism when, running away from a freshly transformed Bottom, I skidded and fell, tearing my trousers and bloodying my knee, but adding a fake roll for added good theatrical measure. I'm still walking with a bit of a limp.

By the time the final scene rolled around, everyone was playing up to the crowd, and we finished on a fantastic high. I can't wait for this weekend and our next two shows.

Krissa and I have behind-stop seats at a Yankees game tonight.
So..baseball. That's like cricket, only in a square, right?

Post-game update @ 11.26PM: That'll be behind-homeplate seats that I was thinking of, then. And we didn't have them. We were in a box on the tier. Which was awesome. More...only not now. Now...sleeeeep.