Interview with Whales, Save Us! playwright, Elizabeth Leavitt

One of my favorite parts of my job as Literary Manager for RTC is the chance to get to converse with and get to know lesser-known playwrights. I recently had the chance to chat with Elizabeth Leavitt about Whales, Save Us! which opens later this week.

RTC: Name? 

EL: Elizabeth Leavitt

RTC: Hometown?

EL: Sacramento

RTC: Current Town?

EL:  Salt Lake City  

RTC: Tell us about Whales, Save Us!
EL: This is a play I wrote as my thesis for grad school. I worked on it with a lot of great help and support. 

RTC: What made you write Whales?
EL: There were two initial germs. #1 is a little watercolor I did. My aim was to develop a play visually. So painting a bit helped get me going. 

RTC: Tell me about that second "germ".
EL: It was based upon an experience I had hearing a speaker through a Western Fairs Association. 

RTC: Why the greek tragic form? Did you start out to write Whales this way, or did it evolve into this form?
EL:I knew I wanted a chorus. The three nuns from John Guare's, The House of Blue Leaves were a big inspiration. There's a company out of Cornwall called KneeHigh and they do these great choruses. If you notice - the Girl Scouts really act as one. #1 only asks questions. #2 only says statements, and #3 eats. I thought it was a worthwhile challenge. And I wanted big stakes - life or death. And no one does over dramatic like the Greeks.

RTC: In your mind, what is “The Big One”?
EL: Oh who knows...I'll leave the why up to audiences and actors.

RTC: What do the girl scouts represent to you?
EL: Odd morality and self-sufficiency. 

RTC: Why did you choose to use girl scouts, but put them in the 1970’s brownie uniforms?
EL: My goal was to have a very visual play. It was between three girl scouts or three ballerinas. I wanted young girls with a very unsentimental world view - and I wanted that communicated loud and clear. Rather than having them explain their bottom-line sensibility I felt the uniforms would say it all. The new Girl Scouts of America are so damned watered down I could just weep - so I looked to the past.

RTC: You managed to write a fair amount of swearing without using the actual swear words – what spurred this choice?
EL: I think half-swearing is very funny. 

RTC: What (to you) was the most exciting part of the original production?
EL: Well, I just die when an audience laughs. So that was exciting.

RTC: What would you like the Columbus audience to know about Whales?
EL: Guys, this is a great show.

RTC: Tell us a story from your childhood which explains who you are.
EL: When I was three, in preschool, we sang The 12 Days of Christmas and each kid was chosen to depict one of the days. I was desperate to be 7 Swans, 6 Geese, 11 Pipers -- anyway, long story short, I got stuck with 3 French Hens and I thought, "this is how the rest of my effing life is gonna be."

RTC: Who are your favorite playwrights?
EL: John Patrick Shanley and John Guare 

RTC: What kind of theatre really stimulates you?
EL: I love when someone says the truth and it costs them a whole hell of a lot.

RTC:Tell us about a play which deeply impacted you.
EL: Savage in Limbo. It really guts me in the best way. Let me include an excerpt to persuade you to it (please read the whole play some time): "As I have told you, this is the very drink that killed my mother. My father died of nothin at all, which is maybe the saddest thing a person can pass on from. But my mother, who was the only one ever stupid enough to love me, my mother died from this drink that Murk is making me now. I have always taken consolation where I could find it, even when it caused me grief." (April, Savage in Limbo - by John Patrick Shanley)

RTC: What made you want to be involved with the theatre?
EL: Quite truthfully, I don't always want to be in it. It can really get me down. I like it a lot though. There's no better feeling than watching your play and seeing it done well. It's pretty great, and I think you should try it some time. Just take care of your heart, if you can.

RTC: What else have you written?
EL: I wrote a play about The Creature from the Black Lagoon writing for Oprah's Book Club, a monologue play about a Romanian gymnast discovering Diet Dr. Pepper and a play that sounds very boring but is a crowd favorite (4 friends - coming of age [Sounds riveting, I know]).

RTC: What are you currently working on?
EL: At the moment I'm working on some narratives without words (animations, of all things). I'm taking a short break from plays because words are failing me. Or I'm failing words.

Raconteur likes to ask people the Inside the Actor’s Studio 10 questions, so here goes..
RTC:What is your favorite word?
EL: Hi

RTC: What is your least favorite word? 

EL: Actually

RTC: What turns you on? 

EL: Cleverness

RTC: What turns you off? 

EL: Self importance

RTC: What sound or noise do you love? 

EL: Syncopated clapping in 1960s girl group songs

RTC: What sound or noise do you hate? 

EL: That 'ping' before a flight attendant speaks.

RTC: What is your favorite curse word? 

EL: Fuck

RTC: What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? 

EL: Graphic novelist

RTC: What profession would you not like to do? 

EL: Doctor

RTC: If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? 

EL: I suppose I hope we wouldn't have to say anything, me and God.

                  

   

Wait, Wait - You People Care What I Have To Say??

It's that time. Time for me to write my director's notes for the program.

I am firmly convinced that every person who has ever written their own bio for something has complained about how much they hate writing it. I certainly have and loads of people I know.

Somehow program notes seem about 15,000 times worse than a bio. When a write a bio people have a limited amount of surface details to judge me on. But with program notes I am expected to inspire, entertain, intrigue, or at least sound kinda smart. So really, is it any wonder I have "the fear"?
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It's All About Soul...

Music is a critical piece of my directing world - so much so that when I heard the director of 500 Days of Summer created a soundtrack for each day to provide to the actors just so they could get a feel for the emotional landscape of the scene I was sold. I sought out the movie (and I was pissed upon finding out the limited release did not include Ohio.)
So, it has been kinda weirding me out that I keep changing my effing mind about the music for this show! Originally I wanted all addiction/addictive substance related songs, then materialism, now it's become this odd mishmash... And I have become hellbent to find the curtain call song. I keep thinking it should be pop-y and upbeat, but nothing seems to fit because all the songs that really resonate are much more low key. C'est la vie.
Turns out I may have found it... And it is not at all what I expected: a cover of Gnarles Barkley's Crazy.... maybe I'm crazy? Yeah. Probably.
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"I like to think of any triple bypass rehearsal as a variation on the trust fall."

As a director, I feel one of the hardest things is choosing when to take the scripts out of your actor's hands. I'm not a parent, but I assume this struggle is similar to watching your child try to ride a bike without training wheels. Do you set the date early to force them to get the books out of their hands and therefore get really comfortable early on, or allow them to cling to the safety net until it is necessary to let go.

Option A means some fierce struggle, but in the end a really nice payoff. Option B gives your actors the comfort they need to explore their characters, until they suddenly have only a couple weeks to learn what it is they don't know... and "Oh crap! What do I do with my hands now that they are suddenly unencumbered??"

For this current show the decision was somewhat taken out of my hands - we have a cast member coming in late and I felt it was especially important for the cast to be very secure in their lines by the time our newbie joined us so she can assimilate as quickly and painlessly as possible. I selected a date halfway through the process and mentally braced myself for the idea that this might not be easy.

Tonight, was the first night off-book for Act One. I'm certain it was hell for my actors. All in all, I thought they did quite good. Yes, there were scenes I wanted to allow them to pick up their scripts, but I steeled myself against this with the knowledge that they now know what they don't know.

Did I make the right choice? I guess that still remains to be seen, but for now.. I think yes.

Joe Cocker Had Help From His Friends So Why Can't I?

I seem to be developing a habit of comparing past experiences to more recent revelations. I'd like to say this post was headed in a different direction, but saying that would create a "pants on fire" situation.

When I was in fourth grade I learned about poetry. For some reason, something inside me ached to write like this. I would lie in bed at night trying to put pen to paper. 

Four years later I had the great fortune of being blessed both with a scheduling mishap which caused an English class with only 7 students and an amazing teacher. She was able to really spend time on everything we did - and we spent a fair amount of time on poetry. All she needed to do was to point out that sometimes poetry rhymed, and sometimes not. Soon I was filling up entire journals with verses, learning to love the texture of words.

Three years ago I found a script I felt had some potential for us to produce. When I presented it the board asked if I would be interested in directing. I wasn't even ready to think about that. I'd taken a couple directing classes in college - sure I'd received a couple very nice compliments from professors on my work during the final, but still - what did I know? I was certain it couldn't be enough to take on a full length. 

In some ways I was right. I loved working on that show and I will always be glad both that we produced it and that I did allow myself to venture into the unknown. Since that time I have taken on three shorts for our most recent three flex productions. They have all been great experiences and each has taught me something about myself and about directing. Most recently I directed S.W. Senek's Milk Cartons. I knew I would have fun, but I was so worried the audience wouldn't see the humor as I did. There were other scripts I could have fought to do, but I really thought they wouldn't be the same challenge - and before I attempted the enormity of tackling my next full length production I needed to believe in myself - and in my ability to see insane, relate-able  humor. 

Tonight was the first real rehearsal for Whales, Save Us! I have been looking forward to directing this show since the first time I read it. However, about 85 minutes before rehearsal started I suddenly because so nervous I was nauseous. Crazy! This was something I knew how to do. Maybe it wasn't nerves... maybe it was the fact I needed my asthma medication - or the fact I hadn't eaten lunch. All I know is when my actors walked in I knew what pages we were rehearsing and in what order, but did I need more? I really didn't know. It took faith in a dear friend who had told me days prior to trust myself, that sometimes it's better to know what you know and what you don't. 

Just like poetry, I needed someone I believed in to tell me that it was okay to walk in with a plan which wasn't entirely fleshed out and to trust where my instincts took me. So my plan was to treat this like one much longer short play. I wasn't stressing and I was going to be honest and just lay out the facts for my actors and trust that if there was an issue they would tell me. And you know what? We had a great rehearsal - much better than we would have had if I'd walked in with blocking and exercises and a minute-by-minute schedule.

This is gonna be one hell of a show - get excited.

What good is a safety net full of holes?

I used to be that girl. The one who appears incredibly confident. She falls while rollerblading and just laughs at herself, she sees someone new on campus and barges up to them to demand an introduction. When everyone is in jeans, she's in peasant blouses and long gauzy skirts looking super feminine. I've often wondered what happened to that girl.

When I got married, I regained a bit of her while planning. I immersed myself in the details selecting what I liked and what made sense to me rather than what everyone else was doing - the girl with the oddball vendors. It seems when I am operating as part of a we the confidence quietly slips into place.

My mom says she made me afraid of everything because I was her first so she was worried about everything with me and I do think that makes sense. Except that somehow I became that girl and then lost her.

Tonight, we read a script about a relationship. The two are both being unfaithful - he to his wife, she to her sister (who happens to also be his wife). At first the two are strikingly human, but as the story grew I began to see him not as an imperfect soul who made an error in judgement, but a completely flawed person. He was demanding, full of excuses, felt he was blameless for the swath of damage in their lives... every choice he had to make he chose poorly. And while pondering this play, suddenly I knew where she went.

I wouldn't call Lily and Carter's relationship abusive, dysfunctional would be far more appropriate and yet his character called to mind an ex from college I haven't spoken to in several years. In the beginning, I knew dating him was the wrong choice, yet I allowed myself - almost dared myself to make it anyway. I can tell you the exact moment I knew it wasn't a normal, healthy relationship. We'd been out with friends and on our way back into the dorm I gave a friend a quick peck. It was a friendship kiss - as I would tell my now-ex many times over the next several hours ("I mean come on! he's gay!") In the end nothing I could say would win him over.

This was just a few months into our time as a couple and I kept my doubts to myself. Most of the time he was sweet. Sure his side of any debates during meals were simple, egocentric, and often so odd or idiotic they downright baffled me, but to me he said all the right things. There was something there though, unidentifiable that had crept in during that argument. He didn't trust me.

"I'll just break it off'" I thought towards the end of my freshman year, but I made the mistake of telling a friend. "Noooo, you guys are great together! You're my favorite couple." Fine. I gritted my teeth and decided it was in my head... Only it wasn't. I learned to live with him telling me that my make-up wasn't slutty enough (yes, he told me which colors to wear and which perfume), buying me trashy clothes & undergarments, that I didn't apply my make-up quickly enough, constantly comparing me to other girls, coercing me into countless acts I wasn't comfortable with, all while telling me I was "crazy" and a "nerd" (this last one is funny as I was in theatre and he was computer science). I permed my hair thinking he'd like it. I wore low-cut tops and the brand of denim he preferred, but I was never good enough.

One day, over summer break after two whole years of this a coworker who told me everyday to ditch him said something else. I 'd been talking about another friend from school and she pointed out she thought I liked him. Turns out I did - I married him four years later.

In all the times I've thought to myself the reason for my loss of personality, of recklessness was due to my ex I had never realized what exactly had happened... until tonight. It turns out remembering my abusive relationship (no, he never hit me but his words did damage enough) and wondering about how to abandon my "safety" onstage were all it took. That man robbed me of myself, and replaced it with fear. He taught me I would never be good enough for anyone, never pretty enough, never hot enough, never smart enough, or talented enough and replaced it with a deep-seated need, compulsion even, to get people to like me. It's a scary cycle; believing no one likes you or thinks well of you, but constantly trying as hard as possible to get them to like you.

Yet again, theatre has taught me something. Hopefully, this knowledge will be the key I needed to break the glass of this dainty, futile room I've been living in for 12 years.

Safety, or I told you that story to tell you this one, or everything is connected

When I was young my dad used to tell us this “joke” about some builders who get to the end of their construction and end up with an extra ½ a brick so they throw it away. Then he would tell us about a man walking a dog while smoking a cigar. The man gets on a bus and is the dog can’t be on the bus, so he leaves him outside where he trots alongside. Inside the bus the man is soundly told off by another rider for the cigar, so he throws it out a window. When he gets off the bus, the dog is waiting for him. “And what does he have in his mouth?” my father would ask… the ½ a brick.

I think I’ve loved theatre since before I knew what it was. When I was young, maybe 7 I had a solo in the church choir. I loved it, but it terrified me so much that I quit the choir afterwards. I had to be forced back by my parents – and at the time I hated them for it. They were not emotions I could face safely. When I hit high school and began learning the history of theatre it awoke a sense of joy and awe. Here was an art form which made me feel so utterly alive, so human, so …present.

My husband recently found this video  of a voice coach talking about a book tour she did. (The portion of the video I’m referring to starts around 3:30.) It should really be heard to truly get what she’s saying, but she talks about a man she met who didn’t like theatre. He tells her this repeatedly, telling her about how he went with his wife to see The Women of Troy. It seems the thing they didn’t like was that when one of the characters loses her son, the actress made a sound and he found it embarrassing. Then, as he’s speaking with her something in him shifts and he tells her that a year ago a policeman came to tell him that his daughter had been raped and murdered – and he made that sound. She reminds us that truth and honesty in theatre is like life – to be present you simply cannot be safe.

After our last production one night, my parents stood talking with a few people. My husband had directed a short called The Third Date in which a guy preparing for a date finds he has been visited by his father who died 6 years prior. My mother lost her father suddenly at age 2. Her entire life she has felt that empty spot where her dad should have been – not where the father figure should have been, but a more personal hole for this particular man she cannot remember except in one dream-like memory. My mom suddenly turned to me with tear-filled eyes and a quivering voice to say “That’s my dream you know.” Startled and puzzled, I was at a loss. She continued, “I never told anyone. I always hoped one day I’d open a door to find him standing there.” This is a rare side of my mother, an intimate pain that cannot be relieved.

Around the same time I was spending a lot of time pondering how people could not like  theatre, why people don’t attend theatre more, and more personally, how I can push past my own fears to allow myself to become a better actress. 

It is easy sometimes to think of theatre as a stodgy, highbrow art-form. However, this seems to be an excuse – the reason people shy away from theatre is because it’s not safe, in fact, theatre is dangerous. This is a truly visceral expression. It forces the audience to come along for the ride – you have to feel. This is why since 6^th century BC theatre has been a documented part of culture. Why actors were some of the first people sent to concentration camps in WWII, why plays have been used – and continue even now to be used as a form of rebellion. We, as actors, as directors are putting you, the audience, society into a place where you must think – you must feel. This is how we make our argument, and folks, you should love that it’s not safe. I do.