The Most Invested Tonys

Greetings readers, from the far off and mystical lands of New York City!  As many of you know today is the highest of high holy days for theater people, the Tony Awards.  

I have celebrated this day since before I moved to the city, even before I had a single degree! This year is special however.  This year, though my wife and I aren't personally attending the ceremony, this is the first year that a show in the running is a show that I saw open Off-Broadway, that I witnessed being changed and prodded into its current wonderful form, that I got to know the cast and creative, and that my name was in the Original Public Theater Playbill (under Front-of-house but it still counts Dammit!).  

I saw this show downtown at the Public more than 40 times and I never grew bored of it's content. I always learned something new about it and it continually affected me emotionally (and still does to this day {for days and days and days!}) That is an impressive feat! It's wonderful to know you are a part of something special, no matter how small that part may be.  

    Miniscule....

It's competition is really something this year too! We have another wholly original musical, "Something Rotten," the culmination and unfortunately the final piece from one of my all time favorite collaborations, "The Visit," and finally an adaption of one of my favorite Movie Musicals whose score and extensive ballet sequences hark back to the Golden Age of Broadway, "An American in Paris." It's a remarkable season!

The real point that I try to make every year is that it doesn't matter who wins really, this is our entire community getting together to celebrate accomplishments and YAY that there are so many things to celebrate! So many people are making a good living doing what they love!!! There are ao many incredibly talented people living their dreams! Theater is alive and well (and fresh and new and every bit as wonderful) and that's what I celebrate every year on this day! That is why it is such an important day to me. This is proof that it can still be done and still be done well!

So as for my stakes in it this year, win or lose, "Fun Home" has definately changed my life for the better and is endlessly inspiring in my own endeavors but even if it doesn't win and make history tonight, "Something Rotten," "The Visit," and "An American in Paris," all deserve love and praise for all the hard work that has gone into them and all the work that they provide for thespians all over the city, country and world! Today's hottest shows are tomorrow's staples in community theater!

Wish us "Public people" luck tonight and tune in! And May the Gods of the Theatre smile on us and contiune to inspire such wonderful things!

P.S. I'm only blogging about the "Best Musical" caregory because I could literally go on for days about the content, categories, nominees, and each of the shows on Broaday this season! Nobody has the bandwidth nor time for that...especially when it's already been done! Check out these wonderful sources via the interwebs for more info on anything regarding the Tonys and Broadway in general!

https://www.facebook.com/playbill

https://www.facebook.com/theatermania

https://www.facebook.com/TheTonyAwards

http://m.playbill.com/news/article/playbill.coms-2015-theatre-awards-roundup-the-latest-on-who-won-what-347722

What I Do For Love

Today marks a momentous occasion for me: not only for me but for the institution I am fortunate enough to work for.  40 years ago today, a legendary show opened to a paying audience for the first time.  It not only completely revolutionized the way we think about Musical Theatre subject matter, but the process of how they are created. 

A Chorus Line

I have every song and moment memorized. At this very moment I can sing the show from top to bottom and even attempt the Michael Bennett choreography (the combinations were always a stretch, but hey!) The show touched me in a way that very few have. At this moment I sit in the same walls that created it and the songs pour through my head (and everyone else's apparently: every single employee who has walked by my table has been humming a verse of something from this show.) This is the life I'm living, this is my life both literally and metaphorically! I just wish I could find my gold tuxedo...just kidding! But seriously.

When I was a budding Musical Theatre nerd in the middle of small town Wyoming,

                                                                       (I'm not kidding...)
the realities of the characters were about as far from mine as humanly possible, except for the fact that we were all chasing our dream.  I think that's what drew me into this show instantly was the rawness of these peoples experiences.  I, in my typical fashion, began to research and read everything I could about this show from the 70's that was still somehow so fresh and new to everyone, but especially to someone who had only attended Golden Age musicals growing up.

The more I discovered, the more I loved everything about it. A Chorus Line was actually my first introduction to the Public Theater! Imagine, not only was this show the longest running American show in Broadway history, it also pioneered the way modern musicals are created with the workshop format of development.  It was also based on actual interviews with the actual cast and their actual lives are what we see on stage and hear in the cast album!  This revelation is the one that has stuck with me the most. Nearly all of my favorite shows are the ones that are based on real life and factual stories. 

That brings me to tonight.  As some of you know I have been very fortunate to work at the Public now for almost 2 years.  Tonight on this very special anniversary, I actually get to work in the theater where it premiered! Even better, I get to work on a show that is a direct answer to the Chorus Line legacy; a show that pushes boundaries, dares to be innovative musically and with form, and is based on actual people, Hamilton.  Being in this space has always been incredibly inspiring, but especially tonight!

What a legacy this institution has! Even in my short time here, I have seen some phenomenal theater, Good Person of Szechwan (starring the incomparable Taylor Mac),

Here Lies Love (Now touring internationally),  

Fun Home (Now on Broadway), and so many others!

Who knows, maybe someday my own works will premier in this hallowed hall known as the Newman Theater at the Public!




All images belong to the New York Shakespeare Festival Company.

10 days left

I at this very moment have 10 days left in my first decade of adulthood. On the 19th I start another. I'm not sure how I should feel and mostly, it's nothing. There are moments however when I think back at the past 10 years and question it. What have I done? What have I accomplished?

I've read that you should never compare yourself to others. I've read it so many times that I've lost track of the authors who quote it and the books that claim its promise of happiness. Yet isn't it in our very nature to compare and contrast with our fellow humans? Some have lived lifetimes by the time they're 29, some are close to retirement, some haven't even made it this far. My body is torn between youth and age, vitality and verility, aches and pains. Coincidentally, I fell down the stairs in our apartment building a couple of days ago and can definately still feel it. More now than I would've ten years ago. I'm fine by the way, just a couple bruises and an angry elbow which has now ceased being angry.

Throughout my life, I have self imposed pressures. I wanted to be smart, skilled, talented, and most importantly indespensible. I am proud to say that I feel I have reasonably pursued the first three goals and continue to strive toward their beacons but what did I mean to be indispensable. Did I mean with my family? With my friends? With someone I would come to love? With a fan base? With my future peers and colleuges? With history? I am kind of baffeled at my younger self. What audacity. I mean everyone hopes to be indespensible and remembered but, wow. 

If I am honest with myself, I have accomplished more than I ever thought I would. I met and married the love of my life (something I never thought would happen.) I finished a Master's Degree (something that even at 19 seemed unattainable.) I've performed professionally, written professionally, and have moved all the way across the country to the most expensive city in the U.S.  I've met hundreds of people, made more friends than I ever thought possible. But is it enough?

I realize now that I spent most of my 28th year pursuing things I desperately wanted. A new apartment, new projects and on top of it all, I was rapidly pursing an escape from retail and approaching everyday that I was involved in a certain institution with a radicchio bitterness. My beautiful, wonderful wife in all her wisdom and love for me, reminded me that we didn't move here to pursue jobs in anything but our dream fields. I may not make the most money or be the most appreciated by most of my higher ups, but my direct supervisor is incredible and allows me to be very flexible with scheduling (incredibly necessary in the theater) and my other job is like a constant workshop that most would have to pay thousands for and I get paid to do it!

It's a very old message of appreciating what you have. It's something I was naturally good at in my youth, but as I see my youth fleeting, becomes harder. The pressures of adulthood, make optimism a difficult vein to mine and obstacles are constantly falling, fording and fixing our attention away. But even in the 3 months since my wife reminded me, I feel so releived. All of these positives are blessedly intwined in my life and were during my 28th year, I'm just appreciating them more this year. All of the positive things!

Wish me luck friends, I have 10 days left of my 28th year! May my 29th be the best yet, and with all of you in my life it shall be!

Much Love,

Cameron Michael Fehring

Our Chosen Field

It's a simple enough question: one that should be asked often when in pursuit of a goal, but the frequency of discussions never delve deeper than 440hz (Music nerd humor). I want to get to the very depths of, not only my own understanding, but yours and I know no group better qualified than you my friends. So I ask you, what is theater best at? What can theater do that no other art form can? That nothing else can? What makes it special in general and to you?

Bitter is the taste of Jade...

I am still constantly and consistently overwhelmed by people's behavior and I am sure I always will be...

Sometimes, stranger's behavior and interactions give me hope and renew my faith in the species we are part of. I am fortunate (Persistent?) that even in this city that devours most and destroys a spirit of goodwill (except at Christmas) that I have witnessed and been a part of selfless acts.  That being said, the other day, one of my most treasured memories was ripped from me; it's heartbreaking how quickly the good feelings wane.

First, a little back story. Three days before Christmas 2012, I was walking my usual route home as I had just finished a later shift at work.  Eastern Parkway looked particularly lovely that night when a face directly in front of mine disturbed my carol fueled bliss.  Normally, now immune and slightly cold when it comes to stranger contact on the street, I would've continued on my merry way and not given stopping a second thought, but this woman was particularly persistent so I removed my headphones and greeted her.  She nearly started crying because she was so overjoyed that someone was actually listening to her. The woman introduced herself and began a terrible story about how she was from, Staten Island and never came to Brooklyn, but her step mother had just passed away. She proceeded to tell me that her siblings were in the grips of a social worker ready to take them to foster care and she had come to their rescue but had run out of gas in the process. She had contacted the fire department and they were willing to transport gas but not purchase it and because of the time, all the banks were closed and her debit card had been stolen within the last couple of weeks.  With great shame and humility she then proceeded to ask if she could have $20 to make it back to SI. She was willing to give me her Drivers License and let me speak to the officers present. I told her it wasn't necessary; as I had also lost a parent at Christmas, I understood and said I would gladly help her. I withdrew an extra $10 so she could get something to eat.  She threw her arms around me and thanked me genuinely; I wished her Merry Christmas, and went on my way.

This moment meant a lot to me. Whenever I felt my faith in humanity waning, I would think of this story and how I got to be a Christmas angel on earth.  Acts like these are sacred to me and there is nothing more meaningful than helping someone genuinely in need.

Three days ago, I was walking with my wife and sister down St. John's, headed to Downtown Brooklyn for some much needed relaxation time when in steps another girl. A different hairstyle, a different set of makeup designs but still "very desperately" in need.  As I was listening, a moment of realization, then horror dawned upon me. It was the same girl telling the same story in exactly the same way.  Unless her zombie mother had a heart attack, I had been duped.  I was so instantly heartbroken, ashamed and livid.  To think one of my most treasured New York memories was with a con artist.  Ashamed because I fell for it in the first place, and livid because this woman in front of me destroyed my goodwill and took advantage of my own grief and kindness. She ruined my perspective. I have tried not to become jaded by this city, but she was a load to great to bear. Now whenever someone approaches me with a genuine story of sadness and need, I will always think of her and her cruel nature and greed: her stupidity as well for that matter. She should've recognized me. We talked for twenty minutes. She should've had the same moment of reckoning that I had.  I don't know what I can do to remedy this situation in my mind.  I am not bitter about many things but this was too much. 

I haven't shared this story with many and I don't know why I'm sharing it now. I hoped that by actively putting this "First World" problem into words, I might gain catharsis and forgiveness.  So far the only thing I've realized is how silly I seem.  I guess I'm more fragile than I realize.

Reflections of a Winter's Eve

I am constantly and consistently overwhelmed with people's behavior. Perhaps that is why I became a practitioner of the theatrical arts: to, in my own body, mind, and soul attempt to understand us as a race. As a beautiful creation and a narrowly avoided catastrophe, we live in constant flux and turmoil. From an early age we are taught to think linearly, not just about time and space, but feelings and emotions, relationships and deductions. Our minds are made and taught to box everything in, to sway one way or another, to lean toward black or white, right or wrong. Everything on this earth has a polar opposite, yet as we age we realize that actual shadings of extreme are a rarity and usually the result of circumstances beyond human control. Even in the endeavors of acting and writing, I am sometimes overwhelmed where my creations take me.

The truest and most remarkable assets of my chosen art are also its greatest flaws and fallacies. Theatre is the most mystical and powerful of the arts because the things we try for most can never be attained. Each individual moment can never occur again. Each action and reaction is completely unique and glorious/terrible. Each moment is taken in and judged from each individual perspective in that room.  It is completely under control and moments from disaster.  This is a direct result of the final collaborator, the audience.

Science is only beginning to comprehend the effects of humans on each other in groups.  The most rewarding and frustrating evenings are the ones where audiences respond or don't. We attempt to control the reaction but like cold fusion, the moment things seem repressed is the moment where anything can happen.  It is thrilling!!! Yet as we continue involvement in long runs or even long weekends, we fall into our nature and attempt to box things in again. "That was a great/terrible audience." "They got it/they hated it." Great theater can teeter on as little as one reaction.

It brings up the question, is there such a thing as bad theatre? I mean, calculating the sheer number of variables a single performance contains, even the first five minutes of any given show, from minimalist Shakespeare, to grandiose Chekhovian drama, is an infinite and overwhelming task. I have seen theatre that I loathed, but was it really terrible? Was it a bad night? A unique choice of a single performer that set me on edge? Or was it my own exterior circumstances? Maybe a group of fellow audience members were off put and hold such powerful energies together, they affected the entire room! I was trained as an actor to never let the audience persuade your characters judgment, yet this is a hapless pipe dream. Everything is completely dependent on everything else, in the world, and in theatre (audiences included)! 

When one ponders the implications of the infinite, something we are incapable of completely understanding, one starts to realize that any show actually happening is somewhat of a miracle. That anything happens is a miracle, for that matter but especially in the art most like life. 

In closing, perhaps instead of instantly condemning something, whatever that may be, that we see, we should take a moment and attempt to see the bigger picture, also like life. Let us not relish in our ignorance but enjoy the moments and the process of being a part of something genuinely larger than ourselves. Appreciate being part of a miracle: a bad night at the theater is certainly better than most nights anywhere else... Who knows, you may even enjoy yourself more and in new and unique ways!  The catharsis and comedy may affect your life or maybe not.  Such is life in the Post-Post Modern World.

 

A Reflection

"I sit, exhausted and exasperated, on the stairs in the entryway of the Shiva Theater at the Public, listening to the acts of a show that shall remain nameless.  This particular show has developed quite a name for itself among, not only my co-workers, but all the audiences that have endured this lengthy work in this 99 seat house.  My favorite part of working this particular show is seeing the looks of elation and exasperation on the audiences faces, for this particular show accomplished little within itself and left meaning and catharsis to the audiences discretion. This kind of show always makes me question everything I know about art, it practices, and its place in our society.  Interestingly enough, the first time I saw this piece, I almost enjoyed it. I could appreciate the themes and ideas it put forth and the dramatic devices it used. I found the declamatory dialog almost charming. This time however, I'm finding I have to force my hands in my pockets to avoid repeatedly punching myself in the face to alleviate some of the pain I'm feeling.  Ah theatre, you are a cruel mistress..."

I wrote that blurb a while ago and I still sit reflecting its content and ramifications in my life.  Maybe it's my age and education level that makes me prone to existential crises, perhaps it is the subjects I chose to study within my higher education. Either way, this particular show had a great effect on me and I'm sure it wasn't the intended one.

When I was still in high school, I undertook the daunting task of not only researching philosophy through a particular thinkers eyes, but also to map out my own ideals and compare the two. This high school class was unlike most in the rest of the country (thank you Ms. Sterns) and this particular semester culminated in, for me, a 29 page paper.

I was fortunate enough to draw John Dewey out of the hat noble thinkers and could completely identify with his ideas at the time.  He succeeded in completely changing the American educational system for the better during his lifetime (it seems we are due for another like him.) He also however, spent a great deal of time studying aesthetics. You see, according to him art isn't determined by its sheer beauty or meaning, but by an emotional response that it elicites...any emotional response at all is enough to qualify something as art. I, as a teenaged adult ready to spring into the artistic world, thought this was the most refreshing idea I had ever read.  I remember the first time I experienced this revalation. 

In the Robert A. Peck gallery, a place that would take up quite a bit of my time in the near future, a particular sculpture stood out to me. It was an overly tall, eyeless baby with the hind legs of a goat holding a baseball bat ready for pitch, cast in bronze.  I found the damn thing horrifying and would actually have payed to have it destroyed more than have it in my home or a museum, and yet, I still remember it to this day. Boy did it elicit a response! 

John Dewey was correct about emotional

responses being memorable, that is scientifically validated. As I grow older however, I find my pendulum swinging ever back toward aesthetics being necessarily (at least in part) beautiful.  I have realized that according to the principles, a dog crapping on the street and another stepping in it, is art; a set if emotional responses were created, indifference (maybe even schadenfreude) and anger.  Is art really art without the beauty to back up the response, the craft to marvel at? In the performing arts, I have been moved by the sheer beauty of the crafts in every form.  In music, the resolution of a passage of dissonance so perfectly, it creates goosebumps.  In dance, a feat of balance and form that flows so beautifully into the next, tears inexplicably form in eyes. In drama, a moment of revelation so interinsicly rendered that chills down the spine complete a moment of perfect communication betwixt audience and actor. These are the moments artists and audiences crave and spend lifetimes pursuing! Meaning, connection, absolvence, undeniable beauty in its purest form.

Back to the nameless play... Are some plays designed to only be viewed once? Was it some sort of personal endeavor that made the second viewing so painful? Should I have forced my senses not to drift, not to wander?  Or can I assume that once a show such as this has the novelty worn off, it appears as it truly is: a pretentious, masterbatory, scum sucking piece of detritus laden, perversity.

Who can say?