The Round at Trustus

Friday, February 7, 2020; 7:30pm~?

A lone cigarette there in repose

on the second step, I do not know

where the stage ceases or proceeds—

its ember’d tip faintly aglow,

a soft plume of smoke,

upward it goes;

a moment anew it leads.

O’ but a dream, it seem’d, indeed.

It was cold. The wind cut through to the bone. The kind of chill that renders one hyper-aware they are awake. 

Parking was a bit of a chore amid the Vista Friday evening traffic. The Trustus Theater’s parking area is but a small lot—and it was already filled. Everyone’s on their own for a spot. After finding a little space in front of Chipotle Grill about a block away, I set out on foot down Gervais street, hung a right on Pulaski and pivoted a quick left onto Geddes where I approached the entrance to the theater. It’s been some years since I’ve been in the Vista area at the outset of the weekend at night. 

I was an alien in ingress.  

A couple nights prior, I’d emailed Chad Henderson, Trustus’ Artistic Director, inquiring if he would grant me the compliment of his time by sitting down and responding to a few questions from a new patron, and eager participant, of the Columbia Arts. I had yet to receive a reply to those inquiries by opening night, so the newness and uncertainty were as piercing as the night air. Though a native of Columbia, I’m a foreigner to its arts milieu—and I was going in blind of mind, but not bleary. 

Upon opening a large, dark wooden door my eyes were met with a warm yellow-orange hue emanating from within its frame. A lively and lawless cabal of brass instruments gaily possessed my ears, gaffing me inside like an old friend who’s been anticipating my arrival; a symphonic Buck Mulligan wrapping its whirlwind arms around my spirit; challenging me to face the mother sea of all creation. Transporting me to some Forest of Arden tucked away in a little nook of the Congaree Vista. A little place where the fecundity of fantasy is explored by the artistically inclined in order to study with impunity the truth of things, and this thing of truth. 

“...most writers, and most other artists, too, are primarily motivated in their desperate vocation by a desire to find and to separate truth from the complex of lies and evasions they live in, and I think that this impulse is what makes their work not so much a profession as a vocation, a true calling.” –Tennessee Williams’ thoughts on A Streetcar Named Desire

After checking in at the ticket booth, I was shown to my seat: Section: BE - Row: F - Seat: 18. Ascending a ramp and then rounding a long countertop-like table lining the rampway on my left I reclined myself somewhat and studied the room. On three sides, including mine, were two rows of seats. And on the fourth side, where the proscenium stage usually is, were three rows of graduated seating. The stage, difficult to decipher where it begins and ends, aside from the actual raised arena, seemed to be designated by the presence of two beds, a table with four chairs, a Coca Cola cooler aside two steel shelves nearest me. Situated on the far side of the room relative to my seat, a chair next to a two-tiered nightstand where a radio and phone rested on the top and bottom layers, respectively; a vanity on the raised portion of the arena and a bathtub lay just a step off the raised portion nearly out of my range of sight. Once I took in my surroundings, I began to look through the playbill, yet within moments a barbigerous gentleman in a black suit manifested center stage and announced himself as one Chad Henderson. After a brief introductory speech, he exited, and the lights went down. 

Folks garbed in near-mid 20^th century dress emerged, up the same ramps I ascended, talking casually, then hung a right up the two steps onto the raised platform at the center of the room amid all the furniture. 

Before I knew it, intermission was among me. But as abruptly as it came, so too it went. The room was still filled with unbroken communal wonder; some fanciful suspension of code and rule where the locus of all creative and intellectual energy is bound in experience. Flashes of imagistic insight, exquisite and indelible. There was a moment after a verbal clash between two integral characters where one of the actors comes to the second step off the raised platform directly in front of my seat, a mere ten feet away, and sits to smoke a cigarette. He doesn’t finish it. Flicks it to the ground as he raises himself up. It lands where he was perched and continues to burn. A gentle smoke rising from its cherry. It burned throughout the remainder of the show. No one attempted put it out, though quite a few characters walk directly over it, often as their gaze was downward, seemingly looking directly at it. Yet none touched its burning reality. If there were ever any sense as to what was and was not the stage, this particular moment merged all distinction; a glowing gestation in the fertile dreamland of arable ambiguity. I am unsure of who else noticed, but it felt as though everyone did. Knew it. Embodied it. Like a dream. 

Psychologists, neurologists, experts of the mind in general, all concede that everyone you meet within a dream is merely another version of yourself. Thus, true to the nature of dreams, in realms of conveyance such as the theater, or any creative space where artists gather, the philosophy is the same: you are encountering myriad versions of yourself, and through some magic of concerted effort reveal and understand Truth. Creation is a centrifugal force. It’s outward, and in the process of creation all is one. Yet, also true to the nature of dreams where one encounters many selves, one contends with oneself. A fruitful friction. The realm of conveyance is a place that is no place, it’s an experience. And within it, harmony and discord, tension and ease, reconciliation and dissension, love and hate, contention and peace, exist concurrently. That is the dreamscape. The appropriate realm where revolution is compatible with the surrounding reality. 

“You said, 'They’re harmless dreamers and they’re loved by the people.' 'What,' I asked you, 'is harmless about a dreamer, and what,' I asked you, 'is harmless about the love of the people? Revolution only needs good dreamers who remember their dreams.”

― Tennessee Williams

It felt like only moments had passed when the houselights went up. And the actors took their bows. I then remembered the cold outside. And the walk I’d have to make in it, alone. 

I, however, had with me the rejuvenating coal of an experience with fellow mind-wanderers in some little Arden near the Congaree River: Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto. 

The cold didn’t seem so penetrative. The walk, not so lonely. Warm mirth graced my cheeks, for the image of an ember-tipped cigarette is enough to ignite the fervor of dreams where the smoke ascends like a spirit into that transcendent realm of the imagination.  

***

Saturday, February 8, 2020 – 6:19pm 

“Since this is Trustus’ 35^th Anniversary Season, we wanted to shake it up a bit.” Mr. Henderson writes me. “We felt that reorienting the space was a great way to dive deep into our staff’s creativity…and possibly give our audiences a new perspective on what we’re capable of at Trustus.”

Why this play first? Is there something about this particular production that you intuit being akin, or, say, spiritually symmetrical to the round set-up? Do you feel a better synthesis occurs when the theme/content of this play consummates with this stage environment (and the other plays lined up); some great coming together that will be projected (by the actors and crew) and absorbed (by the audience) more effectively? 

“Around the time we were beginning the plans for the “round,” we also knew we wanted to produce a 20^th Century classic in our regular season. Trustus had produced Streetcar before in 2002, so it felt like ample time had passed and that a new production could stand on its own. I personally knew that Patrick Kelly was a big fan of the piece and had a lot of deep interaction with the piece [regarding] analysis. After a few conversations, we finally felt inclined to put this show on the roster for this season.

I would say that strategy was more at play in the decision-making for scheduling Streetcar as the first piece presented in the “round” series. We wanted something that would attract many patrons from our market, so that we could introduce the newly oriented space to as many people as we could up front.

Artistically, we also expected this orientation to create a new depth of intimacy in the space - which we felt would serve the piece. The brutality in the script had the opportunity create even more unrest for an audience member, because they could possibly feel like they’re in the Kowalski apartment – a fly on the wall so-to-speak. We felt the play would be more visceral due to this intimacy and could potentially allow the audience to detach from previous versions of Streetcar, even the film.”

Do you believe the round begets a more immersive experience for the actors as well; effects them in a manner that brings more out of them? How? 

“While I certainly think acting in the round creates new challenges that may not manifest in a tradition proscenium situation, I believe an actor’s goal is always the same: to tell the truth by being vulnerable to the moment. Granted, different shows call for different approached to this goal, but at the end of the day I feel that’s what an actor is working toward.

However, while the actors are maintaining staging set on them by a director, they might possibly feel more fluidity in the experience in contrast to proscenium performance? It’s an interesting question, and one that I haven’t had many conversations about with our current cast. Now that the show is open, I’m sure more will be illuminated on the subject.”

What is it you grok in the concept of the round that compels you to make such drastic reformation of the Trustus stagecraft? 

“I was trained at the University of South Carolina and enjoyed many plays at Longstreet Theatre. Though many times it becomes transformed into a thrust (audience on three sides), the intimacy that is possible in these kinds of spaces is what is so compelling to me. I love Trustus’ unique no-fly proscenium, and I’ve learned some of my hardest staging lessons by working on it as a young director. As I’ve gotten a little older, and now find myself the Artistic Director of this organization – I sometimes feel envious of theatres that boast a malleable space. What I had to realize, is that we’re really only limited by our creativity – and I think we have some of the most inventive theatre talents in the state working here. What better way to celebrate 35 years of Trustus than to turn the whole thing on its head?!

I should also make clear that in the era before I worked with Trustus in 2005, the theatre did actually do shows in the round on occasion. The house used to be filled with Lay-Z Boy armchairs and could be oriented in whatever way a production team desired. So technically, it’s nothing new. But it is the first time we’ve gone to a round in over 15 years.”

Where are you in this enterprise? How has the you been infused in this experiment to make this a unique and pleasing experience for us? 

“This is a great question, and I’m glad you asked it. I feel like I get to take one bit of credit for this project, and it’s that it was my wild idea. As an Artistic Director, it is often my responsibility to dream for the organization. Then the joy of what I do is that I’m able to present these dreams, and let creative people run away with them. My mind is very different from the 22-year-old who came on staff in 2007. When I was directing early in my career, I felt the most uplifting thing I could hear was “YOU were brilliant, YOUR ideas were so strong, YOUR show was amazing.” I don’t feel that I was unique in that aspect – I mean it IS all about “you” in your 20s.

Nowadays, I’m much more fulfilled by telling my colleagues about the sincere appreciation I have for their work. The gift of a job like mine is that I get to constantly be surrounded by artists, craftsmen, creative people and inquisitive people.

So, for me, as soon as I handed this project off to talented people, I felt uplifted and fulfilled. Executing this stage transformation was a huge job, and the credit goes to our Technical Director Sam Hetler, and our Assistant Technical Director Curtis Smoak. Theatre is exceptional when it’s truly collaborative, and it’s rare when an organizational goal (versus creating a play) can be met with the same sense of invention and teamwork.”

What all has gone into the development of the physical structure itself? From conception to blueprint to construction - from inception to denouement, one could say - what was the process for this undertaking? Resources, costs, planning, set-backs, discoveries? (I am giving you carte blanche here. Have at it.)  

“Curtis Smoak drafted the final ground plan with professional drafting software. This software allowed our technical staff to assess lumber requirements, measurements, and other information needed to execute this transformation. We also began to understand before the New Year, that this project would need electrical and sound adjustments along with extra staffing help to get to the finish line.

The deconstruction process began on Jan 5th, and our technical staff were able to bring on the assistance of one of our Company members who was a skilled carpenter. Over the course of the next two weeks, over 80 seats were removed and stored. Then the structure started going in place – being built on top of the incredibly substantial platforms that traditionally housed rows D and E in our Main Stage.

As this structure was being built, electricians were hired to run new breaker lines to the center of the house – an adjustment that will serve us long into the future due to our recent acquisition of extra sound equipment and our regular use of projectors.

New lighting lines had to be ran into the center of the house, because there wasn’t enough cabling to actually light where the new stage was going to be. One can imagine, with our traditional stage living on one side of the room, lighting the area that used to be seating was obviously unneeded. We worked with our lighting designer, Marc Hurst, to create solutions. Marc is also lighting all of the shows in the round series, so his involvement was essential.

We also procured new speakers for the space. I wouldn’t say this was necessary for the production of Streetcar, since all the cues are recorded. However, it will be essential for producing Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson in March because it’s a musical. This new equipment will serve our musicals once we transform the space back its traditional orientation, so I’m very glad BlueCross BlueShield of SC granted us funds to procure this equipment.

Finally, we knew it was necessary to create an ADA accessible ramp so that patrons with disability could have equal access to the seating. Thanks to the SC Arts Commission, the materials needed to construct this structure were granted through an ACA Grant.

The costs for this project were made less prohibitive because we were able to receive grants from the groups I mentioned above. Plus, due to our community’s support through donations and ticket sales, we were able to confidently move forward with this ambitious idea after analyzing what it would take to make it happen.

Setbacks? Time is never on your side. It doesn’t matter if it’s the opening a play, or totally transforming your major performance space. We kept saying that we wished we had another week. However, I think I say that every time I’m directing a show and opening night is in sight. Luckily, our desire to provide our audiences with some sort of magic seems to allow us the energy required to make dreams come to life.

I think a running theme of my responses is that it’s all in the 'who you work with.' I’m pretty convinced I work with the best.”