WHY I DONT READ REVIEWS

Talk to any actor who's been around longer than say ten years, and they will tell you the story of a review that broke their heart. It sure happened to me. So now I don't read them. It's a selfish reason. But after a few shows, it changed how I approach my work.

The rehearsal process. You meet a group of strangers, and over the next 2 weeks (which, according to the CAEA, is plenty of time!) you open your hearts, your minds and your bodies to each other. You bound around the stage laughing, raging, mewling, howling, musing and panting as your director sits and watches. Then you all gather together following this tempest and take notes. You listen to your director and you write them down, attempting perhaps to understand what the thing LOOKS like from the outside... but if you DO, if you think like the director and not the player, then you lose what is beautiful about the whole process: You DONT KNOW what it looks like. So you put all your trust in your director, your stage manager, and your fellow actors: not to tell you when you do well, not to validate you, but to gently guide you away from anything forced, feigned or false.

Opening Night. The audience steps in to become the final scene partner. They sigh, laugh, groan, check their watch, weep, storm out, smile, or as in the well-known anecdote: unknowingly imitate the sound of a flock of birds as six hundred and fifty pairs of arms simultaneously unfold. Some of these responses you hear, and most you do not. You hear the laugh, and many actors fall upon it like a magnet. "You laugh, I succeed. You like me. You put value to what I do." But there are so many things you don't hear. You don't hear people's hair stand up on the backs of their necks. You don't hear someone's heart tremble because that actress suddenly looks like the lover they lost. You don't hear the wall erect in the mind of someone who just can't think about the beauty of grief just yet. If this is to happen, it is carefully shaped by the writer and the director. These are things you cannot know.

From the safety of the audience, and then from the numbing blue light of their computer, the reviewer reviews. He or she appoints the star, the vulnerable, the beginner, the weak link, the fearless, the comic, the natural, the loveable, the old, the young, the promise, the predictable, the waning, the rising, the failure.

The reviewer is an expert in his/her field and has watched thousands of plays. Their opinion is valid, and at best, controversial. A well-written passionately delivered review can launch a career and simultaneously destroy one. They flagrantly point out each weakness. Each strength. A good review can sell out a show. A bad review can close it. Right or wrong. Glowing or scathing. They do hold power.

Theatre tradition forbids actors to offer one another advice on each others performance. It forbids the director to give notes after opening except in extreme cases... often, it's when the director has read a review then panics and returns to the rehearsal hall to 'tweak' the play.

Often I've read a review of a play where the likable characters get glowing reviews and the unlikeable characters get bad reviews. The actor in the cast who 'shines', upstaging their fellow actors, gets lauded in the reviews. These opinions are valid as someone WATCHING, but how can they have insight into the subtle interpersonal web that is your cast and company: your PROCESS.

Opening night is a celebration of the work you have done so far. For the director, they leave it in your hands: not as a finished work of art, but as a living breathing entity. It will change, and grow, and deepen.

Don't set yourself in stone that day. Allow change. Allow growth. Play to closing not opening. It's called opening for a reason. It's a beginning.

You can do this by continuing to honour the vision of your director. Be present with your fellow actors and give them everything you've got. Trust your Stage Manager who is now steering the ship. Be grateful for your crew, your life is literally in their hands.

I promise that the discoveries you make along the way will be worth it.

As for your reviewers, challenge their ideas of what theatre can be by risking it all.

And for gods sake, give them something to write about.

Long Time No...

So its been a long time since I've written to you.

March I guess.

No need in summing up or catching up...

but I will anyway: Buddy Holly. All the amazing folks on that show, what a family. Especially Denis Simpson. You were always there for a belly laugh cross over, or a green room heart to heart to heart about whatever came up.


After that, a wonderful summer. Auditions. and the beach.

My brother married his Michelle at our family cabin. The best week ever.

From there I drove back to Vancouver to shoot one day on 'Untold Stories of the ER' then got up at 4am to drive straight to Burning Man.

That is another story altogether.

Came home to fringe, then by Hallowe'en produced The Soap Show (which fell apart) The Life Game (which is coming together) and Here Be Monsters (which was magic, amidst chaos)

I went all Rock Star on Saturday Night, then actually slept through the final night of the festival. Wow. Then got up to strike the fest, then home to pack my bags and clean my apartment to hop a plane (barely) at 7am to go to Winnipeg for a month. Back To You: The Life and Music of Lucille Starr. That's with two R's.

Now I'm home.

To Violet.

And my friends.

And TheatreSports. Teaching. Writing.

And to support my cousin who has quit drinking, for my dad who had to stop smoking (a daily smoker since he was 11years old), and for dear Jenny, I have embarked on #DryDecember.

No Booze, Cigarettes, Pot, Drugs, Prescription Drugs, and limited coffee and red meat. For a month. Or at least til Christmas. It's going pretty great so far.

Realized that since Twitter, I have not written in my journal, so I have decided to keep up with this again. Mostly from here on in it will be small updates from my life, but mostly observations of life in the theatre.

That's all for now.