Mountain Rehearsals - Week Three

Happy New Year! It is the Year of the Horse for those who may not know the Lunar New Year traditions. Usually, the Lunar New Year is just another day for me, but I think I'm more aware of the event because I have been working on Asian-themed shows this year (The Song of the Nightingale, Mulan Jr., and now Where the Mountain Meets the Moon). In preparation for writing Mountain, I did my best to research various aspects of Chinese culture. In discussions with Mina Morita and Oona Hatton (the director and dramaturg, respectively), we decided that just as Grace Lin had taken Chinese folklore and re-contextualized them to tell Minli's story, we would bring aspects of Chinese and other Asian cultures and re-contextualize them for our stage version.

Chinatown, San Francisco

This meant a variety of research in many forms. Web searches and YouTube videos were a great place to start - reading Wikipedia articles and watching footage of the Dragon and Lion dances. On one occasion, Mina and I walked through Chinatown, San Francisco in order to see if objects and musical instruments might inspire the sound and look of the show. I had the joy to sit in on a Chinese orchestra rehearsal in order to take cues on what Chinese instruments sounded like. Now there is an erhu, a two-stringed bowed instrument, included in our show. We also learned about Grace Lin and her artistic process as she wrote and illustrated Mountain. It seems she too dove into research of all kinds to create the book.

The fruit of our research labor is evident in our rehearsals. I believe we have an understanding of the world we're trying to create with Mountain. We know the boundaries of reality and fantasy as they apply to this show. We have a particular aesthetic and style in mind that borrows from Chinese and other Asian cultures. We aren't grasping at straws to make stylistic choices, because those discussions were had long before. I see more clearly now how doing good research will lead to good writing and good theatre. Even if the audience doesn't pick up on it, I think they will sense that something about this show feels firmly supported with a sturdy foundation.

Mountain Rehearsals - Week One

Rehearsals have officially begun for the world premiere of Where the Mountain Meets the Moon. These early days are fascinating because what began as words and sheet music slowly starts to get its own skeleton as a performance piece. We are in a modest dance room in Oakland. We use some props that are just for rehearsal, and sometimes props that will make it to the actual production once they are painted and embellished. We try things, throwing ideas out and taking cues from each other. There is spike tape in a variety of colors outlining our imaginary set. We have looked at sketches and color swatches. We've listened to sound samples. There's a lot of waiting, discussion and thinking.

Minli's dining table in the rehearsalroom. Inside the bowl are two coins, one of which starts our protagonist on her journey.

Perhaps what fascinates me the most is that the final product will be built upon this skeleton, but only after much has been pruned and plucked away. To the audience's eyes, it will arrive as a complete package. But those of us in this dance room will know the sparser versions of the show that had to come before. The discarded drafts, the revised movements, the great ideas that ultimately had to be cut will still be with us. As well as the joy, the jokes, the shared memories that come from working together on this project. It's funny because from day one of rehearsals, the end is always in sight. But I already know that the end will come much too soon.

So I take to heart the lesson that Grace Lin teaches us through her novel. "Thankfulness."

I am thankful to be here in the midst of this creating, as it unfolds before me.

The Olympus Surprise Song

This is not what writing is like all the time.

Writing is taxing work. I can spend hours on a single section of dialogue choosing, re-choosing, deleting, re-ordering words, and still end the day feeling like I barely made a step forward. Writing music with lyrics gets even more complicated because there is the added aural dimension which will affect mood, atmosphere and story. What key? What's the tonality? When should notes rise and fall? Which words should be emphasized? Am I emphasizing the correct syllables as if the words were spoken? This laboring over details makes up the majority of my work when I write songs - toiling over rhyme, meter and melody as if trying to solve a riddle, often leading to frustration, but usually resulting in a rewarding finish if I stick with it.

And then there are the surprise songs.

These are the song moments in my shows that come together as if by magic on the first go. The songs that show me why people came to believe in Muses as angelic voices inspiring people to write, paint, perform.  They often end up with a depth or flow that I could not have imagined when I first set about writing them. And each of my shows so far has had at least one surprise song. Below, I discuss the development of one of them.

"I Used To Weave" from Tales of Olympus
I knew I wanted to include the story of Athena and Arachne when I was conceptualizing Tales. The problem with adapting the myth, however, was that Athena is completely justified in punishing Arachne for her pride and insults against the gods. So I asked the questions "What if Arachne really was a better weaver than Athena? What if transforming Arachne into a spider was a result of Athena losing her composure and acting impetuously?" And then this question came, which set the tone of the song: "What if Athena has not been able to weave ever since the 'Arachne incident,' because the act is a nagging reminder of her lowest moment?"

Then came the opening lyrics "I used to weave..."

Calliope (Chrissy Brooks), Zeus (Steven Shear), Hermes (Min Kahng) and Aphrodite (Lauren Spencer) tell Athena (Michelle Drexler) she's not so bad.

This set-up allowed the song to have layers. We get to know Athena as a fuller character, and more importantly as a flawed character. In regards to character arc: by singing "I Used To Weave" Athena is finally giving in and telling a story, when previously she sat to the side, unwilling to participate. There is also a key revelation about the relationships on Olympus. At the end of the song, the other gods console Athena, showing for the first time that this dysfunctional, leftover group of gods is really a family of sorts. The song also contains some of my favorite lyrics:

Now I'm best of who's left
But I've lost all the joy
Of creating a blanket, a scarf or a sleeve
And each spider I see is a reason to grieve
I used to weave...

There's something about the words best, left, lost, blanket, scarf, sleeve, spider and grieve with their blended, recurring consonants and their simplicity. This combined with the sense of loss and regret with which the words are sung (performed masterfully by both Michelle Drexler in the world premiere, and by Rebecca Pingree for the staged reading) pulls at my heart in a way that's difficult to describe, except to say I am moved.

"I Used To Weave" is my favorite song in Tales of Olympus. It has also remained largely unchanged from its original draft, which is understandable: Surprise songs, formed from an outflow of sudden inspiration, usually don't need major revisions.

Building a Mountain

Two weeks ago, Where the Mountain Meets the Moon: A Musical Adaptation went into its second workshop, culminating in a staged reading. We only had four days of rehearsals (a total of about 16 hours) to teach the music, blocking and choreography, and get it ready for an audience. Thankfully, we had an amazing group of actors and musicians who brought the right mix of fastidiousness and flexibility, and were able to deliver a stellar performance.

Actors Isabel To, Patricia Pitpitan, Pauli Amornkul & Will Dao during a workshop rehearsal.

Although audience feedback is invaluable after these readings, I have to confess, the feedback that excites me the most is from the actors themselves. And not necessarily their verbal feedback. When I watch actors perform my work, I often see new or different sides of the characters, which then inform my writing moving forward.  There is an indescribable poignancy to see your characters in front of you, real-time, moving around in three-dimensional space. And I'm honored that the Mountain actors gave so much life and brought so much truth to the show, even when playing monkeys, goldfish or lion statues.

While I will be spending the next few weeks by myself, often in front of a keyboard (both the musical kind and the computer kind), I very much look forward to the first day of rehearsals in January, when cast & creative team can continue building this Mountain together.

Closing Remarks

In some ways, the closing of The Song of the Nightingale actually signifies a re-opening for me. For the past six weeks, I've been able to let the show be. The story has lived through the talents of the actors, stage manager, crew and staff. Even if I've had ideas or received suggestions on how to change the show moving forward, I've been able to stow those thoughts in a box marked "Do not open until December" in my mind. There is a sense in which, for this particular production, my role in the show already reached its completion on opening night, October 11th, 2013.

With the 22nd show complete (Can you believe it? The show has been performed 22 times!), there sits inside my gut a quiet sense of triumph and relief.  The response to the show was so enthusiastically positive, with many of the Altarena patrons saying it was the best show they have seen in that venue. I'm sure for several folks the show was not their cup of tea, but I am happy to know that the work resonated with or entertained a good number of our audience members.

I have described working on this production of Nightingale as akin to opening a time capsule. There is in Nightingale a sort of unabashed optimism which, while not altogether foreign to my current outlook, has been tested and transformed since the show's conception. Revisiting that optimism brought me to the question: Do I still believe in the message of the show? Do I still believe that anyone can change for the better? Do I still think that such changes in the individual will make the world better?

My answer is "yes." It is, perhaps, tempered by a more grounded view of the world; not everything can be solved by having a "cozy, imperial chat," like the characters do so easily in the story. And yet, I do think hope and naivete, in the best possible sense, go hand-in-hand. To believe that things can get better, even if a great deal of evidence indicates the likelihood of the opposite, requires a sort of child-likeness. I think that's why I'll always love fairy-tales. Through their magic, they ask us to believe like a child, and simultaneously compel us toward deeper meaning in our adult lives.

It feels trite or incomplete to say that I'm happy or sad or even simply "emotional" about the closing of Nightingale. The show contains a piece of my own spirit, and, for a moment, that piece had its chance to reveal itself to others. The moment is now a memory. And all those feelings you get when any significant event transitions into becoming a memory - that is what I am feeling with the close of Nightingale.