Center Theatre Group Blog

Mike Sablone is CTG’s Literary Associate, starting left fielder and third-string shortstop for Dark Monday, the CTG softball team.

As one often does, I was getting my hair cut earlier in the week.

Note: I refuse to say “hairs cut” because it sounds ridiculous. What’s odd about that is that I’m usually all about saying things ridiculously if it’s going to mask my inherent stupidity.

Note: This does not count for my particularly New Englandy way of double and even triple negative-ing certain sentences (”That’s never not funny” being a favorite of mine.)

So, again, as one often does, one is engaged in conversation with one’s barber.

Note: I’m not a big fan of talking to my barber. I prefer to zone out and think about what it would be like if I shaved my head or had them buzz a hilariously inappropriate symbol or letters into my hair.

Note: It’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just want to avoid having to explain what it is I do. This is not a situation particular to barbers. It’s also applicable to friends, friends of friends, people at the bus stop, my landlord, my parents, the government, that sassy judge, my coworkers, Tony Danza, you know, the usual.

Note: I’m not ashamed, it’s just confusing, and because of that it leads to more talking and then more confusion and more talking, and then, before I know it, I’m living with that person.

Note: I know it doesn’t sound like it, but it is a big problem.

Here’s an idea. Instead of getting bogged down with notes, I’m just going to transcribe the conversation:

Barber: So what do you do?

Me: I work for the Center Theatre Group. I’m in the literary department. I develop new plays.

Barber: (beat) Wouldn’t there be more of that in San Francisco?

Me: Well, there is certainly a great theater scene there, but we’re a pretty big organization. We’ve got three theaters and work with a lot of fantastic artists here in Los Angeles.

Barber: Huh. (Snip, snip. Snip, snip. Snip, snip. Pause. Snip. Pause. Snip.) Uh, did you say you develop nude plays?

Me: No. No I did not. I said new.

Barber: Oh! That makes more sense!

Me: Yeah. I suppose your comment about San Francisco comment also makes more sense.

Fin.

Leslie K. Johnson is CTG’s Director of Education and Outreach and heads up the Performing for Los Angeles Youth program (P.L.A.Y.)

I had my first real kiss at a cast party for Tom Sawyer. I was an awkward, nerdy 7th grader (think the African-American Olive Oyl with Coke-bottle glasses) attending Langston Hughes Middle School in Reston, Virginia. I had a huge crush on a boy named Sean Morgan. He was an early bloomer – already emerged from his lanky adolescent shell into a hunky, suave leading man. Plus he was taller than me. He was a fixture in our school plays, so if I wanted to be close to Sean, I was going to have to get into theatre. Now, given my limited experience (read: lack of acting talent), our Drama and Speech Teacher, Mrs. Judy Bowns, did not see fit to cast me in a speaking role, but since the production was a musical, there was plenty of room in the corps of dancers for gangly me. And over the course of weeks of after-school rehearsals, I got to be in close proximity to Sean’s loveliness, developing, what became, an epic crush.

Even with this distracting romantic subtext, our production was a technical masterpiece and run-away hit. After the show, Sean’s parents hosted the cast party at their home. He was working the room – moving from group to group sharing his congratulations, joshing with friends, seemingly untouchable. The party was fun, but our paths didn’t really cross until my dad came to get me. Ever the gentleman, Sean walked me to the door and just as I turned to say a final thank you, he was standing there – a little too close, still in Sawyer’s tattered coverall shorts and red/white checked gingham shirt. He put his hand on my shoulder, and said “Uh, great job dancing” and smack, planted a full mouth kiss on me. It…was…magical. 

Sadly, I would later come to learn that Sean had, in fact, been walking every female party-goer to the door and, therefore, getting a lip workout with each girl in the cast and crew. And so, as with most crushes, in the end, I was crushed. 

Nonetheless, through the experience of participating in the production of Tom Sawyer, I learned some things and showed some promise. Mrs. Bowns sought me out to work on other productions after that – South Pacific, Our Town, Guys and Dolls. The next year, Sean and his family moved away, but I continued to study theatre into high school. I “retired” from my stage career by 10th grade to focus on backstage activities. I really liked knowing how things worked, having access and knowledge of behind the scenes (a feeling that still holds true today). And so, as with so many things in life, what started as a way to meet a boy turned into something that peaked my curiosity, tapped my inner passion, challenged me, and connected me to a whole new group of people.

In the end it doesn’t really matter why or how you come to participate in theatre – a school field trip, the only available elective, your friend had a free ticket, or a crush on a seriously cute boy. What matters is that you have the access to experience its magic. Because once you have, theatre isn’t some passing crush on a philandering, manipulative, adolescent twit. Theatre, like true love, is about feeling your heart pounding, experiencing yourself growing, and discovering real passion. So take that, Sean!

Photo at left: Leslie K. Johnson, circa 7th grade.

There are three kinds of people in the world. Those that see the glass as half empty. Those that see it as half-full.

And then there are the Irish. They just see a half a glass.

Usually of whiskey.

Neither optimists nor pessimists. Pragmatists.

As my mean, little, off-the-boat Irish Grandmother used to say…”’Tis what ‘tis.”

(Which was ironic because after she died we discovered that somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean, between Killarney and Boston, and on her way to her exciting new life as a house servant, she miraculously shaved 6 years off her life. Apparently having reached old-maid status at the ripe age of 28 in Ireland, and unwilling to join the convent, she was tossed out of the house (and country!) by Great Grampa Maurice and told to find her own way. So in order to increase her odds of landing some dullard as an American husband she recreated herself as a blushing, young, 22 year old lass.)

So in my grandmother’s case it was more like “’Taint what ‘tis.”

Anyway (new subject!), I didn’t record any thoughts as a child. Diaries were for girls. (“Dear Diary, today Arianna looked at me funny. I will tell her to stop that.”) And I didn’t keep a journal, either. Journals were for adventurers. (“Today’s sightings: 17 otter, 3 muskrats, 6 deer, 1 large moose, many squirrel, a beaver family. And some Injuns.”)

I had (and still have) a penis, so a diary doesn’t feel right. And my life’s greatest adventures consisted of playing with matches in the woods behind Bobby Brindisi’s house, so a journal is suspect. But as I understand it, you kids today have come up with this thing called a “blog.” And I have been asked to inaugurate the new Center Theatre Group blog. And to welcome you. I am touched. You are welcomed.

However, I have to admit that I have been skipping all of the “Blog Meetings.” I have conveniently had a crisis erupt about ten minutes before each scheduled blog meeting that demanded my immediate attention. And then (even more conveniently) I would sit at my desk and go to espn.com. or broadwaystars.com and read other people’s blogs. (Hey, everybody else was busy at the Blog Meeting, it wasn’t as if I was going to be needed for anything.) (Do you think I write with too many parentheses?) (Am I thinking out loud?) (Do these pants make me look fat?) And, having missed all the meetings, I am not sure what this blog is really supposed to be. I know that we had an in-house contest to name the blog and are now calling it something witty like “Backstage Pass.” I also know that as a Non-Profit (take that, Massman!) we didn’t give a cash prize to the winning entry because we can’t afford it. So I really don’t know why anyone spent time on that contest. But lots of staff members did. When they could have been working. Or reading espn.com. (Late vote from me…I prefer “Chewing the Scenery”). But now that I have captured your attention here at “Backstage Pass!” I’d like to lay out some simple ground rules for this particular blog.

So let’s circle back to my opening about the three kinds of people and apply it to this blog. We will not be eternal optimists (“Order your tickets to Minsky’s immediately, it promises to be a HUGE hit!!!!”). Nor will we bore you to tears with our natural theatrical pessimism (“FedEx is late. Again. My job is really, really hard and nobody appreciates me”).

What we will do is to give you a peek behind the curtain. To let you read about, and respond to the way we pass the days and nights here at CTG putting on plays. All aspects will be covered, and many voices will be heard. We hope for honesty and humor, and interesting info and gossip to come your way. Much like our company softball team, we cannot promise perfection, but we can certainly guarantee enthusiasm. Hopefully, you’ll learn a little bit more of us, and we of you. And maybe I’ll get a few things off my chest, as well. As my college pal Bowie used to say “If this belt could talk…”

So, in closing…welcome. Come back. Throw some words our way. Let’s have a conversation.

And remember to order your tickets to Minsky’s. It promises to be a huge hit.

Seriously.

Michael Ritchie is the Artistic Director of Center Theatre Group.

Photo by Joe Pugliese.