Photo 22 Jul 717 notes stunt-witch:

cantallcomeandgobytardis:

well this happened

I want a pride playbill D:

stunt-witch:

cantallcomeandgobytardis:

well this happened

I want a pride playbill D:

Video 21 Jul 1,876 notes

Lesli Margherita’s tips for Broadway dreamers and anyone who feels like they have no hope of achieving their dreams.

(Source: karencartwright)

Photo 19 Jul 6,775 notes humansofnewyork:

"One of the magical things about theater is that it gathers a crowd of people in a quiet space, and each member of the audience gets to see how people respond differently to the different things being said on stage. The person next to you will laugh at something that you’d never think of laughing at, and you’ll get a glimpse into all the different ways of viewing the world. Unfortunately, so much theater today is less nuanced. It gives you a large dose of one way of thinking, in hopes of getting as many of the same type of people into the theater as possible."

I really love Humans of New York and this guy gave a good perspective on theatre.

humansofnewyork:

"One of the magical things about theater is that it gathers a crowd of people in a quiet space, and each member of the audience gets to see how people respond differently to the different things being said on stage. The person next to you will laugh at something that you’d never think of laughing at, and you’ll get a glimpse into all the different ways of viewing the world. Unfortunately, so much theater today is less nuanced. It gives you a large dose of one way of thinking, in hopes of getting as many of the same type of people into the theater as possible."

I really love Humans of New York and this guy gave a good perspective on theatre.

Photo 19 Jul 605 notes oldfilmsflicker:



"Jesus, what a tramp!" George of the famous duo leading John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men exclaims with disdain after first meeting Curley’s wife, the newly married young woman living on the ranch. The audience, notably younger than usual Broadway theatergoers, dependably erupts with laughter, and as that subsides, George threatens Lennie, his lovable, mentally disabled friend, “Don’t even look at that bitch” when Lennie innocently remarks how “purdy” she is.
The insults are thrown at Curley’s wife: bitch, tramp, tart. The further along in the production we go, the more I realize that the audience agrees. In rooting for our heroes — the everyman protagonists who scorn and demean the only woman — the audience finds themselves unquestioningly hating her, too. But why? Of course, in playing this character, as with any other project, I care for her and have found common ground with even her specific flaws; I would expect my affection for her to be above those watching from the audience. But in dissecting this piece for five months now, I’ve found that within the writing, there is both a lack of reason to truly hate this woman, and the inevitable and undeniable urge to do so.
A few months ago, I read a piece by Daisy Eagan, a Tony Award-winning actress who was aiming to condemn a misogynistic comment on my character in a New York Times review. The review stated that my version of the character was intentionally lacking in the vamp department so as to dissuade the viewer from thinking that “she was asking for it,” — “it” being her death. Of course, I agreed with Ms. Eagan’s opinion in that no woman ever asks for violence or rape, and that ignorance was most likely what brought the Times writer to his conclusion. However, during our four-month run, I’ve had ups and downs with this notion, in my own feelings of insecurity, and in studying the words of Steinbeck; not just the play itself, but in a letter that was passed on to me by our director at the beginning of our run, written by Steinbeck to Claire Luce, the actress who originated the role on stage. In the letter, Steinbeck sheds light on what is behind this character without a name, writing that, “She was told over and over that she must remain a virgin because that was the only way she could get a husband … She only had that one thing to sell and she knew it.” He goes on, “She is a nice, kind girl and not a floozy. No man has ever considered her as anything except a girl to try to make … As to her actual sex life — she has had none except with Curley and there has probably been no consummation there since Curley would not consider her gratification and would probably be suspicious if she had any.” I can barely read the letter now without tearing up at the thought of this imaginary woman, what she stands for, and what she loses. It’s only become clear to me during my time with Curley’s wife exactly how subversive Steinbeck’s work is, and how he must have intended it.
If this woman is purely a victim, why is she so hated? And if she is truly harmless, why is she so threatening? Without question, it was a commentary on the social climate at the time, which still surprisingly applies today. But if sexism is one of the featured themes, why not say it? Crooks, a character who is forced to live in the barn and away from the other men, says that it’s “because I’m black. They play cards in there but I can’t play cus I’m black.” As clear as day, the color of his skin is the reason for segregation. A modern audience cringes and immediately identifies. Such an explanation is never given as to why Curley’s wife is shunned.
From an outside perspective, one might see her desperate attempts to make a connection to these men as innocent: “There ain’t no women. I can’t walk to town … I tell you I just want to talk to somebody.” Yet somehow, invariably, a large portion of the audience seems to agree with George. They want her to leave so she doesn’t cause any trouble. I understand, because watching Chris O’Dowd, Jim Norton and James Franco make their plans for a utopian ranch, I want them to have that dream, too. But why is Curley’s wife’s presence so disturbing? And why does the audience agree? It’s the subconscious and inflammatory nature of Steinbeck’s writing that makes the viewer join in on the bashing of this woman, punish her existence, snicker at her mishaps. The genius and relevancy behind Steinbeck’s mission in writing this piece is that, to this day, it forces you to see yourself, to expose the depth of your own intolerance, prejudice, cruelty, and naiveté.
Literarily, Curley’s wife is compared to an animal in an effort to reduce and humiliate her. She is mockingly referred to as a “Lulu,” the same name for Slim’s dog, described as a bitch who just “slang nine pups.” “She’d be better off dead,” is the opinion of Candy’s old dog, and that attitude is undoubtedly mirrored toward the lone woman. But when the dog gets led off to be shot, protests can be heard from the audience, and as a dog lover, I have the same feeling. Complaints can rarely be heard during Curley’s wife’s death.
The final, eerie moment of her life is often accompanied by the uproar of laughter. She is violently shaken, rendered lifeless. It doesn’t seem to get less painful for me, less terrifying, less tragic with time, yet our unusually young audience seems unfazed, if not amused by the savage act. Perhaps it’s the only response that comforts them in an awkward or tense moment. Curley’s wife’s dead body lies still on the floor as Candy spits at her, “You goddamned tramp, you done it didn’t you? Everybody said you’d mess things up, you just wasn’t no good.” And again, the audience cracks up. That isn’t to say there aren’t viewers undisturbed by the sight of this broken woman, and the lengthy scene that follows her death wherein she lies lifeless and untouched, center stage.
Throughout this run I’ve come to recognize these common reactions, and eventually understand them without resentment. Yet somehow, each time I enter the stage, as I’m faced with the audience who laughs or sneers, I’m struck with the loneliness that I can only imagine a woman like Curley’s wife must feel — the desperation for conversation, respect, and above all, dignity. Each time, I’m caught off-guard when I lose it.


I’m Not a Tart: The Feminist Subtext of Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men | Leighton Meester

oldfilmsflicker:

"Jesus, what a tramp!" George of the famous duo leading John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men exclaims with disdain after first meeting Curley’s wife, the newly married young woman living on the ranch. The audience, notably younger than usual Broadway theatergoers, dependably erupts with laughter, and as that subsides, George threatens Lennie, his lovable, mentally disabled friend, “Don’t even look at that bitch” when Lennie innocently remarks how “purdy” she is.

The insults are thrown at Curley’s wife: bitch, tramp, tart. The further along in the production we go, the more I realize that the audience agrees. In rooting for our heroes — the everyman protagonists who scorn and demean the only woman — the audience finds themselves unquestioningly hating her, too. But why? Of course, in playing this character, as with any other project, I care for her and have found common ground with even her specific flaws; I would expect my affection for her to be above those watching from the audience. But in dissecting this piece for five months now, I’ve found that within the writing, there is both a lack of reason to truly hate this woman, and the inevitable and undeniable urge to do so.

A few months ago, I read a piece by Daisy Eagan, a Tony Award-winning actress who was aiming to condemn a misogynistic comment on my character in a New York Times review. The review stated that my version of the character was intentionally lacking in the vamp department so as to dissuade the viewer from thinking that “she was asking for it,” — “it” being her death. Of course, I agreed with Ms. Eagan’s opinion in that no woman ever asks for violence or rape, and that ignorance was most likely what brought the Times writer to his conclusion. 

However, during our four-month run, I’ve had ups and downs with this notion, in my own feelings of insecurity, and in studying the words of Steinbeck; not just the play itself, but in a letter that was passed on to me by our director at the beginning of our run, written by Steinbeck to Claire Luce, the actress who originated the role on stage. In the letter, Steinbeck sheds light on what is behind this character without a name, writing that, “She was told over and over that she must remain a virgin because that was the only way she could get a husband … She only had that one thing to sell and she knew it.” He goes on, “She is a nice, kind girl and not a floozy. No man has ever considered her as anything except a girl to try to make … As to her actual sex life — she has had none except with Curley and there has probably been no consummation there since Curley would not consider her gratification and would probably be suspicious if she had any.” I can barely read the letter now without tearing up at the thought of this imaginary woman, what she stands for, and what she loses. It’s only become clear to me during my time with Curley’s wife exactly how subversive Steinbeck’s work is, and how he must have intended it.

If this woman is purely a victim, why is she so hated? And if she is truly harmless, why is she so threatening? Without question, it was a commentary on the social climate at the time, which still surprisingly applies today. But if sexism is one of the featured themes, why not say it? Crooks, a character who is forced to live in the barn and away from the other men, says that it’s “because I’m black. They play cards in there but I can’t play cus I’m black.” As clear as day, the color of his skin is the reason for segregation. A modern audience cringes and immediately identifies. Such an explanation is never given as to why Curley’s wife is shunned.

From an outside perspective, one might see her desperate attempts to make a connection to these men as innocent: “There ain’t no women. I can’t walk to town … I tell you I just want to talk to somebody.” Yet somehow, invariably, a large portion of the audience seems to agree with George. They want her to leave so she doesn’t cause any trouble. I understand, because watching Chris O’Dowd, Jim Norton and James Franco make their plans for a utopian ranch, I want them to have that dream, too. But why is Curley’s wife’s presence so disturbing? And why does the audience agree? It’s the subconscious and inflammatory nature of Steinbeck’s writing that makes the viewer join in on the bashing of this woman, punish her existence, snicker at her mishaps. The genius and relevancy behind Steinbeck’s mission in writing this piece is that, to this day, it forces you to see yourself, to expose the depth of your own intolerance, prejudice, cruelty, and naiveté.

Literarily, Curley’s wife is compared to an animal in an effort to reduce and humiliate her. She is mockingly referred to as a “Lulu,” the same name for Slim’s dog, described as a bitch who just “slang nine pups.” “She’d be better off dead,” is the opinion of Candy’s old dog, and that attitude is undoubtedly mirrored toward the lone woman. But when the dog gets led off to be shot, protests can be heard from the audience, and as a dog lover, I have the same feeling. Complaints can rarely be heard during Curley’s wife’s death.

The final, eerie moment of her life is often accompanied by the uproar of laughter. She is violently shaken, rendered lifeless. It doesn’t seem to get less painful for me, less terrifying, less tragic with time, yet our unusually young audience seems unfazed, if not amused by the savage act. Perhaps it’s the only response that comforts them in an awkward or tense moment. Curley’s wife’s dead body lies still on the floor as Candy spits at her, “You goddamned tramp, you done it didn’t you? Everybody said you’d mess things up, you just wasn’t no good.” And again, the audience cracks up. That isn’t to say there aren’t viewers undisturbed by the sight of this broken woman, and the lengthy scene that follows her death wherein she lies lifeless and untouched, center stage.

Throughout this run I’ve come to recognize these common reactions, and eventually understand them without resentment. Yet somehow, each time I enter the stage, as I’m faced with the audience who laughs or sneers, I’m struck with the loneliness that I can only imagine a woman like Curley’s wife must feel — the desperation for conversation, respect, and above all, dignity. Each time, I’m caught off-guard when I lose it.

I’m Not a Tart: The Feminist Subtext of Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men | Leighton Meester

Video 17 Jul 3,275 notes

micdotcom:

12 Elaine Stritch quotes to live by

Elaine Stritch, female comedy icon and salty Broadway grand dame, died Thursday at the grand age of 89. Outspoken, lauded and often considered difficult by her co-workers, Stritch never stopped working even in her 80s, only moving out of New York in the last year or so of her life. She was a proud supporter of the city all through her life, though. “I think it’s the wrong way around to say when you get older move to the country,” she once said. “I think when you get older you move to New York. If you’re a nice broad they’ll look after you.”

Read more of her quotes | Follow micdotcom 

Video 17 Jul 1,534 notes

"Does anybody still wear a hat?"

Elaine Stritch, Feb. 2nd 1925 - July 17th 2014. 

Hats off to ya!

(Source: banrions)

Photo 17 Jul 1,773 notes imwithkanye:

Elaine Stritch, Tart-Tongued Broadway Actress and Singer, Is Dead at 89 | NYT
Plainspoken, egalitarian, impatient with fools and foolishness, and admittedly fond of cigarettes, alcohol and late nights — she finally gave up smoking and drinking in her 60s — though she took it up again — Ms. Stritch might be the only actor to work as a bartender after starring on Broadway, and she was completely unabashed about her good-time-girl attitude.
“I’m not a bit opposed to your mentioning in this article that Frieda Fun here has had a reputation in the theater, for the past five or six years, for drinking,” she said to a reporter for The New York Times in 1968. “I drink and I love to drink, and it’s part of my life.”
[more]

imwithkanye:

Elaine Stritch, Tart-Tongued Broadway Actress and Singer, Is Dead at 89 | NYT

Plainspoken, egalitarian, impatient with fools and foolishness, and admittedly fond of cigarettes, alcohol and late nights — she finally gave up smoking and drinking in her 60s — though she took it up again — Ms. Stritch might be the only actor to work as a bartender after starring on Broadway, and she was completely unabashed about her good-time-girl attitude.

“I’m not a bit opposed to your mentioning in this article that Frieda Fun here has had a reputation in the theater, for the past five or six years, for drinking,” she said to a reporter for The New York Times in 1968. “I drink and I love to drink, and it’s part of my life.”

[more]

Text 10 Jul 291 notes if you ever feel bad about yourself

officialmaureenjohnson:

just remember that when stephen sondheim wrote merrily we roll along it failed spectacularly it closed after 16 performances and he left musical theatre to become a mystery writer but he came back to write sunday in the park with george aka the most beautiful musical ever written which would go on to win ten drama desk awards seven olivier awards two tonys and a pulitzer 

Text 10 Jul 22 notes

Anonymous said: Favorite books about feminism and theatre?

fuckyeahgreatplays:

I’m no academic so I’m afraid I can’t name any specific books on the topic. Maybe feminismintheatre can jump in here on that. But I can name plays!

I’m a broken record to folks who have been around, but since I’ve got so many new followers, I’ll say it again: The Heidi Chronicles. Then go to Fefu and Her Friends, Top Girls, and Intimate Apparel. In The Next Room is one people really enjoy, and I’m going to throw in the recent When We Were Young and Unafraid if it’s published yet (I’m not sure). Sorry I can’t be of more help!

Gave my answer on another ask: http://feminismintheatre.tumblr.com/post/91414224281/best-books-on-feminism-and-theatre

Text 10 Jul 1 note

randymandyy said: Best books on feminism and theatre?

I’m not a scholar (in fact, my tagline says so), but I’ll try. These are books I found on my university library database, so you may find these in your library or online.

First, look at Sue-Ellen Case’s books. Many of them focus on feminism and theatre.

Now, for some books:

  • Feminist Theatre by Helene Keyssar
  • An Introduction to Feminism and Theatre by Elaine Aston
  • Unmaking Mimesis by Elin Diamond
  • The Feminist Spectator as Critic by Jill Dolan

I’m Canadian, so I have to mention Nightwood Theatre: A Woman’s Work is Always Done by Shelley Scott. Nightwood Theatre is a Toronto-based theatre company dedicated to producing works made by female playwrights.

If you’re looking for a feminist analysis on musical theatre, the only book I found is Changed for Good: A Feminist History of the Broadway Musical by Stacy Wolf.

These are all I can find. But if anyone can provide some recommendations, please do so.

Text 10 Jul 2,786 notes

syndicatedsitcoms:

I witnessed Sutton Foster pulling a Patti LuPone today and it was glorious.

She literally stopped the show while remaining in character and told two IDIOTS yelling over a cell phone that “we’ll wait” and then just stood there not looking at them.

"We’ll wait."

THE WOMAN IS A GOD.

Photo 9 Jul 2 notes How did I get 32 followers in one day?
But this is awesome. So hello to my new followers. I’m not sure if it’s because of the blog’s purpose or if it’s because it acts as a part-time Audra McDonald appreciation blog, but thank you.

How did I get 32 followers in one day?

But this is awesome. So hello to my new followers. I’m not sure if it’s because of the blog’s purpose or if it’s because it acts as a part-time Audra McDonald appreciation blog, but thank you.

Text 9 Jul 1 note

mooshymoomoo said: Hi! First of all, I love your blog. A+. Second, I just came away from watching My Fair Lady, and I have to say it left a bad taste in my mouth. I tried to explain to mom why it was problematic and she dismissed me, so I turned to the internet for support and I'm very much thankful to say I found you. So thank you for that analysis, which I am now showing her. :)

No problem. You should also get your mom to read Pygmalion. It is the original and its ending and character development is better than My Fair Lady.

Video 8 Jul 12,223 notes

fuckyeahgreatplays:

fanatic-at-the-disco:

fertile-mind-seeks-water:

fuckyeahgreatplays:

Romeo N Juliet, Classical Theater of Harlem

I want to see this!! Just beautiful!!

I’M SORRY BUT I CAN’T IGNORE THE TWO PEOPLE FRICK FRACKING IN THE BACK?????

Guys, this post has over 6,000 notes now and this is the first person to notice the folks in the back of the second pic. Love it.

Link 8 Jul 6 notes Here Lies Progress: Asian Actors Fill the Playbill»

An article detailing Asian actors on Broadway. It focuses specifically on the musical Here Lies Love, which is about former Filipino First Lady Imelda Marcos. I’ve heard some good things about the show and I hope to see it someday.


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