Archives for January 23, 2018

By now, many of you will have read Tuesday’s New York Times story about the firing of Gordon Edelstein, Long Wharf Theatre’s artistic director and the director of the off-Broadway production of Satchmo at the Waldorf, my first play.

One consequence of the events described in the story is that Gordon will no longer be directing the Houston premiere of Satchmo, which starts previews at the Alley Theatre on February 24, a month from today. I have agreed to direct the show in his place. I’ll be working with Kevin Adams, John Gromada, Lee Savage, and Ilona Somogyi, the design team for the off-Broadway production, and the production will be performed on Lee’s original set. As always, I will continue to write my drama column for The Wall Street Journal during the rehearsal period—a pretty nifty piece of juggling, if I do say so myself.

Needless to say, this is not my first time directing Satchmo, which I staged for Palm Beach Dramaworks in 2016. I didn’t expect to be doing it again so soon, though, or at such short notice (rehearsals begin on Tuesday). Nor will I pretend that this is a happy occasion, for me or any of us. It is anything but that. Nevertheless, I’m glad to be returning to the rehearsal room, and thrilled to be teaming up once more with my old colleagues.

I’ll be posting further details as they become available. In the meantime, go here to order tickets or find out more about the Alley’s production of Satchmo, which opens on February 28.

From 2008:

I’m sitting in the waiting room of a doctor’s office in Smalltown, U.S.A., where I’ve been staying for a day short of two weeks, my longest visit in…well, as far back as I can remember. It’s not a vacation, alas. My seventy-eight-year-old mother fell and cracked her pelvis two months ago, and I’m looking after her while my brother arranges for home health care. (He and his wife, who live two blocks away, both have nine-to-five jobs that keep them busy all day.) Mrs. T was here as well, but she had to return to New York last Friday, and since then I’ve been on duty more or less continuously.

Being a full-time caregiver is a new and instructive experience for me. My mother can get around her house with the aid of a walker, but she’s not yet accustomed to using it regularly, and after spending a long and busy lifetime taking care of herself and others, she’s no more used to being inactive. Left to her own devices, she’d be on her feet at least half the time—she is, like me, a chronic picture-straightener—and I doubt she’d be using her walker more than sporadically, either. Thus I spend my days and nights with one ear cocked for trouble, serving by turns as resident picture-straightener, cook, dishwasher, secretary, chauffeur, conversationalist, physical therapist, dispenser of drugs, and maker of endless cups of weak decaffeinated coffee, each one flavored with three heaping spoonfuls of cappuccino mix….

Read the whole thing here.

“This may be speaking too presumptuously, and may deserve a punishment: but no feeling man will be forward to inflict it: he will leave me alone, with the conviction that there is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.”

John Keats, preface to Endymion: A Poetic Romance