Why do I work in the theatre? Yes, I love the thrum of immediate, live, audience response. But tonight, again, I wondered if maybe it isn’t the actors who keep me coming back. The good, competent, skilled, professional, incredibly talented actors who are fun to work with because they have incredible passion for what they do and because they can channel up human expression and the depths of our experience and present it to us in ways that are eerily true and unexpected.

Case in point:  this guy, my friend Brian Newkirk.

A little background:

I have known and worked with Brian Newkirk for about 12 years. I don’t know how many plays we’ve done together now with me serving as director or producer, and he may have been in one or two of the plays I’ve written as well and I’ve honestly forgotten, and if so, I apologize, but it just seems that we’ve done countless projects together. For all 12 years, Brian has been the consummate pro. I know that people who don’t work with actors all the time have this stereotype that actors are flakes. Neurotic, drooling, pampered, skittish, impossible flakes. No — those are stars (and just some of them). Actors — real actors — do things like show up on time, and know their lines, and give their all, and will do anything for a good part, and ask for little in return except maybe that you respect their craft. Sometimes you get a person who is both actor and star; I did three gigs with Alfred Molina, and I can tell you, he is a star and an actor. There are plenty of other examples, too. But to do theatre, you’d better be an actor. There’s no one there to bail you out, and there’s nobody who’s going to yell, “Cut,” and there’s no fixing your performance in post.

Which brings me back to Brian Newkirk. During the rehearsal of “The Incident Report,” a world-premiere play by EM Lewis that I’m directing, one of my actors took ill. Throughout the weeks of rehearsal, he kept going to doctors and hospitals and labs and getting every test known to man — and still made it to rehearsals and even made it to opening night before, finally, two days ago, he was hospitalized with, wait for it, a heart infection. Yes, an infection in his heart. And he still came to opening night and blew me and everybody else away, before he finally got diagnosed with something so serious that there are miles of tubes and other artificial plumbing now running in and out of his chest in a hospital at UCLA. So, Monday, two nights before the next performance, enter Brian Newkirk, who nobly agreed to go on in this other actor’s stead. How many rehearsals did Brian get with me? None — unless you count the “rehearsal” we did today over the phone.  Yes, I have now done everything one can do as a stage director on behalf of “the show must go on,” because I have now rehearsed an understudy over the phone. And by “rehearsed,” I mean we discussed his character arc and his intentions and an approach to the character, in about 15 minutes. And tonight, two days after getting tapped to go on for the rest of this run, and with one linethrough with his fellow actors yesterday and 15 minutes on the phone with me today, Brian Newkirk went on tonight. No script in hand, all of his lines and his blocking committed to memory. And he was fantastic.

I love this story. Don’t  you love this story? Because don’t we all like to believe that if you just put your back into it and your heart and soul, you can do amazing things?

I knew I’d forgotten to mention two other critters encountered on our trip.

Because we were in the high desert, it figured that this guy would run across our path (which he did).

And while we didn’t see his arch-nemesis, his constant yammering at night certainly kept my dog entertained.

Just in time for Halloween:  truly repulsive candy.

(Thanks to Rich Roesberg for making me aware of this. And no, my kids won’t be on his doorstep this Halloween.)

Sorry for the absence; I took my family camping in the mountains for three days and didn’t want all those burglars who read this blog to know we would be out of town. I don’t know how many of them there are out there, but I figured I wouldn’t take my chances, given the media coverage of all the zillions of people who supposedly blogged about forthcoming vacations and then returned to find they’d been cleaned out better than a pop-up Halloween store on November 1st.  Normally, we have a trusted house sitter who guards the house while our dog guards him, but we wanted to take the dog with us and also give the trusted house sitter and friend a break.

We stayed in the Cleveland National Forest, which is not in Cleveland, but in San Diego County. The weather was ideal —  warm and dry — and the site rather secluded and peaceful because late October is off-season. The last time I went camping, four years ago, I took my elder son to Lone Pine, elevation 10,000 feet, where it was cold in July. This time the top of the mountain was a mere 5,000 feet, and 72 degrees in October. We saw many representatives of wildlife, not one of which I was able to capture a photo of. Luckily, I have artists’ representations:

The latter two were a constant presence, in alternating shifts. The first night sleeping out in the tent I was enchanted by the hooting of the local owl (wherever he was); the second night I was aching for an air rifle and a clear shot at him. The second fellow above was highly industrious and completely absorbed in his work of pounding acorns into his winter pantry all day long with  his head. Here’s an example of his handicraft:

Two animals that, in three days, we did not see:

A cow. For some reasons, there are signs heading almost the entire way up the mountain warning of cows — or, perhaps, a single cow, one lone maddened reckless bloodthirsty cow who terrorizes the mountain. We never saw it, although my 7-year-old son was insistent that he had seen both a cow and, at one point, a ram. (He also spent much of the weekend conversing in the tongue of Jar-Jar Binks, so his word is meaningless.)

And then, on the way down the mountain and home, we saw this sign. (And no sign of the animals referenced here either.)

Remember Otto, the elderly accordionist from the old country who has been supplying me with spicy beer sausage for years? My kids and I were sad to learn yesterday that he died. Here’s a nice tribute in our local paper. And here’s hoping that his son, or someone else, carries on his fine tradition. (‘Cause I don’t know where else to get that spicy beer sausage.)

By the way, about 10 years ago I was directing a play called “Grandma’s Christmas Goulash,” by David Vegh. One of the actors, Richard Ruyle, wanted to know how to do a Hungarian accent. Of course, I sent him to do some shopping at Otto’s Deli. Next rehearsal, Rich showed up with that accent perfected. (But no spicy beer sausage.)

Yes, today is Global Handwashing Day. Just in case you need any help knowing how to wash your hands, I have posted this helpful video, above. Rest assured, tomorrow we’re all free to return to our filthy mitts.

(On a side note, given that today I sent more money to both my state and federal governments, I can’t help wondering what my net contribution was to the handwashing video and its accompanying dance. I’m all for clean hands, but here’s what I believe: the world’s wealthier people, with access to water and soap, tend to use them. The world’s poorer people, without such access, can’t. So it’s not handwashing instruction we need (whether aimed at kids or grownups). It’s proper distribution of essential resources. But hey, I’m against funding PBS, too. If the government is going to lay its hands on my money, I’d like it not to be subsidizing Dr. Wayne Dyer and Suze Orman and innumerable other wealthy self-improvement gurus.)

We now return you to feeling good about clean hands.

I found out this morning that someone I know died. Why? Because she was uninsured.

This past Spring, she wasn’t feeling well, but didn’t seek treatment. She wasn’t able to afford health insurance, so she implemented the only plan available:  hope. As in, “hope it goes away.” It didn’t. Finally, she went to a county clinic, where she was diagnosed with pneumonia. Well, she may — or may  not — have had that. But she also had lung cancer, something that no doubt would have been revealed by a more thorough checkup by a doctor or hospital covered through insurance.  By the time this was discovered, it was too late, and so, a few months later, she’s dead.

Although all cancers are different, let me draw one point of comparison. When my father was diagnosed with cancer, he had health insurance, which covered initial tests and doctors and treatment and medication and so forth. They gave him only six months to live, but he made it almost three years. In the case of the woman I’m talking about, she was 17 years younger than my father. Maybe her cancer was more treatable — maybe her cancer was curable.

As it is, she is one of the 44,789 people who die every year because they have no health insurance; these are the people my new hero Congressman Alan Grayson apologized to a couple of weeks ago.

Recently I found myself seated at an event next to a surgeon I know. He’s for health-care reform, he told me (and who could be against it, when everyone agrees it isn’t working?). But he also talked about how the wrong sort of reform would wind up limiting care. No doubt. But one thing is clear: We’re already limiting care, and we’ve got the numbers to prove it. Today we can count one more fatality.

My play “He Said She Said” opened tonight and now it’s 1 a.m. and I’m back at my office to catch up on some writing work. But before I get to that, I just have to take time to note the moment. The response to the play was tumultuous:  big laughs right where they should be, matched by a keening audience-wide sense of the lead character’s plight. Thirty years of doing theatre, and that was one of my best opening nights ever. It’s true what they say:  you can get pretty far with great actors and a great director.

Here’s where you can go for ticket info. There are only 4 or 5 more performances.

So the Pee-wee backlash continues. Here’s their latest statement. I’m still pissed. Pee-wee is quoted as saying he wants to “grovel” before his fans. I don’t think that that is going to do it.

I have been a Pee-wee Herman fan for years — before the Saturday morning shows, before the movies, I caught his HBO special and loved it. (And, had I been living here a few years earlier, I’m sure I would’ve see the show that spawned that special.) Pee-wee is the successor to the great children’s hosts whose programming was also secretly aimed at adults in the know, the best example of this being Soupy Sales. (Whom I also revere.) On August 10th I wrote here about my eagerness to see the new live Pee-wee Herman show. The very next day, 47 minutes after they went on sale, I scored two third-row seats.

Three days ago I got this very unwelcome email from my pals at Ticketmaster (please remember:  This is National Sarcasm Awareness Month).

Message sent on sent on behalf of Goldenvoice, event promoter for the upcoming Pee-wee Herman Show:
Hello, this is Ticketmaster Customer Service with an important alert for your upcoming event sent on behalf of Goldenvoice, the event promoter for the upcoming Pee-wee Herman Show scheduled at The Music Box on Sunday, November 8, 2009 through Saturday, December 19, 2009.

Due to popular demand, the Pee-wee Herman Show is moving to a larger venue and has new dates. It will now take place in downtown Los Angeles at Club Nokia, LA Live. The new dates are rescheduled for January 12, 2010 through February 7, 2010.

As a previous buyer, you have an exclusive opportunity to exchange your tickets for any one of the new shows. Simply call Ticketmaster at 1-800-653-8000 and provide us with your original confirmation number. Seats will be exchanged on a first come, first serve basis. This exclusive opportunity will begin on Wednesday, October 7, 2009 at 10:00am and will end on Wednesday, October 14, 2009 at 10:00 pm.  Tickets will be available to the general public on Thursday, October 15, 2009 at 10:00 am.

If you don’t exchange your tickets by Wednesday, October 14, 2009 at 10:00pm, you will receive an automatic refund. Your original tickets will not be honored at the new venue.

REMEMBER: Please contact us before 10:00 pm, October 14, 2009 to take advantage of this exclusive opportunity to have first crack at tickets for the new venue, Club Nokia. We apologize for any inconvenience.

If you have any questions, please contact Ticketmaster online at:
http://www.ticketmaster.com/h/asktm.html
Thank you for using Ticketmaster. We appreciate your business!

Well, I’ve called that number. And called it. And called it. About 5,000 times since it went live. And I’ve gotten nothing but a busy signal. I also clicked the link to ask Ticketmaster to call me. So far:  nothing but silence.

The people who have gotten through are pretty mad — about as mad as I am, but moreso. Because many of them also booked flights and hotels. (I have — or had — the advantage of being local.)   The email above promised “comparable seats,” but it looks like what’s being forced on us is refunds — and the golden opportunity to buy worse seats at higher prices. This didn’t have to be. Pee-wee could have done the Music Box shows and then moved the event, as more than one former fan has noted:

After getting a busy signal all morning, and being on hold forever this afternoon, Ticketmaster just told me that they are offering only refunds, and that if I want tickets to the rescheduled show, I have to buy them when they become available, just like everyone else. … This stinks. Pee Wee should and could have done “try out” or practice shows for those who had bought tickets and arranged to travel, and then done the larger venue Nokia Live shows later.

That’s exactly right. And now I’m pissed enough to write angry complaining  letters all over the known universe — including to the state Department of Consumer Affairs, Consumer Fraud Division. Because this stinks of bait and switch. Now I want my refund and more.