People think that artists who make work for international theater festivals lead rarefied and glamorous lives, drinking absinthe and downloading foreign films while dreaming up our next site-specific bacchanal. But no. We are regular people, just like you. We live in South Philly. We eat at Chickie’s Hoagies and at Taqueria Veracruzana. And yes, we go to the movies. To movies like Superbad.
Since I’ve just bought my festival tickets and will be squinting my eyes at cutting-edge performance for 17 nights in a row, I thought I should use my last night of freedom to check out something funny. And a blog seems a good place to offer up a quick take on a movie, right?
My considered opinion: Superbad is a lovely movie, full of finely observed detail and unexpected comic timing. Most important, it has a generosity of spirit that so many focus-group-inspired comedies lack. Bravo, Superbad. I tip my hat to you.
How was rehearsal? Genuinely super-bad. The actors seemed to sag under the weight of all the technical details we threw at them today, and our runthrough was sluggish and out-of-tune. You know this is natural, typical for the first day of technical rehearsals and the last day of a long week filled with new ideas. But it’s not a good feeling.
My girlfriend’s sitting next to me as I type this, and she asks, “Won’t the actors feel bad if they read that?” Nope, I say. They know. I told them.
“Now you sound evil,” she continues.
But don’t worry, I type. They are a strong and seasoned bunch, and they know that I’ve seen them do beautiful work all week. I told them that too.
Off to drink some more absinthe then.