Horse Trade Prepares to Say Goodbye to The Red Room

Theater folks from the Bowery to Avenue B were saddened last week at the news that the Red Room, a black box theater on Fourth Street, will be closing after more than a decade serving the needs of theatrical madmen across New York City. Today, Astor Place Riot spoke to Heidi Grumelot, head of artistic development at Horse Trade Theater, which operates out of the Red Room and the neighboring Kraine and Under St. Marks theaters, about the space's past and her theater's future. 

Why is the Red Room going away?

We've been renegotiating our lease since the beginning of January, and our landlord has told us that he wants to repurpose the Red Room space into something besides a theater. We're retaining the Kraine and Under St. Marks, but starting April 1, he's going to be using the Red Room for his own purposes. In response, we're doing a crazy thing called Blaze of Glory to give it a proper send-off. I just sent out an email to all of our past and current residents who've done meaningful work in the Red Room, and within three days I've gotten together an incredible list of performances for March.

I know how important the development work you do in the Red Room is to you—how are you going to replace the space?

We're looking. We're just looking. We've gone to see a few spaces already. Nothing's developed yet. We're definitely serious about where we can continue to afford to do this work. If anybody has space—and I know how silly it sounds to ask that in New York—we're on the hunt right now.

Are you going to stay in the neighborhood?

We've talked about different opportunities uptown or in Brooklyn, but when you think about it, this is where we've always been.

Did your landlord give you any indication why he wants to repurpose the Red Room? Is it just that he wants something more profitable than a Black Box in there?

I think that's the plan. The rent that we're paying is staying the same, but we're down one space. He's trying to get another source of revenue in there.

To put it bluntly, that sucks. 

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. We're calling this Blaze of Glory because this room has so much history. Amazing and beautiful stuff has happened there. Suzan Lori Parks came and did this underground thing, Watch Me Work, which later moved to the Public. Lots of film screenings have happened with celebrities and other notable people. My understanding is that some of the people at UCB, like Asssscat, started at the Red Room. RadioTheatre, all these artists. 

It's such a warm space, it's so flexible, it's so intimate, and it's small enough that you can afford to experiment in ways that you really can't in a 99 seat theater. The thing that I've been thinking about since we found out about this is the impact of one little room and what that can do for a community, and just thinking about all the amazing things that have started there. You have to have a room to start stuff.

And there just aren't enough really small, affordable black box spaces, especially in the Village.

I know! The neighborhood is getting a little fancy.

Is this going to be a major financial hit for you?

It's definitely a bit of a hit, yeah. After the trouble we had with Under St. Marks a couple of years ago, it's been clear that you just have to have your own space. Horse Trade has always operated a little different from other theaters around town. We've been successful in sustaining ourselves only on rentals and box office, so losing the Red Room will have real financial impact. But we're launching a new nonprofit called HT Presents, and we have eyes on the future. We have a game plan to build something that isn't at the mercy of the ten year lease cycle of New York City real estate. 

What's the plan for the next few months?

The plan is the Kraine and Under St. Marks for now, and everybody should come hang out at the Red Room between now and April. Come and enjoy it while it's still here!

"'Rent' Is The Nerdiest Thing That Ever Existed"

I think the best show I saw last month was The House of Von Macramé, a madcap, bloody musical currently playing at The Bushwick Starr. Today, I interviewed the playwright, Joshua Conkel.

What makes fashion such a juicy subject for a musical?

I’ve always loved fashion. I love clothes. I think of clothes as art, and I love the way that people can express themselves through what they wear. What I don’t love is materialism and label whoring and that sort of stuff. I find that really unappealing. That comes into conflict a lot in my life.

You like fashion, but not the fashion industry.

Yeah. It’s fun to make fun of. In terms of theater, theater is pretty geeky, and I for one would like theater to be cooler and hipper and more wild. So the play was an attempt at that.

The music was certainly a lot cooler than most of what you’ll hear in a musical, even a contemporary one. The synth has a lot of sex in it.

A lot of these rock musicals are not rock musicals. Rent is the nerdiest thing that ever existed, and nothing like the Bohemian 90′s sound that it’s pretending to be.

Read the rest here, sucker.

When the interview was posted, Conkel posted this on Twitter:

I sound like such a dick in this interview AND I LOVE IT. bullettmedia.com/article/playwr…

— Joshua Conkel (@JoshuaConkel) February 4, 2013

I think it's my favorite thing anyone's ever said after an interview. He's wrong, though. He doesn't sound like a dick—he sounds like a guy who's sorry that the artform he loves is too often held hostage by lameness. I think many of us can relate to that.

I Figured Out The Best Thing About Busby Berkeley

42nd Street was on TV this morning, and I watched it while I worked. I'm familiar with Busby Berkeley movies through random clips, which I sometimes put on just to marvel at the madness and the beauty of old Broadway choreography. But I realized, as 42nd Street tapped on, that I'd never seen one of his pictures straight through. It was a hell of a lot better than I'd expected. 

For one thing, it was funny—sexy and crude in the way that only pre-Code movies can be. The endless scenes of hoofers hoofing outdid All That Jazz. The party sequences made me want a highball, which is all you can ask of a roomful of fictional drunks. And the dance numbers shone, in context, much better than they do in the sad little prison of a YouTube window. Berkeley is famous for his hallucinogenic dance sequences, but I'd never considered how liberating they could be after an hour and fifteen minutes of semi-realistic Broadway toil. 

Escena final de 42nd Street de Lloyd Bacon

What I'd never noticed about the title dance sequence before is how gradually it moves past what is actually possible on a Broadway stage. Rather than leaping straight into fantasyland—the way that SIngin' in the Rain and An American In Paris do, say—it happens gradually. We start with a woman in front of a curtain, and then pull out to reveal a couple dozen dancers. From there, the scope gets bigger and bigger, until it becomes clear the reality of the film has broken down. Along the way, your brain argues with itself, trying to rationalize the increasingly impossible space. By the time the woman jumps out the window, chased by her homicidal husband, your brain simply gives up and explodes.

Busby Berkeley—the original psychedelic.

Let's Talk About Ghosts; Let's Talk About Set Design

The current revival of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof is not, in my opinion, as bad as the critics think. While I found the mishmash of Southern accents and off-stage servants' chorus distracting, I also found a lot to like with this lush, not-terribly-subtle production. Mostly, I loved the set—a dreamy fantasy of life in the aristocratic south whose soaring windows wouldn't feel out of place at the Met Opera. Some critics complained that the massive space distracted from the intimacy that is at the play's heart, but to them I blow a raspberry. The set was gorgeous—it was the directing (and sound design) that's caused the play problems.

This morning, I spoke to designer Christopher Oram, the genial Englishman responsible for the play's scenery. He had a lot of interesting stuff to say, and got quite passionate when I asked him about the choice, in previews, to experiment with having the ghost of Brick's friend Skipper lurk about on stage.

There was a lot of anger about it. It was anger! There was something vile that man wrote, reporting hearsay, but it created such a riot, an absolute riot, and after that it became very hard. A dozen reviews mentioned it, even though it wasn’t in the version of the play they saw. It became a bit of industry gossip, baggage those reviewers brought in when they saw the play.

The point is, Skipper is in the play. He’s mentioned constantly. He’s the third part of the triangle. Having him there really helped Scarlett and Ben [Walker, who plays Brick] establish the weirdness of their relationship. The removal of it didn’t change their relationship.

I’m saddened that one isn’t allowed to experiment. If we’d done it on opening night and it had been removed and we’d gotten the flak, then fair enough. But isn’t that the point of previews? With the Internet, literally the first performance becomes public property. This also makes the critics slightly redundant., if a critic brings that gossip, that baggage into the review.

As much fun as everyone had laughing at the idea of Skipper's ghost, I think there's something to like about a big-budget production having the good sense to admit it was wrong before opening night. No sense punishing a show that's already admitted a mistake.

Read the rest of the interview here. It's a good one.

Heartbreak On Fourth Street: The End of The Red Room

Word got around this week that the Red Room, a small "black box like space" owned by the Horse Trade Theater Company, will be closing in March. A press release is due out today or tomorrow, but in the meantime I have this statement from PR whiz kid Emily Owens, who reps Horse Trade:

Horse Trade's landlord at 85 East 4th Street has decided to repurpose The Red Room, and it will no longer be a performing arts space. I believe he plans to turn it into some type of B&B. Horse Trade will continue to operate out of The Kraine Theater and UNDER St. Marks, and they're currently searching for a venue to replace The Red Room. Everybody at Horse Trade is sad to lose a space they've operated out of for 15 years, but excited for the possibilities the future holds.

The Red Room was a tiny space—the kind that New York doesn't have enough of. With 32 stackable seats and a 14'x20' stage, it was about as small as a venue can get without being a living room. It was ideal for truly out-there theater, a hold-out for the Weird in an East Village that has gotten far too normal. Tiny black box spaces are the bedrock of theatrical art in New York City. They are intimate, convenient and, most importantly, affordable. There should be one on every corner. I'm sorry that, come March, there will be one less.

I'm speaking to Horse Trade's Heidi Grumelot next week. I'll let you know what she has to say about that "future" thing she's so looking forward to. Flying cars, perhaps?

To Those Who Saw Me Act Last Night, I Apologize

Romeo, surprised while eating a bearclaw.

I believe it's called the actor's nightmare. I'm 0% an actor, so why am I getting stuck with it?

I hereby apologize to every dream-person who came out to last night's opening night production of Romeo & Juliet. Although you should have perhaps been wary of seeing a production of the play with a playwright in the lead role, you still deserved better than what you got. Although I muddled my way through my first scene, it went downhill from there. Fast.

The modern dance number in the second act was a particular embarrassment. When the music started, I turned to my Juliet—the inestimable Kate Eastman—and muttered, "I don't know this dance!"

"What?"

"I forgot to practice!"

The look she gave me could have quick-pickled a cucumber. I muddled through the dance, following her lead like a toddler who wants to boogie like Mommy, and escaped off-stage to be yelled at by the cast and crew. It was humiliating.

I do have a few questions, though. What producer—real or imaginary—thought it was a good idea to cast me in a play? Why, throughout rehearsals and previews, did no one notice that I never went off book? Why did they make me dance? And lastly, what bastardized version of the script was this, that starts with the balcony scene, then skips to a half-witted dance number, and ends a half hour later with Romeo (just Romeo!) dying? 

My death, at least, brought the audience to its feet. That part I got right.

At An 'Elf' Matinee, I Must Have Done Something Good

Regular readers may have noticed that, for all its high points, Astor Place Riot is not known for crusading journalism. I'm generally more interested in writing about celebrity Christmas trees and infant thieves. But this month I started writing for the lovely new website Narratively—a longform publication more interested in my reporting ability than my gibberish-typing. "Very well," I said. "You want non-gibberish? I'll give you non-gibberish!"

I'd always been heart-warmed by the Autism Theater Initiative, a program of the Theater Development Fund that has, at matinees of The Lion King and Mary Poppins, specially tailored productions to meet the needs of those on the autism spectrum. It's a feel-good charity that's actually good for everyone involved—producers included—and thinking about it gives me that warm, fuzzy feeling that writing about theater usually does not produce. 

The story went online this morning, along with a spectacular short video by photographer/videodude Emon Hassan. (Whose web series The Third is creepy and excellent, btw.) Here's the lede:

At a matinee of the Broadway show “Elf” on January 5, the audience was oddly restless. When the curtain rose, revealing a rosy-cheeked Wayne Knight wearing a white-and-red suit, a girl screamed, “Hi Santa!” followed by a boy’s cry of  ”Quiet!” During the first dance number, as a line of elves popped off tiny little kicks, a child ran down the aisle and pelted a squishy toy at one of the dancers. Without missing a step, the elf made a one-handed catch. Throughout the first act, the audience grew increasingly noisy, but the actors, impressively, remained locked-in.

“There’s no sound like a theater full of autistic people,” says leading elf Jordan Gelber. “It was non-stop, except when there was music or a song. Then it was like all the sounds died away.”

This audience, made up entirely of people on the autism spectrum and their families, was there because of the Theatre Development Fund, a sprawling charity whose Autism Theatre Initiative has been producing afternoons like this since 2011. Several times a year, TDF turns a normally staid Broadway house into an autistic child’s paradise. Once you get used to the noise, you realize this is the happiest Broadway audience you’ve ever seen.

If you liked those words, there are about 1,300 more of them waiting for you over at Narratively. I'm proud of most of the work I do, but I'd say this is one that I feel extra-good about. Read it! Reread it! Tell your friends! And if your friends don't care...make them listen.

'Mean Girls' Musical Makes Me Say 'Yeah.'

There's gonna be a Mean Girls musical!

Maybe!

Wow!

Is it just me, or were people talking about the SAG Awards more than usual this year? I’m all for the Screen Actor’s Guild as an institution, but I don’t really give a damn about the big awards shows, much less the small ones. My carefully cultivated web bubble was punctured last night by aimless jabber about who was wearing what at SAG. Perhaps this is a sign of cosmic upheaval in Hollywood—perhaps it’s because I started following lifetime achievement award-winner Dick Van Dyke. (Yep, he’s alive, he’s a friend of dolphins, and he’s married to a woman who hadn’t been born when his show went off the air. Way to go, Dick!)

Among the SAG-chatter came one compelling tidbit: Tina Fey’s long-rumored Mean Girls musical is, apparently, nearly a sure thing.

Tons of details if you just click here. Actually, there are no details. None at all! Nobody knows anything! There is no timeline for this project, no guarantee it will happen, no information at all as to what it may look like when it does. Probably there will be some dancing.

Dancing! Wow!

The Age of Coziness, I Find, Is Impossible To End

I worked like gangbusters for most of January. Some mornings, I would bound out of bed, race to my computer, and type away with all the vigor of the Swedish Chef attacking a carrot. I tore through rewrites on two plays, and wrote a stack one acts that is currently teetering beside me, threatening to tip over and crush this buddy playwright before he has even had his coffee. Had I turned a page, as a typing-type person? Would I blow through 2013 at jaguar speed, completing a whole body of work in the time that it would usually take me to finish a single play?

Well, no. I hadn't counted on cozy-bed season. The temperature has plummeted this week, and now that New York is finally acting its season, morning greets me with a frigid bedroom. Rather than try to boost my heat, I have piled blankets upon my bed, giving my sleeping self the feeling of a Tsarist duchess rumbling through Moscow in a troika, swathed in sables, full of toddy, and bursting with warmth.

This makes it very hard to get out of bed. I snooze, snooze, snooze, growing cozier each time I drift back to sleep. When I do haul my rump to my desk, my brain is not with my work, but back on my pillow, wondering what nonsense it could be dreaming if I would just lay back down. And yet, I have to work. Yesterday I dealt with my daylong fatigue by being inefficient for three hours, before deciding to punish myself with a three hour walk in the freezing cold. The wind was so sharp that it gave me an ice cream headache. That's all right—I didn't need the brain anyway.

No moral here, except that I'm going to try to get as much work done today as I can make my fingers do. I'm seeing Cat On A Hot Tin Roof tonight, and while I'm quite excited to see what ScarCat can do, the thought of staggering down the R train steps fills me with whatever the junior varsity form of dread is. Hopefully her performance will be red-hot enough to warm up my cold head.

Mulan Saved China, and B.H. Barry Saved "Mulan"

It doesn't take much for a play to leave me glowing. All I want is to see a good script handled intelligently, with no slow parts, some strong performances, and nothing pretentious to get in the story's way. That doesn't sound like much, but those who see a lot of plays know it's more rare than you think. Golden Boy, playing on Broadway for the next week, is one of those happy exceptions. I saw it on Friday, and haven't quit buzzing since. It's a gorgeous production, and it has a bit of Grade A stage combat, directed by Grade A fight director B.H. Barry. I spoke to Barry yesterday afternoon, about Golden Boy, Treasure Island and Mulan. 

Boxing is so essential to this play—what challenges did you find in designing Golden Boy's combat?

It was one of the strangest challenges ever. All the company went into boxing lessons, and they finished up knowing a lot more about boxing than I did. But the guy playing Golden Boy [Seth Numrich] was not quite as fast as the other boxers, so I had to slow them down.

What they learned was a modern style of boxing, so I had to reorganize what they learned into something that was more theatrical. I mentioned to them that they had to make the hero look better than they were. One of the guys who was really good, he was very, very fast, so I made him an old slugger—someone used to throwing his punches really heavy, a guy who had been beaten up a lot in his life. 

What I do is, I try to tell stories through fights. Just doing the fights themselves, anyone can do that. It has to be about character, and it has to tell the story. 

It's one of the more fun interviews I've done in a while. Read the rest over at Bullett, and move heaven and earth to see Golden Boy if you can. I've got the film version on my DVR and am planning on watching it this week. If you're lucky, I'll tell you how I like it.