First of all, congratulations to you. In addition to having your play, Kiss and Cry, published, you've just been nominated for a GLAAD Media award. How does it feel to have all of this happening at once?
It feels great to be getting some recognition and validation. It was a long haul with Kiss and Cry — I wrote the first draft in 1998! Working by yourself, draft after draft, you sometimes wonder if anybody is ever going to pay any attention. So I so greatly appreciate the support that Martin and Rochelle have shown for the play by including it in their anthology — it's so encouraging to know that somebody believes the piece deserves a more permanent place out there in the world. And the GLAAD nomination is lovely as well, especially because it recognizes values that are key to the play's message. The support has encouraged me to keep writing and working on my newer scripts, which is really the most important thing. And you know, despite these accolades, Kiss and Cry has still never been produced in a theatre with more than sixty seats! So my fantasy is that some of this renewed attention, almost a year after the show closed, will inspire some producer to pick up the book, read the play, and decide to put it up in the Minetta Lane or the Union Square Theatre or someplace like that!
Tell us a little bit about Kiss and Cry, and where you got the idea for it.
There were several threads that came together to make the play. Living in Denver in the nineties, I remember watching the news on TV one night with my room-mate at the time, Mark, and there was a story about two celebrities who had just gotten married. Mark said, half-jokingly: "I'm so disappointed that he's heterosexual." And indeed, it was a guy people had wondered about. So I started thinking, what if he's not? What might the story be behind something like that? Not just in an obvious way, but emotionally, underneath. What might these two people be, or not be, to each other? And that was something I wanted to explore and consider.
At the same time, I was obsessed with the world of competitive figure skating. That was the time when, following the Tonya Harding-Nancy Kerrigan story, there was more focus on the sport than ever before. I taped the TV competitions, went to the arena shows, devoured books and articles on the topic. And I wanted to write something about that world, which as far as I knew, had not been put onstage. I was fascinated by what great skaters can do, the combination of grueling physical and technical training and the artistry involved. How could somebody handle that pressure, doing those extreme jumps and spins successfully in front of millions of people, and at the same time stay artistically open, available to the music, and really express something personal? It was a metaphor for what all artists experience, in a way, but magnified, in skating, into something that is much more intense and seemingly almost impossible. So I began to focus on Stacy Clifford, the skater in the play, who has all these problems and secrets in his life but somehow manages to sustain that very centered, vulnerable, almost magical place in himself that allows him to blossom on the ice and skate brilliantly, no matter what else is going on, until it's taken away from him in the worst possible way.
Oddly enough, the skating world is also quite homophobic, despite the fact that many of the male skaters are gay. They generally are not open about it; there's something about the skating community that doesn't want to know, that wants to maintain this facade of old-fashioned, All-American "wholesomeness" and family values. And that was interesting to me.
In addition, there was this kind of unique cultural moment that happened in the late nineties when all of a sudden homosexuality became this kind of hot topic, people were fascinated by it as if it was the latest trend or something, and all kinds of celebrities started coming out and it actually helped their careers. Lots of taboos were being broken; there were TV sitcoms with gay lead characters for the first time, movies, etc. People who always thought they had to stay in the closet for their careers began to realize that maybe now they could gain even more pop cultural status by opening up. Which could be very neurosis-inducing. So I thought, what if in this relationship in the play, there's one character who's ready to get on this new bandwagon and another who's not, what if they are caught on opposite sides of the equation? And when that element came into it, a plot came into focus and I felt I had a play to write.
You are one of several authors in this year's edition of Plays and Playwrights whose play debuted at the New York International Fringe Festival. How was that experience for you?
We had a great time in FringeNYC. I love the Fringe Festival; I've taken part a couple times, and I see maybe fourteen or fifteen shows a year there. If you're going to put up your own work, which is often the only option for a writer who's just starting out, FringeNYC is probably the most affordable way to do it, and there is a certain amount of built-in audience; you will sell more tickets than you would if you were producing independently. Doing a FringeNYC show can be hectic and nerve-wracking, because there are just so many people and so many shows and it all comes together so fast. We were blessed with a crack production team and an extremely able, unflappable stage manager, Taylor Hansen, as well as a supportive venue director, and that all helped. You really need to get very organized in advance, paper tech your show and have all your ducks in a row before you go into the space for your one tech rehearsal, but if you do that it's amazing what can be pulled off.
There's been a lot of talk the past few years about how FringeNYC has come to mean different things to different people, some of them contradictory. A few FringeNYC shows got noticed in a big way and moved on to commercial productions, so all of a sudden there was this kind of manic desperation that came into the equation, people trying to use it as a launching pad to fame and fortune. A lot of people think of it as sort of a theatrical flea market to sell your wares and try to get "picked up." Which is all well and good if that's the kind of show you're doing. But it's important to remember that not every show in FringeNYC is destined for that. Like other fringe festivals, the original intent was to provide a venue for shows that are distinctly NOT commercial, that otherwise might not find an audience, and to give new artists a chance to experiment and do some rough, raw, edgy work that really challenges the boundaries. Or jokey, lampoony shows that are great fun but might not have the longest shelf life. There are all kinds of things in FringeNYC that really are meant to be Fringe shows and that's the kind of environment where they thrive, so if that's what you're doing, be honest with yourself and don't kill yourself trying to get a Times review for "Finger Puppet Zombie Medea" or whatever; no one will be able to see your finger puppets in a Broadway house anyway! Enjoy the festival as the valuable experience it can be on so many levels.
Having said that, there are some shows that are commercially viable, and using FringeNYC as a showcase can sometimes pay off. In the case of Kiss and Cry, it is not a particularly experimental piece; it's a realistic play, driven by plot and character, that would not feel out of place at The Second Stage or Playwrights Horizons. My director, Kevin Newbury, and I felt strongly that we were onto something and we were determined to find a way to move forward to a bigger venue. We had a generous donor who put up most of the money for the budget, which was fantastic. Even so, we felt we couldn't really afford to hire a press agent, and in retrospect I think that may have been our one mistake. The festival itself gets a lot of publicity, but if you want your production to get noticed in the pack of two hundred shows, and you want to attract the major papers, you generally need to hire a top press rep to focus attention on your show, and that will cost at least another couple thousand dollars. You can get an AUDIENCE without it, especially if you have a good postcard — we sold out our whole run, and they even scheduled an added performance for us. But if you want the high-level industry people to come out, people who can move the show, you really need at least one high-profile print review.
My one other piece of advice to anyone thinking about doing FringeNYC is: take part in the community. I always tried to go to all the parties and see as many shows as possible, rather than just staying focused on my own project; that makes it much more fun, and you get more of a perspective on the huge creative event you are a part of.
In addition to being a playwright, you are also a director. Which job do you like better? And how do they both inform each other for you?
I love both. For most of my career, the focus has been directing; I have a lot more experience in that, over fifty productions. But in the past couple of years the writing has been coming more and more to the forefront. They feed each other. You know the way actors always say the best directors are the ones with acting experience; it's important to understand the actor's process. By the same token, a director who writes plays may be better at working with writers than one who doesn't. I find my writing experience makes it much easier for me to talk to a writer, guide the development of their script, and really empathize what they're going through in the process. And of course my experience directing has made me a better writer; I've spent so much time in the theatre, I know what is active, what is playable, what will work on a stage. I have a sense of how to write for actors.
The tricky part for somebody who does both, of course, is when the question comes up: Do you want to direct your own work? Some people do both successfully, but I think that's rare. When I started out writing, I felt strongly that I did want to stage my own plays: I really set out to write something that I would want to direct, and that energized me. For years, I thought that I would direct the first production of Kiss and Cry and was determined to make that happen. But then, when I was running the Young Directors Residency Program at The Ensemble Studio Theatre, I got to know a director there named Kevin Newbury. He came to see a reading of Kiss and Cry that I directed at EST and had some very perceptive, insightful things to say about it. So I started thinking I might like to ask him to direct it. I mean, hey, maybe it was time to be a grownup and learn how to share my toys! Kevin enthusiastically got on board and was instrumental in making the production happen. We did a workshop first at EST and that led to FringeNYC and everything that has happened since. Kevin is amazing in many ways, not least of which is that he actually puts up with me. I have been known to say that, as a director, I would not want to work with a playwright like me! Because, with so much directing experience, I tend to have too many ideas about almost every aspect of the production. But Kevin is a great collaborator: his focus is new work, and he loves having the writer in the room. His goal is to bring the writer's vision to life, and he listens to everyone, without any of the ego issues so many directors have. He has a very sure, guiding hand, but he makes everyone on the team feel like a valued collaborator. And he has a great dramaturgical eye as well. So ultimately I was so glad I had not directed it myself; working with Kevin has been so much more rewarding and just plain more fun. So now we are great friends and work together very comfortably. My fear is that I am spoiled now, and when I work with another director, he or she will hate me because I'm such an awful little pest. Luckily for me, it looks like Kevin will be directing my new play as well.
There's yet another aspect to the directing/writing thing. Careerwise, I have seen from all sides how hard it can be for a new writer to get their work noticed and produced. An artistic director or literary manager, who is always inundated with submissions, is going to pay more attention to your script if they have a face to put with your name. Rightly or wrongly, that's how the world works. And Kiss and Cry was no exception. The second production, at Theater 1010 on the Upper East Side, came about because I had directed three Shakespeare plays at that theatre in previous seasons; I had a good relationship with the Producing Artistic Director, Judith Jarosz, and she took an interest in my script even without having seen the FringeNYC production. So I advise writers to get out in the world, meet people, work at theatres in some other capacity, and that can help you get a foot in the door.
For a time you were the Literary Manager at Ensemble Studio Theatre. How was that experience, and what kind of insights about playwriting, if any, did you pick up while there?
That was a valuable time, because I got to meet and work with a lot of major writers, actors, and directors. I did it for four years. I've also worked in the lit departments at the Denver Center Theatre Company and Queens Theatre in the Park. As a literary manager, you learn a lot about the new play biz, what people look for, and the nuts and bolts of dramaturgy and script construction.
The dangerous part is that you spend a lot of time reading bad plays, and that can wear you down. The really good ones are exciting to find, but they are few and far between. And if you have a job like that where you are always analyzing scripts and thinking about technique, it can shut you down creatively; you can become so aware of all the challenges in the craft that it starts to look impossible and you don't trust yourself. That can happen to people who start out wanting to be writers but they get involved with dramaturgy and end up stultified. So far, though, I think I've been able to avoid that. I try to get out of my own way when I'm writing a first draft, to write from the right side of my brain as they say. Then when I have a draft, I can let the dramaturg in me out a little more, analyze what I've written, see where the structure could be improved and so forth.
How many great plays can you think of that really follow the template of a well-structured script? It's surprising. Rules are meant to be broken, especially today. But it helps to learn what they are before you break them.
What can audiences expect to see next from you?
I have two new scripts. The Second Tosca is a play that takes place backstage in an opera house during rehearsals for a production of Tosca. Opera is another subculture I've always been fascinated by, so I guess after my figure skating play, I needed to do my opera play. There's some music in the piece: the opera house ghost, a late soprano from the 1950s, haunts the place and sings snippets from famous arias. It's kind of romantic and mysterious and sexy and fun, I hope. We did a great reading at EST a while back, to which a producer came, and she immediately decided to option the script. That's what people always dream about when they do readings, and this time it really happened! The producer is Sorrel Tomlinson, who had a big success with Dog Sees God. She's great and we're looking toward a New York production this year, with out-of-town possibilities as well. Kevin has been working with me on this one too; he's staged operas for big companies all over the country, in addition to his theatre work, so this is really the perfect piece to continue our collaboration. I'm very excited to get started.
And then there's my most recent script, David’s Play. I did a reading of that too, with some terrific actors, including David Lavine, who played Stacy in Kiss and Cry, and have continued to work on the script. It's about a group of six friends who all studied theatre together in college in the nineties. When they graduated, they made a promise that they would all reunite for opening night the first time one of them got cast in a show on Broadway. So the play takes place on that night, twelve years after graduation, in New York, when Amanda is opening in the new Duran Duran jukebox musical! But only five of the friends are on hand because one of them, David, disappeared mysteriously in the city three years earlier and hasn't been heard from since. So the play's about coping with loss, reaffirming friendships, and finding ways to keep pursuing your dreams when life doesn't go the way you thought it would. In some ways it's my most personal play so far. So we'll see what happens with that one...
Interview with Tom Rowan was conducted by Michael Criscuolo February 2007.