The Laramie Project Diaries: Chapter Two

Submitted by Seth Rogovoy on October 10, 2009 - 7:09am

The Laramie Project Diaries: Chapter Two

by Seth Rogovoy

I walked into the rehearsal space, in an empty storefront in the Howard building on the corner of Fenn and First streets in Pittsfield, Mass., yesterday at five o'clock, and recognized a few faces. There was Stanley Kowalski and Mitch from Barrington Stage Company's production of A Streetcar Named Desire.

There was my old friend, Pittsfield's cultural czar Megan Whilden. There was Lisken van Pelt Dus, poet, martial artist, fellow Eph (we overlapped two years at Williams College), and currently .... my son's English teacher. (She says he's doing well. She also taught my daughter, who's studying English at Bennington College, which tells you something about what a great teacher Lisken is.)

There was a nice spread of wraps, cheese and crackers, hummos and veggies, soda, bottled water, and coffee. Everyone was friendly and welcoming. Things were looking good. I was glad I'd signed up to take part in The Laramie Project: Ten Years Later (An Epilogue), a theatrical work about the aftermath of the lynching of Matthew Shepard, playing on Monday at Barrington Stage at 3 and 7.

And then I got the news. The rehearsal would last til ten p.m.

My heart sank.

I went to rehearsal having no idea what to expect, and hadn't really thought it through. I didn't even know if this was really a rehearsal or just a friendly meet-and-greet, getting-to-know-each-other session and overview of the plans for the weekend. I figured maybe there'd be a read-through, which would take a couple of hours. After a long work day that began at 6 am., I had been hoping to be back home in downtown Great Barrington early enough maybe to watch a movie before getting in a good night's sleep, figuring I'd finally have Saturday morning to sleep until my body said I'd had enough.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Not only were we to rehearse until ten; now, today, Saturday, it's 7:30 am as I write this, because I need to be back in Pittsfield, ready to rehearse, by 10 a.m. So when I finally got home last night, after taking care of a few small things, I got to bed near midnight and had to set my alarm for 6:30 a.m. Ugh.

Seth Rogovoy, welcome to a life in the theater.

But wait, there's more. Today's rehearsal is SEVEN HOURS LONG! Our "call" is from ten to five. In other words, all day. And I have this sick feeling in my stomach that tomorrow, Sunday, is going to be a replay of today.

When I agreed to take part in this event, I knew that it would put a big dent in my "holiday weekend." I put those words in quotes because typically a weekend like this simply means an opportunity to do more work, which is what would have happened. Go to events on Saturday and Sunday night and review them. Write my one, outstanding, very overdue column for the November/December issue of Berkshire Living. Work on my various websites. Do some advance planning for the coming week's issues of Berkshire Daily. And, yes, just maybe, sit and read newspapers and magazines and books for a bit, take a long walk (if it ever stops raining), see my son whom I've barely seen in a week (mostly because he's been sick and I haven't wanted to catch what he is, although I am fighting off a sore throat), and, perhaps most important, sleep, sleep, sleep. The restorative kind of sleep.

The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley.

Don't get me wrong, dear reader. I am not complaining. This is all preface and prelude. I have come to terms with the work and the schedule that lies ahead of me this weekend. I am making changes to my evening schedules (I don't think I'll make it up to MASS MoCA in North Adams, Mass., tonight, to see that dancer with boobs and guitar, and I'm having second thoughts about Pilobolus at the Mahaiwe on Sunday night -- but you should go to both.)

My motto: Be here now.

It's easy, because the fact is, it was terrific last night. First, we all formed a semi-demi-circle and introduced ourselves, and do to some serendipity, I wound up saying something funny that cracked up the crowd (and I am not a funny person) and lightened the mood. Score one for the amateur.

Then, we got down to business. We sat and read through the entire play. This was my first introduction to it, and I really had no idea what to expect. What I can tell you is that it's a really well constructed docudrama, based entirely on interview transcripts, journal entries, public speeches, news reports, of life in Laramie in the aftermath of the horrible killing of University of Wyoming student Matthew Shepard on a chilly October 12,1998. Through the course of the play, we meet dozens of real-life characters from Laramie -- journalists, teachers, clergy, Matthew's parents, friends, and, amazingly, his killers.

The play is so well stitched together that it raises questions more than stating answers. It's not a political screed. While it certainly favors the interpretation of the events of that horrible night as a hate crime -- a characterization that is still apparently the subject of much controversy and debate in Laramie and probably elsewhere -- it deals with those who think that way with decency and as much respect as they might deserve, even including Shepard's killers.

Rather than condemn, the playwrights simply turn over the stage to their voices, and let them rise or fall upon their own words.

So we read through the entire play, with little to no interruption (other than a 10-minute break between acts), which I suppose took about ninety minutes or so. Then we had another break, and ... we started all over again, this time, blocking the entire production, meaning figuring out who goes where and when.

Actually, we only got through blocking the first act by the time the clock struck ten. Apparently the theater runs by strict union rules -- even in this case, wherein everyone, apparently, is donating his services -- and at ten o'clock, that was it. It was see you at 10 a.m. tomorrow, ready for a long day.

My role is that of narrator, which, for the most part, simply consists of reading out the names of characters, sometimes with a bit of attribution, e.g., "university professor," "friend of Matthew Shepard." The director, Richard M. Parison, Jr., says I'm doing a great job, and that my role is the most important in the play, as it's up to me to maintain the rhythm of the thing. I'm sort of like the drummer in a big band, I guess. I can't tell if Richard is just saying that to make me feel like I'm not totally indispensable, or if he means it, but he's doing a great job, and I'm happy to go along with him and believe him, which is why I got up at the crack of dawn so I'd be on time for today's shenanigans ... I mean, rehearsal.

Given my simple, basic task, there's little acting work for me to do. I don't really have to explore my character's intention or motivation in each scene, or come up with emotional memories that underlie my dialogue. For example, what do I REALLY mean when I intone, "Leigh Fondakowski." Sometimes, for fun, I do think of something just before saying the name. One wag in the cast suggested I remember the time my father told me I sucked at baseball and use that. I tried it, but I'm not really so in touch with that memory, since it never happened (not that I didn't suck, but my dad never told me, probably because he sucked, too, and anyway he never said things like that to me, good or bad. But I love him, anyway).

But I'm having a great time watching the process itself, seeing how these very professional actors and directors bring simple words on a paper and a few stage directions to life. I know it sounds corny, but it really is magical. I haven't been involved in anything like this since college, but never with professionals of this pay grade. So I'm getting a great education, if nothing else. But I'm getting a lot more. There's a great camaraderie already brewing among the ensemble, and I can only imagine by Monday when we go live in front of audiences how exciting it will all be.

OK, now I'm going to grab a few minutes to read today's paper, and then I have to get on with my day.

Seth Rogovoy is Berkshire Living's award-winning editor and cultural critic.

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