A blog on theater (and other stuff) from the fine folks at Apple Core Theater Company
Our playwright, Mel, was kind enough to write a little bit about his revision process. And while we did commission “Los Embrujados,” please note that we did not pay him to write this post.
It is exactly 12:48 in the morning as I write this blog. Trains were not kind tonight coming in from the South Bronx where I was performing in City Parks Foundation Summer Stages production of Sangre, a contemporary adaptation of Federico Garcia Lorca’s classic Blood Wedding by Mando Alvarado and presented by Time Warner. As the Four Tops’ “Baby I Need Your Lovin’” plays in the background of my Bay Ridge, Brooklyn apartment, I’m thinking, “Is there such a thing as good pressure?”
In my experience I would have to say yes. I’m a deadline-type-of-guy. I set certain goals for myself, set a date and hope that the writer’s journey that I’ve decided to partake in comes to a fruitful and promising start, as well as conclusion. Which leads me to the roads I began to travel following the next-to-final table reads of both “Los Embrujados” and “Midnight Mass”.
The first table-reads of the plays were as not as painful as I expected them to be. Hearing your stuff read out loud for the first time is never ever an easy thing to hear. Though I’ve grown more objective of my work and can step back see and hear what the problems in the text may be, it is still a tough thing to go through. As I sat there at the second reading, eyes closed, ears wide open, listening to my words, hoping that all the notes hit just so, I listened to all the actors carefully taking in the natural music of their voices and cadences. I was looking, as I often do, for that spark of inspiration from the actor who adds his or her spin on a line that may lead me to contemplate the possibilities of that line, and what that line can do, and how I can best take advantage of that actor’s particular gifts.
After the reading Walter (my director) and Allison (my producer/dramaturgy-savior) noticed that my spirits were not as high as theirs regarding what was just read. I didn’t think it was all bad, mind you, but I felt in my heart of hearts that I could do better and that the actors deserved much more from me as a writer. That Friday evening Allison, Walter and myself had meeting at Edgar’s Cafe on the Upper West Side. Much was discussed and debated… well not really, but I need some tension to make this blog a little interesting. We were actually on the same page as to what my duty was.
I must take a moment to discuss the collaboration that I am having with Walter and Allison — especially Allison, who truly has been a supportive and most encouraging voice during this entire process. There’s been an almost uncanny instant trust between us, which is most rare. But I think, in fact, we all three are aware of the responsibilities we each have regarding this project. Not just on a artistic level, but on a larger human story level — what the themes of the two plays mean to us and the people of this beautiful city, that we each love ever so dearly. After our Friday meeting was completed, hugs and exchanges good night were passed and we went our separate ways. The most significant moment of our meeting came as we stood to leave and I said: I know how to fix this. They both smiled as I did and I went on my way.
The next 24 hours can be best described as a creative tunnel vision, as I went over page by page each section of each play, retracing the steps and the journeys of each character… and then it happened. I believe it was at the 90 minute mark when I heard them speak — yes, this does actually happen. Writing or any creative form is not so much an intellectual exercise, though much thought does go into the creative process. But the goal is to achieve a creative-unconscious in which one feels as if they are “channeling” people. On Saturday evening, well before the clock was to strike twelve, I handed in the final drafts of each play and within less than two hours both Allison and Walter responded with excited emails.
I had cracked the code, so to speak. My brain was finally at peace and I was able to close my eyes that night knowing that I had giving the best of myself to this most special of projects.
Amor de Lejos Amor de Pendejos
Today, we hear from our first cast member — Camilo Almonacid, who plays the role of David in “Midnight Mass” — about where he was on 9/11: 
Two weeks prior, my relationship had reached a point of no return. Elizabeth, then a journalist at Vibe magazine, was insisting I move from Seattle to New York. A three-hour difference can feel more like a ten year difference. But apart from her and the desire to live in real time, I had no other reasons to move to New York. What I wanted to know about the Big Apple; Federico Garcia Lorca had already written in A Poet in New York.
No duerme nadie por el cielo. Nadie, nadie.
No duerme nadie.
And besides I had plenty of Hip Hop CD’s (Talking, Pre MP3 days) to enthrall me with the New York landscapes, and cultural values they don’t tell you about on those double decker bus tours. I was part of a large percentage of the world for whom New York only existed in film, television, recorded music, poetry books, fiction books and graffiti magazines.
No, but seriously, the idea of New York filled me with neurosis. I saw myself living the trajectory of a wino lunatic, who stands on a corner and recites fragmented speeches and dances with a carrot stick. I had all kinds of excuses and arguments. My most developed argument for not relocating to New York was the argument of windows. Elizabeth’s room, in a shared house in Brooklyn, had no windows. Not one. No windows? The closest thing to death is sleeping in a room with no windows! Is this how all rooms in New York were? I can’t live in a city with no windows.
“Take the chance,” she said. “Just come.”
“Elizabeth, I don’t just do things. Maybe you do. But I think things through, ok.” (That was me defending myself from the unknown.) I still say and do really stupid things. Whether or not this constitutes one of those moments, I’m not sure. All I can say is that the whole matter was handled very civilized, as all “break-ups” should be handled. No hard feelings. Our lesson learned. Amor de Lejos, Amor de Pendejos. (Long distance relationships are for morons.)
I hung up the phone that night not feeling like a moron, but feeling empty, as though I were in room alone, a room that had no windows, no doors, no vents, and no girlfriend.
In the coming weeks, we didn’t speak. The ultimatum of to be a Pendejo or not be a Pendejo was definitely the point of no return. Or the Point. Or the Return?
Still in Seattle, I was inside of a grocery story, a few days later. I happened to pass by the magazine section when I see the most recent edition of Vibe. There, bright on the page was her name. Elizabeth-I-can’t-say-her-last name-Ary. Her article about misogyny in Hip Hop, had been published. I didn’t really read it all the way through. Even though later on I told her that I did. Nonetheless, I was impressed. She exposed some very taboo subject matter about the Hip Hop world. Actually, I was not as much impressed, as I was worried for her safety. I mean, if talk isn’t cheap, then these rappers she exposed for being wife beaters, had already written lyrical confessions of the sardonic shit they are capable of doing if someone ever crosses them. I went to sleep that night imagining a war against my ex girlfriend. That all the indicted rappers formed a battalion to get the wench who accused them of “smakin’ hoes” The city under fire, Elizabeth began to receive death threats in numerous rap albums. That night, I imagined her being chased by Big Pun. A very slow race, in fact. But Elizabeth just couldn’t move her feet fast enough. They were being buried in the concrete, until finally Big Pun caught up to her, smacked her, and put her in his mouth like a whopper. I few more of these similar scenarios and I finally fall asleep.
The next day is a day that changed the course of history, the course of wars, paranoia, absolutism, patriotic-outcries, conspiracy theories. We all know what I’m talking about, right?
I found out when I was helping a woman whose car had broken down in front of my job. The woman say’s “They attacked the Towers!”
They?
“Two planes, They crashed two planes! Oh my God!” The woman had forgotten about her over heated car. Who did it? That’s all I could think about. “Arabs.” Oh no! In that moment, when she said that, I swore I was living in a repeated cycle of history. A repeating moment. “All those people, God Bless them”. Then I snap-
Elizabeth! She works in Manhattan! I have to call her. Call her. I call. The lines are busy. The lines are busy for two days. All I know is what I see and hear on the news. I am saturated with graphic explosions, and hijacked planes, and the vicarious grief of the country. In my eyes the chances are high that something may have happened to her. She worked in the Financial District. No answer. Busy signal. Busy signal.
Finally, Late on September 13th, I receive a call. Her voice was new. She said my name. Camilo. I said her name. Elizabeth.
She went into work late that morning, around ten o’clock. She never made it into Manhattan that day. She said that everyone who was usually an asshole in New York stopped being an asshole that day. She said she missed me. She said she was scared.
That night I told her I was coming to New York. When? Tomorrow.
Yeah, on Sept 13th I decided I wasn’t going to be a pendejo anymore.
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Apple Core Theater Company produces emotional, entertaining plays by American writers. Valuing the immediacy and intimacy of theater, we strive to present plays that cut down to the core and go straight to the heart. Believing that theater should be accessible to all people, we are committed to providing affordable theater to New York City.
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