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Awesome

When William Shakespeare wrote one of his most famous plays Romeo and Juliet nearly 420 years ago, he probably never imagined the tortured lovers would rise from the grave to rekindle their romance, yet that’s exactly what the Los Angeles-based Leigh Purtill Ballet Company imagines with its debut ballet, Sweet Sorrow: A Zombie Ballet.

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SUMMARIES MASTER POST

ONE POST TO RULE THEM ALL, ONE POST TO FIND THEM, ONE POST TO BRING THEM ALL AND IN THE DARKNESS BIND THEM. 

TRAGEDIES

TITUS ANDRONICUS

ROMEO AND JULIET

JULIUS CAESAR

HAMLET

OTHELLO

KING LEAR

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA

MACBETH

CORIOLANUS

COMEDIES

THE COMEDY OF ERRORS

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

LOVE’S LABOR’S LOST

AS YOU LIKE IT

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

TWELFTH NIGHT

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

MEASURE FOR MEASURE

THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR

PROBLEM PLAYS

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

CYMBELINE

TIMON OF ATHENS

THE WINTER’S TALE

THE TEMPEST

HISTORIES 

KING JOHN

RICHARD II

HENRY IV PART I

HENRY IV PART II

HENRY V

HENRY VI PART I

HENRY VI PART II

HENRY VI PART III

RICHARD III

HENRY VIII 

THERE YOU GO. THAT SHOULD BE EVERY FUCKING PLAY IN THE FIRST FOLIO. 

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Who is the Thirteenth Doctor?  @bbcamerica Doctor Who SDCC Panel Highlight

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Sam Coquerille

Sam and I were in college together, worked in the scene shop together, designed shows together, got drunk together, laughed together, cried together, went to our first strip club together, stole a newspaper box together and dropped cinder blocks into the Wabash river from the bridge to West T together, I rode in the back of a 15′ box truck naked with about 10 others as he drove, he poured me onto my couch, I poured him onto my couch, he stood up with me at my wedding and he stood up for me when it was needed, and it was...

We used to joke, usually when drunk, about who would die first. I won. But I came back and he made be promise not to do it again because we couldn’t do it together. Sam left us Sunday morning and my heart is broken. 

Sam fought to be who he was through and through. He did so by surrounding himself with people he loved and with people who loved him. He wasn’t the loudest person in the room and he wasn’t going to produce a parade to prove it because he knew he was right and he didn’t have to. But he would light your parade so everyone could see you and shudder with amazement! He could build you the float you need to support yourself, securely, with the safety specs you needed to know you were safe, secure and supported. He’d drive the float wherever it needed to be and he would be there to tell you YOUR parade was awesome. 

Sam Coquerille, one of the best friends I have or will ever have, passed away on Sunday, just before the LA Pride Parade, and the 72nd Tony Awards, the day the LGBTQ and Theatre Communities come together to celebrate our successes, our challenges, our dreams and our continued stand for what we all know to be true and right for humanity. Clearly Sam needed to light their way. 

Sam is a friend, a brother, a son, a mentor. Sam is loved and missed dearly.

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Exclusive new stills of Black Panther (2018) for Entertainment Weekly.

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Ms. Moneypenny Missy Cat Snagglepuss 5/5/1998-12/31/2016

Ms. Moneypenny Missy Cat Snagglepuss, Missy to her friends and family, joined her alien friends today slightly before 10am pst due to complications as a result of renal failure. She was 18 years of age and is survived by her sister Tinkerbell, her annoying little brother Basil Curry and her human pets, Michelle, Jason, Ben and Jazz.

Missy was born into humble beginnings in the suburbs of Los Angeles. While only 2 1/2 months old, she chose her humans while atop a scratching post while swatting at her litter siblings. Michelle and Jason rescued her from her Reseda Condo and took her to a nearby Target to gather the supplies she would need to successfully colonize their Hollywood apartment.

It wasn’t long before her new home was flourishing and she dutifully checked in with High Command on the compliance of her humans by positioning herself in the center of the human bed and calling out to the heavens. The human Michelle was particularly obedient to Missy’s every whim and quickly became her favorite. While getting herself wedged under the dishwasher and her head shut in the patio door nearly ended Missy’s earthly reign too soon, Missy not only survived with Michelle’s assistance, she thrived.

Missy established her dominance of the Hollywood apartment by befriending the rabbits that lived there, ignoring the toys and other playthings bought for her and chose, instead, to stealthily eat shredded cheese when Michelle and Jason were not looking as well as sitting upon the counter tops and knocking things off to watch them fall. Coins were a personal favorite.

Soon, Michelle and Jason were with child and Missy’s chilly, alien exterior was warmed to the welcoming of a new member to her clan. The birth of Ben brought a matronly glow to her glass, blue eyes as she stood sentinel by the sleeping babe, cuddled at Michelle’s thigh while she fed the boy-child and laid upon Ben’s floor mobile as he began to learn about the world that surrounded him. For Missy was his first teacher, his first friend, his loving guard and protector.

An unexpected move to Tarzana, right next to Reseda, surprised her but she could only see this as an attempt on the part of her humans to reconnect her with her roots and reestablish her connection to High Command, which, Missy would later admit, had fallen lax since the birth of Ben. Missy quickly resumed her weekly reports and began a ritual walk through the Tarzana apartment to alert the humans of any spiders or beetles trying to weave their way into the domicile. The rabbits stayed safe, the boy-child stayed safe, the adult humans stayed compliant and all was right with her world.

Soon, another child would be welcomed into her clan, Jazz, a loud one by comparison to her first child but Missy adapted and managed to mold that young one into a caring, gentle hand and friend to all animals. Missy showed Jazz how to love, how to care for others, especially other animals, and how to fluff the perfect blanket on the couch for naps.

Things changed for her with the passing of her rabbit friend Brave and the addition of Harley-Cat to the clan. Missy was annoyed, however always the dutiful matron, she tried to train and guide Harley-Cat in the ways of Feline. She did her job well and Harley-Cat gave the humans the frivolity they needed at the time when raising young human children.

Harley-Cat passed, Lemon Curry came along, George Bunny passed and Tinkerbell came along. Each transition brought Missy unexpected challenges but through it all she helped to mold the Tarzana apartment into a haven for the wayward animal. She ruled over each addition, she morned each loss and all from the cuddle spot she would make next to Michelle.

Upon leaving the Tarzana apartment she helped Tinkerbell transition to the San Fernando house by establishing her connection to High Command on their first night there. It was Christmas eve, 2012, and Tinkerbell laid in the hall as Missy called out. Tinkerbell observed Missy’s fortitude as it took a longer than expected time to reach High Command but, as usual, Missy was successful and they gave the cats their blessing on advancing the humans up to house mode. Tinkerbell thought her participation in this meant she and Missy might finally be on equal terms but Missy quickly put an end to that with a few swats to Tinkerbell’s head. Occasionally, Tinkerbell would revisit their arrangement and places in the clan but Missy would always remind her that there was only room for one Matron in this clan and until the High Command called her home, Missy was that Matron.

In her autumn years, Missy began a blog, stayed current with technology maintaining both an Instagram and a Facebook page. She welcomed or rebuffed visitors depending on their level of reverence upon entering the San Fernando house, she kept the humans on a tight schedule; feeding before 6 a.m., snacks at regular internals, bedtime was to be heeded; Michelle on her right side, Missy at her pillow and on Jason face should she decide she needed to quell his snoring. Jason is a snorer and Missy had quite a time training him. An unfinished task she has left to her youngest, Basil Curry. He has been given the schedule and she expects him to adhere to it, continuing her training of the humans, they do learn more slowly than the Order of Feline or Canine.

High Command called her home last night and she responded dutifully but on her terms: she demanded vigil through the night and reverence to her service through the years, she patiently snoozed and spoke to Michelle imparting her wisdom into Michelle’s sub-conscience as she prayed over Missy through the night. This morning Missy scheduled her return to High Command to take her place among those deities who have come before her. 

Her time with her humans lasted 18 years by their standards, 89 years according to High Command. She gave of herself body and soul to improve the lives of those around her for generations to come. She will be missed.

May Ms. Moneypenny Missy Cat Snagglepuss rest in eternal peace!

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Aaaaaand . . . Boom!

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Pacer Check-In # . . . I can’t remember

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Some musings . . . or other . . .

 I’ve not posted here in a while. Well, I’ve not posted anything here directly for a while. I’ve reblogged a lot of stuff that no one else probably cares about but me so that doesn’t really count. I suppose that’s not fair to say. I got it from somewhere so someone else cares, just no one that reads my tumblr. That’s better.

I’ve subtitled this blog as my adventures while living while battery operated and I’ve not done anything here to expand on that. That is really my point I suppose. Let’s see, I teach, I act, I write . . . all things I do to sustain and fulfill me. My family is the most important element of my sustainability of course. My kids are rapidly growing while my wife and I get younger which frustrates them more than us. But most who know me know that I am a man of stories. I believe life is a story and how we look at things determines whether or not we grow from them. With that, I’ll tell a short story . . . 

(Story time . . . as my students say when I get off topic)

I’m in the process of mulling over the creation of a one-man show. Details on that will be forth coming as the more immediate is the completion of a screenplay a friend wants to support whole-heartedly but has not heard from me in several weeks and this has desperately slowed down the process. (Sorry D.I.)

That being said, growing up, I had a reading disability that went undiagnosed until I got to college. I am dyslexic and reading and writing came very, very slow to me. This led to frustration, anger, acting out, bad grades, belittling from teachers, teasing from peers and an all out hatred of the written word. I didn’t want to learn a new language because I couldn’t read the one I learned to speak as a baby so how the hell would learning Spanish or French be any easier. I developed tricks to writing that got me by and helped solidify me in school as a man of few words on the page but they were meaningful. I even, through the process of some well rehearsed bullshitting, convinced my parents that writing one paragraph was all I needed to say what what necessary and convey an intelligent point of view. I can remember my mother arguing in a very passive aggressive, teacher vs teacher way (my mom was a teacher) with my 4th grade English teacher that my lack of writing meant I got to the point rather than dancing around with flowery language and not really saying anything. (Thanks for defense mom but your kid couldn’t write.) That’s why I got to the point and didn’t elaborate, I couldn’t write. My handwriting was terrible because if I messed it up enough, no one would know I had no idea if “i” came before “e” except after “c.” I couldn’t tell the difference between them anyway. And I didn’t care! I was too busy looking over my shoulder to see if I would get beat up today because I wore my favorite Kentucky shirt. Ms. 4th grad ELA was right. I was stupid, or so so she and my other teachers lead me to believe.

Then in high school, I was sufficiently chiseled by anger and frustration, really good at getting high off kitchen cleaners, permanent markers and glue, and crushed by the death of my dog and my uncle, when my wrestling coach, and english teacher, asked me to read Sonnet 18 to the 10th grade Honors English class my counselor made me take even though I told her I hated everyone in there because they looked down at me and spoke down to me (okay not everyone but you know what I mean). I told him to fuck off as any good, shit head would and he said to do it any way. 

I didn’t know what to say to that. I just looked at him and he smiled at me through a 70′s era, handlebar mustache that had a life of its own. 

I read it.

The class applauded.

Shakespeare didn’t write proper grammar, he wrote emotions and that level of passion is something I understood and my Coach/ELA Teacher understood I understood.

“What the hell does that have to do with living while battery operated?” 

Before I died a few years ago, I was passionate and compassionate, loved others and spoke out against injustice same as today. But I didn’t see the way my Counselor and my Coach/Teacher saw me. 

If you know me, you know that moment in 10th grade honors, the last honors class I ever took btw, began my artist walk with Shakespeare. You also know that every student that comes into my classroom comes in with a clean slate, everyday. I’m still passionate, compassionate, loving of others and I speak out against injustice. But having a battery reminds me to stay that way and be the example for others. 

“You didn’t know to be the example before your battery? You are stupid!”

Sorry, my childhood bullies still ring in my head.

Yes, of course I did. But I was reminded the other day playing ball with a bunch of incoming 9th graders of it’s importance. 

I was chasing after a ball to prevent the other team from scoring. I reached. I missed. I tweaked my pectoral and subsequently my battery. Hurt like hell and worry flashed through my entire body. (I’m fine) And dwelling on it the last several days (I do that sometimes. My favorite director calls it brooding.), I am reminded of reading in front of that class 25+ years ago.

“How are they connected?”

I’m getting to that. Chill.

That man’s smile, patience and confidence in me is what made me turn to the 9th graders who watched me miss the ball and tweak my heart battery and say, “Great shot! Try again!” and throw the ball back the kid that hit it last.

“I don’t see it.”

I don’t care. These are Iron Man’s Musings, not yours.

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Shakespeare’s The Life of Timon of Athens is an overlooked gem in his corpus…this moral drama is distinctive – and timely – in its focus on the relationship between money and affection…[and] also features some choice language.

But for Timon, it’s not enough for the prostitutes to fall ill to venereal disease: He wills it on their customers. Shakespeare is very descriptive about what effects syphilis will have: “hollow bones” (bone degeneration), “crack the lawyer’s voice” (ulcerous larynx), “down with the nose” (a collapsed nasal bridge), and genital sores:  “Plague all, / That your activity may defeat and quell / The source of all erection” (4.3.161-63).

Source - John Kelly on the Strong Language blog. 

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my english teacher just sent this email to our class and i think i just choked

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Shakespeare and Pokemon in the Park

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I LOVE THIS!!!!!

a good thing you can do

google the name of your city, alongside the word “theatre.”

spend some time looking into what pops up.

and by that i mean look beyond the big touring houses. there are plays other than wicked and the book of mormon.

if none of the theatre near you seems affordable, call each theater individually, and ask about student prices/rush tickets/ushering options. it may surprise you!

if you’ve never heard of the plays happening locally, get pumped! most of the best plays i’ve seen i knew very little about going in. not being familiar with a play/musical isn’t a reason not to see it–just the opposite, in fact.

try and find a way to get to one of the theaters near you. if you drive, perfect. if you can afford it/own a smartphone, uber. if you feel safe and up to it, plan out a hike. if you feel safe but don’t want to walk, see if you have a local bus system. if you live with your parents, ask them if they could give you a ride sometime. transportation is hard, i totally understand, but there’s no harm in considering all the options.

pick a day to see a play!

if you can’t find anyone to go with, that’s actually great!–it means you get to be alone with the playwright and the team of artists that put this production together. it means you get to listen to what they have to say with your undivided attention. you’re allotted the privilege of listening, which is a remarkable thing.

(and if you really have to share your experience with someone, my ask box is open, and i love hearing thoughts on live theatre, even if its a tiny community theatre production of a terrible play in the middle of nowhere.)

go see a play!!!!!!

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Odd shots at the Globe! More to come!! Can't you just imagine the impact visiting will have on my students!!???

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The Belgrade Theatre in Coventry may invite Drama College to perform as part of their 50th Anniversary celebration next year! Since we are trying to get to the Fringe, we may as well try to com a couple of weeks early and perform in one of the most important theatres in the world! Their Theatre in Education program is amazing and they have brilliant artists coming in to work with young people all the time. Their Acting Out program focuses on "at risk" students and uses theatre arts as a means of self-expression and creative growth! The Main Stage is host to big musicals, classics, original plays, you name it. It truly is an incredible space with loving artists running the show! Above are pictures of the outside of the theatre and a few snaps of a rehearsal space! Their Unplugged series is coming up and if you happen to be in the Coventry area, I highly recommend you check it out!!

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If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended. That you have but slumbered here... To die, to sleep, to sleep perchance to dream...

Marking the 450th Anniversary of William Shakespeare’s Birth

For more photos from the sites of William’s Shakespeare life, explore the Shakespeare’s Birthplace, Globe Theater and Shakespeare’s Grave location pages.

Every year at the end of April, a celebration of the life and works of the great playwright William Shakespeare takes place in the market town of Stratford-upon-Avon, England. Shakespeare was born there in 1564 and cultural celebrations in Stratford’s streets, with entertainers, street performers and traditional Morris dancers, go back hundreds of years.

From his plays to his sonnets, Shakespeare’s extensive works have produced a legacy of characters, ideas, histories and, of course, words—it is thought he contributed more than 2,000 to the English language. His plays are a staple on many school curriculums, and continue to be reinterpreted on stage, rewritten in fiction and retold on screen.

The man himself is still very much a mystery and few details exist about his private life. Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway with whom he bore three children, before relocating to London to pursue his acting and writing career. He died at the age of 52 on April 23, 1616—a date which fell very near to his birthday in the same month (the exact date is unknown).

This year marks the 450th anniversary of Shakespeare’s birth and, on Saturday, a special procession will take place in Stratford, ending with celebrants laying flowers on Shakespeare’s grave in the Holy Trinity Church. The world-renowned Royal Shakespeare Company will also host a full program of shows.