»Pickled ginger tastes light green and has little sparkles inside that make the tongue go violet. Sweet ginger is different: yellow with small crowns on top.«

In their performance: »I could never be in love with someone whose name looks orange« the two dancers Asher O’Gorman (IRE) and Malika Fankha (CH) dig deeper into perception. Perception is receiving and processing information with our senses. Everybody perceives themselves and their world in a unique way and has their own definition of reality.

The piece is an exploration into the subject of a phenomenon called »synesthesia«, this is a perceptional condition in which the five senses become mixed up. Synesthetes may hear colours, see sounds or taste a touch.

»I could never be in love with someone whose name looks orange« is about the way the two performers experience daily life. They share stories from their childhood both inspiring and frustrating and take the audience on a sensory journey into a world where music is colourful and letters taste like fruit salad.

In country circles, it’s well-known that Haggard was in prison at San Quinton for some time. Legend has it that is was during this time that Johnny Cash played his legendary concert there – and Haggard was so moved and sick of the pen that he got serious about turning his life around. Clearly he did just that – for several decades now Haggard has had hit record after hit record, and become an “icon” in the country music world.

What’s most interesting from today’s perspective, I think, is in looking back at how country music has developed over the years and looking at Haggard in that context. Country music went through a “split” of sorts in the late 60’s/early 70’s, resulting in what we now know as the “Nashville Sound” (hallmark being super clean, polished recordings) and the “Bakersfield Sound”(hallmark being twang and rough edges). Haggard was part of the Bakersfield camp, which eventually gave rise to what is commonly today called the country music “Outlaws” – Haggard, Willie Nelson, Toby Keith – artists that refuse to produce “slick” sounding records or songs.

The “Outlaws” got their original “name” sometime in the 70’s, and this play was written shortly thereafter. As the word “outlaw” connotes something of the American West, and Haggard’s past being a tough one to overcome, there’s just shade after shade of relevance there – the less “slick” the better!

Also interesting that Martin is the “outsider” in the play, and Haggard was a bit of an “outsider” himself – I’d love to see where that would lead! Another interesting choice for a different production could be the Old Man as the musician, seemingly “removed” from the scene, yet his melody haunting May and Eddie, perhaps even drawing them into a sense memory of him. Now I really want to do this play !

Approaching this in “meta level” fashion … interesting. While I agree with Axel’s mother that the “think less and play more” approach is good (I feel it typically results in more emotional “charge”) I would amend that approach by saying “think less and play more on stage.” For me, thinking (i.e. analyzing the events leading up to the starting moments of the play) is one of the rich parts of the rehearsal process that allows actors to “forget” that history on stage, and react most naturally in the moment (is that what is meant by “traditional American Naturalism?”) What would keep this piece from becoming merely a psychological chamber piece, in my opinion, is a deep-enough understanding of what these people have been through up until now, that the emotions have become sensory for the actors – and that this particular moment in which the play starts is significant, because something in the “same old routine” is different enough that Shepard feels compelled to call our attention to it exactly when and where he does. I also agree with Brian that having as much rehearsal time to explore as you have is certainly a luxury where we come from, but that there is also a danger of becoming overly analytical and losing connection with the illogical things that make characters like this tick.
So, what is it exactly that makes these characters tick? This is where the archetypes begin to bear relevance for me. First of all, let’s please not confuse cowboys with pioneers and Teddy Roosevelt… lest I spiral into a lengthy and off-target discussion about that right now, suffice it to say that “cowboys” aren’t in the business of taming vast lands nor at all concerned with manifest destiny. Cowboys herd cattle (and a few do still exist). They became legendary after the Civil War, when – under extremely hard conditions and with very little pay – they herded thousands upon thousands of heads of cattle past the Mississippi River into the Texas plains. The “legend” of the cowboy began then: stories of how they were so tough they could get through anything. This legend later grew into mythic proportions, but what sticks in my mind the most is the idea that they live by their own code. And whether you agree with that code or not doesn’t matter to a cowboy, as long as he knows he’s “walking his talk.” Americans are not so much in love with what a cowboy looks like or what he does, as with what he represents: the freedom to live an honest life, even if it involves bucking the conventions of the masses, and the strength to do it with ease. Eddie clearly sees himself as a cowboy, and wants desperately to be one… to be ok “on his own” … a tough guy… the “loner” that wanders the deserts, living by his own code. Yet he’ll never be free, because he can’t face nor accept his own reality. This “guy” is not a real cowboy – and, in my opinion, Shepard designed him the way he did on purpose.
A word about May: I don’t see May as an implicitly weak figure. On the contrary: if anyone in this play has the capacity to grow and have any shot whatsoever at changing their life, it’s May (thankfully, Martin isn’t dysfunctional – just a bit slow, in my opinion). I’m glad I read this play because it depicts without apology the inner workings of co-dependency (which is the foundation for the baffling condition that often called “battered wife syndrome” in the states). It is obvious that May doesn’t love Eddie – she even says so. It is equally as obvious that Eddie doesn’t love May – although he doesn’t say so, because he can’t, or perhaps won’t, realize his own truth. So why is it so hard for May to let go? Because the struggle it isn’t about love at all. In the end it isn’t even about power… or control… or getting even… such struggles psychologically speaking are “symptoms” of co-dependency, not the root of it. I’d be very interested to know what your explorations of those complex struggles were like in rehearsals – how did you explore them? And did those explorations lead you to any further insights into why the cycle continued between May and Eddie? And what it would take to break it?

Music – more on that in a later entry 
Overall thoughts: I could write a Thesis about this play (and I’ve just about done it here!), so I’ll wrap up by sharing the broadest thoughts that are swimming through my head about it: the truth is black and white – it’s how we feel about the truth that creates shades of gray between us. And reality is what it is – we can choose to see it however we like, but every choice we make has consequences far beyond the “here and now.” A penny for your thoughts!

Later, I tell Raphael, you know if you go out of this scene like that the only way to come in again, and don’t ask me why, that’s just how I feel, is to do a clown number. And he’s not sure what I mean. And I’m not sure either. Ok, he says and he starts an impro doing all kinds of totally weird stuff, with Marc doing the sound effects. It’s great. Now I see what I had in mind. And so we trim it down to a little action sequence with various superheroes doing their macho thing, and in the end it’s about Eddie telling us that’s what you have to do these days as a stunt man to keep in shape and avoid being replaced by a computer animation.

One time I tell Marc – who’s already doing a scene as Martin telling May that he’s late cause he had to water the football field – to roughly point to his guitar sitting there on the small stage where he left it. The football field. He smiles and does it. This causes all kinds of interesting side effects, as the three now start referring to other ‘meta levels’ of the play, and I have my hands full trying to curb their enthusiasm.
Boy, are we having fun. No, really, we do! After two and a half weeks we reach the end of the play only to realize that we can’t really rehearse it without me having edited the video stuff first. I’ve managed to edit some of the Old Man footage and it turned out ok, but there’s still a lot of work left in that department. So we part for a ten-day, rehearsal-free period and wish each other a merry x-mas. Right before new year’s eve we have two days to take a look at what we have so far. Everything is sketched out, which is good. More than I expected to get done with only rehearsing in the evenings. The structure seems to be holding, as do the little loops and imperfections and add-ons that we have ‘installed’. Now we have to sharpen it, file at it,
work on the rhythm (a lot) and re-examine the status games in every little scene. Katharina
and I take some time to about her long monologue at the end. She’s been working really hard
and her English has improved tremendously. Generally, I don’t focus so much on the little
flaws in pronunciation. If what they do on stage is great and full of life, nobody will bother
about a mistake. It is a foreign language production, but first and foremost it should be
experienced as any other play: with all senses available.

Thus, a two week rehearsal period is fairly standard in most American regional theatre; three weeks an absolute luxury.  Four or more weeks is considered a divine gift from the heavens.  Suffice to say then, I’ve done many a show where I’ve had to pretty much be off book after blocking is finished.  (There was even a summer where the company I was, due to the death of our then-director, was forced to mount the massive musical CAMELOT in less than nine days!)

You can’t then understand how, well, laid back and down-right mellow everything felt when my Nashville colleagues and I were involved in rehearsals for DAS TREFFEN in 2005.  We had our initial read-through and early discussions about the possible ways to approach the writing, and then after a week, like the good little American actor I am, I immediately set out to memorize my lines.  Nein, nein….please stay on book for the time being.  Two weeks later, should i start memorizing now? (as if i hadn’t got most of them down already)  Nein, it still is good for you to hold your book and be totally in tune with the material….Seriously, don’t start to memorize yet!  But a truly amazing thing began to happen…the script literally ‘became” second nature to me by this ongoing process.  And as you so eloquently spoke of, the possibilities to make it new and fresh began to pour into my feeble little New World brain.  Now, it was agonizing at times as well…is this really the right approach to this segment of the show?  What can I do to improve this portion?  SERIOUSLY, CAN I ACTUALLY BEGIN MENTALLY SETTING SOME OF THIS NOW????

On another sidenote, I am also very envious of how in depth and serious the “questions” are that you and your cast can explore with the material.  Post-capitalist??  Postpostmodern or postpostism appoach?  Gender issues?  America and Dubai undertones?  Astounding!!!  Be very thankful that you have this luxurious time to deal with these questions and ways of looking at the material!  Over here, I’m lucky to get “No, you can’t be there because you’re blocking the rest of scene….move left!”

Finally, the German actor jumps up from his chair. He’s been brooding the problem for over half an hour. Now, he looks the director straight in the eyes and, with his grand, classically-trained voice too loud for spaces that will seat less than 600, booms out: WHY?) But it’s not like that in our production. Here, I’m the one who might be a little too complicated for his own good, and the actors are pretty much open to anything. It’s interesting to observe how my suggestions and comments will invariably lead to an action on stage that’s quite different from what I had in mind. Sounds familiar? Are there any jokes about German directors out there? Let me hear them. I have been acting in some form or another for the past 17 years now, both in English and in German. I’ve also worked as first AD and set AD on a couple of short films projects and film school productions in Germany. I’ve been in a Fringe production in Edinburgh, done workshops as an actor, and given some as teacher. I’ve worked with kids, amateurs, students and professionals. I’ve observed quite a wide variety of acting styles over the years. And I’ve worked with directors who, if put together in a room, would probably immediately go for each other’s throat like British bulldogs over how to stage Shakespeare, Brecht, Molière or Checkov.
I’ve also been acting alongside Katharina in the last five productions now, so quote, unquote, I’m glad we have some kind of understanding (Old Man FFL) and I’m glad she’s totally accepting my new role as director in this setup. However, theater language, even if you think you’re using the same, is a slippery tool, and getting a grip on formal and asthetic concepts while in production is like trying to catch Scottish Salmon wearing wooly mittens. A little like friendly fire that might just cause the most casualties. Rehearsals are like this: I keep mentioning the ‘actor’ or ‘player’, as opposed to the ‘character’ or ‘role’ he or she is portraying, and that he or she might be aware of the inevitability of the play’s ‘final destination’ at times, i.e. the eternal cycle of things like relationship addiction and abuse or, well, let’s face it, doing a play en suite. They give me a scene with lots of non-verbal asides to show me that they ‘know’ what they’re doing. Ok, I say, now let’s try to just use that as the basis but not show it. Make it less obvious. They do that but I get the feeling they’re trying to show me that they ‘know but won’t show’. So I say, you know, to me the art of acting is about hiding something, not showing it. I see them showing me that they’re hiding ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ is. Do it for yourself not for me, don’t think of an audience, I say. And suddenly remember that I earlier claimed any serious discussion about the importance of ‘the fourth wall’ or something was a waste of time since we all know we’re in a theater. I sigh. But isn’t contradiction the basis for a truly interesting journey into the unknown? Or must the gap be bridged between my DIY-theater theories and my secret longing for ‘well-made acting’?
My mother would look at me sometimes while I was studying to become a respectable teacher and say, you should think less and play more. You used to be real good at it when you were nine. Oh Mother. (I know she’s right.)

It feels good to be in a large room and move around, having enough space to physically explore certain emotional processes, which we will then distill later on in order to make them feasible for our small stage. Later in the week, we get a 4 x 7m raised rostrum and the first  rops to have something similar to our original space. We do lots of warm-up exercises and start working on the choreography for Eddie and May’s little fight scenes. We can only work late shifts, as Raphael is still doing the Christmas show in the morning. Some nights he seems tired. Has anyone out there ever experienced ‘ideal rehearsal conditions’? Details, please. We go to a hotel in town and shoot the footage of the Old Man and a short version of the first lines between May and Eddie. I want to use that for the end, another idea that might go stale and vanish the moment I see it on stage. Like the animation. Anja and I sit in the canteen and discuss this again. Now that we’ve seen some action we both feel a comic-strip animation would look silly. We should stick to Shepard’s original invention and have sound and light effects for the countess.

During the day Anja and I discuss our work to find out where we’re headed. We discuss the parts I want to rehearse in the evening so that I have some artistic ‘backup’ when questions arise. And they do arise! We wade and fumble our way through the bog and fog of  heatricalism and theatricality and their various interpretations. Are we doing a postmodern version? A post-feminist version? A post-postmodern or postpostism version? Are we doing a play-in-a-play? Is it a post-American look at archetypal American Myths? A post-gender exploration of gender roles? Aren’t we all doing post-capitalist art now, anyway, with places like Dubai and California going bankrupt? And what’s the Old Man doing inside a TV? Isn’t a TV on stage totally 90′s (Anja, I know but…)? By the way, is the Musician supposed to interact with the characters on stage? If so, is he only allowed to use his music or may he verbally interfere, too? And while we’re at it: Is he already Martin when he’s playing the guitar? You got the Old Man heckling at Martin: Who’s this guy, anyway? There you go. Shepard thought of that question already!

I don’t want the V-effect, though, so don’t get me wrong. (V as in Brecht, that is, not as in V2.) We discuss the stage design. An initial concept of having a double set, one on stage and one down in the middle of the audience, and having a sound boom and a camera filming one of those ‘sets’ and projecting it is trashed. Too complicated, too conceptual, and to much hassle, as we have virtually no budget for this production. It’s all in-house, and everything we want – props, costumes, etc. – should be found in our own theater facilities, our Fundus. So I want to go for a minimalistic, artificial set, something like a small sound stage you would find in film school. There should be no decorative elements. Everything you see on stage will somehow have a functional reason, either being directly used by or posing as a concrete challenge or obstacle for the actors.
A chair, a bed, a little platform with curtain upstage as make-shift bathroom, where everything is totally visible. The Musician/Martin character will have his own little stage at the side, set apart from the main stage. There’re stairs right at the middle that lead up to the stage where the Musician will make his first – and inappropriate – entrance, only to do it again from the side, like real actors do! Finally, the Old Man will be appearing on a huge TV screen down right, as will the little clips that we still want to pre-produce for the countess’s actions scene. Right now, we’re thinking of a comic strip flash animation. I’d have to find somebody outside the theater to produce them, though. Let’s see about that…

Another thing in mounting an all-”American” version of FFL is acknowledging what my colleague Mark Cabus calls the near worship of violence in this country.  Our Puritan background will invariably condemn and, if given the chance, outlaw anything remotely sexual in content, but man oh man, for a country that prides itself internationally as one based on the rule of Law, we Americans surely do love our violence.  Here today we see televised images of men, fearful of losing their purported Second Amendment rights, carrying weapons to supposedly peaceful town hall meetings, and the proliferation and near casual acceptance of events like the UFC and MMA cage fighting and the like.  Raging here in Tennessee currently is a fight over the right of licensed gun-owners carrying weapons into such non-threatening places as restaurants and public parks!  Shephard revels in showing us this harsh dualistic aspect of our culture, while also revealing the degradation it also inevitably brings with it.

Axel, I am particularly intrigued with the notion of setting this in a film studio.  If there’s another more prevalent icon in this country than the cowboy image, it’s that of the Hollywood movie star.  You may have addressed this, but are Eddie and May old hands at this plot?  Would there be anything thematically to gain if one, or both, of them were fresh into the game?  Could May’s reactions come as a shock to Eddie, who’s used to a set way that the “script” always plays out?  And Axel, how do you feel about the others playing opposite a video….is it too non-involved….does that feel a bit too Brechtian?

Lastly, I truly would love to be in on the sounding “appropriately American” aspect of your early rehearsal process.  I’m one of those actors that really needs what I hear myself saying and how I’m saying it to be exactly right, so the beginning of this process would be fasciating for me to observe.  The Western dialect is not that tricky or difficult in and of itself but does have its own peculiarities and tendencies.  And unless your actors are readily conversant in English, it’s not easy.  The following story is how I can relate to your cast:  In our production of DAS TREFFEN, I was lucky enough to be the only American actor that actually spoke German in the show.  My Magdeburg counterpart Robert Neumann, conversely had to speak a bit of English over here.  Robert was, of course, terrific; his English was spot on.  Then came my rather feeble attempt at conquering my tid bit of German dialogue.  To say i butchered things would be putting it mildly.  At the end of the ill-fated attempt, Oliver Iserloh, our videographer, told me while holding back a rather snarky grin, “That was, ummmm,  pretty good….You spoke your German with an American accent.”

First, a disclosure (because Gunda encouraged me to):  I am not a fan of
Sam Shepard, either as a playwright or actor.  With apologies to Stefan
Schnabel, Fool for Love (and especially Buried Child, his prize-winner) do
not disabuse me of that opinion.  His characters, to my mind, are not
memorable and not especially well-drawn (while Martin is indeed a catalyst
in FFL, as a character he doesn’t offer much).  Shepard apparently thinks
testosterone is the only source from which all characters spring –
including his estrogen-deficient women characters who suffer from having
been written by a man with this mind-set.  Plus, Shepard never imagined a
metaphor or image that he wasn’t willing to beat like the proverbial
dead-horse – I mean 10-minutes of roping the bed-posts and then May – come
on.  You get the picture.  Anyway, I know that I am in the minority here
(just as I am with David Mamet) because Shepard is still at it – in fact,
he has a new play, Ages of the Moon, opening Jan. 12 in New York with a
couple of very fine actors. Go figure.

All of that having been said and with the play choice set, I’ll try to set
aside my opinions and offer dispassionate comments.  First, Axel, you say
that you came into contact with Shepard in ’89 while studying English lit.
What was you initial reaction to his work and has it changed, altered, or
stayed the same over the past 20 years?  Have you read many of his other
works?  Do they stay with you?  I would be interested in your answers to
these questions and how they might inform your approach to directing FFL
and in finding a way into the 25-year old play.

As for the “cowboy” motif, keep in mind that Shepard is to the American
West as Tennessee Williams is to the American South.  Prior to my spending
an extended period in Germany, I would have said you couldn’t really do
Williams justice by taking him out of that very specific milieu.  I
quickly found that my opinion was quite wrong-headed when I saw an
intriguing and arresting production of The Glass Menagerie in Berlin.
Williams works just fine however he’s staged, and it is possible that
Shepard might also  (though he’s awfully wedded to spurs, boots, ropes,
hats, and dusty/seedy environments).  And, unlike Shepard, Williams
created unforgettable and very playable characters.

However, do not be too quick to jettison the “westernization” of  FFL.
Another vivid recollection I have of my time in Magdeburg is attending a
concert by an American country-western singer where most of the audience
were locals dressed in “cowboy” jeans, shirts, boots, hats, and bandanas.
Would your audiences relate to country-western versus just western?
Would that help in integrating live music and portraying Martin as a
guitar player/country music singer and all that entails, i.e. broken
hearts, my-baby-did-me-wrong, drinkin’-to-forget, etc?  On the other
hand, if you take Shepard totally out of the West, strip the characters
of their banal props/costumes, and reduce everything to the basics,
you’ll probably see if there’s anything of dramatic worth left standing.
In keeping with that idea, also take away the overwhelming volume of
stage directions (almost as many as Shaw, except his are not designed to
tell the actors how to act and the director how to direct) and see if the
play still makes sense.

The idea of a doomed film set is intriguing, but I’m struck by your
statement that the players have been at it so long that everything is
highly charged emotionally.  I would think that two actors who have been
doing the play for a long time would be just the opposite – emotionally
drained.  And how does putting FFL in the artificial setting of a film
locale help the German audience relate to/understand the “westernness” of
Shepard’s play?   Though I have to say that I really love the idea of
putting the Old Man on video as  Shepard’s conceit of having him on stage
is just plain annoying.  The whole Greek chorus thing is just tired,
tired, tired; the Ghost of Hamlet’s father thing – much more dramatic.

So, have fun and Hals und Beinbruch.

Richard