My Lazy Man’s Blog Entry

I entitled this entry as my “lazy man’s” entry due to the fact that a good chunk of this entry is actually just hitting “control x” to my own “Director’s Notes” from the program of Our Country’s Good.

Two performances down. One to go.

Given the volatility of last week’s hurtling out of control toward opening night—who knew how it would all go?!

Opening night on Saturday was quite good. In many ways it was our final dress rehearsal since we hadn’t had the proper chance to work out all the lighting and sound cues on Friday night. I went out to speak to the audience, yeah, I like doing that, and I shared with them that I have come to the realization that school is really meant to be a laboratory in which we can practice solving problems. Sometimes we have math problems, writing problems, social problems, et cetera. I shared with the audience that 48 hours before we realized two main characters (whoops! I mean actors) were not coming, and that presented us with a problem. Through the heroic efforts of Tristan and Lucy, my adult friends who came to our rescue, we solved the problem. I didn’t name the students. I didn’t even name the adults. But I wanted the audience to know that two actors would be carrying scripts on stage, and since the programs already had the original actors’ names in them, they should be made aware that when we trot out the old cliché, the show must go on, what we really mean is that life goes on, and when problems or setbacks arise, well, you just gotta deal.

The performance was solid—a little rushed, a typical high school actor default when faced with nervousness, and the audience very respectful and receptive.

Last night I cautioned the cast about the perils of a “second performance syndrome,” in which they might rest on their laurels, or give in to the fatigue, or become complacent. But as the second performance began last night, there was an air of command among these students. I stood by the sound and lights guys, but they didn’t need me anymore. I watched these 20 actors from my perch and I noticed that they took seriously my advice to enunciate and project more emphatically.

We are doing this play in an unusual venue. We are in a wonderful courtyard, but it does mean we are outside, and as the night sky filled with the stars, I looked at the full moon and felt such a serenity about where this process had brought us. Our stage is bifurcated by a set for the officers, and a structure for the convicts that suggests several things at once: a ship’s hull, residential shack, a jail, and gallows. We hang enough lights in the corners to adequately light the courtyard and it becomes magical stage in which we portray 1780s Australia. The “house” opens at 7:45 and when the audience comes in, they see the pile of convict bodies on Stage Left. When I went to the entrance to the courtyard at 7:44 to welcome them in, there was actually a group of about 20 who ran in to take their seats on the edge of the courtyard!

Last night's performance had a smooth quality to it—I noticed the actors “inhabiting their roles” more confidently and capably than ever before. The “fill-in” adults actually know about 80% of the lines now and fit seamlessly into the performance. The convicts’ fights became more lurid, the officers became more sanctimonious and pretentious, and the transformation at the end of the play even more poignant. They moved fluidly from scene to scene and frankly, I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

The two errant actors came last night to watch the play. I didn’t see them actually until I was turning off all the lights, about 30 minutes after the conclusion of the sterling performance. They were standing there near our stage area, waiting to offer an apology. We three spoke for a few minutes and I commented how brave it was to come and watch the performance. I imagined it had been a little painful since just a few days ago they had envisioned themselves triumphing in the parts and the performance. It felt like a sincere encounter. This morning a colleague who had been in the audience shared with me a story of one of these two boys. She had turned and noticed a student texting not far from her, and just then one of my former actors went over to tell the student to stop texting—“you don’t want to distract the actors,” my colleague heard him say.

Mistakes are made. Problems posed. We gotta figure out solutions. I think he might be on the right track.

So here is the lazy part—I am cutting and pasting my Notes from my program insert for your edification! Here’s hoping tonight’s performance fulfills the promise for my merry band of actors.


“During the 18th Century the conviction began to spread throughout the literate sectors of European society that change and reform were both desirable and possible. While this belief is rather commonplace today, it only came into its own shortly after 1700. The writers and thinkers who forged this new attitude favorable to change and who championed reform were known as philosophes. They were people who sought to apply the rules of reason to nearly all the major institutions and social practices of the day. Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778), among the most famous of these philosophes, asserted the social equality of human beings, and argued in his Social Contract that the inequality which had developed through the ages, was not “natural.” Although Rousseau did not propose specific reforms, he did outline a political structure wherein the bonds of government might liberate those individuals who were not free.

At the same time that this ideal permeated the intellectual world of European intelligentsia, the world of European governments grappled with burgeoning empires, a growth in crime, and the rise of prison reform. The philosophy of the Enlightenment had raised questions about the treatment of criminals. In response to this, beginning in the late 18th century, the British government began using the penalty of “transportation” to the new, faraway colony of Australia for persons convicted of some serious crimes. Government officials regarded this transportation as a noble alternative to capital punishment. However, a paradoxical conflict arose between those who sought the idealistic goals of Rousseau and those charged with actual punishments who used whippings and hangings as the principle means to reform.

Based on Thomas Keneally’s novel The Playmaker, Our Country’s Good chronicles the experiences of the first boatload of criminals sent from England to Australia in 1788. The title refers to the executions perpetrated for “our country’s good.” Commingled in this play the loneliness of the officers, the merits of theater, capital punishment and the humanity of the convicts raise interesting philosophical and historical issues.

The conflict evolves between two sets of officers in charge of the prisoners. One side, led by Major Ross, feels that all criminals are sub-human, that they only respond to the lash and they must be treated harshly. On the other side Governor Philip and Lieutenant Clark think putting on a play will have a civilizing effect on the prisoners. One cannot imagine a more barren ground for the seed of theater than this collection of British outcasts. They are a despairing group of women and men of all ages, severely sentenced for everything from prostitution to filching a biscuit. Hanging has become such an automatic consequence for petty crimes that it has turned into a bitter joke for the prisoners. But this drama demonstrates the faith of two officers in an experiment calculated to heal battered spirits and thus their faith in the redemptive power of art.

Lieutenant Clark chooses George Farquhar’s 1706 restoration-style comedy, The Recruiting Officer for the convicts to perform because he hopes it will not only prick the consciences of the skeptical officers but also of the exiled criminals themselves. As five months pass, we get a provocative view of this cruel and callous world, with a focus on its oppressed and oppressors, on crime and punishment, and on the strange effects working together has on these, the most unlikely of actors. By playing roles of upper class characters, the prisoners acquire the dignity and self-respect of the people they are portraying. Overcoming a series of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, the play goes on. Through the play the convicts discover a creative and positive energy lacking in the British officers who oppress them. It is a thrilling transformation, and as the playwright takes the convicts from brutalization to slow awakening of emotions that they have forgotten or never known, we feel the uplifting and redemptive power of the theater.”