Interview with Gordon Tanner

Here's a second interview, with the man playing Big Shot Producer David O. Selznick. With the play being set in such a vibrant, romantic time in film history, each character -- based on a real person -- held a certain allure for me. But David O. stuck out. What kind of a man, in a business that demanded attention to every minuscule detail, could possibly spearhead a movie as thrilling, as epic, as melodramatic (and as expensive and demanding) a picture as Gone with the Wind? I needed to find out.

Just a small example from the documentary film The Making of Gone with the Wind (searchable on YouTube). At her first wardrobe fitting, the woman playing India Wilkes was astonished at the petticoats -- row upon row of real val lace! She thought she'd do Selznick a favour by telling him that he's wasting a great deal of money on these petticoats that won't even show, that no one will even know is there. Selznick replied, "You'll know it's there. You're the daughter of a rich plantation owner. Now be quiet and stand there and finish getting fitted." Apparently there's a method to his madness.

Here's a quick conversation I had with Gord on how he got into Selznick's head.

A: What kind of work did you do to prepare for this role?

G: I read the book, "Memos from David O. Selznick." It’s not a bio, it’s an accumulation of all of his memos [A: Selznick was an incessant memo-writer to every professional contact he had -- just an insight to his control-freak tendencies]. I watched the movie, Gone With the Wind, and I read a bit of biographical background on Hecht and Fleming. And… well, here’s the thing. I’m not a real believer in that kind of research, normally. I like the idea that essentially everything you need is in the text, and all the decisions can be informed by what is contained therein. But, for something that contains real characters, and the things they actually said, it adds an extra level of enjoyment to the prep. It makes it more fun to know more about the real people. But I don’t think that it’s necessary to create a good play. I think that all of us could have come in knowing nothing about the characters, and could have created something enjoyable for the audience with just the text. It’s not a documentary. It’s a play and it’s fun to "play" if you’re make-believing someone who really lived. That’s my approach. As far as voices go, you've gotta do something that’s a little bit informed by the period and the geographical location, and the societal class of the characters and their backgrounds. But you and I know that so far I haven’t found any recordings of Selznick’s voice.

A: Yeah, I've been looking. I wish I could find something...

G: There's this movie, called Time after Time. Malcolm McDougall plays H.G. Wells in it. I heard that in his prep, McDougall said, "I should find out how he actually sounded." So he found a recording from an archive, and it turned out he had this horrible little voice [A: Gord demonstrates. Think screechy, high-pitched, slightly bird-like...yuck.], and he was a Cockney. So needless to say he decided not to go with that (laughs).

A: So, is there anything new that you've discovered about Selznick since rehearsals began?

G: Throughout this period of his life, he was wacked on Benzedrine. It was all the rage at the time. [A: Benzedrine was first used medicinally as a broncodilator in 1928, but reports of a euphoric stimulant effect quickly made it one of the first recreational drugs-of-choice, and could be taken with coffee or alcohol. Selznick's fixation with popping "bennies" allowed him to work 15-20 hour days on each of his demanding projects, but in the end, shaved years off his life.]

A: Thanks, Gord! Can't wait to see that energy on stage.

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It's OPENING NIGHT TONIGHT. See you in the theatre!!

-- Andrea

Interview with Omar Khan

In light of opening night (this evening!) I thought I'd share with you a couple of cast interviews I took earlier on in the process. This one is with Omar Khan, who plays the uber-intellectual, 1930s Hollywood "Script Doctor" Ben Hecht. Enjoy!

A: What kind of prep work did you do for this show, and how does that compare to what you normally do, or try to do?

O: Prep for this show was different for me than normal. The show is based on real events -- there are real people, events, places, and quotes that have existed, or exist, that I needed to research. And there's a wealth of information out there about it. When I did Glengarry Glen Ross (MTC Warehouse, 2008/09), I could have researched the Chicago Real Estate industry, and how a business like that would have operated, but that information didn't factor in as much. With this show, it helps -- and it was fun research. I read Ben Hecht's book, A Child of the Century, and got an impression of what he might have been like.

A: So, if you were to have a conversation with Ben Hecht, what would that be like for you?

O: I would be intimidated. He went to university for a short time and never graduated, but he was a smart, smart guy. He did so much in his life. A really prolific, intelligent person. He was a playwright and an activist.

A: You said he never finished university. Did he have any writing training outside of high school? Or was he self-taught?

O: As far as I can tell he didn't have any journalism training, but he worked in Chicago as a columnist. He had column called A Thousand and One Afternoons in Chicago -- really well respected by critics.

A: Have you made any discoveries about Ben Hecht during this rehearsal process?

O: Real Ben or Character Ben?

A: Character Ben. Was that a challenge for you? Creating a character from a real person?

O: I struggled with how much of the real Ben I wanted to put in. Ann said we didn't want impersonations. But I was hung up on being "Ben." From my research, I had an idea that he had an even tone, even keel... but then I thought about the extreme situations they're in in this play and how that would push anyone out of that. Just at the end of this last week, I feel like we've all begun to reach that big, big comedy. And if everyone commits to it, it's more fun.

Thanks, Omar!

-- Andrea

Tech Dress

We're at the end of the show. Miss Poppenghul, Vic Fleming, and finally Ben Hecht, one by one, have made their exits. Finally ready to confront "the boss," Selznick positions himself at his desk and reaches for the ringing phone...

And the chair slides out from under him. Even the marquee above seems confused as it epically spells out "THE WIND GONE WITH." The 5 people in the audience are killing themselves laughing, but the music still swells... and Gord's on the floor gathering his pride. That's tech dress!

Sound cues, lighting cues, blocking issues... things are a little rough, and the actors are calling out for lines occasionally, but hey, we're adjusting to the space and it's looking great.

Tech week is over, and we're looking forward to the last few rehearsals before OPENING NIGHT on Thursday. See you then.

-- Andrea

We're in the theatre!

"Do these doors make me look fat?" says Gord. We're now in the theatre with our gorgeous set, mirrored doors and all. This is the life-sized version -- compare to our model at right.


We're in tech week now, stay tuned for notes from last night's technical dress rehearsal in the theatre!

-- Andrea

Psst... the fight's not real.

A stage fight is the ultimate climax to a scene. It can be an opportunity to build some great dramatic tension. For us, in the farcical adventure that is Moonlight and Magnolias, it's also prime time for a gag or two. So how do we begin? The playwright will usually provide some valuable information: the lines, who hits who, maybe a mention of some essential props... but that's about it. Ron Hutchinson had asked for a free-for-all (similar to Ben Hecht's Scarlett slaps Prissy line) -- which, as you can see, leaves little information regarding what's actually to be done about the fight. That's why we had Rick Skene, our fight director, come in to help us build this scene.

So, we want it to be as real as possible without the actors actually hurting each other... Here are a few things I discovered in rehearsal:

The Stage Slap

Have you ever tried to smack someone properly? It's very technical, you see... Rick explained it to us, and I'll pass it on to you.

There are many variations of a stage slap. Most include not hitting the face at all. It's all about the placement of the hands and angling the body correctly. The victim's reaction plays a big part, too. The slap we're using, primarily, is a little different. We do actually connect with the face, but in a way that's a little safer than your average heat-of-the-moment cuff to the chops.

Practice at home with a friend -- fun party trick! The "slapper" must keep a cupped hand and strong wrist. When you connect, avoid the ear and cheekbone. Go for the jawline and lower cheek. Follow through. The "slap-ee" can help by setting their jaw in preparation for the slap. If it's done right, you should hear a nice sharp sound, and "slap-ee's" face should not be stinging (much). (Side note: As Rick explained the maneuver, Ann and I dutifully began slapping our own faces to see what we were missing).

Rooted in Reality
Bottom line (again): the fight's not real. But it can be truthful. Rick was very adamant about this. Our reality is that these characters have been locked in a room together, working on this Godforsaken screenplay, for three solid days. No sleep. No real food. The book calls for Scarlett to slap the young black maid, Prissy, and Hecht won't write it. The first two hits come when Fleming decides to demonstrate the slap in question using Hecht as his Prissy. The slapping lazze begins.

Rick says, "it's not the actual slapping, but the shift in focus that makes it funny." (Ann: [tapping my paper] "Put that in the blog!") Each slap becomes another moment in the conversation -- "did he really just do that?!" "Can I hit him back?" It becomes a game of who-slaps-who, one-upmanship and pride -- all under the guise of work. It's also about timing and rhythm. In a sense, it's not really a fight, just an intense late-night writing session.

Choreography
After the slapping lazze comes the "free-for-all" that Hutchinson requests. Although a fight scene is a bit of dance, it's not choreographed like one. There aren't any set steps. Each moment is built, one by one, from the last thing that happened.

It begins with a bit of a chase, a la Bugs Bunny. Selznick gets slapped and doesn't like it (think: someone accidentally hit Dad and now he's angry)... Hecht bolts, jumps over the couch... Selznick spies Fleming, circles the desk... the room becomes a battlefield. Anything and everything is fair game for ammo. Bananas, peanuts, garbage bins, books, wigheads.... yes, wigheads. (A suggestion from our lovely ASM Leslie). Rick starts talking about using the physics of the room. When does the tension build? When is it released?

The best surprise of the day happened when the fight magically resolved itself. I won't reveal much... just think wigheads, a floor fan, and a whole bunch of symbolism.

-- Andrea

What's a movie?

“What’s a movie? Specks of light stuck to a strip of celluloid. Did you ever think of it like that? A goddamn authentic miracle. A series of moments frozen in time by the only time machine ever invented.”

- David O. Selznick, from Moonlight and Magnolias

Gone with the Wind must have been David O. Selznick's best crack at immortality. An epic civil war picture, a monstrous budget, a story the whole world knew by heart, and... Clark Gable. In a way, he got it right. Movies are the best time capsules. It's the only technology that exists (thus far...) that can instantly transport us to a time, a place, or even a world we're not already in. The dead can walk. Beauty never fades. Stars of the past and present are captured, in that moment, forever. Or, for as long as people go to the movies.

Ron Hutchinson's Moonlight and Magnolias places us in 1939, at the height of the Golden Age of Hollywood. The Big Five: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Paramount, Fox, RKO, and Warner Bros. dominate the industry. Films are churned out like cars on an assembly line under the studio system -- a highly-controlled form of production and distribution where the studios own everything: the sets, the equipment, chains of movie theatres. Even their stars and creative personnel were held under long-term contract. This gave them full control over every detail from beginning to end. At the helm of the operation? The Producer.

BEN HECHT: "David, I don't know whether this is a very good bad book or a very bad good book or more likely a bad bad book but I do know you'll never get a movie out of it -- (Selznick pulls the door open, indicates the brass plate on it--)

SELZNICK: "David O. Selznick. Producer."

In 1939, David O. Selznick had already accomplished a great deal. He had worked his way up as a story editor through RKO, then as Head of Production with MGM. He married the boss's daughter, Irene Mayer (yes, that Mayer) and now was head of Selznick International. He had been the driving force behind some of the greatest works in American cinema at the time: King Kong (1933), David Copperfield (1935), A Tale of Two Cities (1935), and The Prisoner of Zenda (1937). But these were the last days of the producer as unfettered dictator, and Selznick knew it. He says, "In a few years, this place is going to be like Egypt. Full of crumbling pyramids." It couldn't last forever. In fact, a law was passed just nine years later forcing the big production companies to give up their respective theatre chains, beginning the deterioration of the studio system.

Selznick had spent three years with the story at this point; three years of toiling over the plotline, casting, re-casting, hiring and firing... he had bought the rights to Margaret Mitchell's book in 1936, and was still struggling with the daunting task of adapting it into a workable screenplay. Finally, in January of 1939, he had a script by Sidney Howard. He had his Scarlett O'Hara. He had his Rhett Butler. He had his funders and everything seemed to be working out... but three weeks into shooting the picture, things weren't going as planned. George Cukor, director of GWTW and Selznick's long-time best friend, was spending too much time on principal photography, adding in his own dialogue, and in Selznick's opinion, was making it "pansified." Not what Selznick was looking for. In an act of frustration, he fired Cukor and shut production down entirely. He needed the time to re-work the script -- but the price-tag it came with was less than favourable for an already debt-laden production. It was costing Selznick $50 000 dollars a day to idle the picture.

His solution? Pull Victor Fleming from the set of The Wizard of Oz and throw him in the hole left by Cukor, call in the best script doctor in town, Ben Hecht, and lock all three of them in a room for five days. No food, no calls. Just bananas and peanuts (brain food, of course) and a typewriter. Vic's a little shaky on the plotline and Ben's never read the book... but with the help of his no-nonsense, oh-so-efficient secretary Miss Poppenghul (and perhaps a select few performance-enhancing narcotics), they'll get it done, and be on set by Monday.

Sound crazy? I beg to differ! The infinite monkey theorem suggests that "given enough time, a hypothetical chimpanzee typing at random would, as part of its output, almost surely produce one of Shakespeare's plays (or any other text)." Well, we've got bananas AND peanuts. We've got three dudes with a mind for film and a seriously magical secretary. Gone with the Wind? Feh.

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Check back for regular updates on what's happening inside the rehearsal hall as well as some cast interviews, character profiles and more. Up next, notes from Fight Rehearsal with Rick Skene.

-- Andrea