What I learned. . .
So many people told me they didn’t want to see my production of The Foreigner, I began to get a little paranoid. But it turned out it wasn’t really the production I directed that people didn’t want to see; it was the play itself.
True, The Foreigner has been done a lot. And I’ll admit that when Fred Adams and Scott Phillips called to invite me to direct Larry Shue’s extraordinary comedy, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the offer, though I was certainly grateful to be thought of – and ultimately, happy to be entrusted with the work. I’d never seen The Foreigner; moreover, I’d never read it. All I knew was its reputation: “funniest play ever written.” (“Oh, thanks a lot,” I found myself repeating under my breath.) But again, well-written material is well-written material, and there’s a very good reason the play has been produced as often and as successfully as it has: The Foreigner is an exceptional piece of craftsmanship.
What I didn’t know about the play was that it has tremendous heart. That was the real lesson. I’m not a natural farceur, which may have actually saved my neck on this particular project; I don’t instantly or automatically begin contriving “the bits” as I prepare to direct the play. Rather, I rely on clues from the playwright, and tend to trust my casting instincts which, in this case, meant finding excellent comic actors for the roles – and believing that together we would find our way to the right degree and balance of comic elements in the work.
Chris Mixon was a natural for Charlie, and I couldn’t have been happier to have Jane Ridley and Bryan Humphrey as Betty and Froggy, respectively. (It’s always nice to get to work with actors with whom you have established shorthand; makes the sort of trust you need in any rehearsal situation that more easily attainable, and in the case of The Foreigner, makes it that much easier to ask your actors to try outrageous things as you find your way to the center of the work. I remember watching in amazement as Jane took every cheap idea I served up and made it her own. . . made them work -- hilariously, as I recall. . . I think she’s a high-wire artist of the first order and a true comic genius.)
My instincts told me to recommend Lloyd Mulvey, a young actor I’d worked with in the BFA actor training program at the University of Utah, for the role of Ellard. . . Lloyd is unable to do anything but play the truth, so I knew that his characterization would evolve out of the honest pursuit of intention and objective, and that the comedy would come from within rather than be imposed from without. Ditto, Marcella Sciotto, another actor I’d worked with when she was in training (at Webster University’s Conservatory of Theatre Arts BFA program). And, I was delighted to work for the first time with Ted Deasy, an actor whose work – particularly in Stoppard’s Rough Crossing at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, I’d admired for years, and to be reunited with Erik Stein, a former PCPA student who had laid me in the aisles with his performance as Miles Gloriosus in a production of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum at Pioneer Theatre Company, several years prior to our reunion at USF – revealing a side of Erik of which I’m not sure I’d previously been aware. It was a happy clan, indeed.
What surprised me about the play is what surprised the people who went to the production unwillingly: there is so much heart, and a terrific message about prejudice and about judging those who are ‘different’ from us under the belly-laugh surface of the play, if you just trust the work to speak for itself. Like so much fine playwriting, it simply doesn’t need our ‘help’ as much as we are sometimes compelled to feel. Ultimately, I was grateful to have been given the opportunity to direct The Foreigner. It was a great lesson in assuming nothing based on reputation. I grew as an artist and a craftsperson; I think I learned as much as did Larry Shue’s wonderful characters; most important, together, the cast and the production team gave audiences a side-splitting and moving couple of hours away from the routine of everyday life. Sometimes that’s all we can – or should – ask of the theatre.