Wild Dogs, Mad Monks and Smoke

The picture to your left is of a mannequin in a storefront window on a bustling
street in downtown Bucharest. Note the cat o' nine tails across the lap, the bored but sexy Eastern European body language. I am here for the National Theatre Festival, and since I cannot take pictures inside the theatres, this storefront bit of static performance art will have to do.

I got here two days ago, and, arriving at the train station, one of my dreams finally came true: two people from the festival stood on the dusty platform holding a sign with my name on it. I have The Astounding Cristina Modreanu to thank for this. She and I met at the playwriting festival in Timisoara, she told me she was in charge of the festival here, and offered to set me up. And boy did she. They have provided me with tickets to the shows, ten nights in a swank hotel, and handed me an envelope filled with a cash per diem.

The first night here, I saw an amazing production of Anton Chekov's The Black Monk, presented by Moscow New Generation Theatre. The play was in Russian, I did not understand a word of it, but it did not matter, the acting was so spectacular that I was entranced, edge of my seat. Tonight, I'm seeing a production of Electra. Yesterday, I had breakfast with Gerard Bell from Stan's Cafe Theatre Company in Birmingham, England. They're here with a production called The Cleansing of Constance Brown, and I hope to link them up somehow with the University of South Florida in Tampa. For those of you who don't know, I am on a year's leave of absence from USF. I have applied for a PhD program in Film Studies at Victoria University in Wellington, NZ, and, if Obama wins the election tomorrow night I will apply for a PhD in Theatre at Northwestern in Chicago.

This morning, I taught my first acting class in Romania. Mihaela Sirbu, the actress/teacher extraordinaire from the National University of Theatre and Film, emailed me and explained that she's been cast in a major motion picture and wondered if I could lead her class this morning in some warm-ups. I could barely sleep last night, up late planning what I would teach. It was a 9am class, and I did a bit of everything: Chekov, Viewpoints, breath work, etc. Afterwards, the students seemed really jazzed and asked if I could come back for more workshops. Mihaela and I have been trying to work out a weekend that I could come back and teach a rasaboxes workshop. I hope that it happens soon. Though I love teaching Contemporary British and American Theatre for the English Department in Craiova, when I teach and work with actors I see love, courage and divinity. Soon, I hope to meet the head of the Theatre Department in Craiova. But until then, I will do what I can where I can.
Tomorrow morning, I take the train back to Craiova, discuss August Wilson and The Piano Lesson, then return back to Bucharest at midnight and taxi over to the grand ballroom at the Howard Johnson's.

Oh, and last Friday in Craiova, Halloween night, a group of my students took me out on the town. The first stop, Pub's Pub, was down a winding brick staircase into a basement room made of red bricks and arches: a tiny place, packed with college students, soupy with smoke. Pub's Pub has occasional live music and eternal red wine from barrels. Friday, an unseen dj played an eclectic mix of just about every sort of rock music from every era you could imagine. At one point, Iggy Pop's The Passenger brought me to my feet. Then some Clash got me boppin', but soon the smoke overwhelmed me and I had to go out for some air. My gracious hosts came outside and asked if I wanted to go to another, larger club, and we moved on to a place that played a mostly 80s, mix. About half the crowd wore costumes, and Oana explained that during Ceausescu's rule nobody was allowed to celebrate Halloween. So costumes are new, daring, and everyone seemed really excited by it, the liberation that a costume sometimes brings.

After Oana and her boyfriend dropped me off, I was walking along a short alley and a savage devil dog leaped out at me, barking and snarling. I froze, and the dog harumphed back to its hedge and laid down beside it's (perhaps dead or sleeping) doggie friend. Next year for Halloween, I am going dressed as a rabid dog.

I have been making notes on the new screenplay, aching to sit down once all of these festivals are over, and start writing. Last night before drifting off to sleep, I was channel surfing and there was Petru's father Nicolae Margineanu, being interviewed for his new film. I hope to write something beautiful for him, a gift in return for all of the hospitality this incredible country and its people have blessed me with. What an journey. What a life!