Look What I Can Do!

Asking the world to acknowledge a milestone in one's life and/or career is pretty much the equivalent of acting like Stuart from the old MAD TV. "Look what I can do!" Sure, it's self-serving, but if I don't serve myself, who is?

A little history first. (Take notes. There's going to be a test.) Having had the privilege of having three melodrama scripts produced at my late, lamented and dearly beloved Palace Showboat Dinner Theater at Pollardville in Stockton, California, I wanted to share with other like-minded theaters in the country (nay, the world!). I first submitted them to various play publishers without any success whatsoever. So, after a helluva lotta research, I approached theaters one at a time. A couple of times I hit pay dirt, though the second one actually produced it without either contacting myself or my co-author on LA RUE'S RETURN, thereby trying to get away without paying us. When Ed the Pitbull went after them, threatening legal action, we were compensated handsomely. Once the Internet kicked in, I dove in and tried, tried, tried again with one production to show for all my efforts. I ended up self-publishing my scripts. My rationale was that I had to get my work out there, hoping for something, sometime, somewhere.

It wasn't until the Fall of 2013 when I was contacted by Nova Cunningham (no relation to Opie) who was the marketing director of the Great American Melodrama and Vaudeville Theatre in Oceano, CA. She found my script, SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE online and wanted to produce as their 2014 summer production. The only stipulation was that the title would be changed to SONG OF THE CANYON KID. Well, I was just about to publish my novelization of LONE PRAIRIE (a silly experiment of mine) that I re-titled SONG OF THE CANYON KID. I saw a possible tie-in here, that, alas, never transpired, but my head was in the clouds once again. Naturally, I told Nova yes and lo and behold, a third act of my life was created on the spot.

I started re-channeling my efforts and sure enough, my gamble paid off. THE CANYON KID not only played that summer, but another production ran concurrently with it in Jamestown, CA. LA RUE'S RETURN also found a new stage in Missouri and, as the cherry on top, was slated to be the 2015 Summer attraction at the Great American Melodrama. From there, I was off and running with a an interesting off-ramp into the world of murder mystery dinner theater as well and finally having three of my scripts published at long last by OFF THE WALL PLAYS. 

So thank you, Nova Cunningham, wherever the hell you are in this world, for my first big break since the Pollardville days which has culminated in having my plays produced from one end of the US of A to the other. 2024, my official anniversary year, promises to be one of the best yet. More news of that to come here and on my other blog MURDER, MELODRAMA AND MORE!

The main thing I've learned from the experience is that if you fancy yourself to be a writer, get your work out of the shadows. No one will find it if you've hidden it away from the world. Not knowing does no one any good, least of all yourself. Sometimes, showing up is half the battle.

So Happy Anniversary to me. Let the festivities begin!

Tales from the Ville: Tule Flats-Happy Trails

The Final Chapter of the Tule Flats Saga

Preparation for the 30 hour marathon weekend, the grand finale of the first season of the Tule Flats Ghost Town, were well on their way. We didn't add much more than we already had entertainment-wise, and, in retrospect, we should have done a lot more. Live music should have been an option and since it was Halloween, we could have had some sort of haunted attraction. But we had the rides, such as they were, movies in the hotel and of course, we had the gunfights scheduled to going we into the night. The thought of an after-midnight show really appealed to those of us who would have been partying heartily ourselves.  

For the last street shows of the year, I came up with a couple of newbies, the first written specifically for Grant-Lee Phillips as the Russian gunfighter character Two Gun Boris. ("I am Two Gun Boris"  "You on have one gun."  "Ha! Joke is on Boris!") It was a perfect showcase for Grant and I knew he would run with it. (I used this same character in my melodrama Song of the Lone Prairie, now Song of the Canyon Kid) The other was called The Return of the Gunfighter, a Halloween themed piece that had a pair of bullies picking on some town folk including a little kid whose father was a gunfighter who had been shot down a year before. When the kid cried, "You wouldn't do this if my pa was here!", that dead pa in question rises from the grave and shoots the two bullies down. He kisses his daughter goodbye and exits into the night. Now we needed a spectacular special effect for his entrance and subsequent exit, so Bill Humphreys came up with an idea that involved a line of gunpowder on a pair of 2x4s on either end of Main Street. When ignited, the first looked like a curtain and the zombie gunfighter (Jim Cusick dressed all in black as always) stepped through the smoke. When he left, the pyro went off after him, closing the curtain behind him. Awesome. Perfect for an evening performance. The main problem was that there wasn't a completed script because, given the time constraints, I ran out of time and felt the show could be an improv since one of our regular shows, The Boss, started that very same way. After a couple of rehearsals, I was confident enough that it would work. 

Another factor in this marathon weekend was the acquisition of a temporary license to sell beer in the town. It seemed like good idea at the time and certainly those of us that enjoyed a brew or several had no qualms about it. But when you're dealing with the general public, hoo boy. Watch this space.

That Saturday, the gates opened and we were well on our way. Attendance was way up and things went smoothly right up until about sundown. The debut of The Return of the Gunfighter went off with a lot of hitches. I was dealing with a pair of non actors in the roles of the bullies, one of which had a snoot on from dipping into the beer supply, a right he believed he had since he was one of the town's partners. As a result, the both of them had no clue what to do, jumped in far too early and basically made it a confusing mess, a major error on my part. The only things that saved it at all were those bloody special effects which got a rousing cheer from the large crowd but wasn't enough to appease my anger, mostly at myself for not being better prepared. 

Kid Blurry and Sheriff Max after hours (honest!)

As the night wore on, the brewski on tap was taking its toll on the patrons as they swiftly grew a little too rowdy and overbearing for us to wrangle.  When we staged our 10pm gunfight, the streets were packed with suds swillers left, right, over and above. We had to yell our lines at the top of our lungs to be heard, not by the audience but each other. Once that debacle was blissfully over, the decision was made to break up these boozehounds and even close to town at midnight, ending the 30 hour marathon concept. Most fols left peacefully, but the saloon was packed with inebriated owl hoots and had to be cleared.  This meant all hands on deck, so every cowboy available was ready to rustle this herd out the front gate, easier said than done. Ed Thorpe, now wearing Sheriff John's badge, thought it best to get everyone's attention by firing his pistol inside the building. Well, it sure brought everything to a halt alright until someone made an announcement along the lines of "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. It's closing time!" But once Ed holstered his weapon, a drunken yahoo behind him confiscated it. Cocking it, he waved the six-gun at everyone grinning like the goon that he was and backed out of the saloon onto Main Street, many of the cowboys stalking him, particularly Ed who seemed like he was ready to pistol whip this hombre once he retrieved his weapon. I had slid out behind this dipsy desperado, realizing like everyone else that this was spinning out of control fast. I have no idea what got into me but once he stepped out of the saloon and onto the street, I jumped onto his back pinning his arms to his side. He flung me back and forth, trying to throw me off but I held fast. Yee=ha! Ride 'em cowboy! This gave the other gunfighters enough time to finally snatch the gun away once and for all and said varmint was escorted off the premises along with the rest of his boozy compadres. The gates were locked for the night we went into lockdown until the regular opening time of High Noon for Day 2. 

A good steady flow of (blissfully sober) customers entered through the front gates of Tule Flats that last day of 1979. All went swimmingly after the near-boondoggle of the night before. The street shows in particular were going beautifully, especially the one (and only, for some reason) performance of Two Gun Boris. The success of that gunfight more than made up for the mess of the other new show the night before. That one may have had some spectacular fireworks to make up for its lack of anything else, but Two Gun Boris had Grant-Lee Phillips in the title role, the best special effect of all.

The last gunfight of the day and season was to be Saddle Drop, a gunfight that had been performed since day one of the original Ghost Town. I thought it was time to give this show a decent burial, a chestnut that had pretty much worn out its welcome as far as I was concerned, no matter what we added to it over time. For example, we added a bit when the sheriff gives his adversary a fighting chance by allowing him three free shots, knowing full well that he would miss which, of course, he does. The gags were usually a bell ringing for shot number one, a rubber chicken falling into the middle of the street for number two and a cowboy falling off the hotel onto a rigged wagon behind the bad guy for shot number three. But for the final shot that afternoon, bodies fell everywhere, the rest of the cowboys who weren't in the show and a few spare Ghost Town employees as well, one end of the street to the other all the way down to the hotel where, of course, somebody fell off the balcony one last time. Then everyone, the entire cast and then some, gathered together in the middle of the street in a circle, arms around each other and sang the great Roy Rogers classic "Happy Trails" for the audience, for ourselves and for the Ghost Town itself. 

And with that, Tule Flats Ghost Town rode off into the sunset after season numero uno. And while it reopened the next year, several changes had come down the pike. The four partners basically split up and a few key cast members had moved on, so the magic of 1979 had worn off, settling back into the way things used to be once again. Eventually, the town reverted back to the ownership of Neil Pollard, changing the name back to the original Pollardville Ghost Town as it remained until finally closing down altogether in 2007.  

The inaugural season of Tule Flats was actually a coda of my Freshman year at Pollardville University. So much of what I learned on the dusty streets of that town gave me the necessary tools to move on to the next chapter of my "academic" life including crowd work, comedic timing, character building, not to mention Writing and Directing 101. If it wasn't for the Ghost Town, I wouldn't have been able to accomplish what I did going forward. I still have my hat, holster and six-gun stashed away to remind me of who I was and always will be, a weekend cowboy through and through.

Happy trails to you until we meet again in the Ghost Town of my memory

The first five chapters of the Tule Flats saga, as well as other Pollardville stories from the Ghost Town and Palace Showboat can be found at:

TALES FROM THE VILLE

or individually:

THE BEGINNING

IN THE SUMMERTIME

THE ELECTION

I SHOT THE SHERIFF

OH, BLACK WATER

Of Mice and Me

So much for the best laid plans. 

I've come to the decision to bring my unfortunately short time as a playwright representative to a close. Therefore I am no longer handling Michael K. Young's CASE OF THE MYSTERIOUS CRAVAT or Terry Smith's trio of scripts MURDER ON THE BRITISH EXPRESS, PROPOSAL IS MURDER and MOONSHINE MURDERS. These two gentlemen have been very accommodating and patient throughout this process and I tip my non-existent cap to them. 

So what happened? Or should I ask what didn't happen? In recent years, I've had some success marketing my own scripts independently basically one theater at a time, a time-tested method that worked for me, hence the two dozen productions that I've had for my work. However it didn't translate very well with properties that were not my own. Try as I might, I was spinning my wheels and not gettin' nowhere for my clients. It wasn't that the entire enterprise was a total botch. I was able to score Mike a couple of productions in that time, but in the past year, it's quite frankly been a struggle. What started as a side hustle had devolved into a side hassle. My times at bat became a series of walks, fouls and complete whiffs, so if I felt it best that I bench myself and set my two fellow scribes free. It's a damn shame because I wanted to do this for some time, hopefully growing this into a self-sustaining business in these, what I hesitate to call, my twilight years. (Now what? A greeter at Wal-Mart? I hate blue vests!)

My own work was suffering as well. I have several projects sitting on an metaphorical shelf, collecting dust bunnies in the hutch that is my mind. My already established properties have also languished, taking a backseat to my agent responsibilities,  a perceived conflict of interest, though my plays have always been part of what I pompously called "my catalog of titles". Even though three of my scripts have been published by Off the Wall Plays, sales have never got beyond the flatline and I find the need to continuing to market these suckers myself for the honor and privilege of legitimacy. And my long-gestating book has already turned from a lifelong obsession into an albatross the size of a emu around my neck.

OFF THE WALL PLAYS

The time has come to revert back into my previous incarnation as a Charley Varrick wannabe (aka Last of the Independents). So I have to concentrate on my first, but last remaining client-ME.  My other sites-MURDER, MELODRAMA AND MORE! will remain as I add more content of my plays 'n stuff, not to mention but I will anyway, the mothership, WRITTEN BY SCOTT CHERNEY and the FB page of the same name.

MURDER, MELODRAMA AND MORE!

WRITTEN BY SCOTT CHERNEY

WRITTEN BY SCOTT CHERNEY FACEBOOK PAGE

Should an interest in Mike and Terry's interactive murder mystery scripts, feel free to contact me at: writtenbysc@gmail.com and I will forward your information to them.

As a personal note to Mike and Terry, thanks again for allowing me to be your playwright representative for the last little while. I hope you wish me the best of luck in my future endeavors because, unironically, that it what I wish for you guys.

Adios, amigos.

 

I Love Love

An old girlfriend told me that I was in love with the thought of love. I suppose that's true, but then again, I have an unrealistic view of the world as it is. Reality is too tough and always has been. It probably explains why, to this late day in my life, I am one immature sonuvabitch. However, in the third decade of my longest running relationship, I ain't doin' that badly.

I blame the movies. Well, TV too. And books. (What, do you think I'm going hold myself accountable? I'm twelve years old and always will be!) Love stories in film, TV and literature have given us false hope from the day our lil' minds were formed. Some of us (right here, dude!) never fully developed.

What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good love story. For my personal taste, they are few and far between, but that can be true of anything.

But in honor of Valentine's Day. the holiday dedicated to love and gangland shootings, here are a few of my favorite things, minus the tribute to Al Capone and his cronies.

Rom-coms are a dime a dozen and I wouldn't give a plug nickel for 99% of them. As far as I'm concerned, the gold standard was set in 1987 with Norman Jewison's MOONSTRUCK. This totally New York tale sucks me in every time thanks mainly to its pitch perfect script by John Patrick Shanley and spot-on cast. Do I buy into this story of "true" love? Not really, but something has to be said about making the right choices in life, even if they seem wrong at the time. My wife and I adore MOONSTRUCK and watch it at least once a year. Dialogue from that film has become part of our personal lexicon.

Richard Lester's ROBIN AND MARIAN tells the tale of the older Robin Hood (Sean Connery) returning to Sherwood Forest after serving in the Crusades and falls back in love with Maid Marian (Audrey Hepburn) who is now a nun. The story of regaining a lost love hit me right where I live, even inspiring me in my own story SONG OF THE CANYON KID. And the final scene of ROBIN AND MARIAN is one of the most tragic, yet love-affirming scenes ever committed to celluloid. As the tagline read the trailer of this movie, "Love is the greatest adventure of all."

The time travel saga SOMEWHERE IN TIME is another heart breaker that leaves me in a puddle of tears every single time. I remember watching this with my mom soon after my dad passed away. She told me that she believed that she'd meet up with her late husband in Heaven the same way Christopher Reeve does with Jane Seymour. Then there's the story behind the photograph of Seymour that haunts Reeve, prompting him to find her, well, somewhere in time. The reason for her smile? She was looking at him at the time that portrait was taken. My favorite picture of my wife, one I snapped all by lonesome self, has the same effect on me. I took the shot on our wedding day and she is smiling directly at me through time and space.

Speaking of time and space, one of the better love stories of recent times is on the small screen. It's not secret that I'm a DOCTOR WHO fan, my "tenure" beginning with the most-maligned Steven Moffat-era, which I've never understood. I don't care what inconsistencies or major infraction the so-called Whoinverse accuses him of committing, this is the writer who gave the world the amazingly complex and beautifully constructed story of The Doctor and River Song. These two go backwards, forwards and even sideways in time and space, capturing all in a diary to somehow figure where they are in their relationship. Have I met him yet? In this their last night together or did that already occur? It's brilliant and everything I want in a love story, just as I do in life.

Unrealistic.

What can I say?

I love love.

The Canyon Kid Meets Cactus Jack Corona

Theatre Suburbia', rockin' the meme

Like the true blue western hero he is, The Canyon Kid rides into Houston, Texas to help the good folks of Theatre Suburbia battle against the meanest, orneriest desperado of them all-Cactus Jack Corona!

I've made no secret of the gratitude I feel about the success I've had in the past six years with my play writing with productions across the country. It's still bewildering to me that someone-ANYONE-would want to produce my work. This isn't false humility speaking and I'm not looking for platitudes, though if you have any, feel free to throw them in my direction.

With this here pandemic, things have ground to a halt. Theaters have closed their doors, auditoriums are empty, stages are collecting dust and theater folk are getting sick and tired of Charades. "It's HAMILTON already!"

I've wanted to give back to the theater community in some form or another to give thanks for what I've been able to achieve with their help. I wrote a post a couple of months back (CURTAIN CALLS) in an attempt to throw my support behind those who have produced my shows and theater in general.
But I wanted to do more.

About a month ago, Elvin Moriarty from Theatre Suburbia in Houston, Texas, contacted me to ask if I would allow them to show the filmed production of THE SONG OF THE CANYON KID on their website as a fund-raiser. Mine wouldn't be the only play, but it would be one of the first. Naturally, I said yes. (If I said no, that would be just wrong)

So starting this weekend, you can view the Theatre Suburbia production of SONG OF THE CANYON KID or POEM ON THE RANGE at:

http://new.theatresuburbia.org/

Check out my show as well as Paulette MacDougall's SHARDS OF LOVE and please give them a donation in return. This 60 year old theater's survival is in the balance. Listen to my friend Elvin and President of the Board Elvin Moriarty's message and you'll see what I mean. Theatre Suburbia was cut off at the knees, only days away from their production of DADDY'S DYIN'...WHO'S GOT THE WILL? and in the middle of their relocation to a new facility. They need a break, that's for sure.

These are good people who have a passion for theater that transcends this virus. Help them get through this, won't you?

I thank you, Theatre Suburbia thanks you and The Canyon Kid thanks you.

Roxanne Redux

Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, kids of all ages...

It is with a great deal of pride and pleasure that introduce to the world, the latest love of my life.
Her name...

ROXANNE OF THE ISLANDS.

Roxanne is the lead character in what I am calling a tropical adventure comedy melodrama, a mouthful to be sure while the full title of which is:

ROXANNE OF THE ISLANDS
or
THEY'RE PLAYING OUR SARONG

This piece of pure Cherney-ana has been published by Off the Wall Plays, the first of all my works not published by yours truly, a major moment in the life of me.

The story of this epic revolves around the brave and beautiful Roxanne on her home of Ooaheek Island in the South Pacific after World War II. Not only must she contend with a lovesick witch doctor named Zhivago and a 1000 year old goddess with daddy issues who's after her ship-wrecked sea captain boyfriend but also a volcano that just won't give a poor girl a break.

ROXANNE is based on a sub-genre of films from the late thirties-early forties set in far off islands in the South Seas, the more exotic, the better and accuracy be damned. Titles ranged from John Ford's THE HURRICANE to what became the norm, B-programmers like ALOMA OF THE SOUTH SEAS.

Both of these movies had another thing in common besides their theme and locale. They starred the enchanting and drop dead gorgeous Dorothy Lamour. Known mostly today as the foil of Hope and Crosby ROAD pictures, Lamour had quite a career prior to meeting the boys beginning as a big band singer in the 1930s. After moving to Hollywood, it wasn't long before she donned her first sarong in THE JUNGLE PRINCESS, which was such a hit for Paramount at the time, it type-cast from there on in. Dotty was major pin-up girl during WWII and sold so many war bonds she was nicknamed The Bombshell of Bombs. I wanted to write a melodrama with a strong heroine, deviating from the damsel in distress normally seen in this type of show and one not dependent on being rescued by the handsome hero. Dorothy Lamour fit the bill for me.

While this is the first melodrama script I've completed since SONG OF THE CANYON KID (aka LONE PRAIRIE), it began its life back in the 1980s. Where the idea came from originally, I haven't a clue What I recall is that after I wrote LEGEND OF THE ROGUE, I had a series of ideas for melos set in various genres and locations. It always started with the title: DESMOND OF THE DESERT or AN OASIS IN THE HOLE. STAN OF THE SEVEN SEAS or 20,000 LEAKS UNDER THE SEA and MIKE OF THE MISSISSIPPI or YOUNG MAN RIVER. (Yes, they all have subtitles) But initially, the script I leaned toward was JUNGLE FEVER or B'WANA BUY A DUCK featuring the pith helmeted hero Congo Ted. It didn't fly, as much as I struggled with it and eventually went on to the next, that being ROXANNE. I got about half way into it and...the engine stalled out. It ended up sitting in the front yard with the tires off, obviously going nowhere. Fortunately, I saved it because, when I unearthed it over the years, I liked what I wrote so much that I couldn't dispose of it completely. While I considered placing Congo Ted into the mix, I resisted since he would have detracted the true main character, the brave and lovely Roxanne. It took quite a few years, but after my recent success with my other melos, I felt a moral imperative to complete this sucker after all this time and finally, I done did.

I drew a lot of inspiration, as I always do with my melos, from the cartoons of Jay Ward Productions, most famously the creators of Rocky and Bullwinkle, among others along with my own personal fave, GEORGE OF THE JUNGLE. Much of my humor stems from this deep well of brilliant absurdity. My penchant for titles and sub-titles is straight out of a Rocky and Bullwinkle cliffhanger, many times my favorite part of an episode. ROXANNE itself is chock full o' references from the villain's name (Witch Doctor Zhivago) to Roxanne's sister,Fred  ("Papa wanted a boy." "Close, but no cigar.") and the setting, Ooaheek Island, which is the sound a bird makes when it flies to close to the volcano.

What really fueled my muse was when I decided to add a couple of musical numbers including a swing dance number to open ACT II. I couldn't think of a better tune in the world than Benny Goodman's Big Band classic interpretation of Louis Prima's "Sing Sing Sing" with the incomparable Gene Krupa on the drums. I listened to this constantly and found that it really drove the project home.

So there you have it, kitty cats. That's the origin of ROXANNE OF THE ISLANDS. Take a bow, sister. May the world fall in love with you as much as I have.

To read an elongated excerpt or to buy a copy (hint! hint!) go to OFF THE WALL PLAYS .

Ten Years Later Than Never

Oh goody. It's the end of the year and another decade, so that means it's time for some reflection and to
pontificate on the passage of time to see where we've been, what we've learned and speculate on the future.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ......

Huh? What? Who's that? How did I fall asleep on my laptop? My face has keyboard marks all over it. Holy crap, I just backspaced the last decade! Sigh. If only...

Aw, bullshit. Life. That's what happened in ten years' time. A lot of ups. A lot of downs. Still managing the balancing act, though I wish it would stop tipping so much. I'm getting motion sickness and my arms are tired.

However, I'm choosing to focus on the highlights here. The bad times can take care of themselves and, frankly have done so already. They've had their way with me and everybody else out there, so instead of dwelling on them, I prefer to sweep them away like so many dust bunnies, at least for the time being.

The time being. Or should I say the time remaining? The mortality question or statement, for that matter, has been rearing its inevitable head as the clock continues to click away. As such, I prefer to to celebrate the good because it still exists in this increasingly angry, complicated and overly-caffeinated world. I'm just a sap at heart and therefore, an easy mark, but gosh darn to heck, I still maintain hope over cynicism because that's the kinda guy I am.

And I have several reasons to back this up. I'm crazy about my family, filled with loving, caring, intelligent human beings who make this world better by their very presence. Two new additions have doubled my grandpa ante, a one-two shot of granddaughters born on both sides of the decade. This all culminated in a brilliant family reunion this past August on the Oregon Coast.

In 2011, a summer vacation straight out of an MGM musical caused to fall in love with New York City, particularly my beloved borough of Brooklyn. (See the New York posts on my page: CHERNEY JOURNEYS) As a result, it seemed to set things in motion for me about how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. I needed to get back to writing. I felt this was my last option as (please don't gag) an artist. I was wrong. I've been wrong for most of my life. It should have been my first option and stuck with it. But I dove back in, especially when good fortune came my way when I finally put myself out there. Once I was lost, but then I was found.

Great American Melodrama cast and me courtesy of Ed Thorpe

I'm sure I've bored you to horrors already with the success I've had with my melodrama and murder mysteryplays in the last few years, so I'll beg off...for now. But I would like to acknowledge and once again thank the following theater companies who have produced my work since 2014:

MEL O' DRAMA THEATER (Mel Roady is the Queen!) Nashville, TN
THE GREAT AMERICAN MELODRAMA AND VAUDEVILLE Oceano, CA
FOOTHILL THEATRE CO. Jackson, CA
AVENUE THEATER West Plain, MO
CHEYENNE LITTLE THEATER Cheyenne, WY
BRAZOS THEATRE Waco, TX
THEATER SUBURBIA Houston, TX
MANTORVILLE THEATRE Mantorville, MN
MT. VERNON COMMUNITY THEATRE Mt. Vernon, MO
STAGECOACH THEATRE CO. Louson County, VA
SUGAR HIGH THEATRICALS Galesburg, IL
ROGUE THEATRE CO. Sturgeon Bay, WI
DELTON ACT Delton, MI
SANZMAN PRODUCTIONS, Los Angeles, CA
SLV THEATRE CO. San Luis Valley, CO
BRICKSTREET PLAYERS Clovis, NM
RIO LINDA ELVERTA COMMUNITY THEATRE Rio Linda, CA

(For info about my plays, visit www.scottcherney.com)

I did manage to write a new book, an adaptation of my melodrama SONG OF THE CANYON KID, which was read by less people than saw the CATS movie. But it managed to gear me up for a personal triumph, the completion of the first draft of a novel I began 22 years ago, now in a major re-write stage. More information coming soon. Promise!

I'm going to close with this photograph of a couple of my grandchildren, Aefa and Sebastian, frolicking at the beach in Lincoln City, Oregon this past summer. I don't take many good photographs. In fact, not at all. When I get something like this, it's a happy accident. Now there's a good metaphor for the past ten years, a series of happy accidents amidst all the strife that threatens to overwhelm us all on an on-going basis. Look at those two in that shot. That's pure joy captured in that moment of time and it's out there not just for the asking, but for the taking. They're the future and they give me...here's that word again...hope. The latest addition to our Brady Bunch, Athena, fought like the little warrior princess to be here in this world. Why shouldn't we do the same to stay here? The love I have for my grandkids surely enters in this assessment and if it does, so what? They've helped me through the minefield this far. I'm ready for the long haul. Or I should say, the rest of the journey.


The Cherney Journey, ready to take on The Roaring Twenties.

Happy New Year and Decade, gang.

Francois Rules!

Call it a twist of fate, pure dumb luck or just the magic of Francois, but lightning has struck again in a

BRING ME THE HEAD OF FRANCOIS FIBIAN!

very significant fashion.  DEAD TUESDAY will have a one night only performance on June 1 in Delton, Michigan,  a benefit show for the Delton VFW produced by the Delton ACT (Amatuer Community Theatre). While that news is wonderful all by its lonesome self,this being the second of now 3 productions of DT this year, the story behind it makes it even more special for me.

I was contacted via e-mail by one of show's directors, Jordan Dimock  (Michael Moray being the other) a short time ago. She had read DEAD TUESDAY and asked if his theater could produce it. Even though it was a one and done performance, I don't take any offer lightly. I'm grateful that anyone would even consider doing my stuff. Sure, I'd like it if there were multiple shows because that means more royalties for moi. What can I say? I'm a stinkin' capitalist but also a starving artist. (By the way, I could use a snack.)

What makes this so swell for me is that Jordan found the script online, which exactly how I got started in this business to begin with. Back in the fall of 2013, the artistic director of the Great American Melodrama and Vaudeville Theater in Oceano, California found my melodrama    SONG OF THE CANYON KID online and wanted it for their summer attraction the following year. Encouraged by this sudden interest in something I had written, I began my long journey and contacting theaters myself and sending out scripts across the country. This resulted in a segue into uncharted waters, that being a distant cousin of melodrama theater, interactive murder mysteries, thanks to my pal Melanie Roady of Mel O'Drama Theater in Nashville. (see post: CROAK AND DAGGER: A FROG BLOG). As a result of my efforts since 2013, my shows, including the upcoming Delton performance, now total 19 productions in 12 different states. And there's more to come. Not too bad for a one man operation, if I do say so myself.  I gotta own this 'cuz it keeps me going in good times and bad.

My scripts are on-line since I have yet to interest any publisher to take me on as a client, despite my minor success on the boards. Therefore, I went the self-publish route and with that great power comes great responsibility...and more time away from the actual task of WRITING. (Sorry. Didn't mean to yell.) But the main thing is, as Thomas Haden Church says to Paul Giamatti in the great film SIDEWAYS, "Just get your work out there, man." So, out of necessity, I took my unpublished (but not unproduced) work out of the dark and put it out in the world. While this has yielded only a few hits as opposed to my own solicitations, it was not only a starting point, but a means to an end. Stepping out of the shadows has done me a world of good.

My thanks to Delton ACT for choosing my show and everyone else who has done so in the past and plans to do so in the future.

And, of course, Francois sends his regards.

For more information about DEAD TUESDAY or any other piece o' writin' I done did, please visit my website: WRITTEN BY SCOTT CHERNEY
or if'n y'all wanna buy sumpin' go to: SCOTT CHERNEY'S STORE
or drop me a line at: writtenbysc@gmail.com (Ethiopian princes need not apply)

See Ya, '17!

(sung to the tune of I Saw Her Standing There)

In Twenty Seventeen
The world turned really mean
And it seemed to me
It was way beyond repair

Oh I'll never look back and wonder
Cuz I really just don't care

Okay. I'm not a lyricist. Sue me. No, don't. In this day and age, you probably will. Plus I do care. Probably too much.

Without a full year-end review because you can find that anywhere else, I will only say that, at its worst, 2017 seemed like a sneak preview of the post-Apocalypse. Can anyone say Dystopia Now? At its best, we're still here. Get used to it. We human beings are a pretty resilient bunch, that's for sure. And we'll persevere. Because, as Ma Joad once said, "We're the people."

Instead of moaning and groaning about the past, present and future, I choose to celebrate 2017 because, guess what, it wasn't all bad. Here are some of the better things-17 in fact- that happened to me this year-personally, professionally and culturally.

PERSONALLY

Celebrated 20 year anniversary with my beautiful wife, Laurie

Turning grandpahood into an art-form, watching my grandson Sebastian graduate from high school with honors and enter college, then traveling to Denver to witness my spectacular granddaughter Aefa on stage for her theater camp performance of Hair Salon Disaster. Finally, wrapping up the year in the prettiest of bows when I discovered I am becoming a grandpa AGAIN. Yes!

PROFESSIONALLY

In 2017, I had five stage productions of my plays, a new personal best. MURDER: THE FINAL FRONTIER was performed with three separate theater companies. SONG OF THE CANYON KID finally made it onto the stage of the Mantorville Theatre Co. in Minnesota after four years of me bugging the hell out of them. They even filmed one of their shows, available on the YouTube. Take a look-see for yourself.

While I haven't completed anything new for 2017, I did combine two of my melodramas, LEGEND OF THE ROGUE and ROXANNE OF THE ISLANDS into one volume I oh-so cleverly call A DOUBLE SHOT OF HA-HA, a companion piece for the two murder mysteries called A DOUBLE SHOT OF MURDER. Next year, a third in the series called  A DOUBLE SHOT OF NO NEW IDEAS.

CULTURALLY

My birthday movie this year was LA LA LAND that I took in at a sweet little neighborhood cinema in Portland called the Moreland. I enjoyed the film (with reservations) but it was more about the experience, a treat I gave myself. Recently I took in THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MO., another fine film with which I have some issues, although it was an afternoon well worth spending playing with the reclining seats.

Way too much good TV (it's getting to be a dangerous obsession) with my very favorite being TABOO with my fave rave Tom Hardy. I'll also include the hoot known as FEUD, BETTER THINGS with my girlfriend Pamela Adlon, THE LEFTOVERS with my other gal pal Ann Dowd, MINDHUNTERS, GODLESS w/Jeff Daniels and oh so many more that I'll have to enter them below.

The best all around season in recent memory for DOCTOR WHO was a fitting send-off for both Dr. 13 Peter Capaldi and show-runner Steven Moffat. Whiny geeks have been bitching about Moffat for eons. Now they can complain about everything else. And they will. Trust me. Moffat was my entry drug into this show and I will be eternally grateful.

Peter Morgan's writing on THE CROWN gives me a reason to live.

Another Morgan, Jeffrey Dean to be exact, is the finest villain in recent memory as THE WALKING DEAD's Negan. Whatever shortcoming the show has lately, JDM is crushing it each and every time he appears. And I tire of the death knell the former fans are ringing for this show. Shut up. Move on. Get another show. Hate watching is for morons.

After a terrible personal tragedy, Patton Oswalt rebounded with his hilarious and moving Netflix stand-up special, ANNIHILATION.

With a year that included both Paul Auster's 4321 and Michael Chabon's MOONGLOW, the finest fiction I read this year had to be Francine Prose's MISTER MONKEY, a multi-character comic tale revolving around a children's theater performance. It warmed my heart like no other.

Non-fiction wise, the hands down winner was Kliph Nesroff's superb history of stand up comedy THE COMEDIANS.

Some nice tunes this year with local favorite Portugal the Man's catchy ditty I FEEL IT STILL a good listen as well as Awol Nation's WOMAN WOMAN. If I have to be honest, I have to go with The Revivalists' WISH I KNEW YOU as my pick o' the year. It had a good beat and I could dance to it. Plus the nostalgic paigns of new love in an older life hits me in the sweet spot.

A monumental day at the Denver Art Museum for their incredible exhibition ONCE UPON A TIME...THE WESTERN: A NEW FRONTIER IN ART AND FILM. I was in hog heaven. (I just rejoined the the Portland Art Museum, so expect see some kudos going that-away next year)

Nothing compares to the restaurant experience-food, service, ambience- at the New Orleans' style bistro ACADIA in Portland. I'm still salivating over that meal.

I have been searching for a perfect every day beer for years now and I found it this year. Silver Moon Brewery of Bend, Oregon gave the world-and me, in particular-this fine beverage. Chapter 2 Casual Ale. it is what I will consume come midnight on New Year's.

Finally, my good friend and benefactor Melanie Roady, formerly of Mel O' Drama Theater, gifted me with the original latex head of Francois Fibian from the original production of THE PERILS OF FRANCOIS (now known as DEAD TUESDAY) Created by master mask maker David Knezz, he is true work of art and I'm proud to own him for more reasons than one. Francois sits above my front door, reminding of me who I am and what I can do. Now all I have to do...is do it.

That's what 2018 is all about. Let's do it, people. Otherwise, we have to blame no one but ourselves. Time's a-wastin' and waits for no man, woman or child. The only thing you have to lose is yourself-and that's the whole ballgame.

Happy New Year, I mean it. Let's reboot and start 2018 on, if not a positive, at least a willing note. It's time we took back our lives. We either surrendered or cowered in fear when the Empire struck back and snatched it away. We have to fight back. Our very survival-physically, mentally, morally- depends on it.

Bring on the 2018.
Full steam ahead.
Fire in the hole, kids.

Bon jour, 2018! Laissez les bon temps rouler!

  

No, But Thank YOU!

Now comes the time of year where we actually acknowledge those things in our lives for which we are indeed grateful because, Heaven forfend, we should do it a daily basis to counter-balance the seemingly endless avalanche of horrible stuff 'n nonsense we also have to contend with in this, what used to be known as the best of all possible worlds.

(Whew! At this age, even run-on sentences wear me out!)

As always, I am eternally thankful to win the life lottery with the family and friends that I have in this lifetime. I would say that it goes without saying, but they humble me into welcome submission every time. As time passes like a bullet train, I will proclaim love for my family until my dying breath. As for my friends, I still cherish our time together and long for more even as it becomes more impossible logistically.

As for my recent success with my plays, (alas, so much more lucrative than my books) my unprecedented fourth year has wrapped up this past Halloween. SONG OF THE CANYON KID was the grand finale of the summer melodrama program at the Mantorville Theatre Company in Minnesota, a group I had been trying to get my work into long before I began this journey. DEAD TUESDAY, my initial murder mystery featuring the inimitable froggy bon vivant Francois Fibian, got another run, this time in Illinois. And MURDER: THE FINAL FRONTIER received an amazing three separate productions in the aforementioned Illinois as well as with the San Luis Valley Theatre Company in Fort Garland, Colorado and Brickstreet Players in Clovis, New Mexico. That breaks my personal best of five productions in four different states.

It came with a price, though.

I discovered that THE FINAL FRONTIER had been staged without my knowledge or permission at the same time it was being presented in New Mexico. I had been following up with some theaters that I had sent my script by checking their websites or Facebook pages when lo and behold, what do I see?       MURDER: THE FINAL FRONTIER went on-and off-the boards the week before, exactly at the same time as the Brickstreet Players production on the other side of the country. It was then and there that I discovered the true meaning of the term "gob-smacked". The weird part was that the guilty party was a company that had produced DEAD TUESDAY earlier that year. The producer had read the script and expressed an interest in an October show, but didn't firm up any dates with me so I moved on to other matters. When I read about the show, all I could think was "Oh, no. Not again."

Submitting scripts to theaters can be dicey. Sometimes they respond, sometimes they don't. One can only hope they will do the honorable thing and not rip off the playwright especially since, gee whiz, it's against the law. I have to be extra vigilant by following up with those I've submitted to and checking their websites just in case something happens.

And, gosh darn it to heck, things do happen.

In the year 2000, a friend of mine congratulated me on the production LA RUE'S RETURN at the Gaslight Theater in Campbell, CA. I said, "Thank you. Wait a minute...WHAT????!!!" In the late 1980s, I had submitted this script to the Gaslight and never heard from them, even supplying them with SASE (look it up, kids) to return it upon rejection. They didn't. Instead, they tore off the title page that included the authors' names and scribbled the incorrect name THE RETURN OF LA RUE at the top of the next. Then they tossed into a box with a bunch of other scripts. Someone dug it out years later and said "Hey! Here's a melodrama we can do for free!". And so they did. I contacted my best friend, Ed Thorpe, who originated LA RUE and brought me on as a co-author, and he, understandably, hit the proverbial ceiling. Ed tore after the Gaslight like a rabid wolverine on meth and, thanks to his efforts, got us a nice settlement as well as, since the production was in full swing, an apology to the both of us enclosed in each and every program until its final curtain.

Cut to 2015 when MURDER: THE FINAL FRONTIER, then known as STAR TRUCK: THE WRATH OF COMIC-CON, was about to head into its first production with Mel O'Drama Theater in Nashville when another theater that I had solicited was about to do the very same show at their dinner theater in South Carolina without consent, written, verbal or even a nod of the head from me. But this time I didn't have a lift a finger since the long arm of the law slammed the door on this establishment and shut down the show before it opened. Oh, it wasn't for my benefit. It seems the owner/producer of this operation had sex with a 14 year old, who had been in one of his shows and could very well have been cast in mine. Said offender got caught with his pants down and, unfortunately, has since started another theater, though he could very well go into politics if recent events are any indication.

So I dodged another bullet until this year with the same damn show. When I contacted the producer, I got a string of apologies and a promise to pay what was owed. (My friend Ed thought I should charge them double for my trouble but I balked at that...this time) It was resolved in less than a week to clear up and the matter was settled. I won't mention the name of the group because they are going out of business at the end of this year and there's no reason for me to drag them through the mud. Strangely enough, all three of these violating theaters closed soon after their infractions, or in the case of the producer of the Pedophilia Follies in South Carolina, just before.

What still rankles me about this recent near-screw job, other than the obvious infraction, is that 5 shows in one year is a real accomplishment for me. As an independent playwright, I am marketing and soliciting my work all by my lonesome self, always on the look-out for anyone that will will want to put my babies on the boards. I am into this full time. It's like panning for gold and I have the nuggets to show for all my efforts. When I get the go ahead from a theater company, I have a tradition I perform every opening night. I have a glass boot, a gift from my step-daughter Tracey when she saw SONG OF THE CANYON KID at the Great American Melodrama and Vaudeville in in Oceano, CA. When a show opens, I fill the boot with a special craft beer and toast the theater as well as myself for the major personal victory it most certainly is. Unfortunately, I got robbed of that with this last show. I know, I know. Poor little me. But to have any score at all in the win column to is that spoonful of sugar helping the medicine go down. It's the balance that keeps me from falling over the edge, in the same manner my family and friends do as I mentioned above.

So much for all that spilt milk It's high time I put this behind  me and hoist one high in the air  to celebrate the five shows I have been fortunate to have produced in 2017 and to salute these fine theaters I have been honored to be associated with this year :


MANTORVILLE THEATRE COMPANY

SAN LUIS VALLEY THEATRE COMPANY

BRICKSTREET PLAYERS

SUGAR HIGH THEATRICALS

Cheers to you, one and all.

As for the rest of you, Happy Thanksgiving. As we usually say at Christmas, why can't we act this way all year long?

The Canyon Kid's Summer Vacation

For the unprecedented (for me, anyway) FOURTH year in a row, my melodrama, Song of the Canyon Kid, is now playing at a theater near you, provided of course that you live in the southeastern part of Minnesota.

The Mantorville Theatre Company is running the saga of The Canyon Kid from August 18 through September 9, the last of their annual melodrama summer series. I am tickled pink to have my show on their stage. When I began sending the script out after the Great American Melodrama and Vaudeville Theater decided to produce it, the first since its initial Pollardville run, I researched other similar theaters across the country. One of the names that kept coming up was the Mantorville Theatre Co. So, I reached out to them and was graciously rejected with the the encouraging postscript to try again the next year. So I did. And I did. And I did. lo and behold, the fourth time was the charm. A Mantorville angel named Melisa Ferris guided me through all this, putting up with me every single time  and helping The Canyon Kid to ride into Minnesota at long last.

The Mantorville Theatre Co. cast of Song of the Canyon Kid

This is the grand finale for my shows this year (unless somebody contacts me at the last minute for a late fall/early winter production of ... anything!) Dead Tuesday and Murder:The Final Frontier racked up some performances earlier this year in territories my plays have never been with Sugar High Theatricals in Illinois and the
San Luis Valley Theatre Company in Colorado. Along with the Mantorville Theatre Company in Minnesota, I am conquering the USA one state at a time. At least that's what I keep telling myself. (I know it's actually only one theater at a time, but whuddayagonnado? I could claim Egypt too since I'm also in denial.)

As I do with every opening night of my shows, I break out the glass boot mug my stepdaughter Tracey bought for me and fill it with a special frothy beverage. I then hoist it in the air and toast whatever theater is showcasing my work. This is going to be a two-fer toast. I most certainly salute the Mantorville Theatre Company, but since my beverage of choice is Dale's Pale Ale from Colorado, I tip my hat in total gratitude to my family in Denver where we  recently spent a fine family reunion/vacation. I love you guys with all my heart. This two events together made this a summer to remember.

Cheers!

For more info about Song of the Canyon Kid, please visit my website:
WRITTEN BY SCOTT CHERNEY

Tales from the Ville: Hello, Ratcatcher, Hello

Next month, I will have the great honor to have my melodrama, Song of the Canyon Kid-on stage at the Mantorville Theater in Mantorville, Minnesota. I have been courting them (or harassing them, whichever it states in the court documents) for four years now and I finally wore them down if, for nothing else, to shut me the hell up and leave them alone. Regardless of their reasons, the Mantorville Theatre Company is one of the most prestigious melodrama venues in the country, each summer offering up four shows from June to September. My melo finishes up their season and I couldn't be prouder. Ironically enough, the play that precedes The Canyon Kid is none other than Tim Kelly's The Ratcatcher's Daughter or Death Valley Daze, the best melodrama I appeared in back at the Ville. There is more than one reason why this became my personal favorite. Here 'tis.

I started with with a bang and damn near ended up with a whimper.

This is how I felt when my Orson Welles moment at the Ville crashed and burned like the Hindenburg of my soul. Oh, I was in bad shape. I had been given the keys to the kingdom and the first thing I do is break them in the lock. My first solo melodrama, Legend of the Rogue combined my directorial debut of the second half, Life is a Cabaret, was, in no uncertain terms, caa-caa. It had been the disastrous follow-up to the iconic game-changer known Seven Brides for Dracula/ Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque and I damn near single-handily sent the whole place back to square one.

At least, that's how I felt. The hard truth was that I tried to do it all and couldn't. I was far too green and didn't want any help, but I needed all I could get. And when I got it, I pulled away. Reality is a bitter pill to swallow. It became a case of "I won't get mad. I'll just go away."  While I contributed some material for the next two shows, I had turned myself into a pariah, not bothering to even audition for the next year, retreating instead to the safety of the Ghost Town. There I could at least mope in peace, a lonesome cowboy out on the Morada frontier.

I'll be damned if my old sparring partner D.W. Landingham didn't come to my rescue. Dennis and I had been fairly competitive in our days out in the Ghost Town. When it became Tule Flats, he had been named Entertainment Director, namely in charge of all the gunfights. I entered the picture just before the re-opening and was relegated to bit parts and minor walk-ons whereas years before, that was MY town. I didn't resent Dennis, but I felt held back. it wasn't long before before I took a giant step and got right back where I started from. While I didn't feel we were equals at that point, we did maintain a friendly rivalry. Soon, Dennis stepped down and I was offered the ED position. I was off and running and soon, he took a powder, showing up at the town only when he basically like it and he was always welcomed with open arms because he was one talented mofo.  

Time passed and D.W. went back to the Showboat for The Chips are Down/Country on Parade. This was the show that elevated D.W.Landingham to the Pollardville Hall of Fame. Absolutely everything he touched turned to comedic gold in that show, especially his turn as the Oak Ridge Boys' "Elvira". As that show progressed, Dennis nabbed the directorial spot for the next melo and approached me of all people to be his AD. I felt like I had taken enough time off. A year had passed and I had already missed out on two shows. I graciously accepted the position after I put my big boy pants back on. What I had been wearing up to that point is beyond me. It might have been Underoos.

The first order of business  was to do some re-working of the script Dennis had chosen, The Ratcatcher's Daughter by Tim Kelly. This was our modus operandi at the Ville. We found that we had to adapt established material for our stage, molding them as we saw fit to the format we had established over time. (We had to edit it for length as well) Given that I am a playwright myself, this seems hypocritical, but I'm very flexible with the melodramas and even the murder mysteries I write. It's the nature of those types of theater. In fact, when The Great American Melodrama produced Song of the Canyon Kid, they eliminated an entire character and added some of their own music. As long as I approve of the changes, I'm not gonna get all sue-y  like Neil Simon or David Mamet.

Before we held auditions, we found out that Ray Rustigian would direct the second half of the show, a traditional olio presentation called Hello, Vaudeville, Hello with time-tested material complete with a George M. Cohan patriotic finale. Oh. This seemed to be a step backward for the theater to me at the time. That's because I hadn't learned my lesson.

Casting went absolutely swell and we ended with the best of the best: Cory Troxclair as the villainous Whiplash Snivel, Paula Stahley in the title role, Sweet Lotta Bliss and in his Palace Showboat debut, Scott Duns as the heroic Jack Sunshine. Connie Minter, who played Mimi in LaRue's Return, was Auntie Hush and K.T. Jarnigan as Lady Pilfer. The other roles was filled up by Karen Allen and Lori Ann Warren as the orphans, Ray played Feathertop, DW casts himself as Cuspidor and I took the part of Death Valley Dwayne, which Dennis and I switched genders from the original Death Valley Nell. I wore a badge that Goldie bought for me with red LED running lights that I would turn on when I announced that "I wuz the Sherf!" Stephen Merritt was our musical director and show pianist with the legendary Joel Warren on the drums and on bass guitar, the one and only Artis A.J. Joyce. Man, we were set.

Melo rehearsals moved along nicely and without incident, but I must admit that when Ray laid out the olios, I began to balk. It sure seemed like a lot of reruns. Then again, when had I ever performed them? I hadn't. I was thinking out of my ass again. Besides, Ray was willing to give me some choice material. Still, there was one sketch I didn't find so swell called "The Lasagna Brothers.", a circus act involving an acrobatic flea named Herman. I hated the ending (or the kicker as it is known) which I considered to be really tasteless and, dare I say, potentially offensive. Ray and I went around and around about it, but he let me have my way if I came up with a new ending and I did. Whether or not As a performer, I felt I had every right to object. I wasn't trying to be the arbiter of good taste for the theater. But I knew a bad thing when I saw it and I refused to be a part of it even if it had been done before on that very stage. Ray had no hard feelings about it or at least never expressed them to me.

The only other real glitch was a choreographer with a chip on her shoulder so large, it gave her scoliosis. It was difficult to fathom what this woman's problem was with us and the theater in general. After all, she worked at the Ville in the past more than once. Maybe something about us just pissed her off. On top of that 'tude of hers, she blew a whistle every time we missed a dance step, a fine device for a gym teacher, annoying as fuck for a choreographer. It became intimidating to some, annoying to others namely yours truly. Her whistle blowing became incessant, so each time she did, I feigned dribbling a basketball because I hold a doctorate in smart assiness. While she ended up doing an adequate job, we never saw her again after we opened. No brush-ups for her. She took the money and ran as we hoped the door hit the stick in her tight ass on the way out. Maybe she lost her whistle.

Despite the Dancing Queen, rehearsals went swimmingly and it became apparent that everyone in the cast

was going to get a chance to shine. Ray had given me a singing solo, the old Al Jolson number "Sonny Boy". As I sang, I was continually interrupted by Sonny Boy, a mean widdle kid played by Cory, sitting on my knee. I never would have been able to pull this off vocally with Steve Merritt's help and guidance. He gave me the necessary confidence I needed with this number and the rest of the numbers in this show, including the guys' number of "Hello Ma Baby/Baby Face" compilation, which included the band standing at one point and belting "Hello, my ragtime gal!" in perfect three part harmony.

With the melo set basically in stone, the olios were in place and then Hell Week hit us like a ton of bricks. Nothing, absolutely nothing worked. Technically it was a shambles and the cast, who had been rock solid up to this point, began to crumble like so much pumice. Final dress rehearsal was as miserable an experience as any of us had ever had on that or any other stage. We were shell-shocked. What the hell happened?

Opening night had been promoted heavily, more so than any show in recent memory, thanks to Steve Orr. He had arranged for Tim Kelly, the playwright of The Ratcatcher's Daughter, to make a special guest appearance with a press reception preceding the show. So no pressure here either.

Call it a miracle. Call it the theater gods smiling down upon us. Call it somehow pulling the whole thing out of our collective asses. But somehow, some way, it became a textbook case of "bad dress rehearsal, great opening night" as grand and glorious a performance as any I have ever experienced. It all worked beautifully, top to bottom. It set the tone from the entire run of the show.

After the curtain call and greeting the audience on the way out as we always did, I had still been so adrenalized that I was bouncing off the walls Roger Rabbit-style. I couldn't contain myself even when I went back to the dressing room. As I changed out of my costume, the man himself, Mr. Tim Kelly entered to meet the cast. And what was the first  thing I did? I enthusiastically showed him my copy of his script and pointed out all the changes we had made.

"Look, we cut these page here, this monologue there. We cut this character out altogether because we didn't even need her! Then I re-wrote some of my own lines over here and as you can see, it turned out just great!"

He was dead silent as I handed him the well-worn script to autograph. Across the title page, he signed it merely, "Kelly" and handed it back before moving along. Oops.

From there, we were off and running. There wasn't a single performance in that six month run that I didn't love doing that show.. The melodrama was flat out fun  The character of Death Valley Dwayne was an extension of some of what I learned in the Ghost Town and I ran with it. My first entrance involved a variation of the old Johnny Carson "How hot is it?" gag since it took place in the desert.
"It is so hot outside..."
Audience: "How hot is it?"
"I saw a scorpion crossing the desert.. He wuz goin' 'Ow! Ow! Ow! Hot ! Hot! Hot!'"

And that cast was solid, not a  weak link in the bunch and so enjoyable to play with and against. More than once, we couldn't help but crack ourselves up during the show. At one point, all ten of us lost it. Breaking character wasn't a cardinal sin back then. One night, Cory dropped a wad of paper. Because I am so damn cool, I wanted clear the stage of this litter, so when I crossed on my next line, I kicked it into the orchestra. At that same moment, Joel had returned to his drum set and the paper wad popped him right in the face. He cocked his head and looked so hurt and offended by this, I totally lost it. Since I was the only one who had seen Joel's reaction, nobody knew why I was laughing, which busted me up even further. It took me awhile, but I finally got myself under control. Needless to say, I didn't dare look at Joel the rest of the night otherwise I might have kick-started my funny bone all over again.

The real revelation for me was Hello, Vaudeville, Hello. I had initially been opposed to going old school Pollardville, but that's because I never attended class before. As an young upstatrt, of course I knew everything. I didn't know nuttin'. I had jumped into the deep end of the pool a  little prematurely. Was I merely treading water up to that point? No. I knew how to swim. I just didn't know how to dive, hence a belly flop from which I couldn't recover. The arrogance of youth tends to hold the past in disdain and I was guilty as charged. Not only did I learn the old style, I also discovered that they could also be done well, which this show definitely proved. This was the Pollardville lesson I needed to learn: I had to go back in order to move forward. Now I could do since I finally found the way.

For the next seven years, I was involved in every single production in one capacity or another. I wrote and directed the next three olios following Ratcatcher/Hello Vaudeville. Song of the Canyon Kid (then known as Song of the Lone Prairie) made its world premiere down the road and I had the great fortune to work alongside my mentor, Lou Nardi, when he graced our stage.

Thanks to both D.W. Landingham and Ray Rustigian, The Racatcher's Daughter/Hello, Vaudeville, Hello show gave me a chance for redemption. It served as a starting point for a prolific, productive and enormously creative period for me. It's when the Palace Showboat evolved into something more than a giant sandbox for which I could play.

It became a way of life.

The Mantorville Theatre Company production of The Ratcatcher's Daughter or Death Valley Daze by Tim Kelly is now playing on their stage in Mantorville, Minnesota until Aug. 13 followed by the debut of  Song of the Canyon Kid or Poem on the Range from Aug 18 until September 9.