Help the Sluts of Sutton Drive Conquer the UK!

We here at the Youngblog love sluts. Specifically, The Sluts of Sutton Drive by Youngblood Alum Joshua Conkel. We've loved Sluts since Josh first brought the script into a Youngblood meeting, since it rocked Bloodworks, and since it brought down the house at Unfiltered. Now, Sluts is going international: this "dark dark dark dark dark dark [etc]" comedy will premiere this summer at the Finborough Theatre in London. But before they can get across the border, they need your help raising a little scratch. Watch the video below to find out why you should donate (I mean, I think I just told you why you should donate, aka because it's an awesome play, but watch the video also), then click to kick in a few pounds.

Do it.

The Weight (RIP Levon Helm)

Youngblood has a lot of traditions, and most of them are really fucking great. But I would be willing to bet every finger on my right hand that if you asked any Youngblood member past or present, what the most important, heart exploding tradition is, they would say, without missing a beat: Listening to The Weight while crossing the George Washington Bridge on the way back from retreat.
This happens twice a year. We go upstate and spend two and a half drunken days reading plays, writing plays, and marveling at how the world looks outside of the city. And then after these two and a half idyllic days we load into whatever van or RV or other unsafe vehicle that RJ has secured for us, and head back to New York. All of us at this point exhausted and hungover and almost but not quite ready to be back in our own beds. And then we get to the GW, and we're stuck in traffic, and we're waiting to get onto the bridge, and Graeme waits, and he waits, and then, at the precise moment the wheels of whichever unsafe vehicle we're in hit the bridge, he turns on The Weight. And it is magic. It is magic because it's tradition, and because we all know it's coming and we've all been waiting for it, and knowing this and waiting for this lets us know that we're part of something amazing. But it's also magic because the song is basically perfect. And for this, we have Mr. Levon Helm to thank.
And so, to him, I say: Thank you, and rest in peace. And to you, I say: Enjoy.

HEADSTRONG

Patty Link first brought HEADSTRONG into group on summer retreat.

It is quite a remarkable play.

In Youngblood:
we seem to thrive on the challenge. We write ten minute plays within a week, inspired by names of actors/titles/songs drawn from a hat?

We write plays about talking roosters, teenaged girls in extreme bereft who are going crazy over it, and father-daughter relationships (that if you don't pay attention to the heart of this particular play, the father-daughter relationship play, you may shake your head in disapproval at what could be an incestuous relationship). We write plays about the awesome daughter of Aaron Burr and plays about dead Chinese people seeking the love of a living person totally with the intention of seducing her to death so that they can be together.
Forever.
In death.
For life.

We write plays with a ten-paged scene that requires one BADASS actress to duel it out with herself as two people. We write plays that are so tender you just want to hug it and call it, "Sully". We write plays about men who are obsessed with dolls. Plays about pre-pubscent girls who just wanna sing and who just want their dads to be awesome people.

We write plays about sluts who just want to exist as their true authentic selves. Without all of the societal bullshit. But just existing. We write plays about biking across the United States of America with a group of other bikers (and sometimes sometimes we obsess over what this play will look like because we really really wanna see it).

And sometimes:
we write plays where dinosaurs sing about shit. Because they have to.

It's challenging. Yes.

And Patrick Link has risen to the challenge.

He wrote a Sloan play.
It's on the mainstage. It is going to be awesome.

Imagine that the thing that you live for is killing you. You wake up each day to practice this thing that you love. That is knocking your brain around. Causing you to forget what you're getting up each day for. It's not just that you're good at it. But you love it. And there is a major cost for this love. For this talent.

Patrick Link has written a play that combines our universal love of both science and sports with heart. Sprinkle in some ethical concerns and you've carved out a real challenge for yourself.

It opens tomorrow. Go see this play.

Ensemble Studio Theatre and The Alfred P. Sloan Foundation presents

Headstrong

by Patrick Link
Directed by William Carden*

“When you win, nothing hurts.” – Joe Namath

Ex- NFL linebacker Duncan Troy played with the greats, and tackled them to the ground. When his son-in-law, a Pro Bowler himself, dies under strange circumstances, Troy and his widowed daughter struggle with their own culpability, and whether the brain trauma he suffered in life was the price of football greatness.

with Ron Canada†, Tim Cain†, Alexander Gemignani† & Nedra McClyde*†

Assistant Director – Francesca Di Cesare
Production Stage Manager – Danielle Buccino†
Assistant Stage Manager – Kelly Ruth Cole†
Sound Designer - Janie Bullard
Lighting Designer – Chris Dallos
Costume Designer – Suzanne Chesney
Set Designer – Jason Simms
Video Designer - David Tennent
Props Manager – Kate Stack
Technical Director - Derek Dickinson
Wardrobe Supervisor - Eileen Lalley

*denotes EST Member †denotes Equity Member

Tickets and dates below:

Dates: April 18 - May 13
Wednesday - Monday @ 7pm, Saturdays @ 2pm & 7pm, Sundays @ 5pm

Tickets: General Admission: $30
Student Tickets: $20 must show valid ID at door
Senior Tickets: $20 must show valid ID at door
Pick Your Price Previews: April 18 - 23
$20 Previews: April 25 - 29

BUY TICKETS HERE:

https://web.ovationtix.com/trs/cal/134

Hot Playwrights XIII

I say hot double damn! Hot. Double. Damn.

That hair!

That body!

You know:
I do imagine that Sammy B. and me would have totally totally hung out. We'd sit on a porch. In silence. He'd slightly indicate that we smoke cigarettes. I'd slightly nod in agreement. We'd light up. And smoke cigarettes.

And then: some elderly person would slowly walk by.

And then stop walking. And with a scrunched up face, he would slowly turn towards Sammy B. and me. And then he'd shake his head in absolute disgust. He'd then begin to slowly walk down the street. And while still in hearing distance, Sammy B. and me would burst out laughing. The old would stop walking. Turn around. And then shake his head at us again. At this point, Sammy B. is trying to suppress laughter. But me: I'm crying from laughter. Which causes Sammy B. to break out into laughter again. The old turns around. Slowly walks down the street, all the while shaking his head.

Our laughter has come to a quell. We wipe the remaining tears from our faces. We light up another cigarette. And smoke. In silence.

If only.

(Yeah, so, this picture was doctored up on this site Literary Makeovers!!!. But I can imagine it's accurate. I mean, the man excelled at cricket. And we all know that cricket players are fit. We ALL know this).

Rules of Palship

This list of the rules to friendship by a young Noel Coward is fantastic. It also reads a lot like something that the young Ryan Dowler would have written in his journal.

Ryan Dowler Presents The ESTeen Youngerblog: Wisdom on Life, Love, and the Theatre from My Junior High Diary

Part Six: On Male Bonding

I found my junior high diary.

This is what's in it:

5-23-96

Me, Robby, Jay, Joe, and Brad went to the Mall again and then went to see Mission Impossible. We all wore funny hats: Brad wore a Cat-and-the-Hat hat, Jay wore a black and white Cat-in-the-Hat hat (shorter), Robby wore my jester hat, and I wore my Blue hat. Joe wore a normal hat. We forgot to warn him in advance.

Playwright Wanted, Clean and Considerate

So when you are a playwright and you want someone to give you money, like perhaps a theater, or a foundation, or a wealthy friend, you are asked to submit an artist statement with your application. Sometimes this is a free-form situation. "Tell us why you want this." Sometimes this is a little more specific. "Tell us why you want this, and also how you are planning to change the face of theater as we know it, and also about a time that a hat made you SO angry."

Of course this makes sense. They're not going to hand these things out to any old writer. You need to make a case for yourself, and aritst statements give you a chance to make that case. So I do not mind them, not really. But there have been many nights, many long dark cold cold nights, when I have stared at my computer screen thinking, I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to describe myself in a way that makes me seem smart and clever and talented and ambitious and humble and good-looking and fascinating and good to animals and and and and.

I mentioned my fear of artists statements to a friend who is preparing to apply to grad school (and therefore has many a personal statement in her future). She sympathized. "It would be great if it could be more like answering a Craigslist Ad for a new apartment," she said. "No pets, non-smoker, hard worker."

And she's right. Except in that case, the requests for proposals might start to look a little...

SUNNY LARGE CHEERY FELLOWSHIP IN MAJOR CITY

HIGH ARTISTIC CEILINGS
ALL NEW COMMISSION
NEWLY RENOVATED EXPECTATIONS
INCLUDES BRAGGING RIGHTS
L@@KS GREAT ON RESUME
PET FRIENDLY

NO CALLS

So maybe we're fine.

What I Doodled to Your Play

Every Wednesday evening Youngblood meets to discuss the plays we've seen, read the plays we've written, and sometimes we doodle during these plays. Though some may think these doodlers are doing everything in their power not to listen to the plays, studies show that doodling wards off daydreaming and that doodlers often pay better attention than non-doodlers.

The following is a set of doodles inspired by the April fools brunch plays of Clare Barron and Leah Nanako Winkler. Clare's play HOOVER is about a lesbian couple and their son Hoover, Leah Nanako's play ARCH NEMESIS tells the story of a girl plagued by the evil deeds of her next door neighbor and how she retaliates. We also heard Lydia Blaisdell's full-length about a man obsessed with dolls in the early 20th century. And then there was the other crap swimming around our brains while listened to these plays.

If these doodles have inspired you to doodle, post that doodle here. And doodle on.

Top Left - Eric Dufault

Bottom Left - Emily Chadick Weiss

Right - Clare Barron

Dylan Dawson
Dylan Dawson
Dylan Dawson
Dylan Dawson

Dylan Dawson Eric Dufault

Air New Smyrna Radio

Mmm...Mmm...It's that blue time of night when the lonely first hits. But you're not quite sure what it is. Mmm...





This past fall I had a play featured in #serials with our friends at the Flea Theatre. After a wacky and weird six week run, the resident directors decided to take this play about an air traffic controller/radio show host in a small central Florida town to the airwaves. The result is what will be a monthly interview show with playwrights and theatre artists promoting new work and hoping to find some achy truth deep with in themselves through our host, Dan.

Our first episode features our own Rob Askins on the run from the law after being possessed by Tyrone, the evil sock puppet he created in his play "Hand to God", back again at EST. Take a listen, and raise a lone gator's claw.

Air New Smyrna Radio Episode 1

The Share sitcom featuring Ensemble Studio Theatre Actors - written by Emily Chadick Weiss

Check out the TRAILER and WEBISODES about being allergic to kittens and living in a closet

https://www.youtube.com/user/TheShareSitcom/featured

The Share
a half hour sitcom
written by Emily Chadick Weiss
directed by Christina Roussos

starring
Steven Boyer, Lucy DeVito, William Jackson Harper, Julie Fitzpatrick, Katie Kreisler, Robert Askins, Maureen Sebastian, Scott Sowers, Megan Tusing, and Lance Rubin

In Which, I Unknowingly Deceive My Grandfather: A Brunch Story

Here's a funny story that was actually not funny but vaguely traumatizing at the time:

RJ sent out an email on Feb 21 announcing 7 Sloan Brunch finalists. I was one of the 7 finalists. I also, for some reason, didn't realize that "finalist" meant, "next round," and not "hooray, you got it!"

"Hooray, I got it!" I happily squeaked to the person I was on the phone with at the time, which happened to be my Grandmother, who didn't know anything about brunches, or Youngblood, or Sloan.

Except, of course, no one had gotten anything yet, except for the chance to submit revisions and hope for the best. Whatever, fine. I turned in my revisions, and waited.

That weekend, as it just so happened, I went to visit my Grandparents in California.

"HERE'S THE BIG PRIZE WINNER!" My Grandmother greeted me at the door, having in her mind probably equated the Sloan Brunch with a Nobel Prize for chemistry or something.

"Oh! Uhm, haha! Actually....no. I'm a....finalist." I told her, sheepishly.

"So they didn't pick yours?" She asked me, concerned.

"Uh, no, not, not quite. But, maybe! But, no."

I explained to her the misunderstanding, she got it, we moved on.

FAST FORWARD TO DINNER:

My entire family is sitting around the table, including my 91 year-old Grandfather, a former surgeon, and probably the closest thing to a scientist we have. Though he could still probably recite the entire Periodic Table of Elements, his hearing is very poor, which means most dinner-table small talk is beyond him.

Suddenly, after sitting silently through most of the meal, my Grandfather shakily rises to his feet and lifts his glass of Martinelli's into the air. The rest of the family falls silent and looks to him, surprised.

"I hear we have a PRIZE WINNER dining with us tonight!" He says, staring at me.

"Oh god," I whimpered, and looked to my Dad in panic as my little brother started snickering.

My Grandfather, oblivious, continued:

"She wrote an article about science, and got recognition for it," he said, no doubt mentally picturing a 30-page treatise in Scientific American, or something.

"Well, actually, I --"

My Grandmother and my Dad waved their arms to cut me off.

"It's too complicated to explain!" my Dad said, raising his glass.

"We are very, very proud of you," my Grandfather finished.

So I sat there, awkwardly, as my family toasted me for something that I had not actually done yet, and might not do at all. I wanted to cry.

I spent the rest of the trip wracked with guilt, obsessively checking my email. Before that dinner, I wanted to do the Sloan Brunch because it would be fun and because I enjoyed writing my piece. But now? After my 91 year old Grandfather said he was proud of me? My karma was at stake.

So, when I finally (FIN. AL. LY.) got word from RJ that they were gonna perform my play, I practically fainted from the relief. The toast was not in vain! Just a little premature. And, uhm, not for a scientific article. BUT WHATEVER.

So, in short, this was a fairly traumatic introduction to the world of Youngblood Brunches, but I am thrilled thrilled thrilled to be participating in this one.

And! I am never telling my Grandparents anything ever again.

I just don't think I can take the pressure.

The Numbers Don't Lie

When will the theatre learn?

Ryan Dowler Presents The ESTeen Youngerblog: Wisdom on Life, Love, and the Theatre from My Junior High Diary

Part Five: On Keeping A Positive Attitude

I found my Junior High diary.

This is what's in it:

2-2-96

Me and Theo Henry started a Jazz band, “The Luckyspoon Jazz Band.” Cool, huh?! Theo wrote the first piece himself. Here are our members –

Trumpet – Ryan D.

Trumpet – Theo H.

Trumpet – Jared B.

Trombone – Theo H.

Trombone – Brady M.

Piano – Robby A.

Sax – Sara J.

Those are the only definite members. I feel really happy/confident about this band. I really hope it will work.

2-3-96

I really wanna write a song! I wanna write a million songs. And I can. I mean lyrics, tunes, everything . . . and I will. No joke. I’m gonna write some songs! ! !

2-15-96

Theo is working on the first WEEZER song, changing it to instrumental. I can’t wait.

3-16-96

Me and Theo are both working on maybe our best song yet for the band, 6Naked. The secret behind the song is that it’s about the “Blossom” character Six. There are NO lyrics. There is an instrumental solo for each major part of the body: the legs, hips, stomach, chest, neck, lips, eyes, and hair. The legs and neck are the same percussion part. Don’t take us for perverts. It’s only a song about beauty. The foremost symbol of beauty – the woman. I hope it will come out as beautifully as I hope/expect.

3-7-96

The band is taking off slowly. Very slowly. Very very slowly. Theo’s working on the Trumpet 1 part on “Buddy Holly”, Robby’s working on the piano part for “Untitled”, Shaun hasn’t gotten his drum set, Brad Davis doesn’t know if he can join. Theo’s working on the wrong songs. We need to be working on Lump, 1 . . 2 . . 3 . . 4, and Kitty. Faster, we need to work FASTER. Theo needs a more positive attitude.

Perfect Crime

Every Youngblood session begins with a little something we call What Have We Seen, where we discuss the various shows we caught during the last week.

We've never once talked about a play called Perfect Crime, which is the longest running play in NYC.

I've never seen it. I've never met anybody who has ever seen it. Yet it's been running since 1987, which is longer than certain members of Youngblood have been alive. The lead actress, Catherine Russell, has been in the entire run, in the same role, night after night.

I've got to check it out. I love crime dramas and I must see what this is. Who's with me?

Telling Stories

Storytelling matters.

That's why California's 9th Circuit Court of Appeals timed its decision on Prop 8 to coincide with Youngblood's queer brunch. Because the judges knew that the legal future of gay marriage will depend less on their ruling than on the stories we choose to tell ourselves about, well, love.

I'm perpetually delighted, surprised, and moved by the messy, sensitive, wild, and quiet stories I get to hear each week in Youngblood.

So, in that vein -- the vein of messy, particular stories -- I hope you'll check out this bit of storytelling from my non-playwright life as a sometimes rather confused homosexual.