The Breakdown

What makes a director amazing? I've had the good fortune to work with many good directors. I've worked with a couple of lousy ones, too. I determined a long time ago that I'd never be an amazing director. I did it once, in high school, and if I had to do it again for some reason I probably wouldn't be the worst director who ever lived. But apart from being capable, I just don't have that something extra that would make me one of those directors that make you breathe, "wow." I leave that to the Laura Levins and the Chris Herolds of the world.

And now, there's Jim Simpson.

Let's put aside the fact that I'm excited to be working with Flea Theater because of the opportunity and the prestige and it looking good on my resume and all that. Forget about the part where I'm in a play with the guy who originated the role of The Wiz and a guy who was on The Wire and a guy who's in Burn After Reading. Pretend I'm cool enough not to be childishly titillated by those things.

I look forward to going to rehearsal every day because I can't wait to watch Jim Simpson do his thing for a couple of hours. It's only been since Wednesday, but every day is a little treat. We've done one day of blocking, but other than that it's been table work where he just has us go through the scene and he'll stop every once in a while to pull something out, tease out a concept or explore something in the text or suggest a rhythm or style. I'm probably the second most minor of the principles, so I haven't gotten much direction from him directly yet, but it's enough to be in the room when he does it. I'm trying to figure out exactly what it is that I don't have, this quality that separates the good from the brilliant.

He's a very smart man, but so are many of the other directors I've worked with. It's not just smart, he's deep. His analytical skills are razor sharp for pulling all these clever things out of the text, where he's not just stating the obvious but making astute observations or realizations or clarifications and he's so, so right. It isn't the case where he has a thought and then we sort of explore it together and see, maybe it makes sense, maybe it's wrong. Somehow he just knows. We all know it's okay to be wrong sometimes, but somehow I don't feel like he's ever had to find out. He just somehow knows the right answer to every question.

He also knows how to communicate his ideas in just the perfect way. He knows how to tell you what he thinks so that you understand him right away, and it's quick. It's efficient. No long explanations are necessary; in a sentence or two, in a phrase, you know just what he means and are ready to give him the reading he was talking about. And we are not wasting time. Rehearsals feel focused and productive, but not grueling, not strained. He draws good work out of everyone but nothing feels hard.

He's also so down-to-earth and accessible. I idolized Chris Herold but I'm slightly terrified of having conversations with him. Maybe it's because I'm meeting Jim Simpson having matured (one would hope) by almost six years from when I first met Chris Herold. Maybe it's because I prefer to keep an awed distance between myself and my teachers, a greater one than I put up between myself and my directors, and I never really think to change this relationship even when these people are no longer my teachers.

Whatever the reasons, rehearsals for this show are a treat. There are two generations represented in this play, the "adults" as portrayed by seasoned, mature actors, and the "children" (young adults) as played by the Bats. Jim directs us all the same way, that is to say, nothing changes in his manner when he's directing us youngins as opposed to the older actors. But somehow whenever I'm not being used and I'm just observing the rehearsal of a scene that involves the veterans, I feel as though it's Thanksgiving and I've been given the rare privilege of being allowed to sit at the grownups' table this year.