The revolve in “Hamilton”

Revolves have been around for a long time and can be very effective, but so often they are used simply to change a setting quickly, or they become construction projects that take on a life of their own and serve mostly as toys for the more engineering-oriented members of the shop crew. This morning I found a great article on the revolves used in Hamilton and how they are used to help tell the story.

Even more interesting, reading between the lines in the article, I started getting ideas for how other pieces of equipment or scenery can also be used to help tell the story. But, as detailed in the article, it takes some serious collaboration between the director and the set designer — and, in the case of Hamilton, the choreographer —  to fully develop the idea. One comment I especially liked was to the effect that the revolves and the action and choreography were so tightly integrated that you could not tell where one left off and the other took over.

The article is in the USITT archives as a publicly-available portion of the Winter 2017 issue of Theatre Design and Technology. I don’t know how long USITT will keep it available to the public at no charge, but here’s the link:

http://www.nxtbook.com/nxtbooks/hickmanbrady/tdt_2017winter_public/index.php

Enjoy!

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Get to the root of the problem

When I came up with the idea for this post, I thought maybe I should send it to The Huffington Post instead of placing it here.  🙂

As I’ve said in previous posts, I often find the solution to a problem, or the answer to a question, in a totally unexpected place. Case in point: the United Airlines passenger who was dragged off the plane in Chicago some weeks ago. Did United ever go back and take a good look at the real cause for the incident?

Was it a real “doo-doo happens” emergency? Was it a scheduling error? Did somebody drop the ball? Did the software crash? Did somebody misunderstand a supervisor’s instructions? Was it a last-minute knee-jerk reaction by a manager somewhere? Did four crew members get sick at the same time in Louisville?

Obviously, I don’t know if they ever found that first domino. But, putting aside my own personal experience with this airline, I would like to think that they, or anyone else, would want to dig back, if only to learn something from it and try to figure out how to prevent a similar incident in the future.

Now, putting this in the context of set design and tech. I ran into a similar issue years ago when I designed the sets for The Odd Couple and the show immediately following, Play It Again Sam. I wrote about how we used the same set for both shows in Two shows on one set (re-tasking a set) so I won’t repeat it here. But we had a very simple problem right up front — that would have been very simple to solve — which created other problems down the line. Unfortunately, even though we did discuss it afterwards, the real reason for the problem was not addressed: it wouldn’t have been “politically correct” to do so. So similar problems continued to occur.

Briefly, the structure called for a series of platforms to go right up to the back wall of the stage. From there, flats and platforms would angle downstage to form a box set, which would terminate just behind the proscenium wall on both sides of the stage. I designed it that way to simplify the look, as the entire set would be behind the proscenium arch. But, because we were using the same set for the second show (which required several secret panels), the position of the walls relative to the platforms, steps, escapes, and other elements was critical. Plus, of course, there were parts of the theatre building which could not move.

The problem began when the TD left two inexperienced carpenters to begin assembling the platforms while he went to lunch. By the time he came back, a number of platforms were up and connected, but there was about a four-inch gap between the back edge of the platforms and the back wall. This was due to a decision the carpenters made, and by not following the instructions. I pointed out the gap to the TD, but he didn’t want to correct it, as he felt it would take too long and not really create any problems later.

To make a long story short, pushing the set downstage by those four inches created several problems. Because of the angles and steps, the secret panels had to be modified, which meant revising some of the architectural details. But the panels could only be shifted so much, which now meant it was awkward to go through a couple of them. Then, because the set could not now end behind the proscenium arch, I had to re-design the DS termination, which involved building and painting new flats. And of course, that four-inch gap at the back wall had to be closed to avoid anybody stepping in it.

The final score: several new pieces had to be built, painted, and installed, and the gap had to be closed, all of which took longer and cost more than it would have taken to move those platforms when the TD came back from lunch.

We discussed it afterwards — the managing director, the TD, and me — but the message didn’t get through. Nothing was learned from the experience. And yes, similar things happened several times afterwards.

Back in college and grad school, and certainly at a professional scene shop where I worked for six years, the TD or his equivalent would have made those carpenters take the platforms apart and place them per the drawings. That is, after reading them the riot act.

But so often nowadays we don’t seem to be willing to correct errors or even to admit them. Which is too bad, because understanding why mistakes happen is a great way to learn from them and reduce the chances of their happening again.

 

 

The punch list

I know… I know… the first time I heard this term (very soon after I started working in the architectural field)  I had a couple of interesting mental pictures too. And of course they were based on that too-often-asked question, “Whose fault was it?”

But a punch list is nothing more than a list of things that need to be completed before the project is handed over to the client. Generally, when a building contractor tells a client that the job is “substantially complete,” he (or the architect) also provides a list of items that still need to be addressed. Maybe a piece of carpeting keeps pulling up, or a door needs to be plumbed, or an A/C diffuser needs to be moved… or someone hit a wall with a cart and the drywall needs to be repaired. Making these lists is a standard practice in the industry, and what it does is make accounting for these items a formal, expected part of the process instead of a last-minute finger-pointing exercise.

I’ve never seen this term used in theatrical companies (although I’ve tried to introduce it several times, with often limited success), but, in reality, I’ve found that the TD or shop foreman, or designer, often does make up a list before opening. The main difference I’ve noted is that this list, and the response to it, is often seen as a negative (again, “Whose fault was it?”) instead of just being part of the process of building and installing a set.

I don’t know where or how the term “punch list” originated, but an article on it in Wikipedia says that the term probably comes

“from the historical process of punching a hole in the margin of the document, next to one of the items on the list. This indicated that the work was completed for that particular construction task. Two copies of the list were punched at the same time to provide an identical record for the architect and contractor.”

(I mention this in case you want to introduce the concept in your own company but people object to the term “punch”  — which I’ve seen happen.)     🙂

I’ve written here several times that, if a set construction project is managed well and given enough time, the set can be pretty much ready to go by First Tech, which is usually the weekend before opening night. If this happens, then Tech Week, for the shop, becomes just a time to go through the punch list and take care of all those little details that’ll make the set look finished and become a valuable part of the story.

Problem solving: painting faux brick

Every now and then I hear the question (or see it asked in a forum) “What’s a good source for learning to paint a fake brick wall?”

The best answer I can provide to this is “A real brick wall.”

Bricks have been in use for thousands of years in lots of different places, and an online search for “brick” or “brick laying” or “brick coursing” or “mortar joints” will yield hundreds and hundreds of different types of bricks, colors, patterns, and other variables including the mortar lines. The trick, when creating fake brick for a theatrical production, is to be aware of what a real brick wall, in that particular situation, would look like.

For instance, we have all seen brick used on the outside of houses. Generally, it’s a shade of brownish red, and the mortar is nicely recessed in between the bricks. Here’s a sample from a contemporary house:

There are many ways of painting a faux brick surface like this, and here are three of the most common:

Paint the mortar and stamp the bricks

This was the first one we learned in college. You start by painting the entire surface (say a flat) with the mortar color, and, once it’s dry, you paint the brick shapes on top of it, using either a “rubber stamp” method or a stencil with cutouts of the brick shapes. Generally, you need to go over the individual bricks to some degree to get a nice variation in the coloration. This method is described in detail in a number of “how to” books and web sites.

Paint the brick color and line the mortar

This is a reverse of the above: you cover the surface with the brick color and, once it’s dry, paint the mortar lines with a lining brush and straight edge. This is my personal favorite, as it goes fast and still allows for variations in the brick and mortar colors. This one has also been described in detail in books and online. Here’s a sample, where the scenic artist painted the wall units flat on the floor before they were assembled:

The adjacent wall is faux stone; I’ll do a post on that technique at some point.

Paint the brick color and spray the mortar

This one works well too, although it’s a bit messier than lining the mortar with a brush. You paint the brick color, then place a number of individual brick-shaped “cutouts” to mask the brick area, and then use a sprayer to lay the mortar color in between the bricks. I described this method in detail for a trade magazine some years ago, and you can find it on my web site, at Scenic Brick in Three Steps.

All these work well, but they still leave the question: what do the bricks themselves, and the mortar lines, look like?

Again, an online search can yield lots of examples. Although brick is often used nowadays for decorative purposes, at one time it was mostly a structural material, and it was used, and laid, according to the needs of the building and the budget.

For instance, a civic building or church would more than likely have the brick carefully laid, the mortar recessed and clean, and the overall appearance would be very elegant. On the other hand, a brick wall in a storage shed, or a cellar, or a jail cell, would not look as nice because there was no need for it: in many cases the mortar was simply wiped off flush with the face of the brick (aka a “flush joint”):

Or not even that:

In the set with the fireplace above, I wanted the wall to look like a very old structural wall, not a decorative one, so I had the painter line the mortar so it looked flush with the bricks.

And this is where showing the painters exactly what you want the wall to look like is necessary. For instance, when I was discussing the wall above with the painter, he indicated that it would take a long time to do all those shadows. He was just warning me about the cost. But when I showed him a photo of a real wall with flush joints, he understood what I wanted. Apparently, he had been taught to paint “clean” brick, with nice shadow lines, and that’s how he thought all brick was painted. This was a case where a picture was definitely worth several thousand words.

A brick wall can be a nice part of a set and create some interesting images and moods, but the trick is to create just the “right” type of brick wall for the story. An online search, or a nice long walk on a Sunday, can provide lots of ideas.

My “Yorick Theory”

Imagine for a moment… you’re at the supermarket, walking through the produce section. There, in a bin, is a display of coconuts.

Coconut

Now, imagine someone like the late Laurence Olivier or John Gielgud, or maybe Kenneth Branagh or Patrick Stewart, walking up to that bin, picking up a coconut, and launching into the Yorick speech from Hamlet. Just out of the blue.

Are you picturing it?

Now imagine an unskilled, untrained (but well-connected) actor, playing Hamlet, insisting that the production company spend $500.00 — or more — on a custom-made, ultra-realistic, perfectly aged skull, good enough for NCIS, Bones, or a museum.

This actor is on stage, on a beautifully designed and executed professional set, with top-notch costumes and lighting. He checks the skull on the prop table before every  performance, dusts it, makes sure it’s perfect. But his delivery comes across like he doesn’t believe a word he’s saying — he might as well be reciting the phone book (the white pages) while watching paint dry.

Which would you rather watch? Which one would make you feel something for Hamlet (and Yorick), and which one would make you remember that you have to wash the car? Which one would bring down the house?

I can take a guess.

But this blog is about set design and tech, not about acting. So let’s go there.

Sets can work exactly the same way. A very simple set can do wonders to bring the story alive for the audience. I’ve mentioned this one before: back around 1974 the Royal Shakespeare Company was doing the four Henry plays in rotating rep over the Summer. The stage was empty — literally empty — all the way to the back wall. No drops, curtains, tabs, flats, or anything else. No castles or forests, no platforms, ramps, or stairs. But when those actors came on stage and started showing us their stories, they grabbed us and shook us and left us shaken.

That staging was not a decision based on lack of funds: it was an artistic decision based on the director’s (and set designer’s) interpretation of the four stories and how best to get them across to the audience in a powerful, compelling manner. The costumes and makeup were awesome, but the real skill was in the acting: in bringing the characters alive and making us care about them.

I’ll never forget that Summer. It was the best theatrical experience I’ve ever had.

On the other hand, I’ve seen sets that upstaged the actors, that made you wonder if you were there to watch a story or admire the set. Sure we designers love to get rave reviews, but really, a set that competes with the story is not doing its job. If the set is awesome but the acting isn’t, a critic will comment on it, and that review will influence other people who may want to see the show.

Competing with the story can take another form: when the set is so poorly executed that the audience keeps finding itself looking at everything that doesn’t look right. Poor construction, poor painting, poor detailing, can all take the audience’s attention away from the actors and the story. Or, when the set is obviously not finished, you often hear people going, “Geez, what happened?”

Good or bad, it’s all part of the audience experience: it’s all part of what they will remember about the show.

Just like the actor in the supermarket with a coconut, a good designer can make a very powerful statement with a very simple set by focusing on what’s really important and avoiding stuff that just sits there for its own sake, or “because we need a set.” Creating the right environment for the story — just like creating a compelling character with a coconut — is part of the creative process that we all live with in theatre.

Flats are over-rated

In September 2016 I presented a Set Design Mini Boot Camp at the Educational Theatre Association’s conference in Las Vegas. The three-hour workshop covered mostly how professional set designers go about creating a set, what the process is, how long it takes, and so forth, with lots of photos of real sets. One of the things I covered was urban legends often believed in theatre (one of my first posts in this blog), and one of those was that “all sets are made of flats.”

In a way, it (sort of) makes sense that this is a common belief. Many tech theatre classes either start out by having the students build a flat, or they do so early in the course. Because of this emphasis, it stands to reason that the students may think this is a very important subject, and therefore may believe that flats are an essential part of any set.

But they’re not.

A flat is a solution to a problem, a device invented many years ago to represent a flat surface, such as a wall, on stage. It’s just not practical to build sets, especially touring sets, like real buildings, and more especially if the scenes change during the show. But flats are light, easy to move and store, can be re-used, and travel well. They can become blank walls, or have openings for doors or windows, or even be cut to represent trees and other objects. They’re versatile, but they’re not always needed.

For instance, here’s my set for Marc Camoletti’s Don’t Dress for Dinner, which takes place (according to the script), in a renovated French farmhouse, a structure dating back a few hundred years. It’s the interior of a building, so flats are a good solution.

dinner

Here’s another way to use flats, in a production of Macbeth I did for a high school. The director wanted a non-literal set (no castles) with a little bit of a steampunk feel. I don’t have any good photos, so this is a SketchUp model.

macbeth-5

In this case, the large back wall was a perfect candidate for lots of stock flats. The tapestry was rented, those blocks behind it were painted like rusted metal panels, and the sconces were purchased from a place that sells steampunk lighting fixtures. There was a matching wall opposite this one, but the whole center part (where the blocks are) was a rear-projection screen.

Now here’s another show, Spewak and Porter’s Kiss Me Kate. This one has a lot of locations and usually a lot of scene changes that tend to slow down the action, something the director and I agreed to avoid right up front. The set uses no flats at all, except for a few placed against the back wall to look like… well… flats stored in a theatre. This was the backstage set (under work lights):

kate-2

And this was the onstage set, again under work lights:

kate-1

That drop was lowered in full view of the audience by a cast member dressed as a stagehand. In fact, all the changes, and the few pieces that were carried or rolled in, were handled by cast members playing the crew. Lighting played an important part in this one to separate onstage from backstage, but the show flowed from one scene to another, and it didn’t use a single flat. The back wall of the stage, however, was painted to look like old, grungy, dusty  brick.

Here’s another example, My Way, A Musical Tribute to Frank Sinatra, by David Grapes and Todd Olson. It would have been really easy to stage it in a night club, complete with flats on all three sides. Instead, I designed a back wall that consisted mostly of open space backed by curtains.

my-way

Lighting was important in this one too. The curtains changed color several times, the sconces on either side of the center opening had three different lighting configurations, and a full moon was rear-projected onto the stage-right curtain during one of the numbers.

Flats are a good solution to specific problems, but they are not “the building blocks of a set,” and many very interesting and useful spaces can be created without them.

Problem solving: slam the door, don’t shake the wall

Every now and then a director will want a character to slam a door as he enters or leaves a room. It can be a very dramatic moment, but too often the entire wall shakes when the door gets slammed. Not good.

Fortunately, there’s an old trick to help prevent this, and it consists simply of having the door flat and the framed door be separate units and not attached to each other.

Here’s the back of the door flat. I’m showing a “Broadway” style flat, although this works with “studio flats” too:

 

door-slam-2

And here’s the self-contained door unit, complete with front molding and a brace:

door-slam-1

Here are the two pieces in place:

door-slam-3

And here’s a cross-section thru the door and flat, looking down:

door-slam-4_1

All you really need to allow is about a quarter-inch gap, all around, between the framed door and the door flat, including the molding. Depending on the set design and the sight lines, you can have one or two braces on the door unit, secured to the floor with a sandbag or bracket (although of course you don’t want to create any tripping hazards). The wall flats are then braced as they would normally be in your case.

The same idea can be used for a window or any other framed opening. It’s a simple trick and will help keep the audience focused on the story and not get distracted by a shaking wall.