By Kathleen Vanesian
By Amy Silverman
By Robrt L. Pela
By Jim Louvau
By Kathleen Vanesian
By Benjamin Leatherman
By New Times
By Becky Bartkowski
Marshall Mason is back in town. After several years as drama professor at ASU (and theater critic at New Times!), Mason -- who's been nominated five times for Broadway's "Best Director" Tony Award -- returned to New York and his renowned career. This week, the reason for Mason's visit becomes our reason for celebration: Edward Albee's The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia?, which Mason has directed for Actors Theatre. Here, he considers less significant matters.
I knew I wanted to be in show business when I realized I could stand upright in my mother's high heels.
The most memorable audition I've ever witnessed was Kelly McAndrew's audition for Sally in my 20th-anniversary restaging of Lanford Wilson's Talley's Follyfor the Repertory Theater of St. Louis. In tears, I embraced the actress at the end of her reading, and we stood silently sobbing together. She got the part.
The one thing I won't ever ask an actor to do on stage is to be funny. The actor's job is to be truthful; if the author has written a funny script, it will be funny.
Something I have never admitted to anyone before is that an ATM once mistakenly gave me $500 and I kept it.
Currently I am reading both American Theocracy: The Peril and Politics of Radical Religion, Oil, and Borrowed Money in the 21st Century by Kevin Phillips; and The Secrets of Judas: The Story of the Misunderstood Disciple and His Lost Gospel by James M. Robinson.
Working with a stuffed goat is a harrowing experience: She may be a cadaver, but she's a star.
The happiest day in my life was seeing the White Light during my first LSD experience.
It's not entirely true, but I sometimes tell people that my staging is entirely organic and based solely on the actors' impulses.
The fictional character I am most like is Winnie-the-Pooh.
The worst thing about working with famous people is that not all of them are talented.
I am utterly terrified of drowning.
The first time I got drunk I threw up the two martinis I'd consumed on my 21st birthday at a bar on Howard Street in Chicago.
Like my mother used to say, "If it isn't one damned thing, it's another!"