Cloud 9

This 1993 production of Caryl Churchill's beloved 1979 work completed a year-long contract in which the A.C.T. Professional Theatre Interns were awarded their Equity status and were also featured in roles in the mainstage season. The second stage production of Cloud 9 - directed by Randall Stuart - featured all seven P.T.I's, and was such a success that several local extensions ensued, as well as a short-run presentation in New York City (at Classic Stage Company.)

Featuring Tracey Huffman, John Reynolds, Brad LaPlanche, Cynthia Lynch, Andrew DeAngelo, Charla Cabot & J. Todd Adams. Original Music by Maureen McKibben, Costume Design by Max Szadek, Wig Design by Bob Wong.

The first play to garner Ms. Churchill international acclaim, Act One is set in British colonial Africa in the 1880's and Act Two a hundred years later in 1980's London. The play was developed in workshop at the Joint Stock Theatre in which the actors, while exploring their own gender & class status in London in the late 70's, realized the degree to which their contemporary lives were shaped by Victorian ideals of the previous century.

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San Francisco - March to May, 1993:

Do not tarry if it's Richard Seyd calling you in to his office to chat about Caryl Churchill - you're about to learn alot. It was his sensational production of Cloud 9 in 1981 which took the Bay Area by storm and launched the careers of several Eureka Theatre talent. And so here we were a decade later at A.C.T., discussing how I might direct the piece with the seven extraordinary P.T.I. pre-professionals. Blink. And, then it became so...and I was soon to be floating in seventh-rehearsal-heaven. Let it be stated also, that to then have Richard drop-in on rehearsals and speak eloquently about the not-so-official 1970's Men's Movement in England (something he had personally been changed by) was an illumination for the cast. As an ensemble, we also approached the Woman's Movement from every dramaturgical angle; our spiritual gal pals HRH Victoria and Mrs. Thatcher - iron butterflies both - lead the various ways. Rehearsals were both 'institute' and 'prayer', a place to become intimate as artists and to abandon ourselves to the power of comedy. Rehearsals were a sanctified arena, and the crazy Cloud lead the way: to drop into lower chakras and howl at the moon and really invoke dead soldiers from nowhere; to master a farcical juggling of crystal decanters as the text clinked and range around it; to love one another so thoroughly as to create a near perfect feeling; to revere the designers who stepped forward and helped us "float" this world upon rope swings and petticoats and silver trays. Rehearsals were the only place we wanted to be. Although, certainly, moving the piece to the divine Geary Street Playroom for presentation, was a proud moment.

New York - May to June, 1993:

As we performed the piece in New York at the Classic Stage Company something metaphysical happened. Honestly. There were witnesses. The event revolved around a costume prop, a long double strand of clear Victorian crystal beads which Young Betty wore in Act One and Old Betty wore in Act Two. To set the scene: it was sweltering in the theatre, no air conditioning, a blistering summer day had baked the room, so "time" was altered in many ways - yet our audience stayed (rapt and dripping). And the beautiful rope swings which made up a good part of our set, were strung very high indeed in this space, and had an elegant and evocative trajectory in the long arcs through the air. Our characters certainly did float on them, through steaming hot air (one could swear there were cloud formations within the theatre) …it seemed ages for a swing to fly from stage left to stage right. Oh yes, but those crystal beads. In the scene where Old Betty has offered her necklace to little Cathy, and Lin has snatched the necklace back from her daughter to return it to Betty - well, somewhere in the midst of confiscating the ornament, and the familial tension of the moment, the jewelry exploded. The string popped, and the gems went flying. Not flying so much as swimming. The projectiles swam unbelievably high; wiggled, released, moved through space catching light, and all in the most languid slow-motion I have ever witnessed anything fly up with or fall down from. For I tell you (and other witnesses will verify) the beads defied gravity, they sang and sparkled in another kind of indifferent time dimension. They were in the air, nebula - and this "hovering" deemed to last for an impossibly long moment - crystals suspended and swirling, and the audience gasped & oohed. The droplets finally rained to the ground, where they continued their remarkable journey by landing everywhere, sparkling like fire and ice all at once. An orgiastic and alchemical hail storm from Cloud 9?! A liberation from Victorian constraints?!
The cast reacted with joy, tears and surprise - all slow-motion revelations for their characters. Some picked up the jewels, and others just played upon the crystal field, or used the images in the text to regard the beads. And still the refracting crystals glittered underfoot when Old Betty and Young Betty embraced provocatively at the end. Afterwards, the audience commented how moved they were by our production, and marveled at the "crystal event". And I admitted, of course, that it was not a planned moment, but that hadn't we all just been treated to a gift from the Muses? Years later, I reached into a jacket pocket and found several of the beads. Perhaps they had deposited themselves into each and everyone's pocket who had been there to see them fly & hover that night? (But I couldn't have been wearing a jacket in that sauna. I do not recall if I had scooped a few up, or if they were simply appearing again, through marvelous portals, to remind me of the miracle.) I stared at them in my hand…and, since directing Ms. Churchill's play was so fully pivotal for my artistic craft, I can only now stand in wonder and awe of her sparkling brilliance.

Hindsight after a Decade, 2003 - Sitting On A Low-Flying Cloud:

The play itself has pursued my imagination for 20 years now. I saw Tommy Tune's superb production in New York in 1983, just after loosing my own mother - and wept heartily. A few years later, many colleagues stepped into the Churchillian gang's trousers & skirts in regional productions - and I howled with laughter. And ten years ago, the chance to fly with it myself (as director) - and, ah, how I gasped with wonder. As a young gent in the '70's, I could perceive the "cloud nine" my own mother was floating on…shedding the dyed-in-the-wool ways of her cool British raising, cutting her hair short, educating herself, changing her party line. All the while remaining very much the "lady" she had been. Anyone looking in at her would say, "She's liberated", but she mused to me once privately "If only I had been born ten years later." One's Mother is everywhere. I've one more thought about this production ('tho it's been a decade now) which involved a cast illness which forced me to briefly step into the production as an actor (playing Old Betty); it was the realization that by playing the text, I could effectively mourn and celebrate both my dearest mother's absence, and her constant presence. And to really live in the two worlds of the play: wandering the borders of the African homestead and meandering the paths of the ephemeral London park - and lifted on those words! - comes closest to explaining for me what it's like to reach a symbiosis of pain and release when you're on Cloud 9.