A Tully Public Service Announcement

To all my blog readers so faithful and understanding...

Due to unfortunate (largely foreseen) circumstances, this week’s director’s blog will be incredibly brief. In fact, that was it.

I have to get to rehearsal, damnit.

(Joshua William Gelb is off the computer and out the door running... A few seconds later he returns to pick up the brass birdcage he left behind. He is gone again)

The Tully Blog: New and Improved!

(Joshua William Gelb enters his Washington Heights apartment. It is late. The place looks unfamiliar, like a foreign land once visited but long evacuated. Come from yet another day devoured by rehearsals, Joshua William Gelb feels alienated in his own home. He knows he must blog… but really… can’t a guy just get some sleep?)

Alright, everyone… From here on in, the blogs get brief. I don’t mean to disappoint, but considering the whole writing and directing a musical opening next Thursday thing, I somehow find I’m at a loss for spare time. Thusly, to make this feature both more efficient to write and less strenuous to read, this week I shall blog by bullet. I’ve followed a simple Q&A structure, so let’s get things started.

• · What’s new, Joshua William Gelb? -- Well, today the cast of Tully performed at a street-fair between East 74^th and 75^th. Our performance followed that of Alter Boys, which consisted of five men singing catchy sorta-semi-parody pop tunes about Jesus Christ communicating with people on cell phones. Sadly enough, this was sort of an awkward situation since we had planned to do our own deity/communications inspired pop medley. And the awkwardness didn't end there… we were all totally wearing the same outfits.

• · What’s yet to come, Joshua William Gelb? -- Oh, I’d rather not think about the rest of this week. The prospect of fully staging this show is a fairly daunting one. It’s easier to forget about the days to come, simply drinking myself to sleep with no concern for tomorrow. That I wake up with no recollection of today or yesterday is only a perk.

• · Do you find yourself drinking yourself to sleep often, Josh? -- Hold on there, busy bee, let’s not get therapeutic. These are my problems, not yours.

• · Well, what can I do to help the cause, J.W.G? -- Well, golly, blog-readers, that one’s easy. Buy your tickets to Tully (In No Particular Order) at the New York Musical Theatre Festival!

• · But when does the show run? -- Get on the ball, people. Tully opens on the 20^th of September and runs to the 28^th at the Sage Theatre in Times Square.

• · Am I available those days? -- Beats the crap out of me. But I recommend you make yourself available. This show is not to be missed. I mean, where else can you find a splashy musical about a Christian boy-band replete with a catchy sorta-semi-parody pop score?

• · Is that really what your show is about? Christian Rock? -- Yes. Yes, it is.

• · Really? -- Yes.

• · Really, really? -- Okay, no it isn’t. It’s about this convict fighting to survive during the bloody days of the French Revolution.

• · End of Blog.

YIPPEE-KI-YAY, Bloggers

Well, it’s officially started! We’ve set sail! The journey’s underway! Rehearsals for Tully have begun with a vengeance!

(Joshua William Gelb pauses. Wonders where he got that phraseology: “With a vengeance.” Hmm… Must be from Die Hard, he postulates. Though the phrase doesn’t quite fit here, does it? Who are we avenging? The Soviets? Alan Rickman? Just don’t draw attention to it. Maybe no one will notice)

Yes, Blog readers, one week in and all I ask myself when I get up in the morning is: “What in the world have I gotten myself into?” Of course, I can’t lay sole claim to this phrase. I’m quite sure it’s been uttered by many an overwhelmed man before me. Why, in this circumstance alone I’ve already plagiarized the term from my producer, Mr. Michael Height, who, for some reason, keeps telling me the show’s getting too expensive (Though I don’t really understand what the man’s talking about. I know I’ve been in some serious product placement negotiations this week). Of course, you wouldn’t guess the state of Michael Height’s financial strain from the man’s countenance and bearing. Oh no, no, no… On the outside, that Michael Height is all smiles and confidence; a refreshing burst of energy and peppermint flavor… Just like spearmint gum!

(See Michael, in that sentence alone we can pick up the rest of the budget!)

Where was I? Oh, yes! “What in the world have I gotten myself into?” I mean, firstly, at Wednesday’s rehearsal, instead of -- I don’t know -- directing, I was being, like, interviewed by this reporter from the LA Times. And, and -- and then on Friday, I’m getting calls because, turns out, Tully was mentioned in something called Entertainment Weekly. And, and, and -- and on Saturday, my parents, like, so received an unsolicited e-blast from, like, Theater Mania, like, advertising our show. And, and, and --

(Joshua William Gelb shakes his head flippantly)

You know, I just don’t think I’m ready for this kind of fame. I mean, just yesterday, walking through Times Square I was, like, accosted by a family of Japanese tourists. And I was like, “Yes, yes, I am Joshua William Gelb, the book writer and director of Tully (In No Particular Order).” And I mean, these people actually asked me to, like, take their picture with The Naked Cowboy. And I’m like, “Just cause I’m a celebrated musical theatre director, doesn’t mean I know how to work a camera.” And in the Village, it’s even worse. I mean, there are actually these tour busses of, like, gawking Midwesterners, like, following me -- like, stalking me down Broadway. And I’m like, “Yes, yes, Joshua William Gelb -- Tully (In No Particular Order) -- National Hero, I know!” And today, at, like, Virgin Megastore, this one guy actually asked me to sign an autograph for him! I was, like, “Jeez.” I mean, he was so, like, “Hey man, you have to sign your receipt,” -- but I know that trick. I totally pulled that shit on Dustin Hoffman, like, twice when I was working at Barnes and Noble. This town is disgusting. So celebrity infatuated. I’m mean really, where does it end? I’m a person too, you know. Not just some Panasonic automaton.

(What did I tell ya, Michael? Product Placement! It’s gold, Michael! Gold!)

By this time tomorrow, I bet I’m gonna need a bodyguard… Whatever happened to the Guardian Angels? They were pretty badass, with those berets and those matching jackets… Sort of like the Pink Ladies in the current revival of Grease, which, by the by, happens to be playing right now at the Brooks Atkinson Theatre!

(Do you hear the sound of antique cash registers, Michael? Do you? Because I do. KaChing! KaChing!)

Whenever I talk about THE STRAND, I feel like I’m in a Dickens Novel…

I had an hour to waste yesterday, so thinking to “better myself,” I meandered over to the ole’ Strand Bookstore, choosing to stalk through the aisles doing the one thing one must never do at the ole’ Strand Bookstore… As it is written: “When at the Strand, one must never try to locate any particular title. If one does attempt said peccadillo, one will be faced with extreme vexation and imminent madness, not unlike the result of sustained Chinese water torture, or perchance trying to drink a gallon of whole milk within a single hour… don’t do it, you’re stomach lining cannot withstand that amount of base liquid.”

Anyway… First I searched the Classics section; Second, I tried Poetry; Third (a desperate attempt), I even looked through Fiction… But it wasn’t until I archaeologically unearthed the Greco/Roman History section that I finally discovered what I was questing for. There before me, at eye level: two single copies of Catullus. Why in the History section, I pondered? Certainly, Catullus would prefer to be in the company of Dylan Thomas instead of Pliny the Elder (or Pliny the Younger for that matter).

(Joshua William Gelb feels this blog is sadly lacking in stage directions. He amends this, writing thusly: “A chorus of schnauzer puppies enter from stage right performing the can-can.” It is adorable. Now back to the blog)

Today’s diatribe, however, my faithful blog readers, does not concern the Strand, nor its Greco/Roman History Section, nor Dylan Thomas (He was pretty f-ing badass)… Rather, before I continue to recommend that everyone purchase their own copy of Catullus, I want to set out some ground-rules so no one here ends up the victim of a crime that has been perpetrated since the very re-discovery of the Carmina Catulli… I call it, Catullus rape.

Let me elaborate. Of the two copies set before me in the Greco/Roman History section (around and about the works of Cicero, which has more to do with a certain show-stopping musical number in Tully than one would imagine) was an edition circa 1925 and an edition circa 1970. The difference between the two is great, young Jedi, and will no doubt influence the pleasure you experience while losing your Catullus virginity.

Firstly, the 1970 edition. This translator, in his introduction, boasts proudly of Catullus’ bisexuality. He revels in the vulgar and annotates expletives to his obvious delight. This is a good Catullus lay, with all the dirty pillow-talk and foreplay included. If you want, he’ll get rough. If you need cuddling, he’ll do that too. This translator is not afraid of sexuality. This translator is not afraid of being sensitive. This translator has been liberated by the godless society we live in. Thank God. (Huh?)

Moving on: The translator of the 1925 edition writes in his Preface, “I have not allowed my own personal tastes to override the judgment of Catullus.” Let’s address this simple statement first. HE TRANSLATED THE FUCKING POEMS; OF COURSE HIS PERSONAL TASTE HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT. He later writes: “In a very few of the epigrams some slight modifications have been necessary.” Blog readers, this translator is all talk and no game. He is a Censor, a Puritan, and a Prohibitionist! This fellow obviously wasn’t slumming in the Harlem speakeasies. This translator’ll make you do all the work, he won’t let you finish, and he’ll be out that door before you can say “Tempus Fugit,” believe you me.

But don’t fear, blog readers. For I’ve tracked yond knave, purchased said villainous copy, and pledged my duty bound to keep it from the oh-so susceptible world till my dying days, at which point, this wicked, unsatisfying 1925 edition will be spirited away to a secret location no-doubt similarly occupied by the Arc of the Covenant and Walt Disney’s cryogenically frozen head.

Rehearsals start Tuesday! I’ll finally have material relevant to the show to blog about!

(Time for another stage direction: Enter Walrus with top hat. Adorable. Simply adorable)

The Calm before the Storm: Disconcerting, huh?

(4:27 AM. Joshua William Gelb’s Washington Heights Apartment. Overhead shot. Joshua William Gelb discovered tossing and turning in bed)

Last night I had this dream…

(Cross-fade to distorted POV shot.
Cue Phillip Glass score)

I’m in the West Thirties with my Tully collaborator, Stephanie Johnstone. We’re on our way to see Superbad at the AMC Times Square, when suddenly the entirety of New York City is inexplicably blighted by this colossal storm. And I mean colossal like the Colossus of Rhodes. We’re talking hurricanes taking out Midtown, tornado funnels cruising up Eighth Avenue, lightning-bolts striking the Chrysler, locusts descending upon the Summer Stage in Central Park, and the Hudson River, a vast tsunami worthy of Melville. This is, like, the end of days; This is, like, Mel Gibson’s sequel to Apocalypto; This is, like, Sodom & Gomorrah… without the drunken sodomy. And like Cassandra before me, I feel this sudden terror seizing my limbs, an impending doom, a foreshadowing of disaster to come, a vision of Greeks crammed into a large wooden equestrian.

(Joshua William Gelb wakes up
screaming:)

“Trust not the horse, Trojans! Beware the Greeks bearing gifts! -- Unless it’s a Gyro… in which case, I’m hungry.”

(Joshua William Gelb raids the fridge, chooses a jar of pimento stuffed olives. He indulges as he addresses the blog audience)

That’s a real dream, blog readers. No embellishment required.

(He returns the olive jar to the fridge
as he ruminates thusly:)

So what’s one to make of this dream, friends? This dream past the wit of any man to say what dream this was? Certainly, one could consider it a forecast of things to come: A subconscious preview, perhaps, of the next Jerry Bruckheimer movie. Or perchance, the fate of the world as prescribed in the book of St. Al Gore and his apostle Leo DiCaprio. One could also interpret the dream more symbolically: The young collaborators adrift in a life threatening, seemingly disastrous situation. Which begs the ultimate question:

What shit’s about to go down?

I don’t know about you, blog readers, but with Tully rehearsals about to commence and the NYMF opening a mere month away, this untimely dream has got this director/book & additional lyrics writer filled with prophetic dread.

(Resounding Thunder & Crashing
Lighting)

Next Week: Joshua William Gelb checks himself into a mental ward. Michael Height contacts an exciting new director…

Coming Soon to the New York Musical Theatre Festival: Tully: At World’s End, a Jerry Bruckheimer production.

Reflections on Catullus, Homer, and Roger Daltrey

I was watching that documentary today. You know the one -- it’s called, The Kids Are Alright. I was watching it trying to remember how badass “The Who” used to be. I mean, remember Towshend smashing those guitars into amps. And Keith Moon, who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about anything. Why can’t people be badass like that anymore? Catullus was pretty f-ing badass. I mean, you try talking shit about Julius Caesar when he’s the most powerful man in the known world. I mean, this guy isn’t Bush. We’re not talking checks and balances here. Yeah… Catullus was badass. He didn’t care what people thought.

(Referencing poems No. 17, 24, 29 & 80)

He’d speak his mind -- call everyone he knew a flaming catamite!

(Pause. Joshua William Gelb considers poems No. 48 & 99)

Then again… I guess, Catullus sort of was a flaming catamite… so maybe it’s like Jews telling jokes about the Holocaust.

(Cut to Producer Michael Height chewing off his cuticles in fear Joshua William Gelb will offend someone… if not everyone)

Anyway… I hope all of this talk about being a badass sort of get’s all of you blog readers a little more interested in the poetry of Catullus. I mean, come on! When was the last time you heard someone call Horace a badass? Or Virgil? Ovid had his moments, but he was only ripping off Catullus… which by the way… is totally true.

(Joshua William Gelb pauses. Reflects)

I guess Homer was a badass. But he was blind. And probably didn’t exist.

(Moving on…)

Anyway, here’s this week’s news: Reality TV’s You’re The One That I Want contestants Austin Miller & Kate Rockwell are officially members of the Tully community, joining the previously announced Mr. Adam Hose, Miss. Autumn Hurlbert, Master David James McGee, His Lordship Evan Jay Newman, and that other guy… I forget his name… but I think he’s related to a pirate.

(The grossly omitted Owen O’Malley writes a disgruntled letter to the blog. He proceeds to sack and pillage in reprisal)

Yes, my tween blog readers, the (emphasis on the “the”) Austin Miller and the (repeat emphasis) Kate Rockwell will be appearing in the upcoming NYMF musical, Tully (In No Particular Order), as the notorious brother/sister power couple, Claude and Clodia Beautée.

(Brief musical transition. Joshua William Gelb swivels in his chair, looks to Camera #2)

Who are Claude and Clodia Beautée, you ask? Well, let me tell you. Clodia and Claude Beautée (that’s a French bastardization of the word “beauty”) are the musical counterparts for the once reality celebrities of the ancient Roman republic, Clodius and Clodia Pulcher (Pulcher being the Latin word for beautiful). Part political heavyweights, part Hilton sisters, the incestuous Clodius and Clodia, drank, screwed, corrupted, and murdered their way into Roman infamy… I guess you could say they were pretty badass.

(A scream and sudden crash. The Camera #2 operator has been skewered by a scimitar. Pirates ambush the blogging session. Joshua William Gelb is sacked by Captain O’Malley and his crew of malicious rogues)

Re: Tully Casting Announcements... Yeah, about that...

(A podium set before a large ambiguous waving flag. Joshua William Gelb appears in supplication to his blog readers. He reads off the teleprompter)

Aren’t there enough empty promises in the world? Enough meaningless motions and consequently enough low expectations? Must my own be added to the already oppressive collective?

(With hands held high ala Frank Langella ala Dick Nixon)

My dear blog readers, last week I made a promise to you. I promised, without fail, complete Tully casting announcements in the forthcoming issue of this director’s blog. I made a promise to you -- Yes, you! … And you! … Maybe even you! -- But it was a promise I had no right to make, as this week I am unable to fulfill said promise. There will be no casting announcements today.

(Communal disappointment)

Of course, that’s not to say we aren’t cast; nor does it say that we don’t have a friggin’ awesome cast at that. But…

(Joshua William Gelb scoffs)

Mr. Michael “Producer” Height has held conference with our esteemed “promotion” team and, apparently, the general consensus is: this humble “director’s blog” is not “high profile” enough on which to initially “reveal” our “fast-breaking news,” since such an “announcement” on such a “trivial” “site” may only “damage” our “place” “in” the “coming” “news cycle” “.”

(Joshua William Gelb folds his arms and briefly pouts)

That’s not to say I’m bitter about this unforeseen censoring. I’m not. Really. No really, I’m not. Because I see this as an opportunity -- a rare but welcome opportunity for me to take the time to talk to you, and I mean really talk to you, about the New York Musical Theatre Festival and, in particular, about our musical, Tully (In No Particular Order).

So let’s start at the beginning. Our inspiration: Catullus.

The Roman poet, praenomen “Gaius,” gentilicium “Valerius,” cognomen “Catullus” was born in Sirmio on Lake Garda, in the province Verona, around 84 B.C. to a wealthy military family. Certain sources dispute the date of his birth, saying he was born in 81 B.C., but in looking at the Suetonius and checking the dates with Caesar’s commentaries --

(Exeunt Joshua William Gelb, pursued by bear)

Next Week: Catullus: the adolescent years. His friends, his family, and the girl next-door named Winnie Cooper.

Tully Casting and 18 Other Reasons to Become a Vegetarian

I find the process of casting to be a lot less pleasant than would normally be expected of a notoriously ego-maniacal director.

(Joshua William Gelb pauses, reflects on the comment… And thinking better of the generalization, begins to put it into context)

Perhaps I should begin with the “Chicken Salsa Wrap” I consumed at a particular, shall we say anonymous, diner in Midtown around and about 44^th and 9^th. It was noon or so on Wednesday (Our first day of auditions), I was hungry, I had an hour until the Equity open call began, and my stomach seemed to crave something with a hint of a fiesta, something that evoked warm nights in a sombrero and shots of tequila. Can you blame me for choosing the ever so enticingly named Chicken Salsa Wrap?

(Joshua William Gelb takes a poll of the blog readers. The outcome looks grim. Joshua William Gelb wonders if anyone is reading this blog in the first place. He moves on)

So anyway… An hour later, I’m bent over the toilet at Ripley Grier Studios instead of behind the casting table where I belong. Lucky for me, the casting was in the capable hands of our ever so delightful casting director… Daryl Eisenberg!

(Guest star canned applause)

Thank you, Daryl, thank you so much, thank you for stopping by. What a crowd! What a crowd! But on a more serious note, I’d like to apologize to all of those amazing actors and actresses who waited on line to audition that first Wednesday and during whose auditions I ran out of the room screaming, “Oh dear lord, I’m going to hurl. Damn Salsa Chicken… What was I thinking!”

(Uncomfortable laughter)

It was no way a reflection on the auditions themselves. In fact, over those two days of auditions and the next week's callbacks, we were continually startled and frustrated by the amount of talent that came before us. So give yourselves a hand. You all deserve it!

(Loud applause)

Anyway… with that out of my system (both the apology and the chicken salsa wrap) we’re able to begin casting.

Next Week: Casting Announcements (Pending when certain agents get back to us…)

Also… N.B. (That’s Nota Bene for you Latin scholars out there… it means: Note Well) - Tully’s website -- www.tullymusical.com -- is officially up and running!

(Ooh’s and Ah’s. Overwhelming applause)

So... Thank you, Kyle Walters, thank you so much, you’ve been great! Thanks for stopping by! What a crowd! What a crowd!

(Cut to pharmaceutical commercial)

"Terror in Toledo" and Other Titles to get your Attention

(A simple room in summer. A broken ceiling fan. A desk. A chair. A Remington Typewriter somehow connected to the internet. Joshua William Gelb mops his forehead, murmuring…

“Summer… Damn summer… Moving to Greenland…”

Or something to that affect. He proceeds to blog…)

It seems unlikely for me to be blogging thus. Unlikely, first, that I’m the one chosen to present this weekly feature. And second, perhaps, that Tully has made it this far at all. (Not to comment on the quality of the piece. Hardly that. I needn’t tell you, it’s brilliant.) But the sheer magnitude of this impending festival. The New York Musical Theatre Festival, after all.

(Glibly slapping his thigh)

I know, I know… some of you haven’t even heard of The New York Musical Theatre Festival… That’s NYMF for short. But as I gloat to my extended family,

(In a stuffy RP, reminiscent of Basil Rathbone)

“They call it the Sundance of Musical Theatre”

(Retaining the accent for good measure)

So here we are. And after almost three years of writes and re-writes, two readings, one workshop, three drafts (one I’m ashamed to catalogue), and countless hours of tedious indecipherable banter between myself and Ms. Stephanie Johnstone, we prepare ourselves for Tully’s first full-fledged production, awaiting impatiently the approval of musical-theatre queens far and wide.

So check in weekly, as myself, Ms. Johnstone, Mr. Michael Height (our illustrious producer) and countless other quirky endearing characters scramble to mount Tully (In No Particular Order) in time for our fast approaching September opening.

Next week: Difficult Casting Decisions and Midsummer Culinary Delights.