Two Weeks Before the Debut of Her New Play, Snakes: "Don't tell anyone,"Cherie Vogelstein confides, "but I haven't written it yet."
That's dismaying, given the importance of the event. It's mid-fall, andSnakes is to premiere in New York City at the Ensemble Studio Theatre's annualfestival of new one-act plays. Despite its Hell's Kitchen location, thetheater is one of the top showcases for one-act plays in the United States.Without question, the clock is ticking.
But maybe Vogelstein works best under pressure; she's been up against tightdeadlines before. At age 41, the Baltimore-born playwright has credentialsthat many scribes would envy.
Her work has won praise from The New York Times, and three of her one-actshave been anthologized in The Best American Short Plays. In 1997, her play,Cats and Dogs was one of a group of four plays (including works by DavidAuburn, who later won the Pulitzer Prize, and Michael Patrick King, a creatorof Sex In The City) that won the theater Grand Jury award at the HBO ComedyArts Festival in Aspen, Colo. In 1999, she won the inaugural Oscar Hammersteinfellowship for best emerging playwright. But Vogelstein brushes off anysuggestion that she is doing well with her trademark blend of outrageousnessand self-deprecation.
"I hate the theater," she says. "The movies are much more fun. Writing forthe theater is stupid enough, but writing one-acts takes that stupidity to anextreme. I am achieving in the world's least practical art form."
Perhaps, but it is among the world's most loved art forms. Not everyplaywright working in New York is as successful as Edward Albee, and not everyshow that gets staged is a mega-hit on the order of The Producers. LikeVogelstein, most playwrights who carve out a life in the theater perform forperhaps 100 people on a good night. Yet, without them, the art form would besadly diminished. So there's really very little chance that Vogelstein won'tfinish her play. Is there?
One Week Before the Debut of Her New Play, Snakes: "The rehearsal scheduleis still kind of up in the air," Vogelstein explains. "Actually, we don't havea cast yet. Actually, I still haven't written the play."
Jamie Richards, who has directed Vogelstein's works for the past decade,sighs when she hears the news. "Cherie likes to change things and write upuntil the very end," she says. "But it'll get done. It's the miracle oftheater."
If Richards seems unruffled, it's because she knows that once she priesSnakes out of the author's hands, the audience will laugh so hard that theirmouths may get stretched out of shape. At least, that's the way it always hasworked.
"Cherie is very unique in her world-view and completely unabashed inputting it out," says Richards, who likens Vogelstein's style to "the knifeunder the mattress."
In one Vogelstein play, a job interview turns obscene and surreal. (NewYork Times reviewer Bruce Weber described this work, Brown, as "an almostpainfully dark and funny farce.") In a second, a man decides to leave his wifeand manipulates her sister into breaking the news. In a third, a womansystematically separates her new beau from his family and friends.
Often, the humor comes from an absurd contrast between conversationalcliches and a character's deepest feelings. In Cats And Dogs, a man tells ablind date that despite his traumatic divorce, he's ready to move on with hislife: "The point is, instead of feeling dead, I feel open to potentially new,very upsetting new pain."
As Richards puts it: "Her work is very, very funny and a tiny bitmean-spirited in the best possible way. It's a wonderful critique of society.You're laughing, but you're horrified that you're laughing."
The material in Vogelstein's plays seems especially off-kilter because itsauthor was raised as an Orthodox Jew and still scrupulously keeps kosher. "Youmight think that these plays were written by some truck driver, and not by awoman raised in this conservative tradition where girls wear skirts down totheir ankles and some marriages still are arranged," says Cherie's brother,Bert Vogelstein, who thinks the plays are his sister's way of rebelling.
Some families might be embarrassed by the no-holds-barred quality ofVogelstein's humor. But neither her brothers nor her parents ever have waveredin their support. "My parents come to all my productions," Cherie Vogelsteinsays. "You know what my stuff is like. It's profane, it's filthy, and there'smy father sitting in the audience in his big yarmulke."
Three Days Before the Debut of Her New Play, Snakes:
"So far, I've just written the first act," Vogelstein says. "If you do anarticle about me, you have to say how neurotic I am."
It's getting harder to argue against that point. But Vogelstein also ischarming, funny, full of life, and exploding with personality.
It's when she is excited that her Crab City origins are most pronounced,for she emits a squeal reminiscent of Tracy Turnblad, the heroine of Hair-spray, John Waters' fictional homage to 1960s Bawlamer.
Vogelstein was raised in Pikesville, the youngest of five children and theonly girl. ("After four boys, I didn't have the nerve to ask for a change fromup above," says her mother, Shirley.) When the baby with the bright red locksfinally arrived, Lee and Shirley gave their daughter a romantic name: CherieFair. Cherished and Beautiful. (Vogelstein, however, claims that her middlename really stands for "average.")
There is a span of 13 years between Cherie and her oldest brother, and atan early age, the little girl learned that humor - the more shocking, thebetter - was a good way of grabbing her boisterous siblings' attention.
"That's who's she's talking to in her plays," Shirley Vogelstein says."Whenever there's an outrageous line, I wonder, `Who was that for? Michael?Kenny?' They are her audience in this world.'"
Cherie Vogelstein's career was launched in the sixth grade, when she wroteMy Kingdom For A Hammentaschen (a triangular-shaped pastry) for her elementaryschool's Purim festival. The play told the Biblical story of Queen Esther,and, like many old Testament tales, it is rife with sex, intrigue and murder.Cherie turned it into a musical comedy: When Esther meets her future husband,the King, the sound system launched into Charlie Rich's "Hey, did you happento see the most beautiful girl in the world ... "
Needless to say, My Kingdom For A Hammentaschen was a hit.
In 1984, Vogelstein graduated Phi Beta Kappa from the Johns HopkinsUniversity, where she studied with experimental fiction master John Barth.Three years later, she received a master's degree in playwriting from ColumbiaUniversity in New York.
The Night Before the Staged Reading of Her Newly Revised Play, Variations:
"We're not doing Snakes," Vogelstein says flatly over dinner.
"I got writer's block and couldn't finish the second act. Now we're doingVariations. I originally wrote a version 12 years ago, and now I'm rewritingit. It's a series of intersecting vignettes based on Arthur Schnitzler's LaRonde. We had a rehearsal last night, but the actors were using the oldscript."
Vogelstein has spent the day furiously rewriting and editing. She's hadjust five hours of sleep, and as she pushes her long, mahogany-colored hairout of her face, her eyes are puffy and pale. "I'll be up at least that longtonight," she says. "My husband, Eric, is typing away as we speak."
That would be Eric Weiner, executive producer and a writer of the bilingualchildren's show, Dora the Explorer. The couple has three children: Zachary, 9;Talia, 7; and Ezra, 3, and Vogelstein's irreverent approach to life and loveof practical jokes carries over to her role as a mother.
There's the April Fool's prank that Vogelstein played on the father of oneof Zachary's classmates. Vogelstein, a wicked mimic, posed in a phone call asthe boys' teacher, and claimed that the classmate had brought a Penthousemagazine to school. "He said he got it from you," Vogelstein told theflabbergasted parent, in her best Yiddish accent.
Vogelstein is one of those people who naturally is funny. Other writersstruggle to add jokes to their scripts. Vogelstein struggles to take them out.
"The old script for Variations was: joke, joke, joke, and that made it toositcom-y," she says. "As I've gotten more experience as a writer, I've startedputting more space between the jokes. The material might have fewer laughs,but it's funnier."
Just half-a-dozen years out of graduate school, Vogelstein received thebiggest break of her career - and the biggest setback. A full-length play,Misconceptions, was produced Off-Broadway and ran for a month. "I had theopportunity to stage a play without the time constraints, without moneyconstraints. We could have as much rehearsal time as we needed," she says.
But, she hired a former actor as the director, and his lack of experiencebehind the scenes proved disastrous. "All my life I have consistently,consistently made the wrong career decisions," Vogelstein says. "It was ahorrible, devastating experience."
Her method of coping with her depression was characteristically offbeat.
"I started going to Al-Anon, even though there are no drinking problems inmy family," she says. "I had heard that it was someplace you could go everyday and talk about whatever you wanted, even if it wasn't alcohol-related. Ittook me a few weeks before I had the courage to open my mouth. They wereshocked, disgusted that I would talk about my stupid play when everyone elsehad real problems. I never went back."
Of course, it's not unusual for a play to flop. But Vogelstein's feelingsof failure were magnified by her brothers' extraordinary success.
Oldest brother Bert is a cancer researcher at Hopkins and his name isbatted about each year as a contender for the Nobel Prize. Barry is anorthopedic surgeon; Michael is an attorney; and Kenny is a lawyer and dentist.
"My brother, Bert, is the No. 1 scientist in the world," Cherie says. "AndI'm sitting on my ass."
By that she means that she is wasting her potential; her annual output is asingle one-act play, generally for EST, and she makes very little effort tomarket her work. The rest of the time, she is a full-time mom of three verylively children.
When pressed, she will admit that she is talented, although, as she pointsout, talent is no guarantee of success in the theater. "You know the fable ofthe turtle and the hare?" she asks. "Even though the turtle wins the race, I'drather be the hare - someone who should win and could win, but falls asleep."
Five Hours Before the Staged Reading of Her Newly Revised and Newly NamedPlay, Love Is Deaf:
Outside the Ensemble Studio Theatre, the walls are swirled with a baroquegraffiti that is oddly beautiful, and forms an intriguing contrast to theinterior decor: framed photos of famous EST alumni, including actors JonVoight, Bill Murray, Sigourney Weaver and Sarah Jessica Parker and playwrightDavid Mamet.
The only real rehearsal for Love Is Deaf is scheduled to begin, andVogelstein obviously is upset. "The scripts are lost," she says. "It's anightmare. I dropped them off at Kinko's a few hours ago to make copies forthe cast, and [her voice rises] THEY LOST THE SCRIPTS!"
The actors begin rehearsing the old script. What else can they do?
But 20 minutes later, Weiner, Vogelstein's husband, rushes in with a box ofthe precious photocopies. "Whoopee!" director Richards says.
Later, Richards says that she was pleased that the script "was actuallytyped up, not written in long-hand. That is a triumph."
For all her procrastination, Vogelstein is a perfectionist.
"Cherie is capable of going up to an actor at dress rehearsal and saying,`I want to change this "a" to "the" '" Richards says. "Once, I heard an actortell her, `You know, we're not VCRs. You can't program us.'"
Wiener recalls his wife's agony at a staged reading for potential backerswhen she thought the actors weren't doing justice to her dialogue.
"Cherie has a tendency to run into the street in horror," he says. "But atthis reading, we were sitting in the bleacher seats, and she couldn't leave,so she tried to climb through the plastic slats, and she got stuck. I couldhear the backers asking each other, `Isn't that the playwright?'"
Thirty Minutes Before The Staged Reading of Her Newly Revised Play, Love IsDeaf, and Just Afterward:
The tiny theater begins to get crowded. "Oh man," Vogelstein says. "Ireally didn't think anyone was going to come."
This time, when the house lights darken and the sound system beginsblasting Love Stinks, Vogelstein doesn't scribble furiously in her seat,revising the next scene as the current one is being acted. She doesn't dashinto the lobby or bury her face in her hands. Instead, she seems to beenjoying herself. Afterward, when another playwright tells her that her talentis greater than his own, Vogelstein glows. The evening is such a high that shealready is thinking that she will have Snakes ready long before the EST's 2004festival of new one-act plays rolls around.
Absolutely, positively and without a doubt.Copyright © 2015, Los Angeles Times