Your adaptation of The Persians was collectively written by you and several other members of your theatre company, Waterwell. How does a collaboration of that size work, and what do each of you bring to the table when working like that?
Well, the upside of a collaboration of that size is the richness that so many different voices and backgrounds and styles can bring to a text. We try to take the best of what each of us has to offer on our way to something far greater than any one of us could have come up with individually. But, there are a lot of conditions that have to be right to make that sort of thing work. First of all you need individuals that all have strong creative impulses, artists who are driven toward generating material. But, you also need a group that shares an enormous amount of trust and generosity, that won't let ego or possessiveness interfere with the process of devising the show. It's an extremely delicate balance. For The Persians I remember we had been through our table work and analysis and had been improvising for weeks and it had to come to the point where we needed a script right away. So there were days that, literally, the four of us were off in different corners just banging things out... Hanna pulling together text from different translations for the conjuring of Darius, Rodney working on the funk opera, Arian finishing up the scene when Xerxes returns to Persia, and me maybe writing the reprise of the blame song that went into the Messenger's entrance. Then, we could come together and share what we'd done and say, "Great! Let's put this on its feet." and then we'd make changes and adjustments from there.
I also want to mention Nicole Parker and Lauren Cregor, who both contributed writing to our version of The Persians. And, it would be criminal to leave out Kendall O'Neill who was our assistant director/stage manager on the project, and so often our eyes and ears from out in the house. Her keen perception and clear insight was absolutely essential to the play's development and it would have been a far lesser piece without her.
What was it about The Persians that spoke to all of you?
It was appealing to us on a number of levels. We were interested in working on a play that had a chorus—so were already looking at the Greeks. Then, the fact that this was the oldest surviving play in the western canon and that Arian was (and still is) Persian seemed like fun aspects for us to play around with. But, what really spoke to us was the story and eerily it seemed to echo the events that were going on around us. A leader, the son of the former king, who was by all accounts a dissolute youth, led a massive and ill-advised attack on a non-aggressive nation all in an attempt to vindicate his father's and his own past failures. It was hard to believe how little had changed in the last 2,300 years. We felt that was something people needed to hear.
Tell us more about Waterwell and the company aesthetic.
Waterwell is about connecting modern audiences to classic texts—about finding ways to make the ideas and stories of great writers really exciting and relevant again. One of the hard parts about doing that is things that were written hundreds of years ago in another country can sometimes seem pretty turgid and inaccessible. For an audience coming in to see a play by a dead white guy, there are all these hideous associations of stuffiness, academia, and vaguely elitist sensibility. We try to remove those obstacles by presenting it so that anyone, no matter their background or income or level of education, can really enjoy. So it comes across, I hope, as having a very popular aesthetic. It's very simple, very funny, very irreverent. There's lots of music and it's dealing with issues that matter to people—class, race, power. Those are things we find really compelling. There's a lot of darkness and ugliness in the themes and ideas we deal with because that's modern, urban life isn't it? But, there's also a lot of joy, a lot of play and a lot exuberance in the way that we deal with it. Chaplin's a huge influence. And Complicite, the British company. Martin called us “postmodern vaudeville.” I usually hate labels, but that's one I don't mind. The vaudeville sensibility of it being a very popular entertainment, but also very much subversive is something we're definitely going for.
You're quite a Renaissance man, it seems like, since you do so much more beyond the realm of Waterwell. First of all, you do sketch comedy. Tell us a little bit about that.
It's improv actually, which is a little different than sketch. It's all unscripted, so it can be an amazing, mind-blowing experience or it can be just dismal. I'm really lucky to have the chance to play with a great group, Big Black Car, which won the ECNY Award for Best Improv Group last year. We do shows at the PIT and the Lyceum in Brooklyn and other places; we were in Chicago for the Improv Fest earlier this year. That was a blast. It's a really great way to stay sharp and keep the juices flowing. It's like working out. And, it's perfect for what Waterwell does because as an improviser you're writing, acting, and directing all at once—and all on the fly! You need that skill set for the kinds of work we do with Waterwell too.
You also have a background in dance. How and when did you first start dancing?
I first started dancing in college. It was strange. It was the hardest thing I'd ever tried to do. And I hated that it was so hard, so I worked like a madman at it my last three years in school, and by the end I was good enough that they asked me to join their ballet program. (Men are always in short supply in the dance world.) I was already graduating, but I stuck around for an extra year just for the chance to be dancing full time. It was an amazing year. And, invaluable again for the work that Waterwell does. So much of what we do begins with a physical exploration or a physical choice, so it helps to have a vocabulary and an awareness for that kind of work. I still take classes every now and then, but I'm no dancer. Coincidentally, that was the year that Arian and Andy Criss and I started working on what was to become Waterwell. We did two shows then before we came to New York. That was the beginning.
You also work at The Public Theater. What do you do there, and what's it like working there?
I've done a lot of things. I've worked in Oskar Eustis' office; I've done research for George Wolfe when he needed help on Mother Courage; and right now I'm helping out Mara Manus, the executive director. What I'd really love to do is get into development though. That's where it's at for me. The Public is the best though—hands down the best theater in the country. Its dual commitment to the classics and new work, its history of radical accessibility, the consistent output of important and groundbreaking work over the last fifty years... all of that is really inspiring. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else... except maybe at 'The Waterwell Theater.' but we're not quite there yet.
What's next for both you and Waterwell?
We're starting to work on our annual cabaret benefit at Joe's Pub. It's a fundraiser and a celebration of the music from our shows. In the past it's just featured the ensemble and other artists we have a strong history with, but this time we're asking outside artists to lend their talent to the event. Hopefully we'll be able to get some big names on the bill, and that will add to the excitement. We've also been asked to be a part of The Public's “365” project this season. It's a year-long festival built around the work of Suzan-Lori Parks; she wrote a play a day for a whole year, and she and The Public are curating fifty-two New York theater companies to each produce seven of those plays over the course of a week. Our week is going to be in July '07, and at the end of that month there'll be a showing at The Public, which will be free. And also: we're trying to find a producer to help us take The Persians—and maybe Marco Millions—to Edinburgh next summer. The feedback we've been getting is that both shows have the potential to do really well there. We'll see...
Interview with Tom Ridgely was conducted by Michael Criscuolo September 2006.