When Rick Foucheux retired from acting, he did so as one of the most popular, award-winning, one might even say beloved performers in town. Many bemoaned the prospect of no more Foucheux on local stages.
Well, he’s back; only it’s not as an actor. He’s written a play.
It’s a play about…actors.
“Yeah, that’s what they say: write what you know. The theatre’s really all I know. I’m not even sure I know that that well,” he chuckled.
In point of fact, Rick (who’s a friend as well as a colleague — forgive the familiarity of me calling him by his first name) will be among the actors when his play will be read at a benefit for Quotidian Theatre Company on November 3rd.
“I don’t know how I started with this whole thing, but when I sat down and started writing it, it just sort of flowed. I mean, I had written before, but never got beyond the first act. This one was different. You hear sometimes about that; some write themselves, you know?
“So, every night after Cabaret, [at Signature Theatre] I would come home and just sit there — and it was no chore to do it. It was a fun activity. It wasn’t like I’d come home and go, ‘Alright. I promised myself I’d write five pages tonight,’ or anything like that. So I was all good with doing it as a recreation, and I didn’t really have any designs for it; it was just something fun to do.”
Parts of a Night takes place backstage. “It’s a couple, a man and a woman, who have been acting together for years and years and years. They’re really good together onstage, but they haven’t talked much about what the reason for that is. And this particular night, when they’re facing the opening of a play that neither of them feels very good about, they drink too much, and they begin to reveal things.
“The engine is their lament that they never got to play George and Martha, but they want to. They still think there’s a chance for that. And it mirrors Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? in that their intentions are side-swiped by how much they drink.
“They just keep getting drunker and drunker and drunker, and saying things they regret more and more and more. By the end of the night, they just can’t resist saying ugly things, because they’re so drunk.”
Ugly things with perhaps a bit of truth behind them? “And maybe that’s the hinge of what makes it a dark comedy. I think it’s very funny, but other people may think it’s just plain dark,” Rick said with a laugh.
“It’s a four character play. There’s Hal and Lili and, for the first half of the play, it’s just them. This is late at night; they’ve been hanging on drinking since the show came down two hours before. And then the House Manager comes in, and he’s been drinking for the past two hours.
“And the reason he’s been drinking is that he’s been fired, earlier that day, from a job he’s had for thirty years. The theater fired him in an administrative reorganization to try to save money. “It’s a big regional theater that has a lot of money to spend, but also has a lot of debt, so managers are just trying to keep the operation afloat, and they’re out-sourcing guys like this: ‘We can get two interns almost for nothing to do his job.’
“But he’s sixty years-old, and he’s, like, ‘Where am I going to go? What am I going to do? I can understand the theater wanting to save money, but, goddammit, I gave my life to this theater.’
“So if, in Lili and Hal, we see the art-teest — the angst of the artist and all of that — this guy, the House Manager, gives us the other side of it: that there are regular people in the theatre as well.
“And then the fourth character is the ingénue of the play. She’s been at the bar next door, with everybody else in the play, talking all this actor-trash about what’s wrong with the play, and yada-yada-yada.
“And there’s enmity between the old grand dame Lili and the young ingénue who’s coming up; there’s jealousy.
“I think it’s a play about growing older. If someone said, ‘What is it about?’: It’s about how we manage our lives as we grow older.”
I wondered whether the play is location-specific. “No. In the opening paragraph of the stage directions, it says, ‘A large, well-funded regional theater; not New York City.’”
“I can remember being in some greenrooms till two or three in the morning. And, yeah, there was a lot of talk about art, and a lot of talk about the mission — about what we were doing. But there was also a lot of drunken silliness; a lot of drunken bawdiness. It’s a hallmark of the backstage life, I think.”
Of course, the danger of writing a play like this is that some might assume that it is auto-biographical. “And the typical answer to that is, always, ‘It’s a pastiche.’ So, I’m going to cop that. I’m going to say, ‘It’s a pastiche.’
“We’ve all heard stories, but, really, that provided nothing more than ambiance. I think it truly is a pastiche. I don’t think there’s any one person who emerges as, ‘I recognize that person,’ or, ‘I recognize that comment.’ That’s not what the play is about.
“It’s about the whole notion of being — feeling close to someone because of the way you’ve expressed yourselves together artistically, which really only the theatre will allow you to do. (I suppose a singer and his band, or a dancer and a choreographer, or something like that…)
“But the theatre is so deeply symbiotic, when you’re working with someone. It’s one of the things, I think, that made the Fool and Lear so rich in our production — and you and I talked about this, in fact.” (Rick’s swan song was as King Lear at WSC Avant Bard last year; I was his Fool.)
What else comes from Rick’s direct experience? “The drinking; the things I’ve witnessed between generations: the way I have been aggravated by young actors who come in and seem to think they know it all.
“There’s a running gag about having trained: ‘I trained.’ You know, Hal and Lili came up…the stage was their Harvard. [He gave the name a snooty pronunciation.] And then the resentment when the younger ones come up and say, ‘Well, you know, you’re a very good actor; but I trained.’”
That tension seems to mirror the changes we’ve witnessed in indigenous DC theatre, as it has grown from a sort-of DIY scene into something much more institutionalized, with people needing different ways in.
“That’s prescient on your part, because I haven’t mentioned it, but a sidebar in the plot is…” And Rick then related a plot development that I will exclude here, in order to avoid being a spoiler. “So it’s a comment about the institutionalization of our theatre, too. ‘Sorry. I know it’s not the way it used to be, but this is the modern-day reality.’”
As mentioned, those readers who are in withdrawal as a result of Rick’s withdrawal from acting will have a treat: “Yes. I’m going to read the House Manager.”
Has actor Rick ever played George? “No, no. I always wanted to play George. I’ve grown out of it now, but, yeah; it was a role I lusted after.
“And I didn’t sit down to write a play about a guy who wanted to play George, and this is how it pans out. But, once I was into it and I needed something to hang my hat on, I remembered that pretty well.
“Don’t get me wrong; I’ve had some great roles. I’m not complaining. But every time there’s a production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? in town, I’m, like, ‘Damn! I got this close.’ (And I’m not sure it’s that I wanted to be George so much as I wanted to be Richard Burton.)”
I asked him if there were certain playwrights whose style he feels might have influenced writer Rick.
“Absolutely. I’ve always been impressed — not to keep harking back to Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, because it’s certainly not his only masterwork; I love Edward Albee’s plays — but what has always struck me about that play is that the drinking itself, in my mind, plays a part. It is a fifth character.
“So as I kept having these people fill up their glasses of vodka, I was aware of that, you know? That it is, in fact, a motor; an engine; a reason for the things they say. So, Albee, in that regard.
“David Mamet, in his rapid-fire dialogue; his ability to have a character be speaking a thought, cut it off, and yet the audience continues to know where he was going to go; or just the fact that he is being cut-off, either by himself, or another character says something. And the foulness of the language; I love the street nature of Mamet’s language. And we’ve certainly bantered the dirty language around the greenroom; there’s no holding back. So, the play is quite salty, for one thing.
“And something I’ve always appreciated about Tennessee Williams’ work is that he seems to never reveal what you need to know until you need to know it, and that’s, I think, why we keep sitting in our chairs. It’s, like, ‘Well, that’s a pretty big piece of information, and it’s only coming in now, three-quarters of the way through the play.’ And I find myself asking, ‘Well, what would have been the benefit to me, as the playwright, of putting it on the table one-quarter of the way? You didn’t need to know it then.’ And that keeps enriching the story.”
I wanted Rick to talk more about the drinking.
“Well, you know, I’m not damning anyone for it. And, Lord knows, I’ve done my share of drinking, too, so it’s not a judgement thing, by any stretch of the imagination. But it’s part of the scene. It’s part of the life. And I do think it affects…
“It might be different now. I think maybe younger people today are a little — maybe I’m wrong about this — but, in fact, as I was writing it, I was thinking, ‘Does this appear to be more a fifties or a sixties play than it does a play of the twenty-teens? Will most people see the drinking as false?’ Or, ‘Nobody drinks that much.’ Or, ‘Those dissipated artists!’ Or, ‘Not all artists are as loose as these guys are.’”
I asked whether the importance of drinking to the play corresponds in some way to the need for actors to allow themselves to be exposed in a way that liquor may facilitate.
“To open up — yeah, I thought about that, too. I had a deep think with myself about that, that: ‘Okay, are you using drinking as a crutch? If these people weren’t drunk, would they have anything to say at all? Would they be as interesting if they weren’t drunk?’
“So then, therefore, is the drinking just a crutch to give you some clowns onstage? But I opted for what I thought was the truth of the matter, and that was that, ‘No. We drink a lot.’
“And our whole society drinks a lot, you know? You see a play about the theatre, and you say, ‘Gosh, those people drink a lot.’ But you could go to a play about lawyers, and you’d say, ‘Gosh, those people drink a lot.’ Or policemen; or priests, you know? Politicians.
“We’re a drinking society. We drink a lot. We’re a drinking world. Now, people are going to read this and say, ‘Well, I don’t drink alcohol,’ or, ‘I think you’re overstating that, Rick.’ But I don’t think I am. I think it’s a motivator of a lot of human interaction. I really do.
“I can remember being in some greenrooms till two or three in the morning. And, yeah, there was a lot of talk about art, and a lot of talk about the mission — about what we were doing. But there was also a lot of drunken silliness; a lot of drunken bawdiness. It’s a hallmark of the backstage life, I think.”
This made me remember something from when Rick and I were in Much Ado About Nothing at Folger in 1998. His daughter Joanna attended rehearsals for a class project, and Rick shared with the cast her observation of how struck she was by the fact that the backstage banter ranged from the lofty and profound all the way to the juvenile and puerile.
“Yes. Would you say that’s not accurate?”
I replied that I thought it was accurate and acutely observed, which is why I remembered it twenty years later.
“That’s why everybody loves theatre people. We’re mercurial that way. We’re brilliant; we’re smart; there’s not a conversation you can be hearing that you can’t feel like you can jump in and take part in. You have to know things. It’s a literary job. You have to read things to be an actor; to work in the theatre. And, at the same time, you have to be a child at heart. And the more you are, I think, the truer you are to what it is you’re trying to accomplish: make-believe.”
This isn’t the first time Rick has helped out Quotidian Theatre Company by appearing in a fundraiser for them.
“That’s right. They’re sort of my local company; them and Round House. You know, I live in the neighborhood of Round House and Quotidian, and I have good friends who work at Quotidian a lot, and I’ve enjoyed seeing their work over the years. I enjoy what they’re trying to do.
“They really have a thing about modern classics, and good writing, presented at a level that people can afford to go see. I think they give light to the notion that theatre can take place anywhere, anyhow, and they have managed, within a small company, to create some pretty astonishing theatrical effects, with costumes, lighting, and sets.
“So, whenever I go, I can at once be assured that I’m going to see a quality show; I’m going to be entertained; but I’m probably going to see a play that I’ve never seen before, or that I’ve heard of but never seen. I’m going to leave the theatre better than I was when I went in, because I’m going to think about something new.”
Will Rick tweak the play based on what he learns from this reading?
“Yeah. I think I’m going to do some polishing and touch-ups in this process. I’ve workshopped it already, in my own way. I’ve had a couple of readings of it, with friends of mine. And it was valuable; that was helpful.
“And I’ve spread it around to people whose opinions I respect. I’ve been working on it for three years. I feel like I’ve done some really good rewriting.
“But, you know what? I’m not going to get on the treadmill. I’m not going to start pushing this play, as if I want this play to have a life. I’m happy to do it for Quotidian, and I’ll make it available for anybody who wants to read it. But it’s a pretty sucky job, to be a playwright. Playwrights have it really hard. And I don’t think I’ve got it in me to go pound that pavement anymore.”
If it does have a life beyond the reading, perhaps a full production, should we expect Rick to be in that cast?
“I’d probably rather watch it than be in it. Maybe I would volunteer to be the understudy. But, the thing about having jumped out and dropped out of the theatre is that I’m having a richer time with people in my life who are really family. My theatre friends are family, in a way, but I can’t see going back. I’ve become too accustomed, in only a year and a half, to being at home with my real family; my blood family.”
It seems as if, though, Rick might be seeing even more theatre now that he has ‘retired.’
“Yeah — more than I was when I was working. Certainly. And it’s because working in the theatre takes so damn much of your time.
“And then the other thing is, I’ve discovered (which I already knew) there’s just so much of it out there.” Rick brought up the name of a play we had discussed earlier which had recently closed. “That was on my list of plays I wanted to see.
“And, you know, you can’t see everything. And I’m not like some people, like those people who see four shows a week, or whatever it is; not even close. But even though I’m seeing more theatre than I’ve ever seen before, there’s still much more that I could be seeing, because there’s so much.
“This is what I tell people: it’s one of the things that’s so grand about the Washington theatre. I don’t mean to sound like a cheerleader, but not only is all the work terrific — filled with smart, young, energetic people — but, any night of the week, I mean, any night, you could have your pick of things to go see in Washington: any kind, any style, any length, any price-range. It’s kind of amazing, the cornucopia of theatre that’s here. So, yeah, I’m seeing more. Trying to.”
And seeing it without feeling any pangs of regret at having left the life?
“No, I really don’t; I really don’t. Sometimes I read about a part that someone else is doing — anywhere, not only here in Washington — and I think, ‘Oh, yeah, I understand that guy. I understand that character. I would have been able to shine a light on this particular part of that.’ That was always fun, as you know.
“And, again, go back to Lear and the Fool: what you and I both brought to it, in the way of our understanding of (our particular understanding of) humanity — that’s why it’s so different every time.
“That’s why you can go see Hamlet once every three years: because, in some new person’s mouth or hands, Hamlet’s going to be different. Lear was different; the Fool was different; the combination of Lear and the Fool together was different, because of who we were.
“The people in Long Day’s Journey Into Night I think about a lot. I love O’Neill. And the people in The Iceman Cometh, you know; I think about those people. But I don’t have the energy to go learn a new part, and that’ll be fine.
“But, if there’s anything I miss, it’s being able to sit down and fashion an expression — my response to what I think the author was trying to do. Because, at once, we participate with the author, but we also respond to the author.
“Don’t you think?”
Only a few tickets remain for the Quotidian benefit on November 3rd.. If you’d like to attend, contact their box office at [email protected] or call 301-816-1023
You must be logged in to post a comment.