Sunday, June 7, 2009

Week Twenty - Two / Day One

I've been through some pretty tough times, creating some of my best work.

I say, "my," but it was never solely me. I've been fortunate to find, as I have moved forward through the past few decades of my life, passionate and committed professionals who embrace challenge. I would say that coming to know many of these men and women has been one of the greatest rewards of my life. Building teams of leaders who have taken my vision as their own and have focused on contributing to and supporting the full realization of that vision such that we have often far exceeded my original expectation has been both lesson and reward, again and again.

There are few who have worked for or with me only once. Most of the creative, technical or production professionals who have joined me in creating an experience jump at the chance to again join a team, together. They know they'll be challenged and held accountable, they know they will be respected for knowledge, experience and intuition, and they know they will be depended-on to do their best work...that my philosophy is to focus on what is possible, what is most fantastically conceivable, and work hard to get as close to full realization of that as can be accomplished (being that we are, when all is said and done, human).

One of the first times I was presented with my own experience of being professionally respected was as the CandleLight Vigil for the AIDS Memorial Quilt at the Lincoln Memorial was coming together, in Washington, DC. That was the year and the experience that became, for me, the transition from having a reputation in San Francisco for the unique and compelling to attempting something on what was, essentially, a World Stage.

I had been beaten-up, pretty badly, by Los Angeles; and was contacted while still in my LA hospital bed by the NAMES Project and asked if I would re-create the CandleLight Ceremony for the following October...effectively relinquishing my assault on the film business and returning to what I do and was known for doing best; the Live Stuff.

Physically and professionally, I was starting over. The vision was there, my network of Thugs (friends of mine who were lawyers, accountants, realtors, Ad men and women, Marketers, manufacturers - all professionals in other areas who would come together as my Stage Management Team whenever I needed them for some fantastic and fantastically-complex production at City Hall in San Francisco) were all willing to come to DC to help, and the network of overqualified production talent accessible through the network of quilt supporters was there to support the work and production.

So, I took it on. Some of those whom I met in pulling that production together remain friends to this day; some are virtually famous in their own professional oeuvres, now, and most have worked on many teams with me, since that time.

One of the most empowering moments of that project came, for me, at Sound Check the day before the Ceremony. Talent for the Ceremony was Michael Callen, Melissa Errico, Patti Austin, Liza Minnelli and Joel Grey. I was, in that context, just a guy from San Francisco Directing this show. When Joel Grey arrived for his walk-through, I fully expected to pretty-much defer to anything he wanted to do; I was just grateful he'd be participating. His number, his moment, was the most important part of the ceremony; he was to sing the Final piece ("Jonathan Wesley Oliver Junior" - one of the most moving songs ever written about AIDS, the Quilt and the loss of a Friend).

On that crisp, sunny, October day as he walked up to me on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, above the Reflecting Pool, I was prepared to hear How Mr. Grey Does Things. He looked me right in the eye as I introduced myself and asked, "What would you like me to do?" 

I was struck nearly dumb by the fact that a performer of his calibre would be so respectful of one who would have been - in his context - essentially an inexperienced Director. But, he treated me as the Director... I shared with him my vision, "...well, I'd like for you to start here, step here, walk here, sing from here, (et cetera, et cetera)...but if you have a way you'd prefer to do this, I'm sure that'll work..." 

He paid close attention to my very brief description, again looked me in the eye and said, "...then, that's what I'll do. It's your show." Gave me a big smile, walked through the blocking and sound check perfectly, and that was that.

That night, he brought 250,000 to absolute silence with his performance; and, at the end, when he sang, "...tell me Jonathan, up in heaven, are there shooting stars.....?" and George Zambelli's huge, brilliant white skyrocket flew straight up from behind the Memorial and exploded in an eye-filling and completely silent, white supernova, the only sound one could hear was the simultaneous intake of 250,000 breaths...

That experience, mirrored in the demeanor of Liza, Patti and the others, was a powerful lesson in the respect for hierarchy that is imperative for the realization of creative, artistic vision. These artists didn't know me, but they knew that second-guessing the Director is a recipe for failure. The creative "buck" has to stop in one place; for creativity by consensus rarely changes the world.

I have been fortunate, since that time, to have some exceedingly talented and accomplished (and opinionated) Creatives on my Teams. Production meetings large and small have often been difficult and wrought with challenge and heat; but the understanding has always been that the final call was that of one person. That's why there is only one steering wheel in a car, no matter how many opinionated, talented and skilled passengers may be in the cab.

When producing and directing the Opening and Closing Ceremonies for the Gay Games in New York City; the creative team was built of very well known and visibly accomplished men and women, many of whom have since won Tony Awards, toured the world under their own banners, founded orchestras and experienced all sorts of tremendous success. These were people, solidly reputed in and around NYC and the Broadway and Artistic communities. 

I had two marks against me, coming in: nobody knew me and I was from Los Angeles. Needless to say, our weekly production meetings were, at times, contentious. I could see in the eyes of some that I was being assessed and challenged to see if I even knew what I was doing. It was TOUGH, at times...most of the time. But, while I knew that I was being evaluated and judged, I was never threatened and my position as Director and Producer was never challenged. My job was always respected, even by those who thought I might fail.

I was very alone, that year in New York; knowing no one other than my staff and the team at the Games office. Working from 7am (Games Production Staff Meeting) to late at night, six days a week, for months on end. Being out on a limb with my concept for the Ceremonies - knowing if I compromised and they failed to connect and deliver, that I would be known for that failure, worldwide...deciding that to hold fast to my vision so that should that vision fail to resonate, I would at least know that I had been wrong in my concept; but that if I were to compromise and fail, I'd have nothing.

The Music Director for the Games, Jonathan Sheffer was famously accomplished at the time and has only grown more so in the years since. He is a scrupulous, committed, focused artist who holds extremely high standards and does not suffer fools. He challenged me at every turn; assuming nothing, asking everything, making me at times miserable with his relentless scrutiny. It wasn't personal; he just wanted to be sure I knew what I wanted and knew what I was doing. He made part of my life Hell. (I think he enjoyed that, just a little bit, as well...)

A few weeks out, as we were walking through Yankee Stadium with the entire Production Team for the first time, he was at my side throughout the tour, asking, "what if this happens...what if that happens...what will you do if this...what will you do if that?" Each time, I answered him with my contingencies...

At the end of the tour, he looked at me and said, "I think you just might know what you're doing..." To which I replied, "That is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me, Jonathan!"

Weeks later, after a spectacularly successful Opening Ceremony, as the fireworks were exploding on the field (and we were hiding from the Fire Marshal, given that our fireworks permit had expired 15 minutes beforehand), Jonathan entered the room with a huge smile on his face, walked over to me, threw his arms around me and said "Congratulations, Kile! We have a saying for times like this; 'Next Year in Jerusalem!'" 

No harder an approval has ever been won. Rarely has respect felt so sweet.

No job or project is too hard when one knows one can depend on one's team to accept, embrace, commit, respect and deliver.