The show closed. And yes, that’s a little sad. Like finishing a good book or waving goodbye at the airport – one of those soft heartbreaks that’s really just gratitude with nowhere else to go. But let’s not forget: in a world overflowing with unfinished scripts, almost-musicals, and “maybe-next-summers,” The Fork actually opened. Curtain up. Lights on…. Continue reading
If you’ve been reading Breaking Hip for a while, you may remember my vow to only write things that mean something to me. Which raises a fair question: Does this man really care about oversized meatballs and gleaming golden forks? Yes. The answer is yes.
Continue reading
*Famous first sentence first drafts That title above is not just the opening line of a famous book — it’s also a pretty spot-on description of how it sometimes feels to launch a brand new play into the world. Opening weekend of The Fork had both ends of that Dickensian spectrum. I missed opening night — and… Continue reading
The cast – an endearing bunch of adventurous souls – took to the material with gusto. There was laughter, a few raised eyebrows, and a surprising amount of passion in trying out accents. At one point, we all watched a brave actor tackle the vocal equivalent of a high-wire act: a French man pretending to be a New Yorker who happens to be a woman. Somewhere, Meryl Streep shuddered.
Continue reading
I take a breath. I think about the absurdity of musicalizing a story that already feels like an operatic fever dream. Then I say, “Let’s give it a go.”
Continue reading
I spent a couple of weeks attempting to outline the thing, but how does one outline mayhem? How does one carefully plan for chaos? Eventually, I gave up and returned to the method that had gotten us this far: just start writing and see what happens.
Continue reading
And yet, a few months later, there we were—our quirky little 10-minute play, making its New York debut with an entirely new cast. And—astonishingly—The Fork won again. First place, audience choice. Twice in a row, in two very different cities. At this point, we were starting to wonder if we had accidentally done something good.
Continue reading
I told no one about it. So that way if I couldn’t do it in time, or if I could but it was too terrible for the festival, I could walk away whistling nonchalantly like nothing to see here folks, move along, and I’d just live with being a little sleepy the next day.
Continue reading