Lisa Jackson-Schebetta
For me, Good Kids is about, as the characters say, the stories we tell. . . about and to ourselves, each other, our communities. How we learn, what we sacrifice, how we change and how we don't change, as humans, and the cost of each of those things. I am deeply humbled to work on the play, at this moment, in this place, given the urgent need for safer campuses and safer communities. And I invoke "safer" broadly. The play, based on Steubenville events, thrums with national concern and action over sexual assault--but it resonates far further. Though the play explicitly contends with cisgender sexual assault, the play (as well as its inspiring events, I would suggest) asks us to confront the ways difference and violence intersect across sexualities, genders, races, languages, class, abilities, religion, geography. It challenges us to look more closely at ourselves, at how we treat others, at how our world allows for violence against difference--and our complicity in or resistance to that.
We are quite complementary as co-directors. Though our experience overlaps, in terms of physical theatre, devising, directing and voice and actor training--we each have certain expertise in one or more areas that support the other's work. In the room, sometimes we work tandemly, and other times, one of us works a scene while the other "lends energy" to that work--i.e. observes with intention, from a place of positive energy. We can't, given the constraints of the rehearsal process, always work tandemly in the room, of course, and wouldn't want to, actually, as such work can be confusing to actors and/or muddy the story. We each have strengths and interests that enable one or the other to take a more supportive role, or more leading role, as the work or the schedule demands. We started with a week's work of deep physical work, building spatial awareness and ensemble, before we moved into the play itself, in order to serve the acting and choreographic demands of the text. Iizuka is a brilliant writer, she demands each actor move effortlessly between the skill sets of the actor adept at highly contemporary work and the classically trained actor, often at a breakneck pace, turning on dimes. Combine that with volatile material uniquely well suited to our current moment and a 3/4 thrust stage--and, well, that's quite a show.
Kimberly Griffin
One of the best feelings I have felt is the sense that something - some piece of information, feeling or sensation - is being shared amongst a group of total strangers sitting in a dark room. It’s that rare moment when the collective consciousness synchs up and we’re all suspended together in time.
I knew embarking on this process that my life would change in some way, merely because of the subject matter, and where we are in the world: a college campus, working with students not much older than the characters portrayed onstage, and given circumstances all too familiar to be the stuff of imagination. What I could never have predicted, is how much the play has shifted my perspective. My awareness has been broadened not only to include such amazing advances in technology as the Companion App (which lets you walk a friend home “virtually” by following along via GPS, and will contact police should your phone get dropped or your speed increase suddenly), but to put me in close contact with the startling statistics that prove how relevant this play actually is right now. Our very own President has joined in the struggle to end sexual assault by creating the It’s On Us campaign.
We have reached a point where practically every student on campus has had some experience, either personal or social, with sexual assault. Sexual Assault is a broad phrase, and choosing to speak up can be one of the hardest things a survivor of sexual assault can do. Many don’t.
Through this play, we seek to support and relate to those affected by such trauma, and to lift their voices by using our own. Through Naomi Iizuka’s text, we have found common ground as a company: fear, guilt, anger, frustration, shame, ownership, and judgment. However, I have also found a tremendous amount of joy and hope.
People like to talk about “kids these days,” and I know that the numbers can be scary, but working with this amazing company of young artists has been more than inspiring; it has reassured me that we have every right to hope for a bright future. These are young people with tremendous generosity, never failing to provide kindness to one another and reverence for our story. I am awed by them.
Remember while you watch this play: YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
If you need help finding someone to talk to, we have resources both present, and readily available to you. We are committed to providing a structure through which healing may be possible. And this conversation, as far as we are concerned, is just beginning.
For me, Good Kids is about, as the characters say, the stories we tell. . . about and to ourselves, each other, our communities. How we learn, what we sacrifice, how we change and how we don't change, as humans, and the cost of each of those things. I am deeply humbled to work on the play, at this moment, in this place, given the urgent need for safer campuses and safer communities. And I invoke "safer" broadly. The play, based on Steubenville events, thrums with national concern and action over sexual assault--but it resonates far further. Though the play explicitly contends with cisgender sexual assault, the play (as well as its inspiring events, I would suggest) asks us to confront the ways difference and violence intersect across sexualities, genders, races, languages, class, abilities, religion, geography. It challenges us to look more closely at ourselves, at how we treat others, at how our world allows for violence against difference--and our complicity in or resistance to that.
We are quite complementary as co-directors. Though our experience overlaps, in terms of physical theatre, devising, directing and voice and actor training--we each have certain expertise in one or more areas that support the other's work. In the room, sometimes we work tandemly, and other times, one of us works a scene while the other "lends energy" to that work--i.e. observes with intention, from a place of positive energy. We can't, given the constraints of the rehearsal process, always work tandemly in the room, of course, and wouldn't want to, actually, as such work can be confusing to actors and/or muddy the story. We each have strengths and interests that enable one or the other to take a more supportive role, or more leading role, as the work or the schedule demands. We started with a week's work of deep physical work, building spatial awareness and ensemble, before we moved into the play itself, in order to serve the acting and choreographic demands of the text. Iizuka is a brilliant writer, she demands each actor move effortlessly between the skill sets of the actor adept at highly contemporary work and the classically trained actor, often at a breakneck pace, turning on dimes. Combine that with volatile material uniquely well suited to our current moment and a 3/4 thrust stage--and, well, that's quite a show.
Kimberly Griffin
One of the best feelings I have felt is the sense that something - some piece of information, feeling or sensation - is being shared amongst a group of total strangers sitting in a dark room. It’s that rare moment when the collective consciousness synchs up and we’re all suspended together in time.
I knew embarking on this process that my life would change in some way, merely because of the subject matter, and where we are in the world: a college campus, working with students not much older than the characters portrayed onstage, and given circumstances all too familiar to be the stuff of imagination. What I could never have predicted, is how much the play has shifted my perspective. My awareness has been broadened not only to include such amazing advances in technology as the Companion App (which lets you walk a friend home “virtually” by following along via GPS, and will contact police should your phone get dropped or your speed increase suddenly), but to put me in close contact with the startling statistics that prove how relevant this play actually is right now. Our very own President has joined in the struggle to end sexual assault by creating the It’s On Us campaign.
We have reached a point where practically every student on campus has had some experience, either personal or social, with sexual assault. Sexual Assault is a broad phrase, and choosing to speak up can be one of the hardest things a survivor of sexual assault can do. Many don’t.
Through this play, we seek to support and relate to those affected by such trauma, and to lift their voices by using our own. Through Naomi Iizuka’s text, we have found common ground as a company: fear, guilt, anger, frustration, shame, ownership, and judgment. However, I have also found a tremendous amount of joy and hope.
People like to talk about “kids these days,” and I know that the numbers can be scary, but working with this amazing company of young artists has been more than inspiring; it has reassured me that we have every right to hope for a bright future. These are young people with tremendous generosity, never failing to provide kindness to one another and reverence for our story. I am awed by them.
Remember while you watch this play: YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
If you need help finding someone to talk to, we have resources both present, and readily available to you. We are committed to providing a structure through which healing may be possible. And this conversation, as far as we are concerned, is just beginning.