Some years ago, Frank Hauser, then a retired freelance director, and writer Russell Reich, his former student, self-published Notes on Directing in hardcover. It was immediately acclaimed as "a gem-witty and full of insight;" "so sensible, so complete, and so right;" and "amazingly illuminating" by the likes of Judi Dench, Edward Albee, and Terry Teachout. Gathered over Frank Hauser's long career, and polished to a sharp edge by Russell Reich, the 130 "Notes" address a wide range of topics, from understanding the script and defining the director's role, to casting, how to handle a first read-through of a script, rules for rehearsal, how to talk to actors, how to get a laugh, and the key elements of staging. Filled with enduring good advice expressed in assertive, no-nonsense language, and supported with explanatory commentary, insightful quotes and examples, and six valuable appendices, this deceptively slim book has the impact of a privileged apprenticeship, providing deep insight into the hidden process of creating a live, shared experience. For the student or professional engaged in a directing or acting career, the executive or manager looking for inspiring new ideas on leadership, or the arts lover wanting insight into the creative process, this book will be an invaluable experience. This new edition includes an interview with the co-author.
A sequel that describes a continuing story is an uninvited imposture masquerading novelty. Were our own lives divided into orderly segments, the mask of self-importance might conceal many scars- betrayals, blunders, lust and other party revelers. Alas, we skip through days- fat little stoned bears, knocking over ripe trash barrels. One thing always leads to another and after it's over- well, who will judge and who will judge the judges? Ordinarily I would have avoided that rude looking diner but I was hungry- famished really and I had been drinking. Unbelievably, she was there- with new friends, looking like I remembered. A tribute to African foundation- she acknowledged me- dark eyes, full lips, perfectly orbiting whatever she was eating. Momentarily, the past reached back- incapable of suppressing an image- drops of perspiration on her dark muscled back. So I drank a toast: "To me," as I watched fingers of wine run inside the glass. "I have left much in my wake as I struggled to be present.
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