WIT Voices

My day started with a half pot of freshly brewed coffee being spilled all over me.

Well, that’s not true. It started with my alarm clock going off twice and the decision to sleep just a little longer than normal, forgo my usual shower and just make people at work deal with the fact that I may be stinky. One element forgotten from my usual routine: my husband had a 7a.m. meeting so there is no coffee made.

Dang it.

I get ready a little faster than normal, forecasting which route to work will be the fastest and which coffee shop the easiest to get in and out of quickly. If it’s directly on my route, I literally have 5 minutes of time in which to get this cup of treasured brew.

While starting my car, I realize that my keys feel a little lighter than usual. Oh, that’s because the four keys to my new office which I just got yesterday - well, they’re missing. Great. I have to go admit first thing in the morning that I can’t get into my office because I can’t find my keys. This thought distracts me so much that I miss all of the possible coffee shops on the way to work.

So, I arrive at work: a little smelly, without any keys, extremely tired and without any inclination whatsoever to be there. I hear laughter in the kitchen – fantastic! I won’t arouse suspicion by brewing an entirely new pot. My new assistant recruiter is in there and as people get their coffee and exchange pleasantries which just bore me to tears normally (although one person did make homemade brownies – that’s a treat!), we wait for our half pot of coffee to brew. We talk and chat, and talk and chat, one, two, three minutes go by and I wish there was anyone else in this office who could talk to me. This girl and I talk all day in the office that we share and I hate it then, too. But I must have my coffee.

It’s done! We pour the two cups into our two little Styrofoam cups and my salvation is very very close…..we are almost to the penultimate peak….I almost have my morning cup of coffee……..

… .then I almost have to go to the Burn Unit. I’m wearing clothes I never wear, because I have to do laundry. Nice pinstripe pants, tank top and a white button down shirt that I’m only wearing because the tank top isn’t appropriate for work. The colors from the tank top meld into the white shirt, it looks like I peed all the way down my legs, and to make matters worse, I almost had to brew a whole new pot of coffee.

That’s just how my morning started. We’ll see how it goes from here. One thing’s for sure: I’m utilizing the Timer on our fancy-dancy Coffeemaker so I am never in that position again. At least I smell like coffee all day.

“I could direct a Disney cartoon.”

This statement arose out of a lazy Saturday afternoon discussion with my husband.

He thought about that statement for a long time. So long that my mind started wandering to another topic.

“Yes,” was his answer, finally. “But not one that stars a princess.”

“No princesses?” I asked, thinking about how awesome it would be to be the creator of that moment in The Little Mermaid, in the treasure trove, the music swell right before Ariel swims up into the camera, singing

“But I know something’s starting right now,” That moment where her voice cracks just a tiny bit, which gives every female in the audience a shudder of pure recognition. That longing, that despair, at seeing your future but having no way to attain it.

“Why not the princesses?” Dan seemed taken aback by my voice.. His mind had wandered to another topic. I had retreated into my own world completely, just by imagining that one moment. Yeah, I’d like to create a moment like that.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “You would just do better with the aladdins and the quasi modods-”"And Hercules,” I jumped in.

“And Hercules,” the nodding of his head mirroring his agreement. I was OK with that, especially once I remembered that Ariel and Belle weren’t princesses at first, so they could count.

It’s true. Princesses would bore me. It’s much more interesting having someone with a real struggle, and not a struggle that can be changed by simply using the power that you have to change your country’s laws.

In New York, I directed The Caucasian Chalk Circle and soon after Antigone and I couldn’t help thinking, is this it? Am I destined to direct stories about a woman fighting against her country and against war? Then I directed The Trojan Women and it was all over. That would be my lot in life.

But I never was attracted to princesses. I started reading Ayn Rand and wanted nothing more in life than to be thrown down on the bed by Howard Roark. In the same thought I wanted the life of Kira, martyr to her own love, in the scene when she lights a cigarette, standing outside her communist lover’s apartment, standing in her new good clothes; despising the lover who keeps her husband protected and loving the power that just her presence has on him. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go outside right now and buy We The Living. Devour it cover to cover. You will never love the same way again.)

But I digress. There are heroines and there are princesses. I like the heroines. The ones with deep dark fears and the ones who make mistakes and the ones who would give up everything to be with their loves.

The passionate, fiery women who are in the wrong place or who cannot shut off their minds and desires, whether for their brothers, their men, their country or their freedom. These are the women around whom I could build a story. I could direct their animated feature.

But don’t count me out of the Aladdins and the Quasimodos and Hercules.–

I used to only share my name with a distant cousin who is a psychiatrist – and conveniently once had an ex-boyfriend for a client. Cindy Fulchino. People either knew how to pronounce it or spell it, and never did the two met. But those friends who could pronounce it, boy did they love flaunting it. Google Cindy Fulchino and you got all sorts of interesting tidbits, including reviews in Backstage that hated a play I directed but couldn’t say so because the playwright shared my name (my father), to a stage combat club that I joined freshman year of college when my dream was to run a stage combat school in the wilderness somewhere. Cindy Fulchino had all sorts of interesting times in life in summer stocks and basements of New York City theaters.

When I got married, my original intent was to keep Fulchino as my professional name and use Jenkins as my personal name.

That’s all well and good if your husband and personal name have more to do with stocks trading than telling stories to people in a darkened room (which your husband usually lights). That’s fine if half the people with whom you work in theater weren’t at your wedding, shivering in their layered semi-formal garb while the sun set and the wind blew and your officiate tried not to get swallowed up by a riptide on “America’s Deadliest Beach,” – I’m serious, there was a sign – and so every theater into which you walk you are met by “The New Mrs. Jenkins!”

Even more than that, because there are still plenty of people who knew me as Cindy Fulchino, and more of them are having trouble with the new simpler spelled name, more than that is the fact that I would look at my husband and want to be connected to him. I WANT people to know that we’re married. I saw my new uncle Joe dancing on a table and my new father completely smashed on Cabo Wabo Tequila, playing hacky sack with teenagers – and using his cane – and I wanted to be a Jenkins. I want an immediate connection with my husband that I never thought I would experience, since I fought so hard for independence from a relationship. I stared at my Fulchino Family, the only representatives from my blood relatives who made it 3,000 miles to Bodega Bay, and I loved what they had given and would continue to give me, and looked across the yard to my new additional family. I knew all their quirks and I knew all their skeletons, and I knew they had each played their part in making my husband the man he is.

After changing my mind on keeping my maiden name at all, there are still people who are confused. There are still times when I refer to myself as Cindy Fulchino-Jenkins, and many times when I tell people to google me under my maiden name. When people give me criticism on my choice, I can’t help but say that if the decision involved them, I would have asked them. I didn’t ask the people most affected by this decision, and my own family never struggles with calling me Mrs. Jenkins.

So now if you Google Cindy Jenkins then you get a metalsmith bead designer, and Cindy Marie Jenkins brings up a felon.

I think I’m going with Cindy Marie Jenkins.

Ladies and Gentlemen:

I am greatly humbled by this conferment on me of the high honor of the Bette Rae Brown Award for service. What a privilege it is for me to be the recipient of this gift! There are so many dedicated members who contribute their talents and time, such as our president Talmadge Ragan; newsletter editor, Enci; past president Trish Ostroski; Justine Visone; Sarah Simmons; and Jen Ritchkoff –- actually the entire board is a hard-working bunch. I so cherish my membership and association with such high-caliber women and men, who, in my opinion, are an example of the highest standards of professionalism and integrity in the theater arts community of Los Angeles.

This award is a reminder to me that Bette Rae Brown was a rock of steadfast support and served the organization for over 20 years. In addition to being a past officer and board member, she was an inspiration to all of us. I hope that I, too, can influence the membership to express their talents in Women in Theatre projects.

The “Deck Chairs” series was a pilot production for Women In Theatre and was a great success. These two-women twist- in-the-tale playlets had great roles for women, and the WIT directors, cast, and crew fulfilled the artistic requirements. It was a fun endeavor for all involved. I was fortunate to have a wonderful committee, especially Joan Marlowe, Deborah Greenberg, Julie Hubbard, and Meia Carr, who turned the project motor on and kept it running for several months. It is my hope that we can have such performances again at various libraries, including the Ahmanson at Los Angeles Central and the arts library, The Brand, in Glendale. Enclosed is an article written in the Daily Breeze.

Trish Ostroski is an amazing producer whom I am indeed favored to work with on the Red Carpet committee — also headed by Trish — and witness the development of ideas coming to fruition. I am sure the October 20, 2007, will be another memorable ceremony.

I close with additional thanks to the men within our group who sparked our Playreading series, headed by Justine and Sarah, in their performances in “Kiss of the Spider Women,” which I produced. I have had several men actors ask me if we’ll consider another male play on playreading.

Sundays; and I simply reply, “How about writing an original play about men, that women can relate to, in the 2000s.”

Again, I thank you for this special distinction.

Sincerely,

Anita Noble

I never felt intimidated that I was a woman before reading articles about how few female directors there are (working). Then the wheels started turning and I started noticing things. You know how when you meet someone new, and you’ve never heard of their occupation before, you all of a sudden notice the security guards at the event, or the bus drivers, or the person who designed the elevator on which you’re riding. All of these seemingly obvious jobs that people clearly had to do before you knew that person existed, and you’re only now noticing them.

That’s how I felt about being female in a male-driven (I hate using the word “dominated”) profession. I have to say that I’ve been able to get over it and just move forward, but every time I do, someone new points it out to me. If I pitch for a show and a male ends up getting it, I find myself making excuses that point to THAT as the reason, instead of looking at my pitch and wondering what I can do better next time. There are more reasons why a company would pick one pitch/director over another than there are cars on the freeway, so I really have to work on letting a pitch go and not overanalyzing the result.

I recently got the chance to pitch for a show I have wanted to direct since I heard it in the 90’s, and before I was asked to write this pitch, I could have talked about it for hours. The minute I needed to put pen to paper, I went blank. I thought about how the company was founded by mostly men and one woman, how the cast was predominantly male and the only females are basically comic relief, and maybe they would want a male director. The only other directors who were pitching were men, and all of those articles I have read about female directors just flashed through my brain. I thought about all how so many female directors are stifled by the fact that they either have to act like domineering bitches or they won’t get their way.

Then I realized that was just stupid. One amazing comedienne/producer, Zena Leigh Logan, really put it in perspective. I thought of everyone, she would have experienced prejudice in the stand up comedy world.

”So far I haven’t experienced any significant challenges that differ by gender. One out of every 10 shows I am the only female comic. However the ratio of male to female comics is usually pretty significant. I may be one of 2-4 comics out of 10-12 at any given show. I have a group of comic friends I often perform with and we usually meet more people when we are together than I do when I’m alone. Of my group of comic friends with whom I regularly work out I am the only female.

I haven’t noticed a difference in the way I am treated by crowds or most people…. I don’t think an audience views a female comic’s act differently than they do a male’s. I think the audience will connect with your act if you make it relatable and your personality is accessible. That’s what’s really important: the comic’s stage presence more so than their gender.

… .I definitely have a female point of view. I think a lot of the stuff I write, though, is accessible by men and women. I think this because just as many guys as girls quote my jokes back to me and tell me they liked this bit or that bit.“

So I was completely off the mark. I was letting outside forces and opinions affect my perception of myself and my work. I completely forgot the gender of the people to whom I pitched, and I just pitched the show. I just told them what story I would tell. Why I wanted to and needed to do it, how I would do it, how I pictured the entire piece since the first time I heard the soundtrack and how my life in the last twelve years has influenced my view on it now.

Imagine that. Just told the story.

And I got it.