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| The Consummate Craftsman | |||
| A look at three regional technical directors and the unique and invaluable role they play. | |||
| By L. B. Hamilton | |||
| Issue: June/July 2001 | |||
Who are those pragmatic, often unappreciated, sometimes
dreaded, nearly invisible yet seemingly ubiquitous masters of the
scene shop? Meet three individuals who put a face to the title of
technical director.
In his youth, Leif Rustebakke was required to work in the shop while participating in the acting apprentice program at Actor’s Theatre of Louisville. As he discovered the joy of working with his hands, the urge to act faded. Now 43 and TD of “the nation’s only bi-city regional theatre,” Arizona Theatre Company, he’s more occupied with finding “real world solutions to carry out the artistic illusion,” than working with his hands. Rustebakke, who oversees ATC’s five-show season at Tucson’s 640-seat Temple of Music and Art, which is also performed at the 815-seat Herberger Theatre Center in Phoenix, defines technical direction as a “redesign.” “A lot of people seem to think designers tell you everything and that’s not true. Plus their priorities are different. Somebody has to think about the practical,” he insists. “It’s a wonderful challenge to solve a theatrical problem from the real world; if you can do it cheap, that’s even better. The whole world is your marketplace!” No regrets about acting? “Not really,” he chuckles, “but coming from acting helps me understand the artists’ needs and explain them to a carpenter in the way he’d like to hear it explained. I like to think I pay attention...if actors feel that attention is being paid they feel less stress and are more able to do their jobs.” What about working with his hands? “Well, a hands-off attitude is useful for a TD here,” he says. “If something has to change, it wasn’t my sweat that went into it. This makes it easier for me to serve as liaison between the creative types and the nuts-and-bolts types.” Sometimes, however, near the end of the build, Rustebakke follows the urge to “go out take the temperature on the floor. Thinking with the board in your hand,” he says quietly, “you can’t lose touch with that.” And, it seems, you can’t lose touch with the fact that although a TD may not be considered an artist, it’s the TD that makes sure that artists’ dreams come true as efficiently, effectively and safely as possible. New England Savior
The fun started in high school when Rimmer auditioned for a musical. “I couldn’t sing,” she laughs, “so I ended up on the crew.” She quickly lost interest in acting. “It wasn’t, ‘Oh wow, I love power tools.’ It was the teamwork. When you’re in sync with your crew—of one mind, the synergy is so exciting.” Crewing also exercised capabilities she didn’t know she possessed: “Girls don’t take shop; how could I have known?” Has being a “girl” in a male-dominated field diminished some of the fun? Possibly a few times in the past, but “technical direction is more about management skills than lifting heavy objects,” says Rimmer. After graduating college, working tech for rep and summer stock and spending some time as a production manager, she applied for the position of ATD at Middlebury. At her 1990 interview Rimmer “knew this is where I needed to be as a professional and lifestyle choice.” By 1993, she was TD and finding fulfillment in the academic theater setting. As a student, Rimmer learned that crewing “doesn’t have to be slave labor. It can be a meaningful creative process and a fun learning experience. You just have to work out the right crew chemistry,” she explains. “Watching students’ satisfaction is incredibly rewarding. It’s great when a student says, ‘Cool, I built that platform from nothing.’” Ultimately, it’s the collaborative process between the artistic side and tech that’s “probably the most fun part of it all.” Rimmer sees her job as having a larger, more complicated context: “We take the artists’ dreams and turn them into three-dimensional realities.” The Capitol Gain
“It’s pretty rare around here to do both,” he grins. The modest budget of a small urban theater requires that Getman spend most of his time on the build, but he enjoys the hands-on part of the job. “With the skills I’ve learned at WSC and their flexibility, I can afford to continue acting.” Getman’s grateful that he hasn’t been “pigeonholed into one career or the other, believing the dual roles make him a well-rounded theater professional. “As TD, I’ve a better understanding of what actors need. As an actor I’ve a greater appreciation for the work that’s gone into a production. I don’t know how much longer I can juggle it all, but for now it’s good. “ And when the day comes to make a choice? He’ll miss his TD hat. “There’s a certain satisfaction in standing back and seeing what you’ve accomplished,” he says wistfully. “Building something lovely from bare-bones, out of recycled wood and whatever cheap materials you can get your hands on, then turning it over to the actors—well, that’s really special.” sd L. B. Hamilton is a freelance director, playwright and arts and entertainment writer currently working in Washington, D.C. |
