If it were up to to me, which it isn’t, but if it were, I’d make a rule that when the mid-point of the year arrives unbidden and with a threatening attitude, it’d be possible to ask for an extra month, free of charge. But here we are. June. Yeesh!
At least I booked something fun to mark the occasion. Also, and more than ever, happy Pride! 🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈
Patricia Jane and Caroline Mae in “Karl, or the Fog,” by Vicky Anh Pham. May 2025.
It really Grinds My Gears™ whenever I encounter the common claim that Hamlet’s speech to the Players expresses Shakespeare’s own theatrical sensibility. It’s not bad acting advice, if a little bit stale, but attributing those views to the man himself feels to me like bad reading.
Hamlet is not trying to put on a good show, he’s trying to fuck with Claudius. That’s the literal purpose of his instructions. On a higher order (death to literalism!), why are we affording pure authorial voice, so rare in Shakespeare’s work and so at odds with the rest of the play, to this particular passage? That’s my real issue, and I’ve never actually heard the view argued, only sagely asserted; a mode to which I am, alas, allergic. Like, if Shakespeare is speaking through Hamlet here, what do we then do with the notion that “the purpose of playing […] is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature,” when our boy has been very prominently conversing with a downright spooktacular ghostie?
Thank you in advance for agreeing that I’m right, and for challenging this claim whenever it appears. Acting teachers the world over quake in fear at our power!
Alert! Controversial claim incoming! Poetry is nice, I think. Here’s some. “Good Bones,” by Maggie Smith:
Life is short, though I keep this from my children. Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children. For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you, though I keep this from my children. I am trying to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.
Anyway, I’m home from shooting that movie I mentioned, Dying Alone. Acting is fun. I’ll report more fully on the experience when I’ve had a second to breathe, but in the meantime…
I walk from the counter. The bag is warm in my hand. Behind me, the thump of dough as it’s cut and rolled into shape, the hiss of a batch of bagels sliding from peel to oven, the orders, “sésame, une douzaine.” The door jingles, I’m outside. The air is brisk. Mount Royal slopes into view, leafless trees of early spring like down on a young bird, not quite fledgling, a promise. I walk, reach into the bag, take a bagel. Seeds fall from my hand, cascading. I bite. The delicate give of the crust. The sweetness. The smell. The smell! Gold. Warmth. Home.
Well, here we all still are. I’m finding it difficult to embrace the blithe tone that characterized this project’s early style, so I think it might be appropriate to evolve with the times. Something like a hard-nosed noir might be right for me, especially after my brief turn to the earnestly political.
*Ahem*
Night. Rain. The air, heavy. The streets, slick with neon and hate. An acrid taste in the mouth, blood. Fog rises from a reeking grate, and a dim figure steps forward, cloaked in shadow. A sudden movement, a flash of light, and… what’s that? A job offer? For me? Oh, okay!
Duel with Cudgels, or Fight to the Death with Clubs. Francisco Goya
Hey. Different newsletter than usual because the times are unusual. Much more unusual than they usually are, even.
Woof woof, big dog.
I’ll dispense with the professional updates quickly, just to respect the purpose of the newsletter: I got three off-Broadway callbacks last month, booked none of them, and am doing some short films. The plan proceeds as intended, at least until I need to renew my work permit this summer, at which point who can say what will happen because will there be a government to renew it with, even? That’s up to you.
A rambling pep-talk for my American colleagues who might need the encouragement: get in the street, please!
My gift to you for the holidays is an email newsletter that isn’t asking for money. Unless you owe me money, in which case, no biggie, pay me back when you can.
Alternate intro: my New Year’s resolution is 240p. Lo-fi for life!
Zine by Bread and Puppet Theater, courtesy of Gabriela Petrov. Collage photo: Oculus, April 2024.
There’s a lot for us to get into, so this one time I’m not going to bandy about with any introductory flim-flam, no sir, I will dispense with such trifles and address the matter at hand, which is of grave import, and must be discussed at your earliest convenience, if not sooner!
Rain, Steam and Speed – The Great Western Railway by J. M. W. Turner
The Oxford English Dictionary defines the compulsion to begin a newsletter edition with an unexpected concept to hook the reader and make them eager to receive and read what is essentially an advertisement as: “The Carl” (OED.5.4.B.2998). It also notes that: “Using the ‘Oxford English Dictionary defines…’ trope ought to be a capital offence” (OED.5.4.B.2999). Those erudite rapscallions across the pond might be onto something with that.
Almost a year since Dancing at Lughnasa. Time flies! Photo Carol Rosegg.
Rhinoceros Tickets Available Now
Classic text, good time, thought-provoking: These are the Letterboxd tags you might use if this production of Rhinoceros were a movie. It’s not, though. It’s a play; in a cabaret-style theatre, no less, so tickets are variably priced by, like, table. Bring a group! We’ve got four performances at The Slipper Room, all matinee, click the links for details:
In big news for all the legal employment enjoyers out there, my work permit has been successfully renewed! Which means I can once again do the thing I’m in these United States to do: act! Or rather, be a non-resident-alien spousal dependent, but let’s not split hairs.
Here are some projects I’m working on now that I’m allowed to. Come see them?
I don’t know anyone by the name of Godot. July 2024.
Here they are, as promised, the first two episodes of Art Workers: The Independent Artists’ Forum. I’ll admit, I wouldn’t be mad if you gave them a listen. I would actually, you could say, be thrilled.
That’s right, listen to the sound of my voice. You are getting very sleepy. You are feeling the desire to see art. You are feeling the desire to laugh and be outside with friends. You are filled with the powerful urge to continue reading and to decide which date this week you’ll come to see me perform in The Winter’s Tale in Central Park. When I snap my fingers, you’ll follow that urge. Snap!
Be like this bird, who was also in Central Park. May 2024.
Remember, the tickets are free, so the show is for thee!
Right yes it’s The Winter’s Tale directed by Emily Gallagher with Barefoot Shakespeare Company and it’s at Summit Rock in Central Park and it’s free so just show up, eh! It’s good, too, by the way, I should mention.
I’ve heard people are upset at the idea of The Winter’s Tale going up in the summer. All I have to say to those people is just pretend we’re in the southern hemisphere. I will not be taking further questions, thank you.
Reveal to me your secrets, crystal thing. April 2024, New Jersey
Five-minute call for Bear; Bear, this is your five-minute call
Yup, I’m doing TheWinter’s Tale this summer! Barefoot Shakespeare Company is putting ‘er up, and let me tell you, it’s a real treat to be joining this group again.
Thou'rt invited, worthy friend, to a performance of theatre most subtle and rare. The great poets of old would hardly dare to — but hark, dost thou hear't? 'Tis the stately tolling of yonder bell, announcing the arrival of our URL!
Hey, that guy isn't even holding a cigarette! Photo Skylar Beirne. March 2023
Since we last spoke, I booked and then shot a short film out in New Haven: "Roundabout," by Aris Katafygiotis. The footage I've seen looks très good, and I can't wait to share it with everyone, not least because then I'll finally get to brag about shooting in the cold until 3 a.m. four nights in a row. What a trooper. I won't mention until it's out, though, how it was four consecutive overnight shoots (in a row! Outdoors! Four! Cold! Rain!). If you can believe it, I didn't complain about being cold or sleepy, not even once, not even during any of the four overnight cold sleepy wet outdoor shoots.
The Hunger Artist. Feb. 7, 2024. Photo Carol Rosegg
You Can Guess The News
I'm in another show! Leo's Requiem by Darius M. Buckley is the piece, presenting as part of a new works festival featuring the graduating Columbia playwright MFAs. Friend Brennan Urbi directing.
Well, here we are again. Me, with a show to promote. You, with an open evening or afternoon that can be spent seeing a show. How does it always end up like this?
New York City, 2024. (Baffin Island, 2017)
The show in question: A Hunger Artist, at the Lenfest Center for the Arts. February 8th to 11th. Free tickets. LINK HERE.
It's a take on the classic short story by Franz Kafka, about an artist who is... doing well. Except instead of being set in vaguely 19th-century Bohemia and he's in a cage, it's set now and he's a live-streamer. Adapted by friend of the channel Michael Landes, and directed by my literal neighbour Yibin Wang, the play digs into the queasy cyclone of need, performance, and exploitation that constitutes a life of constant voluntary surveillance. I think the main theme is that it's totally fine. We're all totally fine.
Me, Allie Donnelly, and María Limón in "The Moors," d. Benita De Wit. Photo Ryan Bourque, 2022.
Friends! Hi! Sorry for double-emailing, very bad form, I know, but! I've got two things to share, real quick.
Thing 1: Spam Problems
My last newsletter ended up in ~many people's~ spam folder, so check yours if you want to read an unhinged essay about Greek Theatre and different categories of Weird Characters. And maybe mark my dinky newsletter address as trusted... if you trust me.
He engages in tasteful self-promotion. And here's a taste!
The Lughnasa Crewnasa; Oct. 2023. Photo Carol Rosegg.
I have nothing to promote.
Oops. It's been a quiet moment on the project front. Despite angling for some juicy gigs so I could share with you yet another gripping tale of creative triumph (I do it for you), things didn't go my way. A foul conspiracy of schedule conflicts, injury, illness, and other people having talent (wtf) robbed me of my god-given right to make faces onstage. It's a cruel world out there, folks.
Hi pals, hope you're well. I'm fine, thanks for asking. Salient points up front:
Reminder! I'm in Dancing at Lughnasa, October 19th to 22nd. Five shows. Free tickets. Lenfest Center for the Arts, 129th street. Great concept. Great cast. Tickets are live right now! GET 'EM HERE.
After October 22nd my dance card is wide open, really for the first time this year, so tell me about your readings, developmental projects, international advertising campaigns, and tabletop RPG games. I'm around!
This fall is the one-year anniversary of getting my American work permit. One whole year of acting for money in New York City! To celebrate that enterprising spirit, I'm going to book a commercial gig. [CUT TO wide shot, CARL is suddenly holding a margarita and wearing a party hat] And that's a Carl Bindman guarantee.
Enter and rest your legs, weary traveller. Ah, I see my wares have caught your eye. Quite a collection, yes? Perhaps you desire a trinket for yourself, or for whomever awaits you at road's end? Of course, duty calls and you must soon depart, but these precious baubles have a sweet song all their own...
It's a gameshow competition, it's a play, it's a Midsummer where the actors walk on with the text memorized and nothing else. No rehearsals, no director, just a battle of wits and wills to see who best knows their lines while trying to piece together a show. I'm Theseus, the nicest guy in Athens.
The Barefoot Shakespeare Company, free tix, 4pm on Sep. 2, at Summit Rock in Central Park. Come thru!!!
Well, it's time. I've finally upgraded my informal newsletter to a Serious Thing after inadvertently starting an arms race in the NYC theatre community. I refuse to countenance the possibility that the growing number of my peers using newsletters to communicate with their networks actually has nothing to do with me, so don't even suggest it.
Anyway, it's me, hi, I'm Carl Bindman, and you're receiving this because you've received other emails from me, and also we've worked together or studied together or been in the same room once. Networking is my passion.
It's a gameshow competition, it's a play, it's a Midsummer where the actors walk on with the text memorized and nothing else. No rehearsals, no director, just a battle of wits and wills to see who best knows their lines while trying to piece together a show. I'm Theseus, the nicest guy in Athens.