L.A. Small Theatre: Weird Little Pirate Ships

Thanks to six seasons on the sitcom “3rd Rock From the Sun,” French Stewart is bona fide star, yet he still loves performing in tiny theatres, where he’ll never get a large paycheck and may have to smoke in an alley. Recently, he wrote an essay for the L.A. Stage Times explaining why. We’re pleased to republish that essay in TDF Stages: It’s a great testament to why the theatre will always be exciting. [Note: The play that Stewart refers to at the end of the story closed earlier this month.]

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By FRENCH STEWART

About 25 years ago I did my first play in L.A., in a stinky dump called Galaxy Stage near Western and Santa Monica. We were required to clean toilets, mop the floor, and not ask questions about money. At night they used our set to film porn, and on your way out of the theatre, a certain “pant-less gentleman” might pee at you. Yes. At you!

It’s pretty common in the world of small theatre. It’s what you’d call “local color.” With no centralized drama district to speak of, our theatres float in weird neighborhoods like weird little pirate ships. Over the years, just outside some of L.A.’s small theatres, I’ve been lucky enough to witness (and this is true)—an angry Honduran man whipping a crackhead with jumper cables, a shirtless octogenarian “looking for a date”, and a raccoon who walked upright to intimidate people.

On the up side, I’ve seen a 70-year-old actress have a stroke at intermission—and still finish the show. I’ve seen a tech staff perform electronic miracles (when all hope was lost) and a sick actor vomit in his hat and still get his laugh. Ta-da!

I find true hope in this. In a modern world where entertainment flows directly into your home, this might be hard to understand. Television, computers, and even your phone are all capable of “drowning” you with easy entertainment at the push of a button. So why small theatre? A couple of years ago I told a friend I was doing another play, and she seemed really perplexed. “Why are you still doing this, French? It’s an irrelevant art form. You might as well concentrate on CAVE PAINTING!”

Indeed. For me it’s really simple. It’s a small group of people making something for another small group of people. It’s the same feeling you get when someone sends you an actual letter, prepares a meal for you, or helps you move furniture. It’s personal. Time has been taken, effort expressed. It connects both parties in a very direct way. Plus, you’ve had an experience that isn’t held hostage on hard drive or film. It’s the sole property of memory. Lovely.

This year I had the joy of connecting my longtime theatre company (the Justin Tanners) with my new theatre company (the Sacred Fools). We did a Tanners play (Voice Lessons) at the Fools and the merge was seamless. Two pirates! One ship! Awesome!

It’s what theatre should be. A brotherhood. A bunch of weirdos puttin’ up a show. For better or worse, richer or poorer, wrinkled or no, full house or not, spooks on the street. Community.

Two years ago I met my wife Vanessa [Claire Smith] in a “green room romance” at the Geffen. She was doing Louis & Keely – Live At The Sahara (which she originated at Sacred Fools), and I was working with Matthew Modine in the big theatre. I would hit on her, she would laugh, and Matthew Modine would throw a giant water bottle the length of the hall. (He just really liked the sound.) At this point Vanessa and Jake Broder would perform a “light saber battle” using iPhones, or she and Erin Matthews would perform “Robot vs Prospector” (trust me, it’s hilarious). Jack-assery!

On opening night she invited me to a tiki bar in North Hollywood. Conversation was easy, we got super hammered, and then we made out on her car. Yes, on it. We were never apart again. I found my personal pirate! Theatre.

We got married in June. It was the best day of my life. My “best mate” was Jon Palmer (a Tanner), and a bunch of other Tanners/Fools flew to New Orleans to be at our wedding. We got married at Preservation Hall. I wrote my vows and Vanessa sang “Come Rain or Come Shine” for hers. Theatre. We did a second line down St. Peter Street with family, friends, the Preservation Hall Band, and two motorcycle cops. Theatre. We had our reception at the Napoleon House. It was a bunch of actors singing, drinking, doing the electric slide. Great theatre.

Afterward we all went to Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar, named after the pirate Jean Lafitte. It’s the oldest bar in America, and there’s a fireplace so you can smelt your sword. (Oh, and he also put people in it.) At the end of the evening, my friend Dave Franklin (the best stage manager in town—and fantastic hard-ass) came up to me. He said, “That was awesome!” All I heard was, “Great show!”

After the wedding, Vanessa and I got on a big dopey cruise. We sang karaoke every night (our “Love Shack” has gotten really good) and I performed on the ship with Second City. “On your honeymoon, French Stewart? Your time of love?” Yes. I’m a full-time pirate. Even at actual sea.

Things have settled, and I’m back with the Fools performing in Watson, a beautiful play.

Backstage, we do a pedophile-themed vocal warm up (“get in the van, I’m a family friend, get in the van, I’m a family friend…”) and in front of the theater I regularly get hassled for smoking while dressed as the Queen of England. Business as usual. All is right with the world. Smooth sailing on the Ship of Fools. Yar.