Boston Public Works
  • Home
  • Our Seasons
    • 2017
    • 2015 - 2016 Season >
      • Hard and Fast: a love story
      • The 5th Annual Boston One-Minute Play Festival
      • Citizens of the Empire
      • Unsafe
    • 2014 - 2015 Season >
      • Turtles
      • The One-Minute Play Festival
      • From The Deep
      • Three
  • The Playwrights
    • John Greiner-Ferris
    • Cassie M. Seinuk
    • Emily Kaye Lazzaro
    • Jess Foster
    • Kevin Mullins
    • Jim Dalglish
    • Laura Neubauer
  • Press
    • 5th Annual Boston 1MPF
    • Citizens of the Empire
    • Hard And Fast: a love story
    • Unsafe: a psychological thriller
    • For The Media
    • Our Story >
      • The Back Story
  • Work With Us
    • Benefactors
  • Blog
  • Contact Us

Emily Kaye Lazzaro Talks About Her Firsts

11/26/2015

 
Picture
My first car was a 1994 Honda Accord. My first boyfriend was a tall redheaded Romanian who smoked too much pot and didn’t like me very much.
 
My parents could have gotten me a car, or given me one of their old ones, but they didn’t. My dad said I needed to earn my own way in the world; this was a learning experience for me. He told me he would match whatever I saved and we would buy the car together. I earned something like $1,600 at my minimum wage deli job after school and on weekends, gave it to my dad, and he bought my little Honda from one of the ladies he worked with in New York.
 
It was so beautiful, this car. It was pinkish gray with dark maroon cloth interior and a radio and a tape deck, on which I played mix tapes with Joni Mitchell and Dave Matthews Band and The Smiths and Guster (pretty much an equal mix of respectable and embarrassing artists).
 
I bought feminist and anti-war and environmentalist bumper stickers and a fuzzy steering wheel cover and a leopard-print ball that was made to sit atop the antenna. I used the car as a canvas on which to paint my identity. It was the physical manifestation of who I believed my adolescent self to be.
 
My first boyfriend was originally my best friend’s boyfriend. She wasn’t that into him and I was crazy about him and I would flirt with him on AIM while they were together. When she finally dumped him, it was all I could do to wait a few weeks before I tried to make him mine. And I did, eventually.
 
We dated for a month. Pretty much as soon as he became my boyfriend, the interest started to dissipate. We had almost nothing in common. I told him we should break up over the phone and he said, “Yeah, I was going to dump you.” He was a real charmer.
 
When I went off to college, my brother drove my car to high school and to work and to see his friends. He drove it into the ground, being a teenage boy who hadn’t saved his money to buy it or lovingly decorated it with bumper stickers and antenna balls that defined him. He broke the driver’s side door handle and never got the oil changed and when I came back from college we would fight viciously about who was allowed to use it. He had a distinct lack of appreciation for the perfection that was this little Honda.
 
When my brother went off to college, my mom sold the Honda for $500 to a nice lady who, apparently, fraternized with some unsavory types and it was confiscated in a drug bust.
 
Both my first car and my first boyfriend were things I used as mirrors. I liked the boyfriend because through him I could be pretty and cool. I liked the car because it was my carefully constructed display of values. It made me feel pretty and cool, too.

But cars and boys do not make a person pretty and cool. And also, being pretty and cool are not that important! Having a boyfriend and a car did not make me kind or smart. But I was a teenager.
 
I didn’t know that the best reflection of my true self would ultimately be a short, brown-haired software engineer and a Kia Soul with a convertible infant-to-toddler car seat, a trunk that fits groceries and a stroller, and a towel that smells like a dog’s asshole on the back seat.  Nothing pretty or cool about it, but it’s perfectly me.

Learn more about Hard and Fast: a love story >>

Getting Under The Hood Of Manhood

11/24/2015

0 Comments

 
PictureJess Foster
Hard and Fast: a love story is in an especially interesting slot, considering it follows BPW’s Three by Emily Kaye Lazarro, featuring three women. In contrast, Hard and Fast features three men. Although this play is seemingly an exploration of men relating with each other through their cars, I still insist that it’s feminist. First, this production is backed by a hard-hitting production team consisting mostly of women (and the men involved are just as concerned with women’s equality). But that’s not where the feminist journey started. 

I remember being a little girl with a trendy bowl cut and boy’s sweatpants running around my dad’s garage. I didn’t know then that I was breaking a gender code. As I got older, I started to feel it: men looking at me sideways if I tried to join their conversations about cars. If not for my plucky naivete I might have been afraid to join in the conversations at all, but luckily my ignorance was in full force. That, and my dad might be the biggest feminist of all.

Although he’s a man’s man, he never made me feel like the garage or tools were anything I was exempt from. If anything, he fed my interest as I observed him working on his ‘31 Chevy: an 11-year process that resulted in him selling it when I was away at school.

I studied the way he held tools, the way he talked to other men in the garage, the way they would all move around a garage, jockeying to be heard. I watched as he stood back from the Chevy and observed it like a painter figuring out which brush stroke was next. Because of him I can change my own oil, I can swing a mean hammer, I can ask a mechanic enough questions for him to know I can’t be taken advantage of. Because of him, I feel like this is my world too.  

The label of “feminism” implies that you explore the female gender, but in order to find that answer I found myself continually drawn to the question: What does it take to be a man?

This play is a result of my fixation with that question and with this “man’s world”. Although tough, handy men often have a bad reputation for being close-minded or uneducated, as a tomboy and later a lesbian, I have found more acceptance and equal treatment from these men than many others that I have encountered in my life. They don’t lower their expectations for me. If something is heavy, they still make me carry it. In return, they give me their respect.

Equality, like these men, can sometimes be tough. But rest assured, they also have a strong, albeit understated, ability to love, even if it is mostly directed towards their cars. This love story is for them.

0 Comments

Hard and Fast: a love story: The Set

11/16/2015

0 Comments

 
PictureScenic Designer Natalie Khuen
Jess wrote a play for three actors, but she added two additional characters: the cars. The cars in Hard and Fast: a love story are a huge part of the story and how to represent them onstage was the major challenge for me as the scenic designer for this production. We knew right away we didn’t need or want to have realistic cars onstage; instead we wanted to create something a little more abstract and flexible. That said, we still wanted to express the specific characters of these cars to the audience. The main cars in the show, the Austin Healey 3000 and the Chevy Fleetline, have distinct front-ends that really look like facial expressions.

Picture
Austin Healey 3000
Picture
Chevy Fleetline
My research for the design led me to the work of Damian Ortega, a visual artist who takes car parts and suspends them in space to create a floating, ghostly abstraction of the vehicle. [Images attached] Since our cars needed to be able to move around the space, I designed streamlined metal frames on wheels to suspend the parts rather than hanging them from above. I pared the cars down to their essential elements—things like headlights, grille, hubcaps, etc. The design for the rest of the space developed organically around the design of the cars.
Picture
Picture
Picture
Hard and Fast: a love story set rendering
0 Comments

Load-in

11/15/2015

0 Comments

 
Today was load-in for Hard and Fast: a love story at--the day the designers and technical people and actors and director and don't forget the playwright all move from the rehearsal space to the production's actual venue. In this case, we're at The Stanford Calderwood Pavilion at the Boston Center for the Arts.

Hard and Fast: a love story is our first show of our second season, and today was like going home again because we're in the same space that we produced our first show ever, Turtles a year ago.

Hard and Fast: a love story, opens this Friday. Get your tickets by clicking on the button on the right.

See you in the theater.
0 Comments

Meet The artistic Team of Hard And Fast: a love story

11/10/2015

1 Comment

 
1 Comment

Truck Guys

11/9/2015

0 Comments

 
PictureJohn Greiner-Ferris
I’ve been asked to write a blog post on car guys, which is a major theme in Jess Foster’s play, Hard and Fast: a love story, our upcoming production, and which I, admittedly, am not.  I don’t think I’ll ever own another car again. Now a truck, that’s different. Trucks are country songs and dogs and bottles of whiskey in the glove box. Trucks are good heaters on a winter’s night. Trucks are not caring what you throw in the bed, cause you can just hose it out when you get home. Trucks are not ever coming out of a store wondering where you parked your truck, cause you always park it in the far corner, with all the other trucks.

I’m on my second truck. Once a bright red, it’s now a faded and beat-up 1997 Ford F-150 Super Cab coming up on 200,000 miles, with a long bed and the biggest V8 Ford had at the time. It has more dents, dings, and scratches than a 50-year-old humpback has barnacles, and most of them weren’t put there by me. Assorted children, ex-wives, and wives have wrapped the bed around poles, minivans, and God knows what else. Once, my ex-wife backed her Volvo station wagon smack into its side.  Just broadsided it. What’d you do that for? I asked, though in the back of my mind I knew she had about ten good reasons for doing it. It didn’t hurt it, she said. There are three long scratches on the hood where I cleaned it off last winter with a snow shovel.

I love this truck, I once said to Jimmy Abdon, the mechanic who works on it in Quincy. I know you do, he replied, with traces of sadness and pity as he struggled to loosen a headlight frozen to the grill. You’re going to have to bury him in it, Jimmy said to my wife, who drives a hot little black Saab. Just about everything is rusted on tight or has rusted off. The spare tire damn near fell off when the bracket holding it against the gas tank rusted through. So I just slung the spare in the bed. It’s not worth stealing, so I feel safe about that. I use silver metal tape to patch up the running boards and fenders. I just keep layering it on until there’s more silver tape than there ever was original metal.

Nobody bothers you when you’re driving this old Ford. If I want to turn left I just ease through the intersection, and if I want to change lanes on the highway, I just hit the blinker and slide over. People get out of my way. Nobody behind you honks if you sit a second too long when the light turns green. I imagine people think you got a gun or something hidden under the seat somewhere. God knows what kind of outlaw would drive something that decrepit in broad daylight, they must be thinking, in plain sight of women and children. On nice days I roll down the windows and crank Gillian Welch or Mary Gauthier. Chris Knight or the Black Lillies.  John Prine.
 
You can have a lot of friends, if you want, when you drive a truck. I once saw a bumper sticker that read, Yes, this is my truck, and no, I won’t help you move. That pretty much sums up a truck guy, right there. I’ll tell you something else about truck guys: There’s a whole little secret world out there where we let each other make turns, give little nods to one other, inspect each other’s rigs. Mine may not be the prettiest, but it’s bought and paid for. It’s like seeing an old dog; they know I’m nursing this Ford along, keeping it alive as long as the engine can turn over on a cold morning, like they hope to do for theirs someday. 

Learn more about Hard and Fast: a love story >>
0 Comments

BPW Playwrights And Their First

11/6/2015

0 Comments

 
The P's talk about their first...
Learn more about Hard and Fast: a love story >>
Tell us about your first >>
0 Comments

    Boston Public Works Theater Company

    We're a group of playwrights in Boston who have banded together to produce one play each, then we will disband.

    Get Tix to Los Meadows

    Archives

    June 2017
    April 2017
    October 2016
    September 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014

Boston Public Works is a sponsored project of Fractured Atlas, a non-profit arts service organization. Contributions for the charitable purposes of Boston Public Works must be made payable to Fractured Atlas only and are tax-deductible to the extent permitted by law.
Home page and header image courtesy of 
Boston Discovery Guide 
(c) Copyright BostonDiscoveryGuide.com
Picture
This project is made possible in part by funding from
Eastern Bank Charitable Foundation and
The Particle Foundation

Picture
Picture
You can follow our journey through The Works, Boston Public Works Newsletter. Sign up here. 
Home
Our Story
The Playwrights
News & Reviews
Collaborate
Blog
Contact BPW
Donate now