Scholarship
Research and Writing:
My scholarship focuses largely on theatre (and pop culture more generally) and economics, ranging from Marxist/materialist interpretations of specific plays to larger, overarching work on labor in the hierarchy of Not-For-Profit theatres. Here are excerpts from some recent papers:
Excerpt from "We've Forgotten the Power of Protest Musicals' Most Popular Songs":
The Inaugural concert segment paired “Let the Sunshine In” with a song from another famous protest-musical. The Broadway medley, which featured a panoply of musical theatre stars from Hamilton’s Christopher Jackson and Renee Ellis Goldsberry to Tony- and Presidential Medal of Freedom-winner Chita Rivera, opened with “Seasons of Love,” Rent’s funereal gospel-inflected number. Fans of the show, and former theatre kids aged roughly 25-40, will connect it implicitly to one character’s AIDS-related death in act two, although the song actually occurs in outside of space and outside of time within the show’s reality. The song works in subtext, speaking to celebrations of life and love amid grief and hardship.
The cut to “Let the Sunshine In” within the medley was a deliberate choice by the coordinators of the number. Seth Rudetsky, who produced and arranged the segment, noted that “Let the Sunshine In” was his first thought when asked to put together a Broadway-related bit for the Inauguration. But he “soon thought of the lyrics before the chorus of ‘Let the Sunshine In’ and realized it would be very weird to have people celebrating the inauguration while singing about a ‘spider web sitar.’” Rudetsky settled on the medley when he realized that “‘Let The Sunshine In’ was this joyous call-to-action, but we thought ‘Seasons Of Love’ really represented what we had been through, especially over the last year.”
...
As arranged for the inauguration, the medley sets us up to feel hope, with the first oh-so familiar chords of “Seasons of Love.” (If you know nothing else about Rent, you surely know those opening piano chords.) The medley then bursts into a joyous cacophony at the introduction of “Let the Sunshine In,” rather than letting the song build in its traditional crescendo. These songs, thus arranged, build from the quietly nostalgic beginning to loudly evoke hope and joy in listeners by the end.
But that hope depends on our forgetting many things. To enjoy “Seasons of Love/Let the Sunshine In,” we needed momentarily to forget that Hair especially was an antiwar show opposing the United States government’s deadly policies, particularly the draft. We needed to forget — as we have for other popular covers of the song — that Claude dies during the song. We needed to forget that 400,000 people had died of COVID-19 at that point, and that deaths were climbing every day. We needed to forget that every performer appearing in the medley is currently unemployed, and that current reopening plans in New York do not meet safety or wage standards for Actor’s Equity.
Excerpt from "Three Men, Six Musicals, One Singular Sensation:
The Public Theater's New Musicals from Hair to Hamilton" (Master's Thesis, also presented at Philadelphia Theatre Research Symposium 2018 and American Society for Theatre Research 2019):
Papp’s notes from that late February run—the second workshop manuscript is dated 20 February 1975—indicate his focus on grounding the musical in a concrete relationship, Zach/Cassie. His notes discuss the need to “develop Zach Cassie story progressively—not in one big lump of a scene.” [1] The second workshop script featured a ten-page scene laying out Zach and Cassie’s history together before continuing on with the audition—and ultimately, Cassie left the audition without a role.[2] While Papp liked the sad ending, he felt the play dramatically needed to “interlace individual stories with later production numbers and Zach’s Strindbergian attack on Cassie” (emphasis Papp’s).[3] As the second workshop manuscript also gave Zach a current male love interest, Papp hoped to make him more essential to the plot, suggesting a ‘vendetta’ motivation for Zach/Cassie and that Zach’s current lover could be on the line.[1]
Papp had further character notes on Zach. Faced with a long string of monologues and songs prompted by Zach’s questions, he noted the audience’s need to “have a growing notion for the third degree tactics of Zach.”[2] To rectify this, he offered a structural note—“intermittent ‘scenes’ with Zach + producer…—or whomever— to break continual line of unexplained interrogation¨—and a character note, that Zach “must have a problem too!”[3]
...
Papp’s notes from the second workshop run and script not only helped improve the dramatic integrity of the show—they show shrewd business sense that set A Chorus Line up for commercial and award-show success. Papp’s repeated insistence on differentiating Zach and Cassie’s plotline did more than anchor the story—it gave the “starless” musical stars. While Bennett continued to discuss the musical as star-free, history says otherwise—Donna McKechnie, who played Cassie, was ultimately nominated for and awarded Best Leading Actress in a Musical, while the other actors of the notable characters of the show were nominated for Best Featured Actor/Actress in a Musical (with awards going to Sammy Williams as Paul and Carole/Kelly Bishop as Sheila).[1] Differentiating a star also proved a successful marketing technique, evidenced by McKechnie’s place of honor on the cover of Newsweek magazine on 1 December 1975.[2] While some in the cast came to resent this differentiation of stars in an allegedly starless musical—actor Cameron (Rick) Mason said later that Bennett “lied to us about that because if he believed it…he would have put the whole Line on [the cover of Newsweek]”— discerning a star from the ensemble cast increased A Chorus Line’s theatrical pedigree by setting it up for awards in three acting categories, rather than all of the “Big Six” (the roles of Cassie, Zach, Shiela, Paul, Diana, and Val) competing for two Featured Actor/Actress awards. [3] Whether or not Papp did this consciously, his artistic aims proved to be sound business strategies as well."
[1] “1976 Tony Awards Winners,” BroadwayWorld, accessed 21 March 2018. https://www.broadwayworld.com/tonyawardsyear.cfm?year=1976
[2] Newsweek cover, 1 December 1975, Joseph Papp / New York Shakespeare Festival Collection, *T-Mss 1993-028, Billy Rose Theatre Division, The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts.
[3] Vargas, Lee, and Walsh, On the Line, 286; Vargas, Lee, and Walsh, On the Line, 196.
[1] A page from the workshop #2 A Chorus Line manuscript, 20 February 1975, box 2-67, file 9, Joseph Papp / New York Shakespeare Festival Collection, *T-Mss 1993-028, Billy Rose Theatre Division, The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts.
[2] The final page of the Cassie/Zach scene in workshop #2 A Chorus Line manuscript, 20 February 1975, box 2-67, file 9, Joseph Papp / New York Shakespeare Festival Collection, *T-Mss 1993-028, Billy Rose Theatre Division, The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts; Turan, Free for All, 389.
[3] Joseph Papp’s production notes on A Chorus Line, circa. February 1975, box 2-67, file 6, Joseph Papp / New York Shakespeare Festival Collection, *T-Mss 1993-028, Billy Rose Theatre Division, The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts.
[1] Ultimately, Zach’s male lover was cut entirely from the final script, although Zach retained some bisexual subtext. Turan, Free for All, 381; Joseph Papp’s production notes on A Chorus Line, circa February 1975, box 2-67, file 6, Joseph Papp / New York Shakespeare Festival Collection, *T-Mss 1993-028, Billy Rose Theatre Division, The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts.
[2] Joseph Papp’s production notes on A Chorus Line, circa February 1975, box 2-67, file 6, Joseph Papp / New York Shakespeare Festival Collection, *T-Mss 1993-028, Billy Rose Theatre Division, The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts.
[3] Joseph Papp’s production notes on A Chorus Line, circa February 1975, box 2-67, file 6, Joseph Papp / New York Shakespeare Festival Collection, *T-Mss 1993-028, Billy Rose Theatre Division, The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts.
Teaching:
Selected experiences:
Intro to Stage Craft at Young Performers Theatre Camp
Guest teaching artist at the Wilma Theater
Guest lecturer at Villanova University (Augustine Culture Seminar I, Theories of Performance Studies, and graduate Musical Theatre)
Stage Management workshop leader at New Jersey Junior Thespian Festival
PHOTO: Casey presenting at PTRS 2018
Excerpt from "They're the Criminals: We're the Millers as a (Humorous) Factional Tragedy" (Presented at Kenneth Burke Society Triennial Conference 2017):
Notably, the film’s most powerful character, multimillionaire Brad Gurdlinger, places all the power in the hands of the Mexican characters. He initially claims that Pablo Chacon is his business name in Mexico, as “the Mexicans wouldn’t respect” someone named Brad Gurdlinger (Anders et al. 2013)... This relationship proves disastrous for Gurdlinger; at the film’s end, he, Chacon, and One-Eye are all arrested by Don Fitzgerald, the DEA agent the Millers meet on the road, making Gurdlinger the only white character to receive any punishment for his crimes. In adopting the symbols of the other faction, Gurdlinger opens himself up to “be[ing] accused of being on their side” (Burke, 1973, p. 269); in his case, the accusation sticks, sending him to jail.
The Millers, conversely, gradually adopt the reigning American symbols of authority, as exemplified in the Fitzgerald family. Wholesome to a fault, the Fitzgerald family represents everything the Miller family puts on as their disguise: a white, middle-class, Christian family travelling together in an RV for family bonding time over a holiday weekend...While the Millers begin their trip entirely as a role to earn them money, throughout the film, they gradually begin to sincerely adopt the roles they took on at the start. Kenny and Casey begin to call Rose “Mom” in private as well as in public toward the end of the film, which shows that the Millers have begun to adopt these family roles in earnest, much like the Fitzgerald family. At the film’s climax, David admits that he loves Rose, Kenney, and Casey as though they are a family, at which point Chacon refers to them as “[his] family” (Anders et al. 2013), which serves as a public recognition of the family’s adoption of the symbols.
The adoption of the symbols of the authority—in this case, symbols of the American family—prevents the Millers from being punished at all for their crimes. Despite smuggling two tons of marijuana into the country, none of the Millers are arrested. After arresting One-Eye and Chacon, Don Fitzgerald deliberately turns his back to the Millers to allow them to ‘escape’ arrest, thus showing them sympathy. ...
However, the Millers’ identification with the American family and American law enforcement acts as a form of identification by inaccuracy. The Millers do not significantly change their behavior or lifestyle, despite adopting the symbols of authority. Notably, their new suburban environs include marijuana plants in the garden. This indicates that the Millers’ identification with the symbols of authority stems from a utilitarian view of these symbols and the dominant frame in general: that is, by adopting the symbols of authority, the Millers are able to both be pardoned for their criminal activity while also continuing to perform it, as the crime in question has been identified as decidedly 'not American.' The film’s closing scene may also indicate that the law, not the Millers, is mistaken about the role of marijuana in the United States—in the U.S., marijuana should be acceptable and legal for law-abiding folks, although it makes—and should make—hardened, dangerous criminals of Mexicans and those who help them. In this case, the film leaves its viewers with a dual program of action: viewers should both support marijuana legalization within the U.S. as well as efforts to strictly police the border.
We’re the Millers was a summer comedy that turned into a greater hit than anyone expected, generating lasting cultural capital. This alone demonstrates its potential power as a rhetorical text, as it clearly speaks to a large sect of American society. However, it propagates a type of equipment for living. We’re the Millers represents border politics as a binary in which characters are either white Americans or Mexicans, with no room for in-between space. It demonizes Mexican drug cartels while simultaneously advancing a pro-marijuana story. Further, it equates all Mexicans to criminals, while allowing American characters a pass on their behavior. We’re the Millers draws hard-and-fast battle lines, delineating clearly who is Mexican, who is American, and who needs to be punished for acts that both sides commit—in this film, only Mexicans. At the time of this paper’s original writing, border policies were a hot debate—and now, one year and one ordered wall later, Trump’s border and wall have become the pillars of a new administration, making investigations of America’s beliefs and attitudes towards those who share our border more important than ever.
Films and the messages they convey do not exist in a solely fictional realm entirely divorced from the ‘real world’— as Burke (1984) notes, “Words are not puppets. They have more than mere ‘delegated power. They also command” (p. 332). In the factional tragedy, these words command us to act a certain way towards toward the evil other faction; in We’re the Millers, this means aligning oneself with the symbols of American authority to ensure the protection of that authority, despite committing the same crimes as those the authority punishes. These commands have real, important consequences on the lives of the scapegoated groups; as Roy (2004) notes, the selection of scapegoats “inevitably ends in tragedy” (p. 330). If we as Americans continue to name Mexicans as criminals and others without investigation, critique, or nuance, the outcome will be tragic. Thus, it is imperative for us to investigate our attitudes, where they come from, and how they manifest themselves in public life. Understanding the factional work at play in popular culture allows one to become aware of—and hopefully, prevent further—scapegoating of particular, marginalized groups within society without falling trap to the dangers of a strict ‘us vs. them’ mentality."