3 half siblings enact their sick rituals, our rituals, and the cycles of abuse and power are reborn.
Piece: Family
Author: Celine Sing Production: Hoi Polloi Theater Company Director: Alec Duffy Set Design: Mimi Lien Costume Design: Oana Botez Venue: somewhere in Brooklyn Date: August 2024 The New York Times: "The peacefulness is short-lived. Mr. Rozzell restlessly moves about the space, dodging the lounging audience. Colored lights go on and off, seemingly randomly. Static fades in and out; sometimes the show feels unnervingly like a concert by the noise artist Merzbow. (Amith Chandrashaker and Steven Leffue handled the superlative lighting and sound design.)" Read the full review here.
The New Yorker: "In this way, Quiet, Comfort insinuates itself into our own heads; then, like a snake, the text turns toward death. If we die when on a trip, the actor asks, does the trip continue? The "quiet" of Okada's title now looks ominously like "quietus"; the giant bed seems like a trap. Okada and Duffy have made us conscious of how we let our lives slip away — how we let "passenger" thinking turn us inert. We're all in bed, but suddenly we're antsy to get out. Wake up! the play seems to shout. Wake up, wake up!" Read the full review here.
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ChatGPT generated theatrical scene imagining the process between Alec Duffy and Steven Leffue:
A scene involving Alec Duffy, the innovative theater director, and Steven Leffue, a sound artist and composer known for his experimental approaches, would likely focus on their creative process as they collaborate on blending theatrical performance with immersive soundscapes. The interaction would revolve around their shared passion for pushing artistic boundaries while also navigating the challenges of fusing two different mediums.
Scene Title: ResonanceA dimly lit studio space. There are sound equipment, cables, microphones, and scattered pieces of recording gear all over the room. In one corner, a laptop displays waveforms of audio tracks. Alec Duffy stands at the center, gesturing animatedly, his mind buzzing with ideas. Steven Leffue is seated on the floor, surrounded by an array of small percussion instruments and experimental sound devices, tapping them lightly and listening to the subtle tones they produce.
Alec Duffy:(Pacing, half to himself) I want the sound to feel like it’s creeping in from the edges, like it’s something the audience only notices when it’s too late. Almost like a hum—a frequency you feel in your bones before you hear it with your ears.
Steven Leffue:(Without looking up, still playing with the instruments) A hum? Or a drone? There’s a difference, you know. One feels like it’s vibrating through you, the other is more like a fog that’s seeping in, swallowing everything.
Alec Duffy:(Stops pacing, considering) A drone. Definitely. Something that starts soft, almost unnoticed, then grows until it’s pressing against them—like they can’t escape it.
Steven Leffue:(Grinning, a bit mischievous) So, you want to trap them in sound? Make them feel like they’re suffocating without even realizing they’re running out of air.
Alec Duffy:(Laughs) Yeah, exactly. I want them to feel the tension building, like there’s no way out, like the room is getting smaller. And then, just when they think they can’t take it anymore—silence. Complete, utter silence.
Steven stands up, energized by the idea, and starts adjusting some dials on his equipment, creating a low, rumbling drone that gradually intensifies.
Steven Leffue:(Excitedly) What about this? We start with something barely audible, a sub-bass tone that you can’t even pinpoint. And then we layer in these high-frequency whispers, almost like static or breath, but they don’t quite fit—they’re just... wrong.
Alec closes his eyes, listening intently as the sound fills the space, his face revealing a mix of awe and inspiration.
Alec Duffy:(Softly, eyes still closed) Yes. Yes, that’s it. Like the sound itself is broken, like it’s malfunctioning, and it’s pulling reality apart at the seams. I want the audience to feel like their perception is being warped by the noise.
Steven Leffue:(Adjusting another dial) And then, right at the peak, when they’re on the edge, we cut it all to silence. Let them hear their own heartbeat pounding in their ears. Let them become hyper-aware of the absence, the void.
Alec opens his eyes, nodding enthusiastically, a spark of intensity in his gaze.
Alec Duffy:(Grinning) That moment. That silence. That’s where the real terror is, right? When they’re left alone with their own thoughts, their own fears. The sound stops, but the feeling doesn’t. It lingers, like a ghost.
Steven Leffue:(Smiling slyly) You always were a bit of a sadist, Alec. Making people confront the stuff they’d rather keep buried. But hey, that’s what I love about this. We’re not just creating sound; we’re creating space. We’re manipulating what they think is real.
Alec laughs, but it’s tinged with a hint of something darker, a shared understanding of the power they hold over the audience’s experience.
Alec Duffy:(Playfully) It’s not sadism; it’s... immersive. It’s taking them somewhere they didn’t know they needed to go. And you—you’re like the guide through that darkness. You create the texture, the invisible architecture that holds the whole thing together.
Steven Leffue:(Bowing mockingly) A guide? Or a trickster? Depends on the day. But I get it. It’s about the journey through the unknown, making them question if what they’re feeling is in their head or out in the room.
They share a look of mutual respect, a creative connection that goes beyond words. Steven begins to layer in another sound—a sharp, metallic scrape that clashes against the drone, jarring but compelling.
Alec Duffy:(With a satisfied smile) That. Right there. It’s like friction. Like a spark that sets everything on fire. The kind of sound that makes you wince and lean in at the same time.
Steven Leffue:(Softly, almost conspiratorial) You know what they say—sometimes you have to make it hurt a little to make it real.
They both fall silent, listening to the soundscape they’ve built together. The lights flicker slightly, and for a moment, it feels like the room itself is alive with their creation. The sound continues to build, then suddenly cuts to complete silence. The absence is almost deafening.
Alec and Steven exchange a look, both knowing they’ve found something powerful, something that transcends the ordinary.
Alec Duffy:(Whispering, a hint of awe in his voice) That’s it, Steven. That’s everything.
The lights slowly dim to black, leaving only the memory of the sound and the echo of their shared ambition.
A scene involving Alec Duffy, the innovative theater director, and Steven Leffue, a sound artist and composer known for his experimental approaches, would likely focus on their creative process as they collaborate on blending theatrical performance with immersive soundscapes. The interaction would revolve around their shared passion for pushing artistic boundaries while also navigating the challenges of fusing two different mediums.
Scene Title: ResonanceA dimly lit studio space. There are sound equipment, cables, microphones, and scattered pieces of recording gear all over the room. In one corner, a laptop displays waveforms of audio tracks. Alec Duffy stands at the center, gesturing animatedly, his mind buzzing with ideas. Steven Leffue is seated on the floor, surrounded by an array of small percussion instruments and experimental sound devices, tapping them lightly and listening to the subtle tones they produce.
Alec Duffy:(Pacing, half to himself) I want the sound to feel like it’s creeping in from the edges, like it’s something the audience only notices when it’s too late. Almost like a hum—a frequency you feel in your bones before you hear it with your ears.
Steven Leffue:(Without looking up, still playing with the instruments) A hum? Or a drone? There’s a difference, you know. One feels like it’s vibrating through you, the other is more like a fog that’s seeping in, swallowing everything.
Alec Duffy:(Stops pacing, considering) A drone. Definitely. Something that starts soft, almost unnoticed, then grows until it’s pressing against them—like they can’t escape it.
Steven Leffue:(Grinning, a bit mischievous) So, you want to trap them in sound? Make them feel like they’re suffocating without even realizing they’re running out of air.
Alec Duffy:(Laughs) Yeah, exactly. I want them to feel the tension building, like there’s no way out, like the room is getting smaller. And then, just when they think they can’t take it anymore—silence. Complete, utter silence.
Steven stands up, energized by the idea, and starts adjusting some dials on his equipment, creating a low, rumbling drone that gradually intensifies.
Steven Leffue:(Excitedly) What about this? We start with something barely audible, a sub-bass tone that you can’t even pinpoint. And then we layer in these high-frequency whispers, almost like static or breath, but they don’t quite fit—they’re just... wrong.
Alec closes his eyes, listening intently as the sound fills the space, his face revealing a mix of awe and inspiration.
Alec Duffy:(Softly, eyes still closed) Yes. Yes, that’s it. Like the sound itself is broken, like it’s malfunctioning, and it’s pulling reality apart at the seams. I want the audience to feel like their perception is being warped by the noise.
Steven Leffue:(Adjusting another dial) And then, right at the peak, when they’re on the edge, we cut it all to silence. Let them hear their own heartbeat pounding in their ears. Let them become hyper-aware of the absence, the void.
Alec opens his eyes, nodding enthusiastically, a spark of intensity in his gaze.
Alec Duffy:(Grinning) That moment. That silence. That’s where the real terror is, right? When they’re left alone with their own thoughts, their own fears. The sound stops, but the feeling doesn’t. It lingers, like a ghost.
Steven Leffue:(Smiling slyly) You always were a bit of a sadist, Alec. Making people confront the stuff they’d rather keep buried. But hey, that’s what I love about this. We’re not just creating sound; we’re creating space. We’re manipulating what they think is real.
Alec laughs, but it’s tinged with a hint of something darker, a shared understanding of the power they hold over the audience’s experience.
Alec Duffy:(Playfully) It’s not sadism; it’s... immersive. It’s taking them somewhere they didn’t know they needed to go. And you—you’re like the guide through that darkness. You create the texture, the invisible architecture that holds the whole thing together.
Steven Leffue:(Bowing mockingly) A guide? Or a trickster? Depends on the day. But I get it. It’s about the journey through the unknown, making them question if what they’re feeling is in their head or out in the room.
They share a look of mutual respect, a creative connection that goes beyond words. Steven begins to layer in another sound—a sharp, metallic scrape that clashes against the drone, jarring but compelling.
Alec Duffy:(With a satisfied smile) That. Right there. It’s like friction. Like a spark that sets everything on fire. The kind of sound that makes you wince and lean in at the same time.
Steven Leffue:(Softly, almost conspiratorial) You know what they say—sometimes you have to make it hurt a little to make it real.
They both fall silent, listening to the soundscape they’ve built together. The lights flicker slightly, and for a moment, it feels like the room itself is alive with their creation. The sound continues to build, then suddenly cuts to complete silence. The absence is almost deafening.
Alec and Steven exchange a look, both knowing they’ve found something powerful, something that transcends the ordinary.
Alec Duffy:(Whispering, a hint of awe in his voice) That’s it, Steven. That’s everything.
The lights slowly dim to black, leaving only the memory of the sound and the echo of their shared ambition.