(an Ode I wrote to my cast members of Twelve Angry Men)
Oh, rare and radiant men,
With whom I shared a cage;
Tis time to bid farewell,
To this classic of the American Stage.
Quiet, precise, and timely like the Swiss
Brandon was pensive and special.
His gymnastic notation as we improvised blocking;
Any wonder he writes in pencil?
The fire in our hearts,
The master of our cups,
My god, did this woman take a break?
And if it wasn’t ENOUGH,
Continue reading Ode to Angry
So what do I do now?
This goddamn room.
This goddamn house.
This goddamn life.
So many books, papers, journals.
I found one of my old journals today.
I opened it up to see what my life was like, and it terrified me.
You know when someone tells you a story
“Man, I know this guy
who goes to work
and comes home
and eats crap all day
hates his job
That was me!
There are portions of my life I cringe at.
Here I am with bread baked,
bagels ready to be rolled,
banana nut muffins just outta the oven
and damn—I’m missing you kiddo.
I never wanted this for us.
You weren’t old enough to tell me what you wanted.
Maybe one day it’ll be different.
Maybe one day I’ll be different.
Oh, I forgot to tell you…
i was eating a banana
(I know you hate bananas)
and my daughter claimed up to where I was sitting
and she took a bite,
Then took my hand
holding the fruit
and pushed it to my mouth….
and i thought.
That was really sweet.
You would have liked that,
because it was a kind thing.
And that’s what everyone always says about you.
You’re such a kind
lovable boy I ever met.
Oh. And when i turned on the computer at night?
That’s the page I found open
How to Teleport.
If you ever figure it out
Let me know.
Elan Zafir as “Hubert” in King John
Photo by Teresa Wood
It’s really challenging to be a great father.
I’m writing a TV show.
I need a new oven.
Money is tighter/more tight than average.
But what I’d really like to discuss today is what happens to me when I die.
What happens to me when I die.
What will I miss.
What am I not going to see.
What AM I going to see.
I just realized last night that in a certain amount of time it’s all over.
It doesn’t go on.
I am not a part of things.
Did its make me sad?
I really felt it last night.
I have a finite time on earth.
Then it’s over.
Nothing else is going to happen for me.
And that’s a strange concept to truly understand.
If everyone truly understood the concept
In a certain/
In a finite amount of time
Nothing is ever going to happen to you again…
There would be…
Something would come out of that.
We’re all gone.
Now, what IF something else happens.
Something happens when we sleep, but not always.
It’s possible SOMETHING might happen to us when we die.
But who will know about it.
Who will care.
Will it be the same characters.
Will I care if it’s new characters.
Will I have a deeper understanding of these characters.
What if the people there don’t know me.
What if I have introduce myself all over again.
What if I have to be a baby again.
Do I have a choice?
IS there free-will?
I don’t know that I want to go away
For so long.
Megan Graves & Elan Zafir
Photo by Teresa Wood
Folger Theatre Production of King John
A Starbucks in Washington, DC.
And this woman who was seated with three other women—were normal enough.
I noticed one asked another table to borrow an iPhone charger.
Nothing weird about that.
If anything, I noticed that she asked in a way that I would definitely give her mine.
It was slow, and cautious.
She took her time with her words.
And the table next to them, let them borrow the charger.
And Okay fine.
There was a woman I was staring at.
She was extremely thin.
but not in a sick way.
In a European—this is me—way.
Whatever, I liked her.
As they are leaving.
One of the four
(No the one I like)
Said “I hope you weren’t listening to our conversations.”
I said “I heard everything.”
Being funny, but also secretly hoping they were talking about me
Then suddenly I could get the European girls number.
For the record I do not think she was European.
She then says “I’m going to pray for you.”
I was so taken aback,
I said “you’re going to what?”
“I’m going to pray for you.”
She touched my shoulder and said
This man needs our help.
This man has had things taken.
This man has had things taken from him.
My mind went absolutely insane.
What was taken from me?
She was speaking in such an incredible hushed tone.
I believed every word she said.
What was taken from me?
I couldn’t even conjure an image in my mind.
I think my life is wonderful.
I’m lucky for everything I have.
I couldn’t think of a single person that’s hurt me.
You know this, Jesus.
And he not only needs what was taken from him.
He will be repaid tenfold.
This man, oh Jesus, needs to be returned payment in FULL.
This I beg of you, Jesus Christ. Master of my Domain.
King of Kings.”
I thanked her.
What else could I do?
It was like a performance.
And she walked away.
She had such incredible power.
Praying really is powerful.
She asked God for help.
That was so nice.
Though she had such a hard edge to her voice.
I hope no one gets hurt.
I still feel her hand on my shoulder.
Another birthday come and gone.
A child is five and a half months old.
She is eating breast milk and rice.
It’s a single grain cereal.
One child is eating rice.
Another child is boxing.
And again, I’m father of the year.
Keep hearing stories,
“Be careful with your dog!”
“Dog and new babies don’t mix!”
“Like oil and vinegar!”
“Or, cats and paper
Continue reading she’s on her play-mat
Elan Zafir’s autobiographical solo “The Unaccompanied Minor” is a high point in the ongoing Capital Fringe Festival in Southwest D.C., says Roger Catlin, who also checks out the Parkland-based school-shooting drama “14,” while Celia Wren reviews DanceArtTheater’s “Through the Wall.”
“The Unaccompanied Minor” sounds like the Fringe show that will address border separations.
Rather, it is Elan Zafir’s explosive depiction of his own personal heartbreak — seeing his son just four times a year by going through the maddening airport process of transferring unaccompanied youth between divorced couples as if they were prisoner exchanges. Even with the bureaucratic hoops of airport pickup complete, it’s only the beginning of the struggle, as father and son relearn how to relate to each other every time.
Zafir’s impassioned portrayal, intensified within the intimate confines of the walls of a paneled Christ United Methodist Church meeting room, takes him through his own childhood of broken connections, disappointments and a jolting move from Canada to Florida, embodying a dozen characters along the way in whip-smart, breakneck fashion.
The athletic Zafir, who appeared most recently in Mosaic Theater’s “The Vagrant Trilogy,” has devised a show with layers of theatricality that crackle from its use of quick flashbacks, rising tension and even the appearance of Rambo. It culminates in the brilliant juxtaposition of a custody hearing with a high school gang fight.
More than a great Fringe offering,”The Unaccompanied Minor” is a cathartic attempt to vault the myriad walls that can divide father and child.
Roger Catlin — The Washington Post
sometimes i have these waking dreams.
someone is always doing something mundane
cleaning out papers
marking up a script
they all take place in rehearsal though.
that is the binding fact.
someone will be speaking on a subject
usually it’s not to me
and as they are beginning to make their point
they’ll refer to their notes and break eye contact with their audience
and in that moment of “is this right?”
“Am I where I need to be”
“Can I support this argument”
Is when I know I’ve been here before.
Now skeptics will say
It is the essence
Continue reading mosaic