Teaching Artist Leah Reddy corresponded with director Moritz von Stuelpnagel about his work on I Need That.
Leah Reddy: What is your theatre origin story?
Moritz von Stuelpnagel: My mother was pretty crafty – she was an artist herself – so she built me a little tri-fold puppet theatre and a bunch of hand puppets. I was an only child, so maybe she thought the puppets would give me someone to talk to, who knows? But I was very aware that what I needed was an audience! So I would drag the neighbors out to do a little puppet show for whoever was free. Kids, adults, I didn't mind. But now that I think of it, I'm not sure I warned my mother that all these people were coming to our living room on a Tuesday afternoon. I should probably call her. But anyway, skip ahead to high school where we were privileged enough to have an evening of short plays written, directed, and acted by students. It sounds silly, but it was probably the first time I put together that plays weren't only written by dead people. Here were my peers, dealing with issues personal to them, to an audience many of whom were directly involved. It felt urgent and potent, and I think I understood in that experience how moving theater can be within a community. It solidified the idea that an audience wasn't really there for me – that kind of gratification felt fleeting – but we were there in service to the audience. That's when theatre began to feel like a calling.
LR: Were there any particularly influential teachers or educational experiences that guided you to where you are today?
MS: Plenty, but I think every technique or approach I studied always boiled down to the same thing: listening. Every "method" was a different way of saying, "listen to yourself, listen to the text, listen to your collaborators, listen to your audience." I think about that idea when I see how the world has become increasingly self-involved, self-focused. I think about the power of feeling heard and seen, and about what it means to sit with ideas you don't agree with – not because every idea deserves equal consideration, but seeing how someone gets there can be disarming.
LR: What drew you to I Need That? What resonates with you about this piece?
MS: I had directed a short play starring Danny and Lucy and their chemistry as real-life father and daughter was so exciting. They said they wanted to do another one, and did I know of something, and I thought why not write something for them, and what better playwright than Theresa Rebeck who has such a terrific sense of family dynamics and the contradictions of being human. And now, that longing between the two of them, to spend time together with all the mutual love and respect that goes with it, is such a joy to be a part of.
LR: In I Need That, the character Sam is deeply attached to the objects he’s gathered throughout his life. How do you understand that impulse? What is your own relationship to “stuff”?
MS: I grew up in a cluttered house. We had so much junk saved "in case we needed it one day" – which of course we rarely did. There'd be piles everywhere that would undergo a phenomenon we jokingly called the creep. The piles would grow and creep, creep, creep further on to every surface. I remember feeling encroached upon by stuff. But at the same time, you know, I was an only child, so I spent a lot of time with my stuff. So I both understand how Sammy feels attached to things and overwhelmed by it. We live in an age where we're told to just buy all these things, your life will be so great if you look at this list of 23 things to improve your space. But I do think it's exemplary of some deeper thing we're trying to fill. Something much harder to buy at the store.
LR: You directed Bernhardt/Hamlet, also a new play by Theresa Rebeck, in 2018. How will you collaborate on this piece? What makes your collaborations successful?
MS: Theresa is a brilliant writer. I believe one of this country's finest living playwrights. These characters feel like they live inside her. She's really connected to them. My job is to honor that and see how I can realize them three dimensionally on stage.
LR: Can you talk about choosing and collaborating with your design team? How will the play manifest itself visually?
MS: We've talked a lot about what this space wants to feel like. Is it a quirky museum of historic artifacts, is it a health hazard, is it a frightening place to leave your increasingly isolated father? Or is it sort of all of these things combined? We wanted the world to feel like something Danny's character constructed over many years – sometimes with the help of his wife and daughter. There should be history in this place, the history of raising a family and growing older. It's like when a painter builds layers upon layers of paint until a complex image emerges. Something with its own inherent contradictions: a place the audience sort of enjoys spending time in for the duration of the show, but also understands why it's unsustainable to stay the way it is.
LR: What advice do you have for folks who want to become directors?
MS: Directing isn't about being the boss. Directors aren't the ones on stage. They aren't the ones who put the set together. Personally, I believe they are curious guides. Someone who can hold the needs of everyone in the room and support them, so that actors can perform at their best, and the design of the production can coalesce in the most holistic way. The means a lot of listening, and knowing how everyone's needs – the playwright's, the producers', the crew's, everyone's – can work alongside one another. Great collaboration acknowledges that no one person's ideas are necessarily better than what many contributors can come up with. Directors who act as dictators often end up with shows in which everyone is struggling to replicate an idea they have no ownership of.