Reuben and Ben working on a scene from Punchkapow
Makoto:
MEETING
I met Reuben at the Prince Music Theater in Philadelphia. It was Sept 2011, and I was just coming out of performing a pretty epic, super-duper sold-out run of an experimental science-theatre piece called WHaLE OPTICS. It was a Lucidity Suitcase Intercontinental show directed by Thaddeus Phillips, created collaboratively by Thaddeus and the ensemble, which included one of Reuben’s best friends James Ijames. James had told me about Reuben months prior, because he was excited that his college bud was giving Philadelphia a shot. Reuben greeted the cast on the street post-show with great enthusiasm, and my first words to him were “Oh, yeah you’re James’ boy! He’s mad excited that you live here. Nice to meet.” A couple weeks later I ran into Reuben again and he quickly reminded me who he was/where we met. He then proceeded to tell me how much he loved our show and the particular elements of it that really inspired him. All the while, he had this look on his face... a look I’ve seen a lot and that I have come to know really well...
For the past eight years, I’ve worked as a maker and collaborator of original dance and theatre projects. Of the 25+ projects I’ve had a hand in making (including a few that I conceived and directed myself), most were ensemble-driven and ensemble-created. And if you’re reading this and you’re not working in any sort of time-based art forms, well here’s my version of a quick explanation: In conventional theatre, a play is written by a playwright, a director gets hired for the play, then actors are hired to learn the lines and nail the nuances of the characters. In the ensemble-generated world that I inhabit most of the time it goes more like this: An idea or a rough outline for a show is conceived by a “lead artist or artists”, an ensemble of performer/creators (and designers) are assembled, everyone works together to create the material of the show (be it dance or theatre or anything in between), with the “lead artist or artists” guiding the entire creation process. This kind of thing doesn’t happen that often in college settings. Hell, it doesn’t really happen that often in the world of professional arts, period. It’s special, unique, and so hard to get right. But when it’s right though, it’s so right in a way that (in my opinion) performing in a conventional play could never be. Because it’s the kind of process that asks everyone in the room to be more or less equals, and in the best case scenario, draws from everyone’s strengths. Over the years I have met a lot of people who are incredibly well educated and well-versed in a particular performance language, often fresh out of college or grad school, and so have yet to experience a lot of the experimental, self-generated, ensemble-driven stuff that some of us do. And when they do, sometimes I get to witness that encounter and well, sometimes, those people have that look. It’s the “ohhh... maybe that’s actually what I want to be doing” look. And that’s definitely what I saw on Reuben’s face.
WORKING
Not long after meeting Reuben, we worked together at the National Constitution Center on an original, large-scale exhibit/production called Fighting For Democracy, where I served as co-writer and unofficial co-dramaturg, military advisor, and sometimes movement coach. He was cast in the show along with Team Sunshine’s own Alex Torra. In the rehearsal process, I got to know Reuben as an actor passionate about breath, idiosyncrasy, and rhythm. All things I like to nerd out about. On our breaks, I learned that he knew a lot about the history of Hip Hop, loved talking about action/adventure and comic books, and ponder crazy mindblowing stuff related to science and/or outer space. More things I like to nerd out about. From then on, I invited him to everything, including every event or party that we hosted at our home. From time to time, he would inquire about when my ladyfriend Sarah and I were going to host our next potluck. He loved coming over and hanging out, eating, and just shooting the shit. When he met Ben, he already knew 2/3 of Team Sunshine, so very quickly learned about our collaborative work and, as it goes, was invited to participate in everything we did. Including our retreat this past July.
In July, Team Sunshine was invited to Elkins Estate for a week via White Pines Productions, where they fed us, housed us, and gave us workspace. All we had to do was promise to use the space for artmaking purposes (that’s it? crazy, I know). We took this retreat as an opportunity to venture into what will likely become our third full-length production, which at the time had the codename: The Love Piece. We had an idea for the project, and so onto step 2: assemble the ensemble. We invited our regular, favorite group of maker/collaborators in Philly to hang and eat and make stuff, and -- though he wasn’t as experienced in creating original work compared to the rest of the crew -- we decided that we should include Reuben in the mix as well. In fact, it was a no-brainer. He was smart, incredibly talented, fun, funny, dedicated to excellence, and was a “yes-and” kind of dude. (For the uninitiated, “yes-and” is about agreeing and at the same time having their own ideas; EX. “Yes, and I think looking at it from this perspective could be useful too.” A key quality to have when collaborating.) We spent our days free-writing, brainstorming, workshopping different modes of performance and character, and taking an honest and open look at what a piece about love could look and feel like. When meal-times came, our amazing chef would open the dining room and we would all eat delicious vegetarian meals together. And then back to work. We did this everyday, and when night came we either played games or had a fire with s’mores and traded stories. That week we laughed a lot as a group, made some interesting proposals for what the show could be (now referred to as: infinity +1, a show about love), and appreciated the hell out of that food. Working with Reuben at Elkins Estate, I learned that he was a gifted mover, a great writer, that his humor was smart and considerate, and that his curiosity knew no bounds. All things that I like to think I am. When we weren’t working, I learned that Reuben was a compassionate listener, a supportive friend, and that his generosity expanded to things far beyond himself and his life. All things that inspire me to be better. A better listener, a better friend, and a better man. I’m not sure I’ll ever get to Reuben’s level, but I know I’ll be working on it for the rest of my life.
Our last day there, we were all saying our goodbyes and thank yous, and Reuben told me that he wants to fill his life “with more of this.” And when he said “this,” he was making a big gesture with both arms, like he was hugging a humongous tree in slow-motion. He expressed to me his excitement of creating original stuff, and that he wants more of it in his life. Not that he wanted to stop working as a straight-up actor, because he didn’t. Why would he? He was excellent at it. But what he was saying is that he wanted to do both. Do to everything. And everything in between. And I remembered that look that he had, many months back on our second encounter, the one I had seen from people with incredible capacity and potential, and so all I said to him as we hugged our goodbyes was “I know man. I know.” Cuz shit, I did. I knew exactly what “this” gesture meant.
A few months later, Team Sunshine was offered a last minute slot at the Arden’s First Friday event. We decided to re-imagine a bigger and better version of Zombie Defense Consultations, our “out of context, trade-show booth”. Ben called everyone in, including our now #1 “yes-and” guy Reuben, and it was a total hit. We were on our way. Almost everything we talked about doing in future included Reuben. Because he was, like I mentioned, smart, incredibly talented, fun, funny, dedicated to excellence, and was a “yes-and” kind of dude. But even more than that, he was absolutely, hands down, an AWESOME human being.
BEING AWESOME
In May of 2012, Neil Gaiman, famous author of graphic novels and film, gave a commencement speech at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia. It’s one that I really enjoy re-watching online. There’s one part in particular that I like to paraphrase to friends and colleagues, about being employed. One night when Reuben and I were hanging out, I mentioned it to him too.
“You get work, however you get work. But people keep working, in a
freelance world... because the work is good, and because they’re are
easy to get along with, and because they deliver the work on time.
And you don’t even need all three. [whispers] Two out of three, is fine.”
Mr. Gaiman continued on about how your work can suck, but if you’re nice and you’re timely, you’ll get work. Or how people will forgive lateness if you do good work and you’re pleasant to be around. Et cetera. I think about this all the time now. And I try to make sure that with whatever I do, at the very least, I have 2 out of 3 covered. The crazy thing is that when I think about it applied to Reuben, I know that he got to a place where all three were covered. All the time. Bam. THAT’S how you do it. And yeah, like Mr. Gaiman said, 2 out of 3 is fine. But Reuben wasn’t fine. He was so much more. He was an awesome human being. That’s how you claim 3 out of 3. I can see that more clearly now.
I am grateful to have had Reuben as my friend and colleague, and for him showing me the path I’ve always wanted to follow. As a man, brother, son, artist, friend, and person. May he rest in peace. And may our work of being awesome in art and life continue in his memory.
11/17/12
I met Reuben at the Prince Music Theater in Philadelphia. It was Sept 2011, and I was just coming out of performing a pretty epic, super-duper sold-out run of an experimental science-theatre piece called WHaLE OPTICS. It was a Lucidity Suitcase Intercontinental show directed by Thaddeus Phillips, created collaboratively by Thaddeus and the ensemble, which included one of Reuben’s best friends James Ijames. James had told me about Reuben months prior, because he was excited that his college bud was giving Philadelphia a shot. Reuben greeted the cast on the street post-show with great enthusiasm, and my first words to him were “Oh, yeah you’re James’ boy! He’s mad excited that you live here. Nice to meet.” A couple weeks later I ran into Reuben again and he quickly reminded me who he was/where we met. He then proceeded to tell me how much he loved our show and the particular elements of it that really inspired him. All the while, he had this look on his face... a look I’ve seen a lot and that I have come to know really well...
For the past eight years, I’ve worked as a maker and collaborator of original dance and theatre projects. Of the 25+ projects I’ve had a hand in making (including a few that I conceived and directed myself), most were ensemble-driven and ensemble-created. And if you’re reading this and you’re not working in any sort of time-based art forms, well here’s my version of a quick explanation: In conventional theatre, a play is written by a playwright, a director gets hired for the play, then actors are hired to learn the lines and nail the nuances of the characters. In the ensemble-generated world that I inhabit most of the time it goes more like this: An idea or a rough outline for a show is conceived by a “lead artist or artists”, an ensemble of performer/creators (and designers) are assembled, everyone works together to create the material of the show (be it dance or theatre or anything in between), with the “lead artist or artists” guiding the entire creation process. This kind of thing doesn’t happen that often in college settings. Hell, it doesn’t really happen that often in the world of professional arts, period. It’s special, unique, and so hard to get right. But when it’s right though, it’s so right in a way that (in my opinion) performing in a conventional play could never be. Because it’s the kind of process that asks everyone in the room to be more or less equals, and in the best case scenario, draws from everyone’s strengths. Over the years I have met a lot of people who are incredibly well educated and well-versed in a particular performance language, often fresh out of college or grad school, and so have yet to experience a lot of the experimental, self-generated, ensemble-driven stuff that some of us do. And when they do, sometimes I get to witness that encounter and well, sometimes, those people have that look. It’s the “ohhh... maybe that’s actually what I want to be doing” look. And that’s definitely what I saw on Reuben’s face.
WORKING
Not long after meeting Reuben, we worked together at the National Constitution Center on an original, large-scale exhibit/production called Fighting For Democracy, where I served as co-writer and unofficial co-dramaturg, military advisor, and sometimes movement coach. He was cast in the show along with Team Sunshine’s own Alex Torra. In the rehearsal process, I got to know Reuben as an actor passionate about breath, idiosyncrasy, and rhythm. All things I like to nerd out about. On our breaks, I learned that he knew a lot about the history of Hip Hop, loved talking about action/adventure and comic books, and ponder crazy mindblowing stuff related to science and/or outer space. More things I like to nerd out about. From then on, I invited him to everything, including every event or party that we hosted at our home. From time to time, he would inquire about when my ladyfriend Sarah and I were going to host our next potluck. He loved coming over and hanging out, eating, and just shooting the shit. When he met Ben, he already knew 2/3 of Team Sunshine, so very quickly learned about our collaborative work and, as it goes, was invited to participate in everything we did. Including our retreat this past July.
In July, Team Sunshine was invited to Elkins Estate for a week via White Pines Productions, where they fed us, housed us, and gave us workspace. All we had to do was promise to use the space for artmaking purposes (that’s it? crazy, I know). We took this retreat as an opportunity to venture into what will likely become our third full-length production, which at the time had the codename: The Love Piece. We had an idea for the project, and so onto step 2: assemble the ensemble. We invited our regular, favorite group of maker/collaborators in Philly to hang and eat and make stuff, and -- though he wasn’t as experienced in creating original work compared to the rest of the crew -- we decided that we should include Reuben in the mix as well. In fact, it was a no-brainer. He was smart, incredibly talented, fun, funny, dedicated to excellence, and was a “yes-and” kind of dude. (For the uninitiated, “yes-and” is about agreeing and at the same time having their own ideas; EX. “Yes, and I think looking at it from this perspective could be useful too.” A key quality to have when collaborating.) We spent our days free-writing, brainstorming, workshopping different modes of performance and character, and taking an honest and open look at what a piece about love could look and feel like. When meal-times came, our amazing chef would open the dining room and we would all eat delicious vegetarian meals together. And then back to work. We did this everyday, and when night came we either played games or had a fire with s’mores and traded stories. That week we laughed a lot as a group, made some interesting proposals for what the show could be (now referred to as: infinity +1, a show about love), and appreciated the hell out of that food. Working with Reuben at Elkins Estate, I learned that he was a gifted mover, a great writer, that his humor was smart and considerate, and that his curiosity knew no bounds. All things that I like to think I am. When we weren’t working, I learned that Reuben was a compassionate listener, a supportive friend, and that his generosity expanded to things far beyond himself and his life. All things that inspire me to be better. A better listener, a better friend, and a better man. I’m not sure I’ll ever get to Reuben’s level, but I know I’ll be working on it for the rest of my life.
Our last day there, we were all saying our goodbyes and thank yous, and Reuben told me that he wants to fill his life “with more of this.” And when he said “this,” he was making a big gesture with both arms, like he was hugging a humongous tree in slow-motion. He expressed to me his excitement of creating original stuff, and that he wants more of it in his life. Not that he wanted to stop working as a straight-up actor, because he didn’t. Why would he? He was excellent at it. But what he was saying is that he wanted to do both. Do to everything. And everything in between. And I remembered that look that he had, many months back on our second encounter, the one I had seen from people with incredible capacity and potential, and so all I said to him as we hugged our goodbyes was “I know man. I know.” Cuz shit, I did. I knew exactly what “this” gesture meant.
A few months later, Team Sunshine was offered a last minute slot at the Arden’s First Friday event. We decided to re-imagine a bigger and better version of Zombie Defense Consultations, our “out of context, trade-show booth”. Ben called everyone in, including our now #1 “yes-and” guy Reuben, and it was a total hit. We were on our way. Almost everything we talked about doing in future included Reuben. Because he was, like I mentioned, smart, incredibly talented, fun, funny, dedicated to excellence, and was a “yes-and” kind of dude. But even more than that, he was absolutely, hands down, an AWESOME human being.
BEING AWESOME
In May of 2012, Neil Gaiman, famous author of graphic novels and film, gave a commencement speech at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia. It’s one that I really enjoy re-watching online. There’s one part in particular that I like to paraphrase to friends and colleagues, about being employed. One night when Reuben and I were hanging out, I mentioned it to him too.
“You get work, however you get work. But people keep working, in a
freelance world... because the work is good, and because they’re are
easy to get along with, and because they deliver the work on time.
And you don’t even need all three. [whispers] Two out of three, is fine.”
Mr. Gaiman continued on about how your work can suck, but if you’re nice and you’re timely, you’ll get work. Or how people will forgive lateness if you do good work and you’re pleasant to be around. Et cetera. I think about this all the time now. And I try to make sure that with whatever I do, at the very least, I have 2 out of 3 covered. The crazy thing is that when I think about it applied to Reuben, I know that he got to a place where all three were covered. All the time. Bam. THAT’S how you do it. And yeah, like Mr. Gaiman said, 2 out of 3 is fine. But Reuben wasn’t fine. He was so much more. He was an awesome human being. That’s how you claim 3 out of 3. I can see that more clearly now.
I am grateful to have had Reuben as my friend and colleague, and for him showing me the path I’ve always wanted to follow. As a man, brother, son, artist, friend, and person. May he rest in peace. And may our work of being awesome in art and life continue in his memory.
11/17/12
The week before, Reuben shared this video with us
Ben:
I know Reuben liked coconut. I know this because, I don’t really like coconut. And we’d been at the White Pines Residency for three days, Alex and I, just the two of us before the rest of the crew would come join. And the chef, who was amazing, was an Indian Gentleman making vegetarian Indian food, a lot of which had coconut on it. So, I had kind of missed my window, you know, to tell the chef I didn’t like coconut, but I wanted to be able to enjoy my desserts. Most of the rest of our crew had arrived, but not Reuben, so I went to the chef and told him, “Hey, just wanted to let you know, someone who’s arriving today is allergic to coconut, I’m so sorry. Just wanted to let you know.” So the next day food starts coming out, and someone’s says- hey, Reuben, you’re allergic to coconut? And Reuben says, “no, I love coconut”, and proceeds to give me shit for selling him out. For days. Which I deserve. So I’m sorry, Reuben, that I took that coconut away with my lie. But if I could do it again...? I don’t know, I really don’t like coconut.
I worked with Reuben on our piece Zombie Defense Consultations. It’s something you learn by watching a couple of times, and then jumping in if you get it. He watched it twice and he had it. He got it. He and I were on the same page about Zombies. Watch out.
Reuben sitting in my backyard eating barbecue. Working on Punchkapow material with him.
I think of people who work with Team Sunshine as Team Members. They’re on the team. Reuben was on the Team. I’m holding you in the light, man.
I worked with Reuben on our piece Zombie Defense Consultations. It’s something you learn by watching a couple of times, and then jumping in if you get it. He watched it twice and he had it. He got it. He and I were on the same page about Zombies. Watch out.
Reuben sitting in my backyard eating barbecue. Working on Punchkapow material with him.
I think of people who work with Team Sunshine as Team Members. They’re on the team. Reuben was on the Team. I’m holding you in the light, man.
Reuben's text From White Pines Workshop on infinity+1: a play about love, July 2012
The participating artists were given two prompts to write about.
Prompt 1: If someone made a piece about love for me, what would it be? What would it contain?
|
Prompt 2: If I were to make a piece about someplace I loved, what would it be? What would it contain?
|
Alex:
Reuben Mitchell was a stellar man. It isn't often, in one's life as an artist, that you encounter people like Reuben. People who inspire you to want to make great things, that move you to think and act with equal parts heart and mind, that make you want to go on a rigorous, adventure-filled journey and to do that with them.
I met Reuben when we were cast in a show together at the National Constitution Center. We were on the Green Team for an exhibition performance entitled Fighting For Democracy -- and what the Green Team did was very strange -- we were the swing cast, employed to step in when members of the main cast weren't available to perform. What that meant was that Reuben and I, along with the adorable and talented Taysha Canales, spent a lot of down time together. And we would talk -- about art, about MCs, about Philadelphia, about Shakespeare. And we would GOOF...AROUND -- loudly, unabashedly, with a kind of total abandon that Reuben was so damn good at bringing out of us. His enormous laugh and his need to play made our time together so very sweet.
What also began to come to the forefront, as he and I spent time together, was a kind of hunger. The man wanted to create great theater. He had a deep-seeded sense of the potential of live performance, and he wanted it so bad. We howled about the state of American theater, got on our soap-boxes, made mad requests for this art form to stop being so staid, and we did so LOUDLY -- God, I had forgotten how loud that man could be.
It became clear to me that this man, this Reuben, had a spirit that could not be contained, and that this man, this Reuben, wanted to bring TRUTH and LIFE and JOY to his audiences, and I wanted to help him do that.
What saddens me tremendously is that I won't be able to do that. I feel like I lost a potential partner in the revolution. So many times we said, WE WILL DO THAT, or SOON, MY FRIEND! We wanted to make work together, and change the way Shakespeare is performed, and blow audiences away with awesome, sneak-attack tactics, and make our mark.
And we won't be able to do that together.
And so, it becomes a mandate -- for us to carry on and fill the space that Reuben's loss has so viciously created. I'm not exactly sure how quite yet. I imagine it will take time and patience and reflection, and then a return to life and work -- with fire and audacity and bravado. It makes me happy to think that we might have Reuben's blessing to go and try and conquer the world.
Love you Reuben. I will miss so very much.
I met Reuben when we were cast in a show together at the National Constitution Center. We were on the Green Team for an exhibition performance entitled Fighting For Democracy -- and what the Green Team did was very strange -- we were the swing cast, employed to step in when members of the main cast weren't available to perform. What that meant was that Reuben and I, along with the adorable and talented Taysha Canales, spent a lot of down time together. And we would talk -- about art, about MCs, about Philadelphia, about Shakespeare. And we would GOOF...AROUND -- loudly, unabashedly, with a kind of total abandon that Reuben was so damn good at bringing out of us. His enormous laugh and his need to play made our time together so very sweet.
What also began to come to the forefront, as he and I spent time together, was a kind of hunger. The man wanted to create great theater. He had a deep-seeded sense of the potential of live performance, and he wanted it so bad. We howled about the state of American theater, got on our soap-boxes, made mad requests for this art form to stop being so staid, and we did so LOUDLY -- God, I had forgotten how loud that man could be.
It became clear to me that this man, this Reuben, had a spirit that could not be contained, and that this man, this Reuben, wanted to bring TRUTH and LIFE and JOY to his audiences, and I wanted to help him do that.
What saddens me tremendously is that I won't be able to do that. I feel like I lost a potential partner in the revolution. So many times we said, WE WILL DO THAT, or SOON, MY FRIEND! We wanted to make work together, and change the way Shakespeare is performed, and blow audiences away with awesome, sneak-attack tactics, and make our mark.
And we won't be able to do that together.
And so, it becomes a mandate -- for us to carry on and fill the space that Reuben's loss has so viciously created. I'm not exactly sure how quite yet. I imagine it will take time and patience and reflection, and then a return to life and work -- with fire and audacity and bravado. It makes me happy to think that we might have Reuben's blessing to go and try and conquer the world.
Love you Reuben. I will miss so very much.