Podcast Episode 33 Transcript – Theresa Rebeck
Ken: Hey, everybody, it’s Ken Davenport. I wanted to make sure that you heard the news that I’m bringing the Deaf West production of Spring Awakening to Broadway in the fall. If you love Spring Awakening, you wait until you see this production, because you’ve never seen anything like it. Deaf West is one of the most innovative theater companies I’ve ever worked with and ever seen, and their production of Spring Awakening is mind blowing. Check it out . . . go to TicketMaster.com and get tickets. Okay, on with the podcast!
Ken: Hello, everybody! Ken Davenport here. You’re listening to the Producer’s Perspective Podcast which, by the way, when you have some time, you should try saying that five times fast. It is not the easiest name of a podcast. If you’d like to do it right now, I’ll wait. No, we won’t wait. And we won’t wait because my guest is way too important to waste her time. Welcome to the Producer’s Perspective Podcast the brilliant playwright, Theresa Rebeck. Welcome, Theresa!
Theresa: Hi, I’m so pleased to be here.
Ken: I just called Theresa a playwright, and of course she is one, but she is so much more than that. What I love about her is she actually runs her creative career like a business, diversifying her own portfolio over a number of mediums. Yes, she’s written many Broadway plays, including Mauritius, Dead Accounts, and the fantastic Seminar, which is one of my favorites over the last several years, and even more Off-Broadway plays, including co-writing Omnium Gatherum, which was a Pulitzer finalist, but she has also written copious amounts of television, including for such shows as Third Watch, Brooklyn Bridge, LA Law and was the creator of the only Broadway-themed primetime television show I know, Smash. She’s written novels, movies . . . see, I told you, we’re wasting her time so we should just get to it. If you want to read more about her, check out her website, TheresaRebeck.com. So, Theresa, let’s start at the beginning. When did you decide you wanted to be a writer?
Theresa: I was really young. I was somebody who wanted to be a writer when I was six years old. It was peculiarly something that appeared in my imagination very, very early. I don’t remember when I didn’t want to be a writer. I would drift in and out of other ideas, but it was always the baseline thing that I wanted to do. Then, when I was in high school, I started acting a lot, so there was a period of time when I felt, “Maybe I want to be an actress,” just like everyone has that moment. There was just a moment where I thought, “Oh, I could be a writer and in the theater. That makes me a playwright,” and it was sort of like A + B = C, and that’s the last time I had any sort of clarity about it. But I went to my mother and I said, “I think I want to be a playwright.” I must have been 16, and she went pale. She looked sort of shocked and horrified. I was in Cincinnati, Ohio, so I didn’t know any playwrights. It was a peculiar thing to dream of.
Ken: Do you remember the first play you wrote?
Theresa: The first play I wrote? At the time, in high school, I went to this really crazy Catholic high school that was run by a bunch of nuns, and they were like liberation theologists, all of them. They were these radical nuns, and it was an all-girl school and we thought we could do anything. It was kind of an extraordinary place, although you didn’t know it at the time. I was creating pieces with my fellow students and doing them just for the school at the assemblies and stuff, so I think that would be the first time that I wrote anything. We were all just out of our minds doing nutty stuff. Then, in college, I sort of knew . . . I mean I was out there at the University of Notre Dame, of all places, and I had the idea that I would be a playwright. They didn’t actually have a playwriting program. They would circle it in really abstract ways, but the great Julie Jensen was on the staff there, and she was sort of a mentor of mine and I kept bugging her to have a playwriting class so they started this playwriting class. And, in retrospect, I’m convinced they started it for me, but I’m sure it was a little more complicated than that. So I studied with Julie and wrote my first actual . . . sit down and write a play, take a crack at it, as an undergraduate, in the more formal sense of the word. She’s a great teacher and a wonderful writer herself.
Ken: Where do you get your ideas for your plays? Where do they come from?
Theresa: That’s a really good question. People ask that question and I think the general answer is no one knows. There’s a real mystery around where anyone gets their ideas. There’s a large body of work examining that question. The Greeks invoke the muse. Some people say it’s God. Some people say it’s your subconscious. But they do kind of rise up. I have a lot of ideas. People say to me sometimes, “You’re so prolific.” I have a lot on my mind, and they come a lot. A friend of mine actually said to me one time, “You know, Theresa, the muse likes you,” and I thought, “That’s actually true.” I’m constantly getting smacked upside the head with another idea. There was one period when I was writing for actors, for specific people. I worked with Julie White several times and there was clearly an affinity between her instrument and my language. And then I had a moment where, honestly, it was almost mathematical in a backwards sense. I was thinking, “I’d like to write a novel. I’ve always been curious about that.” And then I thought, “You don’t know how to write a novel. You’re never going to be able to do that.” And it was a first person novel and there have been some great ones . . . “Call me Ishmael,” you know . . . it could be one long monologue. And then I thought, “You’ve never even written a long monologue or a one person show.” And then I thought, “I could write a one person show!” And then I thought, “I should write a one person show for Julie. She could be amazing.” So I called her up and I said, “I’m going to write a one woman show for you,” and she was charmed by the idea, but I think people say a lot of things and they don’t necessarily come through with them. So then one night I went over to her house and we talked about what it might be, but she was clearly someone who should have a one person show written on her, and that was a great experience for me, to work with her that extensively. It’s very challenging. I don’t recommend writing one person shows. It was hard. I’ve never done it again. Every now and then I go back to the idea of writing on actors, so I was doing that for a while and that was the source of my inspiration. “I’d really like to write a play for that specific person.” I’m actually doing that right now for this actor, Brian Dykstra, who I’ve worked with for 30 years, and he’s got a kind of authenticity inside my head that is useful to build things on. And I’m also writing a play right now for the Alley Theatre, for the company, because I’ve worked with those actors a lot. That’s really of interest to me right now. Ibsen did it, Molière did it, Shakespeare did it. You have these people in front of you and you think, “What do you build out of that company?” So I think that’s what happens to me, is I get curious about certain things, and then I follow that curiosity. There have been other times where I’ve just felt very, very grief-stricken about something and so I think that the best thing is perhaps write a comedy and see how funny you can make something that’s really horrifying. What is the meeting of those two realities? I think most of my comedies are very dark. As a writer, I tend to be interested in a lot blood of the floor, sometimes literally, sometimes just emotionally. I have a lot of different places where ideas come from. This is a long answer so I hope you can cut it together.
Ken: Oh no, it’s good, I’m leaving this one in. You just keep going.
Theresa: Well I think that’s it.
Ken: Okay, so you get one of these ideas, the muse slaps you upside the head or whatever you said . . . spoken like a writer. I love that image. What’s the next step? I write . . . I wake up in the morning, I have a juice, I write for three hours, I go to lunch. Do you write until you stop? Do you have a process?
Theresa: I do tend to have . . . in general, I write a lot. Sometimes, when young writers ask me about it, that is ultimately the only good advice I can present, is that you can’t be afraid of it. You have to be fluid with it and you can’t be afraid of when things run into a wall and they don’t grow. Sometimes I start things and they don’t grow the way you want them to, or they hit a wall and you can’t get past it. Because I have written for film and television, to support my family, and because I’m excited by it a lot of times, but there are a lot of situations where you have to write lots of very complicated treatments and outlines and be in conversation with people in offices, and I find that wearing and, at times, actually debilitating because you have to think of everything ahead of time. For me, it starts to make the writing itself thin out and I remain convinced that if you are a little loose . . . I mean if I have a general idea about where something is going . . . then the best way for me to write it is to just follow the characters. Set it up and then see when they start to move and speak on their own and follow them and kind of shape it a little bit, but not get in their way. Never force a character to do something that the character doesn’t want to do. Sometimes I’ll have them and I’ll be like, “I don’t know why you won’t do what I want you to do!” But I do know to pause at those moments, to not force it, to maybe back up a little bit. So that tends to be how I write. Sometimes, even given that, things kind of wither, or I’m not ready to write it so I need to back up and start something else. If I get past page eleven, then I’ll probably get to the end of act one. And if I get to the end of act one, then I’ll probably get to page 64. And if I get to page 64, then I’ll write the rest of it in a few days because, by that point, things will be tumbling so quickly and I will have so much information, and I think by then I understand what the secret subject of it is. It always feels like the muscle of the play reveals itself in the writing, and you can’t know what the real subject is unless you let it teach you that, so you have to be in that kind of relationship to the writing process. You can’t try to over control it. Having said that, I write a lot, and there was a period when I was young when I was writing a lot of short plays, and that was great practice for me. Just write a ten minute play based on two people, or do these crazy 24 hour plays. They really drive me crazy. I used to be much better at them. There was something sort of . . . just trust your technique. And I feel like it is, for me, the truth is it’s just like how do you get to Carnegie Hall? You practice. And writing has always been a little bit, for me, like practicing the piano. If you do it a lot, you’ll get better. My son is a pianist and when he’s practicing a lot he’s amazing. When he takes a couple of weeks off he gets rusty, and I think that’s partly what happens to me. Sometimes I get overwhelmed by how many ideas are floating out there and it’s like, “Oh, brother!” Like, “Leave me alone!” because they all seem viable. I sort of see how it could work a lot. Sometimes people bring me ideas and that, frankly, rarely works. It sometimes works, but it’s challenging to take on somebody else’s idea.
Ken: You’re not the only playwright that has said that to me. I tried to commission a playwright to write a play, and they said to me, “That’s a great idea, Ken, but I just write my own stuff. I just can’t. I have so many ideas brewing in my mind. I write what I’m passionate about.”
Theresa: There’s actually a project I’m working on with Josh Schmidt . . . you know, the composer . . . that I like very much that somebody brought to both of us, and I’m hopeful that being in collaboration with an artist who . . . we have great energy between us. There was one point when I thought, “This is a little nerve-wracking because we both talk so much and we both talk really fast,” but there is something fluid and vital about that interchange and I think that, in this case, it’s going to help put that idea that came from a third place into action, because it’s an action between us. So I do think it’s possible, but it’s challenging when it’s somebody else’s idea and I’m supposed to take care of the whole thing. That somehow feels difficult.
Ken: I think it’s actually, to your point, more possible with musicals than plays. For some reason it just seems easier.
Theresa: Right? I wonder why that is?
Ken: So as I said in the introduction, you’re a very prolific writer but yet you write across a variety of forms in the entertainment industry. You write for the stage, you write for the small screen, you write for the big screen. Is there a difference between the three styles and, if so, what is that difference?
Theresa: I think there is a difference. In the theater and in fiction, there is much more bandwidth for language. Language moves to the front of both of those forms in a way that’s really exciting to me. For instance, in one of the plays I’m working on right now, you can feel the characters kind of crackling against each other, and then there’s a moment when something opens up and someone can talk for a good five minutes and that’s actually, potentially, an exciting moment in the theater, when there’s suddenly an aria or speech or whatever. You see in especially in Shakespeare or Molière or Chekov, where suddenly the entire room is hushed. You actually can’t do that in film and television. There’s something about the way the image steps in front of character and story. In film, it’s extraordinary how much the film catches the human face of emotion, how much gets told in the turn of a head, the blink of an eye. There’s an old story about Billy Wilder and Jack Lemmon, that he just kept telling him to do less. “Do less, do less, do less.” And then he finally said to the great Jack Lemmon, “Do nothing.” So you look at something like Some Like it Hot and that’s Jack Lemmon doing nothing. He’s a big old ham bone, we know that, but it’s quite magnificent how much the camera catches. But, because of that, their image steps in front of the narrative in a way that, I think, makes mostly language take a step back.
Ken: I have a lot of writers who are listening right now who would love to start writing for television and film. How did it all happen for you, going from a playwright and all of a sudden Hollywood comes a-knocking? How did that work?
Theresa: When I started, we had no money. My husband and I, we were really broke. I luckily landed an agent very early on for this play called Sunday on the Rocks, and my second play was Spike Heels. And people were kind of circling Spike Heels but it was taking a really long time. I had done some stuff in New York, really like street cred stuff. There was a theater called Alice’s Fourth Floor and I did a one-act there, and I was doing one-acts with Naked Angels and their Issues Projects. We just had no money. It was really fun, my plays were funny, and this agent I had . . . the great Esther Sherman was my first agent, and she said to me, “You’re funny, you could work in television.” And so she introduced me to some people in the TV department and they had me writing sitcom spec scripts. It’s how things were done back then. It was very, very different. And it’s a sort of hellish, brutal story, but I eventually landed a job with Gary David Goldberg and I went out to Los Angeles and worked for him for a few years, and got fired very quickly and for no real reason, and then I wrote a play about it called The Family of Mann, which is one of my favorite plays that I’ve ever written. Once I got fired I thought, “That’s it. It’s done.” It was sort of terrifying to me. I thought, “I was finally making a little money!” Because we were still pretty broke. I mean we were paying off student loans. My husband is a stage manager and he was doing two shows at once. He was always working way downtown for En Garde Arts and Soho Rep and stuff like that so, between the two of us, this money coming in from this year and a half on a sitcom . . . which was terrifying to me because it was such a weird environment . . . that was our meager fortune. And I really did think, “That’s the end of that. Back to writing plays,” which I was pretty happy to be doing. But I had met some people there and they actually got my play Spike Heels into the hands off Steven Bochco, and so then I got hired to be on NYPD Blue, right when it was starting. It was the second season when I started writing for NYPD Blue, and that was exciting. It really was. That was a beautiful show to work on. Those two guys . . . it was Bocho and David Milch. It was challenging and illuminating and fierce and fun. That show, back then, was like The Sopranos. It was very innovative and the writing was exceptional. Being steered by David Milch was exciting, and horrible too, but I learned an awful lot about writing for television on that show.
Ken: There was nudity on that show, I remember. It was a big deal, right?
Theresa: It was people’s butts.
Ken: What I love about that story, just to circle back, is you got fired and you wrote a play about it. Was it a comedy?
Theresa: It was a comedy. It was a very dark comedy. A lot of people looked at it and said, “Wow, this is amazing satire about Hollywood,” and I got to say, “No, no, no. It’s cinéma vérité,” because a lot of the scenes . . . I’m just so perplexed by that whole culture. It’s a very different world. It still is. It’s very brutal, it’s very male-centric . . . theater is male-centric too, but in a very different way . . . it’s also Machiavellian, a lot about power politics all the time, and I was having trouble figuring out how to make any sense of it, so I would go home and I would just write down things that happened to me that day, conversations. So I had this notebook full of these scenes and when I got down to writing the play . . . it’s the only time I’ve ever written a play this way . . . I had like 30 scenes. And then I started moving them around to see how they looked next to each other, and then I kind of created a narrative for it. I invented the love story, sort of. It was like that.
Ken: But out of the grief of getting fired, just like you said at the beginning, you found a dark comedy in it and were constructive enough to put a play together. Speaking about television, let’s talk a little bit about Smash. How did this come about? Because I’ve always thought what television needs is something about Broadway on it. So how did the Smash idea come into play?
Theresa: I have to tell you, I agree with you. I was out there pitching how to do backstage at a theater for a long time and my agents kept saying, “No, nobody’s interested. Nobody’s interested.” People would approach me and say, “Hey, how come there’s never been a show backstage at a New York theater? Backstage in a regional theater, backstage in any kind of theater?” And I said, “I don’t know. Everybody says it will never sell.” Then, when Glee happened, I think there was a wider imagination around what was possible. And Steven Spielberg was out there, also pitching. He came up with it being a musical, and he ended up pitching that to Bob Greenblatt when Bob was still at Showtime and Bob said, “I would like to make that show.” They then very quickly put producers on it and Shaiman and Wittman on it as composers of the music. And Spielberg had had the idea that you could do a musical, you could build a story and make a musical and then ultimately, perhaps, if it worked out, have the musical come out of your television set and onto Broadway. They talked about all of that and then they were looking for a writer, and I was working on The Understudy at the time with Julie White and Mark-Paul Gosselaar and Justin Kirk. We were doing that at the Laura Pels for the Roundabout, and someone sent it to Spielberg and he really liked it, very much responded to it, and so did everybody else and so they brought me on to create the show. It moved fairly quickly for a while, and then Bob left Showtime and went to NBC and that took a year and a half to work out what was going to happen and, once the show had been moved over to NBC, there was kind of a, “How do you reimagine this?” Because the original pilot was considerably darker and people used the F-word. Am I allowed to use the F-word on this thing?
Ken: You can. You can say “fuck” all you want, Theresa!
Theresa: That was the thing. People said “fuck.” I really missed it as we went on, not being able to use that word, because, for fuck’s sake, it’s the theater. But that was basically how it all came together.
Ken: What’s interesting to me is I talk to a lot of people outside the city, outside of our bubble, whether it’s audience members or whether it’s investors from the mid-west, and people loved this show. They loved it. If they had a peripheral connection to the theater, it was such a great inside look and sneak peek at the world. They were obsessed with it. It obviously didn’t run as long as everyone would have liked it to run. You weren’t involved with season two, is that right?
Theresa: No. There was a very complicated and sort of ugly political situation that developed and I became the roadkill that was left behind as it moved on, which is fine. It was painful when it happened. I loved that show. I’m really proud of the work that I did on it. I thought it was a shame. I really regret that I didn’t have more time to work on it. People still talk to me about it. It was years ago and people are still coming up to me on the street and telling me how much they loved that first season. So I think it’s a shame. I also, at the time, felt very strongly, because it’s in my nature, the responsibility and the great opportunity to have that show be a calling card for New York theater to the rest of America and the world. I do, I have great love for it and I’m glad that it was, I think that’s really true. I still get people from all over the world calling me up to talk about that first season.
Ken: People still ask me about it, when I meet someone new. “Oh, you’re doing a Broadway show. The only thing I know about Broadway is that television show, that Smash. That was fun.” Do you think a Broadway-themed show can work? Can another one work, or is there just something about the medium?
Theresa: I think it definitely could work. There are a couple of people who said to me, “Yeah, but you know Theresa, that show was never going to work,” and I went, “It worked. I got it to work for 17 episodes. I know it can work.” I know how to do it. I had a great line producer. Part of the challenge of it was how much the networks . . . the networks have such tight control over their programming, so many people in place that have been told that that’s their job. It’s a very corporate model and they really needed to loosen up, because you had to figure out the story arc for all of the characters and the musical itself, and then figure out which song you were going to ask the guys to write. I thought their work was beautiful. They worked really hard, those two guys, but you had to be real specific about, “This is a song that’s going in this episode,” and everything had to go through such a long process of approvals that, for me, I had to back everything up. You had to commit to things much earlier than you think you’re going to have to, in terms of a network schedule, in terms of what they’re used to, and that was terribly difficult for them to do. But you cannot cut a song three days before we’re shooting it, because then we have to shut down. They had a real hard time. The structural corporate reality had a real hard time with how many pieces there were to it. You’re a Broadway producer . . . there are a lot of pieces that you have to get working at the same time, and it was totally possible to do that but it was a little bit of a high wire act and that was challenging for them.
Ken: It’s something I talk about with shows all of the time. As the producing teams on shows have grown and grown over the years, I’ve sat in many an ad meeting where I’ve looked around the room and people are waiting for someone to make a decision or, “Oh, we’ll get approval on this,” and it takes a week to get approval on a television ad or a print ad or even a marketing initiative and in that week we haven’t moved any tickets. I always say that shows like that, major corporate shows, whether they’re on Broadway or not, they move like big, giant steamships sometimes. They’re very hard to manipulate.
Theresa: Yeah, you have to be a little faster on your feet. By this point I’ve done a lot of work in television, and you really have to be nimble. That’s why I had such a good time working on this independent feature I made last year, because it reminded me of how fierce and clever you have to be when you’re working on a television show, because the ship is moving so fast. And you really do have to, in television, you have to shoot four and a half to seven pages a day. That’s just regular life on a TV show. I think that there were really weird disconnects around, “We’ve got to move this fast,” “No.” Because there were a lot of people. Spielberg mostly works in features, and there was very little experience around hardcore, “This is what TV needs,” and that’s what I think was difficult, but not by any means impossible. I’d love to see someone try it again because I thought it was a blast.
Ken: One of the things I love about you, again, is that you treat your career differently than so many others, especially after all of the success you’ve had. I’ll never forget the day that I’m looking at my inbox and, all of a sudden, pops up an e-mail from Theresa Rebeck saying, “Hey, Ken, I think we’d really get along. Want to have lunch?” And I think I literally said to my assistant, “Theresa Rebeck just e-mailed me!” I found that very cool because you were saying, “Hey, I think we might get along. I’ve got some projects. Would you like to take a look at them?” Despite, again, all of the success you’ve had, you’re still very proactive. Is that someone you think all writers have to do at whatever stage of career they are? Make opportunities happen today?
Theresa: Yes, I think that playwrights need to be a little sturdier and proactive because it’s easy to become a victim in this field, to wait for someone to anoint you. And I think for a lot of people that becomes painful and sorrowful, even, that they don’t know why they haven’t been picked. And I think that’s a dangerous position to place yourself in. I have to tell you, also, the reason I called you that time is because we have this mutual friend, Jim Price, who said to me, “You, Theresa, should call Ken.” Jim was the one who told me to do this. At that point, and I’m still at that place, I’m looking for people who I will like collaborating with. It’s stressful, this business, and I think the recommendation of someone I trust, that you would also enjoy and trust this person, matters to me. I’m kind of on the lookout for those people now. Aren’t you? I know a lot of people who are in this positon now where it’s like, “No, no, no. I don’t want to work with someone who’s going to make my life crazy. I want to work with people who love the fact that we get to do this and find joy in it.” And there’s enough challenge to the thing itself. We have enough on our plates without craziness. That’s what I really believe. So that’s why I came looking for you, personally.
Ken: I love it. Enough on our plates without craziness. It’s true, I know when I was first starting out I was so desperate to work I would work with anybody, anything, and I would get myself in these situations where it was taking up so much of my time and energy, and I was not enjoying the process and I was not able to take other opportunities with people that I enjoyed that I think would have led to better things.
Theresa: Yes, I think so. I think also there really does come a point where life is too short, so I’m on the hunt for people who don’t make my life too short.
Ken: You heard that, listeners . . . she’s on the hunt. Theresa Rebeck is hunting right now. Okay, last question, Theresa. My famed . . . infamous, I should say . . . genie question. I want you to imagine that the genie from Aladdin comes to see you. For those of you listening, I’m actually Skyping with Theresa right now because she’s in Vermont. So the Aladdin genie makes his way all the way to Vermont, knocks on your door and says, “Theresa, your plays are fantastic. I loved Smash. I can’t believe it’s not with us anymore. I want to reward you by granting you one wish. Just one, though. One wish.” What is the one thing that drives you so crazy about Broadway, that keeps you up at night, that makes you so angry that you would wish that this genie would change with the snap of his finger. What would that one wish be?
Theresa: I would like the ticket prices to go way down. I’d like them to be half of what they are. I’d like more people to be able to go. Oh, can I have two? I would like there to be more new plays on Broadway. I would like to have Broadway be the vital soul of the American theater that it was when Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller and Edward Albee were doing their works on Broadway. That’s what I would like. That’s one wish, isn’t it? Is it one or more than one?
Ken: What I love about that answer, Theresa, is that, at the beginning of this podcast you were like, “I have lots of ideas. I have so many ideas, they just keep popping,” and just then you had two. Both great ones.
Theresa: I do feel passionately. Sometimes people say to me, “Oh, you can’t do new plays on Broadway,” and I think, “Why not?” The greatest American plays were on Broadway. It gave birth to mighty, mighty storytelling and it feels essential to me that that still be there. And I don’t want to be part of the generation that saw that go away. I don’t want to think that we did nothing about it. And it does feel connected to how much it costs to do shows on Broadway and then how expensive the ticket prices get. So I would love it if the community could get together and start to propose to each other . . . I would love it if we were more . . . I love this. I love what you’re doing right now, that you’re a producer and you’re talking to me, a playwright, about these questions. I would love it if there was more of that going on, that we could see ourselves as a vital community working together to draw more audiences in. Sometimes I feel like we say to each other so much, “What are you going to do? It’s just like this. This is just the way it is.” And I think there are a lot of things that aren’t working the way they are, and people fight to make them work better. That’s what I would like. That’s the other idea. I would like us all to be in the soup together. I would like it if producers thought, “How can we figure out how to give playwrights more actors?” I get told so often, “You’ve got to keep the play down to three, five, six people.” The Brits get to have more actors in their plays. Shakespeare gets to have more actors. Maybe we should be thinking about that. Sometimes I think the new American play gets put into smaller and smaller boxes, and there’s energy and vitally and people who are still passionate about writing for the theater. How do we take that passion and that gift and explode it more, instead of squishing it? How many more ideas did I come up with? Thank you for letting me have more.
Ken: I love that and I, of course, love that we are talking as well. You are one of the most prolific writers there are so I’m starting to feel guilty. We should let you go back and write. I want to thank you so much for being here. We’re all going to be looking forward to the next Rebeck contribution to the stage or the screen. I prefer the stage, just saying. So for more on Theresa, do visit her website, TheresaRebeck.com. Thanks to all of you for listening. Stay tuned for next week’s podcast. Don’t forget to subscribe. We’ll see you then.
Ken: Hey, guys, don’t forget . . . Spring Awakening returns to Broadway in just a few short weeks in a production unlike anything you could ever imagine. You’re going to love it, I promise. Get tickets today at Ticketmaster.com. See you next week!