THE MUSE #79
In this edition: Highlights from CinemaCon and the new Jurassic World Dominion trailer! Plus, a delicious edition of “Lessons & Recipes from the Heirloom.”
Hey Muses:)
Last week I went to CinemaCon and it was a dizzying joy! I got to spend time with the delightful genius who is Jeff Goldblum — which is always something I treasure — and we got to celebrate the immense power and possibility of shared theatrical experiences. Some of my most lasting memories were made in the movie theater surrounded by friends and family (or even when I went solo), and CinemaCon got me especially charged up for the Jurassic World Dominion press tour this summer.
Over the course of the week, dozens of studios, filmmakers, and actors announced some incredible movies coming out this year (and projects that I can’t wait to see soon). Here are a few that my family and I are really looking forward to:
Of course, Jurassic World Dominion (Watch the new trailer here & make sure to get your tickets!)
Jordan Peele’s sci-fi horror film Nope
The Disney 2022-2023 lineup, especially The Haunted Mansion and Indiana Jones
Dwayne Johnson’s Black Adam
and Don’t Worry Darling, a psychological thriller directed by Olivia Wilde
xo
bdh
“Dear Bryce” Advice Column
Welcome to Dear Bryce! This is Nine Muses’ advice column where I (Bryce Dallas Howard) humbly respond to your questions about navigating the entertainment industry and beyond. If you’re wondering how to balance life and work, seeking answers about the storytelling and filmmaking process, or just want to know more about a favorite past or upcoming BDH project, stay tuned for more of Dear Bryce!
A reader writes…
I am an aspiring concept artist and storyteller. I've learned to establish relationships between things that don't readily correlate. It's like a super power. I use it on my journey towards mastery of my craft and even weave it into my life. I am very curious what philosophies, if any, have you adopted or come up with that have helped you on your journey?
I love that idea of finding relationships, not only in art-making, but as we move through the world, being a person who seeks to make connections rather than create divisions. If you don’t mind dear reader, I might bring that into my own practice!
As for my philosophies, when I teach the Nine Muses Lab, one of the first things I establish with my students are a few personal “operating principles.” Essentially, there are a handful of sayings and quotes that guide my life and my creative process.
I think one of the earliest sayings came from my Grandad Rance Howard. He was a realistic person and often said to his kids and grandkids, “You can’t separate the pain from the pleasure.”
The order in which he listed those two givens in life — pain then pleasure — was intentional. In his lifetime, Grandad was someone who put one foot in front of the other and experienced extraordinary loss in his life. But he wasn’t defined by those losses. He defined himself by how he responded to tragedies that came his way.
What I’ve adopted from my grandfather is the truism that good can come from bad; that miraculous things are born from loss. He taught us that though the pain in life comes first, it is inextricably linked to pleasure, and that’s what I hold onto.
Another tenet I prescribe to is no complaining and solution-based thinking. Because no matter how much venting might ease frustration in the moment, it won’t improve the situation at hand. Artists can have a bad reputation for being self-pitiers, whiners, and complainers, but storytellers are effectively professional problem-solvers, so we should live up to the role!
Viktor Frankl, who endured far worse than anything that could happen on a set, summed it up when he wrote, “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing; the last of the human freedoms; to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.”
And the last quote I’ll share is less of a philosophy and more of a reminder that I keep in the back of my mind to consistently hone my craft.
Radio host and producer Ira Glass (This American Life) said, “All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you… It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take a while. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”
And while Ira Glass focuses on the “first couple years,” I am constantly thinking about ways in which I can bridge the gap between my taste and skills. If I’m in a situation in which I’m not satisfied with what I’ve developed, I take it as a sign that there’s another lesson or skill for me to practice and add to the toolbox.
Here’s to making connections and finding the truisms that guide us along the way!
xo
bdh
p.s. Here’s are some bonus “Dear Bryce” responses
Q: What advice would you give to an aspiring director on how to communicate with actors effectively?
See: “Top 3 Directing Tips”
I consider it a big compliment and big responsibility that people expect me to be “an actor’s director,” and it’s because I, as an actor, have had the chance to work with such wonderful directors and have picked up a few lessons along the way. This blog post shares my top three directing tips for getting the best performance from your actors, crew, and camera.
Have a question for Bryce? Submit it below:
Note: Nine Muses may publish any question you submit, here or in other media. We never, ever print names; all questions will be kept anonymous.
The Calliope Diaries
Here at Nine Muses, we’re big advocates for dedicated journaling time.
Every month, we’ll share a free-response prompt to get your creative juices flowing. This month’s prompt:
What would you create if you knew you couldn't fail?
Recommended Time: 10 minutes
This Week’s Recipe: Chicken, Mushroom & Pignoli Risotto
A Note…
There are some units of measurement in this recipe, when dealing with rice and liquid experience is the best teacher, but I wouldn’t want to throw you in the deep end if this is your first foray into Risotto, so I added some rough guidelines as to not get lost in the weeds. Everything else is up to experimentation, personal taste, dinner party size, and appetite. Enjoy!
What You’ll Need…
Condimenti:
Unsalted butter
Garlic Cloves, minced or grated
Chicken Breast or Thighs, cut into cubes
Plenty of Mushrooms, sliced thin (I use a mix of crimini and shiitake, but any wild mushrooms will work)
Enough Cream to cover the rest of the condimenti ingredients in the pan
Roughly ⅔ Cup of Cream
Salt & Pepper
Italian Seasoning
A hearty handful of Pignolis (slivered almonds work too)
Grated Parmesan (more than a little but less than a lot)
A bunch of Chopped Parsley, plus more for serving
Brodo:
Roughly 5 cups of Chicken Stock or Vegetable Stock
A Glass of white wine
Soffritto:
Unsalted butter
Olive oil
A minced vidalia onion
Riso:
1 ½ Cups of Arborio or Carnaroli Rice
How To Make…
Condimenti:
Heat butter and garlic in a large saute pan until butter is foaming.
Add chicken cubes, flipping once each side is golden brown.
Once all sides are golden brown add the mushrooms and cook until they’ve started to soften.
Then add the cream and season with salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning.
Simmer cream until it thickens, remove from heat and keep warm in an off oven.
In a separate pan heat butter and gently toast pine nuts till golden brown and fragrant.
Brodo:
Bring stock to a consistent shimmer in a small saucepan.
Soffritto:
Heat butter and olive oil in a large heavy bottomed dutch oven or casserole
Add onions and sauté until translucent and soft, but before they start to brown
Riso:
Add rice to the dutch oven and stir to coat the grains with the onion as you toast the rice, a nutty aroma will let you know they are done toasting.
Deglaze with the cup of white wine and stir consistently with a wooden spoon until the wine has been completely absorbed by the rice
Now for the fun bit, add the shimmering broth, one ladle full at a time, and stir continuously until the rice has absorbed all the broth. Once the rice has absorbed the first ladle full, add the next, and the next.
Hunker down, as this portion of cooking can take upwards of thirty to forty five minutes, but I promise you it is worth it. Remind yourself why you are cooking, and who you will be sharing this meal with. Enjoy the aroma that you have crafted in your kitchen, and get someone to pour you a glass of that white wine.
Once all the broth has been absorbed into the rice add the Condimenti, grated parmesan cheese, and chopped parsley.
Top each plate with more parsley and toasted pine nuts and enjoy.
Lessons & Recipes from the Heirloom: “In the Weeds”
A guide to making cooking the best part of your multi-hyphenate practice by Jack Piscitelli Dahill & Sage Livingstone Molasky
“A garden requires patient labor and attention. Plants do not grow merely to satisfy ambitions or to fulfill good intentions. They thrive because someone expended effort on them.” ~ Liberty Hyde Bailey
“Do you know why it is important to weed before you water the vegetables?”, my dad asks me. He wears his gardening outfit of choice, an old Army Corps of Engineers summer fatigues with the motto, “Essayons!” (“Let Us Try” in Latin), displayed proudly on the light green canvas.
“Because if you don’t the weeds will absorb all the water?”
“Good guess, but no. It’s because it's easier to weed in dirt, than in mud.” He says this with a laugh, but I don’t see why it’s particularly funny. To be fair to him, I don’t think I’m capable of finding anything he says funny at this moment. It’s the dog days of summer when the air is thick and soupy and my dad has decided to have us weed.
When I longingly ask if we’ve done enough for today he looks at me and says, “Did you like the vegetables we had for dinner last night?” I nod my head. “Then we haven’t done enough.”
I spot a sly smile spread across his face. I imagine it’s because he’s happy he has someone to suffer with him. After I finish weeding, I am tasked with watering the plants, during which I forget which plants I’ve watered and which ones are probably parched. I also forget to take off my sneakers, so by the end of my task, they squeak and my socks are drenched. But when I return to the kitchen, my mom wraps me in a hug, kisses the top of my head, and thanks me profusely for tending to the garden.
“It makes me happy how much you love the garden,” she says to me. My dad gives me a small thumbs up from behind her. I don’t complain about gardening again.
While my dad may have simply been trying to instill a work ethic in me, he showed me something greater: even the “less pleasant” bits of work need to be done. And if they must be done, why not take pride in them? Admittedly, weeding and watering is not very fun. At least for me. It doesn’t hold the instant gratification of harvesting, nor does it foster an excitement for the future the way planting does. Yet all these stages in a garden are equally important for a bountiful dinner.
I firmly believe in following the fun — in taking chances and pursuing boldly in the direction of joy. And there is much of that to be found in art making. But as with anything, there are less joyous moments, tediousness, and adversity. Art making can be bountiful and fun like long fall afternoons in the garden and tomato harvesting , but it often takes some weeding to get there. So how do we find the fun in weeding?
This is a question that I am still grappling with as I draft a new play. Drafting, in my humble opinion, is terrible. It is daunting and hard. Both logistically hard (“When will I find the time to do this?”) and emotionally hard (“What do you mean I have to get rid of that sentence, it makes the whole thing work!”).
But drafting is like weeding. It must be done. And often when I sit down to weed or to write, I remember my dad weeding with a smile and ask myself how he found joy even during the most tedious of tasks.
What I‘ve come to realize is that he knows what he has to get rid of. He knows which plants are meant to stay and which ones aren’t. Many times I’ve nearly ripped out a sprout because I thought it was a weed because my mind was elsewhere, dreaming of a glass of lemonade. On the other hand, there was a time not that long ago when I wouldn’t “weed” my draft for fear I might remove the perfect sentence in favor of a less meaty one or fear that I might fail to find my voice and never make something worth chewing.
When I find myself fearful, unable to begin weeding or knee deep in the weeds, I remember not only the simplicity my dad found in the process, but also the unwavering sense of purpose.
I think back to my dad, and the smile on his face, that sly smile in the garden, and imagine not that he’s glad I’m there to suffer with him, but instead that he’s thinking of my mom, her beaming face, her steady hands, making art out of the plants that he grew. My dad knew how to remind himself why he was weeding and why he was making me weed. He was doing it for the family that he loved.
When I look down at a page either full of mistakes, or a blank one, I remind myself that this is an essential part of the process that I love, so soon, I’ll get to share some of it with the collaborators, peers, and people that I love. Like my mom cooking with the vegetables my dad tended to, I get to experience the particular honor of making art with my friends and fellow artists. That is the beauty of theatre. Like growing food and cooking it, theatre is a collaboration. And that makes weeding easier.
By the time I left home for college, I optimized the watering route so that I didn’t have to backtrack. I learned to take my shoes off and water barefoot so neither my socks nor shoes got soggy. I learned the difference between a weed and a sprout. And I even learned to enjoy weeding. Because after years of gardening with my dad, I took pride in the fact that my food tasted that much better knowing I put in the work to get them there.
Now, a year after college, I’m entering the world, beginning to weed my own art joyously, with simplicity, passion, and love. I am excited for the day when the art, made by my collaborators and me, sings and resounds, knowing that we put in the work to share it with the world.
Jack Piscitelli Dahill (he/him) is a 2021 Nine Muses Lab Fellow and interdisciplinary storyteller who believes in “following the fun.” His interests lie in twisting traditional archetypes and narratives to shine light on how humor elicits the most profound empathy. He believes that food is the base of shared human experience, and through exploration of the artistry of food we can find a radical connection to each other.
Sage Livingstone Molasky (she/her) is a writer, environmentalist, and theater maker. Her work is rooted in the intersection of food, sex and religion. As a playwright, she draws inspiration from her deep connection to place — from the red rocks of Nevada and the mountains of Colorado to the farms of the Hudson Valley and New York City — exploring the relationships between bodies and the natural world. Sage hopes to increase New Yorkers’ access to free art and free food, making New York a greener, and more equitable place.
“Muse (v.): 1. To become absorbed in thought; 2. To think or say reflectively.”
Newsletter run by Nia Farrell, Director of Development & Production at Nine Muses Entertainment
