Twenty-Nine

I was 17 when I first attended Circle. I had high hopes for the summer program since it  had been recommended by a friend. I had two experiences during those seven weeks  that will stay with me forever.

I was presenting as female at the time and, I’ll remind you, underaged. During a scene  study class where I was meant to rehearse a Joe/Harper scene from Angels in America,  I had a well-intentioned yet ultimately catastrophic idea where I’d explore Harper’s  loneliness and sexual frustration by donning lingerie. Before entering the classroom, I  felt pretty confident about my decision, feeling safe, and supported in this “professional”  environment. Upon entering the room, my teacher showed me the error of my thinking  without uttering a word. I was greeted with concerned looks from my adult classmates,  and as I scanned the room, I noticed my teacher staring at my body with a cocked  eyebrow and an obvious smirk. What began as confidence instantly shriveled into fear,  regret, and instability. I remember my teeth chattering, and my knees and hands  shaking ferociously as the panic attack set in. Unable to properly voice my concerns, I  pressed on, all the while wishing I had a teacher who would have instead of taking  delight in an underaged body, pulled me aside, and said ‘hey, this doesn’t seem safe for  someone your age to be doing. I understand your intention, but this isn’t appropriate.’ But no, I got the creepy, old, white guy who seemingly never knew the answer to  anyone’s questions. 

The second experience from that summer came from a classical text class. Our teacher was having us collectively do a popcorn reading of the bastard speech from King Lear  with a very painful twist. This particular teacher was very fond of physically abusing her  students for the sake of emotion and this case was no different. I stood with my text in  hand, ready to give it my all. She approached me gingerly, saying, “Okay, just start from  the beginning.” I hadn’t even gotten through the first line before my hair was in her fist  and I was being pushed onto the floor. She pinned me there, crouched on top of me as I  spat and screamed my way through the text, letting my anger go unchecked. About  halfway through the speech, she silenced and released me, getting up and moving onto  the next student. No aftercare. No check-in. No asking beforehand if I had knee  problems (which I now do, thanks to CITS) and no asking if/how this experience of  unfiltered rage would affect my mental state for the rest of the day. That’s the thing  about CITS faculty, they don’t care about the mental health of their students. They think  their program is one-size-fits-all and it’s not. But I wouldn’t learn that until I went back for  the two-year program three years later. 

I know what you’re thinking, “why would you go back after how poorly it went the first  time?” My answer is: A) I had tried studying theatre at two different universities and it  wasn’t for me (college isn’t for everyone and that isn’t a bad thing), B) My mom really  wanted me to finish some form of higher learning (I never did), C) Jewish guilt is a powerful thing, D) Two years of school seemed more manageable than four, and E) I  was still living under the misconception that being mistreated was part of working in  theatre. 

As you can well imagine, nothing had changed in the way the school was being run over  the course of three years, and while I have a plethora of stories I could tell, I think I’ll just boil it down to a couple of big ones for the sake of readability. 

A little backstory for you, I’m epileptic and non-binary. I was on the verge of coming out  during my final semester at Circle but decided against it. First, we’ll address the fact that  CITS pretty much has a zero-tolerance policy against those with disabilities if it  interferes with attendance. The particular kind of epilepsy I have is triggered by lack of  sleep and stress, two things that are abundant at Circle in the Square, so as you can  imagine, I was having plenty of seizures and missing plenty of classes. This is what  ultimately led to me being dismissed from the school altogether because there’s no way  in hell I was about to act like repeating the second year was more important than my  happiness, freedom, and safety. Nobody was taking notes for me on the days I couldn’t  come in and so I was left to figure shit out for myself, all the while getting more anxious  and losing more sleep over trying to catch up, and thus repeating the horrific cycle of  seizure, no help, seizure, no help. My circumstance was met with disdain and ableism. I  wouldn’t wish it on anyone. 

My final story is a bit more abstract. As I mentioned, I didn’t come out during my time at  Circle because after my interactions with several classmates and faculty members  about gender and bringing in “male” songs and monologues, I figured it wasn’t safe. One of the last things I did before leaving the school was begging my European scene  study teacher to let me play one of the male roles. I told him I didn’t care which one, I  just needed to. I was denied this opportunity in a school that supposedly is all about  “living your truth.” A similar encounter happened with my song interpretation (or  something, I honestly forget what the actual name of the class was) teacher. I had  brought in songs traditionally sung by men. All she said was “you’ll never use this, it  doesn’t make sense to have it in your book” and instead kept on giving me songs “for  butch women” because that’s all she saw: a butch woman. After these encounters, I  realized that if I was going to come out and live my best, honest life, it couldn’t be here  in this basement full of old, cis, white people telling me I’m not allowed to fuck around  with gender because it isn’t “real” or “marketable” 

Just like any student of Circle, I hated it there. I’m one of the lucky ones who made it out  before they had completely crushed my soul and spirit. I just hope this letter serves as a strong enough warning to those considering CITS as a place for study that this is not  the “professional” institution it claims to be. You will be abused, you will be tokenized, and you will lose your individuality.

— Teagan Kazia

Seventeen

To whom it may concern, 

I’m that one person who dropped out two years in a row within the first month. I wish I could put into words the amount of shame and self-loathing that particular narrative brought me until I was able to work it the hell out in therapy. The feeling when you get a second chance and then screw it up for yourself once again. I mean, I made the big move to the big city. Told all my friends that I was going to achieve my dreams at a Broadway affiliated conservatory, hosted two going away parties in my hometown only for these people to see on Facebook two months later, “Oh hey guys, I’m back in Texas… again.”

Yeah. That’s a set up for a lot of inner shame, right? Hmmmm…. I would have to agree based on that information alone but I think we should explore the HELLSTORM that is the tiny basement below the prestigious Broadway stage.

My first attempt at Circle in the Square

I was absolutely elated to be accepted into the musical theatre program. I moved away from my hometown in Texas only two weeks prior to acclimate to the fast-paced culture that is New York City. I'd experienced chronic depression since I was 18 but it was in check, I was in a good head space.

After the first few days of classes, I left school each day feeling a new level of fatigue that can be best described as feeling as though I had been hit by a bus. I mean, back to back classes with no lunch break kind of shocked me but hey, if you can’t hang, you can’t hang. “Only the brightest and most dedicated will survive! Only the most talented!” This lie is fed to you from day one. I remember Whitney Kaufman dishing this out during orientation.

I began to question my talent, efficacy as an adult, and dedication.

I attempted suicide in my tiny apartment in Washington Heights three weeks into school and dropped out.

My second attempt at Circle in the Square

I was contacted by E. Colin O’Leary and offered a second chance. I took it without hesitation. Afterall, it was all my fault for being such a shitty person who clearly wasn’t dedicated or talented enough to succeed in my first try. I am so lucky!

This was the year I faced physical abuse, teachers enabling my eating disorder, and gaslighting (Alan Langdon).

My previous classmates who were now in their second year greeted me with open arms and concern for my previous incident. I felt loved and welcomed by them.

One of my classmates had calculated the fact that year one consisted of 61hrs a week… 61hrs a week… no lunch breaks.

Incident One

Alan Langdon is known to be cold, distant, condescending, etc.…. BUT ALL IN THE NAME OF ART! Bullshit. I wanted so badly to be liked by him. We did the Harold Pinter crap again, I slept with that script, read it on the train, and clutched it to my chest between classes. I just couldn’t memorize it. My entire class performed their scene and none of us recited it perfectly.

Alan went on a tangent about how we were clearly not dedicated or capable enough. His son memorized a five minute monologue in one night in order to play a role in a regional musical… How disappointing we all were.

This is how I felt in every one of his sessions. Inadequate, untalented, and clearly not intelligent enough to be as GREAT as one of his favorite cis-white male students. How the hell am I supposed to feel safe around him?

Incident Two (CW: EATING DISORDER)

This was the year I dropped out due to my eating disorder. I had several staff members commenting on my body because I’d lost weight.

This would be a good time to remind you: 61hrs/week, NO LUNCH BREAKS

I was in speech class, recording my list of words. On my way out, Elizabeth Loughran grabbed my arm. “You look wonderful. Whatever you’re doing…” massive pause “It’s working.” I ham it up and say “omg, I discovered working out!”

Little did she know that I was walking from 51st street to my 106th st apartment each day and taking advantage of the lack of lunch breaks.

I’ll leave this to you to realize how incredibly problematic this is. She’d seen me a year prior but now that I’m in a smaller body, “I look wonderful.”

Incident Three (CW: Sexual/Physical Abuse)

Workshop was a class that was added between my 1st and 2nd try. We were told that we would have working actors who are active in the industry to guide us through scene work. Kevin McGuire was the prestigious white cis-male guest who graced our presence the first semester. E. Colin O’Leary and Whitney Kaufman helped us select two person scenes from specific plays. I initially chose You and I which features important discussions about race and ableism. I paired up with a Latinx classmate and we were excited to get started. Colin told us we couldn’t do this scene. No reason given. Whitney piped up saying we should instead do 27 Wagons Full of Cotton by Tennessee Williams. I would like to point out that this scene features a POC victimizing a white woman.

In rehearsals, I skipped over the “N” word. As a white person, it is not my word to say. I was called out by Whitney and asked to repeat the word over and over until I felt comfortable with it.

I was later told how shocked my classmates were. I was shocked as well.

This scene alludes to rape. Having been raped the previous year and not having any other option but to do this scene, I was internally freaking out and my performance in front of Kevin McGuire showed it.

“You’re like a… fake actor.” Kevin said after we finished the emotionally exhausting scene.

“You need to be rougher with her.” Kevin then told my kindhearted scene partner, “She’s larger than you and you need to assert your aggression. Don’t give her the choice to overtake you.”

We ran the scene again. Kevin instructed my scene partner to grip me harder… and harder… and harder. I physically felt as though I needed to be smaller and smaller and smaller in order to portray this dainty woman that I clearly wasn’t portraying being the LARGER scene partner. I left that class with bruises on my wrist from my scene partner being pressured into literally abusing me. Since I was such a fake actor and all, I guess it was worth it.

(Edit: I don’t actually believe it was worth it.)

Conclusion

I am grateful to my mother who called and told me to get help in my second year after seeing a picture on instagram where my eyes were sunken in and my face hollow. Here, I thought I looked “wonderful.” Why was someone thousands of miles away the first one to say anything?Is this the kind of place we’re supposed to feel safe? I have to acknowledge, I would not have gotten a second chance to attend if I weren’t white and straight passing.

I have nightmares to this day of my experience in New York City. I felt sick the last time I visited because of the mindset I was put in with 61 hrs/week and no lunch breaks and I only attended a month total.

I have been in recovery from my eating disorder since I dropped out my second time. I remember sending an email to Colin about my decision to leave again. I never received a response… I would have died had I been one of the “dedicated and talented” students.

Guess what, Circle. I AM in fact dedicated and talented. It’s actually YOUR program that is not a reasonable or a humane way of training some of the brightest actors that you’ve had the PLEASURE to see walk through your doors.

Sincerely,
Haley Boswell ‘20