On Assistant and Associate Directing
On Assistant and Associate Directing
Part 1 of 2 (mostly about Chay Yew)
Since 2019, I’ve served as Chay Yew’s Associate Director on a production called Cambodian Rock Band, by Lauren Yee. This has been an extraordinarily rewarding experience, and I’ve been lucky to work on a play, and with a director, that I connect with deeply.
Since the position is top-of-mind right now, I wanted to share how this experience has spurred my growth as an artist, and my career. The best way to think of assistant/associate work is like understudy work for an actor. It can be an opportunity for growth, and a professional boost, a feather in the ol’ cap. It is rarely a direct path to creating your own work, but it can lift your career and enable your projects.
Side-note: I’m not talking about Associate work on Broadway, where the pay is much better, and sometimes constitutes a living wage here in New York City. This post applies to non-profit assisting/associate directing only. The opportunities for growth and career advancement are real, but at non-profit theaters the pay is modest.
What Assistant/Associate work is: Assistant/Associate work in nonprofit theaters is an opportunity to closely observe and support a director that you connect with, learn about process (sometimes through direct participation), promote your career, find a mentor/champion/coach/reference (if all goes well, all of these), learn about large-scale theaters, and expand your network.
What Assistant/Associate work is not: It is not a direct path to making your own work. The only direct path to making your own work is…making your own work. I call this “the architect’s dilemma”: Nobody will let you build a building until you’ve built a building. More on this another time.
With assisting or associate directing, you don’t own the work you’re supporting. Observing someone you admire, as helpful as it can be, is not the same as creating your own work. As I said, it’s like the difference between creating a role and understudying. The gulf between the two is vast, though both are valuable and theater can’t work without them. For this reason, it’s important to keep pursuing your own projects alongside any assistant/associate role.
How to get assistant/associate work. The first step is finding a director you want to work with. I found Chay five (!) years ago. In summer 2018, I saw Luis Alfaro’s Oedipus El Rey at the Public Theater, and was blown away. Here’s a review that captured the experience.
I chose Chay for particular reasons. He has skill in new play development, and I’m passionate about that. He’s known for his work with actors, and acting is at the heart of my practice. Last, Chay’s work is built on the conviction that stories can change the world. His projects have their own centers of gravity, while also challenging inequality, white supremacy, the patriarchy, and other fractures in the American body politic. He also steadfastly protects and nurtures queer artists, artists of color, and particularly Asian-American artists—a community that faces pronounced underrepresentation on American stages and screens.
For me, being alive in America today means taking responsibility for the history of violence and lies that have brought us to this fractured present. It also means seeing the world around me clearly, exploring my deepest self, embracing my obligation to others. I wanted to work with an artist who shares these values and whose work explores the limits of the human experience and imagination. I wanted to work with Chay.
In spring of 2019, I learned that Chay had another production upcoming at the Public: Luis Alfaro’s Mojada. A bird told me he had no assistant director assigned. I cold-emailed him expressing interest and breaking down my resume, and he took me on as his assistant.
“Assistant Director” can mean many different things. With Chay, my first job was to create the dramaturgy packet—a bundle of research delivered to actors in advance of the first rehearsal. This work brought me up to speed on the play and its concerns, and introduced me to the company.
During rehearsals, I observed. Chay devoted post-rehearsal time to discussing the events of the day, and principles of directing. I filled a notebook with observations, trying to burn everything I saw into my permanent memory. I didn’t give notes, but during scenework and run-throughs I practiced by taking my own notes, then comparing them to Chay’s as he gave notes to actors in real time. Later, during tech, Chay sent notes via email to save rehearsal time, and he allowed me to look them over.
I love Chay’s style in rehearsal. Known as an actor’s director, he gives direct, honest, concise, actionable notes that are based on keen insight into human behavior. While he always knows the text inside-out, he says “I don’t know” more than any director I’ve seen. I asked him about it once, and he said, “The minute you tell an actor exactly what you want, all they can do is think about getting it right. But if you bring them to a moment and then say, ‘What happens here? I don’t know – it’s up to you,’ then they play, explore, create.” I try to apply this lesson as much as I can.
Of course, knowing things is critical. Chay once told me, “An actor decides whether to listen to you within thirty seconds of meeting you. If they decide you’re helpful, they’ll listen through the rest of the process. If not, they’ll just pretend, while figuring it out on their own.” It’s a brutal discipline, but true. Actors tune out if they conclude you can’t support their process, for one reason or another. First impressions count.
A last lesson was on collaboration. Sometimes it can mean consensus at all costs, which leads to generality—the enemy of art. Chay enters into creative conflict by practicing dialectic with actors. He debates with vigor, never abandoning his position to keep a false peace, but giving ground and remaining open to discovery. Witnessing Chay manage conflict so gracefully was important. The implicit challenge of an actor’s “no,” or “but” can be intimidating. But working through this creative friction is indispensable for a robust process. In Chay’s rehearsals, steel sharpened steel and the atmosphere remained supportive and fun.
Shortly after Mojada closed in summer 2019, Chay offered me the role of associate director on the national tour of Lauren Yee’s Cambodian Rock Band—a position that would start with me serving as assistant twice, then elevate. It was a two-year commitment. I accepted. I’ll detail that experience in a future post.
On living: The pay was modest; I earned barely half what the Equity actors made every week, starting with first rehearsal and leading up to opening night. It was more than I had made working on any show to that point in my life, but still not a living wage in New York City.
Nevertheless, it was worthwhile. Rehearsing in lower Manhattan—a lifelong dream—and contributing to a show I loved at the Public boosted my career and visibility in important ways, and this led to other opportunities. I learned about directing. I made connections in the Public Theater, some of whom are friends to this day. I also met the artistic director, Oskar Eustis, and made a great impression. The following year, he saw my work and later invited me to join a grad-level course he teaches at NYU. I did a good job and that led to a guest directing gig at NYU Grad Acting, which was a huge level-up for me.
In my next post, I’ll discuss my experience as Associate Director on Cambodian Rock Band—a play I connect with deeply, and another important learning experience. Chay expanded my responsibilities for this production. It’s already had a profound impact on me. Hopefully, it will lead to even more work and opportunities than Mojada did.