Eugene Lee in his studio. (Constance Brown/The New Yorker)
Eugene Lee, longtime resident scenic designer at Trinity Repertory Company and for NBC’s Saturday Night Live, who gained Tony Awards for Candide, Sweeney Todd, and Wicked, died on Feb. 6. He was 83.
“There are hits, there are flops, people are born, people die.”
Anyone who has had the dignity to collaborate with Eugene Lee can delight on this smart quip, spontaneously delivered in his unmistakable voice.
For 25 years, as Eugene’s good friend, colleague, and mentee, I’ve been recognized to playfully distort my vocal cords to mimic his kooky sensibility and perception when I’m in search of inspiration. What would Eugene do? I count on to ask myself that query for the remainder of my life, as I attempt to develop and collaborate on my future endeavors. Luckily I’ve numerous conversations and tales to reference, every a lesson and a thriller, and his passionate can-do spirit to information me. To say that Eugene was a genius will not be an exaggeration. (I are usually a simple man.) Eugene’s reward was packaged in a fancy and messy type that all the time relied on easy, actual options, utilizing actual gadgets. Eugene shared that he “always loved going to the dump as a kid. I love using real materials.”
In making ready to craft this tribute to Eugene, I rifled by way of my private copy of his unpublished, never-finished autobiography. I’ve seen varied variations over time; the most recent copy is a spiral-bound onerous cowl secured with a button and butcher’s twine tied in a sailor’s knot, a nod to his lifelong ardour for wood sailboats. Titled The Adventures of Eugene Lee, it’s an inspiring, bulging 375-page scrapbook of pictures and typewritten tales, navigating in no obvious order the trail from start to his most up-to-date venture. Eugene’s tales all the time served a function; although they might have adopted an oblique path and the message was not all the time instantly clear, I discovered I might all the time achieve an perception if I actually listened. (That could also be certainly one of my presents: understanding him.) As he joked, “You can never learn less!”
The very first thing Eugene all the time centered on was the connection of the actor to the viewers. “I always feel more at home when the actors can touch the audience and vice versa,” he writes. Finding or reconfiguring an area to serve this relationship and to assist the story is key. I’m positive many theatre managers can attest to the challenges (and payoffs!) of reconfiguring their stage and seating to assist his imaginative and prescient. Eugene: “Actors are always more important than the scenery. Scenery is highly overrated!”
Oskar Eustis, in his contribution to Eugene’s guide, sums it up finest: “Eugene often says that he hates scenery, and it’s true: What he loves is theatre. And making spaces where theatre can happen is his genius and passion. He’s a man of many contradictions: an old hippie who loves joining elite New England clubs; a fiercely innovative artist who worships history; a wild experimentalist who has made his living in television for nearly 50 years; a dedicated nonprofit theatre worker with a shelf full of Tony Awards; a committed avant-gardist equally committed to telling a story that anyone can understand. These intense contradictions have led to an utterly original designer who has worked successfully in more venues, mediums, and aesthetics than any scenic designer in American history. They also make him a wonderful collaborator…Once you’ve worked with him, it’s hard to stop.”
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Scenery design for Caryl Churchill’s “A Number” at New York Theatre Workshop, by Eugene Lee, lighting by Edward Pierce. “Before operations on live patients became a standard part of medical education, cadavers were used, presented in steeply raked theatres called ‘the bull pit.’ But of course, we would have to change the seating in the entire theatre. A little sketch and a model… -
We lit it with one big light, like over an operating table.” -
“A Streetcar Named Desire,” Broadway surroundings design by Eugene Lee, lighting by Edward Pierce. An early isometric drawing for director Emily Mann. -
“Wicked” on Broadway, Eugene Lee. “A little storyboard trying to explain the TRANSITIONS, which I consider the MOST IMPORTANT.”
For most of my collaboration with him, Eugene and I labored remotely, speaking by way of hand-drawn drafts, messy fashions, and lengthy telephone conversations. During formative moments of a brand new venture, I’d make a day journey to Providence to his grand Angell Street residence and be part of him in his design studio above the carriage home, which has a little bit turntable constructed into the ground. Eugene was a photogenic fella, reliably wearing khaki pants with a jacket and bow tie, his face framed by his elegantly round eyeglasses. (“I love circles. My glasses are circles. All my cars have circular headlights.”) Eugene most popular a constant schedule: “Every morning I wind the two clocks…In the winter I startup the coal stove; pretty soon the place is nice and warm. It is a nice dry heat. I start work around 9 and usually work until 5, without lunch.” Well, I can’t go the entire day with out meals, so Brooke (Eugene’s spouse and the key sauce behind the scenes) would all the time coordinate a lunch break on the again patio. It wasn’t straightforward, however Eugene would succumb to a grilled cheese sandwich on white bread with some potato chips and occasional. Now nourished, we’d be again to creating.
I’ll perpetually be in awe of Eugene’s means handy draft an expressive, precisely scaled drawing in a matter of minutes. Always on the prepared in his chest pocket was a wood onerous lead pencil, which he would maintain along with his super-glue-encrusted fingers and create beautiful isometric drawings, which he most popular. “You can measure from them, the isometric axes are true lengths, and they’re easier to understand than a ground plan. Directors can understand them.”
He’d all the time begin with a mannequin, sort of messy and playful, the type he appreciated finest. He’d then mild them broadly and {photograph} them along with his devoted Pentax 1000 (“It’s a very simple camera, no longer made”). He’d typically use a felt tip marker proper on the picture, then print them utilizing varied speeds on the copier. He most popular black and white.
When we have been able to share our work and pack up the mannequin, there was a significant ritual: “I take some white foam board and build my usual little box with a lid. I always build the model box the same way, with white glue and white tape. I always put a fillet of glue on the inside seam, and they never seem to come apart. I always tie down the lid with a piece of string made fast with a trucker’s hitch.”
On the ultimate pages of Eugene’s guide, he auspiciously transitions to: “The end of it.” On these pages, Eugene recollects a night a number of years in the past the place he lay in mattress sleepless, uncomfortable from latest double-knee surgical procedure, stored awake by torrential rain and wind that shook the entire home. Searching for sleep, or maybe peace, he accounted for his lively tasks and the great folks he was working with. He slipped deeper into relaxation, dreaming of his ardour tasks. (A pencil manufacturing unit—that may have been cool!) Suddenly, the telephone rang; it was Hal Prince. He wished Eugene to design…Wait, is that this a dream? Eugene’s eyes lastly loosen up and, below shallow breath, he thanks Brooke, his sons, me, then sleep…crusing.
The last, forward-looking entry reads: “Brooke wants to take the dogs out for an evening drive, they expect it. Tomorrow, off to…”
Then and now, Eugene Lee is crusing off to his subsequent journey.
Edward Pierce (he/him) is a Tony-nominated designer who collaborates on Broadway, touring, and worldwide stay stage productions. He at the moment represents designers and artists because the president of United Scenic Artists, Local USA 829.
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