Reuven Glezer in conversation with Theresa Buchheister
Blood of the Beasts (1949, Georges Franju) - an inspiration image for Glezer’s upcoming production of Slaughter City
Reuven Glezer:
The ominous voice of doom.
Theresa Buchheister:
That's a great way to start. We can call this interview the Ominous Voice of Doom, an interview with Reuven Glezer.
RG:
Please.
TB:
So I always like to start out by asking you to introduce yourself to give the reading audience a lens into who you are… How you identify in the world, and in particular, the world of arts in New York City.
RG:
God, my… my least favorite thing is, like, describing myself… you know, I think on my resume, technically, it says writer, director, illusions designer. If that can give people a sense of who I am.
TB:
It does give a sense, but, like, who are you? Yes, you are a writer, yes, you are a director, yes, you are an illusions designer, and people should know that, because when people don't know that, they don't know that they can hire you for those things. But…
Is there any other context you want to offer? When you walk through the world, how do you like to be perceived?
RG:
God, I don't want anyone to perceive me, and that's, like, my biggest crutch of being a theater maker. I prefer to go about my day and nobody's noticed me. Did I tell you about that weird thing where I went to a show, at Pageant, and one of the magicians recognized me?
And I was like - “oh, you're that guy from Instagram!” That's terrifying. I've never felt such mortal terror.
TB:
Bro, did they recognize you because of Instagram but also because of magic?
RG:
Yes, they, like, knew I did magic, they knew I did illusions, but they sort of didn't know quite who I was. I was like, that's freaky. Which is actually freaky, because my account is definitely locked.
So somebody must have reposted something?
TB:
At some point.
RG:
It was a very funny moment where I was like - “oh no, recognizability! I think this is the end of my days of peace.” It's like being a wizard. My vision of life is being a wizard in the woods who just, like, lives on the edge of a swamp and children come and throw rocks at my door.
TB:
There's still time for that. Don't give up on that dream yet.
But I was gonna say, maybe this begins the era of you starting to wear disguises to shows?
RG:
I mean, honestly, I would love that. When I was a kid, I was obsessed with how Sherlock Holmes had a million disguises. I was a big Sherlock Holmes head. I have a bunch of, like…
vintage Sherlock Holmes books in my apartment, like, collections. And I was really obsessed, especially with the BBC version (not Sherlock, which I liked).
TB:
RG:
Jeremy Brett was my favorite Sherlock Holmes, because I was just like - “oh yeah, he's just exactly how I imagined him as a kid, reading those stories…” and I pirated a lot. That's also a big part of my origin story. I pirated a lot of shit from the ages of, like, 11 to 20.
So much shit, because I didn't have the money to pay for Netflix or Hulu or whatever was around.
TB:
So, identity-wise, you're like a pirate detective wizard.
RG:
I'll take it. I will absolutely take it. Don't forget the (inexplicably) librarian.
TB:
Yes, Pirate Detective Wizard Librarian, that's your cover. Just a second before this interview started, we were talking about generational differences lol. You're a little bit younger than me, and yet, (said with whimsy) the things that we find our way to… so when I was growing up, the BBC Sherlock Holmes would air on A&E, the Arts and Entertainment Network, at 8 p.m. Central, on Monday nights. And that was my time, acknowledged by family as time to not be fucked with (my words). And once my parents tried to watch a movie with their friends, and I made boycott signs and marched up and down the hallway until they let me watch Sherlock Holmes. I was 8, I think.
RG:
Kind of iconic. I was a wait-until-mom-and-dad-are-asleep-to-watch-things person, because we had cable, so we had access to Turner Classic movies, so I watched a lot of Murder, She Wrote, which you know is an important part of my origin story. I watched it every night for years, and science still does not understand how fully that affected me…
TB:
Yeah, we'll have to study your brain eventually, see how that shaped you.
RG:
It's like the early scientists who worked with nuclear fish, and it's like- “what happened?!”
TB:
I love lore, I love lore. I'm gonna have to describe, for the reading audience, Reuven moved the camera to reveal a 221B Baker Street poster in the corner.
RG:
It's better than a poster… It's a copy of the actual Baker Street marker in London that they put on the wall, on the buildings.
TB:
I wonder if you could legally change your address to 221B Baker Street, Brooklyn.
RG:
God, that'd be so funny. If I get a physical venue for making theater, it would be called 221B Baker Street, Brooklyn.
TB: At, you know, 579 Metropolitan, or wherever.
RG:
Yeah, exactly.
TB:
I'll be on that board of directors, gladly. ….
RG:
It's just me pitching weird revivals constantly … of plays nobody's ever heard of, and everybody's like, what are you doing? I'm like, who cares? We're dying!
TB:
Well, that's an interesting segue to, you know, the main thrust of this interview! You have a very exciting project coming up. We will look backwards in your illustrious career, and we'll look forwards, as well. But, one of the reasons that it was like, oh, we should do an interview about this, is because you're directing the first production in a very long time (I'll let you correct me on the details) of Slaughter City by Naomi Wallace.
RG:
This is gonna be the New York premiere. It was at ART in Boston in ‘96 and it just ended there. It started at The Royal Shakespeare Company, but ended in Boston. We found out it was gonna be the New York premiere around a week after we decided to do it. We were curious who had done it last… like NYTW or someone. But nope!
TB:
Yeah, I was stunned. That was 30 years ago!
RG:
Yep, it was the year before I was born.
Das Ersatz, created by Travis Amiel & Cosimo Pori, illusion design by Reuven Glezer. Photo: Jose Miranda
TB:
Whoa. So that begs the question, how did you learn about it? How did you first hear about this play, and what is it that drew you to it?
RG:
When the pandemic hit, me and my friend Ben Natan, who runs Small Boat, we were doing play-reading parties in his apartment. And we read One Flea Spare one of the nights. Great time, excellent play. (Commentary from Theresa - it is an intense play) So, then I tweeted about the experience and Michael Breslin commented that I should read her other plays and I went down a rabbit hole! The War Boys, Slaughter City, In the Heart of America, all those works, and it sort of stayed in my mind, because the first off-Broadway show I ever saw was at Signature, and it was Naomi Wallace's Night is a Room.
TB:
Wow!
RG:
So it was a weird full-circle moment of, like, oh!
TB:
And I have to ask, why that? Why was that the first off-Broadway show that you saw? What drew you to that? Because that was before this reading series, where you dug deep into the rabbit hole.
RG:
The hilarious reason is because when I was in college, I was required to go see a show for my intro to theater class and someone told me Signature had $25 tickets.
RIP $25 tickets to shows…
I had never seen anything so graphic on stage.
And I remember just being like, you can write about these things? For theater?
TB:
Yeah, that is an early moment when our minds are being shaped in ways that we can't really even understand and it's not necessarily that we like what we are experiencing, it's just that we are being exposed to something to which we've never been exposed to.
And so the requirement that it be a stellar production or even something with which we resonate…. Who the hell cares? Is it revealing something new to you? Amazing.
Okay, so there's, like, this whole lineage I am learning of here - digging deep into her plays and also discovering maybe that they're underproduced (especially compared to other contemporary edgy plays) and that one her plays was your first off-Broadway show.
RG:
Yeah, her work is also just so difficult, and so bizarre, and so strange… And America's drama scene is like a land of people in living rooms arguing about their family secrets, so for a playwright with a really specific leftist political ethos…I refer to her as, like, America's answer to Carol Churchill.
TB:
Mmm.
RG:
Because of how experimental in form her plays are and she’s trying to do different things, but also with an absolute iron pillar of moral fiber. Anyway, we sort of stumbled on it, and I'd forgotten how weird it actually is when I reread it the second time around, and how disturbing it gets, and how she's willing to have this, like, very radical, mystical ethos.
And there’s labor and gender and class… It's a show I can't spoil, like, if I say one thing….
TB:
And it's also about time, and history, and no spoilers, obviously, because we want people to come see this and be like, whoa. …
But it's not just about one thing, and that's also very un-American. Like, these American plays that are about family secrets, you know, I could sit down in one of those plays and tell you what the family secret is within the first 5 minutes. It's like, I don't need to stay for this, it's so fucking obvious. And this play is not obvious. It is intentional. It is, like, on a razor's edge of specificity at all times. It’s not loose or pointless. It’s developed.
It just has many points that overlap and layer on top of each other, and… and that's exciting.
RG:
Yeah, exactly. Things are not CLEAR. It's not walking towards a liberal arc of acculturation. Like, we're all friends now, across all the lines. It's like, no, people carve corners for themselves within their worlds and fight for their corner. A lot of labor organizing and solidarity is learning to walk past your corners and also no one is obligated to trust you or love you just because you are in the same union, which I think is a classic American myth - “oh, now we're in the same room, we're all buddies.” It's like, no. Absolutely not. Which I think Naomi's work brushes up against really hard. People being in the same capacity together is not automatically kumbaya-friendship-the international workers of the world have united.
TB:
You know, in a distant future, you should do A Doll's Slaughterhouse.
And because I feel like A Doll's House also sort of deals with the complexity of work, and sort of ethics, and perception of ethics, and all of that, on top of the rest of the many things that it’s about, but it's also about work culture.
So, A Doll’s Slaughterhouse, consider it.
(For context, I had just told Bailey Williams that I wanted to do A Doll’s House of Yes the week before this interview… I was in a specific frame of mind.)
RG:
I just have to make sure Mabou Mines doesn't come after me for reimagining A Doll's House, in some capacity. Which is also a show I saw, because it was streamable when I was young, when I was in college. We got access to a link, and I got to see that.
TB:
You know who else? Tanya/Tomas Marquardt, who I interviewed in July, also just saw that Mabou Mines production and was, like, mind-blown and brought it up.
…
But back to your show!
RG:
Totally. I think sort of the malleability of what labor entails is also something I think a lot of theater artists sometimes struggle with, like articulating invisible labor. And we talk about manual labor and what it does to your body… I hope the audience will see what difficult menial labor does … well, not to say slaughtering meat is menial, but, like, a very body-heavy kind of work, and this is where your hot dogs come from.
Like, the cow didn't grind itself, as much as people like to think it does.
TB:
That should be the name of your manifesto about theater - The Cow Didn’t Grind Itself : Reuven's Manifesto About Theater.
RG:
Related… God bless Forest Entsminger, our designer, who’s first show I saw was Sleeping Car Porters.
TB:
Awwww hahaha. What a fun one. Forest really worked miracles in that show. That brings me to my next line of questioning…
Of this world that you'll be putting on stage, …
And again, no spoilies, but, like, how much will the actors be physically engaging with meat? Like, is there a meat budget? What's the vibe?
RG:
I'm not gonna spoil it, but I will say there is meat involved. Something Naomi and I spoke about (we actually got to meet up!) is that the number one rule is no displays of naturalism.
So you're not gonna walk into, like, a perfect recreation of a slaughterhouse.
I'm not gonna spoil what you're gonna see, but I will say it will be something eerie.
And unusual and a little difficult.
It will be very physical. That is a cornerstone for me, that their muscles should be in use in the show. And that folx are always in motion, always moving.
TB:
That is fun for casting…
RG:
Yeah, it’s a real challenge! There’s incredibly poetic and muscular language at the same time as the physicality. So, you can’t have actors going through 70 layers of sociology in their mind.
It requires someone who's willing to take risks.
(An interlude where we ramble for a while about shows we have seen where people nailed the difficult language and also times where that did not happen… and then we schedule a second zoom and talk about the details of the show, which you can find HERE)
(On a new day, we return.)
TB:
Are there personal, artistic, and career goals that you'd like to express out loud for this piece?
RG:
People have reminded me pretty consistently that this is my first big show. Big budget. Big team. Full design - Forest Ensminger on set, Emma Hasselbach on sound, Hannah Bird on costumes, Celia Krefter on lighting, Jonathan Schatzberg on props (building our meat).
We've got the amazing Alexandra Haddad as our intimacy coordinator. Emily Johnson-Erday is the live musician for the show and composing original music for the show.
And the cast is astounding… but yeah it's the biggest show I've ever done, and it's a terrifying thought in a lot of ways, because I'm so used to being on a micro-budget of like $500, and I will make this show happen. And now I have a much bigger canvas to play with. And that's sort of scary. Sorta terrifying. To go from doing a show at The Tank for like $3k in February of this year… And then suddenly, it was like, okay, it's go time.
So, my hope is people will see this and say - “We should give Reuven money to do shit.”
Because, you know, it is hard to have a fulltime day job. It's very fucking hard to be an artist.
I saw this ridiculous fucking quote that someone reposted from Vita Sackville-West, being like, you have to be slightly underemployed to do what you want. I'm like, Vita Sackville West had an ancestral manner. She came from the British aristocracy. You do not get to be poor and flirt with Virginia Woolf, like, that's not how a person’s life goes. I guess that is something I have butted up against very heavily as an artist. I had a minor crash out this summer, seeing all these people jet-set to the fringe for like 3 months… and I was like - “How can you do this!?” And the answer's always money.
Killer of Sheep (1978, Charles Burnett) - inspiration image
TB:
Well, you know I think about this a lot, too, and I definitely go through waves where sometimes I am resentful and jealous, and other times where I'm like - “Yeah, but okay, I still have to live forward in time in my life, so what do I do, you know?”
Maybe if I could time travel back and ask my younger self - “What is your goal? Is your goal to become someone who does not need to have a day job and then has the total freedom to choose what they do with their time? Or is your job to figure out how to balance having a day job and having something that you're deeply passionate about?”
And the reality is that if I had been forced to try to answer that question and figure out the puzzle of “how do I become independently wealthy?” I don’t know. What is the answer to that question? It’s not in the books, you know? Like, I'm never, … well, I'm not gonna say never, but I probably will not marry rich, and I don't have family money, and I don't play the lottery, so I can't be mad about not winning it. And even if I got one big job that paid me $100,000 or something …
(I can, in my head, imagine how I would stretch that money for years) it wouldn't make me a person who doesn't need to work for money. It just wouldn't change that about who I am. So, I guess I wish I could talk to my younger self and start thinking earlier about the question - “How can I still work for money and still do things that I care deeply about and find that balance?”
And it sucks, because it WOULD be so fun to have a little more freedom to do whatever the hell we want. But we don't.
RG:
Truly, truly sitting here waiting for the day people call me to do illusions at a regional theater, and they're like, here's a regional theater contract.
Which, as your readership will remember, I also do magic, and that's also a big part of how I think about this show. There are a handful of really cool things in the show and I do consider magic theory a lot while directing because it does sort of shift your brain chemistry about it all. I think there's this perception about how audiences react to things. A lot of theater makers are like - “fuck the audience” - and like, in many ways, yes, fuck the audience. But also you have to be very good at mechanizing how they react to things and how they perceive things. Derren Brown’s book, Notes from a Fellow Traveler, is probably one of the best books about magic ever written. And it sort of, like, broke my mind to think about how to read what an audience is thinking. Especially when they're confronted with new material. And for almost everyone who sees this show, it will be new material. So this will be a very big test of their capacity, in what they can intake, because it's a difficult play.
If I listed off the trigger warnings, it would be a spoiler.
TB:
Yes and also, trigger warnings are important, and you will have them available, I'm sure, for the show, but for the sake of this interview…
No spoilies.
RG:
Yes, I am not looking to traumatize the audience.
(Then we discuss all the trigger warnings. Please do check about those. There are many.)
TB:
Ok so now let's go backwards in time a little bit. We know that Sherlock Holmes inspired you as a young person. And Jessica Fletcher.
But what first prompted you to get into performance? Do you remember?
RG:
You might know this story, but I met Zeynep Akca in college. We took the same theater class and we became friends. The class was with this brilliant theater history professor named Debra Caplan, and she could tell there was something there in my brain … and she gave me 3 plays to read. The plays were How I Learn to Drive (by Paul Vogel), Eurydice (by Sarah Ruhl) and An Octoroon (by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins). And later, full circle moment, Branden Jacobs-Jenkins became my writing professor at the end of my time in college.
Which was a hilarious… and he gave me a lot of cool stuff to read, too.
I was in college directing and writing my own plays and I was trying my darndest to figure out what I was doing. So, I guess college is where it properly began, because I'd not seen theater before college. The closest I'd ever gotten was, like, my sister saved up money to get my parents' tickets to see Mamma Mia!. And we waited for my parents outside the theater the whole time, because there was no babysitter. I this vague memory of, like, walking past a chandelier shop or something that's not in Times Square anymore, that had a bunch of beautiful fucking lights inside. And I want to go in, and my sister was like, no. … That was the closest experience I'd had to Capital T Theater. I'd also watched a lot of movie musicals as a kid like Fiddler on the Roof and The King and I and My Fair Lady. I have those stuck in my head pretty severely, possibly toxically. So, yah I guess the theater bug got me, and I was like, oh my god, this is the greatest thing ever, and then, you know, life hits you.
And you discover it's just as complicated as any other art form.
Ultimately, I was just taking classes for credit. And then I became a little freak.
TB:
I love that, I love that. And thank goodness that you became a little freak. …
Not unrelated, during that time, what was the first project that inspired you as a director?
RG:
In college, I really wanted to do a production of The Dybbuk real bad. Like, that was my dream project, and I adapted it, and I did all of this work, and then the production went down in flames, … canceled completely. I had a huge medical crisis. But it was a very ridiculously ambitious show for an undergraduate to want to do, especially for a school that didn’t have resources for me to do it. I'd been on, like, this really big Yiddish theater kick, and I still am on a Yiddish theater kick. Like, once it gets you, it's like, oh god.
I had all these great ideas, so if anyone is listening, let me do the fucking Dybbuk.
TB:
Finally. … Justice for Reuven’s Dybbuk.
RG:
Justice for my incredibly, transgender version of the Dybuk.
But the show that made me want to be a director, I gotta say, was Great Comet. I rushed tickets with Zeynep. I had never rushed before. That was my first live musical. Which is an incredible dive into the deep end. It really broke the barometer for everything else.
TB:
It just spoils you. For sure. If your first experience is that, oh my gosh... But it gives you a very high standard.
RG:
Yeah, it gave me a crazy high standard. It was definitely the show that made me want to be a director, because I was like, oh my god, I can have ideas!
TB:
That collaboration was truly great.
(Long tangent about collaborators which is very sweet but also a little redundant lol)
TB:
Before we sort of project forward in time, is there any moment that you can think of in past projects where you felt like (other than Dybbuk, which we will get justice for) you never quite got there? Like your big white whale, you know? Like - “Hmm, I didn't quite capture this thing that I wanted to capture, and now every time I go into working on something, I think about that, and it shapes the choices that I make.”
RG:
That's a hard question, that's a hard one for me to answer, because I thinkI have this beleaguered acceptance, like - “Oh, I just wasn't able to do this thing.” I think that's a very, like, Slavic part of me. It's like - “Sometimes potato don't grow.”
But, yeah, I think probably the last show I did, Off We Go at the Tank. That show took forever to put up in a lot of ways because I wrote it at 23 and then did it when I was 27, but there was no development in that time. That gave it a weird quality. I kept screaming at my own writing internally, constantly. I thought everyone on that team did wonderfully, but I sort of had this very angry part of myself, knowing I could have gone farther with this show. I wanted to do a really heavy rewrite, I wanted to be bolder with it, but we had limited resources.
There was, like, a very specific moment of the show that had special effects but I cut it, because I was like, I don't know if it works in blue, but now that I think about it not even a year later, I'm like, man, we could have really done this really astounding little moment in the show.
And I don't know if it'll ever happen again, but I think it was a great lesson.
Give yourself the time to be bold.
I'm hoping for this show, we can be bold. I don't know precisely what that means, but I'm hoping it means we can be ambitious and fun and risky with it.
TB:
I think 100% of directors I know always wish they had more time and wish they had more money. But the question is - “How do you use it if you have it?” Go forth and be bold!
Which leads me to… where do you see Reuven in 10 years? How old will you be? What will you be doing? I'll make a calendar entry to check in with you in 10 years and then we'll see how accurate your predictions for the future are.
RG:
That's scary, and that's also bad luck in my culture, but….
TB:
Oh, no! Well, don't do it then. What part of it is bad luck?
RG:
I think I'm exaggerating a little bit. But yeah me launching myself too far in the future is a terrifying thought because I have this eternal anxiety about how the world's going. I will be 38 in 10 years. Which is a weird thing to fathom - that I'm almost 30, and I'll be almost 40 at some point. Like, there's nothing wrong with that, but also just, like… It's a real thing! So, I guess the naked selfish hope is that I'm still doing the work I'm doing. I'm still putting on shows, and I'm sort of continuing… like, the dream is to have a career as a maker of art.
Which I think is, like, a weird, scary thing for me to say as someone who grew up without those resources or access, but I would like to be doing it always. And be able to live my life nice and comfortably. …
I also hope I don't get stale. Like, that's the thing I'm always thinking about. Sometimes I'll see an artist, and I'll be like, you stopped being interesting.
TB:
It's so funny… You are like - “I want to be comfortable, but I don't want to be comfortable in the way that makes me stale” - you know?
RG:
Yes.
TB:
So you don't want to struggle as much, but you also want to keep it interesting.
RG:
Yeah, I always want to keep it interesting. I always want to be sure that, like, whatever you're seeing of mine is genuinely… something of mine. 10 years is a weird time to think about… Like, 10 years ago, I came to college, and I remember a guy who was obsessed with Ronald Reagan who thought we were besties, and I was like, we're not, leave me alone.
TB:
Wow, I mean, it's interesting to think back 10 years and acknowledge the great distance that you've come since you were a freshman in college, and the people that you know now that you didn't know then, the things that you've made, the illusions that you've built, the plays that you've written. None of those existed 10 years ago, you know?
RG:
Would you believe I became a magician out of fucking spite?
TB:
I would.
RG:
I was in 4th grade. They were doing after-school programs, and one of the programs was a magic club, and it was a lie. It was a science and magic club, and I was so fucking pissed, but I committed to it, and the school didn't let me change it, because they were like, oh, we told all your parents, you know, that you're gonna be home, you know, your school day now ends at, like, 4. So I got so mad that I started getting into it seriously, and learning about it. I remember they showed us a video of the amazing James Randi, talking about fraudsters. But their idea of, like, showing us magic was to have us make silly putty. And I was like, this is the stupidest shit in the world. I learned nothing about magic, but I did learn about James Randi. Eventually I was allowed to quit the club. And I swore from then on I was not gonna shortchange myself with magic. The point of being a fourth grader is learning how to make things appear out of nowhere.
TB:
I hear you, but I will say that one of my favorite performances at Monday Night Magic, the longest-running Magic show in New York City, was Arthur Benjamin, the mathemagician. He was in town for Science Week and because he was in town, he did Monday Night Magic, and …
He's brilliant. AND all of his magic is math. He’s one of those people with a calculator brain, you know? But he has the flair of a magician. So definitely check out Arthur Benjamin. He was fantastic. And he had a cummerbund that had math symbols on it. I was like, this
Dude slaps, I love it. ….
RG:
Sometimes you just want a dude to slap.
TB:
I need to see what he's up to right now. What are you doing, Arthur Benjamin…?
So, final question…
Which is a fun one, is, what are you looking forward to that's not your show? Is there anything on your radar?
RG:
Yeah, wow, that's hard. Also, I am a little biased, because I am a Staff Picker, and I do think about these things in the long term. You know, I'm very excited for Narcissister’s show, Voyage into Infinity. I'm very curious what that's gonna look like. I'm very curious what the rest of the Under the Radar package looks like this year. What I really want to do, and I found out is happening, is that there's basically gonna be a Beckett Quadruple Crown this season, because there's the Waiting for Godot revival with Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter, who's co-producing Slaughter City, wild twist of fate. There's, two Irish productions, one of Krapp's Last Tape and one of Endgame coming to NYU Skirball and Irish Rep. And then JoAnne Akalaitis doing All That Fall January at Mabou Mines.
So, I'm trying to do my Seabiscuit of Beckett, essentially.
TB:
That's awesome. That's so good.
Yeah, I just found out that, Ryan Downey gets to see the Godot, and I was like, ugh, fuck you, Ryan. I'm so jealous! I will say, I got to see Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart do Godot. I saw, John Turturo, Elaine Stritch and Max Casella in Endgame. Iconic stuff.
RG:
I love to see what people do with Beckett. Like, JoAnne Akalaitis is gone back to doing one of Beckett's radio plays! That’s another thing… one of his radio plays has been one of my, like, secret projects for the past two years, and I can't say what it is, but I'm hoping I can do it. OK! Back to shows coming up!
Exponential Festival - I always have to shout out all my friends who are doing things.
Goat Exchange and Noah Latty!
TB:
Oh crap the cafe I am in wants me to leave. Very clearly. So to recap! Very excited about Beckett, very excited about our friends at Exponential, excited to see what is on the rest of the docket for UTR. I feel like that's a pretty healthy list… anything else to throw in the mix?
RG:
You know, Park Chan-wook is a new movie out this year, and I think everyone should see a Park Chan-wook movie once in their life.
Kiyoshi Kurosawa also has a new movie this year!
TB:
Ooooh yes I am so excited for those, as well!
…
Here's a final question. If somebody wants to work on something with you, how should they pitch you?
RG:
Fully just DM me on Instagram, you can always do that! @doctorwhovago
TB:
It's a great handle. Thanks for sharing that. Everyone has different ways in which they like to be contacted, and I know that you're always working on and dreaming about, like, 75 different things at once, so, ….
Das Ersatz, created by Travis Amiel & Cosimo Pori, illusion design by Reuven Glezer. Photo: Jose Miranda
RG:
You know? Guilty.
TB:
lol Thank you so much for having this conversation with me, Reuven, I can't wait for more people to discover every wild thing that you do.