Cut the phone booth
Storytelling stuff worth sharing
Well. I finally did it. I’m back on social media.
Or rather, Jason Cannon STORYCOACH has launched himself into the maw of Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube.
As part of my 2025 goals to grow my storytelling and storycoaching business, I have hired a wonderful social media manager from Upwork (and a big-time shout-out to Upwork, where I have met so many awesome clients from around the world!), and she has been kicking my butt up a steep learning curve.
I do hope you’ll connect with me on your platform of choice. I promise to keep sharing cool storytelling tips, sneak peeks of my work, and backstage access to my various workshops, classes, and shows.
And heck, maybe Gaia and Odin will consent to making an occasional appearance! Double heck, they might insist on an Instagram account of their own.
Here are the direct links to @jasoncannon_storycoach. Happy scrolling!
Storytelling tip o’ the week
I was directing a production of BUDDY: THE BUDDY HOLLY STORY. Awesome music. Awesome cast.
The story jumped through time and required multiple locations: a recording studio, an office, a radio station, backstage at the Apollo, onstage at the Apollo, a living room, and even a park at night.
This scene in the park required a phone booth. Buddy and his brand new love, Maria Elena, are on a whirlwind first date, and Buddy proposes. Yes, that is historically accurate. Buddy proposed to her five hours into their first date!
Anyhow, he wants to share the good news with his momma back in Texas. So he scampers to the phone booth and makes a call.
The designers had done their research. They created a meticulously accurate mid-century New York City phone booth. They added an extra-long cord so the actor wouldn’t be stuck inside the booth. He could hop out, twirl Maria Elena around, be physical in the scene. They put it on wheels, so it could roll on and off stage super easy. They even hooked up electric so it would light up as he opened the door! Details!
The shop foreman, a man of unspeakable patience (shout-out to Roland), had built this thing, and it was pristine.
We got to tech rehearsal. I’m looking at the physical world of each scene, watching radio equipment and musical instruments and tables and chairs and couches move in, move out.
We get to the park scene. The lamppost (another gorgeous and electrified piece of construction) rolls in from stage right, hits its mark. We shift the lights blue, add a subtle sound cue of crickets, and BOOM—we are outside, in a park, at night.
Theatre is metaphorical and magical that way.
Then the phone booth rolls in from stage left to complete the picture.
And I tell you what… it looked terrible.
Because it was on wheels, it was just as tall as the lamppost. The theatre we were working in didn’t have a very high ceiling. No fly space. So the lamppost, while maybe 8 feet tall, wasn’t as tall as a real lamppost. Opposite the phone booth, the lamppost suddenly looked like a toy. Or rather, the phone booth looked like an intergalactic villain from a superhero movie.
The phone booth took over the entire stage. Even though it was historically accurate (including a distressed phone book on a shelf inside! details!), and even though its size was true-to-life, it came across as MASSIVE.
The two set pieces clashed. One was metaphorical, one was literal. The effect was jarring. And jarring is not the feeling you want the audience to have during an exuberant yet delicate love scene.
Directors often think of the stage picture in terms of “balance.” You don’t want the stage to “tip” from too much weight on one side or the other. That weight can come from furniture, set decoration, the bodies of the actors themselves. Teeter-totter, weeble-wobble. The stage doesn’t need to be symmetrical—it’s usually better and more interesting if it’s asymmetrical—but the weight of the various stuff needs to be pleasingly and evenly distributed.
This phone booth tipped the stage to the brink of collapse. It dominated. You couldn’t look at anything else. Buddy and Maria Elena were dwarfed. Their lyrical love was stomped into mush by this literal, hard-edged, glass and metal monstrosity of a phone booth.
Roland saw me react.
“You OK?” he asked.
I was not OK. I was in agony. Not just because I knew the phone booth was completely and totally wrong. But because I knew how much time and energy and attention (and money, yes, don’t forget the money) had gone into the creation of this phone booth.
Sometimes the translation from the page to the stage doesn’t go smoothly. On good days, what you see in your head leaps onto the stage, and it’s exactly what you imagined. On the best days, it’s even better than you imagined. On bad days… ho boy. On bad days, you get King Kong phone booths.
I looked Roland in the eye. I thanked him for his work. Profusely and repeatedly. Then I said…
“We have to cut the phone booth.”
To his everlasting credit, he didn’t even blink. “OK, no problem.”
“You sure? I mean, all that work. I’m so sorry. Oh my gosh, are you OK?”
Roland shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes you don’t know till you know, you know?” He looked over at the phone booth. “Yeah, it doesn’t work. So what do we do instead? We still need a phone for the scene.”
There will come times in your storytelling when you realize something just isn’t working. Whether you’re writing, composing, painting, speaking. The thing in your head will leap out, turn around and present itself, and UGH. Phone booth.
To move forward, you’ve gotta be able to cut it. Let it go.
Let go of that sentence. Or that chapter. Or even that entire book.
Let go of that lyric. That song. Or even that entire album.
In business terms, that phone booth is sunk cost. In gambling terms, keeping the phone booth is throwing away good money after bad. In fishing terms, sometimes you just gotta cut bait.
It’s one thing to acknowledge as a storyteller that not every story you tell is a keeper.
It’s another to have the artistic guts to CUT IT.
But here’s the bonus: that phone booth was not a sunk cost. Remember, we still needed a phone. Cutting the monster forced us—enabled us!—to get creative.
And bless him, Roland leapt in. Within minutes, he had rigged up a sort of telescopic arm. It hung just out of sight of the audience. The actor could simply reach into the wing, pull a floating telephone out into space, make a “sliding in a dime” gesture, which we supported with a sneaky “dime tumbling inside a phone” sound effect—tinkle tinkle—and BOOM. The phone appeared. The call was made. We stole the extra-long cord from the booth (RIP), and Buddy had all the freedom in the world to play the scene.
The lamppost and the floating phone were Astaire and Rogers. The stage was exquisitely balanced.
Metaphor and magic.
Don’t be afraid to cut the phone booth, as much as it may hurt in the moment. All the work it represents?
You still did it.
It still matters.
It might even lead you to greater discoveries.
SPAACES
That’s not a misspelling; that is an art gallery/studio that houses many local artists.
That’s also where my former student and long-time buddy Steve plies his craft. Artistically, he goes by Stephen B. White (check out his website HERE). He does super cool photos of mandalas, botanicals, and landscapes.
He also blogs about his work. I know cuz I’m on his newsletter.
You can check out his work at SPAACES at 2051 Princeton Street in Sarasota. He says you can drop by anytime and catch him working.
But if you want a fancier experience, he will be there tonight from 6-8pm to support another artist’s opening.
The Page&Stage Podcast: Boldness Pays
The next episode will land in your inboxes on Monday and it’s a great one!
Michael Broderick's journey is an extraordinary testament to embracing diverse life experiences. From serving four years in the Marines to pursuing punk rock dreams in New York City during the '90s, Michael has embraced a journey of constant transformation. His dedication to acting drew him to Los Angeles, securing roles in major TV series, while his ongoing involvement with military veteran organizations underscores his commitment to service beyond personal ambition. This podcast episode illuminates Michael's personal and professional growth, and offers insight into the courage it takes to pursue diverse passions across different life stages.
Thanks as always for reading, and have a great weekend!
Jason “That’ll Be the Day” Cannon