It’s hard to imagine Gary Griffin, the city’s most prolific director, not wanting to direct since infancy. But the respected theatre artist–who recently took home a number of Jeff Awards for Chicago Shakespeare Theater’s Pacific Overtures and Court Theatre’s My Fair Lady–originally wanted to become an investigative journalist.

"I was a kid of the '70s," says Griffin, 42. "I thought All the President’s Men was so romantic, and I thought journalists were the heroes of our time."

The Rockford, Ill., native still felt that way even after being cast as one of the Jets in Rockford East High School’s production of West Side Story–although Griffin admits that "the performance was marginal; the whole survey of what was going on during rehearsal fascinated me."

He started out as a journalism major at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. And, this time, while performing in another production of West Side Story during his sophomore year, Griffin realized that "directing was similar to journalism."

This revelation continues to drive his pointed approach to directing. And, like a good journalist committed to the work, Griffin "loves the invisibility of directing."

"You’re finding the story," he explains. "Journalists strive to ask the right questions to shape the best story. And that’s what a director does. It’s always the storytelling of human beings that interests me the most about any given theatrical production."

Griffin switched his undergraduate major to theatre and went on to get his MFA in directing from Illinois State University at Bloomington-Normal. His skill at moving from music theatre to dramas and other genres has always been rooted in that journalistic sensibility of drawing out a compelling story.

Lately, he’s become a master at paring down large-scale musicals to their essence for the 200-seat Upstairs Studio at Chicago Shakespeare Theater, where he has been associate artistic director for the past two years. His scaled-down interpretation of Sondheim’s Sunday in the Park with George runs through Jan. 5.

Griffin’s lyrical and fortifying Kabuki-esque staging of Sondheim’s Pacific Overtures will be presented in London in June as a co-production of CST and the Donmar Warehouse–a space similarly configured to the Navy Pier studio. He recently directed Court’s acclaimed two-piano take on My Fair Lady at the intimate Chicago Center for the Performing Arts. His stellar 1998 production of Beautiful Thing for Famous Door, which had a New York run, was remounted this year at the CCPA.

He staged the abridged version of Short Shakespeare! A Midsummer Night’s Dream for CST, and will be plunging into their abridged Romeo and Juliet in February. Also early in the year, Griffin will direct a concert version of Oscar Hammerstein’s 18th-century New Orleans-set 1927 musical, The New Moon, as part of New York City’s "Encores!" program at City Center. He is the former artistic director of Drury Lane Oakbrook and Apple Tree Theatre. And he directed the current production of Carousel at Marriott Theatre in Lincolnshire.

"Music theatre helps you get comfortable with heightened storytelling," Griffins says of the advantage of moving between musicals and non-musicals. "It gets you away from naturalism. Conversely, naturalism better grounds your approach to musicals."

One of his current trademarks is putting traditionally dramatic actors into musicals and vice versa. "It’s a joy to see actors open themselves up to a new form," he adds. "All great casting is slightly off. When it’s on the nose, it tends to be unfulfilling. I’m often intrigued by the very real casts of faces I see on the 'L.’"

As a director, Griffin has done his own artistic cross-pollination. While the University of Wisconsin favored a more eclectic theatrical palette, ISU focused on American-realism plays. When he embarked on his professional career, he toggled between both–often simultaneously. "I was doing Three Hotels and Peter Pan at the same time!" he laughs.

His first Chicago directing job was Precious Sons at Pegasus Players in 1988. Shortly after, he directed Where’s Charley? At Apple Tree, followed by Stand Up Tragedy. In 1993, he became artistic director of Drury Lane Oakbrook, a theatre he calls an excellent teacher for the intricacies of the commercial music-theatre form.

"I think I needed to learn the form," says the director. "At Drury Lane, I understood why a musical is constructed the way it is–how scenes are written to cover costume and set changes."

But he acknowledges that being immersed in a traditional music-theatre format also helped him find new ways of telling those standard stories. He applauds Michael Bennett’s A Chorus Line for brilliantly breaking traditional structure. Griffin believes that, unlike straight plays, music theatre inextricably links production and text in the viewers’ minds (to the point where audiences expect current versions to slavishly mirror their favorite Broadway experience, right down to the sets and personalities of the actors).

"I’ve taken away the production and those images we may associate with it and just look at the text," says Griffin. "Then I let it evolve from there. I think of a work as being imagined–not re-imaged. It’s new each time."

For Court’s My Fair Lady, he asked himself this question, "If you set out to do a music-theatre production of Pygmalion today, what would it look and sound like?" Unlike the 1950s, today’s audiences may not expect a level of period-perfect spectacle or a chorus. There would not be, what Griffin calls, "any perceived predictions of music theatre." He finds that, because a greater range of storytelling tools exists, he can explore a classic musical, like My Fair Lady, through the texture of the story.

So when Griffin begins a show, he doesn’t plunge into the big chorus numbers. Instead he spends the first few days with the principals, then he brings in the supporting characters. "I’m looking closely at these six people who are at the center of the musical," he stresses. "I want them to raise the stakes every time they’re on stage."

The director, therefore, focuses on "the book and the small moments."

"A big production number will often take care of itself," he believes. "Earning that big number–through those small moments leading up to it–is the real challenge."

With Sunday in the Park with George, he wanted to challenge some long-held notions about the piece–particularly the idea of audience’s seeing the painting take shape from a head-on perspective. At CST’s studio, he framed the runway-style stage with the audience and focused on blocking the actors in profile.

"I tried to give them [the characters] a lot more detail," Griffin explains, "just as Seurat’s painting does. Seurat captured all the intrigue and movement in these people’s lives —and froze it for a second."

As if unable to contain his enthusiasm, he announces, "I love the notion of creating a live event. I would not be a film director because the idea that it’s finished bothers me."

In fact, after our interview, Griffin headed for CST for a George refresher rehearsal. For him, the course of the performance serves as a continuum of the creative process.

With the Sondheim classic, he was very conscious of CST’s smaller space. Griffin was invited to join the CST artistic team after he directed The Herbal Bed there in 2000.

"The Upstairs space is kind of rough," he says with a snicker. "But it’s also very flexible and poses a fascinating question: How can the theatre work for the play instead of how can the play work for the theatre?"

In studying George, the director did not think it was about looking at a painting. It was about looking at the people in the painting.

"The figures in the painting are almost all in profile," notes Griffin. "I wondered, why are they not looking at each other. I wanted to turn that into theatrical terms. I also wanted to explore how Georges [Seurat] was so involved with looking deeply into people that he seemed detached from them. He’s so close to them, he can’t step back to engage.

"What I love about the [CST] studio is that it emphasizes those private moments of the play. You have so much access to Georges in our production. You see his eyes; you see him create from a very intimate place. What I find beautiful about Seurat’s painting is watching all that chaos gracefully become order."

Griffin’s voice crescendos as he talks about the new "perspective" he’s giving a musical that’s essentially a celebration of artistic perspective. "Shouldn’t theatre be about different perspectives?" he asks, "rather than one perspective that engages a lot of people?"

He emphasizes the more intuitive nature of theatre. Griffin even admits that you really can’t teach directing.

"When I was getting my MFA," he points out, "I studied acting, design and dramaturgy. Rather than directing, you’re learning how to speak the language of your fellow artists. You figure out your voice as a director when you’re working with the actors and designers.

"Most importantly, you need to be so unselfconscious when you’re directing. I’d like to teach how to remove self-consciousness."

Griffin takes the attention away from himself and places it on the messages emanating from the work he’s directing.

"I love pieces in the theatre that are purely about paying attention," he states, "because one of the great things about theatre is how it can force us to be aware–to pay attention. Writers–like Albee and Shakespeare–have a loving way of revealing harsh truths. And, even if we can’t change, we can operate from awareness."

Going back to his belief in those crucial smaller stories leading up to the big production numbers, Griffin says it’s easy for many people–in life and art–to react to the big moment rather than delve into the implications of the stories that precede it.

"By seeing Pacific Overtures," says Griffin, "you can better understand Pearl Harbor. Sunday in the Park with George is about children and art and reminding us that, despite the over-complicated worlds we live in, we don’t forget to be careful. We must pay attention. Children and art need to be protected."

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