SLAM Theater Written and Photographed by Ed Carey

A meeting at the Beauty Bar near Union Square set the stage for the raucous and loose environment of SLAM Theater, the brainchild of Nick Gallegos’ old college friend Zoe Moore, director of SLAM.

“It all started with a drink and a laugh,” said Gallegos with a smile.

At the former beauty-salon-themed bar, Moore asked Gallegos to co-host SLAM with her, the concept loosely-inspired by spoken-word SLAM competitions and they discussed what would become the format for the theater group.

SLAM can best be described as part workshop, part open-stage competition and part public forum for emerging new artists. Playwrights and actors gather to try out new material and get some feedback from judges and the audience. Moore, twenty-four, wanted to help friends who were using her apartment for readings of their plays and needed space, but she also wanted to generate interest in the downtown theater scene.

“I said to Nick, we should really try to bring these two together and have a public forum for these readings - to make it more lively and engaging,” said Moore.

SLAM Theater holds open-stage competitions every other month at The Tank, 279 Church Street, a non-profit organization that provides space for emerging new artists, including performers, playwrights, filmmakers and musicians. SLAM just celebrated its first birthday this month.

“I wanted to allow a non-theater audience to get a glimpse into how theater is created and how it happens, but also to provide the artist with a community and a collaborative hub to workshop their pieces,” Moore said.

Chapters have opened up in St. Louis and San Francisco, with much of the organizational work being done by Moore and managing director Stefania Vanin, who came to SLAM as an actress.

"We hope to have national competitions with other cities sometime next year," said Moore.

Moore and Gallegos took the stage on Sunday, October 22nd for the finals in true SLAM fashion. Moore wore a red corset with long, black nylon stockings and Gallegos had black pants with a red sash around his waist and no shirt. The costume theme for the night was on display throughout the readings and gave the evening a cabaret feel.

Writers showcase new material which the actors, many of them playwrights as well, improvise on the spot. Scripts are not seen by the actors beforehand. A first round of two-minute scenes chosen anywhere in the script are judged simply by a 1-10 scale by a panel of judges in the audience. Cheers and boos often accompany the flipping of scorecards. A second round gives the playwright five minutes to make an impression and scores come with critiques and arguments ensue. Four finalists, including a wild card, compete at the end of the month for an evening of space to use however the winner chooses.

“Our last SLAM winner who will be doing his reading on Thursday [October 26 at 8pm] basically chose to do a full production; he has his own actors, sets and props. It’s a full evening of theater on its feet, come to life,” said Moore.

Selected judges have included Adam Feldman, theater critic from Time Out New York, artistic directors of downtown theater companies, literary managers and even award-winning playwrights. One or two judges are also picked out of the audience.

“We feel it’s really important to get the best and most interesting judges, because they can help spark and mediate so much of the dialogue about the plays,” Moore said.

The discussion is opened up to the audience, including the other playwrights and actors. Arguments sometimes spring from these lively discussions as opinions are offered frankly and freely.

“SLAM is an environment where any artist can say whatever is on their mind, a place to voice their opinion and own their craft,” said Gallegos.

Gallegos did seven months of regional theater after arriving in New York two years ago before joining SLAM.

“To be talented is one thing, but to take criticism and use that to benefit yourself is another. For an actor or playwright who can’t take criticism, good luck in this industry [where] everyone’s going to criticize you and if you can’t take it or prepare yourself, you’ve got a rough road ahead of you,” Gallegos said.

Though Moore grew up in Tribeca around the corner from The Tank, Gallegos met her at the College of Santa Fe in New Mexico where they were trained in the same arts program. He graduated with a BFA in Theater with an Acting concentration in 2002.

“Even though someone might boo or make a rude comment, we get together at the end of the night and have a beer and talk about what can be improved,” said Gallegos.

They congregate at Souths Bar next door for further discussion and some relaxation. Even the judges sometimes join them and some find it a good way to network.

“I meet these directors who invite me to closed auditions that you would only find out about if somebody told you,” said Leslie Holden, 20, majoring in Acting and Writing Design at Brooklyn College.

She describes the atmosphere at SLAM as one of “heightened enthusiasm, very open and embracing to everybody, but it can also be really rowdy, obnoxious and loud.”

Lucy Alibar, 24, met Moore at the Brooklyn Play Festival a year ago. She said everybody trusts and respects each other in the group. Her play, “Juicy and Delicious,” was one of four finalists Sunday night.

“When I found SLAM it was so great, because all of a sudden I had this huge community of artists to draw from. We get together outside of SLAM and I can show people my new work. I’ve done readings for people from there and we go see shows together,” said Alibar.

Growing up on a farm in the middle of a swamp in Monticello, Georgia, Alibar came to New York five years ago to flourish artistically.

“We wanted that sense of community and there is a tight-knit group, but it grows every week and we really support SLAM artists outside of the group, whether to advertise one of their plays or make sure everybody is constantly going to see each other’s work, but what’s nice is that there are people who are just audience, to see what’s going on,” said Moore.