(Photo by Matt Wright)

As children, we were a car trip family. Five of us would pack into a Subaru and set sail from Cleveland for other, even more Midwestern destinations. Places like Lawrence, Kansas, where great grandmother lived until her death in 2004. In high school, we'd stand in the alley behind Grandma's house, sneaking cigarettes where the family couldn't see. Back there we saw the sordid underbelly of Lawrence -- kids up to no good -- skateboarding, aimlessly skulking with drooped heads and shaggy haircuts, making weird, alternative, musical performance pieces for small audiences of bewildered onlookers.

Cut to present, and our new life in Austin, Texas. Cleveland, Lawrence and places in between are farthest from our thoughts when bam! Like a slap in the face, we're re-united with those theatrical, back alley, Kansan hoodlums from days gone by. Matt Hislope and Josh Meyer have moved to Austin -- from Lawrence -- and in the interim between their arrival and ours, they've created musicals with Dick Price, cultivated an obsession for the work of Wallace Shawn (you know the "inconceivable" guy from Princess Bride), produced a show on a cruise ship, been ordained Most Outstanding Director of a Musical by the Austin Critic's Table, and formed the Rubber Repertory Company.

Rubber Rep's been on the scene since 2001, quietly making "tiny riots" and other theatrical disturbances to the delight of critics and performance scene insiders. Red Cans, the company's newest, and most ambitious effort to date (co-produced with the Rude Mechs), has been generating some serious buzz all summer (they were the two naked dudes on the cover of the Chronicle a couple weeks back). Now, poised to erupt into the public eye with the quirkiest new show in town, Rubber Rep's Co-Artistic Director (and Co-Director of Red Cans) Josh Meyer discusses his thoughts on the show, Austin theatre, and musicals based on Alzheimer's disease.

Let's start with the obvious. Why make a show about red cans?

At first, we were attracted to the idea solely on a visual level. There's something inherently pleasing about watching these very simple, functional objects (collapsible nylon laundry hampers) scoot around. Our earliest thoughts for the show didn't involve the cans having any sense of "character" or "personality" -- just a bunch of animated shapes that would form interesting patterns on the stage. We've since moved in an entirely different direction. The temptation to turn the cans into a gang of menacing, blind creatures proved impossible to resist.

How do you come up with something like this?

We started with a short workshop last January. Half of the participants were just a little too big for their cans. A lot of time was spent helping people get in and out. At this point, we had no idea what we wanted the show to be. We had the cans do ridiculous things like play charades and act out Bible stories. There were some breakthroughs. The "freak" style of can (sealed up with arms out) was discovered in the workshop. We also discovered ways of using sound to orient ourselves in the space.

In the months that followed, Matt and I both tried to write one minute of physical actions for the cans each day. We sorted through these bits, threw a lot out, set aside the parts we liked, and eventually compiled the beginnings of a script to bring into rehearsal. The performers also brought a lot of ideas, and together it was a fairly organic process determining what had to happen from one moment to the next. Because simple tasks can take quite a while in a can, the "script" ended up being much shorter than we expected.

Tell me more about the performers. How'd you find them? What sort of performer does this kind of work take? How has the process been for them?

Casting this thing was an uphill battle. Lots of begging. Many hours spent harassing random petite girls on MySpace. Desperate thoughts of using an army of young children. The very first person who auditioned began crying almost immediately after getting in a can. One performer dropped out to have her tonsils removed. Another dropped out because it was too hard on her body.

Luckily, we're left with 12 amazing performers who have just the right mix of masochism and sheer willpower. This is such a hard show. It's hot as hell inside the cans. There's no air circulation. You can't see a thing. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to move a small distance. Despite it all, the performers have canned up gleefully for over 6 weeks of rehearsals. Some even want to take their cans home after the show is over because they find them so comforting.

You're co-directing this piece with Matt Hislope. What's it like working together?

We've been roommates on and off since the summer of 1999, so working on a show becomes very naturally integrated into the miserable life that we lead together. We each have our strengths. Matt does all of the choreography and heavy lifting. I'm very assertive in solving problems and making sure deadlines are met. Since our first collaboration (An Evening of Force Feeding in 2000), it's been clear that our aesthetics are very well-matched. We fight a lot over petty details, but never stray very far from a certain Rubber Rep wavelength.

(Photo by Matt Wright)

So Red Cans is on that Rubber Rep wavelength?

It's typical in that we're trying to show people something they haven't seen before. And although we've done some very different types of shows, one of the reasons we're attracted to each of them is because they share a feeling of impossibility. We need to feel like something's going to be a failure from the very beginning, and then the process becomes about trying to turn the tide.

How does Rubber Rep compare with the rest of the performance scene in Austin?

One critic charged us with trying to create an underground mystique by evading the press and deliberately flying under the radar. Not really our intention. It's just become so common in Austin for theatre companies to build themselves up with a lot of self-aggrandizing rhetoric. While that seems to work, we're not very good at it and prefer to let the shows speak for themselves. This is a slow way to build an audience. We entertain lots of suicidal thoughts of moving all of our shows to houses. Or outhouses.

What's next for the company?

Next up is At Home with Dick 2, a sequel to our hit show that ran for three months in 2005. Once again, the show will be held in the tiny Hyde Park apartment of famed novelty songwriter Dick Price. I grew up listening to Dick's music on the Dr. Demento radio show, so it's a geeky thrill to collaborate with him on new material. The subject for the sequel is Dick's father's bout with Alzheimer's disease. Sounds grim, yes, but we're promising: "All singing! All-dancing! All-zheimers!"

What's next for Austin theatre?

Not sure, but here's a wish list: Free rehearsal space in city-owned buildings. More of a wild and wooly late-night theatre scene. Deeper collaborations between theater, dance, and visual artists. More physical theatre, masks, puppetry, and site-specific work. A broadened community of people who actively support and attend theater.

Red Cans opens August 3rd, and runs Thursdays Fridays and Saturdays at the Off Center. Tickets and info at Rubber Rep's website. Nice pictures of performer's bruises at Rubber Rep's blog.