I don't wanna...

My biggest revision challenge so far is the overwhelming desire to NOT revisit most of what I’ve written. For a few of them, I would rather start over completely than open that file. It’s just painful. I don’t want to go back to that place. And those are, of course, the ones that merit the most revision... I just really don’t think there’s much there that’s viable. And even if there was, I think the gleaning would kill me. Opening those files will kill me. It’s not like Shaffer’s obsession with getting just the ending right--that would be tolerable (especially if it was already a widely acclaimed show). Some of mine are painful to think about revising because they require SO MUCH. I think they require enough that they just need to be put out of their misery. I can just adopt a new puppy, right?

I think the most interesting aspect of the Shaffer preface is his insistence that his play, and subsequently the final scene(s), “demand” something. I think it’s so impressive that he’s that in tune with the dynamic/feel of the scene that he knows what it demands. And that it isn’t a choice but a demand of the script-- that the audience and characters require a certain scene, a certain tension in order for the play as a whole to be effective. It’s interesting too, that after the first version was successful, he still felt dissatisfied himself. I don’t know if I’d go through all of that if my play was already hugely successful--but then again, it might make it more fun to revise if you already knew it was good. That’s the problem with mine that “demand” the most revision--they aren’t good enough to feel like it’s worth all the revision.

I think this is probably apt: “However, in the end, of course, the whole conceptual struggle remained what all such writing has to be: the rigorous, obsessed and solitary exercise of the Author.” I’m glad that he realizes that he was/is obsessed. And that it takes that kind of obsession to put yourself (and others) through all that hassle.

Another part of his revision story that’s interesting is how one scene can change a character. He talks a lot about how that crucial scene played one way or the other determines a lot of the characters’ motivation and therefore informs their character, It once again emphasizes that EVERYTHING in a play has to do something, has to be good--you don’t get any room to just write stuff.

10 minute plays II

After reading this second batch of shorties, I think one of the biggest (if not the biggest) challenges of this format is not tanking the ending. I mostly bought Aimee, but then the end killed it for me. It’s probably a common symptom of this format cause you have to wrap it up somehow and try to give an instant payoff after only a few pages of set-up. But, really, I’ve seen the “convert-the-intruder-to-your-'crimes' ” bit before.

I think it’s also a lot easier to have a visible point, or lend the feeling of worthwhile in the serious/dramatic. I tend to feel ripped off in short comedic pieces because I feel neither all that entertained nor like I got anything out of it (really, I’m sorry for always being down on the “comedies”--they just in general do less for me). This lack of substance hindered my enjoyment esp. in Anything--that didn’t really feel like a play to me. I don’t feel like there was much character development, it was just completely reliant on the outlandish proposition of the affair. And then the “twist” that the one lady was actually in love with the other lady was a little too little too late to serve as the point. I felt the same way about Philadelphia-- “the opposite” shtick isn’t enough to sustain a play. Oh, I think that could be another danger of the 10-min play--relying on a “bit” to carry the whole thing, I think that belongs in improve or sketch comedy.

I’m having a really hard time coming up with something for my 10 minute play. I think, in general I have a hard time coming up with ideas for these projects, but in 10 mins... and I’ve critique these (and others) so heavily... but I don’t really know what endings I would suggest... man... Playwriting is the hardest writing ever. It’s more blood on the page than essays and those slowly take a lot of my blood, drop by drop. But playwriting...

10 min plays

I actually like the majority of the dialog in these. I appreciated especially, from our class conversations, the subtleties of dropping information naturally. That’s probably especially important in this form as you don’t have time to change scenes lots of times (or at all) or introduce lots of characters. I noticed, in terms of structure, some of them slowly lay details, allowing the reader to piece things together, closing with a more overt explanation but no resolution (Rodeo, Soup), remain less mysterious and then end with a bang (Roads) or have a shift in a the middle that mostly resolves (Dance). I liked Dance in the beginning, when they were fighting, but I thought it got really annoying when he was talking about not being able to dance. That’s probably an important lesson: sometimes shifting into “the point,” the profundity can feel forced and therefore annoying. Same with a huge dramatic finish like in Roads--I was completely with that play until the dad blew up their cars. Lame.

I think writing a 10-min play would be really good for me. I think it forces a small focus and an attention to purpose. Every line has to be setting up the play from the beginning if you only have a few pages. I’m attracted to the simple plays, that are simple in plot and action, but I think I fall into the trap of trying to make it so heavy (like in Dance) that it stops being simple and is just annoying. I would love to write just a short little play that did what it was trying to do. I think I’ll need to change my thinking, deliberately conceive of an idea that fits within a 10-min play. I don’t think any of the ideas/projects I’ve submitted thus far could be made into 10-min plays without serious revision, esp. not my latest one (which maybe shouldn’t be forced into play format anyway).

Amadeus

The first thing that I want to point out is sorta nerdy (cause really, I love latin), but maybe also obvious (I guess it depends on your knowledge of latin roots...). The name “Amadeus” comes from the latin verb amo, amare meaning “to love” and deus, dei-- “god” so Amadeus means “loved by god.” I wonder if Shaffer was partially inspired by his name--seems too happy a coincedence, that the Salieri’s anomosity stems from his revalation that God loves Mozart. Just a little something to think about...

I thought the most valuable aspect of reading this play in terms of playwriting was actually Shaffer’s preface. I read it after I read the play (I’m too impatience to read forwards first, if at all, and am wary of spoilers even though I’ve seen this play and the film). What a crazy revision process! I can’t imagine writing something, having it published, having it performed (to wide acclaim), but still be in the process of thinking about it and tweaking it for twenty years! I wonder if it wouldn’t have been so popular if he would have wanted to revise it or if he would have been allowed to. He was afforded lots of workshopping opportunities because people wanted to work on it with him. I just can’t imagine not letting it go after it’s published--I guess this is a counter argument to the “it’s out of your hands argument.” It’s out of your hands unless it’s crazy popular, performed on Broadway, made into a movie, and then remounted on Broadway again. If that happens, you can do whatever you want. On the other side of things, I was really impressed with, in talking about the process, how in tune Shaffer seemed to be about pace and creating this moment and “what the play wanted.” That’s probably why his play is so good in the first place-- everything is so intentional, thought out. I can’t imagine seeing my play performed on Broadway, to a packed house, but still be thinking “hmm, yeah, that scene feels just a degree off... a crutial degree which changes the whole play! It doesn’t matter that everyone is lauding my play with a stading ovation--it’s back to the drawing board for me!” That’s crazy. But I respect it.

Amadeus is bought a lot with the convention of Salieri’s relationship with the audience. It allows us to move seamlessly into flashbacks and then back into “current day,” it allows us to know when and where we are in those scenes in an explicit, not dropping hints way. Psychologically, it allows us to understand motivations driving the entire plot in a easy-to-connect with way--we not only can understand what is going on, but why. As we talked about a bit in class Tuesday, it also fosters a complicated audience relationship with Salieri as if we are hearing his inner thoughts, it’s much harder to write him off as the villan. It is much more interesting if we feel for Salieri--complicated audience/character realtionships are good. Mozart could just be seen as the victim and we could feel only pity for him, but he’s also an annoying child so it’s sort of nice for someone to shut him up, right? Don’t we wish too, that Salieri could write a smash-hit opera and feel like he was channeling a bit of God himself? You know that part when he’s all “I was born a pair of ears, and nothing else. It is only through hearing music that I know God exists. Only through writing writing music that I could worship...All around me men hunger for General Rights. I hungered only for music”(117). I mean, that’s tragic in a way that makes you care for Salieri, like maybe Mozart was being a little greedy with his talent. I guess this is moving from complicating characters through nurturing an audience/character relationship, but really at the heart of his is just that establishing complicated characters through any means is nessecessary. If characters aren’t complicated, than the audience cares less cause they don’t have to go through any personal struggle to figure out who they’re really rooting for.

Uncle Vanya

As far as page-to-stage, I definitely never pictured this play on a proscenium stage (I think, unless I’ve seen the show before I read it, I always imagine plays more cinematographically, thus I don’t picture them on stage at all) so I was very open to the intimate setting of UPS’ production (and the only production of it I’ve ever seen). I think, in terms of theatrical realism, it really bought a lot to have the show brought so close to us--it actually made it more like a film in the respect that we were afford close-ups of a kind. I saw a clip of some Vanya movie with famous actors in it (I can’t remember who produced it or who was in it other than that annoying doctor from Grey’s Anatomy) and it was shot really close-up with the actors just around a table. It seems to want this intimacy. I wonder if Vanya necessitates this closeness-- that without being right in the middle the audience wouldn’t as readily connect. Hmm. I can’t tell if I can’t picture in a proscenium setting because I’ve only seen it close-up or because it needs to be done that way. Hmm. I’m easily influenced though. I’m one of those people who after seeing a music video can only see that video in my head every time I hear that song or after seeing a book made into a movie can only picture the actors as those characters. Alas.

We read Vanya in Theater History II last spring and I remember liking it I guess, thinking it was depressing, but on the whole not being very affected by it. It just doesn’t do much for me. I know its realism and so the play has very little in terms of plot--it is really just about common people, regret, love, mundane living. I both like this and am also distanced by it. But, really I’m attracted to this kind of play in general. I like plays that aren’t super plot heavy, but are more about complexities of people and their relationships. Or seem profound to me on huge scale within a story about a few people. But as far as words on the page--I always underline lines that I find poignant or with which I connect, and in terms of the actual lines, I seldom felt inclined to underline Vanya. All the dialog seems realistic and believable... but I didn’t... think it was... poetic? Nah, I don’t think it needs to be more poetic... maybe it’s just “too real”? I don’t know... I don’t know why this dialog doesn’t really speak to me because it really does seem to fit the description of dialog I would love. Maybe I’m not quite old enough to connect with the ideas of “a life wasted.” I connect with the unrequited love thing, surely. Or even more so, the being in love with someone you know you will never be with. I’m attracted to the tragedy there for sure.

Another plus for its life on stage: it’s so much easier to keep track of characters when you can just see them versus having to flip back to the who’s who confusion of names and relationships!

Has anyone read August: Osage County? If not, you all should. It’s really good. It sort of reminds me of Vanya as far as its ties to the family drama (I’m not sure I can call Vanya a “family drama” as I think it’s too early, right? or just belongs with the realists?). August: Osage County was written as a deliberate return to the earlier traditions of theater with huge ensemble casts and back to more Vanya-like explorations of just people and relationships and the tragedies present in the mundane. Read it!

PLAYWRIGHT

I was thinking about Sarah Ruhl and her well-crafted plays and then the word playwright:

A year or two ago, a director (at Boise Contemporary Theater) was talking in a Q&A about playwritin/theater/acting/owning a theater company (I don't wholly remember the context), but he said that he really loved the word "Playwright" because it doesn't just mean "someone who writes plays." The word "wright," though seemingly a highfalutin way of spelling "write," instead implies a crafting, a molding of tangible things, like a shipwright, or a carpenter. I really like this concept: that by writing something on a page, you're crafting, building, wrighting something real.

this ain’t no clean house

God, I really like this play. I mean, it’s beautiful, right? I read the whole thing in one sitting and I was quite affected by it. Without analyzing the dialog or the plot or the character development--just taking it in as an experience--I was a little in awe. It was just all so romantic. And hopeless. And profound in surprising ways. And tragic in that satisfying way. Alas...

And the dialog is so poetic. Achingly poetic (I must be in a romantic mood...), but seriously, even the stage directions are beautiful. That got me thinking about stage directions as more (or equally) for the reader. Cause an audience member isn’t going to know that a certain sound is “a sound of forgetfulness” but the reader gets to imagine that. It def is a play that is an example of dramatic literature. It has a life on the page. It doesn’t require players.

I think this is an example of the how people really talk/how people sound real on stage crux. They don’t sound like people we’ve ever heard, and yet they sound real, right? But in some of our writing isn’t nearly as weird or foreign, sometimes verbatim conversations and it sounds far more foreign. Help us, Sarah.

The greek chorus of stones is cool. I like that it keeps with the choral tradition but is also just super weird. I like the note: “The STONES should be played as though they are nasty children at a birthday party. They might be played by children.” That’s so specific and weird... in a compelling way. I like that Orpheus and Eurydice are “a little too young and a little too in love” -- don’t you know those people? or have been those people? She’s good.

I like what she says in the preface too: “I’m interested in anyone who dies twice...I’m interested in mythic architecture. The architecture of myth--its structure, its bigness, its formal elegance--can frame stories that are smaller and more personal...I think that theater can connect our personal mythologies to stories that are bigger than us--that connection between bigness and smallness brings me back to theater again and again.” She touches on a lot of interesting ideas here. I like the idea that myth can frame smaller stories, that we come back to myths and find our world still inside them. I like the connection of bigness to smallness, gods and humanity. I think adaptations can be cool if it feels like you’re getting a secret back-story or a behind-the-scenes look at a well known story. I think that’s why people are often compelled by adaptations--it feels like you’re getting let in on the Real Story. I think Eurydice, as Ruhl has endeavored, is appealing partially for this reason--that it’s getting at a base humanity within a mythical world.


Sarah Ruhls?

(too easy.)

dialog

I think dialog is probably more accessible to the reader/audience by nature. I noticed right away that it was much easier to be interested in the exchanges of the characters than the monologues -- it’s also much less daunting visually to see text all broken-up versus huge monochunks. It’s like, okay, even if what this character has to say is boring at least I’m only committed to them for a moment, a few lines, and then I get to hear from someone else.

Neil Simon kills me (sorry Caitie). I don’t think I would be as annoyed by him if I hadn’t had to read the entire Volume 1 of his greatest hits in 110, but I did... I think what bothers me about it is the dialog (and situations) are just so perfect. It is witty but in such a cutsy, precious way. That probably is part of its wide appeal, that it’s over the top, farcical, easy laughs, and there is def something satisfying about that. The bit from Below the Waist was very similar in tone with the same kind of “perfect,” somewhat cheap jokes. There is an element to be admired in the construction of the situations as they do tie up so neatly, but I don’t think anyone would get away with writing this kind of dialog as a modern playwright. I think a sort of exception to this is David Ives. I think he plays in the same (or similar) vein as Neil Simon, but he just does it better (or at least in a more contemporary way) by just being so weird. His one-acts present similar kinds of situations with the gratification of quick pay-off, that is just a hint into weirdland.

When I was reading the Shakespeare ones I was thinking that what annoys me about the dialog in Simon and Below the Waist is really even more similar to the pace Shakespeare was playing with. His banter between Beatrice and Benedict, and Hamlet and Polonious was really laying the foundation for these comical exchanges. Hamlet uses the same conventions of malaprops as the Doctor. It was interesting to pay attention to how basic those jokes are (maybe that’s why they annoy me in later works?) Ernest does it too, the tightness of pace and wit, but again, it’s more Shakespearean less Simon. So in that respect, I guess I appreciate the tightness of that kind of joke/dialog. Yes, I appreciate the tightness of all of those.

I didn’t really feel like the dialog itself in Boy Gets Girl was a focus of the script. It seemed as though the dialog served more to carry the story (which very well may be great) but didn’t do anything remarkable beyond that. It neither offends nor excites me. Maybe that’s the point though, to just seem normal -- I mean, there’s something to be said for the dialog not distracting from the story, right?

I love Closer (I mean yeah, I picked it, but c’mon that scene is good...) I just thought about how it’s interesting to read a scene of dialog out of a larger work--I wonder how much that changes my impressions of it? Because I think that scene is really good, but maybe it isn’t quite as affecting outside the context of the play. I think in general I’m more attracted to darker stuff and so I have an easier time taking “serious” dialog more seriously. I’m also a sucker for simultaneous scenes in different places and overlapping thems/dialog. I just think it’s cool that we can do flashbacks (and other things with time) even though we’re confined to the “reality” of the stage. I like that format for a scene or two also, even if all the characters never interact in “real” time cause I feel the simultaneous situations can potentially layer each other, adding the feeling(s) of the dialog from one scene to the other (and v. vs.).

monos

I think the imaginative participation required of the audience in both seeing and reading plays is very similar to the gutter in comic books or graphic novels. The gutter is the white space between frames and sometimes time will elapse during the white, seconds or days, or something will just be implied, like a raised axe in one frame and a scream in the next frame. In a Scott McCloud book (I’m not sure which one) he talks about the reader’s participation in the gutter--that it is the reader, not the author, who brings the axe down, decides what really happens in the white space, the reader is the true murderer. It’s that participation of audience that give comics a special draw and I think that same pull of the imagination makes the monologues effective. The convention that the characters are just telling their story makes us require less of the set, less “reality.” Bell is able to produce vivid imagery of a huge flood without a drop of water. In a talk-back with Rosalind Bell and Professor Proehl during the UPS production of NOM, I remember them talking about the decision to use a fake baby or not. I think in the end they decided just to pantomime the presence of a baby because it was more evocative to make the audience fill it in than give them a stand in--it forced us to see a baby ourselves whereas a fake baby could instead serve as a reminder that it wasn’t “real.” Making a play about Katrina could be like trying to write about war--lots of death and destruction and water on a very large scale. But NOM succeeds because it doesn’t try to show you everything-- it gives you important pieces of description, pulls on the real images people have from the news, and forces the audience to put them together. I remember seeing the scene with the boy on the roof with the diabetic father and I don’t think I wanted to be able to actually have the father dying on the stage with the mother sacrificing her own spit for his mouth-- I could see it already, the boy was on that roof.

Something I noticed about NOM was that it was completely seamless to move from the interview back to dialogue happening during Katrina. I didn’t object to that break from the format of people’s stories and really I think it was a nice through-line to have that “real-time,” fleshed-out story sandwiched between the other (connected but stand-alone) monologues. It was nice to have a break from the pace of single person narrative and have interaction between characters. I think that would be nice in The VMs too, if the characters walked in and out of each other stories, but she was limited by her monologues being true interviews (if I remember correctly)

One of the biggest things that I noticed about the monologues from a writing perspective is that they all operate under the convention of a person(s) responding to prompts by a narrator. I think that’s probably an effective solution to connect monologues and give the characters a reason to be telling their story and I think the audience is familiar with that format enough to buy into it easily. Is that format tired? What would be another format/convention for a play other than interviews? The interrogation (like in Pillowman) is a closely related to the interview but it has a more foreboding feel as there has to be a reason (usu. a crime) that a person is being interrogated in the first place. And, the interrogator is usually another character, versus the audience. This winter, I saw the premier of a new Lauren Weedmen show which was semi-autobiographical. It was essentially a one-woman show of monologues, but there was dialog where she was other people talking to herself. She wasn’t being interviewed or anything, she was just sort of “living” in this world where the audience bought that she was everyone. I think what makes that different from the monologues we read is that she wasn’t really talking to the audience--maybe talking to the audience requires the convention that the audience is standing in for an interviewer.

An interesting thing about The Vagina Monologues is I don’t think it is commonly considered to be a great dramatic work--and yet it succeeds in getting consistently produced. I wonder if its accessibility actually hurt the perception of its literary value as it produced by colleges nationwide every year. It is the perfect vehicle for social change as the monologues can be produced on a low-budget with a flexible amount of actors. But I guess I have somewhat of a bias against this show as I feel like as a compilation of true(?) stories of women and sex and sexuality, are valued more for their activism than their impact as theater or literature. I think the monologues do what they’re trying to do well--empower women to talk about being women, start dialogue between men and women, etc. but, I always go to a production of The Vagina Monologues expecting a certain kind of theater. I’ve never seen Laramie, but now I’m definitely interested. I think it probably is produced with the same sort of intention of Vagina Monologues-- for social change. And actually I guess NOM is too in that it’s really mostly about race and prejudice. Is it coincidental that these stories geared towards overt activism are the plays that can be produced on low budgets? Small communities or students clubs can’t produce production-heavy, big ensemble cast shows such as Eurydice, but basically any group of people could do a reading of The Vagina Monologues--they can be impactive and influential without even memorization or staging. Maybe that accessibility, even though I think it’s ultimately a good thing, is why I have a hard time taking The VMs seriously.

I noticed that NOM has the characters introducing themselves after their monologues and Laramie has the narrator introducing them prior to their monologues. I think it definitely works for NOM for us to find out who is speaking at the end because it acts to delay judgement of the character in the same vein as the message of the play-- that you can’t judge a person by their name, age, hometown, etc.

My favorite part of the construction of NOM is the repetition of the lines on the first and last page: “Sometime you look back on a thing and you can’t do nothing but just wonder. Water. A can opener...a basketball. Some gas...garbage...you never know what’ll save your life.” (3 and 43). It’s a great set-up for the way things play out with Arnold and a satisfying ending. When I read it and saw UPS’ production last fall I don’t think I was as in tune with how much the characters’ accounts of Katrina are steeped in their race and racial perceptions. I think she does a really good job playing with the characters’ voices and the stereotypes of speech in their diction.

Overall, I don’t think monologue plays are my favorite...