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.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
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.)
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.)
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
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.).
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.).
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