The Lion King...Epic? (Show I Saw : #2)

I saw the Lion King once when I was fairly small. I loved it then and I loved it again when I saw it this year. Its a spectacle show...stunning in the aspect of its production. The sets are stunning the costumes are stunning, the music is stunning. Within the first number of the play you are struck dumb, transported, in awe with your chin stuck to your chest, possibly drooling.

So is this what makes a good play? Can a spectacle save bad writing or a weak story line?

The conclusion that I have reached is: To an extent. I think that part of the appeal of a show like Lion King is the awe factor. The dancing, the costumes, the makeup, the complete visual and aesthetic presentation is sublime. However, the story is brilliant too. Inspired by the Bible? Sure. Done before? Absolutely. Still intriguing, captivating, and exciting? You bet. Its a story that we all know, we've all herd before, prodigal son etc. But the writer of the Lion King made it fresh and new by making it animals, by taking us into a world, into Africa that is new and exciting, and giving us characters that make us laugh and cry, that we relate to.

A big Spectacle can save a weak play only to a point but when you have both a great story and a big spectacle going at the same time, that's when the magic really gets going. So...to write a good good play...focus on the story...on the dialogue...the spectacle will come when the story rocks.

Wishful Drinking (Show I Saw: #1)

I recently went up to Seattle to see Carrie Fischer perform at the Seattle Rep. She has created and now stars in her own one woman show about her life, bipolar disorder, Star Wars, drug and alcohol addictions and life generally. Now isn't this an interesting concept? to become so famous that one can do a show about one's life and thereby continue to do what one loves even when one is out of one's prime. Additionally, I can see how hearing Carrie (that's right...we're on a first name basis :) ) talk about her struggles with addiction would be hugely motivating and positive for someone struggling with those same issues.
Writing wise, Carrie's show was very lovely. It was very witty and sarcastic and amusing. I think that once you get to the point where you can write a show about yourself and people all over the country will come and see it, you kind of loose the fear of offending anyone, (or just stop caring.) Carrie's show touched on a lot of very sensitive topics, from the first couple of minutes of the show, which affirms (yet again) that the first few minutes of a play are all about teaching your audience to listen. I would be curious to see how much of it changes night to night and how much of the script is actually set in stone. There was a fair amount of audience interaction and participation which is something that I think you gain when you do an autobiographical show and you are the only performer. Still, it made it very intimate and friendly, something that was brought out even more by the living room feeling of the set and the fact that she opened and drank a can of coke on-stage and took her shoes off and was walking around barefoot. I think that it made every person feel like she was settling in for a cozy chat with them, just a heart to heart like you do with your best friends. Very Cool.
So, in conclusion...

Intimacy is good. Intimacy is more easily achieved in a one woman show or a show that revolves around monologues (ie only one person onstage at a time)..which brings us back to a question that we discussed onstage, how to create the same feeling in a bigger production, in a bigger auditorium...

I'll keep you updated.

Unless You're Mozart

I think that the thing that I take away most from Peter Shaffer's writing on revising Amadeus is that to revise well is to persist. When you know that you can do better, that that one bit could be better, that there is still that one line that isn't worded quite right, or that scene that doesn't quite make flow. To have the stamina to persist not just until the show opens, but through the years that it is performed, through different directors and assortments of actors. Talk about stamina.
I think that revising is something that could be done infinitely. Forever. As in every time that I sit down to read over something, I change something. Perhaps it is just a couple words, but I can usually find something to change, and this makes me believe, (in addition to the last paragraph of Shaffer's writing) that revision is endless. Which is simultaneously mildly terrifying and kind of exhilarating. Its neat that a piece that you started in college could continue to grow as you garner more life experience. Maybe that play that I wrote that has a proposal in it would change immeasurably after I had been proposed to. And that side of the infinite nature of revision is pretty fascinating.
From reading Shaffer's writings, I think that one of the keys to revision is time. If you step away from the piece for fifteen minutes and then try to revise it, your not going to get as good or comprehensive revisions as if you give yourself a little more space (sometimes years, apparently :) )
Thing number two I learned? Do it more than once. One revision isn't going to catch or fix all the things that need catching or fixing, so don't stop after one go.

Unless you're Mozart...in which case, one draft seems to be all that it takes.

Comedic Shorts

Comedy is hard. Its challenging and authors who can do it well are a little bit mind blowing. You've really got to hit it just right. To much effort and it feels forced, heavy-handed, like you're trying too hard, too little effort and you run the risk of just having it blow right over our heads. There is a certain subtlety in writing comedy, the gift of making us laugh before we have actually realized that you are being funny. I think that this is especially true in a ten minute play comedy that has such a short amount of time to be funny and tell us a story. That's a tall order for such a short play, and I think that its even truer that if you hit it too hard, we're really, really going to feel it. Knowing that, its a totally daunting prospect. It makes you want to take every possible step to make it easier on yourself; shut the door, make some tea, play some motivational music, and put a vase of daisies on your desk to keep you cheerful through the process. Maybe wear some lucky underwear. That must be what these authors had. Lucky shorts.
Duet Between a Dog and Bear: This was the first thing that I've read in a while that actually made me laugh out loud. I was sitting peacefully in the sub lounge and then I was reading, and then it was so perfect. Like the kind of dialogue that I dream of writing. I could instantly see it. Seriously, everything that we have been talking about it class in this one short. Quick banter, setting the scene, simplicity, solid character development, intriguing plot (honestly, who hasn't talked for the animals in their lives before, imagining the conversation that they must be having.) Its totally brilliant. WHAT I LEARNED: That simple can be better. This is a brilliant plot and it feels like something that we've all imagined before, somewhere we have all been. And especially in a ten minute play, the simplicity of the circumstance is appealing, and satisfying in ten minutes. I think that a whole play on the same plot line would beat the bear and the dog to death.
Anything for You: This one was neat. I saw it coming, but still when she finally made the request for her girl - friend to have sex with her, it took me by surprise. It was a turn of events that I had been suspicious of but not totally sure of. This short interested me because it took a weird turn for the serious at the end; no definite conclusion, acknowledged problems, and zero resolution. I ended up feeling kind of bad for the two women at the end (not that that stopped me from really enjoying the piece.) WHAT I LEARNED: That shorts can be a tiny emotional roller coaster. Jumps in mood are possible and really interesting in a short span of time...and to be honest, true. People jump from hot to cold real quick in real life. They jump toward and away from each other in as long as it takes to snap your fingers. Maybe shorts are the truest to real life as we get...?

The terror of ten minutes...

Ten minute plays are such a novelty of playwriting. With the invention of ten-minute plays, it became possible to see five or six different plays in the course of one evening of theatre. Playwrights were able to write collections that were related different stories, different characters, each play capable of standing on its own and yet beautifully intertwined with the other plays it stood with; or not beautifully intertwined, but beautiful in their diversity and lack of relation.
The Man Who Couldn't Dance: I saw this play performed here last year, it was a component of the Directing Class One Acts. What I learned about playwriting from this play is that ten minute plays are snippets of life. They start in the middle of a story and carry on for a time, and then continue after the story ends. With the possible exception of Bowl of Soup, none of the stories are wrapped up nicely at the end, and while "endings" are suggested, it is also clear that the story carries on lng after the stage time. With The Man Who Couldn't Dance, did they actully have sex? or just reconnect? Will she stay with her husband?
Midnight Rodeo: Something I learned about ten minute plays from the Midnight Rodeo was that with a ten minute play, because of its snapshot nature, it is possible, and even permissable to leave the audience in the dark for much of the play, and only let in little plot twists as they would come into natural conversation without having to really create/provide exposition. The exposition that we have been talking about in class like "Hey, how did that bio exam that you were up studying all night for go?" obvious exposition of that nature becomes possible to omit. With a ten minute play audiences are more willing to stay in the dark for longer. When we sit in the dark for a corrosponding length of time over a full length play, audiences are much more apt to get squirmy and fed up with not knowing what is going on for half an hour to forty five minutes rather than four or five minutes. Another perk of ten minute plays.

Amadeus

I adore this play. I saw it performed at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts a couple of years ago and it has held a special place in my heart since then.
I love the inclusion of the whisperers. Having the text broken up by whispers from the 'people of Vienna' adds an intensity to the story that is, in part, lost without those lines. The whisperers are vaguely reminiscent of the chorus in Greek tragedy, except that the Greek chorus (in addition to maintaining the tension) provide a lot of exposition, while the whisperers are mostly just to create and hold the tension. Most of the exposition is given by Salieri himself, or by the "little winds."
I think that this play could almost be seen as an adaptation. Mozart and Salieri, obviously did actually exist, and Mozart's death was shrouded in mystery and his life fraught with trouble. I think that this is an interesting concept, for one to adapt not necessarily a story that has already been written, but one that could have actually happened, with well known historical figures, imagining the ending to a story that we will never know the "true" ending to.
Another thing that I really enjoy is the intended seamlessness of the production. There are a lot of pretty big things that happen, and a lot of breaking down of the fourth wall, established in the first scene when Salieri invites the audience into the scene and gives them a character "ghosts of the future." This trains the audience to listen in a way that will allow them to participate, and make them aware that partitpating in this production is what they've signed up for. Establishing what the audience is in for is essential as theatre isn't usually a participatory activity. By starting the play off with a broken fourth wall, it becomes and doesn't jerk the audience out of the story when the characters address them with great frequency throughout the rest of the play. That strikes me as a good lesson about playwriting, one that I have learned as an actor, but only just realized as a playwright: the first scene or couple scenes are all about teaching the audience how to listen, and what to expect from the rest of the play. I think this is something that Amadeus does really well.

Uncle Vanya "Another Russian wrist slitter"

I think that it is going to be potentially difficult to look at Uncle Vanya from a play writing perspective after having spent the past several months looking at it as an actor. However, I feel a bit as though that's a problem I am having with this blog in general. After years of looking at plays from one perspective, its difficult to make the adjustment to a different one. So, that said, I am going to do my darndest to be good on this one. Maybe this is the turning point.
Yesterday, I was having lunch at Farellies and the woman in the next booth leaned over and commented that she had seen the play and enjoyed it. She then looked at me and smiled and said "another Russian wrist slitter, huh?" I think that she brings up a good point about Uncle Vanya and plays by Anton Chekhov in general, that they are chock full of people who are absolutely miserable, and mostly, who have accepted that as their fate and have stopped trying to change it. A concern that Marilyn, (our director) voiced at the begining of the project was being able to find enough humor or at least places where we could build in humor, that the audience wouldn't leave the theatre and commit suicide. I know that prior to casting the show, Marilyn read pretty much every translation of Uncle Vanya that exists and picked the Van Itallie version because she saw the most potential for lightness.
I think that reincorporation is something that this play does really well. For instance, (and I only oaught on to this bit of brialliant writing after opening weekend...silly, I know) Astrov tells Sonya that if "the intellectuals" don't know what label to pin on you they say "strange." "And if they don't know what label to pin on you, they think - 'strange, what a strange man.' You love the forest - 'strange.' You don't eat meat - 'strange.'" That bit occurs in act two. In act three, Yelena refers to Astrov as a "strange man" and again in act three, Serebryakov says of Vanya, "his conduct is strange, to say the least." I hadn't caught that before, and I was never sure why people were laughing at those lines, as both of the reincorporations occur where the content is pretty serious and dramatic. I think that is really amazing writing, and it serves a couple of purposes that I can see. It validates Astov as a truth teller. By proving what he said to be true, Chekhov encourages the audience to love him the way that all the other characters do. Astrov is one of the only characters who is universally liked in the play, and by using such subtle tricks, such as the reincorporation and validation of his drunken claims about the other characters, the audience is encourages to fall in love with him too.
One thing that was hard about Vanya, looking at the writing (albeit from an actor's perspective...hang it all...) is that the lines, especially some of the longer ones tend to be pretty repetitive. This, obviously, re-enforces what the character is trying to say, but it also makes the lines ridiculously hard to learn.
I think that people get something different out of seeing a play onstage, even if you are really good at imagining it for yourself. There is something beautiful about being able to read a play before you go see it. I think that you pick up on more of the subtleties if your not jumping in cold to looking at a performance. Obviously, there are positives to both ways, cold and, shall we say, warm, but I think that especially with a play like Shakespeare or Chekhov, or others that might be slightly more archaic, more removed from that which we know, a reading before hand can increase our enjoyment.

Eurydice

I thought that this was an interesting adaptation. I confess that I thought that we were reading the original Greek translation and so I was a bit confused upon first reading it. I think that it's interesting that the whole play reads almost as an open scene. There are multiple chunks of text that are completely open; if you were to pull them out of the context of the play, you could put them into a multitude of other situations and the scene or bit of text would still make sense. I think that this makes the play more relate-able to modern audiences while still carrying on the Greek story of Eurydice and passing it to generations, that, but for the adaptation, might not have been inclined to listen to it or to take it very seriously.
I think that the short concise line lengths make it so that the deeper lines, the ones that have more ingrained wisdom and intensity pop out more. That could be an interesting tool to add to the play writing toolbox. Varying the length of sentences can draw attention to certain lines without the actor really having to be responsible for their emphasis.
I would like to read the original of this piece and then the adaptation. I am finding it difficult to make any conclusions about play writing/adapting or learn about how to adapt without first reading the original. However, I think that an interesting point that can be taken from this adaptation is that adapting can take a play and translate it into a piece that translates to modern audiences. An adaptation doesn't have to be in the ways that people tend to think about them; book to play, play to movie, book to movie. They can also span across the same genre; play to another play, movie to a re-make or different interpretation. Its nice to know that adaptations aren't limited by the genre of the work one wishes to adapt.

Dialoguing

I just finished reading ten excerpts of dialogue from ten different plays. Everything from Martin McDonagh to Neil Simon, Shakespeare to David Ives. Quite a variety. "After reading all that dialogue," you might say, "you must have gleaned some tidbit of wisdom, some nugget of truth from the masters with which to begin writing." Perhaps. I have observations to be sure, but they are vague, and broad in their nature. The observation that currently presents itself in bold, block letters before my mind’s eye is that dialogue is all about rhythm. No matter the play, the thing that made it good, that made it interesting to read and even more interesting to hear in my mind’s ear, was the rhythm. It sounded natural, like two people speaking, rather than writing. I suppose that this is a problem common to both monologue and dialogue. Things often sound so different when they are written as opposed to spoken.
That looks so obvious to me now that I have spelled it out. No duh. Of course that’s the challenge of writing dialogue in a play, natural rhythm. And yet, if that’s the main thing, what is it that is so fundamentally different about Shakespeare’s dialogue as opposed to David Ives or Patrick Marber? Shakespeare, God among men that he was, had musicality (granted, partially a function of the language that he was able to use,) but still. Reading Shakespeare is akin to a really smooth merlot or a bite of the richest, most decadent chocolate truffle. It just feels good in your mouth and mind. Beatrice and Benedick have some of the most brilliant and successful banter in playwriting history. I think that part of its brilliance is that each line plays off of the one before it. Reading B and B it is impossible NOT to listen to what the line before you is saying because the next line relies so fundamentally on every word being in exactly the correct order. This not only creates rhythm and natural banter (a feat when using the language that Shakespeare was), but also makes it some of the cleverest, most witty dialogue in history.
David Ives or Neil Simon operate in a similar although much more modern way. In David Ives The Philadelphia, other than a few of Marcy’s longer lines, no line is longer than ten words and many of them are only one. This means that the scene moves really quickly which returns us to what appears to be the central point, theme, and problem of dialogue: Rhythm.

The Laramie Project

I have never seen The Laramie Project. I wish that I had. Its one of those plays where I think that the impact and impression of the play would be huge in person and is somewhat muted on the page. I like the interspersed "monologuing" style. It keeps me invested in the characters and the story without breaking out of the intimacy that is found so clearly and vividly in monologues. I think too that interspersing the monologues leads to the capacity to have more action in a piece that is comprised totally of single peoples thoughts.

The Vagina Monologues

I really like The Vagina Monologues. I like it because it provides an outlet for conversation about a topic that is generally considered taboo and is one of the very few plays that have an abundance of very strong roles for women. Eve Ensler also wrote Necessary Targets and has a knack for tackling difficult issues on the stage. The style of The Vagina Monologues of having monologues that are linked by a common topic with the goal of exploring the nature of that issue. I like that monologues can be used to explore tough issues. I saw The Vagina Monologues performed at UPS last year. I hadn't wanted to go because I thought that the content of the play would just be uncomfortable and while I had, of course, heard of it before, the idea wasn't particularly appealing. However, after having been hurranged into going by a friend I so enjoyed it and it left me with a bundle of thoughts and questions that I thought about for a good long time after I left the theatre, mostly questions that were posed in the interviews that the play is based off of. It was interesting to think about and, to be honest, not somewhere that my brain would have gone without the prompting of the play. And that, I believe, is the mark of good theatre, and I don't think that it would have been achieved in a play that was that was more graphic and visual as opposed to telling the stories. And in this case telling the story had a much bigger and more thought provoking impact than showing it.

The New Orleans Monologues

I've read this play before, and I saw it last year. Something that is simultaneously a hazard and a perk of taking multiple theatre classes is that it is nearly impossible not to study the same play more than once. At the time that The New Orleans Monologues went up last year I was in a class with Geoff Proehl who was the dramaturg and director for the piece. Needless to say, that meant that Rosalind came in to talk to our class and we heard from Geoff in addition to having required attendance of the production (which I would have happily gone to see multiple times voluntarily.) I thoroughly enjoy the monologue style of playwrighting. The slight dabbling that I have done in the genre of plays has been in monologuing style. I like having the constant stream of Elaine's character throughout the play. She ties everything together. Elaine's character makes the piece feel more cohesive than it might without her through line being present. I remember when I saw the production that my mind was a little bit boggled by the sheer numbers of lines that the woman playing Elaine had to memorize. It was rather amazing, and my respect for her was immense. Just thinking about having to memorize that many lines makes my palms sweat, and I wonder if as a playwright it is really fair to have one character carry that much of a show, with that much memorizational responsibility. As an actor experimenting in playwrighting, I don't know that I would feel comfortable hoisting that onto one person. So here I am in the middle of a little bit of a connundrum. I like the continuity that the character of Elaine provides, but I wish that that through line could be present without the worry that whoever was playint that intensly leading role would become totally overwhelmed and chaotic. I think that Bell does a lovely job building characters. Each character is really vivid and, although they all have things in common, each character is profoundly different and you can read it in the dialect or coloquialisms that accompany what they say in addition to in the stories that they tell. I know from hearing Bell speak before that part of the intent of the piece was to tell or imagine the stories that had been glossed over when the media covered Katrina. I think that using characters from dozens of different walks of life in the play illustrated the nature of the crsis much better than one walk of life could ever hope to do.
On that note, plays about crisis are interesting. I like to think that creating in response to a crisis whether it is through fine visual arts or dance or theatre, helps a society and the individuals encompassed in that title process and recover from the situation.
Having the monologues intersperssed with little snatches of dialogue added to the vivid nature of the piece, and kept the audience on their toes by jumping in and out of characters heads as well as in and out of real time. A series of monologues that were just monologues would be boring, but having dialogue that breaks up the monotony keeps viewers invested and interested.
Overall, I really like The New Orleans Monologues both on the page and in person. I remember the audience being engaged throughout the play and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it again from a different perspective.