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.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, March 9, 2009
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.
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.
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