On being lost (part two)

(It's odd to think that my initial thought at the top of this little diatribe is on the subject heading of this particular post, amd if it conforms to the norm I established with the last post. OCD here I come)

As per the life of a student, I am at the relative start of my winter break, a glorious one month of relaxed responsibilities. This is the time traditionally reserved for the recharging of artistic batteries. I haven't found the plug yet. I feel stressed out and barely controlled. And this isn't helping solve my sense of loss.

Since the last post, I wrote some good starts, at least I think I did. My profs have expressed excitement at what I might (read Should) be bringing in as finished drafts upon my return. I spent the last few days fulfilling family obligations and trying hard to "relax", an anachyronism that is not lost on me. (And yes, I know anachronism is not the right word, but I can't think of what the appropriate word to express the inherent irony in trying hard to relax.)

I'd like to think I'm suffering from post scholastic stress disorder. I just can't relax. There's this constant pressure of needing to research and write and learn and get things done. How dis this affect my creative process? It makes the process non existent.

Bye for now kiddos!
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The Act of Being Lost (Part One)

I think that every artist experiences a feeling of despair. A wondering of, what am I doing? Where am I going? Am I doing the right thing devoting my life to this elemental esotericism? I don't have the answers for you, hell, I don't have the answers for me.

We, and I'm speaking in a contemporary sense, have this notion of being the tough guy. Of throwing down our gloves and ripping the barbed wire apart with our bare hands because it reinforces the notion of how tough we really are. It's stupid, I know. It's part of, at least in my mind, something I like to call the "John Wayne Syndrome". We want to have the pilgrims look at us in awe as we walk into camp, or limp, with a broken leg, no horse and arrows sticking out of our back. WE love that feeling. We LOVE that image. That man in pain, but still pushing on as if nothing is bothering us. We seem to have that need to walk through the valley of the shadow of misery, and let you know about every evil we thought we toughed out. And if you don't notice the cuts, well, we cut them deeper so you do. And then fake trying to hide them.

All that to say that, we have difficulty imagining others going through difficulty, we want to be the ones in the most difficult arena. You climbed Everest? Well I did K2. Twice. Without oxygen or sherpas. It's all a gigantic contest that ends up with everyone losing. C'est la vie. I guess. It shouldn't be that way. HOWEVER, before I digress again, I think there is this notion that the greats didn't wrestle with demons. That Shakespeare sat down and just spewed out Lear as perfection. I mean, we know that didn't happen, at least not with Lear. But we like to think so. Or that Tennessee Williams wrote his great plays between the bars. I'm sure he didn't succumb to writer's block for his whole life, or wrestle with the demons of "Proper" and "Mediocrity" (who are vile little creatures, and very different from each other) for life, but I'm sure they hit upon him in the dark moments of the night.

A great quote by Brecht

In reference to "Baal", one of Bertolt Brecht's early works, he wrote in a much later edition:

"For the present edition of "Baal" the original version of the first and last scenes has been restored. Otherwise, I have left the play as it was, not having the strength to alter it. I admit (and advise you): this play is lacking in wisdom."
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The Mist

This film, by a rather great director/adapter Frank Darabont, again presents a quandry, beyond that of why did I see two movies in one day... This film was based on a novella by Stephen King, and was, without doubt, my favorite short story by Mr. King.
The movie was faithful to the original in a few respects, though it did remove the moral ambiguity of the hero and expressing additional exposition to insure a contemporary audience would understand what was happening. As a film review, I think the movie was a romp with middling special effects. As a writer, there were two areas of interest. First is the manner in which the exposition/background of the story is presented. It was done so poorly. Would it be possible for the story to happen without that? Would people understand what was happening? Would they fly along with the story?
Second. The end. I won't post the end yet, but I will talk about that at a later date.
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August Rush

This movie presents something of an enigma to me. It's quite a bit of trash in many respects, and the lead boy actor is awful. The movie is heavy handed and about as subtle as a sledgehammer, but for some reason, it had a profound effect on me. I found myself nearly in tears over the hugely contrived story. Story? It's a fairy tale, with a simple innocent main character who has a strong action which isn't deviated from. The boy, August, is never appears to doubt the veracity of his parents existence or their desire for him. We, as the audience, are privvy to that fact, watching as the parents feel the pangs of separation, and an almost equal desire to find the child. The two antagonists are also equally transparent in both their evil intents and desires. The music in this particular tale was weilded as magic, and I have to admit that the music was indeed magical.
Perhaps the reason there was such a profound effect on me was the music. It was pervasive and powerful, and, I believe, when you give in to it, it can sweep you away.
As this is primarily about writing, here's a moment to talk about that. I found the story should have started later than it did. I was interested in the mother and the son, but the father's journey as a rock star just didn't hold my attention as well. The dialogue was weak at its best, and usually felt clunky and contrived. Worth seeing for the music, but ultimately, you will be disappointed by that silly boy.
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This is the illegal postcard for the reading upcoming of my play "Anatomy of an Anarchist". Illegal because the oncampus theatre company seems to have strange ideas about posters. I'd be really happy if a playwright took the iniative to do some publicity. Especially free publicity for the theatre company. Whatevs. Damage control on route, things are fine. Just annoying really.

Any case, those who are in this area, feel free to head over to Downstage Theater to view a staged reading of "Anatomy of an Anarchist" on November 29 at 7:30.

One thing about graduate school is that it rarely leaves time for anything else. That excuse set aside for the moment, I am a heinous individual for leaving this alone for so long.
Since the last post, here is the rundown of what has happened:
I saw a show in NY that is a little comedy show called "Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind" by a group called the neo-futurists. It is a fun fast paced show where thirty two minute plays are performed in an hour. Very goofily. I highly recommend it.
I took part in the 24 hour play festival here at SLC, wherein I was a director. Many people came up to me and said that my play was the best one of the night, so go me. It was a good time, and reminded me that directing is fun.
I've written four plays since I've been here.
The show that I am acting in, "The Authentick Relations of Dutch..." (it's a very long title) is going up this week, and it has been an enlightening experience, showing me new ways to look at creating theatre.

It has been an adjustment being back at school. Being around people who have a vastly different maturity level (read undergrads) has been harrowing at times. I miss, in some senses, the days of being a professional, but I was a professional in something I didn't want to do.

Okay, so, that's that, and I will try to keep things here a little more up to date.
Much love,
Me.

This weekend, I finally made it to the Great White Way. I saw a Broadway production of the show, "Chorus Line".

To begin, it was an interesting experience. To end, the show is beyond dated at this point. There was no attempt to update the show in any sense, and I think that resulted in a detrimental theatre going experience on my part.

The original show came out in 1976, and blew everyone away. It received numerous awards, and was/is a fantastic show. In it's time. Now, it's been done. The dancing that our culture has been exposed to since 1976 is far and above beyond the performances at this show. The pseudo disco fosse mix has gone from being hip and new to being trite and old. It was difficult watching the production claim that the dancers were amazing or the routines exceptionally difficult when there really wasn't that new flair to it.

Of course, perhaps this is an intrinsic problem of heading into a play with some notion of expectation. I expected fabulous dancing. I didn't get it. I was irritated. I expected witty dialog, but I was not rewarded. Is it my fault for wanting too much out of the show? I'm not sure.

The quick and dirty: The show was dated, through and through. If you are looking to see a great Broadway show, this isn't it. If you are looking for a nostalgic trip back to the Broadway of yesteryear, this might be the ticket. It certainly seemed to recreate the feeling of watching a show in 1976. But we've grown so much as a culture, is there a point to going back to exactly that? Can't we see an updated chorus line? The trials and tribulations faced by contemporary dancers? I would love to see that... of course, maybe that's just an opening for some other musical to be composed. "Chorus Line 2: This time, it's personal"

Alright, so I've been at Sarah Lawrence College for a week now. Technically a week and a half, and it is certainly an experience. It's pretty insane. In a good way. I have yet to have a playwriting class, but one is coming up this afternoon, and I'm quite excited for it. With only two people in the class, it's a little intimidating, I'm unsure how the workshop aspect of the class will function. I was hoping for small class sizes, but this is a little ridiculous.

One of things I love about the college atmosphere is the exposure to different people in different fields. I didn't expect to be so drawn to these other fields though. Perhaps that's why I do theatre, because I want to do everything. I worry that the MFA I acquire here will lead to few other jobs, especially as I watch the human geneticists around me all lining up careers post college. I wonder, should I change? Is the study of theatre a pointless exercise? Granted, the most appropriate response is Isn't it a bit late for that? Yes. Yes it is. However, I could just get more schooling after this schooling, and get the education in something that is a bit more career friendly.

In any case, school is an interesting place to be, and I've gotten some writing done already. Just a one act called, "Love: A Masturbatory Act in Four Digressions" but it felt good to get some words on the page. I'll start work on the bigger projects as soon as I've gotten my feet wet in the playwriting classes.

A gem

A small sentence in this book I'm reading, "American Avant-Garde Theatre: a History" by Arnold Aronson has struck a chord with me today.

"If the purpose of art is to create experiences one cannot have in everyday life... then a theatre that replicates the everyday world is meaningless and pointless."

Right on the nose. However, that being said, one then must argue what constitutes everyday world. We do not share identical existences in this world, and therefore, the notions we might consider normal are not necessarily as commonplace as we, in our bias, might assume.

But perhaps we should take this at a broader stroke. Perhaps Dr. Aronson is trying to imply the worthlessness of theatre that exists alongside reality. Is he trying to refer to plays in the realistic or naturalistic sense (Chekhov or Ibsen) or does he also refer to plays that extend a bit further from reality, but remain within the bounds of our capabilities of recognizing the world presented (Tennesee Williams or August Strindberg)? As this is a book about avant garde theatre, it makes sense to assume Dr. Aronson has some predilection for the avant-garde above other forms of theatre, but does this allow us to assume he thinks the vast quantity of theatre is, "meaningless and pointless"?

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Another thought on the point of Art

And by art, I mean theatren though I imagine the quote by Lionel Trilling refers to all art.
"A primary function of art and thought is to liberate the individual from the tyranny of his culture in the environmental sense and to permit him to stand beyond it in an autonomy of perception and judgment."

A tall order. I hesistate to say I agree or disagree with his statement. I think the best way to phrase my thoughts is to say that I respect the ideal, but question its practicality.
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A thought

I'm sitting here in the helpful hum of a flourescent light reading "American Theatre". Nicole Estvanik, in a critic's notebook, says, "Isn't that what we want from our playwrights- for them to frame a Pointillist haze of ideas, events, and personalities, and help us see a picture emerge?"

Is that what "we" want from playwrights?
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The Reading of "Anatomy of an Anarchist"

Last night (or Sunday August 26 if I'm slow in posting), a play I wrote, "Anatomy of an Anarchist" was produced as a staged reading by the company Intravenous Theatre. In New York City. In Manhattan.

It was brutally hot and humid and the audience was made up of people I didn't know. It was hard to be there with strangers, and I definitely felt bashful going up for the talk back. However, that seems to be the nature of the beast and it was good to place myself in uncomfortable situations.

I was pleased, for the most part, with the results. The actors chosen did a great job, and helped illuminate some of the problems I had been unable to see just by reading. It reaffirmed, to me at least, the need to hear a work out loud to understand what it is you, or in this case, me, have written.

There were some lines that surprised me, I hadn't remembered writing them. I think that's a sign of good acting. Or my poor memory. I haven't read the play in some time, so it's difficult to know if any lines were changed. Normally my dialogue is rife with profanity, and I don't use damn very often. More often it's fuck. So... I wonder.

It was hard to listen to some of the talk back responses, some people were complaining about the effects that I intended to happen. I wanted the ending to feel almost pointless, like there wasn't a real change in the world from the beginning of the play to the end of the play. But this guy said that's what he felt, but seemed to imply it was a negative.

I was really happy with the enthusiastic response that the meta-theatrical nature of the play received. I want the play to be playful, especially when dealing with such a serious topic, and one of the comments I received was that the playfulness balanced out the preachy nature of the material and made it more palatable.

Well, I think that's all for the present. As I begin the rewriting process, there will be more to write here. A second entry on this play, "Anatomy of an Anarchist" will be forthcoming.

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The Green Show, part 2

I spoke earlier about the Green Show of the Oregon Shakespeare festival, but for those of you disinclined to scroll down to the lower portions of this blog, I will present a quick recap.

The Green Show is a short dance piece intended to accompany the show being performed in the Elizabethan Theatre. In this case, "The Tempest."

While watching this, a number of notions struck me. First, the physical capabilities of some humans is awesome, in the true sense of the word. Second, my understanding of the power of dance as performance is really quite pathetic, and something I hope to remedy in my tenure in New York. Third, when the dancers include elements of acting, ie displaying emotion and interacting with the audience, the power of the dance is increased inordinately.

The dancers did a bang up job, for the most part, but there was one notion which troubled me a tad. I imagine I will come off sounding bad no matter how I say this, but there was one female dancer who was significantly larger than the rest of the women. She was still a marvelous dancer and took part in one of the more impressive pieces. However, she just made the troupe look awkward. Miscast. As I brusquely commented to my comrade, it had the appearance of a dance teacher casting herself into a student recital. Now, back in the college days when I fancied myself an actor, I was not cast in a play because of my size. I was told by the director that my breadth and musculature would have unbalanced the aesthic of the play. It makes me think about the notions of casting based on the physical appearance of the people in question. Is it fair? In a sense it seems like it is a requisite component of casting a performance. As a director (or a choreographer) you are responsible for the visuals presented on the stage, and certainly some playwrights have clear particulars on what the characters should resemble.

So, fairness? Should casting contain the impetus be on physical? However, since this is supposed to be a blog about writing, it's time to turn the question to think about writing. Where are the guidelines to describing the characters we write? Should we be concerned about their physical appearance? I mean, does it matter when the play is cast?

Maybe I'm not making too much sense... But it is a question that has been bouncing around my head for a spell.
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"The Compleat Wrks of Wllm Shkspr" Abridged.

As presented by Oregon Stageworks.



I will start this off by syaing that the actors were fully committed to their performance, and gave a one hundred and twenty percent performance. I was, in part, impressed with that.



The compliments dispensed, I was largely bored with the play and disappointed. For many years I had heard about this play, had been told its comedic virtue. Yet, beneath a thin veneer of clever Shakespearian cutting and wordplay, it was just a two hour pratfall. Now I do appreciate physical comedy, but I also recognize that one of the key tenets of comedy is the need for freshness. Case in point, there was a joke about George Bush vomiting in Japan. I believe that was seventeen years ago... Not so fresh.



A professor of mine told me that there is room in a play for a joke three times. The fourth time, the joke must change, it must have a different result. At that point, the joke is the unexpected twist playing off of the audience's expectation. I agreed with her then. Since that time, I have seen instances where a joke is funny because of the sheer number of times it is repeated, and then the joke is not funny, the incredulous repetition is. I also think there is only room for a joke to be done twice before requiring a different effect. Contemporary audiences are Johnny on the spot to call a joke.



All that said, the show resonated with the same jokes over and over again. My grandfather suggested we leave at the half, and had we not been sitting in the front row, I would have agreed.



I am curious, however, for the show seemed heavily based on improvisation. I would be interested to read the original script to see if the physicality is contained in the script or if that was the director's call...



Play nice.

"36 Views"
by Naomi Iizuka

I'll say, from the start, that I am a huge fan of Ms. Iizuka. I find her plays poetic and beautiful, strange and mesmerizing. I envy her ability to create a world that doesn't feel like a play, like a theatre. Her plays are almost effortless in their way to provide a sense of reality, one that fades away at will.

This play is my least favorite of her works. I LOVED LovED loved "Polaroid Stories" and really enjoyed "Skin", but this piece didn't have the edge she normally conveys. It felt more mature, less punchy. Perhaps that's good, perhaps I'm a little immature for the world. I want Skinhead boy and contemporized mythology for a world that has lost its sense of the past. A world where Paris Hilton is considered a god and worshiped the way Aprhodite once was. It's a strange place we live in, and I need to stop this rant here...

The best part of this play was the incorporation of non-traditional elements into Occidental style theatre. In this case, it was the appropriation of kabuki techniques into the play, which, in my mind, blew me away. I love the meta-theatricality of the piece, the costume reveals, the scene changes. She does it in a beautifully artistic way, a way I imagine I'll steal in the near future... ;)

This is certainly a play worth reading, and, if you can, seeing.

"The Host"

I can't quite think of a film that has made me as bored as this one.

It's a shame, too, as I really had some high hopes for it. From the previews, it looked like the kind of movie I seem to like a lot, the horror comedy.

While the special effects, to be more specific, the creature effects, were stunning, there seemed to be exceedingly poor pacing and continuous incongruities within the world that had been created.

And that, my friends, brings about a topic which preys heavily on my mind, and that is the notion of reality. How far do writers need to extend the boundaries of reality, of believability? The actions of the mutated creature in "The Host" seemed to be incongruent with the manner I thought a creature should act. It just didn't make sense. I believe, if you, or me or one, is proposing a world that is NOT this one, then the world needs to abide by the rules one establishes.
The confusion, in part, comes when the two worlds, the new world and the "real" world, exist along very close lines. The ultimate moment of this comes, for me, in the movie "Resident Evil". An elite group of soldiers comes crashing through some windows, all decked out in gear and gasmasks. Right before they enter the contaminated facility, the soldiers remove their masks. Now, I understand the concept of the director wanting the audience to see the actors... But in terms of the movie, it makes no sense. Why would the soldiers remove their protective gear going into the dangerous area? It violates the reality of the film. At least to me.
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The Green Show

If you happen to find yourself in Ashland during the summer months, try and head downtown in the evening hours to catch the free entertainment presented by the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

It's primarily music and dancing, usually with themes that correspond to the show going on in the Elizabethan that night.

Tonight's show was quite good. Not dead good, not smashing, not really deserving of much in the way of positive British adjectives (certainly not the top of the pops "the dog's Bullocks) but it was more often entertaining then not, and the themes in it were easily relatable to the show it was prefacing, "Taming of the Shrew." (And in a serious shout out to Spence, remember performing that play with Andrew on KUPS?)

The performance did make me think about the nature of acting in dance. There were three female dancers, and they all displayed different levels of facial involvement. One had two expressions, smiling and constipated. The blonde had a few more available, but they still seemed like they were stock images pulled from a binder or something. The final dancer was actually reacting to the events and stimuli around her, and I will admit readily, it made her absolutely shine as a dancer.

On that note, I really have to say that, the more I'm exposed to dance, the more I like it, and find myself entranced by it. I'll leave it there for now.
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As this is a blog about writing (and theatre, but mainly writing), I am going to write my reactions to films down as well, focused mainly on the writing. I will never say, "You will like this movie." I will say, I liked it, or I think it is worth seeing for educational purposes, but my opinion is just that, an opinion. That said, on with the blog...:

"Disturbia"
by Christopher B. Landon and Carl Ellsworth

This was an interesting movie. I really liked the first act, and most of the second act, but the last portion of the flick feels so damned rushed. A thriller like this, in my opinion, needs time to breathe, time to build into intensity, yet with this, it feels like the killer is discovered very quickly, very simply, and then the movie is over. The relationships between the characters didn't really have time to develop, and I felt that weakened the film. The dialogue was pretty good, not stellar, though I happen to think that was more from the acting than the script.

I liked the mood of the film. In the early portions of the movie, after the set-up had finished, I felt there was this sense of impending boredom, and then it snapped to a close. It felt like the filmmakers (I don't want to place blame on any one person here) thought a teen audience would be quick to shift their attention elsewhere. I don't think that's the case. I feel that a teen audience would be drawn in by the stories surrounding the protagonist, as real life is. Real life is so chock full of subplots and minor denouement, and I really felt this film was going to echo that, and instead, it fell back into a completely linear and easily wrapped up cookie-cutter thriller. Curses.

My big question with this flick is, was there ever any nod to "Rear Window"? I mean, the film is obviously a re-do of the classic Hitchcock film, yet I don't see any accreditation being given to the writers of "Rear Window" nor to Hitchcock himself... strikes me as odd.

In the end though, I enjoyed the flick. I enjoyed the beginning a lot more than the end, and there's the rub.

"The Trojan Women"
By Euripides
Translated by Edith Hamilton

The wikipedia summary is here, if you are interested.

This play is, in part, fantastic. The anti-war images displayed are of impressive force and poignancy, especially the notion of the lack of victors in a war. It was a powerful move to view the aftereffects of war through the survivors. It was heartbreaking to listen to the women speak of their loss. Add on top of this their realization of the impending Grecian slavery, and it is a rather depressing play.

One thing that struck me was the revenge of the play. This wasn't an experiment or example of Non-violence, this was violence as revenge. Helen, at least in this play, was to be taken back to Greece (Sparta) and torn apart by those who had lost loved ones in the war. It's hard to turn a sympathetic eye to Helen. She's kind of the worst woman ever, in a way. You almost want to hate her. She blames everything that happened on other people... other deities in this case. But I'm not sure I could condemn her to being ripped apart. Maybe I could. I hate her quite a bit, especially for a fictional character. It brings about a good question, if someone's actions resulted in the deaths of thousands of men and women and children, a city's burning... should she face some punishment? My Catholic ethos prompts me to say that God will mete out the punishment, but I'm more willing to say that I'd like to punch her in the face. As I would Dick Cheney. Not a blog about politics, I will stop that there.

In the introduction, Ms. Hamilton says boldly, "The Greatest piece of anti-war literature there is in the world was written 2,350 years ago." Now, take that as you may. It (the introduction) was written in 1937, and certainly some excellent bits of anti-war literature emerged during and after the wars that happened in the latter half of the twentieth century, but I have to admit, "Trojan Women" presents a powerfully negative vision of the effects of war. Is it anti-war? I'm not sure. There are so many instances of revenge being exacted upon the Greeks in order that everyone loses. The opening of the play is a conversation between two Gods, Athena and Poseidon. During the Trojan War, Athena supported the Greeks and Poseidon, Troy. After the war, Athena, apparently, gets a little pissy that the marauding Greeks desecrated her temple, and now she wants Poseidon to promise to kill as many of the home sailing Greeks as possible. Hecuba (wife of Priam, king of Troy) spends quite a bit of time extolling the virtues her son, the Great Greek Killer, displayed, and mentions that, without the war, her son Hector might have passed into oblivion, the Troys never knowing his capabilities as a warrior.

At a time in history like this, when our culture is stuck in the middle of a conflict/war, it's important to attempt to understand the consequences of our actions, beyond the simple statistics. To remember that each person who dies leaves concentric rings of anger, hurt and pain. I think this play does a fantastic job of illuminating that without feeling like it's preaching. In that context, perhaps it is the best piece of anti-war literature available to Us.