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These are the three most recent questions. Click view archives for more. Date: 2009-11-03 19:36:49 On DUTCHMAN by Amiri Baraka/Leroi Jones A play of movement. A play of possibility. A play of accusations and attack. A play that forces change. A play that exposes the underbelly of racism and prejudice and the danger of role-playing. Yes, Baraka takes the title from both the famous ghost ship, the Flying Dutchman, as well as the slave ship of the East India Company to indict racist white culture. And the subway setting creates an eerie, seething world in the entrails of the city. But the term dutchman also refers to the simple, theatrical muslin gauze that connects two stage flats and gives the appearance of a seamless wall. These walls, therefore, are easily ripped apart. As easily as Baraka rips apart the identities of Clay and Lula who treat each other as objects, things, others. They project their images onto each other, but as things, not real people. And it reminds us, as Baraka says, "The imagination is the projection of ourselves past our sense of ourselves as 'things.' Imagination (Image) is all possibility, because from the image, the initial circumscribed energy, any use (idea) is possible. And so begins that image's use in the world. Possibility is what moves us." Date: 2009-10-30 02:30:00 On Staged Readings My dear friend Beth Henley gave me the best advice about staged readings. "Invite friends. Read the play. Pour the wine." It's so easy to get stuck in what I (dis)like to call Playwright's Purgatory. That is, permanent development. You get reading after reading of your play, but no production. And to make matters worse, you suffer through talk-backs that are not only useless, but quite damaging. I have made point of refusing to participate in talk-backs at a reading. This is not "Dancing with the Stars" or "American Idol" or any other variety show that allows audience voting. And even then, they are voting on a so-called finished product. It seems to me that audiences expect to have their say even before a play is produced. If that's the case, they how does anything ever get produced? It's one thing to hear a draft before an audience, but quite another to solicit feedback (or be forced into feedback) while still in the act act of writing. It makes no sense, and only leads to frustration. Talk-backs are for Q&A sessions after a production, not "let me tell you how I would write the play" torture after a reading. So, last night, I had the best reading of my career so far. Private home. Private guest list. No more than 25 people in attendance. A mishmash of furniture. Bread and cheese and a lovely spread of light dinner. Spectacularly talented actors. A remarkable and rare director. A gracious hostess. And all in a large living room. Having had important readings in major venues, I can tell you, this was by far the most productive and enlightening step in the development of a new play that I have ever had. The night was about the play, not the playwright. The night was about the characters, not the audience. The night was about the possibility of production, not the end-road of a reading. It was not stacked with sycophants. They were smart, talented, experienced, and honest listeners. But don't get me wrong. They were opinionated and passionate. Point is, rather than offering an opportunity to grandstand, we finished the reading then socialized. I (the playwright) and the director, merely moved from conversation to conversation. Listening. Asking. Listening. Answering. Listening. No one had a 'turn at mike.' And it was the most productive, exhilarating, enjoyable reading of my life. So, for those of you fellow playwrights out there struggling to get readings done at theatres, or those of you who feel stuck in Playwright Purgatory, try this: Invite friends. Read the play. Pour the wine. It might be as simple as a dinner party. With your words. Date: 2009-10-22 23:38:03 On THE BUSY WORLD IS HUSHED by Keith Bunin I've never been so jealous of a title. Or a play. I'm always in search of that elusive two or three-hander with a single set. Simple. Real. Breathtaking. This is that play. Besides being struck by the depth of the characters, the richness of the plot, the conciseness of the dialogue, I am also taken with the minor stage directions. Throughout the script, the playwright inserts little directions like (With tremendous simplicity), (With a quiet fervor), (As delicately as possible), or (With enormous tenderness). We all know the cliche of "the first thing a director crosses out are the stage directions," but these would not threaten a real director. In fact, they protect the playwright from overwriting, which is important in a play about larger than life ideas and loss of life realities. This is a quiet play. A hushed play. One that asks some of the most important questions an individual can ask of self, other, and God. And in a beautiful way, it does not offer a tidy answer. All three characters are searching for something they can neither find nor understand. But in the end, they found each other. And I am just so happy I found this play. |
