Friday, September 17, 2004

 

My Head's For the Exit

I've been rolling this heretical question over in my head. I've spoken about it in hushed tones, fearfully, with only my most trusted intimates. Yet an answer eludes me. With trepidation, I submit my sacrilegious thought, fully aware of the stone-throwing consequences I might face.

Do we walk out of enough theatre?

When was the last time you went to see a play that was so awful (or so awfully mediocre), that you got out of your seat in the middle of the performance and walked out? If you're like me, you have trouble remembering. Oh, I remember the bad theatre, I remember tons of it; but I don't remember putting an end to my misery by exiting.

I'm at a party of non-theatre-weenies, and I mention I'm a playwright. Inevitably, someone says, "I'm not into theatre," and/or, "I wish I saw more theatre." When I ask, "Why don't you like it," or, "Why don't you see more theatre," I get the same answer every time. It's not really an answer; it's a story. It's a story we've all heard, and we've all lived through. There are a million variations, but in essence, it's always the same. Call it one of the ten plots of life:

I go to the theater. Maybe I know somebody in the show. Maybe I read good things about it in the paper. Maybe I want to show my date how cultured I am. I go to see a show, and it's kill-me-now awful. Boring, or corny, or pretentious, or poorly acted, or all of that and then some, and I feel a headache building by the second. By the time that final curtain call comes, my whole body has turned into pure heat, thanks to a process not unlike that which powers the Sun; only instead of hydrogen colliding, it's my hate and resentment for the actors, the director, the writer, the venue, the Theatre in general. Afterwards, I feel I'd rather swallow glass than see theatre again.

We've all heard, and probably experienced, this story. Now let's focus on a key event in it: "By the time that final curtain call comes..." The average length of a play is about two hours, plus an intermission. One-acts are usually around forty minutes. Meaning that I just sat while someone punched me in the sensory breadbasket for a long time, and I did nothing about it. I did nothing about it repeatedly. This is an absurdity of a Beckettian nature. I'm going to write a play called, "Waiting for House Lights Up."

What do I do when the band sucks? What do I do when the movie sucks? What do I do when the TV show sucks? What do I do when the book sucks? I go to the bar, I leave the Cineplex, I change the channel, I throw the book across the room and pick up another (yes, I throw it across the room). But if the play sucks, I sit there and think, "This sucks, I hope it will be over soon." Why?! WHY WHY WHY?!

Don't answer, that's rhetorical hysteria. I know why. One of three things:

1. "I don't want to disturb the actors, or the audience." There's a fear that if we get up and walk out of a show, we'll disturb the Zen-like state the actors must maintain in order to continue mauling our sense of beauty and truth. Yes, I might stay these corageous couriers for a moment, but you know what? Set pieces fall. Props break. One night during a play of mine, we had a stream of rainwater pouring into the middle of the stage. The actors will work around it, and the audience will get over it. We talk a lot about the sense of community we want to create through theatre; but if that community is oppressive, it ceases to be worthwhile, and we're unlikely to return to it.



2. "I paid a lot of money for this ticket." Actually, we didn't. We thought we paid a lot of money for that ticket, but it turns out we actually paid somebody to whack us with a ridged oak paddle, with the words "Zeta Alpha Sigma -- The Fraternity of Nauseous Dramaticals" whittled into it. Now, the question is, do we really want to pay someone to do that? My answer would be no, and the earlier I go to the box office and demand a refund, the more likely I am to get it. In any case, I would probably pay money to not get whacked with a ridged oak paddle, if I had no other option.



3. "Theatre is difficult, we have to give it a chance to work." I think this is a false argument. We know when a piece is difficult (like a Foreman show) and when it is stomach-crampingly bad (like a disciple of Foreman's show). I generally know when a show is mediocre in the first ten minutes, twenty if they've confused me with shiny objects. I sure know it by intermission. I know when a show isn't supposed to be entertaining, but intriguing nonetheless. I think most people do. There are those who want their art to be so, and they are entitled to it. But, just as I wouldn't expect a Grotowski aficionado to sit through Kung Fu Poop Booby VI, I wouldn't expect that high-kickin' scatalogist to strap themselves in for Suffering and Soundscape/After Kleist. We can't force people to broaden their horizons.



4. "I know someone involved in the show."

Man, that's the toughest one, isn't it? And this is where my heresy comes to a head. In answer to this, I think to myself, "Maybe I need to start walking out of friends' shows."

That's so unsupportive. It's not politically savvy at all. It's inviting people to walk out en masse from my next sub-par showing, which is why I hesitate to turn the notion into a policy. How cruel, too. Artists are so sensitive. I know. I'm the original sensitive artist. My skin is made of a single layer of Saran Wrap. Look at me funny and I'll cry. Why in the world would I even want to suggest such a breach of etiquette?

I wouldn't, if I didn't get a consistent refrain from those people at the parties telling me why they don't go to more plays. People generally say that they had a bad experience, and what made it worse than a bad movie or band is that they couldn't leave. If this etiquette is making people stay away from theatre, perhaps it's time to reconsider the imperative.

I don't think this will answer theatre's problems, but it might be part of an answer, and I would like to know if it is. I wouldn't call for anyone to follow a course of action I don't follow, though. So here's my promise: the next stinky play that I see, I'm going to walk out of it. Hopefully I'll walk out early enough to get my money back. Hopefully I won't have to cross the stage to do it. And if it's a friend's show...hopefully I won't chicken out. Afterwards, I'll take a sample of my spirit, and see if it's burning hot with hate for the theatre, or if it's cooled a bit. I'm hoping that I'll feel a little glory in freedom.

And if you're a non-theatre=weenie who has stumbled across my theatre-weenie corner of the net, and you have had a bad experience with a play: I beg you to go see another and another and another. And if they're bad too, won't you please leave early and often, and come again thank you!

Except the show's mine, of course. Then you sit there in your seat, 'cause you just don't get it, man.

posted by Dan 1:52 PM
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Thursday, September 16, 2004

 

The Rita & Burton Goldberg Dept. of Dramatic Plugging II

Two plugs today:

• If you don't stop by slowlearner, as I do, then you won't know about the exciting collaboritive subway play that Mac Rogers is involved in. If you do stop by slowlearner regularly...well, what do you want, a freakin' medal?! The director took a strong hand in shaping the show, and it'll be interesting to see the results, in light of Mac's director vs. playwright essays. Get info on the show by clicking here.



• My Comrade in Trapper Keepers Ed Valentine is having a reading of one of his short plays tonight at KGB bar in the East Village, NYC. Theatre + Booze = Magic. It's a play about Laura Bush, and that subject is rapidly becoming a genre.
  
  "Writers Named Steve"
  Stephen Bassman, Stephen Policoff & Ed "Steve" Valentine read their work tonight at KGB Bar, 85 E. 4th St. (betw. 2nd & 3rd Aves.), 212-505-3360; 7 PM, free.

posted by Dan 11:34 AM
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Wednesday, September 15, 2004

 

Humpa Lumpa

Hump Day Link is to The Poe Decoder, a great web resource for America's First Literary Loon, Edgar Allan Poe. It contains a number of critical essays, and has links to biographies and on-line versions of his works. It hasn't been updated since 2001 (when I was doing research on a Poe play), but there's still plenty to look at.

posted by Dan 11:24 PM
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Tuesday, September 14, 2004

 

Guest Star Day

Today's guest star is my multitalented homeslice Matthew Subotnick. He's been involved in theatre, film, radio, and is now working on his first novel, Raven's Levy. Junior year of high school, we were in a teen-issue theatre company sponsered by Planned Parenthood. We rapped about STDs. It was exactly like you imagine.

Generation Whatever at 30
Today's topic: Back to School

By Matthew Subotnick

My son just "graduated" to the "wobbler" room at his pre-school, my daughter entered the second grade, and it makes me think about the age-old question asked in my childhood:

"what do you want to be when you grow up?"

For my grandparent's generation this was in some ways a foreign question. What you wanted to be didn't matter so much to those whose teens and twenties were in the Great Depression, getting any honest work was a blessing.

For my parent's generation there was the promise of good careers after college, and even for my own parents, who never really got the answer to that question down, they're doing alright.

I look at my kids with promise, knowing with a parent's conceit that they will, of course, be tremendously successful with whatever they choose to do. My daughter is fully prepared for her career as an orca-training ballerina.

I come back to myself and wonder: "how will I, do I answer that question?"

I had a clear idea in my youth, followed it with my education, only to find myself in a completely different industry due to circumstance, with a family, mortgage, "career", etc...

Does somebody aspire to be in middle management? Or a software engineer? In insurance? Teaching preschool? In retail?

I have friends who are trying to answer this question be re-defining themselves, or by getting more education - it makes me wonder if its too late to go back to school in your 30's, or even more directly - can you answer the question if you are, in fact, a grown-up?

Once you've passed the "do not trust anyone over 30" milestone, or assumed the responsibility of being a parent, you qualify as a grown-up, don't you?

Then were do you go? If you haven't hit the astronaut/fireman/pro athlete multi-millionaire/president of the united states landmark (insert the equivalent gender-specific or gender-neutral childhood dream) is it too late to dream, can you even obtain these dreams, or do you make the best with what you have?

As for my profession, that's still very much up in the air.

As for my childhood goals:

I tell my wife that I fully plan on being the First (hopefully the second or third) jewish President of the United States. She always chuckles at this, as I have yet to obtain my college degree despite years in school, am saddled with student loan debt, and have yet to serve in public office.

I figure that I have time, my first opportunity to run isn't until 2008 (when I pass the 35 year old threshold) and I assume no one will take me seriously until I'm in my 50's.

That dream is still alive and well.

posted by Dan 8:00 AM
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Monday, September 13, 2004

 

Review Roundup 2

• Ben Brantley prophesies big things for Michael Frayn's Democracy, coming to New York in November. I've heard Frayn described as too fluffy (Noises Off) and too intellectual (Copenhagen). It seems to me that he is guilty of being versatile. Everybody I've spoken to who's seen Democracy in London has praised it, especially in comparison to Copenhagen, for its engaging story.



• American Theatre previewed a new site-specific play by Jessica Chalmers, Avanti. The article is unavailable on-line, but you can check out the show's website here. It's a site-specific play performed in an abandoned Studebaker factory in South Bend, Indiana.
  
  I picked this out because (and I know this makes me about twenty years out of date) I love site-specific plays. I love them because of the smell. When you do a play at a swimming pool, or an office, or an old factory, or in the woods, you get the smell of that place. That's an emotive sensory detail you can't buy for a theater. Smells, I'm all about smells. You probably didn't need to know that.



• Finally, another review of Guantanamo: Honor Bound to Defend Freedom by David Rosenberg, at Backstage.com. Has anyone else seen this yet? Leave a comment if you have.

posted by Dan 9:59 AM
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