Venal Scene

A letter from Dorothy Lemoult aka Dorothy FreedomSpice aka P�tit Boo:

2007-10-04T11:45:00.000-04:00

Are you familiar with National Novel Writing Month?
Are you wishing you could write a play instead of a novel ?
Are you wishing you could write a novel *and* a play ?

Come join NaPlWriMo!!!

I started it last year as an alternative to Nanowrimo. It began as a joke but so many people took it seriously that I had to follow through!!!

We had about 20 playwrights last year ( ranging from professional published playwrights to high school students) and it looks like we will have at least twice that amount this year.

Naplwrimo's mission is to nurture playwrights of all levels while fostering community and the creation of new theatrical works on a global level.

We run in November at the same time as NaNoWriMo and our speciality is plays. A lot of our rules are the same, though we are a much smaller operation and we are run a bit differently.

Note: no screenplays. Plays only. You'll have to wait for June so you can do Script Frenzy !!!

If you want to sign up for NaPlWriMo, visit us on the site or on myspace or facebook and sign yourself up !

NaPlWriMo Website
NaPlWriMo myspace group
NaPlWriMo facebook group

Thank you for reading and I hope you'll join us or pass this on to others who might!

See you in November!

Dorothy Lemoult
NaPlWriMo Conspiratrice

Okay Here Are My Questions:

2007-10-02T11:58:00.000-04:00

Did the child actually say the words, �This Halloween I want to be a mummy?�

Did s/he specify a mummy that looks like it has been laundered in pure Flourescent Whitening Agent?

Did the parents send the child out trick-or-treating barefoot as well, for accuracy, because s/he should know that mummies did not get to wear nice sneakers like we have nowadays?

And if accuracy was their concern, where can I find the Egyptian wall painting that depicts the dressing of the dead in a happy little hula skirt?

Not to mention the cowl which appears to conceal a young Conehead?

Most importantly: Did the parents consider that dressing up their child as an animated corpse that crawled out of its tomb so that by the light of the full moon it might seek victims to strangle with its moldering claws, while certainly in the spirit of the season, is tempting fate a bit?

Finally:

Isn�t s/he precious?

UPDATE: Upon further examination, I can see that this costume might be that of a ghost, but the dangling strips of white material and bound legs, combined with the lack of any reference to the traditional sheet-with-two-eyeholes, makes it a pretty confusing design concept. And like dressing junior up as a wayward soul doomed for eternity to haunt a raven-infested wilderness is any better.

Do Not Judge Me

2007-09-28T13:45:00.000-04:00

Who are you to look at me with scorn, when I pointed at you and laughed? You�re funny looking: I was only noting this simple fact, aloud for the benefit of my fellow pedestrians. Do you glare when someone points out the color of the sky? No. So don�t judge me. Only God can judge me. And you, Weird-Lips.

And In Other Webby News

2007-09-24T13:37:00.001-04:00

I don't smoke regularly. I have one maybe once a year. Yet this morning at around 10 am I had such a strong urge for a smoke that I had to call my wife. At around 10:30 am I got all of this spam urging me to quit smoking.

Irrefutable conclusion: my wife secretly runs a successful spam business.

A New Take on His Play The Snow Ball

2007-09-24T12:10:00.000-04:00

Today's hilarious search-engine result that brought up this site:

a. r. gurney nudity nude

I can't imagine why. I can't.

Can�t Do It

2007-09-11T16:44:00.000-04:00

Today�s a somber day of reflection for many, but it�s also my eight-year wedding anniversary. So forgive me if I don�t join in on the sobriety, and instead say that my wife is rad.

And I�d also like to apologize to her for breaking both our cellphones in the course of 48 hours. I plead the hero-dad defense on the first (I chased after a floaty my daughter threw in a lake and forgot my phone was in my pocket), but I make no excuse for the second (I strapped hers to my belt-loop, despite her misgivings, and then dropped it in the middle of the street). But is there any greater gift a man can give his wife than a reminder of his own incompetence?

This morning, CNN.com demonstrated its understanding of the Comedy Rule of 3

2007-09-07T09:39:00.000-04:00

Call Me Irresponsible

2007-08-31T13:00:00.000-04:00

Inquiries here and elsewhere as to whether or not I found the edge of the Earth, and dropped off it. If by �Earth� we mean �the Internet,� then this is true. What�s in the chasm?

The workshop of Early Poe at Utah Shakes. Great actors and a good working experience. I�m finally comfortable with the play, in that I�ve accepted (though I�ve known for a while) that it is not the sort of play that fits in with the NYC off-off-scene. It feels like I�ve found peace with a wayward child.

Five plays are fighting for attention. I need to spend time realizing them.

One million application deadlines, as most playwrights know.

School plans for my eldest, which changed at the last possible second.

The peace of mind found only away from up-to-the-second punditry and comment threads.

I can�t promise I won�t vanish again, but I will try to post something regularly�anything�

Ah, that�s the stuff.

Followspot

2007-07-12T17:23:00.000-04:00

I yammered and yammed in an interview at this Portland theatre blog, followspot.com, but I assure you there's also useful and interesting posts about Portland's vibrant theatre scene. Be sure to check it out on Monday, when Grote gets grilled. You can read my grilling here.

You�ve Received an Ecard From a School-Mate!

2007-07-02T15:35:00.000-04:00

EMAIL
You�ve received an Ecard from a school-mate!

ME
Really. Who?

EMAIL
From Josh!

ME
I knew three Joshes in school. Which one?

EMAIL
From Mark!

ME
Four Marks.

EMAIL
Mark S!

ME
Mark S-who?

EMAIL
From Candi!

ME
I assure you, any girl from school named Candi had nothing to do with me. And nice use of lascivious italics, email.

EMAIL
You�ve received an Ecard from a family member!

ME
I think we both know that�s pretty unlikely.

EMAIL
You have!

ME
For one thing, I don�t have any family in Russia. Your domain is �.ru�.

EMAIL
Silly! Our Ecard company is from Russia.

ME
So you�re saying that my family used a Russian Ecard service.

EMAIL
Da!

ME
The same people that haven�t figured out how to unnest a forwarded attachment.

EMAIL
You�ve received an Ecard from a friend!

ME
You should�ve gone with that subject header first. Come on, �school-mate�? Did I board at the academy in Newton-On-Idjitshire? Honestly, who�s stupid enough to open these emails?

EMAIL
You�ve receive an Ecard from a theatre company!

ME
Ooo! Is it Manhattan Theatre Club?! I knew they�d finally come around! [opens]

EMAIL
HOT FOR YOU RUSSIAN BABES VIAGRA CIALIS 0437742 WRGL ZZR FATAL EXCEPTION ERROR

This Way I Don�t Have To Think of Anything to Write About

2007-06-27T17:34:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Meron for the assist.

Bloggers must post these rules and provide eight random facts about themselves. In the post, the tagged blogger tags eight other bloggers.

I don�t like The Sopranos, but I will watch anything with William Shatner.

I have an autographed copy of the Go-Gos LP, Beauty and the Beat.

I owe a call to my friend since 2nd grade

Favorite rum: Appleton

I once got into an argument with a total stranger about whether or not �blue balls� is a real phenomenon (P.S. it is)

I rode a tandem bike only once, and I crashed it into a street sign

Today my debut CD is titled Nobody Likes a Whiner Unless They Bring Cookies.

There�s lots of things I thought of putting on the list, but didn�t.

Crimeny Jehosophat, tag EIGHT PEOPLE?! No way. That�s too many. Besides, I know I�m late to this party, hasn�t everybody already done this one? Look, if you haven�t done it, do it. Okay?

Meme-Beamed

2007-06-26T18:05:00.000-04:00

The mysterious e. hunter spreen has whacked me with Laura Axelrod's sinister invention, "5/5".

1. Name your area of expertise/interest

Right now? The chunk of �Nips� brand dulce de leche candy that has fused itself to my upper right molars. Ha! You thought I was going to say �playwriting� didn�t you?! HA! STUPID FOOLS! If there�s one thing I�m not an expert in, it�s that. This candy stuck in my teeth, though, I am intensely interested in.

2. How did you become interested in it?

One of my coworkers planted a bag of the stuff near the file cabinets, because she has a hatred of molars/passion for incisors, or maybe she wants to see how long before I go after the STUPID CARAMEL with my fingers, or perhaps she hopes to get hold of my fillings and prospect for gold.

3. How did you learn how to do it?

You don�t learn this. Like great art, it only can come from an experience of profound fucking suffering.

My tongue is learning how to twist itself into all sorts of new positions in a vain campaign to pry this candy loose. Maybe I will be a better deep-kisser for this experience. They say the tongue is the strongest muscle, but it is apparently not strong enough to dislodge this piece of GODDAMN GORILLA GLUE disguised as a tempting sweet.

4. Who has been your biggest influence?

Dr. Drill N� Fill.

5. What would you teach people about it?

Lesson Plan � Caramel Stuck in Your Teeth 202 � D. Trujillo, instructor

Week 1: Review syllabus, develop objectives for semester

Week 2: Investigative reading: Barbara Tuchman, Howard Zinn

Week 3: First essay due

Week 4: Guest lecturer (TBA)

Week 5: GAAAAAA GET THIS OUT OF MY FUCKING�GAAAAGHH! MOTHER OF�GAAAAAARRRGH THAT�S A BASTARDY FUCKING NERVE ENDING GARKGJOPL

Let�s see, who to tag...Sherri, Kronda, Adam, Meron, and Sarah.

i google myself

2007-06-23T13:54:00.000-04:00

I am remiss in my totally venal plug: check out i google myself by my schoolyard chum Jason Schafer, produced by Theatre Askew at Under St. Marks, St. Marks btwn. 1st and A, NYC. It's a delightfully evil play, with porn stars, hot air balloons, and googling. Runs through July 7th, Thu-Sat, 8pm.

No One Here Except Us Monsters

2007-06-20T17:38:00.000-04:00

a selection from
STOLEN SCREAM
a supernatural noir

CHARACTERS IN SELECTION
NER�N, male 30s, Colombian, efficient and devoted.
EDVARD, male 40s (played by a woman), old-fashioned in manners, a slight Swedish accent
TIEF, male 20s-30s, a contraband dealer

An empty, abandoned hangar.
Wind howls perpetually outside.
Pool of light, center. An easel, with a canvas, covered by a sheet. A chair.
[NER�N has been instructed by his employer to receive a painting from a shady dealer, TIEF, who seems insane. NER�N has also been told not to look at the painting.]

NER�N (on cell phone:)
Yes ma'am I think it�s here, but you shouldn't come until I
Yes ma'am.

Hangs up.

NER�N (cont�d, to TIEF:)
I�m taking possession of the painting.

EDVARD enters, wearing a hat, behind NER�N.

NER�N (cont'd, still to TIEF:)
If it is not the painting my employer requested, I will

TIEF (singing, taunting:)
You don't know what it is, you don't know what it is, you don't know what it is

EDVARD
Ignore him. He is not well.

NER�N
Who are you?

EDVARD
Harmless, I assure you sir. I merely accompany the painting.

NER�N (to TIEF:)
Who is this?

TIEF looks around.

TIEF
Gone, gone, Thank God, gone

NER�N
Fool, who is this man?

TIEF walks away.

NER�N
Where are you going?

TIEF
Little walk.

NER�N
Fool, you haven't got your payment yet.

TIEF
Just stretching my legs a little bit, a little solitude, thank God, I can be all alone in a room as big as this.

TIEF is gone.

EDVARD
Let him take his walk. He is harmless I assure you. I give you my word, as a gentleman. You�re the new owner?

NER�N
I�m keeping it for her.

EDVARD
I don�t understand, you must be the new owner.

NER�N
The fool gave it to me, so yes, for now, it�s in my hands.

EDVARD
Ah yes of course.

NER�N
Answer me now: Who are you?

EDVARD
A good question. I can tell you that this is my painting.

NER�N
The painting belongs to my employer now.

EDVARD
By which I mean, I painted this painting.

NER�N
You're the artist?

EDVARD
Essentially, yes. What sort of woman is she, your employer and her husband?

NER�N
Her husband is dead.

EDVARD
Oh, my sincere condolences. But I would like to know the widow's character, if I may. Perhaps she is a woman that is content. Perhaps she is happy and has always been happy.

NER�N
She�ll keep your masterpiece safe. Go away now.

EDVARD
Please, reassure me sir, tell me that she has no regrets.

NER�N
I wouldn�t know.

EDVARD
She does. She has regrets. I can see it in your eyes.
No, no she will not do

NER�N
The painting is not yours anymore.

EDVARD
You don't understand, I cannot go through this yet again

NER�N
Let me explain to you: I learned secret torture methods from the police in Colombia. I was taught how a man may lose most of his body without losing consciousness. I can do this unaided by the tools of men.

EDVARD
I have no doubt that you are capable of extraordinary violence, sir, and I am suitably impressed.

NER�N
I'm only extraordinary when harm is meant to her.

EDVARD
Ah I see. You are a knight, lost in the modern world. There are few left like you. You have regrets but, also great will. I might be most fortunate in making your acquaintance first.
Certainly I may sit until she comes? Certainly there is no harm in that? I am no threat to a man of your physique. As a fellow foreigner to these United States, I ask you, allow me to wait. If your employer can dismiss me, then I shall go, gladly.

NER�N
This is why I don't like art, the artists.

EDVARD
Sir. May I ask a favor of you? I would greatly appreciate it, if you were to look at my painting.

NER�N
I was instructed not to.

EDVARD
By her? Yes of course. Though, wouldn't you agree, this presents a sizable risk on her part? For these sorts of transactions, you ought to be fully informed.

NER�N
Why don't you go off somewhere and paint?

EDVARD
All of that is past now.

NER�N
So you follow this one around?

EDVARD
I am forever with this one.

NER�N
You're a weird man.

EDVARD
My whole life has been spent walking by the side of a bottomless chasm.

A cry from the darkness.
Silence. NER�N tries to see out there.

NER�N
Who's there?! You, fool, is that you?

Silence.
NER�N exits.
NER�N returns.

NER�N (cont�d)
That fool is dead.

EDVARD
That is unfortunately not surprising.

NER�N
How?

EDVARD
Very likely a heart attack. He was not a well man.

NER�N
What's going on?

EDVARD
I would like to tell you. Sir, I would like to.

Beat.
NER�N removes the sheet, looks at the painting. Yes, he knows it.

EDVARD
People always ask the artist, "Where do you get your ideas?" Very often there is no answer. But in this case. I was walking along the road with two friends. Below me was the fjord. The sun set. I felt a tinge of melancholy. Suddenly, the sky became a bloody red. I stopped, leaned against the railing. And I looked at the flaming clouds that hung like blood and a sword over the blue-black fjord and city. My friends walked on. I stood there, trembling with fright. And I felt a loud, unending scream piercing nature. That is what I painted, you can see, the clouds like real blood. The colors, themselves, scream.

NER�N
I've seen this.

EDVARD
My name is Edvard Munch. This is my painting, "The Scream."

end selection

Dee-del-Lee-Del

2007-06-12T17:26:00.000-04:00

Normally I don�t bring this stuff up. But the theatre-weenie luminaries in my hometown gave me an award last night: Outstanding Original Script, for Jingle Spree. It warms my neglected weenie fuzzies, in a way that other awards can't. It's like a pat on the back from Sarge. I miss Portland so bad it hurts sometimes.

I have to credit the cast (Eric Reid, Deanna Wells, Bill Barry, Barb Klansnic, Harold Phillips, my homeslice Adrienne Flagg), Director Tony Sonera and crew, for the good that came. Amazing. Especially since the reviews were mixed. And especially since eight people actually saw the production.

Okay, enough onanistic horn-tooting. Time to Toot the Horns of Others!

I went to the Grote reading last night, and it's a tribute to the writer that I was very involved in the play, in spite of the fact that I was not so much listening as poaching in the sweat of a hundred strangers. Seriously, it was hot. Henceforth my readings will always feature eunuchs with large straw fans.

The Mummy Comes to Richmond

2007-06-07T17:22:00.000-04:00

[From Act 1 of Early Poe]

(Richmond, 1823.
The Senate Chambers of the Capitol.
An open sarcophagus on display. EDGAR stands with FANNY, looking in.)

FANNY
Putrid.

EDGAR
He smells sweet.

FANNY
They�ll have to air out the chambers. Don�t breathe it in too deeply.

EDGAR
He�s a mummy, he�s not poisonous.

FANNY
I simply can't bear to look at it anymore.

(She looks at it some more.)

FANNY (cont'd)
I suppose it's cultural. What does it say on the coffin?

EDGAR
Sarcophagus.

FANNY
What does the mummy sarcophagus say?

EDGAR
No one knows. No one reads hieroglyphics.

FANNY
Don't keep the salacious Egyptian story from me. Is it savage? Is it a scandal?

EDGAR
Yes of course.

FANNY
Men always brag. I'll wager it says �My penis was huge.�

EDGAR
Ma, what are you - ?! Someone could come in here!

FANNY
You�re in a mood. Very well, let�s have one of your inventions, then. Please don't make it morbid, though.

EDGAR
He is dead.

FANNY
Have him meet a milkmaid behind a pyramid. But these are the Senate chambers, so don't go into too much detail when he bends her over the sphinx.

EDGAR
Ugh! for God's sake!

FANNY
Why are you so precious about natural activities?

EDGAR
I don�t like vulgar jokes.

FANNY
You must hear them all the time in that little cadet group -

EDGAR
The Junior Volunteers, and we're not a little cadet group, we�re soldiers.

FANNY
You can�t march with soldiers, if you don�t want to hear -

EDGAR
I have to do something with my time now!

(Beat.)

FANNY
I know I�m a poor substitute for a tutor. I�m glad we could come down together, to see this.

EDGAR (re: the mummy)
It says he was a Count. He wrote a book. He wished to see if it would become a classic, so he had himself embalmed alive in order to wake up five hundred years later -

(JANE enters. She is in her bedclothes, but wearing a hat. Several ribbons are tied on her arms.
A long silence. EDGAR and FANNY: what now?
JANE stares right through them.
Finally:)

FANNY
Mrs. Stanard. It's been so many months -

JANE
Months, months, months, months, months...

FANNY
The Judge said that -

JANE
You�re behind on your lessons, Edgar.

EDGAR
I didn't need any more lessons -

FANNY
Eddie, let me please. Mrs. Stanard, I'm afraid there's only one group allowed in here at a time -

JANE
Did you know that mummies have their brains and bowels removed? Just like our neighbors. Neighbors on their high horses. They call them neigh-bors, nay nay never play in the red river river red...

I'm sorry. I only came to -- a book. One quick book I brought him.

FANNY
Very well, give it.

JANE
I've forgotten it at home.

EDGAR
Ma, perhaps I should escort her -

FANNY
Mrs. Stanard, where is your husband?

JANE
No you can't take advantage of my weakness.

EDGAR
She lives right outside, on the Square.

FANNY
My son is busy.

JANE
Please, Robby isn't allowed around me. Edgar -

FANNY
Edgar won�t be joining you in such a state, Mrs. Stanard.

JANE
Ah, yes, protect him, wrap him in bandages -

FANNY
Oh, I apologize for protecting him. But you see, I have to do that sort of thing myself. I'm not married to a judge. Oh, I wish I had my own carriage to ride around in, letting myself fall apart. How many servants do you have? Eight? Ten? We have none of that. We're orphans, my family. My husband. My boy. They thirst for affection. You have taken advantage of our weakness.

JANE
Yes. I did that.
Ophelia's over me every day now. In her red. Doctors say it's a fever. But she's grow growing and show showing her red gown in my head dead marble-led in red marble -- I'm sorry sorry -

EDGAR (over:)
Jane.

FANNY
She�s not your concern. She can find a negro to escort her.

JANE
No! When they see her, with blood running down, they'll help her kill me!

FANNY
You�re imagining -

JANE
Ophelia told me last night. Over my bed she hovered as I lay uncovered...she told me Mrs. Allan�s afraid of her, because of what she stole from her.

FANNY
Eddie, we're leaving.

JANE
She stole you away from your real Ma, Edgar. With apples. She had none of her own to feed, so every day, she brought an apple to the boutique you were rooming above, and fed it to you little love. While your ma was sick, you ate it up quick, yum yum, come come away with me little boy, she said, come home with me, chew on a bone, while upstairs alone, Ophelia chokes awhile, on blood and bile.

FANNY
No. It wasn't like that.

JANE
Edgar. Come. Ophelia and I require you.

FANNY
It wasn�t, angel.

(Pause.)

EDGAR
Mrs. Stanard...perhaps someone outside might be employed to assist you.

(Beat.
JANE takes the ribbons off.)

JANE
I won't protect you from myself. No, no more.

FANNY
Leave us alone.

JANE
We�ll drag you down with us, yes. We�ll tie you up tight and pull you down with our bandages -

(She pushes the ribbons into FANNY.)

FANNY
Get off me!

(EDGAR pulls JANE off.)

EDGAR
That's enough! Now you go, you go on home now! Pa and I, we decided. You're -- I don't want to play this game anymore. You don't see my mother. That's all made-up. I was playing a game with you.

JANE
Ophelia -

EDGAR
She's not real.

JANE
You told me she was your Ma.

EDGAR
This is my Ma.
Go on now.

JANE
Thus spoke the chief executioner.

(She exits, slowly.)

EDGAR
God forgive me...

FANNY
Look at me. Look at me here, look.
You will meet a lovely young lady, with curly brown hair. You will wave your handkerchiefs at each other. You will sing beautifully as she plays the pianoforte. You will marry her, and treasure her always, and have lovely curly-headed children. I've decided.

From the American Journal of Science and Medicine

2007-06-01T13:39:00.000-04:00

As the field of spectrum personality disorders expands, the medical community must develop new diagnostics to incorporate advancements. Wallflower�s Whimsy and Persevering Testicles Syndrome are only the first buds of the abundant crop of disorders we foresee sprouting over the next ten years. How do we present data to the treatment-seeking public in a way that is both scientifically accurate and suffused with elemental comprehensibility? Lab studies show that analyses of spectrum personality disorders benefits from geometrical and physionominal presentation. But, as many readers have already realized, the proof is in the topical pudding.

Here�s a simple version of the chart from the 1983 PSD conference:

Fig. 14

Here we see that twenty four years have greatly increased the size and qualities of spectrum personality disorders. For instance, there is a 36% increase in the number of reported encounters with invisible animals. 89% of the surplus population has reported feelings of loneliness, uselessness, or other generalized nonspecific phenomena. How do we offer these nonlinear illnesses to our patients?

Notice the analytical dimensionality of Fig. 14

A great deal of vertical territory is left unused. If we add additional spectral analysis, we get a more thorough continuum for disorders:

As we tested these new vertices in the lab, it became clear that we had only caught Sagan�s vapor mist of possibility. Additional vertices yielded even more success in traumatic patient diagnoses:

Four-dimensional mathematics and beyond will continue to increase the possibilities for spectrum personality disorders, multiplying diagnoses of the population. We predict that in the future, everyone will have their fifteen minutes of fame and disorder. But, as many readers have already realized, terminal allowance debilitate certain Friday.

No Taste for Blood

2007-05-31T23:43:00.000-04:00

I'm sorry to see MattJ going, but I get it. I know he won't read this, but I bring it up because I've been pretty down on the interweb social zones too lately. Perhaps for the same reasons, perhaps not.

I can't seem to derive any use out of the debates, contretemps and falderals that make up the community. I understand some people do, and I used to, sometimes. Maybe it's age or my dwindling free time, but now I read the latest text-brawl and I get sad, that's all.

There seems to be an unquenchable eagerness out there to find somebody we disagree with, and shit on them.

I don't mean to throw stones from a high horse on the great field of mixed metaphors. Lord knows, I've said things plenty of combative, judgmental things here. But there's something about this form of instant publication that brings that out. And it takes a lot of energy out of me. And I don't have a lot to spare these days.

But I don't want to give up Venal Scene just yet. So here's the deal: there will be no entries into debates, arguments and discussions, on theatre or politics, here anymore. There are others who do it better than me anyway. This is going to become more of a personal diary and creative site. I know that's a big change for all three of my readers, and I won't be surprised if I lose at least two.

And here's something else I never said and should have: Thank you for reading.

Poe in Utah

2007-05-18T12:57:00.000-04:00

I�ve been off-line, in part preparing for this:

The New American Playwrights Project
@ The Utah Shakespearean Festival
presents a workshop of

Early Poe
by Dan Trujillo
Directed by Charles Metten
August 16, 17, 30
Death, mystery, disease, insanity, blood, poetry: It�s not one of Edgar Allan Poe�s stories. It�s his life, and he�s only just turned thirteen. Struggling with his severe foster-father, Edgar escapes into fantasy. But when one of his fantasies becomes flesh, it could destroy him and the only father he�s ever known. It�s a weird tale of the wild visions and macabre realities of the young poet.

For information and tickets, go here.

Thoughts At the End of a Revision

2007-05-08T15:34:00.000-04:00

The following is writer-y, so consider yourself warned.

I�m tinkering with my play Early Poe for a festival (more on that soon). During this tinkering I have instinctively avoided posting and reading the blogs. There�s something about the atmosphere of revolution in the blogs that I find appealing, but it also can be destructive to my work. At least with this play.

Early Poe will not explode anyone�s ideas of theatre. It does not blaze a new path. It does not speak for an unspoken multitude. It does not take the form and change it irrevocably. As I�ve worked on it, I�ve watched it shape into a recognizable drama, with scenes, conflicts, characters, about the dead guy and the dead people in his life. As I�ve watched the play grow, I�ve thought to myself, Maybe I�m messing up. I should be Breaking Boundaries. This play should be like The Incredible Hulk, an angry green smashing goliath. Then this other voice says, But that�s not what the play is. Then I�d get angry at myself for being so conventional. Then I�d have trouble working on the play, and want to withdraw it, and burn all the copies.

That�s no way to work.

I love playwrights that challenge the form. Caryl Churchill�s a favorite. I am inspired by the writers on the left that effortlessly revolutionize with their plays (I won�t embarrass them with a public mash note, they know who they are, or will).

But sometimes I can�t help but love the plain vanilla playwright in me. Early Poe, regular ol� play that it is, means something to me. I know the characters, the dilemmas, the heart of the play, even though it takes place in 1823. It�s something from an open vein. I won�t disown it because it�s not the looniest piece of political/structural/formal bizarreness I�ve ever written.

This concludes the self-indulgence. Sorry. Funny to come!

Old Photo

2007-05-04T11:30:00.000-04:00

Of interest to me anyway:

Richard III, directed by David Levine, @ Expanded Arts' Shakespeare in the Parking Lot, August 1999. It featured a throne mounted to the roof of a car. My wife (sprawled on the hood) played Queen Elizabeth, and in her big scene, the car-enthroned Richard (our friend Josh Stark, psyched to splatter someone's brains) pursued her around the lot, chasing her up a street lamp and smashing into it repeatedly. During the run, an actor dropped out and I had to fill in, and I got to drive the car some. But I didn't get to chase Julie. Probably for the best.

Also Julie lost her voice two days before opening. And were getting married as soon as the show closed. But this photo appeared in The New Yorker, so it was cool.

A Little

2007-05-02T14:16:00.000-04:00

Radio silence maintained at the moment. I actually have a lot to post about, but can't fight off the lack of entusiasm for my own loudmouthing. Apologies.

Meantime, here's a story scientifically designed to put a lump in your throat.

It's All Theatre's Fault

2007-04-23T15:30:00.000-04:00

Remember when I said this a few days ago, about the tragedy at VT and the involvement of plays:

...when Woody Allen got involved with Sun Yi, people started saying that you could see his perversity in his movies, and therefore you could find the perversity of any artist in their work, and therefore artists are perverted and their work should be monitored for deviancy. I'm afraid of another round of that.

I looked at the post later and thought, Trujillo, you're being hysterical.

I wasn't being hysterical.

In the wake of Monday�s massacre at Virginia Tech in which a student killed 32 people, [Yale] Dean of Student Affairs Betty Trachtenberg has limited the use of stage weapons in theatrical productions.

...

According to students involved in the production, Trachtenberg has banned the use of some stage weapons in all of the University�s theatrical productions. While shows will be permitted to use obviously fake plastic weapons, students said, those that hoped to stage more realistic scenes of stage violence have had to make changes to their props. (h/t The Agitator)

Nothing like a tragedy to inspire pointless gestures.

Strangely, I am inspired. In the past few weeks we've had this, the banned high school play about the Iraq war, and the Mike Daisey incident in Cambridge. Suddenly theatre seems not only still relevant, but still dangerous.

Sydney Shards

2007-04-18T16:56:00.000-04:00

I met Hong Kong/Australian writer Lynda Ng at the Last Frontier Theatre Conference in Valdez, Alaska. She�s started publishing a new internet fiction project, Sydney Shards, and it looks good. Check out the first chapter here. She'll be publishing the next eleven installements ever Wednesday through July 4th.

Ghost Whistle

2007-04-17T17:16:00.000-04:00

At work: From somewhere in the depths of the air shaft outside my desk window, or perhaps from the stairwell directly behind me, I keep hearing a whistle, over and over, the first two notes of the theme from "The Andy Griffith Show," in loop, over and over. Richard Foreman is playing tricks on me.