Tuesday, July 28, 2009

THE URGE TO GIVE NOTES

Why do we feel compelled to give notes when we see a play? (Or read a book, for that matter?) There’s nothing wrong with being perceptive and analytical and sharing our discoveries and thoughts with others, but I find that many people are so quick to offer their notes, they fail to enjoy the work--or at least fail to help others enjoy the work, too. 


Last night, I saw a hysterical play at the Midtown International Theater Festival here in New York--ASSHOLES AND AUREOLES by Eric Pfeffinger. The title says it all--this will probably be an outrageous play. Keep your distance if you’re easily offended. I found it to be hilarious and brilliant. It consisted of 8 scenes, or vignettes. Each of them was filled with surprises, outrageous situations, and clever dialogue. The two actresses were beyond brilliant--as talented as anyone on Saturday Night Live, a show that shares some similarities with this play. 


As I followed two men out of the theater--both of whom seemed buoyed by the play--I couldn’t help listening in on their conversation. I didn’t hear, “That was great!” “How funny!” “Very clever.” Or anything of the sort. Instead I heard, “Boy the last two scenes weren’t as strong as the rest. That middle scene certainly needs to be cut.” And so on. 


I’m not saying these observations were off the mark. I’m just wondering why these are the first thoughts out of their mouthes. Why can’t they take a moment to savor the experience--to tell each other what they liked about it. Then rip it apart, for all I care!


Just a thought from a playwright who goes to the theater to enjoy the wonder of live theater and not to hand out grades. At least not in the first 30 seconds after the curtain falls.

Friday, July 3, 2009

The Northern Writes New Play Festival Experience

My full-length play, THE BEST PLACE WE’VE EVER LIVED, was admitted into the Northern Writes New Play Festival at the Penobscot Theatre Company in Bangor, Maine--a festival of readings of new plays--and scheduled to be performed Friday evening, June 26, 2009. I decided to drive up to Bangor from New York to attend the reading because this was the first time any of my plays was being presented outside New York and because this was the first time someone was putting on a play of mine without my direct involvement. (While some playwrights may insist on directing, producing, or otherwise being deeply involved in any presentation of their work, I welcome the opportunity to hand my script over to someone else and let them deal with all the logistics of actually putting it on.)


I decided to break the drive up by spending the first night in Ogunquit, Maine, just barely over the border. I’d heard that this was an emerging gay vacation destination, so I was curious to take a look. Fortunately, after a month of clouds, gloom and rain in most of the Northeast, in Ogunquit the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the waves were crashing over the rocks on cue, providing the picture-perfect experience of the Maine coast. For dinner, I ate upstairs at The Front Porch, lured by the sound of show tunes. Seated around a grand piano were several older men and one or two women singing their hearts out. I figured this must be the heart of gay society in Ogunquit. (Some of the voices were excellent, by the way.) After dinner I went to the main gay bar in town, where I was one of only two customers--and where the bartender reported that the place was probably not going to get much more crowded that night. So much for the new gay mecca.


The next day, I stopped in Brunswick to take a look at Bowdoin College. I had seen umpteen colleges and universities over the past few years on various college tours with my daughters, so I knew how to check out a place quickly. Bowdoin--in addition to being the alma mater of Nathaniel Hawthorne and President Franklin Pierce and the site of a summer science program attended by one of my brothers in the summer we first sent men to the moon--is an extremely beautiful campus. I also stopped at Boothbay Harbor, where I had worked as the manager of a bookstore for two summers in the 1970s (and where several scenes in my play THE SEEKER take place.) The bookstore was long gone, but in its place stood a gift shop, Mung Bean, whose proprietor was a very nice man named  Steven Madden (the shoe magnate? hmm?), who was aware of the long-gone bookstore and knew the store’s then-landlady, Pauline Stevens (now deceased). At any rate, for some reason Boothbay Harbor played a big role in my psychological development, and it was both thrilling and disturbing to see it again after over thirty years. (I also found the very cabin on Ocean Point where I had lived my second summer up there.) 


My head reeling and my camera stuffed with nostalgically resonant images, I drove the long way the rest of the way to Bangor--along the coast--passing through picturesque towns (Rockland, Rockport, Camden...) and driving deeper into the clouds. As I entered Bangor on its Main Street, I was stopped at a red light when I realized I was right in front of the Penobscot Theatre Company. The marquee and facade were quite beautiful. After checking in at the Charles Inn, I went out for a walk and decided to peek in at the theater. As it turned out, they were in the middle of rehearsing my play, so I went in and sat in the back. As always, I found it a narcissistic thrill beyond compare to hear my words coming out of other people’s mouths. During a break, I introduced myself to the director and Producing Artistic Director of the festival, Scott RC Levy. The cast he had assembled was excellent (more on this in a moment). When they finished, he dismissed the cast and told them to be back in thirty minutes--odd, I thought, since the curtain time was over an hour and a half away.


When I left, I walked around downtown Bangor, which is a surprisingly handsome place with well-maintained historic buildings, canals, and flowers everywhere. Apparently some of this is thanks to the largesse of Bangor’s most famous resident, novelist Stephen King. For dinner, I found a Pakistani restaurant, where the spicy odors were intense and I realized I would have to shower before going back to the theater. When I arrived back at the hotel, the woman at the front desk told me that the theater had called, concerned that I hadn’t shown up yet--and worried that I might have thought the curtain time was 8 rather than 7. Yes, that’s what I thought--don’t ask me why. And now it was ten after 7. To come all this distance and then miss some of my play was an instant nightmare. Forget the shower. Forget the nice clothes I had brought specifically for the event. Forget the fact that I reeked of Pakistani food. I rushed over there and slipped in half way through the first scene. (By my calculation, I missed the first 7 minutes--not so bad, really, but since every line is like a playwright’s child, you hate to miss any of them.)


The Penobscot Theatre Company owns their building, the former Bangor Opera House. Although they’ve restored the facade and marquee, they haven’t yet begun the interior restoration. The Opera House used to seat 1500 people. The balcony is no longer used, and the theatre is currently configured to seat 366 people. At my reading there were about 30 people. I didn’t know if this was a good turnout for something like this or not, but they were a very responsive audience. It’s always wonderful to hear your lines come to life, but it’s even more gratifying to see your characters come to life before you--to be fleshed out by actors and directors. Although they were all good, I was particularly struck by the son, Ike. A somewhat goofy character, the actor enlivened this role with mannerisms and expressions that fleshed him out in ways that I can’t help thinking were perfect. Ike is now a very real person to me. Ivor the Warrior was played to comic perfection. Where I had envisioned a Jackie Gleason sort of characterization, this was a more modern, twitchy way of playing the role (think Tony Randall) that I think worked even better. The mother--who in the end really is the center of the play (and in fact has the most lines)--held everything together, had great comic timing, and was quite moving in her “Scarsdale soliloquy.” 


After the reading, I was invited up on stage to participate in the talk-back. Fortunately, by my being on stage, no one in the audience could smell my spicy dinner. The feedback was valuable--and has helped me make some changes. I’ve made a crucial change at the end of the play and added a very brief prologue. I was happy to hear that people thought there was a good mix of comedy and drama and that all the characters were fully developed. I was also happy to hear that the audience was never bored and that they didn’t think the mother’s Scarsdale soliloquy was too long. One man in the audience thanked the playwright for an excellent play and the actors for great performances. I decided that HE is the audience I should be writing for (since some people suggest that a writer should envision his or her audience--something I