Friday, April 16, 2004

 

Screw Those Idiots

Mac has some thoughts on play development, and I wanted to add to the discussion with this thought that's been rolling around.

I have a friend, a playwright I admire, who has told me some things with which I've been struggling. Here's a sort of koan he gave me. I've been chewing on it. Chewing, chewing, chewing. Work on it for yourself, if you wish. I'll present it indented. This isn't a direct quote. It's my own muddled transcription.

You are your best critic. No one else understands your work better than you. Therefore, what anyone else thinks is utterly useless. All that matters is what you think.

Knowing what you think is very, very difficult, almost impossible, the struggle of a lifetime. It requires you to be the audience member. More than that, it requires you to be the critic, not a total stranger, but an advocate, a critical advocate.

Knowing what you think means looking at your own work and seeing if it meets your expectations. "Good enough" is not enough. Either the play meets your expectations, or it doesn't. If it doesn't, you have to fix it.

Knowing what you think means forgetting everything that you've written, forgetting that this play came from your heart, and seeing if it actually touches your heart.

If you know what you think, "critical comment sessions," that are all the rage of the developmental process, become transparently useless. Statements like "I wanted to like her more," or "I feel like you're cheating with the sudden violence," mean nothing. You already know if the audience should like a character, or if that's even relevant. You already know if you're cheating with violence. If you're happy with this unlikable character in this violent scene, then there's no more discussion about it. If you don't like the scene, though, then perhaps you should rethink the character or the violence. In any case, you're in the driver's seat.

I don't know if I agree with this philosophy. My biggest beef is that it strikes me as impossible from a practical perspective. That's why it also strikes me as a koan. Something deeper is going on here.

And a disclaimer: I don't know if I'm presenting his argument correctly. He's all smart and stuff.

posted by Dan 5:00 PM
|

Thursday, April 15, 2004

 

C-3PO Plays the Piccolo

Stories like this one in the NYT (reg. req'd) make me laugh.

Link and snippet from ArtsJournal.com:

The New York musicians union has made an agreement with an Off-Broadway theatre to allow use of a virtual orchestra. "The deal will allow shows at the theater to use the machine, which can closely replicate the sound of musicians, but only with union consent. No other Off Broadway theater currently has such an agreement with the union; Broadway producers are banned from using the machine."

Let's face it, pretty soon we're all going to be replaced by robots. Writers and composers will probably be the last, because it's harder to write the AI software for them. Especially since any sentient, life form, artificial or otherwise, would balk at the notion of spending its time trying to make the big gazpacho scene at the end of Act One work, dammit, work!

Still, I have plenty of sympathy for the musicians. Nobody likes to be told that a machine could do what they do. It means that years of hard work and training could have been for naught. It could mean their bliss led them down the crapper. I'd like to think that playing a musical instrument is more than mere plucking or puffing. I'd like to think that there's an evocative element to it, something indefinable, like human beings. If it isn't, and a programmer can reduced playing music to code, then maybe human beings can be reduced to code, too. And didn't we learn anything from The Matrix, besides that anybody can turn into an evil Agent, so I'm better off shooting everybody?

On the other hand, I think the attempt to -- in effect -- ban the use of the automated orchestra is futile. If it sounds good, and it's cheaper than paying musicians, it will be used. No one can stop a new technology, they can only slow its implementation. I only wonder if the savings will be passed on to the ticket buyer.

posted by Dan 12:07 PM
|

 

Dangit

Two weekdays in a row with no post (of any significance) (no, scratch that, they're all insignificant).

Dude, I totally had a post, but then, like, that show Stripperella was on. And afterwards I got busy with dinner, you know, nuking the beans n' franks. Then I had a couple or three or twelve brews. Then I was really funny and handsome. Than I crashed. But I totally had a post.

Hey, can you hook me up with your hot gnome friend?

posted by Dan 12:04 PM
|

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

 

Naked Promotion

In case you were wondering, yes, I do offer samples of my plays on line. Follow the link to the left to my complete available works.

I should warn you that all my plays are about my illicit sexual fetish for gnomes.

Kidding.

Maybe.

posted by Dan 12:53 PM
|

 

To My Loyal Subjects Readers

I apologize for the unannounced dark Tuesday. A queer alignment of planets, work, deadlines and toddler blocked out the sun.

posted by Dan 12:49 PM
|

Monday, April 12, 2004

 

Auditions for "Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigolo II": Day 1

We've got a lot of girls to see today. Meet Dakota, she'll be reading the sides with them. Okay, this morning, we're seeing for Deuce Bigalow's first customer, the Parkensonian widow. Let's have a look at the first headshot.



Huh.

Well I did tell Tisha to go wide in the call. Look, let's not fight this early in...

Oh. Hi...Eleanor.

Good Morning to you, gentlemen and ladies.

Um...good morning to you. Why don't you...'scuse me, I gotta ask you, you were named after Eleanor Roosevelt, right?

No, I am the Eleanor Roosevelt.

Listen, just because I'm casting "Deuce Bigalow" doesn't mean I'm stupid. Eleanor Roosevelt was married to some dead president...Teddy Ruxpin.

You refer to Franklin Delano Roosevelt. That was not me. That was my clone. I am the real Eleanor Roosevelt.

Tell me more of this impossible tale of science fiction.

Oh, mine is but a simple story of a plain Yankee girl -

Yeah yeah yeah when does the kung-fu monkey robot come in?

On my fourteenth birthday I was sent into the care of a Mr. Wells of fame, then residing in London. The genius realized that I was an intelligent but homely girl. He determined that the best prospect for my future was to send me into the future via his marvelous time machine, to a time in mankind's evolution when a woman's appearance would not adversely affect her status in society. Please do not giggle, Miss.

Sorry, she's just the reader. Dakota! I'll pay you a thousand bucks to shut your hole.

So as not to arouse suspicion regarding my disappearance, Mr. Wells created a clone of me, to act both as a façade to his exploit, and as a control to his experiment. He sent me one hundred years in the future, hoping that I might find a world more suitable to my appearance.

Looks like the genius was off by about forever.

But now I have access to the marvels of Extreme Makeovers! Soon I shall be, as you say, fly! Not like that oyster-faced clone of mine!

But didn't that clone do some nice stuff for some poor kids or something?

F**k the kids and f**k her! I want to be America's Next Top Model! Did I mention that I am willing to do full-frontal nudity?

Wait, you don't need to take off your blouse -

Oh I think we know what the world really wants out of a bee-yotch is a little nip!

No! Dakota, stop crying! Of all the days to be "Take Your Daughter to Work Day..."

posted by Dan 5:17 PM
|