Comedy = Poetry and Lies

Maggie Smith. 

I admit to being a Maggie Smith fan for her current character in Downtown Abbey – her double takes, her tsking, her rolling of the eyes.  I love it.  It communicates all the impatience and intolerance of one’s elders, but done with a childlike emotional stance.  I especially love the Downtown Abbey paper doll set that is now available as well.

http://www.vulture.com/2012/02/print-out-vultures-downton-abbey-paper-dolls.html

 But I do like what Chris Bliss has to say abou the “translation” of comedy.  It reminded me of Maggie Smith and the cut out paper dolls of Downton Abby.

http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/en/chris_bliss_comedy_is_translation.html

John Cleese on Creativity

I was sent this video yesterday and it is 36 minutes long in English but with Danish subtitles.  (?)And it is hilarious, insightful and really gave me some much needed oxygen.

John Cleese on Creativity:

“Play is distinct from ordinary life both as to locality and duration. This is its main characteristic: its secludedness, its limitedness. Play begins and at a certain moment it is over, otherwise it is not play.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=VShmtsLhkQg

Embeddedness

Maybe it’s because I’m not writing now – not writing now – now writing now…(this is my brain hearing me say this over and over again) – but I seem to be finding these messages from the universe about critical thinking (and feeling).

Mostly the critical feeling part. I’ve been reading reviews of new shows opening on Broadway, and marveling at the subjective experience of what theatre critics share.

http://theater.nytimes.com/2012/04/16/theater/reviews/peter-and-the-starcatcher-with-christian-borle.html?ref=theater

I confess to have a vested interest in this show and I was quite sure that the New York Times would dismiss it.  But instead it’s a rave.  So my radar is off on what I am afraid of versus what can really happen out there in the theatrical universe.

And then I found this article by Andrew Haydon, which in part says: “Obviously, there’s an initial massive, potential problem with the “embedded” critic. And that is the problem of readers’ trust. At root, before knowing anything about theatre, before being able to write, before even having anything like “good taste”, the one thing a critic needs is the trust of his or her readers.”

I found the rest of his article very insightful. 

http://postcardsgods.blogspot.com.au/2012/04/embedded.html

And now my brain is full.

The brain versus the spirit

Years ago I worked at MIT in the psychology department.  I was working as a secretary to a neuroscience team working on brain research – particulary – a new procedure called a cingulotomy. This is a  form of psychosurgery which involves lesioning all or part of the brain’s cingulate gyrus.   

This is the location....

This surgery was developed as a lobotomy alternative, and its used today to treat severe cases of chronic pain or obsessive-compulsive disorder.  At the time I was working at MIT, I was also doing musical theatre (Guys & Dolls, The Apple Tree) and it was a surreal experience to be delving into the mysteries of the brain and neural pathways and to try and make sense of musical comedies. I don’t know if I’m making the connection clear, but I was reminded of this when I came across a recent TED article on brain research.

The fascinating part of this brain research, for me at least, was the capricious character of the neural pathways.  (rather like the rehearsal process).  You could alter the neural pathways of the brain (rather than removing the brain matter as in a lobotomy) but the brain would sometimes recreate it’s own “freeway” system of connections, often individualized in a way that couldn’t be anticipated.

I remember conversations with some of the scientist about the “location” of the brain – was the intelligence of the body a wholistic content – was the spirit of the person able to determine where/how the brain located its memory? 

So here is the article on TED that made me think about MIT/The Apple Tree/and the dancing girls in “A Bushel And A Peck” today.  My neural pathways are tingling.

http://www.ted.com/conversations/10581/how_does_virtuality_translate.html

The Word Waits

This is a prologue from a novel I’m writing, first draft ready May 1st! Feedback is appreciated.

The Word hid from view more years than we have numbers to count. It felt easy for the word to hide – simpler when you’re the only one who knows that you exist.

The Word hid in the dark. Relied on memories, on ghost stories, on soldiers, and eventually on troubadours to understand where Word lived and how long before she was needed. Her appearance must be impeccably timed, her knowledge shared with only the most needful of all. Revealing her power too early would be disastrous, or before she found herself in the right spot.

She’d misjudged once and tablets were created. Tall craters of clay shaped and symbols drawn into the malleable forms before drying. She says misjudged because soon after were The Great Ruins and the Word was nearly washed away, forever, or rock could have fallen and sealed the Word into her cave.

The Word waits. The Word hides.

Fatima Quest

I’m writing a new piece now, some stories that have been swirling around my head for a while – the Virgin Mary and Fatima sightings and women’s bodies and family stories and growing up Catholic.

Many of these stories I have told before. Most over a beer or two getting to know a new friend. They are the stories told in the night that you can’t imagine putting in print for fear family members would sue. Honestly, they still might.

And it seems that the story to haunt me forever is the one that caused a great shift in my life: Fatima.

Here’s the gist: two young girls and one young boy (ages 7-9) see the Virgin Mary one day while out tending their family’s flock. She tells them of future visitations and offers three secrets which include:

• Russia must proclaim their devotion to the Mother or She will fail.
• (shady interpretation) Pope John Paul II’s Assassination attempt
• The two youngest (Francisco and Jacinta) will die soon while Lucia will live on to spread the glory of the Virgin Mary’s word.

The two youngest did die from a pretty common flu, and Lucia, later Sister Lucia, or Looney Lucia, as I will refer to her, lived to be a ripe old advisor to the church and I believe was appointed for sainthood after she died at 92. The two youngest were the only canonized youth who were not martyrs.

The show is called Fatima Quest, and this is the blog I write before leaping into the next ten pages I promised to finish by Monday.

Wish me luck. I’ll tweet about it @cindymariej & also started a Pinterest Inspiration Board.

If you have any stories or experience with the Fatima story or the Virgin Mary, let me know!

Being Different

April 6, 2012

<click on link above. opens in new window.>

Happy Day

April 5, 2012

<click on link above. opens in a new window.>

Supreme Theatre

I’ve been a bit distracted this week. My day job took over my life. Something I think most of us understand. But there are lessons to be learned about our craft wherever we are. And so I thought I’d share a few thoughts about this week’s Supreme Court arguments about the health care law.

Voice: My seat inside the court was awful. The press is stuck on the other side of large marble columns, red velvet curtains, and bronze gates (with odd symbols like fish and some bird with a hooked beak that looks nothing like an eagle). I could see the attorneys making the arguments, but not the Justices. So you had to rely on their voices to tell who was speaking.

Which is a reminder for playwrights: voice matters. If our audience couldn’t see our characters, would their way of speaking define them in their minds’ eye? I have been working of late to make sure my characters speak like themselves. Some leave out words. Some never finish sentences. Each manner of speaking helps me craft that character.

Humor: Here we were in the midst of one of the most serious policy debates in a decade and yet it was the humorous lines I remember best. Justice Sotomayor suggesting that it would be Justice Alito’s clerks clawing through the 2700 pages of the law to figure out what could stay and what could be discarded. The many lines about brocoli. And even outside the High Court, the protestor I remember best was the guy in the gorilla outfit fondling what was either a large banana or a yellow penis.

As a playwright, even in my most serious plays, I seem to be most protective of my funny lines. All the chicken jokes that permeate my war crimes play A PATCH OF EARTH – like the tapped phone of a journalist who describes it as clicking and clucking as though there were chickens on the line or the protagonist looking for courage as though you could buy it at the chicken kiosk down the road or the annoying rooster that crows three times as he’s suffering from a hangover. If the audience doesn’t laugh at those lines, I feel defeated.

The Supreme Court taught me humor can be a great tool when the stakes are truly high.

Exposition is deadly: especially in the Supreme Court. Several times in oral arguments, the lawyers got out half a dozen words before the Justices jumped in with questions. DIalogue, in other words. Challenges – ie confrontation.

In this case – unlike our plays – everyone knew the back story. They’d read all the prior case law, the legal briefs, etc. Our audience often doesn’t know all the details. But an audience does know the basics of storytelling. They trust us to fill in the details AS NECESSARY along the way. What they want to see is that confrontation, that dialogue live, onstage, between characters. In the courtroom, whenever anyone cited case law, eyes glazed over. When a penetrating question was posed, everyone leaned forward in their seat.

It was a week of Supreme Theatre. And not a bad week to remind myself of the basics of playwriting.

Enough

There were two theatre events tonight here in DC: a discussion of the state of the new play at GWU and a public thrashing of Mike Daisey at Woolly Mammoth. I wanted to attend both and ended up attending neither. And doing my best not to beat myself up.

It’s tough to hold down a day job (or raise small children or take care of a sick parent or…you fill in the blank) and be a writer. And even your role as playwright gets divied between the writing, the pitching, the preparation for the readings, attending friends and other fabulous plays, and the schmoozing. The two theatre events tonight that I skipped fall into the latter category. But frankly, I don’t have the energy. Tough week at work. (okay, I’ll brag: my tough week includes hanging out at the Supreme Court for the health care arguments. But it’s a pain in the butt with dodging protestors, the flood of media, the delay in getting audio from the court, and all the rest, I’m pooped. And I look like it.)

There’s only so many hours in the day. And I know the more rested I am, the more creative I am. Tired often equals depression, wasted hours at the keyboard, and too much chocolate.

So I’ve decided to forgive myself for not schmoozing on a Tuesday night. Instead, it’s fuzzy slippers, a bad movie, and some sewing.

How about you?