Gasp!

PUSH Theatre and choreographing words

I received a press release today from PUSH Physical Theatre in Rochester, New York. They will be performing a new piece based on the Hudson River landing in May at the Geva Theatre Center.

An excerpt about the project: "In "Flight 1549," PUSH Physical Theatre's five members alternately become the birds, the plane, the river, the passengers and more in this riveting "reenactment."

Since I have no chance of seeing this myself, I can only tell you that the idea itself is fascinating. Back when I was working in theater, I longed to create pieces that were more physical in nature. It's what theater does best - creating environments and staging experiences. I only had one opportunity to do that, through Raw Impressions Dance Theatre in NYC. My job was to create the storyline. The choreographer/director formulated the steps. A composer set it to music.

Back in the 90s, a dancer used one of my longer poems as "music." She recorded herself reciting the words and then choreographed movement to go along with it. When I saw it performed, I fell in love with the concept: Words + Choreography. Nonsensical words in surreal environments were even better, as I considered it a way to bypass the rational mind.

I'm not sure why I never created more work in that form. Even now, when I write shorter pieces for my own amusement, I still visualize a dancer in motion.

Two Good Travis

Travis Bedford has written a handful of powerful thoughts, so I will link to them. And that's not just because he's linking to me on another matter.

The first is a speech or article written by Doris Eagan on the WGA strike. A long time ago, when I veered away from electronic visual media (film and tv), it was partially because I thought the writers had sold themselves out. Copyright is valuable. They may have made more money in the long run, but it was the idea that my words couldn't be changed that led me to theater. I have a number of friends who are being directly affected by the strike. Long-time readers won't be surprised on where my sympathies can be found.

His other piece refers to my Talking to Myself series. New readers should know that, on occasion, I interview myself. It gives me an opportunity to verbalize thoughts that don't seem appropriate to come right out and say. Sometimes the interviews turn hostile because that's pretty much what goes on in my head. People used to tell me I was my own worst critic, and indeed, I question myself constantly. It's not healthy. But when I do finally reach a conclusion, you can be sure that I've faced my own firing squad to get there.

Anyway, Joshua James wrote a reaction to my theater interview with myself a while back. I observed the subsequent discussion on his blog without getting too involved, save for the one comment I felt compelled to leave. Travis comments on the rigid rules of the theater community, using Joshua's entries and my own as a building block. I think he does a really good job looking at group rules and expectations. I would be lying if I said that I hadn't experienced those rules.

Looking at how groups function fascinate me. It's important to take three steps back and ask yourself what you're giving up to be a part of a community. I can't tell if it's just me or what, but it always seems to me that I have had to give up a part of myself to be a part of a group. So it's good to be conscious of unwritten rules.

Mac asks in the comments section of one of the interviews if I made up the questions or if that's some of the comments that people have said to me. First of all, HEY MAC, WHASSUP! What's going on? What are you doing with your life? When are you going to update your blog? I miss you! It's a tough question. I made up the dialogue, yet I went for the points that I think people would say if they were really honest. How's that for a non-answer?

It's unintentional. There's just no clear-cut response. It's a good question though because it looks at authorial intent. I guess my question back would be, does it matter? I don't mean that sarcastically. There's no wrong answer. I'm serious. Does it matter what I meant at the time?

Talking to Myself, Part III

I still say your statement about theater is sour grapes.
You can say whatever you want. I don't care. Any criticism of the system is often dismissed as sour grapes. That's why the system never changes. Just because something works for the top 1% of the population doesn't mean that it's a good system, or that it shouldn't be changed. Remember, any time poor people criticize our economic system, they get nailed with a "class envy" charge.

I'm not saying theater is bad. I'm not even saying theater people are bad - though I've certainly said that in the past. Instead, I'm saying that the system that mainstream/regionals indulge in is bad. Viva la difference.

It would be a good idea to change that system.

You still sound bitter.
Screw you.

People who criticize theater are usually slammed for being bitter or whatever. It's as if playwrights have to prove how tough they are, how much grief they can take, how many dues they paid to get produced. It's self-flagellation, plain and simple. If that's your gig, then that's your life. It used to be my thing, but life's too short. Besides, I wasn't convinced that I liked getting produced. For me, getting published is far better.

I loved theater as an actress, and even as a stage manager. But watching my stuff onstage didn't warm my heart. It felt empty, and I'm still not sure why.

If you hated theater so much, why did you stay with it for so long?
I didn't hate theater. Must I keep repeating that? Seriously, what's up with the black and white thinking?

I loved playwriting. That's why I stayed. And I kept thinking that if I was going to be respected as a writer I had to go out and try to get the big awards and big productions. My heart wasn't in it because it wasn't what I really wanted to do.

I still love playwriting. I'm more naturally a playwright. The thought process is still there. When I get an idea, it usually comes as a scene or a play. And then I have to translate it to other forms. The process is worth it. In many ways, I'm a refugee. The old world was so broken in my view that I had to leave it.

What's it like - leaving theater?
Good. There's plenty of resources in the new world.

There are two things that are odd. The first is that I don't have to work as hard. Most playwrights have an extremely strong work ethic. They're used to working long hours to support themselves and then coming home to work long hours writing. Often there's no payoff in sight. I'm used to putting in 60-80 hours a week writing and researching - 40 hours for my day job and the rest for my real job. In any other field, that work ethic would lead to tremendous success. In theater, it's just a fairly normal thing. So I'm getting used to the idea that I no longer have to work so hard all the time.

The second is getting to connect with an audience. As a playwright, I rarely got the feeling that I was connecting with people. Blindly submitting plays didn't work for me. If I had to do it all over again, I'd probably follow Nosedive's model. Self-producing is the way to go, as far as I'm concerned. There's no sense of trying to impress the gatekeepers. I spent far too much time doing that.

The toughest part of leaving is getting over the idea that I don't have to rescue theater. I stayed for a while out of a sense of responsibility to "fix it." Like I said before, I'm not in a position to fix it. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders when I admitted that to myself.

What if someone asked to produce your plays today?
I don't know. It's something I'm thinking about. Part of the problem with leaving is how to frame the past. I can't deny that I've been a part of theater, that it was a huge part of my life. That's still open-ended for me. I'm not going to send new plays out. No more submissions. I do know that.

I strongly suspect that if I was a playwright in the U.K., I wouldn't have had to leave. The system is different there, and I noticed that the reactions to my work over there were more considered. I liked it there... But I'm just thinking out loud.

Now can we talk something else? All of this is old news.

More later

Talking to Myself, Part II

So let's talk theater.
Must we? I think I've sunk that boat already.

I'm just curious. Has your perspective of it changed now that you're not a part of that world anymore?
I don't know if I want to answer that question. I've thought a lot about theater, and I've thought nothing of theater. It astonishes me how easy it is to leave it behind. Theater and everything about it is in the past tense for me now. I don't think about it in the current sense. So in that way, I don't think about theater.

But I have thought about it as you might see a sign while riding in a car. You noticed it for a moment, only for the length of time it took for you to pass it. Then, it's gone.

I think of theater in that way. I remember the sign. I didn't have time to read it, so I wonder what it said. But since it doesn't apply to my life now, I don't think of it with any sense of urgency.

But I know you. You wonder what stuff means all the time. Surely you must've considered the how and why of it all.
Sure. I can tell you that theater looks a whole lot different when you're not involved in it. And I have thought about why things went as they did, if I had any regrets, if I would've done anything differently. There are times I consider that perhaps I connected with theater dysfunctionally due to my own issues... But I don't think so.

How does it look to you now?
Very different because there's nothing at stake for me now. I can finally see the painting in its entirety. With three or four steps back, the emotions drained finally. I feel a certain amount of resolution. It helps to have something to replace theater. I don't think I could've left without having another direction.

Is there anything you regret?
Besides not leaving sooner? I'm serious about that. I had a chance to leave it behind back in 2004, but I had nothing to replace it. In hindsight, I think I had to go through the last three years, just to confirm what I had long suspected. Which I'm not sure I'd want to say.

Oh c'mon.
After the anger and hurt and sadness subsided, and after I realized how dishonest I had been in not saying what I actually thought... Well, that's being too hard on myself. I think most people working in theater aren't entirely honest out of necessity. If I'm honest, is it going to hurt my career? If I tell you what I'm actually seeing or thinking, is it going to make an important person angry?

So what are you worried about now?
Good point. I no longer work in theater and have no outstanding submissions. I have no desire to be a part of theater.

So what's stopping you?
Okay, here's a thought. The system that mainstream theater uses to pick plays is immoral and corrupt.

Ouch. Defend that statement.
Corrupt - Not producing plays based on their artistic value. Instead, plays are chosen many times because of who the writer is. We knew that back then, but no one wanted to talk about it. I worked in lit offices in NYC, and I've seen the memos. I think that's the reason why you get only a handful of "important" writers, when there are far more playwrights out there who are doing tremendous work. It's why you have the same writers featured season after season after season in the regionals and mainstream. Those writers are saying the same things, so there's no diversity. That's why it always used to crack me up when writers believed their own press. There are many, many reasons why plays get produced. Quality isn't high on that list.

Corrupt - A true story. I responded to a call for submissions from a certain theater company. My play got rejected. Being open-minded, I went to an event held by that theater company to learn more about what they liked and didn't like. One thing led to another, and I discovered one of their chosen plays was one that hadn't been written yet. That means that my play (and yours too - if you submitted) was rejected for one that didn't exist.

What's the name of the company?
I'm not going to tell you the name of the company because I suspect its far more pervasive than anyone cares to admit. With the advent of submission fees, the whole process becomes even more corrupt. Imagine how it would feel to know that you paid $10 or more submitting your script, only to discover that the whole thing was unfairly rigged.

As far as "figuring out" which "one" it is, all you really have to do is look at who wins. If the same people get it year after year or if those people have ties to the company, then you know. Playwrights aren't taught to look at that stuff. Instead, they're so busy trying to please people.

I always swore I'd do an expose on it, but I didn't because no one wants to hear that the system is that corrupt. There's genuine hostility towards that idea.

The immorality is in the idea that writers aren't unionized. They have no negotiating power, with all that implies.

But that last part is only a footnote, since the financial issues around theater are less about money and more about respect. But everyone knows that already. That's not news.

Everyone figures that I left theater because I was too mad or too whatever. Really, it had more to do with the corrupt and immoral part. I'm not going to support a system like that by participating in it. I stayed in it to see if I could change it, but I wasn't in a good position to do that. There are writers who could change the system, but they benefit from it. And we all know that people who benefit from a system aren't going to work to change it.

Sour Grapes?
I wondered that myself, but no. It's an easy charge to make. Sour grapes. But that only prevents people from looking at what's really happening. Besides, I'm happy in my current incarnation. Since leaving theater, I've been published in Washington, Michigan, and of course, Alabama. I feel good about my career.

I do feel sad when I think of the people who used to email me back in the day, when I ranted about theater. Those people were afraid to go public with what they were thinking and feeling. They were afraid that the wrong person would read it, or that it would come back to hurt them somehow. I think of how much I blamed myself for a perceived failure. It was the system that doomed some to fail, and chose some to succeed. And it had more to do with the luck of the draw than anything else. That's a failure that I didn't need to take on.

Again, I needed those last few years to figure it out.

More later

Talking to Myself, Part I

So, what's the deal with you? First you're blogging only about theater, then you're telling everyone to kiss your ***, and then you're complaining about people stealing your stuff. Where's the joy?
I don't know. When I find it, I'll let you know.

It has been a tough year, hasn't it?
Actually, I believe that in the seven year life cycle theory, so I'm nearing the end of this ugly period of time. 2001-2008, give or take a few months. I think it started when I arrived in NYC and has pretty much carried through until today. There's been lots of death within the past year, and that makes me think that this cycle is finally ending.

You call it a life cycle. What does that mean?
To me it means looking at life on a macro level. Certain themes and issues cycle up time and time again, in various forms. Sort of like a symphony. Melodies weave in and out with only slight variation.

When I think of this life cycle, I think of a cracked cement block with a flower growing out of it. Lots of bare bones reality - money problems, picking a city to live in problems, health problems. how to make money at writing... Survival issues. I think 9/11 was the starting pistol for all that.

I feel good about the future. Over the past two months there have been significant changes. That lets me know that things will change.

You sound hopeful.
I feel hopeful. When I think of the previous life cycle, it was difficult but also fun. The last part of the 90s were a creative period of time. I felt free to be who I was and write what I wanted to write. I felt joy, in that my writing was fully realized on the page. I didn't focus on the business side of writing as much.

Describe some of the changes.
I think when I moved back to NYC, I stifled a part of my soul. Which is funny to say because I was teaching meditation a whole lot. Now, I feel like I'm finally getting reconnected. I'm not as alienated from myself. I spend a great deal of time meditating by myself, reflecting on the past seven years. What do I want the rest of my life to be like? What is really important to me? I left NYC because those values weren't mine. I had so-called friends who - when they discovered how much I made in a year - wouldn't talk to me because I wasn't making enough in their eyes. That kind of thing.

You obviously weren't hanging out with other writers.
Well, you could say that but I noticed a tendency for writers to want to impress each other using other methods. Judging each other by their resumes, so to speak. I thought all of these institutions had power, but now I know that institutions only have as much power as people give them.

I think I did some terrific writing over the past seven years, but I wish I had focused less on the business side of it and more on the creative part. I rarely bitched about "the business" in the 90s. I just sat in my room and wrote. Or went to coffee shops. That's what was missing. Waiting for someone to tell me I was a great writer, rather than knowing it and let the rest be damned.

More later...