30 PLAYS IN 30 DAYS: Play #23 "The Master Builder" by Henrik Ibsen

 

Henrik Ibsen, a master builder of plays

I have decided for the month of September to read 30 plays in 30 days. It is my belief that, if possible, a play should be read in one sitting to get a better inherent sense of the dramatic arc. Each day, I will write a short post here about the play of the day.

Play #23

The Master Builder by Henrik Ibsen

There is a reason that we call the great ones the great ones (hint: it's because they are great). Henrik Ibsen is the most frequently performed dramatist in the world after Shakespeare (his play A Doll's House was the most performed play in the world in 2006). The Norwegian playwright and theater director is rightfully considered one of the founders of modern theater as we know it. Although his early verse play Peer Gynt has some surreal elements to it, after that he largely was interested in writing only realistic prose. His influence is clear in writers like G.B. Shaw, Eugene O'Neill, and even James Joyce. he was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1902, 1903, and 1904.

And yet, for whatever reason, I have not read all of his works. Before today, I had read his play Ghosts while a student at Boston University (a play in which we know a character has syphilis without the word every being said), Hedda Gabler (I don't know many people who have studied theater haven't read that one) and A Doll's House. 

I absolutely loved reading The Master Builder today. While it feels strange I that it took me this long, I also like to believe we read the things we read when we do for a reason, and it is possible that I might not have loved this play as much had I read it as a young man (or, younger man, right?) as an assignment. In many ways, Ibsen is the master builder, or at least the master craftsman, with so many playwrights like myself discovering that they are eager apprentices. 

The play was first published in 1892, and while it continues his quest for realism, it is also deeply infused with symbolism. Halvard Solness is the title character--- a middle-aged man, desperately afraid of the younger generation of builders, to the extent that he has kept one in his employ to clip his wings and keep him from rising, going so far as to encourage the young man's fiance to fall in love with him to use her to keep him in his employ. Solness lost his two young sons in what he thinks is the direct aftermath of a fire--- a fire he believes he may have had the power to will. In fact, Solness believes that he has this power in other ways, to bend people in a sense because of his will. That the "trolls" and "devils" help in this way. 

Along comes Hilda Wangel, who I have learned is a character who appeared in Ibsen's earlier play The Lady From the Sea as well. I hope to read that play, too, because I think Hilda is an amazingly drawn character. She talks of having seen the Master Builder when she was but a child of 12 or 13, when he climbed to the top of a church, to the highest tower, to adorn it with the traditional wreath upon completion of the project. She also tells Solness how he had promised to make her a princess one day and had even kissed her (gross). He told her in ten years he would come and take her away. And now she has come to him for the kingdom he promised her. 

The dynamic between Solness, afraid of his middle-age and relevancy and Hilda, the one aspect of the younger generation he is drawn to, is the heart of the play. And while sometimes Hilda's motivations seem a bit inconsistent--- does she want him to find happiness by being more grounded, or is she the temptress bird of prey who wants him to build the castles in the sky even if it means crashing down?--- it is often "quite thrilling" (as Hilda would say) to read their back and forth. 

There is much more I could write about this play, but I encourage you all to read it for yourselves if you haven't yet. You'll be glad you did...

One last note:  The play has very obvious biographical elements, as Ibsen had a brief affair with an 18 year-old woman who apparently delighted in stealing husbands (but he was in his early 60s, so maybe it was more his responsibility), of who he said gave him a "high, painful happiness". And while she didn't "steal" him, he said he stole her--- for his play. 

HOW READING PLAYS MADE ME A PLAYWRIGHT: The Tale a Theater Kid, A Local Library, and a Ten Cent Book Sale

 

Me, With Two of My Childhood Teachers

For better or worse (I like to think better, except when I'm short on cash and in need of a bigger royalty check), I grew up in a theatrical household. I don't just mean because of the drama, though we certainly had our fair share. No, I mean that my parents were both involved in theater from the time I was a very young age. I remember tagging along with my older sisters to my parents' rehearsals for Blithe Spirit as part of a theater group they were trying to start in our home town, and then, later on, driving an hour to and from Lakewood Theater every summer. Certainly it was this life of witnessing rehearsals, hearing them run lines (and memorizing them before they did) and experiencing their love for it that made me want to be involved in theater myself. And indeed, I got my chance when I was cast as Winthrop in The Music Man at the age of ten. Throughout the next years, I was not just tagging along with my parents to Lakewood, but rehearsing for plays myself. 

Along with my own burgeoning love of performing, I was simply fascinated and terribly curious about how plays were made. From the time I was twelve or thirteen, I began to simply love the act of reading scripts, seeing how they worked. I suppose in my mind, I wanted to learn how to write plays for me to star in. I was barely a teenager, so I can be forgiven such a self-serving ambition, right?

My hometown library is called the Thompson Free Library, and while it didn't necessarily have the largest collection of plays you could ever hope to ask for, it had more than one might think for such a small town. In the picture above, you can see there volumes of "The Best American Plays" which spanned from the 1950s to the early 1980s. I started taking those books out and devouring as many plays as I could. I distinctly remember reading Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and, while not completely understanding what was going on, I was excited by the electricity of the dialogue and the characters, the way they talked to each other, using their words as weapons. I remember reading Arthur Kopit's Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mama's Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feeling So Sad and again being thrilled by this energy, this complete sense of possibility. Lanford Wilson's Lemon Sky spoke to me in a way I couldn't fully describe. I checked out each volume of this Best American Play series more than once ( as well as collections they had of Neil Simon, Eugene O'Neill, Thornton Wilder). I began to learn the work of some of the masters, and witnessed how theater evolved from decade to decade. 

Though I didn't know it at the time, reading and re-reading these volumes were just as much a part of my theater and playwriting education as all of my work in college. My playwriting professor at Bennington, Gladden Schrock, had indeed made the point that a great way to learn how to write plays was to read plays (and see them, too, of course). These plays made me want to be part of their world.

As I got older, and found more extensive libraries at college, I was able to branch out from simply the best AMERICAN plays, and learn where favorites like Albee, Kopit, Tennessee Williams, Christopher Durang, and David Mamet picked up their bag of tricks from (Beckett, Ionesco, Pinter, etc.). But these volumes gave me an incredible base of knowledge, but, perhaps even more importantly, it kept me wanting to know more, to read more, to act more, to write more. Would I have ever wanted to direct a play if I hadn't directed the plays in these volumes in my mind dozens of different ways? Would I have ever taken joy in creating dialogue if I hadn't learned from the masters on these pages? 

I tell you this, and I believe it wholeheartedly:  one way to really keep our American Theater vital and vibrant, is to normalize the reading of plays the same way we do novels, from a very young age. I know some schools in fact do this, but it should be a given in every district all around the country in my opinion. Reading out loud helps students connect to the characters and the story, it teaches empathy, teaches us how to relate. It inspires us to set the stage in our own minds. If we started with plays early on, Shakespeare would not be such a challenge when we get to high school.

But I digress:

The Thompson Free Library had its first ten cent book sale since Covid-19 a few months ago. I love the ten cent book sale, and always am proud of certain finds. But this year, when I went in with my Mother, as they were only allowing a few people at a time, the woman who runs the sale said, "We have some books set aside that we thought you might be interested in."  She went off into a side room, and came out with four volumes of these Best American Plays, the very same books I had taken out so often, more years ago than seem possible. It brought up a great deal of emotion in an interesting way. To buy these books that have meant so much to me, that have been a part of me even more than I realized. These four volumes truly were some of my earliest theater teachers. 

A great education, now purchased for only forty cents. 

Cracking the covers and looking over old favorites is already actively filling up the creative well. 

If you love theater, read plays. Lots and lots of them. You'll be glad you did. 

What To Do When You Have a Bad Performance

Greetings ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Theater is a Sport.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and this is my little place on the internet where I talk about (or, really, write about) theater.  Why? Well, because I love it.

I'm a big Red Sox fan, but a few nights ago, they were pounded by the Orioles in a big way. Last night, however, they fought back against Toronto and wound up winning the game.

What does this have to do with theater, you might ask?  I'll tell you.  There's a reason I call this blog "Theater is a Sport", and it's because I believe that theater is a sport.

And, like baseball, or any other sport, an actor, or an entire cast, can have off nights.

Lord knows I've had them.  Whether you keep tripping over your lines, or staying in your head, anticipating blocking, or tripping over the set, some nights just feel like a disaster to an actor.  Please believe me when I tell you that this happens to everyone.

The first thing to do, if you feel like your having a bad performance, is to try to get out of your head, and salvage the rest of the night.  Take intermission to try to relax and re-focus.  Accept that you screwed up in the first act, and realize that you can still knock 'em dead in Act Two.  A bad performance is all mental, meaning, all thought.  Get those thoughts out of your brain.

Now, if you can't salvage the performance for yourself, and you reach the end of the show feeling as miserable as you did all the way through, accept it and move on.  For one thing, it probably didn't come off as badly as you might think.  And please, please, if you had friends or family in the audience, and they talk to you after the show, complimenting you on what a great job you did, just smile and say "Thank you so much!"  I know it's hard.  You'll want to say, "I felt so off tonight!  This was my worst performance ever!  I was so much better in rehearsal!"  Don't do it.  For one thing, it's rude.  It's telling your loved ones that they don't know a good performance from a bad one, and that's not very nice now, is it?  And, like I said before, everything you were going through in your own mind was probably not as visible to the audience as you think it was.

Don't let one bad performance ruin a run.  In the school or community theater, you probably have somewhere between 3 and 6 performances for a production (maybe more, but we're not talking month or yearlong runs, here).  The more you focus on a bad performance, the more you open yourself up to repeat them.  If, in fact, there is a section of the play that is repeatedly bad or feels under-rehearsed, by all means, talk to the director and others involved about working towards cleaning up that scene or section.  It's okay to want to keep growing and getting better, even if you're a few performances in.  In fact, that should be the goal.  To keep getting better and better and more comfortable with the material.  But, let's say you had a random incident where you blew a line you had never missed before.  Don't obsess about it.  That's like asking to mess up again.

Above all else, remember that theater is an imperfect medium, which is why it is so magical. Mistakes happen when you're performing live.  Embrace it, accept it, and keep moving forward to the elusive goal of perfection, which you're not going to reach.  It's the journey that matters.  It's the dancing on the head of a pin, the experiment of creating something with a group of people that matters the most.

Just keep your eye on the ball, and everything will be okay.

My Favorite Dream: Writing With Love and Zest

Greetings, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Theater is a Sport, back after spring break.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and this is my own little piece of the internet where I talk about whatever's on my mind in the realm of theater.

Recently, I've been re-reading a great deal of Ray Bradbury and watching old interviews with him on YouTube.  What stands out most about this prolific writer (who not only wrote novels and short stories, but many plays and screenplays as well) is his incredible zest for writing and for life, and how he constantly used one to fuel the other.  To him, writing was inspired play, and he kept the words "Don't Think" taped above his typewriter to remind himself the importance of trusting his intuition and subconscious.

For those who are not familiar with Ray Bradbury, he was the great mind behind such books as Fahrenheit 451, The Martian Chronicles, Dandelion Wine, The Halloween Tree, Something Wicked This Way Comes, and over 300 published short stories.  He wrote a number of plays, one of my favorites being The Wonderful Ice Cream Suit, and wrote the screenplay for John Huston's classic film adaptation of Moby Dick.

Here's the man himself, Mr. Ray Bradbury

I have been trying to write like Mr. Bradbury lately.  No, I don't mean by copying his style or his themes or plot ideas--- I mean, I have been trying to reconnect with the youthful sense of play in an attempt to write with zest again.

It's not always easy.  Writing can be difficult.  It's frustrating when the words won't come, when a sentence or a line of dialogue doesn't read the way you want it to, when you simply can't seem to communicate your thoughts, or when the tank seems completely empty, devoid of any ideas one could possibly care about.  

When this happens, one could do worse than to follow those two words of advice taped up on Mr. Bradbury's desk:  DON'T THINK.

While writing certainly flexes intellectual muscles, it is truly at its most rewarding when it is an emotionally engaging experience.  When the play or story you want to write comes flying out, and you laugh, love, and cry along with it.  If you have this investment, it is a safe bet that an audience may as well.  

When you're deep in the act of creation on a first draft, it is often beneficial to surf the tidal waves of inspiration and intuition, even if they seem dangerous.  Especially if they seem dangerous.  Too much thinking can kill a project before it has started to live.  Don't let that happen.  Remember, your brain is always there to switch back on for the act of rewriting.  

I can't tell you how many times I have to tell my mind to shut up (even now, writing this blog post, I've had to shush it more than once).  Every now and then, I close my eyes, take some deep breaths, and invite my characters to talk to me.  I visualize them, ask them questions.  They don't often steer me wrong.  Ray Bradbury once said that there is no need for writer's block, so long as you are willing to listen to your characters and your subconscious mind.  The more I read his work, the more I believe he is right.

So each day, for a few weeks now, I approach my notebook or computer, not with a sense of worry about what may come out today, but with a joyful anticipation of what I am going to create.  I am recapturing the "play" in "playwright".  

And I thank you, Ray Bradbury, for the inspiration.  

REMEMBER:  WHEN IN DOUBT, JUST STOP THINKING!  Breath, relax, and tell the story that needs to be told.

To learn more about my plays, CLICK HERE,  OR HERE, OR HERE, OR FINALLY HERE.

I've started a new blog!  I am writing a story a day for a year!  Each story will be between 100-250 words!  If you would like to read and follow, you can do so by CLICKING HERE.  

The Drive to Make it in Show Business

Welcome to the House of Keniston, Where Theater is a Sport

Greetings, and welcome to theater is a sport, my blog where I talk about what's on my mind regarding theater.  It's a good time (I think).  Enjoy your stay.

I've been thinking about "drive" a great deal lately, mainly because I've been talking to some people about what it takes to try to make a living as an actor.  "Drive" is the answer I keep coming up with.

It's interesting:  for those of us who studied acting in college, we learned so much great stuff about craft, technique, keeping our bodies as well-tuned instruments to serve our art.  The business doesn't necessarily care about these things.  It's sad, but acting is a job where, even if you're really, really good at it, there's no guarantee that you'll ever get work.  And if you do, it won't be like your acting class.

And so you need drive.

So what is drive?  I like to think of it as encompassing the following parts:

LOVE,
PASSION,
NEED,
PERSISTENCE,
COURAGE,
RESILIENCE,
FLEXIBILITY,
SELF-ESTEEM,
IMMOVABLE FAITH
ACCEPTANCE

Allow me to explain.

LOVE, is fairly simple. You need to love to act.  If you don't love to act, sing, or dance, or what-have-you, why would you do it?  Countless better ways to earn your daily bread, believe me.

PASSION, which is different from love, is also essential.  Passion is the fire in your belly, the thing that turns you on, gives you the greatest bliss.  And not just for the performance, but for the process. Passion is thing inside of you that shuns the ordinary and desires the little something extra.  Let's be honest--- if you can make a living from acting, that's pretty extraordinary, isn't it?

NEED, I know may sound bad, but I don't mean it that way.  I simply mean that you must feel that reaching your dreams is a need, like food or water.  Often, people who have "made it" will say that they did so because they aren't suitable for any other kind of life.  I believe them.  If you don't absolutely need to be an actor, then please find something else that makes you happy and do that.  It's not "settling" if it makes you happy and you don't feel pangs of regret.

PERSISTENCE, of course, is key.  You have to constantly be doing things outside of your art for your art, and all for rejection.  And you have to keep doing it over and over and over and over again.

COURAGE, to accept your need, your love and your passion in the face of constant rejection. Courage to live without the hope of financial stability.  Courage to shun social norms and societal expectations.  Courage to constantly risk absurdity.  Courage to fail, and, even harder sometimes, courage to succeed.  Courage to look at yourself in the mirror to keep growing and getting better. Courage to listen to commentary about how you're wasting your time, you're never going to "make it", to hear questions like "when are you going to grow up and get a real job?"  In fact, you need courage to believe you are a grown up, when most of the world will tell you you're not.

RESILIENCE, or, thick skin.  Did I mention you're going to get rejected a whole lot?  It's true.  And when you're being rejected as an actor, it feels like they are rejecting YOU, because your body is your instrument.  And yes, I believe it's even worse for women.  I can't imagine being at a chorus girl "cattle call" audition, and literally having them point out "You, you, you, step forward.  The rest of you, thank you for your time", without really even seeing what you can do.  It is inherently a cruel process, and you have to be able to bounce back from it and do it all again.

FLEXIBILITY, at least until you're "in demand" or have "clout".  You might have to take jobs you're not passionate about, just to get on stage (don't compromise your deep-rooted morals, however). You have to compromise, eat dirt now and again.  They don't always teach you that in acting class.

SELF-ESTEEM, which ties in a bit with resilience, but is something a little different.  You have to believe you're good.  Not to the point where you're a total diva (again, unless you've achieved clout), but yes, there is a little ego involved, and maybe even some good-natured arrogance.  Don't feel bad about this.  You need it.  Facing all this rejection, you have to be able to psyche yourself up and feel good about yourself.  You have to believe.  Which leads me to...

IMMOVABLE FAITH.  You have to have the faith of a zealot. Faith, or course, is having believing in something, even without hard proof.  And actors need to have this kind of faith and belief--- a faith in themselves, of course, and faith in the fact that they WILL reach their goals.  That it is MEANT TO BE.  This faith is what can give you courage and resilience.

ACCEPTANCE.... I know some of you are probably thinking that this "acceptance" I'm talking about, is the acceptance to realize when it's time perhaps to pursue other things.  Nope.  This is a post about drive after all.  There's nothing else to pursue in this post.  The kind of acceptance I'm talking about is the acceptance that, in order to make it in the business, you have to remember it is a business. The art and the craft, which is what is responsible for your love and your passion, is not enough.  You could be the best actor of your generation, and never find work.  You also have to accept that, like I mentioned earlier, the stuff you learn in your acting classes in school, while serving your personal work, are not going to ensure your employment with a director who's process is completely different (remember flexibility?)  Acceptance of the fact that, while your heart wants to play Hamlet, you need to WANT to book that national laxative commercial just as much, and put just as much work into it as you would the world's most famous soliloquy.  You have to accept that sometimes, you may feel a little phony with people because you need them as a connection.  You have to accept that you are a PRODUCT and part of your job is to make yourself a BRAND.  A brand that people want to buy.  A brand that you're constantly tweeting about, and sharing on other social media.  Accept that this brand might lead to type casting, but, at least you're working, and one day you'll step out of your wheelhouse and show what you can really do. You have to accept that your love and passion comes with a lot of hurdles, and you're not always going to feel satisfied at the end of the day.  But you happily accept climbing more of that mountain day after day.

That's what drive is, ladies in gentlemen, in my humble opinion.  And, while I possess some of these fine qualities, I am lacking in others, which is why I never really pursued the big stages (more on that in another post).  And, no, I didn't intend for this to be a depressing post.  Just something to demonstrate a bit of a universal truth people don't always talk about--- to make it in show business, it's not enough to love the show.  You've gotta do the business.

Please feel free to share your thoughts and experiences on this subject in the comment section below. I'd love to hear what others think.

Thanks for reading Theater is a Sport.  Come back soon.

Theater and Legacy

I have been thinking a great deal about the notion of legacy, the things we leave behind as human beings. What's left of us when we have shuffled off our mortal coil.

Sorry... I don't mean to be a downer, and I don't really intend this post to be a depressing one, but, rather, as with everything I write for this blog, I'm simply trying to work through some thoughts and feelings on a subject that means a great deal to me.

Just yesterday, a gentleman I knew from different theater circles, passed away.  He was an actor, teacher, director, and playwright.  He was a mentor to a great number of people.  I wish I had known him better than just as a passing, friendly acquaintance, but I always had respect and admiration for his creativity, his intelligence, and his drive. He loved and understood theater in a way I aspire to.  We never worked together, which is actually odd when I think about it.

He knew he was dying, and this last week or so, Facebook was a used as a tool for him to say goodbye, and for people to say goodbye to him.  He wrote that it was like attending his own funeral, which is something he had always wanted to do.  I was overwhelmed and moved by all of the messages on his timeline, especially from his former theater students.  He touched so many lives through his various endeavors, achieving, in a way, his own piece of immortality.

I suppose it is natural, when someone in your life passes away, to think about your own life.  While it may seem self-indulgent, I feel it is a natural human by-product to loss and grieving, to try to filter the experience through your own world view, your own perceptions. I guess this is why I'm wondering today about the things I will leave behind.  How I will be remembered.  Of course, I hope it is a long time away, and that I have ample opportunity for rewriting and tweaking, adding, and fleshing out.  But, then again, when it comes down to it, I'm not really in control of my legacy.

But we're all in control of how we do our work and how we treat one another. This goes a long way.

I hope...

No.  I was going to write a list of things that I hope people remember me for, but, truly, that is not only self-indulgent, it's somewhat of a distraction.  Legacies are made by living, not by wondering what your legacy will be.

Backstage at Lakewood Theater, they have a wall with 8x10 photographs, the one's used for the marquee, of the people who we have lost.  It makes sense to me as a fitting tribute, a wall of remembrance.  After all, every cast is a family, and it is important to remember and honor your family.  Every production is a unique, shared moment in time, that changes all involved, creates a bond of common experience that never goes away, no matter how the years pile on, or how relationships may strain and break.  We'll always have that show together.

You see, those weeks spent working together to create something have impact, the act of creation and collaboration is IMPORTANT.  It builds trust.  It builds humanity, in all of its forms.  We give our hearts and minds to a process in order to make something for others--- family, friends, and even strangers.

It is all about that shared moment.

Because it only takes a single moment to live forever.

So instead of saying goodbye, perhaps I'll simply say this:

Break a leg, my friend.  

AN APPRECIATION OF LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS (THE MUSICAL): an anaylsis from a playwriting perspective, Part 2

Yours Truly as Seymour Krelborn, and Cary Libby as Orin Scrivello, the Dentist, in a production of "Little Shop of Horrors" I directed and starred in for the Center Theatre in Dover-Foxcroft

Greetings, everybody, and welcome to Theater is a Sport.  Today is Part 2 of my analysis of one of my favorite musicals, Little Shop of Horrors, from a playwriting perspective.  If you haven't read Part 1, feel free to CLICK HERE to read it. 

Please remember, in this in analysis of Little Shop of Horrors (with book and lyrics by Howard Ashman and music by Alan Menken), there will be "spoilers", so, if you're not familiar with the musical, and don't want it ruined for you, don't read any further. 

In yesterday's post, I talked about how LSOH was a nice modern example of Aristotle's rules for Tragedy, despite being a dark musical comedy.  I also talked about the rising action up through the end of Act I, where Seymour is feeding Orin Scrivello, the Dentist, to Audrey II, the hungry plant. 

Some might argue this is the major turning point in the play, or the climax, and that Act 2 is all falling action, catharsis and denouement (or, what would be Acts IV and V of a Tragedy).  I do not hold to this argument, and, most people I talk to agree with me.

You see, at this point, Seymour may literally have blood on his hands after feeding the dentist to his talking devil plant, but he didn't kill him.  He couldn't.  He wanted to, but his moral center is so strong, that he could not do it.  No matter how wicked and awful the dentist was as a human being, Seymour couldn't kill him.  Granted, Seymour could have done something to save Orin's life when he was in the midst of gassing himself to death, but, inactivity is not the same thing as murder. 

Act II begins with another thriving day of business at Skid Row's Florist, home of the ever-growing Audrey II.  After a frenzied bout of phone answering, Audrey and Seymour talk.  Audrey is racked with guilt over Orin's disappearance because deep inside, she wished for him to die.  Seymour comforts her, and they perform perhaps the most famous song in the show, "Suddenly Seymour", and effectively acknowledge their love for one another, and their intentions to spend their future together.  It is a beautiful moment, interrupted by Mr. Mushnik, who is acting very strange.  Once Audrey says goodnight, Mushnik informs Seymour of some evidence he has found linking his adopted son with Orin's disappearance.  At this point, Audrey II, unheard by Mushnik, lures Seymour into feeding him once more in the song "Suppertime".  Mushnik tells Seymour that he won't call the police if Seymour disappears.  Seymour, feeling trapped, especially now that he has the girl of his dreams, tells Mushnik that the day's cash deposit is inside of Audrey II.  Sure enough, Mushnik goes to get it and is eaten. 

It is at this point where I think the climax occurs.  Again, Seymour doesn't literally kill, but he must take responsibility for Mushnik's demise--- this is not a case of inactivity, but actually causing the death to happen.  And from this point, everything changes. 

In my opinion, the following number, called "The Meek Shall Inherit", is Act IV of a Tragedy in one long song.  Seymour is faced with all of these opportunities--- to be on the cover of life magazine, go on lecturing tours, have his own weekly TV show--- all of them presented to him by the actor who played Orin in Act I (although in the production I directed, only one of them was played by that same actor, so I could involve more people in the production).  These people, waving the contracts, are Seymour's Furies in a sense, leading him to his downfall.  You see, Seymour has a moment of conscience in the song, where he realizes that taking these offers would mean more killing, and he tells himself he can't do it.  But he changes his mind, because he's afraid Audrey won't love him anymore if he goes back to being poor and a nobody. 

So in this sense, Seymour, as a tragic flaw, has self-doubt and low self-confidence. 

Seymour signs the contracts with the Ronnettes, our street urchin Greek Chorus, egging him on. 

In the next scene, we see Seymour, almost mad with guilt and remorse, refusing to feed an angry Audrey II.  After Audrey comes to check on him, and assures him that she would still like him ("I'd still love you", she says) if he was poor, Seymour decides that after they pay him for the photo for the Life Magazine cover, he will take Audrey away from Skid Row, and buy her that house she always dreamed of.

Unfortunately, Audrey II is to smart for that.  After Seymour steps out to get Audrey II some ground beef from the butcher's, Audrey, who couldn't sleep comes back to the shop.  The plant lures Audrey, and Audrey is almost eaten.  Seymour rushes in, pulls her from the plant, but it is too late. 

Which leads us to "The Death of Audrey", a song, in my opinion, is the most poignant catharsis in musical theatre history.  Audrey implores Seymour to feed her to the plant, so that it will grow big and strong, and give him all the wonderful things he deserves.  And, if she's in the plant, she's part of the plant, so they will always be together, and she will, at last, be somewhere that's green. 

Just thinking of this scene brings tears to my eyes.  It is so sweet and intimate, so innocent yet sad. 

And here is where Seymour differs from Faust.  Seymour never cared about the money or the fame he was getting--- sure, he enjoyed it to some extent--- but all he wanted Audrey.  And when she is gone, there is nothing left for him.

In the final scene, a man named Skip Snip arrives, with a business proposal for Seymour, who is truly insane with grief.  Mr. Snip wants to take little cuttings of Audrey II, and develop little plants to be sold to every home in America.  It will be bigger than the hula hoop.  Seymour, realizing this has been Audrey  II's plan all along, world domination, climbs inside the plant with a machete, intent on destroying it from the inside--- although, maybe, to some extent, Seymour knows he is crawling into his own death... after all, what does he have left to live for?

In any case, Skip returns with the Ronnettes, and they begin to take their cuttings.  The Ronnettes tell us how Audrey II's plans have come to life all across America, and, in the final number, the cast warns the audience, "Don't Feed the Plant".    In this number, we see how Orin, Mushnik, Audrey and Seymour have all become part of Audrey II. 

What I find different about Seymour as a tragic hero as opposed to many classical ones, is that he really is somewhat passive in his downfall for the most part, and that every decision he makes is because he wants to impress the woman he loves.  He is so easily led and bamboozled.  He does not sell his soul to the devil consciously as Faust does.  He's a fella who gets in over his head.  Which means, when he loses everything, and goes to his death, in my mind, it makes the denouement all that much more effective. 

In any case, if you agree with my analysis that Little Shop of Horrors is a prime example of Aristotle's rules for Tragedy, feel free to comment below.  Feel free to comment even if you don't agree.  And if you have any questions, feel free to e-mail me at theater.is.a.sport@gmail.com

Thanks for checking out this post.  I love talking Little Shop.  I love it. 

Until next time, please remember--- Don't feed the plant, and theater is a sport.

Writing Inspiration: How and Why I Wrote "I Don't Mind That You're Ugly"

The Play Script for I Don't Mind That You're Ugly, available from Brooklyn Publishers

Hello ladies and gentlemen!  My name is Bobby Keniston, and I will be your host at Theater is a Sport.  Today I would like to talk to you about my writing inspiration for my play I Don't Mind That You're Ugly, a one act romantic comedy.  I believe it was the sixth play I had accepted for publication, and it is one of my favorites, largely because I think it is sweet and funny, hopefully like I am in real life.

It is no secret that here in America, many people have issues with their appearance.  For better or worse, and with help from the media, a good number of human beings obsess a little bit about the way that they look.  It was this little obsession with appearance that were the seeds of the play that would become I Don't Mind That You're Ugly.

The story is about an "average looking" (whatever that means) guy named Clyde, who is waiting at THE FANCIEST RESTAURANT IN TOWN for his girlfriend Kira.  He is planning to propose to her.  Before Kira arrives, the staff of the restaurant, who are pretty rude, do not really believe that Clyde is waiting for anyone.... how could he have a girlfriend?  Already, we begin to see that Clyde has some feelings of "not being good-looking enough" for his girlfriend.  When Kira arrives, and looks stunningly beautiful, everyone has difficulty believing that she could be with Clyde.  But Kira is a sweetheart, whose true beauty really is from within.  Clyde and Kira's dinner keeps being interrupted, once by a model talent scout (who is a bit sleazy to say the least), an overanxious restaurant hotess who wants to seat Kira where she can be seen in the "hot people" room, a busboy with a crush, a lusty chef, and weak-bladdered old woman.  Throughout their conversation, Clyde tells Kira that he thinks she is so beautiful, and he's just so "average looking", and Kira, who is not thinking, says, offhandedly, "Oh, baby, I don't mind that you're ugly."  At which point, the play takes a huge turn.  Will Clyde and Kira wind up together, or will insecurities dash their dreams.

I think a good number of people have insecurities.  I sure do.  I have been told that I am handsome, and, maybe 3 days out of 7,  I can sort of see that.  But the rest of the time, I do feel incredibly "average".  And what does that mean?  "Average".  For that matter, what does "Beautiful" mean?

In this play, beauty, ultimately comes from love even more than it does for appearances. 

I am fond of this play because for a simple, short, romantic comedy, it is not only funny, but, as I re-read it today, has genuine passion and human feeling.  Kira talking about the way she loves Clyde's smell, for example, or when she takes his face in her hands and calls him "My beautiful man", I almost wanted to cry, it effected me so much.  And no, I'm not tooing my own horn, I'm just so proud of a sweet moment such as that.

The writing of the playcame in June, 2009, and I read the first draft out loud with a dear friend of mine, who really encouraged me about it, and offered a few funny little changes that you can see in the play still today.  I wrote the first draft in a couple weeks, which is actually a little longer than a good number of one act first drafts take me.  I think I wanted to really be precise about the points of body image and self-esteem that I was trying to get across, and make sure I was still being funny at the same time.

I Don't Mind That You're Ugly was published by Brooklyn, and, so far, it has been the most produced play I have with them.  I have received wonderful feedback from schools all over the country who have enjoyed being in the show.  I remember seeing a YouTube video, a series of interviews from high school students about parts they were playing in an evening of one-acts, and it was cool to hear how they interpreted the characters in I Don't Mind That You're Ugly.

I am proud of this play, and proud of the feelings that inspired it.  I think, in this case, I really accomplished what I set out to accomplish, and that makes me very happy.  In fact, a writer can't ask for more than that.

Thanks for tuning in to Theater is a Sport.  If you would like to learn more about me, you may follow these links:  www.brookpub.com, www.histage.com, www.playscripts.com, and www.hitplays.com and search for me, Bobby Keniston, and read about my plays and look at free samples.

UNTIL TOMORROW....

LYAFTF

And remember--- theater is  not only an art form, it is also a sport.