30 PLAYS IN 30 DAYS: Play #9 "Brilliant Traces" by Cindy Lou Johnson

 

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 #9

Brilliant Traces by Cindy Lou Johnson

As reported by the New York Times, Cindy Lou Johnson was looking for a title for her play, found it from a poem by her mother, Avah Pevlor Johnson. The poem, Individuation was printed in the original playbill and is printed in the acting edition, and contains the lines: "Let me dance with devils on dead stars. Let my scars leave brilliant traces"... and hence, we have the lovely title Brilliant Traces for this 2-person play. 

It was first presented by the Circle Repertory Company at the Cherry Lane Theatre in NYC in February of 1989, starring Kevin Anderson (perhaps best known as the good guy opposite Julia Roberts in Sleeping With the Enemy) and Joan Cusack (who really needs no introduction at all--- she's simply awesome). 

Brilliant Traces starts with an arresting opening image of a woman (Rosannah Deluce) in a wedding dress, coming into a small barn in the middle of nowhere Alaska, from a snowstorm. She mentions she has been driving for days until her car died, and she's been walking for over an hour in the cold--- she manages to get this brief explanation before fainting. The owner of the house, Henry Harry, who moved to nowhere to get away from the world to become a "gray man", gently places her in a bed, and waits for her to wake up. Once she does, the action of the play takes place in a 70-80 minute burst where the characters struggle (sometimes physically and violently) to connect. And while sometimes Rosannah comes off as the prototype for the "manic pixie dreamgirl" before such a trope existed, and Henry Harry often comes off as the "tortured, quiet recluse with a past", one cannot deny that Johnson gives each character vibrant words and energy.  Indeed, for quite sometime, Brilliant Traces provided rich two-minute monologues for young women particularly auditioning for theater schools. I confess, I found some the situations a bit too quirky, but it is hard not to fall under the spell of the characters. As I have stated before, energy is very important, and in a quick show like this, I think you would be hard-pressed to not be taken in by it in production if it is cast well with terrific performers (as it sounds like it was for its premiere). 

I have not been able to find a great deal of information on Cindy Lou Johnson, only enough to know that she has also written for television, and wrote and directed a film called Claude. Brilliant Traces was adapted into a Canadian TV movie in 1998, adapted into French. I did find a video from 1989-1990 from the American Theatre Wing, where she was on a panel with other cool theater artists, including Wendy Wasserstein. On this panel, she talks about having written fiction for years, but that the characters in Brilliant Traces wanted to perform. She describes the process of developing the play at the Eugene O'Neill Conference as a complete education in the craft of writing plays, and understanding how play productions actually work, as she had no real idea previously. She has fond memories of the wonderful playwrights who were of great support and gave her sense of structure. 

I would never argue that Brilliant Traces is a great play, but I think it is a good one, and, again, it is alive, and comes from a distinct voice with something to say about suffering, pain and seeking understanding and connection. This is not small feat, and give the Cindy Lou Johnson tremendous credit for this being her first play-- it is almost unbelievable, in fact, to have a debut so accomplished in character, with a great showcase for two actors to really shine. 

Writing With a Message: How and Why I Wrote "The Re-Programming of Jeremy"

The Poster from St. Paul's School's Production of my play, "The Re-Programming of Jeremy"

So, once upon a time, I wrote this play...

Actually, if you're familiar with this blog, you know I've written a number of plays.  I rarely shut about it.  In fact, in the interest of self-promotion, I will occasionally write things like "You can learn more about my plays by clicking HERE or HERE or HERE," and, of course, please feel free to do so if you're of the mind.  However, you can click on all of those links and check out all of those pages, and even though you'll learn about many of the plays, you won't learn about the play I'm going to talk about today.  This one, The Re-Programming of Jeremy remains unpublished.

But unpublished does not mean without a life of its own.

I wrote The Re-Programming of Jeremy, in its original form, back in 2010, at a rather feverish pace. The play is about a gay teen named Jeremy, who has killed himself after bullying at school and home, and then being sent to a "straight camp," that was designed to "re-program" him, cure him of his homosexuality.  The play is a series of monologues told by Jeremy's friends, family, a teacher, and the woman who ran the straight camp he was sent to.  In the first draft, Jeremy appeared only once, near the end of the play, and gave the longest monologue of all, about tolerance and acceptance.

I wrote the play in two writing sessions, at the Thompson Free Library in Dover-Foxcroft, ME. There was company at my house, and a lot going on, which made it difficult to write, and I had this burning idea I had to get down, so I brought my computer to the library and wrote fast.  The play has gone through a number of drafts since that day in 2010, but it a good deal of what I wrote over those two days still remains.

I suppose the question is, why did I feel it was so important for me to get this story down on paper? Here's the thing--- every time I heard a news story about a gay teen who committed suicide, my heart would break.  Whenever I heard a news story about a gay teen who was being bullied and ostracized, my heart would break.  Whenever I heard a news story about a so-called religious group picketing a funeral of a homosexual, not only would my heart break, I would become so angry and disgusted that people could be so cruel in the name of God.  You see, I do identify myself as a Christian, and I think Christians who spew hate speak are not really Christians at all.  Certainly they have the right not to agree with a certain type of lifestyle, no matter how much I disagree with them, but how does hate solve anything?

I had been thinking for a number of years about writing a play that deals with the subject, but every time I did, it was a piece that was attacking the issue from a very angry, overly satirical way, a way that was just as political as it was sarcastic.  A painfully dark comedy type of play.  And while I enjoy a play like that, and have written others about different subjects in that vein, that style didn't feel right to me inside for the story I wanted to tell.

I knew I wanted it to be a HUMAN story first and foremost, where the characters weren't exaggerated.  I knew I wanted the play to transcend the idea of politics, or, at least, blend the political and the personal.  And, of course, I didn't just want to be writing "with a message".  Yes, all playwrights have something to say, and all playwrights, because they are human beings, have thoughts, opinions, and issues they hold very dear.  But to attack a play just from an issue is a tricky proposition, and, at times, an empty one.  Political theater is great, and can make a difference.  It's been around since theater began.  But, if you don't have characters you can relate to, a strong story, and genuine humanity, then you are not serving any message you may be trying to impart.

I was thinking about my idea one day, when suddenly, I just knew I wanted a character to be named Jeremy, and that Jeremy didn't want to be re-programmed.  I have a female friend from college who's name is Jeremy, though she's always been called Mimi. I think that's why the name Jeremy was so strong for me, even though the character is male.  Just having the name for the character made him real to me, a human being, especially since he was named after someone who has always been a great friend to me.  And so I began to imagine Jeremy.  I didn't want him to be flamboyant, or stereotypical, but just a normal teenager with fears, joys, and hopes like any other.  But also knowing he was "different" from the norm.  And then I began to imagine his family, and how is mother wanted to understand him, but couldn't, and how is father tried so hard to love his son, but had his own demons he couldn't conquer.  And it just sort of spread from there.

There's a play I've always liked a great deal called The Incident at San Bajo by Brad Korbesmeyer.  It is a long one act that won the Heidemann Award from the Actors Theatre of Louisville.  It tells the story of a man who tried selling an elixir to residents of a trailer park.  Turns out, this man then poisoned the water of the park, and what he was selling was the antidote.  Only seven people bought it from him.  These seven people tell the story in a series of monologues.  It's a great show, captivating, and I had the chance to direct it once with a high school group.  I love how the show has a documentary feel to it, described by its publisher as a 60 Minutes segment.  The actors answer unheard questions, and tell their story.  They are in different locations, represented by different areas of the stage, and are very different types of people.

I thought this aesthetic would serve the story I wanted to tell very well.  So I decided to give it that same "documentary" type feel in my script.  When Jeremy, who is dead when the play begins, finally does appear, he is somewhat otherworldly, a complete break from the documentary, which had an effect I thought would prove to be powerful.

By writing the play as a series of monologues, it allowed me to get deeply inside each of the characters.  Now, I've never been a teenage girl, or a jock, or a gay teen for that matter, but every character, in some way, came alive for me in some way.  Even the Rev., who's views on homosexuality were the complete opposite of mine.  I found myself digging deep for the humanity of each and every one of them.  Trying to understand their beliefs and opinions, even though it was difficult at times.  And by doing so, not only do I feel the play has a strong message for audiences, the act of writing reinforced a strong message to me--- we are all people.  And though sometimes people are capable of being cruel, even without knowing they are being cruel, they are still people. It is so easy to lose sight of such things when we focus strictly on the political side of an issue.

Even though Jeremy has never been published, it remains one of my favorites of my scripts, and contains some of the best writing I have ever done.

I have a great deal more to say about The Re-Programming of Jeremy--- the initial production, which I self-produced, the wonderful people who believed in the show and helped make it stronger, and how, even now, I am working towards getting the script into as many hands and venues as possible--- but all of this will be reserved for tomorrow's blog post.  So if your curious to learn more about it,  and how it's been rewritten after different productions, and how it's changed over the years, come back tomorrow and read PART TWO of my discussion on the play.

(CLICK HERE to read part two)

And if you are a producer, or teacher, or community theater director who might be interested in reading the show and producing it, drop me a message at theater.is.a.sport@gmail.com.  The licensing rates are very negotiable and fair, and I have seen first hand how audiences react to the piece (which I'll discuss tomorrow).

Until next time--- remember, it's great to write with a message, but make sure the message comes packaged with deep characters and a good story.  And don't be afraid to let your writing teach you something along the way--- it's a great feeling.

TIPS FOR ACTORS ON PREPARING A MONOLOGUE

Greetings, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to theater is a sport. 

I don't know about you, but I love performing monologues (I also like writing them very much, but today's post is about acting).  They're juicy, aren't they?  Not only that, it gives an actor the opportunity to have the undivided attention of an audience for a little while, and to challenge themselves to be as engaging as possible for two, ten, or even twenty or more minutes. 

And, of course, monologues are often used in acting classes and for audition purposes.  I remember nervously learning my monologues when I was auditioning for acting schools, working them until they felt like they were a part of me. 

Below are a few guidelines for student and community theatre actors about preparing a monologue, whether it is for an audition or a performance, a stand alone piece, or part of play. 

MAKE SURE YOU KNOW THE PLAY
If you have taken a monologue from a play for an audition or acting class purposes, make sure you have read the ENTIRE play before performing the monologue.  This is vital in understanding where the character is, what there goals are, what they have done so far to achieve them, what obstacles are in their way... all these great questions you need to know the answer to in order to create a compelling performance. 

DEVELOP YOUR CHARACTER
Again, if you are doing a monologue for an audition or for an acting class, you need to develop a character just as you would for an entire play.  You need to develop an appropriate voice, walk, physicality, motivation... in short, all the stuff you would for a standard play. 

WHO IS YOUR CHARACTER TALKING TO?
Obviously, this is important.  Is your character talking to an unseen character?  Are they breaking the fourth wall and talking directly to the audience?  Are they talking to an unseen video camera for a documentary?  Are they talking to themselves, thinking and feeling out loud?  You need to know who you're talking to in order to sharpen your character's intentions. 

WHERE IS YOUR CHARACTER?
Obviously, this is very important as well.  People behave differently when in a library than when in a grocery store.  Or in a bedroom or in a Laundromat, etc., etc. 

WHAT DOES YOUR CHARACTER WANT?
This is a question that an actor should be aware of always, monologue or not, because a character is a collection of wants, and the actions they perform to achieve what they want.   In a monologue when it is just you speaking, it is so important to be precise in what your character wants.  Otherwise, why bother even have a monologue?  Your character needs to earn their speeches, remember.

BE CONFIDENT IN YOUR MEMORIZATION
You may not believe what I'm about to tell you.  In fact, you might be thinking, "Bobby, you're crazy."  But I have found, in my experience, that memorizing a monologue is actually quite a bit easier than memorizing little tiny lines that pop in here and there throughout a play.  Having said this, it is important to be confident in your knowledge of the piece.  The last thing you want when trying to engage an audience, teacher, or casting director, is to be thinking..."Oh, no, what's my next line".  You want to know your monologue cold, so that you can stay in the moment as much as possible.  I have always found it helpful to test my memorization by writing out the monologue... more than once.  And, of course, you should be running through it a great deal... a very great deal.  Over and over and over.

And most importantly...

YOU ARE NOT ALONE WHEN YOU ARE PERFORMING A MONOLOGUE!
Just because you are acting by yourself, it doesn't mean that you are not connected to others... your AUDIENCE is your scene partner.  You can play off of their energy as you would another actor onstage.

I hope you have found these tips somewhat helpful.  I know, from my experience, that they have always helped me. 

Until next time, please remember... Theater is a Sport.  Sometimes even a solo sport.

To learn more about my work, please click HERE, or HERE, or HERE, or HERE.

THEATER STORIES, VOL I: BOBBY KENISTON AUDITIONS FOR ACTING SCHOOL (AUDITION ADVICE, PART 2)



High School Musical production of "Once Upon a Mattress".  I'm the Jester.

How many of you high school seniors out there know, just KNOW beyond any shadow of a doubt that you want to be an actor, either for the stage or for the screen (or, of course, both)?  That's all I ever wanted growing up.  From the age of 10 and beyond I was addicted to performing, and the very notion of Bobby the Actor felt inseparable for Bobby the Person.  I read tons of plays, books about acting, biographies of Brando (oh, how I loved the stories of his early days on the Broadway stage in "A Streetcar Named Desire").  My only dream in the world was to be an actor like that, an actor who moved people and even changed people.  It was a foregone conclusion and everyone knew it, even the people who couldn't stand me--- Bobby was going to be an actor.   And, with any luck (and, I thought, why shouldn't I be able to have that?), a pretty famous and successful one.  After all, it wasn't about the fame or the applause.  It was about the process, it was about how I felt completely at home stepping on a stage (I still do), it was all about the creation of it all. 

Does this dream sound familiar to any of high school seniors out there?  Any of you who might have sufered under the label of "drama geek" or worse for quite some time, but plowed forward in the knowledge you were on the right path? 
Good.  I hope so.  Because there is nothing wrong with that dream, and it is a dream that is attainable, though not without severe focus and drive. 

The first step for many of you may well be applying to acting schools. 

One day I might write a blog about why these days I might advise promising young actors to study a broad array of subjects instead of sticking to a conservatory education, but not today.  Today is all about how I auditioned for and was accepted into Boston University's School For the Arts conservatory. 

I won't lie to you... I was scared my senior year of high school.  I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt how I wanted to proceed.  I even knew it was Boston University I wanted, more than Syracuse (where I sent a ridiculous videotaped audition, but nevertheless was accepted), more than NYU, more than anyplace else (except maybe DePaul in Chicago, but I couldn't make it to any of their auditions). 

I was scared because I was from Dover-Foxcroft, ME, a small town, and I only had a resume of community theater and school theater credits.  Also, I was very short.  And, my resume wasn't a professional resume, but a sheet of paper with a senior picture stapled to it (which, in all fairness, was considered an "acceptable" resume for the BU audition).  I knew BU's School for the Arts was (and probably still is) very selective.  I had read something like only 40 students out of 1000s who audtioned were acceped (actually, my year, the freshman class wound up being 65 I believe, one of their largest, with four five of them being from Maine).    What if I was not one of the lucky ones?  My academics were not going to save me and get me into the program (I was rather brainy in high school). 

And I was short.  (Yes, still am, but it bothered me a great deal when I was considering acting schools... I wanted to be at least 5/8", Brando's height).

Still, I knew my desire was high, and believed that it was possible I wanted it more than others, and that the Universe would help me make it happen.  So I got an audition date, and my parents rented a motel room and two bus tickets (one for me and one for my dad), and off we went.

The weeks leading up to the audition were nerve-wracking to say the very least, and filled with self-doubt and a million awful "what if" scenerios.  I had to prepare two monologues, one classical and one contemporary.  BU's packet came with samples, but I didn't want to use any of them... they didn't click with me.  For my contemporary piece, I chose a monologue from "Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma's Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feelin' So Sad", a piece from the character Jonathan, who has a heavy stutter.  For my classical monologue, I chose a monologue from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream", Puck, of course (though not his ending monologue, but a different one, telling the story of affixing the donkey head to Bottom). 

People asked me if I wanted to practice in front of them, and I turned everyone down.  I don't know why, but I decided that the only people who were going to see my audition pieces would be the people I was auditioning for.  Again, I am not recommending this, per se.  I was a weird guy.  Most people would probably want feedback from others before such an important audition, but, for some reason in my going-on-eighteen-year-old head, I wanted to either fly or fail on my own choices and merits, without any influence from anyone who was not me. 

I praciticed in the mirror a lot.  I worked tremendously hard on the stutter, making it seem as real as I could, like it took the entirety of my upper body to finally force the words out of my mouth.  I also worked hard on being "magical" for Puck, and for making the language seem like it was really coming out of my mouth.  Or, at least I did my best.

So my dad and I get to Boston in the late afternoon before my audition.  Our hotel was in walking distance from the School for the Arts.  I had very little with me.  I had decided to wear black for my aution, black pants, black t-shirt (yeah, I know, I know, but I was a kid from a small town who didn't know at all what to wear, and this all-black made me feel kind of comfortable and fairly confident.  I liked wearing black). 

The night before my audition in the hotel room my dad and I were sharing, I somewhat broke my promise to myself.  I let my dad LISTEN to me recite the monologue from "Oh Dad, Poor Dad", but wouldn't let him watch me, and I kept Puck a secret. 

So, the next morning, I walked to the School for the Arts with my dad, wearing my black and clutching my cheap resume, and found myself in a waiting room with other nervous would-be BU students, some of them talking about attending specialized drama camps, and even one kid talking about some touring company he had been a part of.  I immediately felt I was out of my league, looking at the others with their professional headshots in their hands.  I thought my chances were probably zero to negative 50. 

And, yes, I was the shortest guy in the room.

I thought I was going to be auditioning for 3 or 4 people, but it turns out I was put into a room with an audience of one, a woman named Eve who, I believe, was the assistant dean, or something of that nature.  I can't truly remember. 

She was very personable and seemed kind enough, but she did have an air of professionalism about her as well.  She had me begin with my contemporary monologue.  So I dove in. 

After about twenty seconds, she stopped me.  "Uh, Robert," she said (Oh, God, why didn't I put Bobby on my resume?  I hate being called Robert), "Could you finish the monologue without the stutter, please?"

The stutter had been one of my major keys to the character.  I had practiced over and over and over and over and over, with the stutter.  But, of course, she was in charge.  "Sure," I said.  And I went through the monologue with the same body language and didn't (I don't think) stutter again (except for maybe one tiny one).  When I finished, she merly said, "Thank you, that was a nice adjustment, Robert.  And your classical?"  And I went into my Puck monologue, and she didn't laugh once (but, then again, even though it was a part of BU's packet, she'd probably heard it a bunch... it wasn't all that obscure).  When I finished, she said, "Thank you.  Do you have any questions for me?"   "No," I said, because I didn't think I could scrounge up a coherent one for at least an hour.  "Thank you for coming," she said, then told me they would be in touch with their decision. 

I walked out of the office, and my dad and I started walking back to the hotel.  We were getting on a bus in just a few hours.  "How'd it go?" my dad asked.  "I did my best," I said, which was true, but in my mind, I was thinking, "I don't think I got this.  What am I going to do?"

Older and wiser, I have learned that one should probably never do a major audition, whether it be for school or any other professional placement, with a monologue featuring a character with any kind of speech impediment.  This never crossed my mind.  I just liked the monologue and thought I could do well.  I understand that Eve stopped me not because it wasn't right for the character, but so she could hear me SPEAK.  I also understand that my making the adjustment was probably a big bonus point in my favor. 

I never mean to be iconoclastic, but I guess, somewhat out of ignorance on my part, it kind of happens.  Becaue I got it. 

And yes, it was a happy day, probably the happiest day I had ever felt up until that point in my life.

So, I realize I'm telling you my theater story that probably contains advice that wannabe acting students should, in all liklihood, avoid.  Except for a few:

1.  Don't presume that who you are or where you're from means that you are less talented than anyone else,
and
2.  All black is always classy.

Thanks for reading my memories on this important time in my life.

Come back to Theater is a Sport tomorrow for an awesome interview with the wonderfully talented and prolific playwright, Pat Cook!  I'm so excited he agreed to be my first official interview for this blog!  You won't want to miss this one!

So, until tomorrow, remember--- theater is a sport.