Art Vs. Commerce: Is Art Getting Its Butt Kicked?

Welcome to Theater is a Sport.  My name is Bobby Keniston.  It is Wednesday, March 13th in the year of our Lord 2013.  I hope all of you lovely readers are doing well. 

I will try not to go off into a rant, but I cannot promise. 

I would like to begin by saying that I am not convinced there is a major difference in so-called "high art" and so-called "low-art", but I do believe there is a difference between practicing a craft with integrity and practicing a craft without.

I should begin by telling you something my old playwriting professor, Gladden Schrock, always told me:  theater is a vulgar medium.  By vulgar I do not mean crude--- by vulgar, I mean that it is a medium for the people, of the people.  Theater, by its design, is for all people, rich and poor, Queen or groundling.  To me, this is an unshakeable axiom.  If you disagree, perhaps you should stop reading right now. 

I am going to say something shocking here:  theater does not require a great facility.  Art finds a way.  Theater can be performed in church basements, on street corners, in drained swimming pools.... the list goes on and on.  For theater to work and connect, one needs only imagination.  It's true.  I'm not kidding. 

The problem is, well-meaning people develop grandiose ideas that theater must have a building that is a temple, a facility that looks wonderful on paper for their community.  Fancy lights!  Comfy chairs!  This way, people will come!  And yes, I want to stress that a theater should be a temple, but that does not mean the temple must be grandiose.  A grange hall putting on Neil Simon or a church basement putting on Tennessee Williams becomes a temple of the theater, even if for a short time.

So a community of actors, directors, stagehands and amateur designers all get together and find a space.  They decide to put on a season of plays.  They have dramas, comedies, a classic (maybe even Shakespeare), a musical... and, lo and behold,  Mr. Hapgood P. Artssupporter and his lovely wife who just WOULDN'T miss a show, gives a sum of money to this wonderful facility in town because "art is so important to the community".  "The wife and I especially like the comedies and musicals," Mr. Hapgood P. Artsupporter tells them as he hands them the check, "Never did understand that Shakespeare, though."  

Well, money is necessary to keep up a good facility and any organization.  And, Mr. Hapgood has a point:  the Shakespeare classic WAS the lowest attended show of the season.  And, you've got an overhead, and, dammit, this facility is important to the community... I mean, ART is important to the community!  (I am not trying to scold, I'm really not--- a nice facility is great for the community, but shouldn't what is housed in the facility have just as much pull as the building itself?)  But we can't survive on half-empty houses and a handful of advertisers... we need a steady stream of donors, maybe even an underwriter or two for our season at this important non-profit facility. 

So, let's cut the Shakespeare.  Next season, we will do some comedies, a musical or two, a serious drama, and maybe a farce (if people like the comedies, they should love the farces!).  Still a nicely balanced season, something for everyone, which is what theater is all about anyway. 

Mr. Hapgood and his wife brings their good friends, the The-ate-erLovers, who absolutely LOVE the theater, and want to hand over some money as well, because "art is so important for the community".  "Really loved that farce, and all the musicals," Mr. The-ate-erLovers says, "Great for the community.  That production of 'Streetcar Named Desire' was awful heavy, though."

Come to think of it, "Streetcar" was the least attended show.  True, it was the most raved about show of those who attended, but raves don't pay the bills.  And, this facility has become so important to the community over the last few years... we don't want to lose it!  We need to get people out.  We need to justify the ticket prices! 

You see where I'm going with this. 

It is very easy for any theater--- regional, community, what have you--- to ride the slippery slope between art and commerce.  To make allowances for what will sell well, or what you believe will sell well. 

I may be crazy for even saying this, but resist the urge.  Create good theater--- that is the number one goal.  Get people used to Chekhov and Shakespeare.  It doesn't happen overnight.  And, even before you worry about a permanent facility, put on theater wherever you can... get people hungry for it... then worry about a facility, overhead, etc. 

Yes, so often it feels like we are living in a society where people do not wish to be challenged anymore.  Where reality television runs supreme, where we are so scared of making our audiences think, that we'd rather just feed them white bread over and over again, because at least we know they like it. 

Sadly, this is not the purpose of art.  Yes, art should entertain, but it should also inspire.  And yes, money is important to survive, obviously, but what is the point of a theater surviving if it is compromising its very purpose and mission?

There has to be room for everything.  A community theater needs to push itself, needs to allow itself to grow.  It cannot fear a production that doesn't have sold out houses.... hopefully, the big farce at the end of the season will help make up for it. 

And here's the deal:  eventually, audiences will buy their own white bread and eat it at home.  There are so many screens there to occupy their time and help them to keep from thinking for awhile.  Make the live stuff a NECESSITY.  Make the live stuff VITAL.  Inspire, provoke, but, most importantly, CREATE.

Maybe just try putting on a Pinter instead of your tenth Neil Simon.  Maybe try an evening of new voices instead of holding "Little Mary Sunshine" over for another week. 

I'm not going to lie... Art is getting its butt kicked by commerce almost all of the time.  Let's try to give art a fighting chance, particularly in the theater.  Leave commercials to TV and 3D remakes for the cinemas. 

Let theater be about art.  And then, when people who are seeking art open their wallets, it will be in your modest or surpreme facility.  And either way, it will be a temple.

Thanks for reading.  If you want to learn more about me, follow the links at the end of the post.  If you would like to subscribe to my blog, you can enter your e-mail in the space at the top of this page where it says "submit". 

Hope you are well.  And please remember:  Art is permanent, money is temporary, and, yes, theater is a sport.

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How to Write a Play or How to Enjoy Repeatedly Banging Your Head Against the Wall, Lesson 5: Making a Contract With Your Audience

Hello, my name is Bobby Keniston, and welcome to Theater is a Sport.  Today is Tuesday, so any regular reader knows that I'm here to talk about writing a play today.  Yippie!

Today I wanted to talk about the most important contract a playwright must uphold.  It is not with a producer, though, please be sure to check the fine print, and it is not with a publisher even though I readily admit you should read it carefully before you sign. 

The contract I'm talking about today is the contract you make with your audience. 

When a person sits down to watch a play, this viewer enters into a contract with the playwright (and the production in general) within the first few minutes.  Children's audiences can be both the easiest and the hardest audiences to have a contract with--- easiest because if you have your character say, "Hi!  I'm Paul Bunyon!", the kids will most likely respond, "Hi Paul!"  This is a good thing, because children are much more in tune with their imaginations than adults and will accept a given circumstance at a word.  However, they can be the hardest to maintain the contract with because they seem to have an inherent, visceral understanding of storytelling--- in short, if you have characters behaving in ways that don't ring true, a new plot development that feels false, and they will tune out and let you know they have tuned out. 

It is the same with adults, only perhaps adults are not as exuberant in their praise or disdain (I should say, "some adults", as there are others who are pretty exuberant).  Generally, though, I would hypothesize that adults take a little bit longer to accept the given circumstances of a play, but will also give the author a tiny bit more leeway when things may seem to be going awry, whether in a plot or in a character.  Perhaps adults are more accustomed to what seem like non sequiturs in real life.

All right, let's talk about some different types of contracts.

Let's take a look at this short exchange from Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf:

GEORGE:  Just don't start on the bit, that's all.
MARTHA:  The bit?  The bit?  What kind of language is that?  What are you talking about?
GEORGE:  The bit.  Just don't start in on the bit.
MARTHA:  You imitating one of your students, for God's sake?  What are you trying to do?  WHAT BIT?
GEORGE:  Just don't start in on the bit about the kid, that's all?
MARTHA:  What do you take me for?
GEORGE:  Much too much.
MARTHA:  (really angered)  Yeah?  Well I'll start in on the kid if I want to.
GEORGE:  Just leave the kid out of this.
MARTHA:  (Threatening)  He's mine as much as he is yours.  I'll talk about him if I want to.
GEORGE:  I'd advise against it, Martha.

All right--- aside from giving us further ideas about how these characters interact, the great Mr. Albee (and his is very great, in my humble opinion) is also making a contract with the audience in this moment.  Because so much energy is spent by George in this short passage to not bring up the "bit about the kid", and Martha returns the energy with forceful assurances she will "talk about him if I want to", Mr. Albee is telling the audience that "the bit about the kid" is very important.  Now, like any other good playwright, Mr. Albee will proceed to lay in even more hints about the kid throughout this very long play. 

So--- imagine, if after this exchange, "the bit about the kid" was never brought up again.  That this detail was never discussed again for the entirety of the show.  This is the kind of detail my playwriting professor, Gladden Schrock, would have called an 8-foot bear, meaning, you, as a writer, have to address it later on.  You have to.  Why?  Because by bringing it up to the audience in the first place, you have made a contract with them.

Make sense?   (Sorry---- that's something I say to my actual students quite a bit in the classroom--- "make sense?")

Let's look at another example of a contract a writer makes with the audience, though, this time, not about plot, but about overall aesthetic and tone. 

Anton Chekhov's Uncle Vanya, another favorite play of mine, is a family comedy/drama (I'm not saying that it is "for the whole family", I'm saying it is about family, as well as other things).  Throughout the play we see the conflict between Vanya and the Professor, Vanya's flirtations with the young wife of the professor, Vanya's growing disgust not only with himself, but with the Professor, a man he once admired.  At the end, there is a big blow-up when the Professor wants to sell the estate, ultimately kicking Vanya, Vanya's mother, and Vanya's niece out into the cold, after they had worked for years keeping the estate and sending all of their money to the Professor.  Vanya has a bit of a breakdown, accusing the Professor of ruining his life.  It is a powerful moment, and a somewhat inevitable one.

Let's say, just for argument's sake, that all of a sudden, here in late Act III or a four-act play, Chekhov decided, as Vanya was breaking down, to have him turn into a giant cockroach.  Out of nowhere.  Boom, suddenly Vanya is a big cockroach.  And then, amazingly, in act four, Vanya was back to being human and no one even mentioned the fact that he had turned into a cockroach at all. 

I know this is a ridiculous example, of course, but it is also a clear one of a playwright breaking an aesthetic contract.  Yes, I know, I threw in some Kafka, and you might say, "Well, if it works for Kafka, why not for Chekhov?"  The answer is simple--- Kafka sets up a very different contract than what Chekhov does.

The same is true for an absurdist like Ionesco.  He can have people turning into rhinos because that's the contract he sets up from the beginning. 

There is a movie out there called From Dusk til Dawn that I know a lot of people like.  It was a movie I was looking forward to when I was in high school, because I was a big Tarantino fan.  However, when I saw the film, I was disappointed.  The first half is a very serious crime drama, where you get to know the characters in a certain way.  I was very entertained by it.  Suddenly, in the second half, the movie becomes about vampires, and relishes in a B-movie cheesy aesthetic, the characters too, suddenly becoming B-movie cut-outs.  I happen to like B-movies.  I also happen to like crime dramas.  So why was I disappointed with From Dusk til Dawn?

Because it cheated.  It did not write or direct itself into a B-movie from the crime drama.  It just went there.  The characters did not naturally transform into B-movie heroes and heroines, they just went there.  In short, a contract was broken with me, the viewer. 

I'm not saying you can't have tonal shifts in your play.  I'm a fan of tonal shifts, and a fan of genre-bending.  But you have to EARN it.  You have to WORK FOR IT.  You can't just plop the audience there and say, "hey, it's still fun, right?"

It may still be fun.  But that doesn't mean it's still good, or, even worse, still satisfying. 

Your audience, if they've stuck with you for any length of time, deserves to be satisfied. 

To go right to PLAYWRITING LESSON NUMBER 6, simply click HERE

Okay, that's all we have time for today at Theater is a Sport.  If you want to learn more about me, please feel free to follow the links at the end of the post.  In the meantime, this is Bobby Keniston reminding you to respect the contracts you make with an audience, and please remember--- theater is not only a craft and an artform... it is also a sport.

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A Note About Competition, Part 2: My Kids

Welcome to Theater is a Sport.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and it is going to be an abbreviated post tonight.

So tomorrow is the big day, the day we have been working toward for the last eight weeks or so.

Tomorrow, my kids and I head to the one-act play competition sponsored by the Maine's Principal Association, where we will be competing against four four other schools for the opportunity to move on to the State Festival in a couple of weeks. 

In truth, there's not a whole lot more to be done now.  My kids have performed the show twice, we've been working on strengthening it this week, and, come Saturday at 3pm, it is going to be performed for the judges, and they will be the deciding factor in whether we win or not.  Regardless of what happens, my kids have worked hard, and the process has been an educational one, and they've made tremendous strides in understanding a rather difficult play with difficult characters. 

No matter what, of course, I am proud of them.  No matter what, of course, they have no reason to feel like anything but winners.

And yet, I want them to win.  I want our play to win. 

Not because I wrote the play, and feel like it is a good one, more than capable of winning.  It's called Aeroplane Over the Sea, for those interested, and it is published by Brooklyn Publishers.  I will one day write a blog post all about how and why I wrote the play.

And no, I don't want to win out of some pressing feeling of bringing a trophy home to our school, although that would be nice.

And I don't want to win for any kind of self-validation, a pat on the back, proving I do my job well.  I do my job the best that I can, my student actors seem to like me and trust me.  I am lucky in this.  A trophy, while nice, cannot give me a sense of "job well done", especially if I don't feel it in myself already.  The only person who really knows if I've done my job to the best of my ability is me, and I believe I have. 

I want to win for my kids.  My kids deserve to be winners, and that is why I want to win.  No matter what I can possibly say, whenever you compete, no matter how great a sportsperson you are, winning feels so much better than not winning.  I know this because I have been fortunate to win a few things in my life--- maybe not as many as I would like, and certainly my life is not perfect, but I do have memories of being a winner for some events that have mattered to me. 

And I want my kids to have that.

It's funny--- for a guy who has yet to have been blessed with children, I am using the term "my kids" an awful lot.  And, no, I don't suppose I even say it in a paternal way, but merely as a teacher to their students, but that is something.  It is still a position where an authority figure develops a genuine caring for a group of young people's successes and challenges. 

As I said, we have done what we can, and as long as they stand on that stage Saturday and do the best that they can do, then there is nothing more to be done.  And I know they will do their best out there.  Thus, in so many ways, things are out of my hands at this point (especially after our tech time at competition). 

So why can't I relax?

I suppose it is becaue I second guess myself, wonder what more I could have done to prepare these students.  After all, I know what to expect from these competitions.  Have I really done all I could do to prepare them? 

I think so. 

So much depends on the opinions of three people.  Three people.  Three people with thoughts, opinions, and personal tastes that can't be turned off.  It's not like scoring a touchdown or getting a ball through a hoop (which, of course, have their own challenges).  I mean, sure, there are the mechanics of it, vocal projection, memorization, character work, concentration, all of that good stuff, but at the end of the day, honestly, it comes down to what the judges liked better.  It really does.  And I am not putting them down for being impartial--- they are human beings. 

In any case, this will be a valuable experience for my kids (there I go again), and we will get to watch a bunch of theater over a few days, meet some like-minded people, and then just hope for the best. 

I most likely will not have another post for Theater is a Sport until Sunday.  My time is going to be pretty well taken up these next few days, and I won't be at home. 

So, until then, send warm thoughts to me and my students, and remember:  competition can bee good, and theater is a sport.

Bobby Keniston's Advice On Rehearsals, Part One: The Read-Through

A rehearsal shot from my play, "The Re-Programming of Jeremy" at Lakewood Theater

Greetings drama lovers, and welcome to Theater is a Sport.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and tonight, after a number of posts about writing, I am going to offer some advice for rehearsing plays for school and community theater.  As someone who has directed a great deal of plays for both, I thought I'd give you a little insight about what has worked for me in the past, and some things that haven't.  Tonight's piece of advice is all about what I believe should be the first type of rehearsal for any theatrical production:  the first read-through.

Don't worry--- I will have other posts dealing with some tips for pre-production, but tonight I want to focus on the first time everyone is together.  The read-through, also called a table read, is a vital part of any endeavor that involves a script, and should be considered the foundation from which the rest of the rehearsal process is erected.   Professional theatre and even films have table reads, and I strongly advise every school and community theater to have them as well.

The first read-through is when the actor's gather with the director and other members of the technical crew and read through the script out loud.  Sounds simple enough, right?  It's the first time everyone gets to hear the words leap off the page and provides an understanding of the flow of the script, displaying all of its strengths and weaknesses (Theater gods willing, the latter will far outnumber the former).

This read-through needn'd be around a table, though, of course, a table is a nice hard surface for taking notes.  I've been part of read-throughs that take place in a living room, or even outside on a beautiful summer day, stretched out on a lawn.  Whatever location you choose, however, you should make sure that everyone can be heard, and that distractions are minimal (which is why having them outside is a bit of a danger).

Below, I will outline some advice for what directors should attempt to achieve from the first read-through, followed by some advice for actors.

ADVICE FOR SCHOOL AND COMMUNITY THEATRE DIRECTORS FOR A READ-THROUGH:

Read-throughs can and should set the tone for the rest of the rehearsal process.  If you allow it to become a silly gag-fest, beware---- you'll have no one but yourself to blame  if subsequent rehearsals fall into the same silliness. 

My advice is to make the read-through as warm and welcoming as possible.  Keep the actors at ease--- they will most likely be a little nervous, particularly if they don't have a great deal of experience.  And even if they do, the outset of any new production can be nerve-racking.  They could easily be thinking to themselves a number of the following:  What if I stumble over my words?  What if no one laughs when I deliver a laugh line?  What if everyone thinks I suck?  As director, it is your job to keep people as relaxed as possible.  Stress the idea that no one is expecting a perfect "performance" sitting around the table--- it is the first of many steps toward creating a production. 

Before you start reading the script, have everyone sit in some form of a circular shape so everyone can see everyone, and go around, having everyone introduce themselves, the job they have or the part they are playing, and maybe a word or two about themselves.  Once that is finished, I suggest giving a bit of an introduction about how you see the script and your plans for the production (not too detailed yet--- save that for after), and then begin. 

After the read-through, that is a time to start talking in-depth about your goals, thoughts, and visions for the piece.  Encourage a conversation with your actors about the story and how their characters help to tell it.  This is the first spark of "character work" for a school or community theater production.  Talk about what the play actually means, and what you hope to have the audience glean from it as well.  Encourage the actors to share their opinions (if they are diametrically opposed to yours, now is the time to nip that in the bud by gently steering them toward the goals as you have set them). 

If you have had pre-production meetings with the set designer (or, in the case of a lot of community theater, the person who has graciously agreed to help build the set), have them talk about the plan and the layout of the stage.  If they have blueprints or sketches, show them to the actors.  Likewise with the costume designer.

ADVICE FOR SCHOOL AND COMMUNITY THEATRE ACTORS FOR A READ:THROUGH:

First off, congratulations!  You got the part!  Good for you!  Whether you've been doing shows for years, or haven't been in a play in fifteen years, it's okay to be nervous and excited as you approach this new undertaking that will be utilizing a great deal of your time for the next 6 to 8 weeks or so.

The first read-through is a chance for the technical crew, including the director, to hear the play out loud, with all of the actors finally together.  While you will want to do a good job, remember, no one is expecting you to show up to the first read-through with a full performance already memorized.  In fact, speaking as a community theatre director, that is the last thing I want.  The process is about buidling to a performance level, and I get a little nervous when I see an actor who already seems to have their performance locked in their mind at the first read-through... after all, where do you go from that?

Having said this, I do believe that every actor should at least read through the script a number of times before the first read-through, and familiarize yourself with the story and how your character helps to tell it.  I also highly recommend highlighting your lines and stage directions (you can use different colors if you want).... a lot of directors throw out stage directions (I have been known to do so), but, at the very least, highlight your lines.  It helps your brain, it really does, and certainly helps your eyes find where you speak during the first read-through.  I've also found that highlighting is often the very first step that starts your brain on the journey of memorization.  It's a good thing.

If you like, it wouldn't hurt to actually read your lines out loud once or twice before the read-through.  If there are words you don't know, look them up before the read-through, find out correct pronounciations, definitions, etc.  It saves time in the long run.

When you get to the actual read-through, have fun with it.  Now is the time to meet the  people who are going to become like family very soon.  This is part of the reason you got involved with community theatre in the first place, right?  Because you love to act, and you wanted to meet some new people!  Well, here you are!  Enjoy it! 

Remember to be respectful of the work the director and designers have already put into it.  There will be a time to express opinions, particularly when asked for them, but do not be judgemental of the designers work.  As an actor, your job is to act--- while it is okay to have opinions, it is not okay to say things like, "Is that really how you see the second act office scene?  I saw it more like..."  Please, please refrain from this, and also any unsolicited advice to your fellow actors. 

Most of all, appreciate the fact that this read-through is going to lead you to discover how the play works on a different level.  There is a big difference between reading the play and hearing it in your mind and then listening to a group of people read it out loud.  You'll most likely be amazed to see what one of your cast members does with a line you just thought of as a throwaway. 

I personally love table work, both as an actor and a director.  You can't stay with it for too long, but for the time that you do, it is a valuable time to analyze and intellectualize before putting the play on its feet and into the actors' bodies.  It's a time for a bit of the mind workout before the physical workout gets underway.  Use this time at the table to your advantage.

Thank you for reading this post.  If you would like to learn more about me, well, you can follow the links at the end of the post.  I'll see you tomorrow.  In the meantime, please remember:  theater is not only a craft and an artform.  Theater is a sport. 

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How to Write a Play or How to Enjoy Repeatedly Banging Your Head Against a Wall, Lesson 4: Exposition (Blame it on the Maid)

Hello everyone and welcome to Theater is a Sport.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and today is Tuesday, March 5, in the Year of Our Lord 2013.  Since the Mayan calendar proved false, today, like every Tuesday, is playwriting tutorial day! 

I am going to assume that you have all read lessons 1-3, read some plays, thought about the structure of your favorite TV shows and movies, written a monologue, pondered the importance of conflict, and written a two-person scene demonstrating your knowledge of the aforementioned conflict, and are now ready to start looking at some of the big nuts and bolts of the craft of being a playwright.

(Note:  For those of you curious, a person who writes plays is called a playwright, not because people misspelled the word "write", but because a "wright" of any kind was a craftsperson back in the old days.  "Playwright" is literally someone who crafts plays.  Neat, huh?)

One very important nut (or if you prefer, bolt) is exposition.  Every playwright struggles with how exposition is handled, so, be prepared:  this is where the banging your head against the wall might start looking like more than mere hyperbole on my part. 

Exposition is backstory.  It is all the stuff that has happened before the play starts, but that is important to the play.  For instance, in Hamlet, we know the fact that Hamlet's father died and his uncle married his mother is all exposition, information outside the present action of the play, but, clearly very vital information for the play to work. 

If you have ever read a review of a play or a movie, you might have heard a critic refer to a certain piece as having "clunky exposition".   For some reason, "clunky" is the negative adjective I see paired with exposition the most often.  I suppose it makes sense:  exposition can be very clunky.  I have written clunky exposition (particularly in first drafts), and if you decide to write a play, so will you.  It gets easier with time.  It takes practice.

Once upon a time, murder mysteries used to be written using a certain tool to get most of the exposition out of the way in one big swoop--- the maid.  Yes, there are several old murder mysteries that seem to begin with a maid answering the phone and saying way more than what seems necessary in what the audience hears as one side of a conversation.  Tom Stoppard parodies this technique to great effect in The Real Inspector Hound.  Just for fun, I will create an example for you here and now.  Please feel free to bask in this clunkerific passage:

ACT I
SCENE 1

SETTING:  The parlor of well-to-do PROFFESOR WAINSCOTT.  The furniture is plush and expensive, with gorgeous carpeting and exquisite art adorning the wall.  There is a makeshift bar stage right.  Stage left is an ornate stand sporting a telephone. 

AT RISE:  MISS SPANKME, a young maid, is dusting the parlor when the phone rings.  She answers the phone.

MISS SPANKME:  Good evening, Professor Wainscott's residence.  No, I'm afraid Professor Wainscott cannot come to the phone right now.  He is finishing up his notes on the psychology of escaped convicts murdering everyone in their path.  And what a time to be writing such a piece, with a real-life escaped convict on the loose today!  Everyone knows he has it in for the good Professor, who put him behind bars 3 years ago!  This brute swore at the time he would have his revenge on the Professor, no matter how long it took!  (slight pause)  Oh, no, the Professor is not one to live in fear!  A brave man he is, far braver than a young lass like me could ever hope to be, me not having any real education to speak of.  The Professor still plans to hold his dinner party tonight, which will be attended by the famous Doctor, Peter Plankow and his new wife, who everyone says is too young for him, Mayor Breckenwith, who's trying to gain support for his re-election campaign, and, just for fun, Madam Batty, who claims to be a psychic.  I sure hope the bridge holds out in this hurricane weather.  I wouldn't want anyone to be trapped here until morning with a crazy escaped convict on the loose, and I pray we won't lose power.  (Pause.  BUTLER enters and listens in)  Oh, no, I'm sure we'll all be right as rain.  The only door in the house that remains unlocked is the back door way 'round.  So sweet.... the good Professor keeps that door unlocked so that his estranged wife, who disappeared without a word five years ago this very night, may always have a way to come back into the house and into his arms.  (pause)    Yes, I'll tell the good Professor you called.  (she hangs up)

BUTLER:  Miss Spankme!  Just who were you talking to?

MISS SPANKME:  (wheels around, surprised)  My Lord!  You gave me quite a fright, Mr. Pruneface!

BUTLER:  (not playing around)  Who were you talking to?

MISS SPANKME:  Just the New York Times, sir.  They wanted to see if Professor Wainscott wanted to renew his subscription.

END SCENE

Pretty ridiculous, right?  But that's not the only way exposition can be clunky.  Here's another example I'll make up for you:

JENNIFER:  Hello, dead beet ex-husband.  What are doing here?

PHIL:  You know why I'm here, ex-wife, who I divorced a year ago because we couldn't make things work.  If it wasn't for our two children, Mark, age 8 and Kara, age 6, I would have nothing to do with you!

JENNIFER:  You're just mad because the judge awarded me the house, car, and seventy percent of all our possessions.  You should be grateful  you still have your job on the police force, where you've been working for 10 years, and that you haven't seemed to inherit your father's heart disease, which he died from at the young age of 38.  Hey... you're turning 38 this weekend, aren't you?

END SCENE

The trick with exposition is to add it slowly and subtlety into conversation, and do your best to make it feel like a part of real conversation, and not an excuse to give the audience information.  It is also a good idea to place your exposition throughout new information if at all possible, but that's not always necessary.  Again, this takes practice.  An audience needs exposition to know what's going on, but if you hammer them with too much exposition at a time, it not only feels phony, but it can take an audience out of the present circumstances if it goes unchecked.  And you don't want to take the audience out of the present too much--- in fact, the goal is to want the audience to be eagerly wanting to know what happens next, not what happened three years ago or ten years ago, except as to how those things might effect the here and now.

Here's a little exchange from my play The Girl I'm Gonna Marry, available from Heuer Publishing.  In this scene, MIRANDA has been stood up at her wedding, and is talking to her best friend SIMON.  Unbeknownst to Miranda, Simon has always been in love with Miranda.  Oh, yeah--- and Miranda's a little drunk.

MIRANDA:  You're the only man that I trust.  And I love you, and always have.  We should get married.  How 'bout it?  It would be fun.

SIMON:  Well, we were engaged once.  Do you remember?

MIRANDA:  Whaaa?  (Pause- realizing)  Oh my God!  That's right.

SIMON:  When we were in college.  Philip and I were roommates....

MIRANDA:  You poor boy.

SIMON: Admit it:  he's grown on you.

MIRANDA:  Like a fungus you get used to, but go on.

SIMON:  Thank you.  It was that night we went grocery shopping because we were sick of dining hall food, and so we were at the grocery store and it had one of those little quarter vending machines...

MIRANDA:  With the plastic rings!  You know, they're like fifty cents now.

SIMON:  Yup.  And there in the store...

MIRANDA:  In the dairy aisle.  I remember, 'cause it was cold and smelled like yogurt...

SIMON:  I got down on one knee, and I proposed to you.  I asked you to spend the rest of your life with me.

MIRANDA:  And I said yes!

SIMON:  That's right.  But we never set a date.  (beat)  We should have set a date the second you said yes.

MIRANDA:  I always thought you seemed a little too serious that night.

END SCENE

Now, I'm not going to argue this is a perfect scene, but within in it, we have Simon and Miranda remembering a key event in their lives and telling the story together.  Meanwhile, we see that they are beginning to look at each other in a different way, while also learning about how they interact with one another--- comfortable, familiar, homey.  Again, it may not be perfect, but it's not as clunkeriffic as Maid Exposition, that much I'm certain of. 

So, try things out.  Keep your exposition in small doses, letting the info out when needs to be out, and try to avoid putting it into the mouths of people (like a maid or butler) who are only there for the sole purpose of being Mr. or Miss Exposition.  Characters should have more of a purpose for existing than to catch the audience up on what has happened in the the last five years leading up to the event of the play. 

I hope you have found this lesson on exposition enjoyable.  Once again, I'm Bobby Keniston.  If you want to know more about me or Theater is a Sport, feel free to check out the following links: 
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To go directly to PLAYWRITING LESSON NUMBER 5, simply click HERE

I'll see you tomorrow for some more theater talk.  Until then, please remember:  theater is a sport, and don't blame your exposition on the maid.

Young Adult: Why is Theater for High School at a Different Standard For High School Literature?

Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to Theater is a Sport.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and I'd like to thank you for stopping by and reading my thoughts tonight.

First of all, don't be frightened by the big "R" rating at the top of this post.... this blog is intended for students and adults alike, so I will never abuse that and suddenly go crazy with my almost natural penchant for profanity (I kid, I kid).  Last night, in my blog post about Death and Pez, I wrote how I had to make a few changes in order to be published in my market, which, primarily is youth and high school.  Death and Pez was the first of my plays I was asked to make changes to for that purpose, but not the last...  Frankie and the Gingerbread Boy jumps to mind as another.  The funny thing is, neither of these plays, were they a movie, would have been rated higher than a PG (or at the very most, PG-13) in their original forms.  Still, while it is all right to explore some darker themes in my market, it appears to be a huge No-No to have even the slightest appearance of adult language.   Forgive me, let me correct myself--- Young Adult language.

I work for a school, a high school, and I also happen to have a very good memory of my own life in high school.  And, I don't mean to shock anyone or ruffle any feathers, but I have some news for everyone out there--- many, many high school students have been known to swear and use vulgur language.  Sorry to have to tell you this.  But it is the truth.  I, myself, could have quite the "potty mouth" when I was in high school (and, yes, I still can now), and I was not considered a "bad" kid.... in fact, I was at the top of my class.  Very respected.  But, when I was hanging out with my friends, my language could turn as blue as the sky.

What am I getting at, you might ask?  Well, as a writer for the high school play market, I cannot write a scene between two high school students and have the dialogue reflect how so many actual high school students talk.   Well, at least, I can't do that and expect to be published for the high school market.  Or, if some high school publisher were brave enough to publish it, it would not receive a wide audience... perhaps a couple of "brave" high schools, but that would be about it.    This is a fact I am always conscious of when I am writing a play for the high school market.  I sometimes  try to push the envelope a bit, but never enough to get past a PG or PG-13 rating.  Can't imagine even trying to reach for an R.  That wouldn't pay the bills. 

I'm not complaining, not really, but I do find it a little curious.  One of the highest ranking and bestselling novels of 2012 was a Young Adult novel called The Fault in Our Stars, by Printz-winning author John Green.  Time Magazine called The Fault in Our Stars the number one book of the year, and, I also believe it to be a very moving book, and I find John Green a talented and important writer for Young Adults.  His first novel Looking For Alaska, was compared favorably (and justifiably) with The Catcher in the Rye, his second novel An Abundance of Katherines is an interesting post modern look at the road trip and the teen relationship, his third, Paper Towns, is a fascinating high school mystery of sorts, and Will Grayson, Will Grayson, a novel he co-wrote with David Levithan, is an interesting story dealing with teenage homosexuality.  Every one of his books feature characters who talk frankly and bluntly--- his characters ruminate about sex, drop four letter words, and misbehave in many ways.  If there were film adaptations, they would not escape an R rating without some cutting. 

And yet, I am not saying John Green should not write the way he does.  I applaud him, and several other writers for teens, for being honest in their work.  Furthermore, John Green is doing great things with his fame, organizing people through YouTube for important projects to "decrease world suck", and, in that regard, making a true difference. 

The only point I'm making, is that if I tried to be the John Green of high school theater, I would not be published or produced.  Don't get me wrong--- John Green has faced his share of controversey, and there have been bans threatened on his books.  But, he is published, lauded, and widely read. 

Grown up professional theater could certainly have teenage characters talking like they truly talk--- but it can't happen for high school theater.  I understand it--- I do.  There is a big difference between a student reading books with inappropriate language, and standing on stage spouting inappropriate language.  It is in the performance where the difference lies.  Mom, Dad, Granny and Grampa don't want to sit in the high school auditorium listening to little junior using language that would make Quentin Tarantino blush (or cheer).  It's the way it is, and I write to be published and produced, so I have to follow these guidelines.

Still, some days, I would love to let it all go, so maybe students would say I write as honestly for teens as John Green does.

Thank you for tuning into Theater is a Sport.  If you would like to learn more about me or become a fan, follow these links below:
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I'll see you tomorrow with an all new playwriting lesson!  Until then, remember:  theater is a sport!

Teen Angst, The Grim Reaper, and Candy Toys: How and Why I Was Inspired to Write "Death and Pez"

A Skull Pez Dispenser, Like the One Given to Me by My Friend Darald Long Ago

Greetings everyone!  My name is Bobby Keniston, and welcome to Theater is a Sport.  For people who have been reading my posts fairly regularly, I want to apologize for missing the last few days.  I was going through upweek and opening night for an evening of one-acts with my high school students.  Come upweek, it seems that my whole life is nothing but making sure my plays go off as smoothly as possibly. 

Of the blog posts I have missed, one would have been an interview with a theater professional, the other, a piece about the inspiration behind one of my published plays.  I have decided to take this opportunity to get us somewhat back on track by talking about how and why I wrote my third published play, a ten minute piece called Death and Pez.

Of my plays, Death and Pez has the longest history.  When I was a lad, back in high school, I was fortunate my freshman and sophmore years to be a part of a program called Gifted and Talented Theater.  I knew back when I was in middle school that I wanted to be a part of this program, because my oldest sister, Shannon, had been, along with her good friend Kenny.  The Gifted and Talented program consisted of other arts as well:   Gifted and Talented Visual Arts, Gifted and Talented Writing, Gifted and Talented Dancing... but I was certain I wanted to do Theater.  When the time came around for eighth graders to audition for Theater and submit work for the other GT programs, I decided I'd play it safe and also go out for GT Writing.  The work I submitted for the writing was a very strange mock newspaper called The Journal:  Swarms of Unhappiness, which, in my fandom of SNL, read like a Weekend Update routine.  It was around the time of the Rodney King verdict and ensuing riots in California, and there was a lot of dark humor in it.  For my audtion piece for GT Theater, I wound up doing a dramatic reading of The Owl and the Pussycat, as if I was a guest lecturer for an old ladies' poetry club.  I had roped my friend Sean into audtioning as well. 

Long story short, we both got in.  I also was accepted into GT Writing, but I had to choose one or the other, so I chose theater. 

The way the Gifted and Talented program worked was for one day, every other week, we would get bussed to Guilford High School and spend a day studying theater with kids from surrounding school districts.  The theater class was taught by David Greenham, a graduate of Syracuse, and a very funny fellow, who went on to be the Artistic Director for the Theater at Monmouth here in Maine for quite some time (I believe as of this writing that he has moved on from there).  Sean and I were both nervous our first GT class, and, really, remained nervous for much of the first year.  I remember the first class, and my first real introduction to Dave:  he had everyone new to the program speak about why they wanted to be involved.  I gave this big speech about how I had been acting since I was a little kid, and how I felt so alive and wonderful whenever I was in a play, how nothing else had ever compared, blah, blah, blah, and the entire time Dave was listening to me with a serious expression, nodding his head, and when I finished, he kept the same serious look on his face and said, "Huh.  Just wait until you start having sex, Bobby."

Gifted and Talented Theater was some of the most fun I ever had in high school.  We spent a great deal of time playing theater games, learing to improvise, learning monologues, some forays into theatrical make-up, stage combat, all kinds of good stuff.  When it came to near the end of the year, we put on a final presentation with all the other GT programs on a special night.  The first year it was done in Dover-Foxcroft, and Dave wrote a short piece called "The History of Dover and Foxcroft", where I had a very small part. 

The second year of GT, Sean and I were a lot more comfortable, and our friend Jeff auditioned as well and got into the program.  I knew most of the people this year, many good friends returning, and, somehow, Sean and I were far more confident, participating a great deal and having a lot of fun.  Jeff was kind of known as the quiet guy, which would play a big part of how he was cast in the final productiion that year. 

The final production that year.... ah, alas, it turned out to be the final production of Gifted and Talented program ever.... came from a series of improvisations and a short skit I had written about the Grim Reaper visiting a stressed high school boy, and the high school boy trying to bargain for his life by giving Death a skull Pez Dispenser (which the boy called a "Death" Pez Dispenser).  My friend Darald had kind of gotten me into collecting Pez dispensers--- I actually still have quite a collection, though I don't actively collect them anymore.  Sean played the Grim Reaper, I played the boy.  The imrovs started growing around my boy character pre and post... well, dying, leading our production to be called Bobby's Dead.  Catchy title, huh?  My folks loved it. 

The production opened with our narrators, TJ and Dan, lampooning the other Gifted and Talented programs.  Throughout the show, a group a of cast members would come onstage during our scenes saying, "So, sorry, we're the school board, and there are budget cuts", and then remove our furniture set pieces.  After I died, I didn't appear anymore, but the Grim Reaper did.  I remember lying on the floor, dead, while Heron, the guy playing my father, yelled at me for being lazy and how I hadn't mowed the lawn, before everyone in my family was distracted by Pez.  Jeff, the quiet one, would sit off in the corner saying nothing, and his thoughts (usually sarcastic ones) were pre-recorded.  At the end, the Grim Reaper killed the narrators, and Jeff stood up and silently applauded. 

In any case, I guess the middle piece, the scene with the boy and the Grim Reaper, was the first thing I had ever written that was put on its feet.  After Rumplestislkin the R-Dawg, Hip-Hop Minstrel and Confession:  Kafka in High School were picked up for publication, I was going through an old box and found a copy of Bobby's Dead.  It brought back the great high school memories, but I also really still liked the premise for the little play.

Not much but the premise remains in Death and Pez.  It is still funny, but I removed a great deal of the irreverent humor to make it publishable for my market (including removing the exchange "I can't believe I'm going to die a virgin!", with Death responding, "Hey, you've got five minutes, and that girl next door--- whoo-hoo!").  And, of course, now, the boy in the script, who has been renamed Reggie, lives at the end.   Death was trying to teach him a lesson all along, about not taking hiimself too seriously, about gathering rosebud while ye may and all that.  It's actually one of my best-selling ten minute scripts, and has been produced quite a few times and used at forensics competitions.  I'm very fond of it and think it is a good piece (though a part of me still misses the anarchist spirit of the original). 

Yes, after we fictionalized the school board taking our sets, well, funding for Gifted and Talented went away (I don't think it was our fault though), which made me very sad.  I missed getting on a bus every other week and spending a day honestly exhibiting how theater can be a sport.  But I am thankful to Dave for all the fun we had in that class, and for teaching me the building blocks of how to really be a theater professional.   That's why I dedicated Death and Pez to him, the only one of my plays thus far that is dedicated to someone other than my ideal reader. 

I hope you've enjoyed reading about my inspiration for Death and Pez.  If you would like to read more about it, you can follow this link here:  http://www.brookpub.com/default.aspx?pg=sd&st=DEATH+AND+PEZ&p=1781

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Okay, once again, I'm Bobby Keniston, back in action, and until next time, please remember:  theater is not only a craft and an artform--- it is also a sport.