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Well, it’s been a long road for me and this play. It started as an exercise in Mike Geither’s English 612 class sometime in February or March of 2007. The exercise, toward the bottom of this entry: http://weebelly.com/04/working-theatrically/, led to Timothy and Spooky running around a campfire.

As nearly as I can remember the play started off like a normal one for me. Two characters in a rather bland exchange:

Timothy: Hey, Spooky, whachya up to?

Spooky: I don’t like being called ‘Spooky,’ thank you so goddam very much, I thank you.

Timothy: Okay, then Spooky, what is your name?

Spooky: I won’t tell you my name. A name’s power, there’s power in names; power in names over the named thing there is power. That I won’t give you.

Timothy: Spooky, how can I talk to you if I don’t know what to call you by?

Spooky: (Standing quickly and moving toward Timothy. Speaks in a loud voice and stands menacingly close) Ahhh, why doan you fuck off!

It had two male characters interacting and one was violent and domineering and the other somewhat passive and timid. At this point, the play could have gone the same route as an earlier play I wrote, Only Sing for Me. In fact, I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on this comparison and the two are eerily similar, one is simply less imaginative and has less of my “true” voice in it. Although it nearly went the same route as the earlier piece, one exchange popped out that changed things:

Timothy: (Shrinking visibly and stuttering) I…I…m sorry Spp… I’m sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…

Spooky: (Just stands and breathes heavily into Timothy’s face.)

Timothy: (Raises his right hand and taps it on his chest) My, but you have got my heart racing. Simply racing. (He backs up a step and then turns, slowly, and begins circling Spooky) Simply a’goin’ pitter patter, my heart. (In the mock voice of Scarlet O’Hara or Blanche DuBois) Why, whatever is a girl to do with such a… brute as you?

That strategic choice by Timothy to switch to an openly effeminate persona, coupled with the sly strategy of a comedic mockery that challenges the openly violent hostility of the other fundamentally changed how the two would interact. This exchange was followed rapidly by the next exchange:

Spooky: (Sits on the ground again and crosses his legs; he draws idly with his index finger.)

Timothy: (In his normal voice) You know, I don’t often come to the woods anymore. Not like I used to. Not like I used to with Uncle Philly and Brother Gene and Sister Mary May and John the Butcher and Kim the Karate man from down the block. Not like that anymore. I used to come. With them. Used to come out here all the time and lay on my back in the clearing over there and gaze up at the night sky. Orion and Cassiopeia and the Pleiades and Sirius and Ursa Major and Ursa Minor and the Milky Way which was always my favorite way and the vast distance of the immensity that was the greatness that pressed down on my tiny chest and encompassed me fuller than any womb I was ever completely in but not completed in. I used to gaze at that.

This effusion by Timothy is remarkable, for me, in that the character of Timothy now has openly been freed up to allow his innermost thoughts to pour out, uninhibited. It is quite really that by allowing my character (myself) to put on an effeminate voice I freed myself (Timothy) to let an imaginative world pour forth. This is quite naturally followed later by this, not too much later:

Spooky: (Turning) Are you gonna get smart? (Stands) Are ya? (Walks menacingly toward Timothy) Are you gonna get smart. Are ya? Are you gonna get smart, now? (Smacking Timothy on the head) Where’s your dress? Where’s your dress, Timothy? Where is it? (Smacks Timothy on the head) Put it on. Put the dress on. (He turns and stomps back to the backpack and starts rummaging.)

And then…

… Timothy steps out of the tent in a pink dress and a blonde wig with braids. He has red lipstick all over his mouth.

So, the course of the play had been set in motion.

Originally, the Ranger was in on it. Later he became a foil against which the other two acted. This is very in keeping with Only Sing for Me, but I do have to speculate what the play would have been like had I kept the Ranger as a part of the other two’s activities.

For the most part the play developed in a natural course flowing out of me quite easily. Toward the end, though, the magic fizzled and my conscious mind started getting in the way. I’ve written about this on several occasions, but my entry on Wallace Shawn certainly foregrounds the problem: http://weebelly.com/02/on-writingand-on-writing-about-sex/

The unconscious mind is the realm of dreams. It is mythological and powerful, spontaneous and frightening. The conscious mind is dull and predictable. Beware you let your conscious mind write (or edit your unconscious material). Of course, you have to do this (allow it) so, as Shawn points out, this is where a talented writer shows up (the ability to edit). I have yet to fully acquire this talent. I read Christine Howey’s review of my play and admired her eye, as she directly caught the problem of my play of which I was acutely aware.

In revising the play, which I had named A Howl in the Woods, I comment elsewhere about the change in name http://weebelly.com/25/play-to-be-produced/ which I admit is much more interesting than my original. The original name, however, reflects the direction I went with the play: there is something in the unconscious tangle that transforms the main character—empowers him to slough off his mutable identity and become the self-defined person he was meant to be.

There was a fundamental failure on my part to instantiate this vision for this play and that left it open to many interpretations. And truth be told, the direction that it went was too much a conscious decision and left it open to the failures I mention above. I think very much that Clyde revived the comedic heart of the play as it was originated—the playful spontaneity that made it special—and helped it to come to something worthwhile. I know that I am fortunate to have him as the director.

Ultimately, there were mistakes made in the writing of this play and I have learned valuable lessons from them—so, I will go on to new mistakes. Hopefully my plays will get better as I move forward, too—the mistakes less obvious and bumbling. In reflection, I had opportunities; including the aftermath of the staged reading at CPT.

Lord of the Burgeoning Lumber is going well and has been very well received (see Tony Brown’s review). I admit that I’m somewhat surprised, but I guess that is because I know its warts and focus on what could have been rather than what is, making it difficult to see that there is good in it yet. Certainly, I have no regrets about placing the play in the hands of convergence-continuum. I cannot say enough about all who have given so much of their time to it: Clyde Simon, Lucy Bredeson-Smith (tireless and omnipotent wielder of the immortal stage manager lash), Geoffrey Hoffman (whose talent as an actor and director shows in his acute perception of and critical inquiry about the flaws in this play), Tom Kondilas, Tyson Rand, Mark K (who should have two more arms to manage the musical gymnastics he accomplishes for this performance), Megan DePetro as the Butterfly Queen, and Sarah Kunchik as Helga. Then there is Terrii Zernechel who put in long evenings working on lights and lighting effects, Tom Kondilas (again) who stop-motioned the video and brought the shadows to life, and Sade Wolfkitten who is always present to make the sound go off without a hitch.

I am grateful to convergence for making this play a success; to Mike Geither for his guidance, and for the input of the 612 class who helped shape it. The play has yet to reach its final resting place, perhaps, as it has been entered in the Kennedy Center’s American College Theater Festival (ACTF) and will be reviewed by a judge from Wooster very soon. Some recommendation will be made at that point.

Life is tough. It’s really tough when you’re a kid. So many things you can’t do. You want to get out, be yourself, do…well, whatever it is that you want to do. But you just can’t. And sometimes there’s that great longing for something or someone to help you pass the time. If you’re lucky, you’ve got a sibling to beat on; or maybe two. But if you’re an only child, what are you going to do? Well, one option that’s always open is to invent an imaginary friend. It’s rare that they don’t do what you like, and rarer still when they don’t have time for you, right? Well, not if you’re Lucy. Her imaginary friend, Mr. Marmalade, doesn’t have a whole lot of time. He’s busy. Very busy. So busy, in fact, that he’s an imaginary person who has to have an imaginary assistant to help him out.

This largely is the premise of the play by Noah Haidle. Oh, and then there’s the very seriously warped adult humor layered on top of the whole thing. For instance, kids like to play doctor. Lucy (Lauren B. Smith) likes to play doctor and we see her do so early on with the little brother (Larry–played by Tom Kondilas) of the baby-sitter’s foul-mouthed boyfriend. But when playing doctor Mr. Marmalade (Wes Shofner) likes to do things like…oh, have his prostate examined. (For those of you unfamiliar with this exam, it requires going through the backdoor, as it were.) But there’s much more. Mr. Marmalade carries a suit case filled with porn, dildos, and has some bad habits, including alcoholism, a cocaine addiction, and a proclivity for physically abusing his assistant. As you might imagine, Mr. Marmalade is quite a lot to deal with. Mr. Marmalade would be a lot to deal with for a 40-year-old, let alone a 4-year-old.

Lucy, though, is pretty good at handling Mr. Marmalade–at least during the five minute increments he actually attends her. When he’s not around, Lucy has some other things to deal with: her mother, Sookie (Lucy Bredeson-Smith) who works all day and goes out with a variety of men at night; and then there’s her over-sexed babysitter, Emily (Teresa McDonough) who only stops watching the television when her hard-ass boyfriend (Geoffrey Hoffman) stops by for a little sugar. Fortunately for Lucy, when the boyfriend stops by he brings along his little brother, as mentioned above, Larry. Larry has issues, too: for instance, he’s five years old and wants to kill himself. Pretty extreme for one so small, right? He doesn’t like to be touched either and is pretty stiff and reserved. But Lucy does a good job of breaking him out of this and soon they’re playing doctor like nobody’s business.

Time expands in Lucy’s imaginary realm and while the events (we discover at the end) all take place over the course of one night, the imaginary reality spreads them over days. Lucy and Larry sleep after their round of doctor and, when they wake, Lucy kicks Larry out. Mr. Marmalade’s assistant comes in, shocked by the infidelity he sees, he panics, and soon after we see the real Mr. Marmalade melt down in a fit of jealous rage. Lucy, though, is saved by Larry–who runs Mr. Marmalade off.

We then get to see the “relationship” between Lucy and Larry develop along predictable lines. The honeymoon ends quickly, then Larry is bringing home his buddies to eat dinner (without consulting “the wife” first), and then there’s that unwanted pregnancy. Soon, Larry is out on his ass and Mr. Marmalade is back in the picture. Sober, polite, and ‘saved,’ Mr. Marmalade is the picture of courtesy and romance–and more importantly–he is fully attentive to Lucy. But, alas, as with Larry, things just will not stay heavenly for good, and soon the romantic get-away to Mexico ends with a crying baby and Mr. Marmalade in a wife-beater swilling canned beer and swearing like a sailor.

In the end, Mr. Marmalade can’t take it, Lucy kills the baby, and Mr. Marmalade leaves.

Back in real time, Lucy’s mom, Sookie, comes home with Mr. Next-in-Line and the evening ends with Sookie pissed about the ketchup all over her neglige (which Lucy is wearing). But there’s a light at the end of the tunnel; the next day, as Sookie leaves for work, Larry comes over to ask Lucy if she’ll go outside and play dodge ball. After years inside sweltering with Mr. Marmalade and Lucy in their oppressive relationship the promise of playing ball outside is a glory indeed.

Mr. Marmalade is a pretty searing and terrible examination of the twisted relationships that adults often have. Of course, extreme light shines best to make the shading bearable for those of us who have twisted relationships that don’t quite go as far as Lucy’s with Mr. Marmalade, but the point ends up being the same. The petty demands, the squabbling, and the dis-satisfaction are all too familiar. The use of children as the play’s vehicle is, of course, darkly comic and adds to the fun and outrageous tone of the play, but it does wear thin after a while. The piece definitely requires the willful suspension of disbelief, but there are some nice highlights: for instance, when Larry brings home his boisterous friends (a flower and a cactus), they interrupt a dinner consisting of chocolate milk, cookies, and cheesy poofs. The whole dinner ends in a chaos of a food fight.

Arthur Grothe does a good job of directing the piece and keeping things moving. Lauren Smith is to be congratulated for the strong work she puts out there as the four-year-old Lucy. And Kondilas’ Larry is hilarious. The intensely romantic re-union scene between Marmalade and Lucy has the highlight of both Stuart and Geoffrey Hoffman greased-up, shiny, and slim as flamingo-dancing waiters prancing about. Sade Wolfkitten does a great job with the set and stage management and all the others do what they do best to make a convergence production what we’ve come to expect.