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I just finished reading the interview by Carol Rocamora of Edward Albee in last month’s American Theatre. There is, of course, very little I can say that is critical of Albee, after all, he’s a god. I can think of no greater movie-watching joy than that of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf staring Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor. Such ruthless, terrible beauty is seldom seen. But, I thought I’d take some time to comment on some of what I read and some of the things that struck me.

Probably the greatest single thing that struck me from Albee was his statement that he doesn’t write drafts. He says, “No, I think you should write the entire play down the first time, and then fix it with a few touches here and there. You shouldn’t write it down until you think you have the whole play. Playwrights get in terrible trouble when they write a play too soon, and then hope that it finds its shape.” So, Albee lets the play swirl and swirl around in his head. As he comments, “A play begins as an idea translated from the unconscious to the conscious. You’ve been thinking about it a long time and creating it a long time before you’re even aware of it.” Now, there are some plays that I’ve written that I simply cannot imagine writing in one shot. Not even a question of one shot–that is, writing all in one sitting. That would require an exceptional stamina that I don’t think I have. I’ve written a play, not in one sitting, but as near to one sitting as I could muster–maybe a couple of days. But the play was a skeleton. It was bone thin. Air whipped through the ribcages and rattled the untethered jaw bone. I had to go back and “flesh” it out. Put some fat and skin on that sucker. Then I had to rework it after that. But, this is not to say that I don’t find merit in what Albee says. It is more than a simple abstraction. I know well what he means by “get in terrible trouble” and “hope that it finds its shape.” I’ve written plays where I have attempted to jigsaw out an ending and screw it on to the main part of the play I started, but didn’t finish right away.

I was struck by other things as well. First, I was struck by the fact that the “search of family and identity” is so important to him. I’m reviewing in my mind the plays I’ve read, and I haven’t even read his Pulitzer Prize plays…mostly his early ones. I can see in The American Dream and, of course, Who’s Afraid, the focus on family. And certainly in Zoo Story the concern with identity. I guess I’m surprised because my most recent play was very concerned with identity, too. Though, I’ve noticed a lot of religious and mythological creep in my plays–which is why I’m probably such a fan of Shepard. I was very surprised by Albee’s flat commentary on his adoptive parents. Clearly, he’s bitter about that and I can really see it now, in reflection, in thinking about what he said in this interview and the characterization of the mother and father in The American Dream. Further, that “identical twins” is a “theme that has haunted Albee since childhood.” Not because he had a twin that died early on in his life…but because he invented a twin for himself due to his being ignored by his adoptive parents.

I was curious about his foundation and will have to take a look at what that’s about and what it has to offer.

Albee commented that he would never extend a play to make it fit an “evening of theatre” nor would he intentionally shorten it for such an external reason. And then he described how he was workshopping a play of his in preparation for a performance, a three act play, and decided that it was running long and wasn’t working so he just cut the second act. Just cut a whole act. That is either great confidence or an amazing disrespect for what you’ve written. He made it almost sound flippant. Though, upon reflection, I doubt very much it was rashly decided.

It was refreshing to hear him state that “None of my 200 characters is me; all come through me, but I hope the have sufficient individuality.” Then, curiously, “I like to think my plays will not only heal me but also possibly others, that they have enough universality, that the writing of them is not a private act.” My plays will not only heal me… The plays somehow fill a void in him…make him complete. And, of course, to explore.

There are other things that are fascinating, from his interest in directing, to his belief that directing makes his understanding of playwriting greater, his belief in the possibility that all his plays add up to one big play, that non-profit theatres work best because they take risks and chances, the belief that big theaters and for-profit theaters are escapist and pander (one of the things I am always in disbelief of is when I attend Stratford Festival plays and plays at the Shaw Festival how many people–including my mother, aunts, etc., attend musicals), and finally, his shot at MFA programs: which of course, I’m throughly in. However, I think it depends on the program and what that program intends, as I’ve mentioned before, such as in my talk with Theatrically Speaking. The MFA program I’m in at CSU is more focused on writing, workshopping, and getting into theaters–and Mike Geither, whose praises I cannot sing enough, is a fiercely dedicated proponent of this and works tirelessly to get young playwrights into theaters and has been instrumental in my own involvement in convergence-continuuum.

A good, general interview of Albee. Worth a look if you’re a fan.

Question: What’s a piñata, a twittering bird in a cage, a garden gnome, a children’s book, and several bottles of gin got in common? Well, you’ll find the answer to that question in [amazon_link id=”0970904622″ target=”_blank” ]Erin Courtney’s[/amazon_link] play, [amazon_link id=”B003BH0S88″ target=”_blank” ]Demon Baby[/amazon_link].

Unraveling the meaning of these objects is the key to figuring out just what Courtney has to say about how we deal with displacement and the stuffiness of our lives.

Overview
Wren (Dawn Youngs) is an American woman dragged along by her husband Art (Tom Kondilas) to London for work. Left alone all day to do what she pleases, she attempts to work, instead, on a children’s book commissioned by Alan (Curt Arnold)—a book that is to comfort children who are displaced when their parents drag them along to new places to work. The book in question (as well as the work that Art and Alan do) is for a company that is overly concerned with the relocation of its employees—as Wren and Art frequently, in one scene at least, discuss a “relocation manual”—another loaded symbol for you—and Cat (Amy Bistok) discusses her “relocation advisor.” Throughout Demon Baby, this group (Wren, Art, Alan, and Cat) are joined by Charles (Arthur Grothe) and Sally (Teresa McDonough) for Gin-and-Tonic-infused parties with heavy smoking, eating, and vapid conversation.

The lifestyle of heavy drinking and isolation may be what leads to the sudden turn of events for Wren, when she suddenly wakens one night to find an immense garden gnome sitting on her chest. The garden gnome, whom Wren refers to as the Demon Baby (Wes Shofner), is a demon baby because “there’s something a little bit different about it.” At first, Wren is very put out by the Demon Baby and afraid, but soon she comes to hold conversations with it, and soon after the two are thick as thieves.

The rest of the play revolves around the increasingly erratic behavior of Wren as she is influenced (freed from constraint?) by the Demon Baby. This erratic behavior includes one provocative scene in which Wren attempts to seduce Alan, but not knowing how to do it she simply walks out stark naked (bravely carried forth by Ms. Young). As irony would have it, though, Alan is attracted not to Wren, but to her husband. Alan is alone with Wren, actually, to review the children’s book that Wren has finished. The book is very good, as far as Alan and the company are concerned—excepting the strange introduction of a demon baby—which the company cannot accept.

In the end, the book is decommissioned, no one seduces anyone, Cat’s husband (whom we never see) leaves her, Cat falls off a roof while trying to hit the piñata (she lives), the influence of the Demon Baby affects all the partiers, and, eventually, Cat recovers from her agoraphobia. The caveat being that it ends up on Art, who at the end of the play is being visited by the Demon Baby.

The power of this play lies in the interpretation of the images/icons I mention above and that Courtney weaves throughout the piece: the bird in the cage (wren), the piñata, the demon baby, covering furniture with sheets, the content of the children’s book, etc. Through them, I think, the subconscious/unconscious reaction to displacement and suffocation—the fears and threats—are made concrete and real. And these bizarre moments are drawn in sharp relief against the vapid, tiresome lifestyle of the characters in their “normal” life. I am not going to undertake an analysis or excavation of the play at this time, but I likely will in the future, as it struck me and I truly think that there is more to this play than meets the eye.

One thing that I noticed very early on, and throughout, for instance, is the reliance by all the characters (other than Wren) on what is written. That is, what is written has an authority of incontrovertible FACT. Whereas experience is dismissed. For instance, Wren’s experience of the Demon Baby is dismissed by Art as “sleep paralysis” or something else–but the experience itself, the effect of the experience, or its result are ignored. I think Courtney has something very serious to say about our willingness in modern times to rely too much on what is construed as “socially approved” explanation (or what is scientifically known), and the “sleep paralysis” that all of these characters seem to be undergoing in both their personal and business lives demonstrates the sedative effect of ignoring experience or of seeking new experience and simply taking life as it is lived day-to-day.

Thoughts
[amazon_link id=”B003BH0S88″ target=”_blank” ]Demon Baby[/amazon_link] is directed by Geoffrey Hoffman and it is his first stab at directing. For the most part, I think he did very well. There are some moments that I question—but, of course, who doesn’t indulge in the glory that is back-seat driving? Some of the more prominent moments include large swaths of dead time (scene changes, etc.) and those in which Hoffman deviates from the script. As a playwright, of course, the latter is where my great fear and offense lies. For instance, the script calls for incessant smoking by many of the characters—chain smoking, in fact. There is no smoking in the production. Now, this may have been done for political correctness (god forbid), or perhaps expediency—who knows? But it does take an element from the production that would have, at least, added atmosphere, if not demonstrated the high-strung nature of these characters through their behavior. Another, though minor, point, is an objection to the periodic use of the sound track from American Beauty. I think that sound track is overly loaded for anyone who has seen the movie, and it disrupted my experience. I think convergence-continuum and Hoffman ably used multimedia in this piece, especially in the setting—construction work outside the window and the passage of time; as well as to show—to demonstrate—the inner workings of Wren’s mind at an especially frazzled point (where the [amazon_link id=”B003BH0S88″ target=”_blank” ]Demon Baby[/amazon_link] is helping her write the children’s book). I think Hoffman was, in many ways, hampered by a script that, to my mind, calls for a great deal of subtlety in its handling and runs a great risk of being flat—which it was at some points. It was difficult, I think, as well because some of the actors lost their British accents, or periodically moved in and out of them, and some were unfortunately flat in their interactions as well: delivery, response, etc.

I’m glad I saw it, as I read it first and it is always better to see a play than to read it, and I will likely go see it again. This is the first of the clubbed thumb deliveries to be at con-con.