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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.

I went to see [amazon_link id=”0822220644″ target=”_blank” ]The God of Hell[/amazon_link] at Bang and Clatter on Saturday. The place was packed and thanks to the easy-going nature of Sean Derry I was allowed to stand in the tech booth (it was literally standing room) with Kristen, a woman who actually worked on the Ingenuity Festival this year and did one of my pieces.

Pluto is the God of Hell and is they Eponymous name for the title. It comes up during a discussion between the mysterious scientist character, Haynes (John Busser) and Emma (Jen Klika) about Plutonium, which presumably is the McGuffin for this play’s action.

I’m still trying to get my head around all of it, but what I will say struck me about this play is the return to themes in many of Shepard’s earlier plays as well as the strong absurdist techniques which were not present, or at least, not present in as strong a way, in his family plays and his more “realistic” plays.

Like those plays, however, the action begins on a farm in the “heartland.” Whenever this is the setting, Shepard has something serious to say about the state of America. The “heartland” was the setting of his Pulitzer Prize winning [amazon_link id=”0307274977″ target=”_blank” ]Buried Child[/amazon_link] (coming soon to convergence-continuum!) and begins with a homecoming of sorts, as does Buried Child (BC)—as well much of the action of God of Hell (GH) occurs in the kitchen/family room. Similar, also, to [amazon_link id=”0553346113″ target=”_blank” ]Curse of the Starving Class[/amazon_link] (SC), we see a “kitchen” drama that takes place on a farm. In contrast, startlingly so, both BC and SC begin in dilapidated environs. The setting of GH is very nearly idyllic, as noted by several characters in the play, and includes a very homey kitchen with amenities that are of an earlier America—circa 1950’s perhaps. This setting of course is not accidental. True West (TW), the last of the “family trilogy” also begins in a pleasant middle-class kitchen/breakfast nook in California, but the setting is less intentionally idyllic that of a type. The setting here shows us a “heartland” that is reminiscent of the past: a time in America that was good and wholesome and strong. The whole is infused with a sense of strong values and morals, American goodness: farming, hearth, family, Currier and Ives, etc. It is clear what target Shepard has in his sights.

The homecoming in GH is that of the scientist, Haynes, who is reuniting with an old friend, the farmer, Frank (Joe Milan, often at CPT). In place of the lack of recognition in BC, or overt hostility and competition in TW, we see mystery and suspicion. Frank hasn’t seen his friend in years and doesn’t really know what he does and Frank’s wife, Emma is suspicious. All we are told is that Frank suspects Haynes was tortured or that something happened that made him overly sensitive and nervous. Frank leaves to go and feed his “heifers” and we are left with the wife, who is making bacon and obsessively watering the house plants. The wife is nervous and a bit jumpy herself and a bit suspicious of the friend in the basement; but her concerns in this regard is supplanted quickly by the arrival of a salesman. The salesman, Welch (Daniel McElhaney) begins by offering a sugar cookie in the shape of a flag with icing to make the flag an American Flag. His attempt to sell the cookie fails, but he succeeds at getting in the house. While Frank’s wife doesn’t know what quite to make of Welch, she learns quickly that he is not the “usual” salesman and, in fact, is a bit frightening. The revelations come slowly via odd questions (not much of a patriotic display in the house, the empty flag pole out front), then intrusive questions (how many rooms in the house, anyone else in the house), to the frightening ‘over-personal’ nature of his behavior (including the fact that he knows her first name and continues to call her by it). Thoroughly flummoxed, Emma orders Welch to leave, which he does. Emma then rings a bell for her husband (this is how they communicate from the house to the barn), who returns after several nerve-wracking minutes. Emma relates her story, but her husband doesn’t think much of it. Frank then opens the basement door and yells for Haynes to get up and the two farmers continue discussing Welch. Finally, Haynes makes his entrance: disheveled and in a bath robe. He is very nervous. He formally introduces himself to Emma (he arrived late at night) and shocks her when they shake hands. This zap of electricity continues through much of the rest of the play as an indicator that something is off with Haynes. Frank heads back to the barn leaving Haynes and Emma alone. Emma talks to Haynes hesitantly but honestly, eliciting some reactions from Haynes, including his denial that he is a scientist or was tortured and that her husband told her things he shouldn’t have—that Haynes didn’t want anyone to know. This of course adds to our, and Emma’s, suspicion of Haynes, and reveals, at least, that he has something to hide.

Scene One blacks out and opens in the same place on Scene Two, all we are left to ponder is that, presumably, it is a new day and in the same place. This time Emma and Haynes are talking much more openly (Frank is down at the barn with the heifers), though Haynes continues to exhibit his nervous behavior. The conversation reveals that Emma was born, literally, in the house and that many generations have lived there. It reveals some more traditional themes in the [amazon_link id=”0553346113″ target=”_blank” ]Shepard oeuvre[/amazon_link], including a sense of the land and place, a gross sense of distrust for Agribusiness and corporate farms, the sense that the farm has been displaced by the government and corporations to the detriment of our national soul. The conversation touches upon Welch, which visibly frightens Haynes, who makes Emma complicit by ensuring that she tells no one he is there in the basement. The timing couldn’t be better, as who should return? Haynes panics and rushes to the basement. Welch essentially forces his way in, confronting Emma. He bullies her and relentlessly questions her until by accident she reveals that someone is in the basement. She flees the kitchen to get her husband and in her absence Welch bullies and berates Haynes out of the basement and confronts him. As they “talk”, Welch takes out red, white, and blue bunting and begins stapling it to the cabinets and stapling other forms of bunting to the doors, sticking American flags in the plants, and placing decorative magnets on the refrigerator. He reminds Haynes of his duty, of the torture that was used before, and the fact that the torment will have to start all over for programming purposes. As the scene ends Welch is directing Haynes into the basement and talking of a group meeting on “Tuesday” where decisions will be made about what to do.

The final scene opens with Emma in the kitchen and Frank entering in the same suit that Welch has been wearing throughout. Again, thematically this is a technique that Shepard uses often: in Curse, Wesley dresses up as Weston at the end, showing the symbolically the pattern of genetic inheritance continues; in Rock Garden, Shepard again uses this technique to symbolically identify the genetic inheritance from father to son. Here it is not used in a familial context, but nonetheless demonstrates that Frank has become like Welch. As well, we learn that Frank has sold all the heifers and now has a suitcase filled with money. Emma is shocked and protests that Frank loved the heifers and what was he going to do now? Frank has no answer. Again, Shepard is revealing his lifelong outrage at the commercialization of the American land and way of life. Curiously, though Frank is now dressed like Welch, he is more of a mixed breed; for we note that he is a bit nervous, too: showing signs similar to those of Haynes. This is confirmed as Frank shocks Emma, then he begins grabbing his crotch demonstrating physical discomfort: a discomfort that is soon clarified as we hear Haynes screaming in the basement. Soon Welch emerges from the basement bearing a long cable and a control button. When he pushes the button, Haynes screams in the basement. When Haynes emerges we see the cable is attached to his penis and his head is covered in a black hood. The obvious representation here of the incidents at Abu Ghraib cannot be ignored. Emma attempts to stop the proceedings as Haynes is forced through torture to say the things that Welch wishes to hear. She wins a battle, for a moment, getting Frank to ask for the heifers back (who were supposed to be going off to a glorious use). Welch laughs and Haynes reveals that the heifers were not sold for a glorious purpose, but for a grisly, dirty, pointless fate (much like the soldiers have been treated in the war in Iraq). Frank demands the heifers be returned, dumping the money; but he is no match for Welch, who soon has Frank back in line (with a thinly veiled threat), much to Emma’s sorrow. Soon, Frank is repeating those same things and, through ‘his own’ initiative is even indicting his own ‘friend’ for having lapsed from his ‘programming.’ Through torture Welch forces Haynes to march and soon Frank voluntarily joins in. Welch marches them both out the door while Emma pleads with Frank not to go. The play ends with Welch mocking Emma and asking her rhetorically if she really believed that she could live the life she has been living in America with no sacrifice—without giving up something? He leaves as Emma runs out the door and rings the bell, to no avail.

Shepard isn’t known for his happy endings, of course. And this certainly is no exception. The outlook is bleak for the American people who (maybe) stood up for themselves once upon a time. And once-upon-a-time is important to this play: one of its major dialogs being between what is and what ought to be; what never was, but what we dreamed would be.

In my MNO class last night [amazon_link id=”0253214106″ target=”_blank” ]Professor David Hammack[/amazon_link] noted that non-profit groups did not exist in the colonies because they were essentially illegal. Illegal in the sense that only the church provided the sorts of services that non-profits provide today; and in the colonies, you had to be a church or a preacher to practice and you had to be approved of the Church of England and specifically by the Bishop of London: that there were stiff penalties for violating this. He noted, for instance, that many Quakers in early America where hanged by the neck until dead for speaking their minds; and it was illegal to be a Catholic in the colonies. The American Revolution was truly more than a political revolution, but sadly, even after the Revolution these practices continued, with the table turning. Many members of the Church of England were driven from the north of America to Canada, where they live to this day in Catholic Quebec. Professor Hammack commented that many of these details are left out of the history books we get in our elementary schools because the truth is too painful. He then remarked, “and of course, we don’t teach history in high school anymore.” This is, of course, somewhat facetious, but none-the-less proves an important point: many of us grow up with myth and fantasy as our understanding of our American heritage, not the hard-boiled practical reality of how people lived. Professor Hammack, in commenting on Queen Elizabeth I, noted that she had the head of her half-sister, Mary Queen of Scots; else Mary Queen of Scots would have done the same to her. He remarked, “in those days, they played for keeps.” Knowing the practical realities of a situation is important. Living in a fantasy world is not good. Too many Americans live in such a world—either by choice or because the realities have been intentionally withheld. Shepard’s play, I think draws this parallel in stark terms, but makes it clear that just because practical realities exist and are hard is no reason that our ideals should be sacrificed–which is the outcome of much of the abuse of power practices of the Bush administration demonstrate. That is, in a time of war democracy is superfluous or icing (which is, of course, absurd). There is no doubt that we need to “play for keeps” but we must be careful that we do not destroy the very things that make us great. It is a fine line, to be sure, but behaving recklessly only exacerbates the potential that the fragile balance will break the wrong way; and as Shepard’s play also demonstrates, as has American history, people who are afraid are often all too willing to abrogate the important rights that make this country what it is. It takes courage to stand up for what is important and a self-confidence that is grounded firmly in your soul.

Directed by Chris Johnston, [amazon_link id=”0822220644″ target=”_blank” ]The God of Hell[/amazon_link] was an excellently done theater piece which moved at a fast clip, rippled with absurd events, and yet, of course, per the best of Shepard, revealed a nightmarish reality.