Gasp!

Administrative Note: Grand Reopening

Back in 2001, I had quite a smashing home page on the web. It was filled with sample writing, monologues, thoughts. I took the site down in 2004, during my writing/identity crisis.

And it hasn't been heard from since... Until now.

Over the past few weeks, I've been hard at work creating a new site. It isn't finished yet, but it's respectable in a cheap, tawdry way.

On LauraAxelrod.net you will find:

• Twenty-five playwriting articles from my days as Resident Playwriting Columnist at Quietpoly. That website closed earlier this year, and since I owned the copyright to this set of columns... Keep in mind that Quietpoly was geared towards beginning writers - not experts like yourself. Heh.
• A handful of general playwriting essays. Right now, these articles in this section are from Gasp! Breezing through this area, you'll discover that I shot my wad about a bunch of stuff back in 2004. Why don't people care about theater? What's wrong with the world? Who authors what?  I hate redundancy, which is why I don't tackle the same issues on Gasp! now.
• Speaking of which... Before reopening Gasp, I thought long and hard about whether it would even be worthwhile to go back to blogging. It seemed like Gasp! would just be one more theater blog. How depressing. Plus, I don't do well in crowds. I don't trust group consensus and I don't like conformity. On the heels of my historical research for writing War, I began to consider what would happen if someone stumbled upon entries written in haste. To be blunt, if I buzzed off on the latest outrage in blogosphere-land, would someone who stumbled upon my archives 20 years from now think I was a petty asshole?
  
  I wanted Gasp! to be different, and that's why I've decided to write about the process of writing War is Kind: The 1968 Democratic Convention. Because blogging about a massive historical drama based on 10,000 pages of research is far more interesting than the stuff I used to spout off about - solving the world's problems included. I think it's far more educational as well.
  
  Of course, what you do with your corner of the net is just fine. It's not a criticism.

As I update the home site, I'll alert the media  let you know. Thanks for your patience and continued support. Heh.

Serious Art from the Gender-Challenged

Serious Art from the Gender-Challenged by Laura Axelrod

This entry originally appeared on Gasp!, Laura's blog, on January 2, 2006. Do not reuse without express permission of the author.

“It's not enough for middlebrow stuff to top the best-seller lists or dominate award ceremonies. It also has to be inducted into the canon of preferred art. A special committee's proposed list (later revised) of books required of Harvard English majors included a lot of novels by popular and politically correct authors between 1920 and the present (including Zora Neale Hurston, Lillian Hellman, Kate Chopin, Adrienne Rich, and Toni Morrison), but no Fitzgerald or Hemingway, nor Styron or Bellow, no Roth, Malamud, Mailer, Pynchon, Gaddis, Heller, or Updike. The only protest (aside from my own) came from a colleague complaining about the omission of the Nigerian Wole Soyinka.”

An excerpt of Robert Brustein’s essay, “The War on the Arts” has been making the rounds on the blogosphere. When it first appeared, I read it with great interest since I, too, have an appreciation for “more demanding art.” Unfortunately, when I got to the list of authors that Brustein refers to as “popular and politically correct”, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.

My first thought was, “Since I, too, am a woman, my work will never quite make it to the “serious art” category that Brustein & others believe that Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Stryon, Bellow, Roth, Malamud, Mailer, Pynchon are in.” This conclusion is natural. All the middlebrow writers listed are women. I don’t think that’s accidental. It has a historical precedent.

Upon thinking about it further, I dusted off my copy of How to Suppress Women’s Writing by Joanna Russ. The book, published in 1983, studies the specific patterns of sexism that critics and others have used to shelve and discount female writers. These patterns continue today. I know this because I’ve experienced many of them firsthand.

Back in the early 90s, it was a widely held belief women didn’t write great plays. The only contribution women could make to the theater was through writing the “female perspective.” Of course, that perspective was defined by men. While I was pursuing my MFA in playwriting back then, I was pulled into a conference by one of my writing teachers who politely but firmly informed me that I was trying to hard to write a meaningful story. “You could write a story about a Prom Queen,” he told me. At the time, my writing was often violent with a non-linear structure. The idea that I would write about a Prom Queen was bizarre, but I understood the underlying intention.

This wasn’t an isolated incident. I heard stories of female playwrights in other classes who dared to challenge a teacher (and well-known theater professional) who said that he couldn’t find one play by a woman that was worth including in the curriculum. Halfway through the semester, a handful of us got together and complained to the head of the department. The results were somewhat satisfactory, and I kept my head low for six more months until I graduated.

What I didn’t realize back then was that attempts to suppress female writing have been in existence for a very long time. As Russ suggests, the work of female writers is usually received funneled into the following categories:

She didn’t write it. (Create a list of female authors. Most of them have been accused of not being the true authors of their own work at some point in their careers.)

She wrote it, but she shouldn’t have. (Plays that are judged “unfeminine” because they are about politics, feminism or violence. Sarah Kane is a good example.)

She wrote it, but she isn’t really an artist, and it isn’t really art. (Women’s plays – plays about women’s topics – plays that are “cute”.)

She wrote it, but she had help. (Virginia Woolf and her husband… All the way through to the present.)

She wrote it, but she’s an anomaly. (There are so very few female writers included in the curriculum or anthology because, they say, there are so few of them.)

She wrote it, but there’s something wrong with her personally. (She’s childless or amoral, overly masculine, sexually promiscuous or frigid, or just plain unbalanced and crazy. Her work is defined and discarded by perceived flaws in her personality and character.)

The latest one, which I will add: She wrote it, but female playwrights are just a trend. (Female playwrights have been around for a long time. And they will continue for a long time to come.)

Our historical definition of “serious art” has been shrouded in racism and sexism. Great female authors and playwrights have been either ignored or treated with contempt. Our current definitions need to be modified and updated to include perspectives that have previously been shunned.

Defining Art

Defining Art by Laura Axelrod

This entry originally appeared on Gasp!, Laura's blog, on December 21, 2005. Do not reuse without express permission of the author.

Each time you say what God is, you are also saying what God isn’t. That was a lesson in my college Jewish Mysticism class, and I believe it also applies to art. Each person’s definition of what constitutes art is different – as unique as the soul experience of the individual. For this reason, I usually cast a distrustful glance at manifestos. They tend to spell out intention rather than practical application. Theories have their place; I find there is no better way to explore them than creating art itself.

But discussing theory is fun, isn’t it?

I’m going to use Frederick Turner’s manifesto as a jumping off point. Turner’s manifesto appears to the web courtesy of Scott Walters. (Thanks, Scott.)

First off, it’s tough to define what Turner means by phrases, such as “radical center” and “passionate imaginative intelligence?” I know how I’d define it, but who knows if it’s the same as how Turner does. This kind of ambiguity makes it difficult to respond the manifesto directly. For that reason, I’ll quote a bit from it and share a few thoughts of my own. Since the manifesto is presented as a list, it will be difficult to take a thought out of context.

The reunion of artist with public.

Turner calls it a reunion, rather than union. To me, this implies that the artist has been separated from the public or community. This idea appeals to me and mirrors some of my own theories about artists.

In most recovery circles, the wounded personality undergoes a separation from the community. This separation becomes a basis for the wounds itself. The final stage in healing from these wounds is integration back to the community. Of course, variations of the “Prodigal Son/Daughter” cycle can be found in the Bible and Joseph Campbell’s work.

Practically speaking, this “reunion” has plenty to do with the artist’s beliefs about his or her audience. Is the community "home", and is it really worth coming back?

In my own odyssey, I’ve recently come to the conclusion that it is worth returning, but on my own terms. This means that I value my experiences enough to share the wisdom I’ve gained from them. I also know that I’m not going to bend my voice to satisfy the comfort level of others. I also see the lessons learned from “failed” plays I’ve written.

The “reunion with public” could also be interpreted to mean a reunion within the artist. Am I creating for myself only or with the idea of sharing it? Throughout the document, Turner implies that art is to be shared. I don’t believe that is true. Emily Dickenson created art through her poetry, and even if they stayed in a shoebox for another hundred years, that poetry would still qualify as art. The idea that art is defined through sharing furthers the notion that art is defined by anyone other than the artist. Critics can put the art in a context and declare it a success or failure, but I’m floating the idea that the artist’s intention creates art. How the work is received is an entirely different matter.

Other notes on this section:

The public doesn’t necessarily view Turner’s standards as being their own. We live in a diverse society. (When was this thing written, anyway?) The idea that only the elite can create art doesn’t hold up to history. It would exclude a number of geniuses who didn’t “fit the bill” yet furthered the form. It also creates a standard that promotes classism. Only those who are able to economically afford the training would be able to create art. We’d lose a quite a few voices using that standard, wouldn’t we?

Without further explanation from the author, it’s difficult to say what “radical center” means. Is radical center another way of saying “apolitical”? Or does it mean “fair and balanced?” Whether it validates or changes the way people think, art is inherently political. This part of the manifesto made me think back to the 80s, when theater was used as alternative media. During the blackout on the AIDS crisis, plays such as “The Normal Heart” helped publicize what was happening in the gay community. Times of political upheaval hardly call for “radical center” plays. Guerrilla theater, comedy, satire, and protest plays can take their rightful place in the artistic canon. They may not be beautiful or radically center, but they are most definitely art.

Finally, the addendum…

Artists should create opportunities for spectators to share ideas and emotions with each other and with the artist.

Speaking as someone who has written plays that have caused great reaction in people, I don’t find it helpful to present myself as a target for their emotional processes. If they need to talk amongst themselves, that’s fine. But I’ve been yelled at, raged about, sobbed on and have had a whole other range of emotions tossed at me after production of my work. When I given people an opportunity to discuss what they’ve seen with me, they’ve often put the focus on me rather than their own thoughts. “Why did you write that? How dare you write that! Did you experience that?” etc. I’ve found that it’s just not helpful for me to make myself available. I'm sure there are others out there who feel the same way.

In conclusion, art isn’t always conventionally beautiful. It can also be disturbing, unsettling, violent and dangerous. It’s unfortunate that Turner limits his definition to art that makes him feel most comfortable with his own agenda.

The Effects of Location on Writing

The Effects of Location on Writing by Laura Axelrod

This entry originally appeared on Gasp!, Laura's blog, on April 14, 2005. Do not reuse without express permission of the author.

Today I’m wondering about the effects of location on writing. I finished reading a monologue play – which shall remain nameless – and discovered that the monologue play form now turns me off. It was a curious discovery. Starting in late 2002, I concentrated on monologue and solo performance forms exclusively. I had some brief episodes of writing dialogue for my work in Raw Impressions, along with the redrafting of Underlings. Other than that, I was obsessed with what could be called non-interactive drama. New work created after 2002, featured actors who spoke directly to the audience – not each other. Rather than living events, they talked about them onstage. This created a lack of immediacy, as if all the characters were keeping life at arm’s length.

In 1998-2002, my work was dialogue-driven. I was also experimenting with non-traditional scene arcs, montages, and scene transitions. But the most important thing is that the actors actually spoke to each other.

What created the change back then? As far as I can tell, it had to do with relocating. I lived in San Francisco in the 90s and moved back to New York City in 2001. San Francisco is a community-based city, and those values reflected in the form I chose to express ideas. My experience in New York was very different, and I’m certain that the isolation I felt found it’s way into my work.

Going back to dialogue-driven playwriting is exciting… If that, indeed, is where I’m heading.

Responding to Playwrights and Buddhism

Responding to Playwrights and Buddhism by Laura Axelrod

This entry originally appeared on Gasp!, Laura's blog, on December 3, 2004. Do not reuse without express permission of the author.

I was quite moved reading Rob Grace’s story about a playwright quitting theater because of a conflict with his Buddhist beliefs. The bottom line, as I read the piece, is that his friend perceives the playwright to be in an adversarial relationship with the audience. His friend also mentions how theater propagates the cycle of birth and death, along with artifice.

I’m not going to look askance at a playwright leaving theater because as everyone knows, I’ve had my own frustrations. A few months ago I wrote an entry questioning whether or not I was really a playwright. Jack Dillon responded with: What do you like about playwriting? The question was put on ice all this time because I couldn’t come up with an answer. Playwriting has always been organic to me – I used to create scripts out of my childhood books. But that doesn’t mean I can verbalize what I like about it or why I believe it’s a worthwhile activity.

After reading Rob’s entry, I might have an answer. Maybe. It was located in his friend John’s response:

It’s just all a cycle of birth and death and attachments, and refusal to realize the emptiness of forms. It’s an artificial sort of mechanism that propagates… artificialness.

That is what has always attracted me to theater – creating a world, playing that world out to its fullest extent and then disintegrating it. It’s the creation and exploration of relationships without leaving residue. With the playwright and director on one side creating characters and the production “picture”, the actors and audience get to experience a different “present time”.

This doesn’t imply that audiences get to take some kind of vacation from their problems. In a movie, characters and action are placed on a screen and objectified. No matter how you cut it, a film is still a flat screen. In theater, audiences can feel the visceral reaction to an actor running past them. They can feel the energy, the impact of a towering tree that reaches way above their heads. The argument/murder/love scene is right in the room with them.

I studied Buddhism from my early to late 20s. I know there are different shades on the spectrum and I don’t want to comment on John’s beliefs. But I never thought of Buddhism as being in conflict with theater or writing. Indeed, I always used writing as a form of discipline. It helped me stay in present time and comforted me when I wrote something upsetting. While working on the book two months ago, I reached into one of my boxes for The Dhammapada. It was an amazing source of comfort while dealing with the extreme subject matter I was writing. Natalie Goldberg’s books combine Buddhist beliefs and the discipline of writing quite nicely. There just never seemed to be a conflict about it.

I’ve written about Christianity but I’ve never gone into my issues about it publicly. I have no intention of doing so here. I’ve called myself Christian as a way of forcing myself to deal with those particular issues. When I picked up The Dhammapada again, I remembered the comfort and resonance that Buddhism had for me. I know that Christianity and Buddhism can co-exist. Just like I know that I can be both a Playwright and a Novelist. Picking one over the other is a false dichotomy. It’s only through honoring ourselves in our entirety that we can continue as artists and people.

John states:
That the audience/artist relationship is adversarial. That it’s psychological warfare. It’s emotional warfare. It’s something I don’t wanna be a part of.

I can’t fault John for anything he says. I needed to take more than one step back recently from theater so I could accurately investigate my intentions. If I believe that an audience is going to heal me then I’m not taking responsibility for myself. Why would I want to rely on the temporary acceptance of others? It’s a terrifying prospect to put your fate in the hands of strangers, especially when it’s unnecessary.

Audiences respond to energy and intention. Whatever I believe is what ultimately comes back to me. If I think an audience is going to be horrible they will be more than happy to live up to my expectations. Why? Because through every choice – from casting to lights to scenery, etc. – the director and I are setting the energy for the production.

Again, I can totally understand each time someone walks away from theater – especially New York Theater. Since moving I’ve learned that New York Theater is not the end all/be all. It’s easy to get lost in the constant climb for more productions, more interest from better theater companies, and more networking. Rebelling against it is a healthy response.

I also learned that I want to create a new form to express myself and that I don’t want to let audience reactions get in the way of honoring my own voice. I don’t want to buy into the artifice of having to please theater companies or kiss ass. I’m either going to resonate with people I work with or I’m going to pass on working with them. Life is just too short.

Most of all, I learned that I could be a Novelist and a Playwright, just like I can be a Buddhist and a Christian. And I don’t have to apologize for any of it.

What is a Real Playwright?

What is a Real Playwright? by Laura Axelrod

This entry originally appeared on Gasp!, Laura's blog, on October 15, 2004. Do not reuse without express permission of the author.

David Lawrence responded to Mac Roger's entry on the economics of theater. The basic gist of the discussion, for you lazy clickers, is the notion that making money off a play is a good idea. According to the New York Post, Edward Albee is alleged to have other ideas.

I’d like to chime in, although I have issues with Albee for other reasons, which I’ll get into momentarily. Generally speaking, the current economics of theater are not self-sustaining. I think we all know that, and I can only agree heartily with the points that both Mac and David have already made.

With that said… Back in January 2003, Albee led a small discussion on playwriting at the Cherry Lane Theater. I attended and took copious notes on the small gems of wisdom that Albee put forth.

“All productions of plays are opinions… Actors cannot act the meaning of a character…All art is evolution. Anything contributing to the status quo accomplishes nothing.”

Thought provoking bookmarks, all of them, and I recycle them if I want to annoy directors. Unfortunately, I stopped taking notes that night when Albee argued the idea that there are very few real playwrights in the world. His definition of “real playwright” was never defined, though I remember he disparaged one dramatist for working in more than one form. I didn’t write down his thoughts on Sartre, or others that the audience questioned him on because the idea of what constituted a real playwright was far too compelling.

I have no answers on this since I’ve only thought about it in personal terms. Close friends know that for a long time I’ve been grappling with the idea that I might be more of a novelist than a playwright. I don’t like thinking about it, since it would mean that 17 years of Dramatic Writing would be wasted. The thought that I received two college degrees in playwriting so I could write snappy dialogue in novels is more than a little disheartening. It helps, sometimes, to remind myself that I like writing plays. If I knew my plays would never get produced, I’d still write them.

Obviously my loyalty towards theater is not contingent on the prospect of getting rich and famous. I walked into this playwriting proposition knowing that it would affect my relationships and life circumstances. It’s the primary reason that I’m a single girl with a cat. No marriage, no kids, and no mortgage – those are the things I modified in my life so I could write plays without strings attached.

But when I’m honest with myself – really honest – I could create a stack of evidence that says I’m not a “real playwright”.

For instance, in 1998 someone asked me which playwrights inspired me. My mind went blank. I couldn’t think of anyone who truly made me passionate about theater. Indeed, the only writers who made me excited about writing were novelists, essayists and poets. No playwrights.

Then there’s the issue about disposition. Back in college, I used to get hauled off to the side by teachers who would point a finger at me for not wanting to hear my work read out loud. I used to shrug it off and tell them that I’m a playwright with a novelist’s temperament. It’s true. When it’s all said and done, I’m not enthused about working with directors, actors and producers. Somewhere inside my head, I keep thinking that they are just layers of people I have to cut through to get to the audience.

Perhaps the most important sign of all has taken place gradually. Over the past five years, I‘ve been in some kind of artistic transition where my plays have become very prosy. It’s the reason why I tend to lean on older works when people ask me for samples. But even something like Underlings would make a better book than play and perhaps that’s why I’ve gone through so many drafts of it and have remained unsatisfied. It doesn’t help that when my plays are read or performed, people ask me for the text or tell me that they would rather read it than watch it performed. It’s meant to be a compliment, but it makes me wonder if I’m playing for the right team.

Again, I have no answers to this “real playwright” quandary. It’s ironic that this question is surfacing now because I’m about to embark on one of the biggest playwriting projects I’ve ever undertaken. So while I’m not planning on leaving theater completely, I can also tell you that I’ve decided not to work with a playwriting agent right now. Judging from the way it feels writing all this, I’m sure it’s a matter of self-identity. When people ask me what kind of things I write, I’m not sure what to answer first – plays or books. What is a “real playwright”?

Lumbering Forward

Lumbering Forward by Laura Axelrod

This entry originally appeared on Gasp!, Laura's blog, on September 1, 2004. Do not reuse without express permission of the author.

Alright, let’s resume the discussion, shall we?

First, back to Dan. For the sake of cleaner discussion, I’m not going to go back through everything he said. I think on some of this we’re just going to have to agree to disagree and leave it at that.

I don’t believe Broadway is the entirety of the theater scene in New York. My essay was referring not only to the New York theater scene, but also attitudes and perspectives that the New York theater scene respects and agrees with.

Dan says: ”I think the best way to pick a fight with a Chicago theatre person is to say that New York is the place to go for new plays. That’s true everywhere. I lived in San Francisco for six years. Each city takes pride in their theaters. You aren’t going to get an argument from me on that.

He also says: “The history of the ladder is just that: history. Out-of-town tryouts are basically over. Broadway only does a handful of straight plays each season. Most of the ones that go only go because of wild success at an off-Broadway or regional venue. The only reason anyone brings a show from out-of-town to Broadway anymore is because of A) the posh that New York's past glory evokes and B) the same reason anyone brings their play to another city: because there might be a buck to be made. And many producers are realizing that the economics of Broadway preclude profit.”

I disagree completely. I was involved with project two years ago where part of the plan would've been to open the project out-of-town. There are several ways that a play can “go Broadway”, and I’ll be exploring this in the future. But to say that out-of-town tryouts are over is completely false and has not been a part of my personal experience. Broadway might be going through a difficult period right now, but it’s hardly lost the prestige. Ask a few agents. There is still money to be made, and the career potential for a Broadway playwright is still extraordinary. Besides, there are also one-person shows and musicals. And yes, I was talking about all these along with plays. They need playwrights do write books to musicals. I think our Book writers and lyricists would be hurt to know that we’ve left them out.

Regarding audiences only wanting their point of view affirmed and not challenged… I completely disagree. While liberal audiences have enjoyed the benefits of having their perspective validated time and again, that doesn’t mean that they would not benefit from being challenged. Conservatives know that they are going to see plays that not only challenge them, but offend them. Anyone ever heard conservatives talk about art and theatre? I love talking to them because while they feel passionately about theater and are open to being challenged, there’s very little that is a challenge to them. I suggest engaging in this kind of discussion – frequently. It’s quite an eye opener.

(And for those who ask why they would even want to do that, again… Do you just want to speak to those with similar views or do you want your art to have an impact?)

Society does not reflect the New York theater world. This statement, of course, is a hornet’s nest and gets into issues of political correctness, perceived special interests and identity politics. I would prefer to stay on topic. Over the past few years, there’s been plenty of discussion about the how and why that this segmentation exists. Again, another hornet’s nest I could go into, but I’d really like to hear what others have to say about the main essay and their own ideas around the topic.

Unless I’m misunderstanding Dan… He doesn’t see the New York liberal perspective’s effect on what gets produced and how it affects which audiences go to see New York theatre. To me, that’s so obvious that I need sunglasses to write the statement.

New York theater does have that special prestige. Why else is the “New York premiere” of a play different from a world premiere? Regarding Octavio Solis, who is a remarkable playwright – I didn’t say that a playwright needed New York to have a career. However, you can damn well be sure that breaking into that market is special feather in his cap and not something that playwrights and agents throughout the country take lightly.

In all this bluster, I’m going to summarize my assertions so far.

1. New York theater sets the pace for the rest of American theater. We hate to admit it, and regional pride might make a great argument against “needing” a New York production, but the New York premiere can take a playwright’s career to a higher place. Therefore…

2. New York liberal politics influences what gets produced. Can we really say that New York isn’t predominantly liberal?

3. The lack of honest, insightful dialogue in American theater greatly influences the lack of audience. The segmentation of audiences hinders discourse and is a result of the liberal PC politics of American Theater.

4. There was also a discussion of story and traditional narrative. It seems like ages ago when we talked about how people wanted a meaningful, vital and urgent experience in theater. This didn’t mean, however, that the story had to be told in a realistic, linear way.

5. The elitism and isolation of theater professionals was cited as a cause for why audiences don’t care about theater. We either talk down to them or are so involved with impressing our colleagues that we forget to communicate to our audience.

Now remember friends, this was just one essay in a series. And I said it was going to be an occasional series. I’m on deadline for two playwriting projects right now, which is why the second part won’t be coming as soon as I was hoping. I also want to give people a chance to respond. My assertions aren’t fixed, so please feel free to state your thoughts…

Responding to Dan

Responding to Dan by Laura Axelrod

This entry originally appeared on Gasp!, Laura's blog, on August 30, 2004. Do not reuse without express permission of the author.

Dan Trujillo took the bait and posted a response to my essay, “Why the Hell Don’t These People Care About Theater?”

(Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite get the title right. Funny how everyone has a different slant on this. In referring to the essay, no one has used “Great Performances in Masturbatory Theater.” Hope this isn't a sign of prudishness on the part of my fellow playwrights.)

His retort is rather lengthy, so grab your popcorn. In the beginning, he states:

“I think, on the whole, her essay misses the cause in favor of issues related to her own aesthetic.” Towards the end of the essay, he says, “I'm not saying that Laura's theatre doesn't exist. Like many of us, I think she's still searching for her own aesthetic homeland;”

An apparent contradiction if I ever heard one. I know my voice and aesthetic, thanks. There’s really no need to question that, but he continues: “but in the process, I think she's throwing stones at phantoms. Tossed stones won't build her homeland, though; only her work will.”

Gee, you think writing plays will help? As I stated when I announced these essays, there will be people who will simply say that I should just shut up and write. If you think you’re so smart… And there will always be people who respond by saying that you have no idea what the heck you are talking about. So let’s continue…

…but I would argue that the decentralization of American theatre had already happened pre-9/11. It has been on since at least the 70s, with the ascendancy of the regional theatre movement to dominance in the field of shepherding new plays. For every Circle in the Square or Playwrights Horizons or Manhattan Theatre Club, you have a Steppenwolf or a Mark Taper Forum or a Guthrie. Even musty grandfathers like The Huntington Theatre Company play host to August Wilson before he sets foot in NYC. It's difficult to prove that New York-centric theatre world when well over fifty percent of the successful American playwrights of the last twenty years have spawned outside of it. Yes, eventually all of their work comes to the Big Apple. It also goes to Seattle, Austin, San Francisco, or wherever there's a market.

I’m very aware of the regional theater movement. I am also aware of the inherent bias that New York theaters have towards work that doesn’t celebrate the same values and judgments they do. Plays may get their first performance elsewhere – that’s the usual method of operation. Most producers want to know that they have a winner before moving the play into the city. While having a production in Chicago is wonderful, it isn’t the same as having it in a Broadway theater in New York. Getting a transfer like that is what most people are looking towards. It’s called a “ladder” I believe, and if you read theater history, you’ll understand.

My essay was about the isolation of the New York Theater and the claustrophobic similarity of viewpoints that result. The goal of the piece was to express the notion that there is a whole other world out there where theater isn’t reaching – a world of other ideas, other political views, and frames of references. Funny how the perceptions about the world found in most plays are very similar to the average New Yorker’s perceptions of life. This is hardly a unique stand, as noted in Sunday’s Chicago Sun Times:

“As is the norm in the entertainment industry, theater is filled with liberal voices. Plays raising conservative viewpoints are rare, if they exist at all, says (Kevin) Heckman. (Stage Left Artistic Director)

"I'm waiting for the day when we get a really good, well-reasoned, well-argued conservative viewpoint in a play," said Heckman. "I think that theater should be able to talk about anything. And I would like to think that if we got such a play, we would be willing to produce it if it truly raised debate so that there would be lively discussions afterwards."

He says it’s the entertainment industry. I say its New York Theater. Either way, it’s happening and it’s something playwrights will have to consider. Dan may say that people aren’t looking for material that challenges their values, but then he has to admit that most people who go to theater are liberal and possess the same values that the average New Yorker has. If we had more conservative plays, think that would change? If there was more of a dialogue, maybe we’d get more people to sit through a play? Yup.

And dialogue is key. Christian plays exist throughout the US – true – but they aren’t mainstream American theater and that’s what we’re addressing here. Isn’t it funny how theater has to segment itself like that anyway? Women to the right, Gays up ahead, Christians over there… Not exactly promoting the ol’ dialogue, now is it?

“Laura is an excellent writer, and I've had the pleasure of producing her work, but I think she's describing symptoms of the disease. Perhaps her promised further essays will elaborate (on both the causes of theatres failings and in the painting of her wished-for landcape).”

Well, thanks Dan. It was a pleasure working with you and I believe you are an excellent writer yourself. The point of the essay was to introduce the problem, not to provide solutions, which will come in future essays. It was not intended to be a manifesto. How you can’t see the domination of New York City in regards to American Theater baffles me, so we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.

At the end of the piece, he makes a reference to economics and technology as being a major issue in theater. I look forward to hearing more about this. Meanwhile Dan, if you want to travel 600 miles to knock me in the jaw, feel free. Just be sure to dodge the hurricanes.

I have to get back to my playwriting now.

A Response: The Church of the Narrative Structure

A Response: The Church of the Narrative Structure by Laura Axelrod

This entry originally appeared on Gasp!, Laura's blog, on August 30, 2004. Do not reuse without express permission of the author.

George Hunka's response makes for a very nice segue into the second essay in this series. This response is rather lengthy, so the second part will be forthcoming.

First, let’s clear up a false presumption: I am no defender of the traditional narrative. In fact, I’ve spent the last ten years of my writing career deconstructing it. My last traditionally narrative play, “Everybody In This House” was written in 1992 and was greatly influenced by my association with Circle Repertory Company. For those of you who don’t know, Circle Rep gave birth to some wonderful plays by Lanford Wilson, Joe Pintauro, Milan Stitt and others. There was a firm philosophy in place regarding the use of the traditional narrative structure in playwriting.

Upon leaving Circle Rep, I began the first few drafts of Underlings. During the first public reading of the play, the surrealistic nature of it was noted. After that, I abandoned the narrative structure for a more experimental one in subsequent drafts. Another public reading was held and one of my mentors blasted me for being “self-indulgent”.

When you leave the Church of the Traditional Narrative, expect to get slapped for heresy.

Luckily, someone else took me under his wing and told me to go see Richard Foreman’s work. The first time I attended one of his plays was back in 1994. I was also instructed to read Tennesee William’s play Camino Real.

Since that time, my work has employed traditional narrative in only the vaguest sense. This does not mean that I’m completely opposed to the use of it, however. Someone could easily point a finger Underlings in its current tenth draft incarnation, but please remember that traditional narrative in that play was not my first choice and is still a choice I question. Since 1993, my work includes a 53 scene non-traditional play, a performance poem that utilizes language to establish drama, and an unconventional prose play, amongst others.

I don’t expect many people out there to know any of this, since American Theater still embraces, idolizes and worships the traditional narrative. It can be very difficult to get readings or productions if you utilize a different form. Not complaining, it’s just a fact.

With the above in mind, I’m going to reiterate what I said in my previous essay:

“I’ve taken an informal poll since leaving New York City and most people tell me that the reason they go to theater is for the ability to experience a compelling story. A story. That’s the reason why the general public cares about theater. How we tell the story is up to us, but we must communicate something vital, meaningful and urgent.”

There's a difference between the words “story” and “narrative”. To me, everything has a story - a painting, a dance, a butoh performance. Even Richard Foreman’s work contains some form of story, just not a traditional one. Narrative, on the other hand, implies structure. When I refer to narrative, it is usually stated as “traditional narrative” to avoid confusion with people who will likely think the words are interchangeable. And why shouldn’t they think that? For the most part, we’ve been brainwashed to believe that the only way to tell a story is through Shakespearian devices.

Again, how we choose to tell the story is up to us, but we must communicate something vital, meaningful and urgent. I didn’t say that we needed to use traditional structure to convey meaning, and using traditional narrative is no guarantee that you will be vital, meaningful, urgent or even compelling.

The audience doesn’t need to have stories gift wrapped in a traditionally narrative structure.

As I said in the previous essay, “…there’s a grey area between the latest Disney Broadway production and Foreman. This grey area is where great theater exists.” The American Public knows this as well, even if we insist on treating them like children.

Great Performances in Masturbatory Theater

Great Performances in Masturbatory Theater by Laura Axelrod

This entry originally appeared on Gasp!, Laura's blog, on August 26, 2004. Do not reuse without express permission of the author.

This is the first article in an occasional series titled “Why the Hell Don't These People Care About Theater?”

Last week, I spent a great deal of time exploring this topic – taking opposing views on critical points, rewriting, rethinking, anticipating possible responses. Upon completion I went to bed for the night, content that I had said something that others should read.

I couldn’t sleep for several hours. Something wasn’t right. In the morning, I looked at the essay and scrapped it.

I don’t want to contribute to the amount of dick-wagging that already accompanies discussions of theater. I don’t want to further the cause of pretentiousness and elitism. That’s not who I am and there’s no need to discuss theater in that fashion. When I read essays that are bloated with overgrown verbiage, it offends me. As a writer, I know the essayist is misusing words in an effort to obscure meaning. As a reader, the stench of condescension suffocates me. If I, as a playwright, can’t wrap my head around the point, how can the general public be expected to pay attention?

They can’t, and that’s one of the reasons why people don’t care about theater. Somewhere in recent history, theater professionals ceased communicating with their audiences. It became Us versus Them. We (playwrights, directors, actors and designers) felt that we were far too intellectual for the general public. We were too sensitive to honestly discuss the political turns that the great unwashed masses took some time ago. We could only correct them – talk down to them in a politically correct fashion. This is something akin to clubbing our audience over the head with a 2x4 plank.

It is YOU who is racist!” A prominent playwright declared by bluntly holding a mirror and having the spotlight on the audience during one production.

It is our job to speak for the minority, but the minority is us. In fact, it’s better if the minority is us because it only confirms our status as gatekeepers. We stand self-righteous in our beliefs that the general public needs to be taught a lesson.

Instead they have turned away, disgusted with the amount of preaching and elitism that we dish out in an evening of theater. There is a very little amount of honest intellectual exploration that is currently on the stage. We write, direct, and act in an effort to impress our colleagues. Because we’re preaching to the choir, we email our theater friends about our latest shows. We call this “supporting each other”. In reality, we’re the only ones we can get to attend our plays.

“Racism is horrible. Coming out as a gay or lesbian person is hard. The war is wrong. Bush is bad.”

The amount of shouting that goes on from stages is astonishing. Yet with all the shouting, there is little rational discussion. The deck is always stacked against the opposition. For example, I attended a reading eight months ago where the playwright dared to have a libertarian character. Of course, the libertarian was the antagonist, and racist, and close-minded, and…

You get the idea. We’ve created stock characters for the people who have wronged us – whether they are parents, those who hold different political perspectives, stereotypical “non-urban” hicks and whatnot. It becomes a literal rendition of a resentment - very little is learned and no ideas are explored.

That is, of course, if you believe drama is about conflict. I took part in one show where a monologist shouted his speech about 9/11. The audience reacted to the visceral experience but had no idea what it all meant when it was over.

Mistaking style over substance is just one of knives slicing through the soul of American Theater. A successful playwright told me once that grant committees loved plays that confused them. If they didn’t understand it, then it must be saying something deeply profound. Hogwash. I’ve taken an informal poll since leaving New York City and most people tell me that the reason they go to theater is for the ability to experience a compelling story. A story. That’s the reason why the general public cares about theater. How we tell the story is up to us, but we must communicate something vital, meaningful and urgent.

Yet to “tell a story” is viewed as pandering to the lowest common denominator. To those of you who believe that, I say that there’s a grey area between the latest Disney Broadway production and Foreman. This grey area is where great theater exists. The theatrical experience is unlike any other art form because one can be surrounded by a completely different reality. This encounter can only be paralleled by a Catholic Mass. Yet, even a Mass tells a story. The idea that a story isn’t needed is intellectual bravado and a belief that only the emotionally dishonest can hold true.

Another issue killing American Theater is its centralization in New York City. A long time ago, New Yorkers set the artistic trends and beliefs. With the explosive growth of technology, this is no longer the case. Americans now look to other regions of the country to reflect back or challenge their values and ideas. When Dale Earnhardt died several years ago, the New York Times wrote a story on how disconnected New Yorkers were with regards to the rest of the country. New Yorkers had no idea who Dale Earnhardt was or why he was important. The article conceded that New York is losing its cultural primacy. It is no longer a place the rest of the country looks up to in order to set standards.

With the growing threat of terrorism, most believe that this country’s artistic community will leave New York City and take hold in different regions throughout the country. This can only lessen the isolation that exists in American Theater. If you are surrounded by people who live the same way you do, believe in the same things you believe, and see the world in the same fashion, how can you be challenged by or accurately portray people who aren’t like you? I’m surprised that there aren’t more plays about writers living in New York writing plays about writers living in New York.

This isolation feeds into itself and leads to one long monotonous exhale of similar work. Theater is a dynamic art form that, unfortunately, one has to look to Europe to become excited over.

So if you’re wondering why no one cares about theater, or would like to bemoan how mistreated we all are, or would like to refute the idea that we’re preaching to the choir, consider this: Most people think theater is self-indulgent and we have done nothing to disprove it. Indeed, we may think we’re smarter, more perceptive, more sensitive than our audience, but our lack of humility negates everything. Theater doesn’t need to be a dying art form, but our attitudes betray our intentions. Think about that next time you send your blast emails announcing your latest show. It doesn’t need to be this way.