Theatreforte starts the day with a challenging post:
Someone very smart wrote that if you can fulfill one of three needs, people will do anything for you.
* Aid their health.
* Make them richer.
* Do something for their kids.
So, how does Theater address these needs?
Let's see...
Health:
People who are engaged in their communities and have strong social bonds are physically and mentally healthier. Theater, unlike watching TV or surfing the web, provides human interaction. It goes beyond film, which is also experienced as a group, by the live contact we have with actors. It's an art form that was created to elicit discussion and create a dialogue with those around us. By forcing us question and define our shared values, Theater, by its very nature, is exists to strengthen community. A stronger community means a healthier community.
Wealth:
Theater isn't co-opted by commercials. When you watch a play, you aren't interrupted every thirteen minutes by announcements of new medications for completely made-up conditions. No pop-ups, product placements, or coming attractions. Isn't it great to sit in your seat and get exactly what you paid for? For 90 minutes or so, you can be completely engaged in a work of the imagination. Does this make you wealthier? Maybe not, but at least you don't walk out wanting more crap you didn't need in the first place.
Think of the children:
I can only speak for myself on this one. Seeing my first play (The Wizard of Oz, Pabst Theater, Milwaukee, age 8) is one of the childhood experiences that I can recognize as life altering. I still vividly remember walking into the opulent, century old building. When the curtains parted, the show tapped into my imagination, engaged me on a level that went beyond anything I'd been exposed to at this point. It was the first experience in my life that made me feel that there might actually be magic in the world. (I was a kid who pretended to believe in Santa Claus for the benefit of my parents) Later on, as a High School student, I rediscovered theater, which I fell into almost by default. I didn't like sports, play an instrument, and found myself sort of adrift. If I hadn't wandered into our school's theater department, I can honestly say I would probably be pumping gas at the local Citgo right now. Theater became my only reason to come to school. For a depressed teenager who found little to care about, Theater was something that involved me, activated me, and gave me a means to express myself. It provided a kid who probably would not of obtained a diploma, a set of skills that not only got me through high school, but also helped me to excel in college. It gave me a love of reading, writing, and taught me to think abstractly and critically. I often make sarcastic comments about being playwright, writing for a dying art form, having a skill that will never feed me on its own, etc, etc... When it comes down to it, and I know it sounds a little overstated, Theater saved my life.]]>
. Step-pop's colorful use of language infected all of us, so by the age of twelve I could string together pearls of profanities that could make George Carlin blush.
It's no wonder then, that I have an affinity for David Mamet
The Soho Rep's Writer/Director Lab, now a decade strong, is in the midst of their 2008 reading series featuring six hand-selected playwrights and their director cohorts. Here's your chance to see the future of American Theatre for the low, low price of free. In the past, the Lab has nurtured such writers as Melissa James Gibson
, because this intelligent, very contemporary play is a pure pleasure to read.
The Over Our Heads Players Present
Deflowering Waldo by Adam Szymkowicz
Sixth Street Theater
318 Sixth Street Racine, WI 53403
April 4- April 26th Fridays 8pm, Saturdays 5:30pm, Sundays 2:30pm
In his essay, Run Fast, Stand Still, Or, The Thing At The Top of The Stairs, sci-fi luminary Ray Bradbury asks writers to trust in the powers of the unconscious mind. What does this mean? Early in his career, Bradbury created lists of nouns, taken from childhood memories. Many were frightening totems with a visceral power that carried over into adulthood. For example, "THE ATTIC, THE BASEMENT, THE TRAPDOOR, THE BABY, THE CROWD, THE NIGHT TRAIN, THE FOG HORN..." These simple lists, drawn from the wellspring of his own personal mythology, provided the impetus for countless classic tales like R is for Rocket, and Something Wicked This Way Comes. Why not take five minutes to make your own list of nouns? Put pen to paper, don't judge your answers, and let your mind wander wherever it likes. There's something very appealing to this organic and individualized method of story-finding. I'll post my results soon, and if you're game, send me the results of your lists and I'll share those too. And if you haven't read Bradbury's inspirational and energizing manifesto, Zen in the Art of Writing, pick up a copy here
"When Charles Lamb's farce Mr. H failed disastrously on opening night, the author joined in the hissing." Why? For the answer, visit the delightful odditorium, Futility Closet. ]]>
Gary Gygax died this week. The Wisconsin native and co-creator of Dungeons & Dragons was 69 years old. I was introduced to the game by my Junior High science teacher, Mr. Jozwick, who started an after-school D&D club. I remember picking up the oddly shaped gaming dice for the first time and creating a chaotic-evil thief who was nimble (Dexterity: 15) but ugly (Charisma: 8). Almost instantly, my gifted program peers and I were hooked. The game's genius came from the flexibility it gave to players. The rules merely provided a launching pad from which your imagination could take off from, your enjoyment bounded only by your creativity.
It wasn't long before The Monster Manual and the Dungeon Masters Guide became like the two testaments of the Bible for me and my friends. Weekend afternoons and and late-night sleepovers were spent exploring scenarios dreamt up by the cruel minds of my brilliant and socially awkward compatriots. There were glorious battles with Orks and Beholders, forbidden liaisons with Succubi, violent deaths, and endless arguments over the byzantine rules of play.
At the height of my gaming obsession, a friend's Mom generously drove us to Gen Con, a yearly convention held for enthusiasts in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. I remember the excitement that took hold when we found the TSR store, overwhelmed by the amount of figurines, books, and role-playing accoutrements that were unavailable to us in town. Then, someone in the store said that Gary Gygax, the man, the legend himself, was leading a game as we spoke. Gary Gygax Dungeon Mastering his own game? It was like getting a chance to see James Naismith shoot hoops, or Les Paul play electric guitar. I think I left a contrail behind me as I took off toward the convention hall.
There he was, looking much as I had imagined; gray beard, wise eyes, a 12th degree Wizard with high charisma and many hit points. We watched him rapt, as he effortlessly made his fantasy world come to life in way that was immediate and completely captivating. When the man signed my Dungeon Masters Guide, I was in awe. At the same time, I also recall looking at some of the unkempt middle-aged men holding court behind their three-ring binders and making a mental note to myself, "Don't let that happen to you."
That thought was the beginning of the end for D&D and me. Though it's hard for me to quantify how much an impression the game has made on my life, some fifteen years later I wrote a play called The Gifted Program,
