EXTRA CRITICUM

Hear Me Out 2021: Submissions Are Already Pouring In. The Why and the How and the What For of Deep Diving into Monologue Writing... Again and Again (and again).

Last Spring as the possibility that CoViD19 lockdown might eat up more than a month of 2020 turned gently into probability, then undeniable certainty, I noticed something interesting. Those of us who have a hand in the creation of film and theatre--of entertainment in the form of stories that unfold before a live audience--we were all showing clear signs of cabin fever. Playwright friends were having readings of new and old work. Actors were gathering to perform sonnets. Songwriters were grabbing their guitars, logging onto Zoom and sharing stuff. 

It was exciting. And healing. We needed that. We needed to connect and to reaffirm what it is we do best. 

But there were problems. For one thing, Zoom is a pretty sorry substitute for actually being there. [Look for my upcoming argument: Zoom: Fear her not. But pity her a little bit. She'll never convince us that nothing's lost.] When it comes to live theatre, the most obvious problem is that no two actors can ever really make eye contact via webcam.

When the format is the content and vice versa. (or: you'll never escape the power of proper script formatting so run if you like you fool but in the end the show will prove this truth: when it comes to script format you can run but you can't hide.

It happens every few weeks or so, at least once a semester and definitely more than once a month. One of the scriptwriters in one of my workshops has brought in pages to read and they look like this:

STAGE BARE. MAYBE A CHEST OF DRAWERS SOMEPLACE NOT TOO NOTICEABLE. ALICE ENTERS SHABBILY DRESSED. SHE'S HUMMING A TUNE OF SOME SORT.

A: Hey, Idiots! You're all still here?

L: Yeah. What you gonna do about it?

etc etc.

Or maybe they look more like proper Dramatists Guild modern script formatting with one lone and glaring exception; the writer has chosen one element among the elements we expect to see on these pages -- stage directions, character names, dialogue, parentheticals. etc. -- and has given this familiar member of the family a new way of appearing on the page. Perhaps they've decided that ALL CAPS is not enough, they need ALL CAPS AND BOLD or ALL CAPS AND BOLD AND ITALIC or ALL CAPS AND BOLD AND ITALIC AND PURPLE.

When I was in grad school for Music Composition occasionally one of us would bring in pages of a new masterpiece that didn't look like normal music notation. 99% of the time, whatever strange visual we were taking time to explain and debate was referring to a way of making sound that was not new. Just the approach to notating it was. One of my professors Martin Boykan enjoyed such moments immensely.

After a few years, your own work might surprise you.

So on Saturday night we held a Zoom screening of my film, WE PEDAL UPHILL, a tapestry of 13 filmed stories (each in a different U.S. state).  It had been a couple years at least since I'd watched the film and I'm glad I did. I learned a lot (again) about the power of the unconscious creative brain.

I noticed a bunch of recurring images or themes or details that I  don't recall thinking about consciously when we began shooting in early 2005. That was the beginning of the second 4-year term of the George W. Bush administration. Some of us were stunned to learn that, for example, support for the Iraq War President had actually increased in Manhattan between the 2000 and 2004 elections.

What did this mean? Where were we headed as a nation? Were we destined to grow more enthralled by simple slogans aimed squarely at the fear that gripped us in the wake of the attacks of September 11, 2001? Would we ever be the same people we had been on September 10th of that year?

These were questions on my mind as we started out on what turned out to be an almost 3-year production and post-production period. It was raise a little cash, shoot one. Pause to regroup. Rinse and repeat. Until by the Spring of 2007 (just a few months before I'd fly to Lithuania to assist Ed Zwick as co-producer of DEFIANCE) when we'd composed a tapestry film, using 13 of the 15 short films we'd shot.

Saturday night I noticed some repeating tropes or images. For example, there seemed to be a lot of digging. Was my unconscious guiding me here? Possibly, although the Alabama piece ("We Dig a Big Hole") is inspired by actual remarks made by an Alabama state rep who introduced a bill in the state legislature to ban books written by gay authors.

Making new work for the world is anything but selfish. In fact, I'd argue it's an act of wild generosity.

The other day I received an email from a delightful writer, a member of one of the online writers workshops I'm now teaching. It was a really simple email but it contained one detail that leapt right out and slapped me across the face. So I knew I'd have to hop on Extra Criticum to get this off my chest.

Two of the online writers workshops I teach are winding down in the next month or so. Over the course of our months together inevitably, some workshop members write less than they'd hoped to. Others write more. And so as the final sessions approach there's always a certain amount of negotiating to try and find time to address as much new work as possible before it's time to say goodbye.  I always remind everyone at least a month ahead of time of the last session date and I make it clear that anyone who wants to claim time during our last workshop simply has to email me to say so. If we have too much work for the 2.5 hours scheduled, we'll just squeeze everyone a bit to make sure everyone's stuff gets heard and addressed.

I keep getting asked about WE PEDAL UPHILL. I think it's really resonating for folks so I've decided to screen it online February 20th

I think it first came up in one of my online writers workshops when Kate Weiman asked if I could share a bit about how the film came into being...where and how it all began, what I wrote first, what we shot first. I was happy to explain that after volunteering on the John Kerry Presidential Campaign and coming face to face with truly criminal tactics on the ground in Florida in the days leading up to the election, I was despairing.

When I told my then producing partner Chris Arruda of my absolute fear that the country I loved (the chosen home of my immigrant parents) was in danger of turning toward darkly undemocratic impulses, he answered the way the best collaborator would.

Why don't you write about it? See what comes up.

How I Read New Scripts

I really should have titled this post: How Do You Read New Scripts?

So how do you? Please post a comment.

Apologies to you if you were waiting for this for a few weeks. I just realized I made this video in response to a question asked in one of my writers workshop. And I made the video weeks ago but forgot to post it. Oh dear. Well, here it is at last. Great question, by the way. I'd never have thought to ask it. 

 

 

Kia Corthron, Gary Garrison, Tammy Ryan and Sophfronia Scott on How to Reach Us in a 140-char World

Over the past several months, I've had more than one student working on a full-length play or musical that starts out seeming to be one thing only to eventually reveal itself to be something entirely different. And in each, the moment when it becomes clear that we've been toyed with, that the real story is here not back there, the shift is thrilling.

I should say that my writers workshops never banish questions of ambition. I want participants to show up with their real-world dreams for their material out in the open for all to see, up for discussion.

And, when it comes to these types of pieces, I can't help but worry a little. And so I've been wondering.

How is a writer working on material that takes more than 10 pages to reveal its true nature going to have a chance of being picked up in a world of ever-shrinking attention spans, where gatekeepers may not stick around long enough to discover the hidden treasure beyond page 19?

I put this question to four clever writers who all happen to care deeply about teaching and paying it forward for the future of our shared culture.  Here's what each of them had to say:

The Power of Monologue at this Unique Moment in History

When I decided to launch a nationwide monologue initiative I hoped that writers would be inspired by the call to take the lemons of pandemic shutdown and make some serious lemonade. I hoped. Maybe I'd say I even suspected that the 'Me & My Masks' prompt we used in our call for submissions to the 'Hear Me Out' New American Monologue Competition would inspire writers to write and send us their pieces.

Well... more than 350 submissions (from 43 U.S. States, Canada, South America, Europe, Asia and New Zealand) later, the verdict is in. Writers everywhere are ready willing and able to take hold of this unique historical moment and forge a viable path forward for making exciting theatre happen again, one talking head at a time.

And naturally, the infrastructure of this competition has been challenged by the overwhelming flood of entries. [Recently, I shared about the frustrations of having to say "no" to last-minute requests for "a few more minutes" past entry deadline.] Although I'd spent months inviting a hand-picked collection of seasoned actors, directors and writers from both stage and screen to serve on our National Circle of Judges, the circle was not going to be big enough to evaluate so many entries.

So I did what I've done since the beginning of this initiative. I reached out to some trusted leaders in the field, people like Gary Garrison, Kate Snodgrass, Faye Sholiton, Vicky Pittman, John Wooten, Paul Outlaw, Jeremy Dobrish, and Teresa Coleman Wash. And boy have they delivered!

Submission Deadlines When Life is Lived Online

Yesterday we closed the submissions window on the first annual 'Hear Me Out' New American Monologue Competition. And while I felt thrilled and humbled by the number of entries we received from writers in 43 U.S. States, Canada, Europe, South America and as far away as New Zealand, I have to admit I found it heartbreaking having to refuse what amounted to an avalanche of last-minute requests for special exceptions to our strict Noon deadline. 

First, I feel it important to explain our rationale for refusing to accept post-deadline submissions. I'm here to testify to the fact that for every one person who may send a request for special treatment after having run up against the submission gates swinging shut, there are always at least a dozen reticent folks who feel the same frustration and disappointment yet accept the result as simply an unfortunate fact of life, something to use as a lesson and hopefully avoid in the future. For those of us accustomed to taking "no" for an answer swiftly and and as quietly as possible, the idea that only those few who are quick to complain about spotty internet, incomplete social media posts, or competing life challenges would be let in feels cruel and unfair.

The only way to make a deadline meaningful is to stick to it, no matter how painful it may be.

And this brings me to my main point.

A Writing Competition Perfectly Suited to These Pandemic Times

Anyone who tells you their adjustment to life under soshedist has been smooth sailing, A-OK, is without a doubt one of those annoying frenemies who only present the rosiest picture of themselves to the world in an attempt to psyche-out the competition. Make no mistake, life during Pandemic, life under partial lockdown is merely an approximation of life for the living because human beings need human contact to thrive. 

As a writer, I've found the past few months excruciating. Because while it may be true that writing itself is a solitary activity and actually depends upon the writer's disciplined ability to end conversations, usher guests out the door and ignore phone calls in order to actually get the requisite alone time needed to write, writers, at least those who are consumed with questions of what it means to be human (which certainly includes those of us writing plays and films), need human interaction to feed the flame. I'm inspired every day by people I work with, people I love, people I grew up with, people I share a city block with, etc. etc. And I use the word "inspired" in the most neutral sense. People offer me fascinating stuff the chew on. Being consciously separated from the unpredictable chaos of other human people's agendas for the past four months has driven me to a place called Zoom.

In Memoriam: Alvin Epstein was my friend, mentor, collaborator and inspiration.

Alvin Epstein, friend, mentor, collaborator, died the other day. I feel so fortunate to have had him in my creative life since I was a precocious 13-yr-old eager to learn all I could from this master actor, director and philosopher. I'm re-posting this tribute to Alvin below. And I include for your viewing pleasure an excerpt from his performance in my 2009 film, We Pedal Uphill. Alvin was the best kind of teacher. He never shied away from making clear choices and was always open and eager to put them to the test in rehearsal. I'm so grateful to my sister, Leora, for her having helped to facilitate my own last visit with him in October. I will miss him as long as I live.

Lessons from Actors: Alvin Epstein

Alvin Epstein, actor and director, has been one of my mentors. Over the 40+ years I've known him he's taught me many lessons. I'd like to briefly describe three of them here.

1. The Sign of a True Professional = More Rehearsal.

Alvin appeared in my film, We Pedal Uphill, which we rehearsed in New York but shot in various locales all across the country. It's a tapestry film, composed of thirteen short slices of life, each with a specific point of view set in a specific context chosen as a reflection of some aspect of the culture of fear that permeated the landscape in post-911 America. Alvin and Molly Powell's scene was all about the commercial railroads, their decay, graft, neglect and we shot this portion of the film in Omaha. We spent a few weeks rehearsing in New York, then our tiny crew flew to Omaha for about 4 days of shooting, most of which involved Alvin driving a Ford F-150 pickup truck with Molly in the passenger seat and Yours Truly in the backseat shooting. Although I had known Alvin for years and had even written one stage role with him in mind I had never had the pleasure of directing him in a performance. I quickly noticed something kind of wonderful about him.

Alvin could never get enough rehearsal. 

Another Great Film Lost in our Broken System

Who We Are Now is one of the best indie films I've seen in years. And it's playing on one screen, the beloved Cinema Village. And if yesterday's sparse attendance is any indication, it won't be here next week. And that is a crying shame. If you're in the city and can manage it, run to the Cinema Village to see this important, moving, breathtaking and beautifully written and acted film while you can.

I can point to two things which might account for its lackluster box office performance. The first is a problem of film marketing. The trailer is a pumped up shiny object which tries to make the film seem like a conventional thriller when it's so much more. Like many trailers today, it underestimates the public's hunger for substance and plays the lowest common denominator. And by doing so, I'm afraid, possibly causes folks who'd really connect with the moral core of the story to skip it entirely.

Robert McKee is So Much More Than I Imagined Him to Be

All filmmakers know his name. It's virtually impossible to have written a screenplay in this country (or any other, for that matter) without having come across the name Robert McKee because it is McKee who towers over all of us, or the idea of McKee, an omniscient master analyst of any story told on screen. As we write our screenplays, it's almost impossible to ignore the nagging fear whispering from within. The fear that when the film is finally made and screened and (God willing!) released in movie theatres, McKee might see it and emerge from the darkened theatre shaking his head in disbelief at the multitude of glaring failures of storytelling on display.

As I was making ALL THE RAGE, which I adapted from my stage play A BETTER BOY, I wondered what McKee might make of my radical reworking of the story's structure, specifically, the last 15-20 min. of screen time, which departed radically from the play's resolution. I uprooted what had been the the last 25% of my protagonist's journey to construct an end that really landed 180-degrees from where the play had arrived. What's amazing to me, looking back on it, is that somehow without ever having read McKee's books or taken his world-famous workshops, I'd managed to absorb one major point he's been making about storytelling for the last thirty years: the relationship between the audience and a story's protagonist is essential to a story's power to move us and engineering that relationship is delicate surgical work that demands our undivided attention.  Turn away from that question for even one moment during the crafting of a screenplay and... well, good luck selling more than a dozen tickets.

An Oldie But Goodie for Playwrights and Screenwriters

I'm embarrassed to have to say I forget which teacher first taught me this old trick. If you're out there and reading this, please forgive me for not giving credit where credit is due. But this is a tried and true little exercise every writer of scripts ought to do every few years just to be sure we're firing with all pistons, as they say.

Take two pages of one of your plays or screenplays and print them out. Now white out all the character names. 

Serendipity and Meryl Streep at the Quad Cinema

On Tuesday afternoon, my plan was to take my Mom to see Claude Berri's THE TWO OF US at the Quad Cinema. About an hour before we headed out I learned that -- oops! -- in a last-minute scheduling change, that time slot would be filled instead with a screening of Ai Weiwei's Oscar-nominated doc, HUMAN FLOW. The film interested us both just as much so we grabbed our coats and headed the two blocks to the Quad.

I was surprised to see a big crowd filling the lobby of the tiny multiplex at 4PM on a Tuesday and apprehensively asked if there were two tickets available. There were. We went in, grabbed our seats and waited as virtually every seat in the theatre (70 total?) was slowly filled. 

The Quad's programming director walked down to the front of the theatre. As he did so, I realized that there was probably going to be a Q&A and I briefly recalled the time in 1999 when I had been called to the front of one of the Quad's screens to introduce my film, ALL THE RAGE. I remember still what I said that night. The film had already screened at dozens of film festivals across the globe and throughout the U.S. but that screening at the Quad would be its New York Premiere. And I made a joke about my delight at finally getting the opportunity to screen my film in "the center of the universe."

"We have a great honor this afternoon that the filmmaker, Ai Weiwei is here to introduce his film. And..." And he paused and cleared his throat for dramatic effect. "And I can hardly believe I'm saying this but to introduce Weiwei we have three-time Oscar-winner Meryl Streep."