So I've been blogging on my playwriting website (marebiddle.com) about all things in my theatrical world. I love being a playwright and am grateful for the opportunity to work with amazing theater artists from England to Canada to New York (NY is its own country for our discussion purposes). Recently I started blogging about my conversations with other artists and how they approach an element of craft. During these conversations we veer off into what they find embarrassing, nauseating, and infuriating. If I'm lucky, we wander into the private and the precious: their yucky-sweet. Such places where we keep our cavities and our most sincere pet rocks; torn cuticles and a gift from a child tutored seven years ago.
This theme keeps spilling over into the rest of my life both in simpler and more complicated ways. And so the part of me that is writer wants to stretch beyond the limitations of the four edges of the page. The people, places and playgrounds that I come across are fascinating to me. These experiences are past and present, real and imagined, one and many. Included in all of that mess is myself as person: of family and friends, and as project manager, accountant, and exterminator.
Here's what I'm talking about - Away We Go is far and away my favorite movie this year. First I loved the actors and the story. Then I went back brandishing a notebook and small light to time each scene and beat change. I knew the arc was perfect; I could almost touch it. Here's the great part of that experience. I saw a mid-week 4:30 show so the audience consisted of myself, a dozen or so women who seemed to be ditching the last hour of work, and sitting two rows ahead of me was an elderly couple. They shared popcorn and a medium soda. They smiled and chuckled together. He fetched extra napkins, and she thanked him sweetly.
I wondered if they were prepared for the kind of subject matter and language in the film, but either way, I had to give them props for their willingness to ride the rapids. Lights. Previews. Opening scene... Okay, I swear I can't remember exactly when this happened, but at some point the woman leaned over to her husband and whispered loudly, "What did she say?" Obliging his wife he leaned over and nearly shouted, "She said.... "
You might think this was annoying until you realize the language that was in store for them. Let me assure you, he did not hold anything back when repeating dialogue so his wife could hear it. As for the rest of us, well, I could feel our anticipation hanging in the air. Humidity. Every time I heard a really outrageous line, I looked over waiting to hear this lovely woman ask her husband for auditory help. They were fabulous.
I so loved his dedication to her, her trust in him and their unity in these interesting circumstances. Like Burt and Verona at the end of the movie.
Roll credits.
