Below is my project for the VAMP "Scared Shitless" show that went really well. You aren't going to see me soak my head in the bucket, something reserved solely for the live performance, but my parents' voices really make the piece what it is.
This is UNDER THE SNAKE:
I finished Nick Garland's Last Night In Town this week, sending it out to only three people, as it is still a rough draft. I feel like I should take a break for a little bit, what, with My Friend Dahmer just being about two weeks ago. But then I make little projects for VAMP or the story slam and it just means that I can't stop with all the projects. Now I've got to go full blast or I'll just drive myself crazy.
This is going to follow me all the way through next week, when I go home for Thanksgiving. I haven't been back to Salt Lake City in over a year (let alone seen the Greatest Snow on Earth in two years) and while I anticipate it being relaxing, I also can feel the itch to use most of that time for writing. I'll have to balance it somehow.
In other news, blogging is going well, despite the fact that last week a plastic surgeon who was written about when I had left for the summer is suing our offices. He won't win and we have nothing to worry about, but it is fun to be a part of something that is coming under fire. I mean, it is either that or spend the time talking about how many people in the office know the paralegal got a breast augmentation. Honestly, that only passes an hour or two.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Power Of The Dark Side
From staged readings to original plays about Jeffrey Dahmer, three drama geeks are exposing the hidden underbelly of San Diego’s cultural scene
By Sarah Nardi
There’s a reason we picture artists in garrets, forlorn and smoking, staring out at the rain. In our collective imagination, misery and creation are inextricably linked. Art is something that comes from the depths—from the stormy, windswept corners of our soul. It comes from New York, London, Berlin—places where the physical environment matches the turmoil within.
It doesn’t come from San Diego.
“This city is good at promoting three things,” says Justin Hudnall. “Weather, fish and football. But if you want to be an artist, you almost have to go somewhere else.”
Entangled in the ideal of “America’s Finest City” is the notion that the angst and suffering upon which we believe all art must feed simply doesn’t exist here. Baudelaire wasn’t writing on a beach, after all.
“To that I would say that there is a dark side of paradise,” Hudnall says. “There’s an underbelly here—it’s just untapped. People in San Diego do have stories to tell. All they need is a stage.”
A stage is precisely what Hudnall, along with his partners Jake Arky and Jessica Gillette, are trying to provide. So Say We All, a kind of incubator for writers, musicians, artists and actors, was formed in February 2009, after NYU grads and self-described “drama fags” Hudnall and Arky had finally had enough.
The two met while working at the La Jolla Playhouse. Hudnall, a writer, was born and raised in San Diego and began to grow frustrated with the city’s attitude toward its artists as productions at the Playhouse were regularly manned with talent shipped in at exorbitant costs from New York, L.A.—anywhere but here.
“Meanwhile, all these local artists are screaming, ‘I’m here and I want to work!’” Hudnall explains.
“There’s this idea that art and artists couldn’t possibly come from San Diego,” Arky adds. “The city has a real inferiority complex, and that’s what we’re trying to overcome.”
Arky and Hudnall were convinced that San Diego was teetering on a cultural tipping point—all it needed was a push. So, together with Gillette, they conceived an idea for a story slam to showcase the talents of local writers. After the first event, for which six writers showed up, interest snowballed—so much so that So Say We All is in danger of becoming its founders’ full-time job.
The concept is disarmingly simple: Offer an underserved, underappreciated community of artists a stage, a microphone and an audience—and watch what they can do. Each event is organized around a theme, and participants submit their stories and materials to SSWA for feedback beforehand. Prior to being staged, each event is rehearsed. (“It’s important for people to understand that,” interjects Arky. “This is not an open-mic thing. Open-mic sucks.”) Past themes have included “Caught in the Act,” during which a performer described how coming out in southern Minnesota made him somewhat of a collector’s item, and “Scared Shitless,” when El Cajon native Missy Solis recounted a violent childhood tragedy that unfolded against the mock-horror of Halloween.
SSWA events have proved a haven for writers like Rob Williams, who moved with his husband from Brooklyn four years ago. “It was tough, at first, finding other creative types in San Diego,” he says. “Four years ago you really had to go searching for them. It’s not like New York City, where you bump into them with every step you take.”
The group is expanding on its original story slam concept to include a variety of different media. They staged “My Friend Dahmer,” a play adapted by Arky and produced by Hudnall on Halloween. SSWA has also introduced VAMP, events that include elements of visual art, music and performance. Musician Rob Deez, who describes his sound as an amalgam of acoustic, hip-hop and comedy that he has yet to christen with a clever name, remembers playing the show titled “When Poverty Strikes” at Cream coffeehouse back in August.
“When I got to the show, I was blown away by the turnout,” he recalls. “I asked Justin what his secret was because I’ve played many a show to an empty room.”
Deez went on to perform at the “Scared Shitless” event, where “Justin told me that there was a 55-year-old evangelical Christian mother in the audience and she said I was the funniest thing she’d seen in a long time. I think that’s awesome seeing how most of my songs are not very”—he pauses, searching for the right words—“55-year-old-evangelical-Christian-mother-friendly.”
The range of personalities participating in events is one thing Hudnall and Arky pride themselves on. “We had a senior citizen step up to the mic not long ago and totally school the hipster who came on before,” Hudnall laughs.
“It’s just amazing what people can do if you give them an audience and take them seriously.” SSWA also maintains a website (www.sosayweallonline.com), where past shows are archived and new material is regularly added.
The group is staging weekly events in November (“VAMP” on Nov. 9 at Whistle Stop Bar, “Living Room Heroes” on Nov. 21 at Cream and “Story Slam” on Nov. 28 at Lestat’s West) and hopes to become a consistent and influential presence in the local arts scene—a kind of This American Life for San Diego.
“Not that we’re trying to emulate something else,” Hudnall cautions. “But we were watching a VHS tape of Ira Glass and Dan Savage from the early ’90s, way before they became who they are now. It’s encouraging to know that something as pervasive as that started small. It gives us hope.”
Hudnall and Arky begin to jokingly argue over which of them is Savage and which is Glass.
“OK, Jake,” Hudnall finally laughs, “you can be Ira because you have glasses.
“And because you’re the Jew.”
Thanks to everyone at Citybeat for your love and support of So Say We All. The only editorial I have to add in is that while her new nickname is going to be "Mach 3", Jess' last name is spelled "Jollett".
By Sarah Nardi
There’s a reason we picture artists in garrets, forlorn and smoking, staring out at the rain. In our collective imagination, misery and creation are inextricably linked. Art is something that comes from the depths—from the stormy, windswept corners of our soul. It comes from New York, London, Berlin—places where the physical environment matches the turmoil within.
It doesn’t come from San Diego.
“This city is good at promoting three things,” says Justin Hudnall. “Weather, fish and football. But if you want to be an artist, you almost have to go somewhere else.”
Entangled in the ideal of “America’s Finest City” is the notion that the angst and suffering upon which we believe all art must feed simply doesn’t exist here. Baudelaire wasn’t writing on a beach, after all.
“To that I would say that there is a dark side of paradise,” Hudnall says. “There’s an underbelly here—it’s just untapped. People in San Diego do have stories to tell. All they need is a stage.”
A stage is precisely what Hudnall, along with his partners Jake Arky and Jessica Gillette, are trying to provide. So Say We All, a kind of incubator for writers, musicians, artists and actors, was formed in February 2009, after NYU grads and self-described “drama fags” Hudnall and Arky had finally had enough.
The two met while working at the La Jolla Playhouse. Hudnall, a writer, was born and raised in San Diego and began to grow frustrated with the city’s attitude toward its artists as productions at the Playhouse were regularly manned with talent shipped in at exorbitant costs from New York, L.A.—anywhere but here.
“Meanwhile, all these local artists are screaming, ‘I’m here and I want to work!’” Hudnall explains.
“There’s this idea that art and artists couldn’t possibly come from San Diego,” Arky adds. “The city has a real inferiority complex, and that’s what we’re trying to overcome.”
Arky and Hudnall were convinced that San Diego was teetering on a cultural tipping point—all it needed was a push. So, together with Gillette, they conceived an idea for a story slam to showcase the talents of local writers. After the first event, for which six writers showed up, interest snowballed—so much so that So Say We All is in danger of becoming its founders’ full-time job.
The concept is disarmingly simple: Offer an underserved, underappreciated community of artists a stage, a microphone and an audience—and watch what they can do. Each event is organized around a theme, and participants submit their stories and materials to SSWA for feedback beforehand. Prior to being staged, each event is rehearsed. (“It’s important for people to understand that,” interjects Arky. “This is not an open-mic thing. Open-mic sucks.”) Past themes have included “Caught in the Act,” during which a performer described how coming out in southern Minnesota made him somewhat of a collector’s item, and “Scared Shitless,” when El Cajon native Missy Solis recounted a violent childhood tragedy that unfolded against the mock-horror of Halloween.
SSWA events have proved a haven for writers like Rob Williams, who moved with his husband from Brooklyn four years ago. “It was tough, at first, finding other creative types in San Diego,” he says. “Four years ago you really had to go searching for them. It’s not like New York City, where you bump into them with every step you take.”
The group is expanding on its original story slam concept to include a variety of different media. They staged “My Friend Dahmer,” a play adapted by Arky and produced by Hudnall on Halloween. SSWA has also introduced VAMP, events that include elements of visual art, music and performance. Musician Rob Deez, who describes his sound as an amalgam of acoustic, hip-hop and comedy that he has yet to christen with a clever name, remembers playing the show titled “When Poverty Strikes” at Cream coffeehouse back in August.
“When I got to the show, I was blown away by the turnout,” he recalls. “I asked Justin what his secret was because I’ve played many a show to an empty room.”
Deez went on to perform at the “Scared Shitless” event, where “Justin told me that there was a 55-year-old evangelical Christian mother in the audience and she said I was the funniest thing she’d seen in a long time. I think that’s awesome seeing how most of my songs are not very”—he pauses, searching for the right words—“55-year-old-evangelical-Christian-mother-friendly.”
The range of personalities participating in events is one thing Hudnall and Arky pride themselves on. “We had a senior citizen step up to the mic not long ago and totally school the hipster who came on before,” Hudnall laughs.
“It’s just amazing what people can do if you give them an audience and take them seriously.” SSWA also maintains a website (www.sosayweallonline.com), where past shows are archived and new material is regularly added.
The group is staging weekly events in November (“VAMP” on Nov. 9 at Whistle Stop Bar, “Living Room Heroes” on Nov. 21 at Cream and “Story Slam” on Nov. 28 at Lestat’s West) and hopes to become a consistent and influential presence in the local arts scene—a kind of This American Life for San Diego.
“Not that we’re trying to emulate something else,” Hudnall cautions. “But we were watching a VHS tape of Ira Glass and Dan Savage from the early ’90s, way before they became who they are now. It’s encouraging to know that something as pervasive as that started small. It gives us hope.”
Hudnall and Arky begin to jokingly argue over which of them is Savage and which is Glass.
“OK, Jake,” Hudnall finally laughs, “you can be Ira because you have glasses.
“And because you’re the Jew.”
Thanks to everyone at Citybeat for your love and support of So Say We All. The only editorial I have to add in is that while her new nickname is going to be "Mach 3", Jess' last name is spelled "Jollett".
Friday, October 16, 2009
Chumbawumba's Motto
I got knocked down.
But I'll get up again.
You're never gonna keep me down.
That said, I'm sure I'll still be pissin' the night away sometime in the near future.
As it happens, life has taken a jackhammer to my plans and a lot of things are changing. It's funny, because fall is always a time of year that I feel things are pretty solid and unmoving. Now, the ground shakes like a fat man's burping belly, smelling equally as foul and pungent. Smell that? It's the smell of transitions.
The life jukebox spins another record I didn't see coming. What's up on the playlist?
New York: Thought I was moving back to New York. Thought I had a job in the city, doing theater professionally again. Thought too soon and now I have to wait. I'm told the job is still out there and that management is simply looking for a way I can fit in, financially and in what capacity my work will be focused on. But I'm not sitting around waiting; if it comes, great. If not, life to be lived.
Jobs: Don't think just because I didn't get the NY job doesn't mean that I'm staying with SOE (or as we've come to call it "It SO Easy!) for the hours and pay they are asking. I'm actually trading in SOE for SEO, heading back to the Law Offices of MAP. This makes me happy, truth be told. I'll be writing most of the day, hanging out with Kevin and crew, and getting paid more which always makes my life easier. Come Tuesday of next week, it is back to the bloggosphere of personal injury.
Girls, ETC: Sara and I are going are separate ways next week. When New York was put into the question -- and even after it never came to fruition -- she had made up her mind to move home. I can honestly say that, yes, I'm truly sad she is leaving. On the other hand, it feels nice to not be bitter at someone with whom you've shared a relationship with for two plus years. She's going to be with her family, happy, and kept in a realm of comfort I can only dream of. There's a life out there that she wants to live and I'll be damned if I stand in the way.
So Say We All: Aside from being broke, SSWA is going really well. Our last show, Scared Shitless, brought in a huge crowd and we delivered on the content side. It really came together and I've enjoyed doing the shows more lately.
Especially looking forward to My Friend Dahmer getting the SSWA treatment. I'm playing Derf, Jen is directing, and Justin is taking producer/tech coordinator on this one. Lots of memorizing -- that's the only rub. Other than that, looking forward to soiling your pants come Halloween.
And that's the news. Oh, Danny boy!
But I'll get up again.
You're never gonna keep me down.
That said, I'm sure I'll still be pissin' the night away sometime in the near future.
As it happens, life has taken a jackhammer to my plans and a lot of things are changing. It's funny, because fall is always a time of year that I feel things are pretty solid and unmoving. Now, the ground shakes like a fat man's burping belly, smelling equally as foul and pungent. Smell that? It's the smell of transitions.
The life jukebox spins another record I didn't see coming. What's up on the playlist?
New York: Thought I was moving back to New York. Thought I had a job in the city, doing theater professionally again. Thought too soon and now I have to wait. I'm told the job is still out there and that management is simply looking for a way I can fit in, financially and in what capacity my work will be focused on. But I'm not sitting around waiting; if it comes, great. If not, life to be lived.
Jobs: Don't think just because I didn't get the NY job doesn't mean that I'm staying with SOE (or as we've come to call it "It SO Easy!) for the hours and pay they are asking. I'm actually trading in SOE for SEO, heading back to the Law Offices of MAP. This makes me happy, truth be told. I'll be writing most of the day, hanging out with Kevin and crew, and getting paid more which always makes my life easier. Come Tuesday of next week, it is back to the bloggosphere of personal injury.
Girls, ETC: Sara and I are going are separate ways next week. When New York was put into the question -- and even after it never came to fruition -- she had made up her mind to move home. I can honestly say that, yes, I'm truly sad she is leaving. On the other hand, it feels nice to not be bitter at someone with whom you've shared a relationship with for two plus years. She's going to be with her family, happy, and kept in a realm of comfort I can only dream of. There's a life out there that she wants to live and I'll be damned if I stand in the way.
So Say We All: Aside from being broke, SSWA is going really well. Our last show, Scared Shitless, brought in a huge crowd and we delivered on the content side. It really came together and I've enjoyed doing the shows more lately.
Especially looking forward to My Friend Dahmer getting the SSWA treatment. I'm playing Derf, Jen is directing, and Justin is taking producer/tech coordinator on this one. Lots of memorizing -- that's the only rub. Other than that, looking forward to soiling your pants come Halloween.And that's the news. Oh, Danny boy!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Scare Them Kids
I really believe this reporter nailed the idea that kids today are not being toughened up for a cruel and harsh world. I hate to say it, but it is true. Though I don't think Where The Wild Things Are is going to scare the crap outta any one (sorry, it already looks like it is going to be my favorite movie this year), I do think it is good to challenge kids. However, that being said, my parents had a taped operatic version of the book and played it for me once because I got so freaked out by it. Yet here I write before you today, a well-rounded, if not a little worse for ware, full functioning adult. And I plan on seeing the movie as many times as possible.
Parents, take heed:
While the chatter about this Friday’s release of Where the Wild Things Are hasn’t exactly reached wild rumpus-like proportions, the filmmakers did their best to spark a little brushfire of controversy in Newsweek today. Jonze, Eggers, and Sendak gathered in Sendak’s living room for what was supposed to be a free-flowing conversation about what it was like for three geniuses to harmonically converge on one project. But at eighty years old, Sendak had no interest in spoon-feeding platitudes to the press. Instead, he and Jonze and Eggers lamented how vanilla childhood in America has become. Worrywart parents aren’t doing their kids any favors by depriving them of their right to get scared out of their minds watching movies or reading books. Scarytales are character building and virtually guarantees a stormy artistic temperament if not a legit career as an artist. This rant made me stop and think about how I spent most of my childhood watching wildly inappropriate movies like the deeply-creepy futuristic cannibalism-tinged Soylent Green. I still can’t forget the image of the big bulldozers rolling through city streets and scooping up fleeing crowds of people to turn them into nutritious biscuits. Nothing that happened to me in real life came close to keeping me up at night the way that and other movies did. But now I wonder if my mom didn’t do me a favor by setting me up for that kind of terror. If these guys are to be believed, the only thing we have to fear for our children is the lack of fear itself. I gotta say, I kind of agree that we’re short changing kids by letting them fill their minds with Disney schmaltz instead of quality filmmaking.
-- Christine Spines
Parents, take heed:
While the chatter about this Friday’s release of Where the Wild Things Are hasn’t exactly reached wild rumpus-like proportions, the filmmakers did their best to spark a little brushfire of controversy in Newsweek today. Jonze, Eggers, and Sendak gathered in Sendak’s living room for what was supposed to be a free-flowing conversation about what it was like for three geniuses to harmonically converge on one project. But at eighty years old, Sendak had no interest in spoon-feeding platitudes to the press. Instead, he and Jonze and Eggers lamented how vanilla childhood in America has become. Worrywart parents aren’t doing their kids any favors by depriving them of their right to get scared out of their minds watching movies or reading books. Scarytales are character building and virtually guarantees a stormy artistic temperament if not a legit career as an artist. This rant made me stop and think about how I spent most of my childhood watching wildly inappropriate movies like the deeply-creepy futuristic cannibalism-tinged Soylent Green. I still can’t forget the image of the big bulldozers rolling through city streets and scooping up fleeing crowds of people to turn them into nutritious biscuits. Nothing that happened to me in real life came close to keeping me up at night the way that and other movies did. But now I wonder if my mom didn’t do me a favor by setting me up for that kind of terror. If these guys are to be believed, the only thing we have to fear for our children is the lack of fear itself. I gotta say, I kind of agree that we’re short changing kids by letting them fill their minds with Disney schmaltz instead of quality filmmaking.
-- Christine Spines
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Missed Connections Never Looked So Sexy
Sophie Blackall has done a truly inspired thing for her blog: having missed connections on Craiglist turned into works of art. Because, let's face it, writing a missed connection is an art form unto itself, requiring precision, tact, and a certain amount of guts. I've never heard of two people meeting again because the line towards each other was disconnected the first time, but I'm sure it happens.
Usually, it would be easy to make fun of all the people pining for someone they barely shared any time with, but I enjoy how sweet and upbeat Blackall's representation of never-was/could-be really is:
The closest thing in my life that has happened in the realm of W4M4M4W4W is that while I was in high school, working at the Orbit Cafe, a customer took out a missed connection column in the local weekly newspaper for our hostess and my friend, Dede. He had seen her on a Sunday -- my usual shift -- and asked me about it the next week when I was back to my regular schedule. I told him all he'd have to do was come in on a Saturday night or Thursday lunch hour and he'd see her. I missed where they connected or not (I have a feeling it didn't pan out happily).
Usually, it would be easy to make fun of all the people pining for someone they barely shared any time with, but I enjoy how sweet and upbeat Blackall's representation of never-was/could-be really is:
The closest thing in my life that has happened in the realm of W4M4M4W4W is that while I was in high school, working at the Orbit Cafe, a customer took out a missed connection column in the local weekly newspaper for our hostess and my friend, Dede. He had seen her on a Sunday -- my usual shift -- and asked me about it the next week when I was back to my regular schedule. I told him all he'd have to do was come in on a Saturday night or Thursday lunch hour and he'd see her. I missed where they connected or not (I have a feeling it didn't pan out happily).
Friday, September 25, 2009
Utah Hates Theater
Congratulations, Utah, on a hitting a new low: banning classic works of the Greeks. Namely, one of the best plays from Euripides, from 405 B.C.E., The Bacchae (or in this case, The Bakkhai)
Basically, the University of Utah (for what it is worth, they do usually earn my praise) hosted a production of the play at Brigham Young University (for what it is worth, they usually never garnish my praise), only to have BYU officials call curtains on what they deemed “inappropriate for the BYU audience” because of the sex, alcohol, and violence that is portrayed in the play. Good thing there is nothing like that in the Bible…oh, wait…no, hold on a sec…
This particularly angers me because I was once put on the chopping block myself for performing theater that the majority of Utah audiences (read: strict Mormons) had a problem with. True it was in a public high school, but it was an extracurricular project. Anyone who wanted to come paid five dollars and the rest of the school just went on calling us “fags”. Plenty of people walked out, too, because of plays I had a hand in: 1) an original play by me called The Copyboys Revolt, which only made innuendo towards a certain part of the male anatomy and 2) Edward Albee’s The Zoo Story, where I played a character who had, at one point in his life, had a homosexual experience.
Anywhere else in the country, typical drama geeks trying to be crazy (and doing a damn good job of it, I might add). But in Utah: Shocking! Scandalous! Shut down! After the first night of the run, I was called in with the rest of the cast to the vice principle’s office where we were told that we might be suspended or the show was going to be shut down. I casually reminded him that my parents were connected to the press—the only time I’ve played that card—but it was that comment that probably made up the V.P.’s decision for us to go black for the rest of the run. Ironically, Copyboys was awarded Best New Play in 2003 by Utah Theater Association and we took Zoo Story to the regional and state drama competitions, taking both for first place, Olympus High’s first win ever for a theater festival. So, a show that the school itself shut down got it more press and accolades than any other sporting or academic event between 2003 and 2004.
Still, I don’t feel like I won. It is obviously still happening today in my home state, against a play that is over 2000 years old. Don’t force me to smear my mascara as I ball into a camera: “LEAVE THEATER ALONE!!!”
Basically, the University of Utah (for what it is worth, they do usually earn my praise) hosted a production of the play at Brigham Young University (for what it is worth, they usually never garnish my praise), only to have BYU officials call curtains on what they deemed “inappropriate for the BYU audience” because of the sex, alcohol, and violence that is portrayed in the play. Good thing there is nothing like that in the Bible…oh, wait…no, hold on a sec…
This particularly angers me because I was once put on the chopping block myself for performing theater that the majority of Utah audiences (read: strict Mormons) had a problem with. True it was in a public high school, but it was an extracurricular project. Anyone who wanted to come paid five dollars and the rest of the school just went on calling us “fags”. Plenty of people walked out, too, because of plays I had a hand in: 1) an original play by me called The Copyboys Revolt, which only made innuendo towards a certain part of the male anatomy and 2) Edward Albee’s The Zoo Story, where I played a character who had, at one point in his life, had a homosexual experience.
Anywhere else in the country, typical drama geeks trying to be crazy (and doing a damn good job of it, I might add). But in Utah: Shocking! Scandalous! Shut down! After the first night of the run, I was called in with the rest of the cast to the vice principle’s office where we were told that we might be suspended or the show was going to be shut down. I casually reminded him that my parents were connected to the press—the only time I’ve played that card—but it was that comment that probably made up the V.P.’s decision for us to go black for the rest of the run. Ironically, Copyboys was awarded Best New Play in 2003 by Utah Theater Association and we took Zoo Story to the regional and state drama competitions, taking both for first place, Olympus High’s first win ever for a theater festival. So, a show that the school itself shut down got it more press and accolades than any other sporting or academic event between 2003 and 2004.
Still, I don’t feel like I won. It is obviously still happening today in my home state, against a play that is over 2000 years old. Don’t force me to smear my mascara as I ball into a camera: “LEAVE THEATER ALONE!!!”
Friday, September 11, 2009
You Think Y'Know Wallace Shawn
But you gots no idea. Here's the diary of a grumpy, but honest (and fantastic) playwright.
Gothamist seems to always like Shawn, particularly for the reason that he is a playwright with a recognizable face. Though, as the scribe himself goes on to mention, he has mixed feelings about that. I've only lifted the text that focuses on his dramatist skills, leaving out his feelings of Obama and The New York Times.
I know, I know: inconceivable!
It's been nine long years since Wallace Shawn's strange and haunting masterpiece, The Designated Mourner, was staged in a crumbling old gentleman's club on Wall Street—the perfect location for a play that so vividly illustrates how pampered complacency enables brutal tyranny. Now Shawn is finally back with another play—well, sort of. His Grasses of a Thousand Colours premiered at the Royal Court in London earlier this year, but a production in New York, his home town, is far from assured.
Still, Shawn's busy with other writing projects, while also acting in various mainstream Hollywood movies and television shows, as usual. And he's just released a thought-provoking collection of essays, titled simply Essays, which reveals much about his perspective on politics, creativity, and sex. During a long interview at a Chelsea diner last week, Shawn elaborated on his essays, his critics, and his president.
In the book you interviewed the poet Mark Strand and you asked him whether it bothers him that a million people don't revere him. Does it bother you that your plays are, perhaps, less known than your acting? Well, so what? I mean, it does bother me, but we can put that down as a trivial, sort of pitiful concern that people who know me or have to live with me hear me complaining about. I take myself seriously as a writer of plays, not necessarily because I should, but I took myself seriously when I was six years old, you know, that's just how I was raised and so I take my plays seriously and I don't like it if people aren't interested in them or have a patronizing attitude towards them. I get upset about it.
I've achieved a certain popular success as a comical actor and on a bad day, I suppose if someone comes up to me and says, "Hey, you're the inconceivable guy!"—because that was a word or catchphrase that my character used in the popular film that I was in. When that person defines me that way, and says you're the "inconceivable" guy, I may have a momentary twinge of thinking, "Wait a minute, I think I'm the guy who wrote that play, the one you've never heard of!" I don't deny that on a bad day, I might have that reaction. Although most of the time if someone comes up and says something like, "Oh, I really enjoyed you in that movie that you were in," or "I saw you on Gossip Girl and I really enjoyed it," that's just as pleasing to me. I'm not thinking about the fact, "Why aren't they complementing my plays!" I mean, why would they even know about them? I'm pleased if they saw me on Gossip Girl and enjoyed it. I'm delighted.
You also ask Strand if he felt different than when he was 30. You said you did. How so? Well at that time—and he described something similar very eloquently. A roller coaster works due to a mechanical device that pulls you up to the highest point, and then in terms of the number of feet that are covered, that's only a small proportion of the ride, but by the time you've been pulled up to the top of the highest point, then the machine lets you go over the first hill and then you go over all the smaller hills. But you need the machine to pull you up to the top to get the thing going. After that, there's no machine, you're just rolling.
And so to get yourself to be a writer, you have to have outrageous self confidence. You have to convince yourself that what you're doing is definitely great. So, that's what I felt when I was 30. I felt, "The plays that I'm writing, there's no doubt about it, they're definitely magnificent works and anybody who doesn't think so is wrong!" And I don't think I would have been able to really get myself to do those things if I hadn't felt that. But now, I am more prepared to believe it if someone were to say to me, "Well most writers think they're great, but most writing's not great, so you're probably one of the ones who's kidding himself and your work probably will be forgotten, most people's is, and your work probably is not that great." I wouldn't put up a tremendous fight about it. I would say, well, we'll see. I don't know. After my death, we will discuss it.
Speaking for myself, I can say that seeing The Designated Mourner on Wall Street was absolutely unforgettable and the best experience I've had—I can't say in a theater, because it wasn't in a theater. [Laughing] That's so great, you must have been about 11 years old at the time.
Hmm, no, I think I was 24 or something. But many years passed between that and Grasses of a Thousand Colours. Did that feel like a lot of time for you or did it feel like a natural period of time between finishing plays? My dear fellow, you'll be shocked to find how fast 10 years feels. You know between 55 and 65, it's just unbelievable. I mean it's unbelievable. It seems like 15 minutes. I mean it just goes by so fast. So no, it didn't seem like a long time. Most of the things I've written have been over a period of five years. This was over a period of 10 years, but it seemed like three years. So for me, subjectively it didn't seem longer than the others.
I read that it's going to be presented by the New Group. Is that actually happening? Well, I think that there are a lot of—there are 11 things that have to happen before a play can actually be put on. A lot of people have to agree on a lot of things and someone has to pay for it, so you know, we are still in the stage of... I want the play to be done in New York and so does Andre [Gregory, director] and I hope it'll be possible.
Were you pleased with the London premiere? What do you mean?
Were you satisfied with the production? Were you happy? It was our production, yes! I think it's an incredible production. Incredible! And you know, I was in the production, so you could say that I have not seen the production, but I've seen a lot of pictures of it and I've seen the other actors and if you like it, it's great. Some people are never going to like it, they're not going to like it at all, and some people are not going to get it, and they won't like it.
Did you read the reviews? Mmhmm.
Some of the reviews were very good, and then of course there are mixed opinions about things. The writer for the Telegraph wrote something about, how when he arrived home, he couldn't look his own cat in the eye without blushing. Which to me seems like a compliment because maybe it revealed something about himself that he'd been ignoring. Well, the play has to do with the relationship between human beings and the natural world. And maybe that writer for the Telegraph was—Freud said there's no jokes, or something to that effect, and maybe he [the writer] was shaken in his view of the relationship between man and nature, I don't know. Let's hope so.
Speaking of people reacting, I've always marveled at how your work just evokes such extreme reactions in people. Joe Papp called you one of the most important dramatists of our time, and then there's the critic John Simon, who seems to have such massive contempt for your plays. Why do you think that he in particular has responded so negatively and viciously? I don't know much about him. I've read all the horrible things he's said about me, and Andre and I even participated in a panel with him at the Telluride Film Festival. We were surprised to find that the organizers had put him on the panel along with us! And he said very hateful things. I don't know that much about him, and if I did, it would be rude to speculate. Obviously he would say, about me, "Well, I have contempt for him because he's phony!" He would say of me: "I would have contempt for him because he's a person with no talent who nonetheless has foisted himself on the public, and I'm exposing him as a fake."
So then I, if I knew a lot about John Simon, I suppose I would say, well the real reason that he doesn't like me is "blah blah." Which would be a pointless exercise. I don't know why he doesn't like me. I mean, it is beyond the normal bounds and it crosses over into a kind of personal hate. One of the critics in London expressed a kind of personal hate or contempt. Some people feel that it's been very easy for me, that I've had a very easy life, and haven't had to struggle as most people do. I think they feel that I had every advantage. From their point of view, I had connections, I knew people who knew people. And I was given every advantage, every privilege; you know, private schools. I mean, those things are all true; I have had it easy. But that doesn't bear really one way or another on my writing. But yes, some people may feel a particular sense of revulsion against me because they think I've had such an easy time in life and haven't really had to struggle as most people do.
Do you wonder if there's a political element to it, too? Because I remember in Harold Pinter's case, for instance—it seemed like there was a vindictiveness to the critics who were opposed to his work and I always wondered if there was a subtext of it really being about his politics? Well, politics has to do with how society is organized and who makes the decisions and who makes the power, and your feeling about all of that is going to come out in what you write, probably. A lot of Pinter's early plays were not in any way directly political, but his feelings about authority come out loud and clear. Yes, people who, for instance, have a high regard for the status quo, let's say, are just instinctively going to hate writing that seems to be sneering at the status quo or denouncing it even if it's very indirect. And every play fits somewhere on that spectrum. One can think of many Broadway plays that one has seen that accept certain assumptions and reject other certain assumptions. There are jokes that might be, from the point of view of the conscious mind of the writer, just silly jokes. They say, "Oh well, I just thought it was funny." But if you really analyze it, it's a joke that's at someone's expense, or it's a joke that assumes certain things about the way society should be. A critic picks up on that and likes it or doesn't like it.
In the book you talk about collaborating with this voice that "comes through the window," and from what I've read, it seems like that's also how Pinter and other writers work. My question is: How do you balance trusting the mysteriousness of that voice through the window with also deciding what to eliminate and edit? My writing usually does have two pretty distinct stages to it. It's oversimplifying it in a way, but there's a first stage where there's raw material being collected. That is like the timber that is brought into the factory and that's coming from the unconscious or from God knows where it comes from. I'm not making it up, it comes from somewhere. And it's being delivered to the factory and then there's the much more conscious process, I mean a completely conscious process where you make something of that. You turn the wood into a chair, and some of the wood is discarded as scrap and some is useful for the making of the chair.
Are you sometimes tempted to make chairs that would appeal to a greater mass of Americans, like the movies you appear in, that would be seen by more people? Um...yes! It's just, it's not that obvious which of the things that I normally do I would have to eliminate in order to do that. Yes, I've thought about it forever, and maybe someday I will. I don't know how long I'm going to be alive, but someday I will write something that more people could appreciate. I mean obviously there are limits to my ability to do that because, let's say, the most popular films are written in a kind of vernacular jargon that I don't use in my daily life and I wouldn't know how to imitate it. Most humor that is tremendously commercially successful I couldn't write, really. I wouldn't know how to. Because it is alien to me.
But I don't think it's ridiculous to think that I could write something that more people would like. It's never going to be as successful as the action movie that takes in $100 million dollars in a weekend. Because I don't know the line that the person says before he pulls the trigger of the gun and kills somebody, the comedic line, the insult or whatever, that makes the whole audience full of people laugh hysterically. I wouldn't know how to write that. Because it's just not funny to me. I mean I don't find those lines funny, but millions of people do. And one of them who does is the author of the line. I mean, you can't do that unless you're an enthusiast.
It's also interesting to see your plays be made into movies. And the DVD of Marie and Bruce finally came out. What was your impression of that? I loved the movie of Marie and Bruce. I think it's a fabulous movie. And I think that it's a tragedy that it was not theatrically released. It should have been. I mean, that's my belief about it.
Don't you think a live performance of a play loses something in translation when it goes to screen? Yeah, usually, but this was not a film of a play, it was a film based on a play. Just like a film is based on a novel or something. So, yes, if you just film a play, 99% of the time it is awful.
If you want to read more, go to Gothamist.
Gothamist seems to always like Shawn, particularly for the reason that he is a playwright with a recognizable face. Though, as the scribe himself goes on to mention, he has mixed feelings about that. I've only lifted the text that focuses on his dramatist skills, leaving out his feelings of Obama and The New York Times.
I know, I know: inconceivable!
It's been nine long years since Wallace Shawn's strange and haunting masterpiece, The Designated Mourner, was staged in a crumbling old gentleman's club on Wall Street—the perfect location for a play that so vividly illustrates how pampered complacency enables brutal tyranny. Now Shawn is finally back with another play—well, sort of. His Grasses of a Thousand Colours premiered at the Royal Court in London earlier this year, but a production in New York, his home town, is far from assured.
Still, Shawn's busy with other writing projects, while also acting in various mainstream Hollywood movies and television shows, as usual. And he's just released a thought-provoking collection of essays, titled simply Essays, which reveals much about his perspective on politics, creativity, and sex. During a long interview at a Chelsea diner last week, Shawn elaborated on his essays, his critics, and his president.
In the book you interviewed the poet Mark Strand and you asked him whether it bothers him that a million people don't revere him. Does it bother you that your plays are, perhaps, less known than your acting? Well, so what? I mean, it does bother me, but we can put that down as a trivial, sort of pitiful concern that people who know me or have to live with me hear me complaining about. I take myself seriously as a writer of plays, not necessarily because I should, but I took myself seriously when I was six years old, you know, that's just how I was raised and so I take my plays seriously and I don't like it if people aren't interested in them or have a patronizing attitude towards them. I get upset about it.
I've achieved a certain popular success as a comical actor and on a bad day, I suppose if someone comes up to me and says, "Hey, you're the inconceivable guy!"—because that was a word or catchphrase that my character used in the popular film that I was in. When that person defines me that way, and says you're the "inconceivable" guy, I may have a momentary twinge of thinking, "Wait a minute, I think I'm the guy who wrote that play, the one you've never heard of!" I don't deny that on a bad day, I might have that reaction. Although most of the time if someone comes up and says something like, "Oh, I really enjoyed you in that movie that you were in," or "I saw you on Gossip Girl and I really enjoyed it," that's just as pleasing to me. I'm not thinking about the fact, "Why aren't they complementing my plays!" I mean, why would they even know about them? I'm pleased if they saw me on Gossip Girl and enjoyed it. I'm delighted.
You also ask Strand if he felt different than when he was 30. You said you did. How so? Well at that time—and he described something similar very eloquently. A roller coaster works due to a mechanical device that pulls you up to the highest point, and then in terms of the number of feet that are covered, that's only a small proportion of the ride, but by the time you've been pulled up to the top of the highest point, then the machine lets you go over the first hill and then you go over all the smaller hills. But you need the machine to pull you up to the top to get the thing going. After that, there's no machine, you're just rolling.
And so to get yourself to be a writer, you have to have outrageous self confidence. You have to convince yourself that what you're doing is definitely great. So, that's what I felt when I was 30. I felt, "The plays that I'm writing, there's no doubt about it, they're definitely magnificent works and anybody who doesn't think so is wrong!" And I don't think I would have been able to really get myself to do those things if I hadn't felt that. But now, I am more prepared to believe it if someone were to say to me, "Well most writers think they're great, but most writing's not great, so you're probably one of the ones who's kidding himself and your work probably will be forgotten, most people's is, and your work probably is not that great." I wouldn't put up a tremendous fight about it. I would say, well, we'll see. I don't know. After my death, we will discuss it.
Speaking for myself, I can say that seeing The Designated Mourner on Wall Street was absolutely unforgettable and the best experience I've had—I can't say in a theater, because it wasn't in a theater. [Laughing] That's so great, you must have been about 11 years old at the time.
Hmm, no, I think I was 24 or something. But many years passed between that and Grasses of a Thousand Colours. Did that feel like a lot of time for you or did it feel like a natural period of time between finishing plays? My dear fellow, you'll be shocked to find how fast 10 years feels. You know between 55 and 65, it's just unbelievable. I mean it's unbelievable. It seems like 15 minutes. I mean it just goes by so fast. So no, it didn't seem like a long time. Most of the things I've written have been over a period of five years. This was over a period of 10 years, but it seemed like three years. So for me, subjectively it didn't seem longer than the others.
I read that it's going to be presented by the New Group. Is that actually happening? Well, I think that there are a lot of—there are 11 things that have to happen before a play can actually be put on. A lot of people have to agree on a lot of things and someone has to pay for it, so you know, we are still in the stage of... I want the play to be done in New York and so does Andre [Gregory, director] and I hope it'll be possible.
Were you pleased with the London premiere? What do you mean?
Were you satisfied with the production? Were you happy? It was our production, yes! I think it's an incredible production. Incredible! And you know, I was in the production, so you could say that I have not seen the production, but I've seen a lot of pictures of it and I've seen the other actors and if you like it, it's great. Some people are never going to like it, they're not going to like it at all, and some people are not going to get it, and they won't like it.
Did you read the reviews? Mmhmm.
Some of the reviews were very good, and then of course there are mixed opinions about things. The writer for the Telegraph wrote something about, how when he arrived home, he couldn't look his own cat in the eye without blushing. Which to me seems like a compliment because maybe it revealed something about himself that he'd been ignoring. Well, the play has to do with the relationship between human beings and the natural world. And maybe that writer for the Telegraph was—Freud said there's no jokes, or something to that effect, and maybe he [the writer] was shaken in his view of the relationship between man and nature, I don't know. Let's hope so.
Speaking of people reacting, I've always marveled at how your work just evokes such extreme reactions in people. Joe Papp called you one of the most important dramatists of our time, and then there's the critic John Simon, who seems to have such massive contempt for your plays. Why do you think that he in particular has responded so negatively and viciously? I don't know much about him. I've read all the horrible things he's said about me, and Andre and I even participated in a panel with him at the Telluride Film Festival. We were surprised to find that the organizers had put him on the panel along with us! And he said very hateful things. I don't know that much about him, and if I did, it would be rude to speculate. Obviously he would say, about me, "Well, I have contempt for him because he's phony!" He would say of me: "I would have contempt for him because he's a person with no talent who nonetheless has foisted himself on the public, and I'm exposing him as a fake."
So then I, if I knew a lot about John Simon, I suppose I would say, well the real reason that he doesn't like me is "blah blah." Which would be a pointless exercise. I don't know why he doesn't like me. I mean, it is beyond the normal bounds and it crosses over into a kind of personal hate. One of the critics in London expressed a kind of personal hate or contempt. Some people feel that it's been very easy for me, that I've had a very easy life, and haven't had to struggle as most people do. I think they feel that I had every advantage. From their point of view, I had connections, I knew people who knew people. And I was given every advantage, every privilege; you know, private schools. I mean, those things are all true; I have had it easy. But that doesn't bear really one way or another on my writing. But yes, some people may feel a particular sense of revulsion against me because they think I've had such an easy time in life and haven't really had to struggle as most people do.
Do you wonder if there's a political element to it, too? Because I remember in Harold Pinter's case, for instance—it seemed like there was a vindictiveness to the critics who were opposed to his work and I always wondered if there was a subtext of it really being about his politics? Well, politics has to do with how society is organized and who makes the decisions and who makes the power, and your feeling about all of that is going to come out in what you write, probably. A lot of Pinter's early plays were not in any way directly political, but his feelings about authority come out loud and clear. Yes, people who, for instance, have a high regard for the status quo, let's say, are just instinctively going to hate writing that seems to be sneering at the status quo or denouncing it even if it's very indirect. And every play fits somewhere on that spectrum. One can think of many Broadway plays that one has seen that accept certain assumptions and reject other certain assumptions. There are jokes that might be, from the point of view of the conscious mind of the writer, just silly jokes. They say, "Oh well, I just thought it was funny." But if you really analyze it, it's a joke that's at someone's expense, or it's a joke that assumes certain things about the way society should be. A critic picks up on that and likes it or doesn't like it.
In the book you talk about collaborating with this voice that "comes through the window," and from what I've read, it seems like that's also how Pinter and other writers work. My question is: How do you balance trusting the mysteriousness of that voice through the window with also deciding what to eliminate and edit? My writing usually does have two pretty distinct stages to it. It's oversimplifying it in a way, but there's a first stage where there's raw material being collected. That is like the timber that is brought into the factory and that's coming from the unconscious or from God knows where it comes from. I'm not making it up, it comes from somewhere. And it's being delivered to the factory and then there's the much more conscious process, I mean a completely conscious process where you make something of that. You turn the wood into a chair, and some of the wood is discarded as scrap and some is useful for the making of the chair.
Are you sometimes tempted to make chairs that would appeal to a greater mass of Americans, like the movies you appear in, that would be seen by more people? Um...yes! It's just, it's not that obvious which of the things that I normally do I would have to eliminate in order to do that. Yes, I've thought about it forever, and maybe someday I will. I don't know how long I'm going to be alive, but someday I will write something that more people could appreciate. I mean obviously there are limits to my ability to do that because, let's say, the most popular films are written in a kind of vernacular jargon that I don't use in my daily life and I wouldn't know how to imitate it. Most humor that is tremendously commercially successful I couldn't write, really. I wouldn't know how to. Because it is alien to me.
But I don't think it's ridiculous to think that I could write something that more people would like. It's never going to be as successful as the action movie that takes in $100 million dollars in a weekend. Because I don't know the line that the person says before he pulls the trigger of the gun and kills somebody, the comedic line, the insult or whatever, that makes the whole audience full of people laugh hysterically. I wouldn't know how to write that. Because it's just not funny to me. I mean I don't find those lines funny, but millions of people do. And one of them who does is the author of the line. I mean, you can't do that unless you're an enthusiast.
It's also interesting to see your plays be made into movies. And the DVD of Marie and Bruce finally came out. What was your impression of that? I loved the movie of Marie and Bruce. I think it's a fabulous movie. And I think that it's a tragedy that it was not theatrically released. It should have been. I mean, that's my belief about it.
Don't you think a live performance of a play loses something in translation when it goes to screen? Yeah, usually, but this was not a film of a play, it was a film based on a play. Just like a film is based on a novel or something. So, yes, if you just film a play, 99% of the time it is awful.
If you want to read more, go to Gothamist.
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