First of all, I’m not sure I can explain how cool it is to see a model of your set for the first time. I think that will never get old for me. It’s like I’ve been playing make believe alone in my room, and someone comes along saying, “Oh hey cool, can I play? And, oh yeah, I built you this doll house.” Andromache made my life that day.

Trip Cullman is the master of all things, and especially cutting a play down to the heart of what it should be. Before rehearsals even started we shaved almost ten pages off the play, and during the first ten days of rehearsals when I was in the room, another five or so pages got whittled away. At first, cutting was terrifying, but now it’s accompanied by this amazing free feeling. This is mostly due to the fact that I trust Trip immensely and know that he is making the play better every time he suggests a cut. I know now that if I am resistant to a cut suggestion, it usually means it’s going to be the best cut I’ve ever made.

These actors are ridiculous. They are so talented it’s crazy.

I’m anxious to get back to New York and see what they’ve done while I’ve been away. All in all, I’ll have missed about ten rehearsals. I have a feeling that things will be unrecognizable when I return.

The first play I wrote as a teenager was called TALK OF PLEASANT THINGS and I directed it at my high school, much to the detriment of my willingness and enthusiasm to show my face at reunions.  It was about, among other things, AIDS, alcoholism, and abandonment.

When I got to college, I wrote a play with parts for twelve actors.  Eight of these parts had about six lines apiece.  This is when I got my first lesson in “unproducability.” Rolin Jones, a phenomenal writer who mentored me through the process of writing this play, mentioned the possibility of one or two actors playing multiple roles.  I was like, “What?” and he was like, “Yeah.”

And so eight parts became two.  And the play got a lot stronger and better because of it (not that anyone will ever get to read it, see it, or even touch it).

Somehow, though, I’ve forgotten that lesson in writing this new play.  I find myself with nine characters and counting.  I’m hoping there will come a time somewhere down the line where I can whittle some of these people away, but it’s hard to write about a family without including everybody.

At least I’ve lightened up a little when picking subjects to write about.

Back to writing DEAD CHILDREN now.

Second, much Internet-noise on an article in the Times today about Todd London’s book Outrageous Fortune.  We haven’t read it it — the article will certainly increase sales (I hope, for Todd’s sake).   The article links to a review of the book by the theater critic Chris Jones; the most interesting part of the review is the online commentary that it has solicited.  On the whole, Jones’s review doesn’t seem very thoughtful or helpful (we can’t really judge, though, since we haven’t read Outrageous Fortune yet).   There’s much to say — and much that has been said — about making a living as a playwright.  Sadly, it’s virtually impossible — any playwright (established and emerging) can tell you that.    The truth, though, is that this reality applies pretty much across the board in the non-profit theater world.  Actors, directors and administrators, for the most part, have a tough time making ends meet financially.  The theater business model (from a non-profit perspective — we can’t really speak to about the one in respect of commercial theater) is one that makes little sense today (at least when you’re working in this sector in NYC).  Or has it ever made sense?  We’re non-profit.  I have friends who work for other non-profit (non-theater related) organizations and they face similar financial conundrums; they can’t work in their field *and* live in New York without taking on freelance jobs.  So maybe this issue (the one re: making a livable wage) applies to non-profit industries, as a whole.  That’s not to diminish the argument that one can’t make a living from playwriting and that the system needs to be reformed to support these writers and to prevent these writers from running off to L.A. or law school or business school, etc.

David Adjmi posted a link to the Times article today and Jason Grote provided a very funny/sad  response.  It reads:

“…Staffs usually aren’t paid very well, but artistic directors at the bigger institutions often have ridiculously huge salaries commensurate to those organizations’ budgets. Just like most other corporations, nonprofits, and universities in this goddamn country.

And in terms of audience appeal: does Eustis really think that anyone wants to see anything Suzan-Lori Parks has written in the past decade? What no one is acknowledging is that “bad plays” are often the result of tacking on a big name to sell tickets and ignoring artistic merit. Risky, “unknown” playwrights often do the best work because they still actually care about what they’re doing.

But I agree that we playwrights should stop whining. I think we should quit. Or, more precisely, I think I should quit — I wouldn’t presume to tell anyone else what to do. But I’m definitely ready to join 99% of the rest of the country in not giving a shit about theater.”

Last month, we attended a panel that specifically addressed the concerns of small- and mid-sized theater companies. Ben Cameron spoke at the beginning (why is he always on these panels?) about how, during these times, non-profits need to start thinking “outside of the box, etc.” He concluded his valedictorian-like speech (I admit, I was galvanized by his words…) by saying that the Doris Duke Foundation (he is on staff at the Foundation) is open to all theaters, including ones as small as Page 73. (Really? Hi, Ben! We’re happy to oblige, Doris Duke Foundation! Call us!)

Not surprisingly, during the Q&A, most people expressed anxiety.  There’s  a general sense that no one is looking after small- to mid-sized theater companies (Is anyone looking after any theater companies, though?  We were almost left out of the stimulus package, for crying outloud.)  By the end of the meeting, some of us came away with the idea that collective action might help us weather these uncertain times.  We’ve been batting around this idea (collective action by theater companies of the same size) with other non-profits.  If we share resources – if we discuss our concerns and advocate our interests in tandem – we’ll be in a better position to address the tough issues that we’re probably going to face in the coming years.

Apropos of nothing (or maybe everything…) we’ve started drafting our budget for 2009-2010.  We keep revisiting our initial predictions.  Should we be more conservative?  Or are we being unnecessarily pessimistic?   There was an article in The Economist last week (or was it the Times?) about the unreliability of financial forecasts during this economic downturn.   Do we start with a worst-case scenario and hope (pray) that our numbers are far better than expected? Is “worst-case scenario” reality, at this point?

We had hoped for a second production in 2010.  Given the cash crunch that we probably will face next year, this will be highly unlikely. Now is not the time to expand programming – that’s what everyone keeps saying at these panels.   Just hold on to what you have – again, this is the mantra that is repeated over and over again by the cognoscenti.  So you start revisiting your programming and planning — and make conservative predictions for the future because (you tell yourself) no new donors/funders are going to appear in this market.   All this prognosticating, though, is bad for the soul: It leads to over-thinking and doubting one’s ability to raise any money in this climate. (It doesn’t help when you hear funders say that they expect that this downturn will get rid of any “excess” theater companies. Yep. Heard someone actually say that. Because I’m paranoid, when this person said “excess”, I thought s/he was looking right at me.)

Not sure what we’re trying to say here. Certainly, we’re worried. And maybe now’s not the time to add a second production.  Still, we’re not throwing in the towel. We’re going to keep all of our development programs and produce one production a year. Nothing wrong with that.

In this climate, that seems to be quite an accomplishment.

The problem with expressing your opinions as a playwright is that you will never get produced, ever. At least it feels that way. Especially us up-and-comers — we are told to develop our voices boldly, but this doesn’t actually mean that we should offer our opinion about how the business of theatre is currently running. (Unless you’re Mike Daisey, then you can do anything you want, and God bless him.)

The atmosphere of playwrights offering frank commentary feels like 2003, during the Bush Administration — there is a whole lot wrong, but we’re too afraid to offer our version of the truth. I wish I could publish half the conversations I had last week with playwrights and actors and directors — frustration and confusion and disillusion as toothless irrelevant small-minded productions pass quietly in front of audiences, much better television shows flickering in the back of their minds.

Not every play should be as aggressive as “Blasted”, that amazing play with an amazing production currently playing at Soho Rep. But we can do better. “Blasted” is perhaps the best example of why we go to theatre — and it is not to *enjoy* ourselves. This is a tradition that started with thousands of Greeks watching Oedipus gouge his eyes out. And the Greeks were like, “Now I’ve learned something about my attraction to my mother.” They were surely shocked, and they may have been outraged, but they were definitely stirred, definitely unable to go back to they way they thought previously, and that’s what theatre is for.

For me, “Blasted” felt like the end of theatre, the end of the conversation that started with The Greeks. It unfolds like a regional theatre play gone to hell, a Fuck You to anyone who would ever want to sit through another Ayckbourn comedy or measured play about Iraq (take your pick; there are at least a dozen playing right now to snoozing audiences comparing the the on-stage drama to the New York Times headlines or that conversation they had with an ACTUAL veteran, i.e. a frustrating maddening 2 hours of wasted time.) I’m used to walking out of a theatre and having that annoying 15 minute “checklist” conversation with my date, then immediately forgetting what I saw. I walked out of “Blasted” nearly a month ago with a violent cloud above my head, unable to speak to anyone, and am still visited by its imagery — Marin Ireland’s terrifying seizures, the loving blowjob ending in a beating, the wild human eyes of Louis Cancelmi’s soldier, Reed Birney violently cradling the soldier like it was the last physical thing on earth, the last line (“Thank you”).

That the play has been sold out for nearly its whole run and been extended twice is a big Middle Finger to everyone who shies away from producing aggressive work that provokes an audience. The old adage of “our subscribers won’t like it” has been rendered false. We always knew it wasn’t true. From here on out I’m lumping people who profess this opinion with the people who said Obama couldn’t be president — the fear of success overwhelming the possibility of change. You know you’re wrong. Have courage. Do the plays you want. The audience will love you for it.

I’m not one of those cranks who rant about the Death of Theatre, which is sort of like ranting about the Death of Drawing — will humans ever *not* pretend like they are other people to one another to make a point about humanity? But, like volcanoes, theatre has a habit of going dormant. I dare you to identify a play of note written in the English language between 1800 and 1900. You will not be able to. Why? For a hundred years, audiences were obsessed with spectacle, Equestrian pageantry, nautical dramas. That is, plays that had explosions in them and horses on stage and huge fake ships sinking into the sets. “Quantum of Solace” made 70 million this weekend. Welcome to the next century.

We shot this video for “Transition” but ended up not using it in the final show. I now present it to the p73 blog. Enjoy!

directed by Tommy Smith and Reggie Watts
shot by Austin Elston
sound by Emily Gallagher
editing by Joby Emmons
featuring Dana Acheson, Jess Adcock, Afreen Akhter, Raniah Al-Sayed, Ben Beckley, Aaron Cedolia, Dan Cozzens, Mary Guiteras, Nicholas Hoover, Chris Illing, Mark Karafin, Nick Lewis, Christopher Loar, Michael Markham, Stas May, Sylvia Mincewicz, Nana Mensah, Kyra Miller, Aimee Mullins, Erica Newhouse, John Pizzolato, Jessica Pohly, Livia Scott, Jen Taher, Han Tang, Geraldine Visco

We sent out an email to our subscribers today, announcing a couple of great stuff.  If you didn’t get the email, (a) you should subscribe to our email list and (b) you should read the post below. 

In the meantime, some cool news from present and past fellows:

- Tommy Smith‘s on the West Coast working on “Transition” with Reggie Watts.
- Krista Knight (2007) is off to get her MFA in playwriting from UCSD.  We’re very sad about this.
- Jason Grote (2006) just opened his play “Maria/Stuart” at the Woolly Mammoth in DC.
- Quiara Hudes (2005) is hard at work on a multiple exciting (top secret) projects.  Also, she’s moving back to NYC (which makes us very happy).
- Kirsten Greenidge (2003-2004) just got back from her residency at Sundance this summer.

Lots going on with our fellows.  And below’s the text of our message.  Enjoy.

“Dear Page 73 Friend,

We’re not going to lie: We’re pretty heartbroken to see this summer end.  But, at the same time, we can’t wait for the start of fall!

Here’s why (in no particular order — cue the trumpets):  Dan LeFranc, SIXTY MILES TO SILVER LAKE, Tommy Smith, SEXTET, and Interstate 73.

 

1.    DAN LEFRANC.  We’ve known Dan for about two years now and are thrilled to team up with award-winning Soho Rep to produce Dan’s play SIXTY MILES TO SILVER LAKE directed by OBIE Award-winning director Anne Kauffman (God’s Ear; The Thugs).  Not only will this be the world premiere of SIXTY MILES TO SILVER LAKE, but also it will be Dan’s first professional production.

 

When we first read SIXTY MILES TO SILVER LAKE, we were blown away by this fast, anxious and funny play that looks at how a lifetime can pass in the sixty miles between a boy’s soccer practice and his divorced father’s new apartment.  Performances are November 25 to December 21.    Stay tuned  for more information about the world premiere of SIXTY MILES TO SILVER LAKE!

 

 

2.    TOMMY SMITH.  This October, get your socks knocked off by a workshop of SEXTET by 2008 P73 Playwriting Fellow Tommy Smith. 

Structured liked a choral piece, SEXTET  looks at the obsessive, devouring and doomed love lives of composers Carlo Gesualdo, Peter Tchaikovsky and Arnold Schoenberg and at the destructive effects of their single-minded artistic pursuits.  The workshop features a cast of 9 and will be directed by Davis McCallum (Elliot, A Soldier’s Fugue; Queens Boulevard).

 

3.    INTERSTATE 73.  After last year’s successful launch of our newest program “Interstate 73″, this October, we’re going to start work with new Interstate 73 members Sarah Hammond, Josh Malmuth, Molly Rice, Matt Schatz, Tommy Smith and Cori Thomas.  Keep your eyes open for public presentations of new works by these extraordinary six writers.

See?  It’s going to be a great fall.

We’re also proud to announce that Page 73 is the recepient of a grant from the Rockefeller Brothers Fund.  This grant will go towards enhancing Page 73′s infrastructure and will help Page 73 expand its contributions to early-career playwrights…”

A device that simulates the effects of being in another dimension.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dreamachine

Dream Machine from Tommy Smith on Vimeo.