Okay, so our readership and writership on this blog are about nil. Are we deterred?
No.
Because I'm here to post about some theatre stuff. Dig?
Actually, I'm mostly interested in posting some news: I've been cast in the first show of Performance Network's 2010-2011 season, Sonia Flew. This will be my first sustained professional acting gig, and I'm psyched. The show will start at PNT in September, and move to the Jewish Ensemble Theatre in December, so it'll be a big part of my life for about five months.
The Sonia Flew rehearsal schedule has also prompted me to request that we move the Slant of Light reading of Thorstein the Staff-Struck, and Stacy graciously agreed. Sometime, though! It will happen! (Thanks, Stacy!) Stay tuned!
Last thought, for now: Earlier today, I was telling both A.C.T and Kim Carney that I haven't been writing enough recently. This is the truth, and I will work on it. No matter how many corporate newsletters I write, it's just never the same as working on a script.
Showing posts with label thorstein the staff-struck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thorstein the staff-struck. Show all posts
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Is that what it's about? Huh.
I've been doing a lot of thinking about the process behind Thorstein the Staff-Struck - namely how, if I had done adequate research before starting to adapt the story, I might not have tried. I only realized the real contradiction once I'd finished the first draft. Rather than kill the project, I think it kind of enhances it.
At first, I saw a neat short story, with a small and vivid cast of characters. It offered a great view of the culture and the period, full of detail and the signature understatement and wry insult that permeates the Icelandic Sagas. (This is why Penguin included it in its little collection, as a good entry point to the vein of literature.)
I had initially meant the story to be the comic middle part of a three-Saga play, but two images got lodged in my head: Thorarin's emotional, tragic, and funny meeting with Bjarni, and the simulated horse-fight between Thorstein and Thord...as played by Thorstein and Thorarin. Others images logically followed these - the farmhands, the duel, Rannveig's precise nagging - and before long, I realized that I'd rather write one detailed, interesting piece than a collection of sketches full of lit-geek jokes.
I started writing fast, just getting ideas on paper (well, virtual paper) and trying to lay the foundation before it could start to seem like work. It's pretty much always the most fun phase of a new script, when things just flow, and you go in the direction that seems right. Of course, the structure of the story gave it an overall shape, and most of my work was extrapolating action, character bits, events, that sort of thing. I noticed the mention of Christianity, and worked it into the script, initially just as a detail, and then as a major theme (keep reading to find out why this is way ironic). That phase slowed down and finally stopped, and I actually put off writing for a few months in favor of doing research. However, my research was, well, incomplete. Either that, or I just didn't follow thoughts to their logical conclusions, or something along those lines.
Some time before the call for Fireside Festival entries, I decided to put aside my reading and finish the script, and that's where the real scene-writing slog set in, including a near-complete restructuring of the piece before I could even get the final scenes done. I had put several research questions out of my mind in favor of forward momentum, though Nate Beckman's input had already helped considerably. With encouragement/proofreading by A.C.T. of Squirrels in Love, I hacked the last scenes out in the Performance Network office, just so I'd have something to edit.
And editing meant reading everything I'd written, comparing it to the source material, and going back over my research, resulting in my big "Hey, that's interesting" moment. I don't know how I missed it. Maybe I just hadn't thought about why Christianity was mentioned so significantly, or how neatly the story portrays certain virtues and failings. Maybe I'd glossed over the pieces of my research that make certain inferences about its authorship. Whatever.
In my relative newness to the Sagas, I had thought the story was based on an incident, albeit one that nicely framed the ongoing conflict between farmers and landowners. Turns out it was probably written by priests, who were probably making a point about the virtue of moderation. It's embodied by the resolution of the duel, by the trade of three mean-spirited, gossipy farmhands for one man of worth, by Thorarin's humbling moment with Bjarni, by the fact that Bjarni's home is named Hof...the word for "moderation." Huh. I'd just written a play in which Christianity is addressed rather cynically, as I was fascinated by the fact that, at that time, the religion was legislated in Iceland, without being widely taught. This, in a story that seems to have been written to show Christian virtues.
However, I didn't feel a crisis brewing so much as a philosophical "well, okay, we can work with that." Instead of adapting the story, I'd kind of unknowingly subverted it. Sure, I'd added to it and embellished, but turns out I'd gone further and messed with its thematic origin out of sheer ignorance. With this newfound knowledge, it seemed to me that the only way out was further in, to perhaps draw a line between virtue on a human level, and virtue as mandated. Can't retreat, dig in.
I don't know if I achieved that in the second draft, but the reading audience definitely responded to that element, and I'm all for giving credit to the power of the original story. More than one commenter saw the direct mentions of Christianity as a counterpoint to the main plot, highlighting it while placing events in history. As I've said before, I was prepared to get slammed for it. In fact, I'm still prepared to get slammed for it, along with my use of the Sagas and my use of history. It hasn't actually happened yet, which means I'm going to be bracing myself for a while, I think.
And so far, I'm happy with the play. Revisions are apace, and I have hope that the next draft will be the final one. It's strange to be glad that I started without all the necessary information, but hey, on-the-fly research is part of why I like writing.
At first, I saw a neat short story, with a small and vivid cast of characters. It offered a great view of the culture and the period, full of detail and the signature understatement and wry insult that permeates the Icelandic Sagas. (This is why Penguin included it in its little collection, as a good entry point to the vein of literature.)
I had initially meant the story to be the comic middle part of a three-Saga play, but two images got lodged in my head: Thorarin's emotional, tragic, and funny meeting with Bjarni, and the simulated horse-fight between Thorstein and Thord...as played by Thorstein and Thorarin. Others images logically followed these - the farmhands, the duel, Rannveig's precise nagging - and before long, I realized that I'd rather write one detailed, interesting piece than a collection of sketches full of lit-geek jokes.
I started writing fast, just getting ideas on paper (well, virtual paper) and trying to lay the foundation before it could start to seem like work. It's pretty much always the most fun phase of a new script, when things just flow, and you go in the direction that seems right. Of course, the structure of the story gave it an overall shape, and most of my work was extrapolating action, character bits, events, that sort of thing. I noticed the mention of Christianity, and worked it into the script, initially just as a detail, and then as a major theme (keep reading to find out why this is way ironic). That phase slowed down and finally stopped, and I actually put off writing for a few months in favor of doing research. However, my research was, well, incomplete. Either that, or I just didn't follow thoughts to their logical conclusions, or something along those lines.
Some time before the call for Fireside Festival entries, I decided to put aside my reading and finish the script, and that's where the real scene-writing slog set in, including a near-complete restructuring of the piece before I could even get the final scenes done. I had put several research questions out of my mind in favor of forward momentum, though Nate Beckman's input had already helped considerably. With encouragement/proofreading by A.C.T. of Squirrels in Love, I hacked the last scenes out in the Performance Network office, just so I'd have something to edit.
And editing meant reading everything I'd written, comparing it to the source material, and going back over my research, resulting in my big "Hey, that's interesting" moment. I don't know how I missed it. Maybe I just hadn't thought about why Christianity was mentioned so significantly, or how neatly the story portrays certain virtues and failings. Maybe I'd glossed over the pieces of my research that make certain inferences about its authorship. Whatever.
In my relative newness to the Sagas, I had thought the story was based on an incident, albeit one that nicely framed the ongoing conflict between farmers and landowners. Turns out it was probably written by priests, who were probably making a point about the virtue of moderation. It's embodied by the resolution of the duel, by the trade of three mean-spirited, gossipy farmhands for one man of worth, by Thorarin's humbling moment with Bjarni, by the fact that Bjarni's home is named Hof...the word for "moderation." Huh. I'd just written a play in which Christianity is addressed rather cynically, as I was fascinated by the fact that, at that time, the religion was legislated in Iceland, without being widely taught. This, in a story that seems to have been written to show Christian virtues.
However, I didn't feel a crisis brewing so much as a philosophical "well, okay, we can work with that." Instead of adapting the story, I'd kind of unknowingly subverted it. Sure, I'd added to it and embellished, but turns out I'd gone further and messed with its thematic origin out of sheer ignorance. With this newfound knowledge, it seemed to me that the only way out was further in, to perhaps draw a line between virtue on a human level, and virtue as mandated. Can't retreat, dig in.
I don't know if I achieved that in the second draft, but the reading audience definitely responded to that element, and I'm all for giving credit to the power of the original story. More than one commenter saw the direct mentions of Christianity as a counterpoint to the main plot, highlighting it while placing events in history. As I've said before, I was prepared to get slammed for it. In fact, I'm still prepared to get slammed for it, along with my use of the Sagas and my use of history. It hasn't actually happened yet, which means I'm going to be bracing myself for a while, I think.
And so far, I'm happy with the play. Revisions are apace, and I have hope that the next draft will be the final one. It's strange to be glad that I started without all the necessary information, but hey, on-the-fly research is part of why I like writing.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Pause for irony.
I am once again employed by Performance Network. For those unfamiliar, PNT is a professional nonprofit theatre in Ann Arbor, MI, and I recently gave it a year of my life, more or less. A sudden departure threatened to leave the staff shorthanded, and so I'm helping pick up some of the slack.
Funny, when the guy you trained five months ago gives you back your keys.
I'm also helping to find a replacement, of course. With any luck, I'll be giving the job to someone else within six weeks, so the theatre will have a reliable full-timer and the newbie will get their learnin'. (Also, in February, Barefoot in the Park will make a lusty power-grab for my time and energy.) In the meantime, I suddenly feel some nostalgia coming on. Wait, it might not be nostalgia. It might be a late-dinner-induced flashback. Whichever, here it is.
- - - - - - - - -
One year ago: January, 2009.
-I am house managing, pre-show: standing at the counter, wearing a tie, trying to remember things. Mike is at the box office window. He has just burned out for the first time, and is affably counting the many months, out loud, to his last day. I can't blame him. While I had a few days off between Christmas and New Year's--during which I wrote the first 40-something pages of Thorstein--he was in tech rehearsal as the ASM of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, possibly the most energy-sucking show of the season. (Note: This is wrong. Fences would be the most energy-sucking show of the season, but that was months away.)
-I have not yet burned out even once, but I will. Both of us have just recovered from some horrible flu that has had its way with most of the staff this month, the microbial whore. Rosencrantz is a Big Show, in just the way Geoffrey and Jeffrey wasn't, for all the heartwarming cheer it radiated. (Except among Michigan's staunch anti-gay community, certain members of which I encountered while postering. You'd think they'd never seen a picture of two happily married dudes before.) The cast is large, audiences are large, and the set is large. The show will extend.
-There is the usual shuffling of actors and staff at the box office counter, as everyone weighs addressing Important Issues against the reality of how little time there is to eat dinner. I continue trying to remember things, which is important when you're house managing. I've done a lot of house managing recently, and I'm settling into a routine. It involves coffee, books from Aunt Agatha's, and bouts of creative innuendo with Boss, the technical director. And, y'know, getting people their tickets and whatnot.
-For a moment, I focus: I have recently begun writing another play. This means freaking everything, because I'm spending nearly all my time working for, with, and around people to whom I really, really, really want to prove myself. I'm not sure I like admitting how much that factors into my creative process. I have a small book of Icelandic Sagas, and I bring it with me everywhere. It is my primary research and inspiration for this project, and it's not even mine. Some weeks ago, I found it among Zach's books and took it along so I'd have something new to read while house managing.
-Mike mumbles something about not seeing his fiancee; I counter with something about not seeing the girl I'm seeing. We mess with the thermostat, and Mike gently reminds me not to refrigerate the rehearsal space this time. This is us at a low point. There will be high points, but this isn't one of them.
- - - - - - - - -
I suppose it's a bad idea to blog about a rough moment in the job while seeking someone new to fill it. I think I wandered back to that point because I had a pleasant day at the theatre today, and all current and former apprentices responded to my presence, or the news thereof, by asking me if I'm off my nut (with the exception of Chelsea, who is now the Marketing Director). So I instinctively think of my least favorite stretch of the term. I'm funny that way.
Yeah, these things are tough, and often unfair and slow to reward long stretches of hard work. I like to think that mine was necessary, though; some of the ass-kicking I received would have had to come from elsewhere if it hadn't come from PNT, so it's just as well that I got the experience at a place where I can feel that my work meant something--with a small staff, during an economic downturn, in the most depressed state in the nation, yeah, everything counts.
I wrote all this bearing no ill will towards PNT--much the opposite, in fact--and felt like tonight was a good night to get some of my thoughts on the experience down. There's no need to sugar-coat this sort of thing, and the way I see it, it'd be a disservice to do so. In short: Go forth and suffer, reap the benefit, blog about it later.
Funny, when the guy you trained five months ago gives you back your keys.
I'm also helping to find a replacement, of course. With any luck, I'll be giving the job to someone else within six weeks, so the theatre will have a reliable full-timer and the newbie will get their learnin'. (Also, in February, Barefoot in the Park will make a lusty power-grab for my time and energy.) In the meantime, I suddenly feel some nostalgia coming on. Wait, it might not be nostalgia. It might be a late-dinner-induced flashback. Whichever, here it is.
- - - - - - - - -
One year ago: January, 2009.
-I am house managing, pre-show: standing at the counter, wearing a tie, trying to remember things. Mike is at the box office window. He has just burned out for the first time, and is affably counting the many months, out loud, to his last day. I can't blame him. While I had a few days off between Christmas and New Year's--during which I wrote the first 40-something pages of Thorstein--he was in tech rehearsal as the ASM of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, possibly the most energy-sucking show of the season. (Note: This is wrong. Fences would be the most energy-sucking show of the season, but that was months away.)
-I have not yet burned out even once, but I will. Both of us have just recovered from some horrible flu that has had its way with most of the staff this month, the microbial whore. Rosencrantz is a Big Show, in just the way Geoffrey and Jeffrey wasn't, for all the heartwarming cheer it radiated. (Except among Michigan's staunch anti-gay community, certain members of which I encountered while postering. You'd think they'd never seen a picture of two happily married dudes before.) The cast is large, audiences are large, and the set is large. The show will extend.
-There is the usual shuffling of actors and staff at the box office counter, as everyone weighs addressing Important Issues against the reality of how little time there is to eat dinner. I continue trying to remember things, which is important when you're house managing. I've done a lot of house managing recently, and I'm settling into a routine. It involves coffee, books from Aunt Agatha's, and bouts of creative innuendo with Boss, the technical director. And, y'know, getting people their tickets and whatnot.
-For a moment, I focus: I have recently begun writing another play. This means freaking everything, because I'm spending nearly all my time working for, with, and around people to whom I really, really, really want to prove myself. I'm not sure I like admitting how much that factors into my creative process. I have a small book of Icelandic Sagas, and I bring it with me everywhere. It is my primary research and inspiration for this project, and it's not even mine. Some weeks ago, I found it among Zach's books and took it along so I'd have something new to read while house managing.
-Mike mumbles something about not seeing his fiancee; I counter with something about not seeing the girl I'm seeing. We mess with the thermostat, and Mike gently reminds me not to refrigerate the rehearsal space this time. This is us at a low point. There will be high points, but this isn't one of them.
- - - - - - - - -
I suppose it's a bad idea to blog about a rough moment in the job while seeking someone new to fill it. I think I wandered back to that point because I had a pleasant day at the theatre today, and all current and former apprentices responded to my presence, or the news thereof, by asking me if I'm off my nut (with the exception of Chelsea, who is now the Marketing Director). So I instinctively think of my least favorite stretch of the term. I'm funny that way.
Yeah, these things are tough, and often unfair and slow to reward long stretches of hard work. I like to think that mine was necessary, though; some of the ass-kicking I received would have had to come from elsewhere if it hadn't come from PNT, so it's just as well that I got the experience at a place where I can feel that my work meant something--with a small staff, during an economic downturn, in the most depressed state in the nation, yeah, everything counts.
I wrote all this bearing no ill will towards PNT--much the opposite, in fact--and felt like tonight was a good night to get some of my thoughts on the experience down. There's no need to sugar-coat this sort of thing, and the way I see it, it'd be a disservice to do so. In short: Go forth and suffer, reap the benefit, blog about it later.
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