TheBanyanTree: After Play

[TL Wagener]

Well, it was the best of the times, it was the worst of times.  I can't
remember either laughing so hard or crying so much in a 5 day period.
I really am just too old for this.

The play continued -- it got better, with some serious tweaking from me and
the Artistic Director.  He did his through personal phone calls to the
very-poor actor.  I did mine in a group with the actors and director --
thinking the director could chime in and actors could ask questions.  Since
we're all on the same side.  I thought.

This was Friday night, and, before the Artistic Director, Rich, and I got
back home that night, he'd received a phone call from the actress, telling
him "Dr. Mumford is not happy."  Dr. james T. Mumford.   Director, Writer,
Composer, Actor, Educator, Scholar -- according to his bio in the program.
 Apparently he was incensed that I did not speak to him first, before I
approached the actors.  I might have -- if he had seemed approachable at
all, if he hadn't had such an ego, if I weren't afraid I would rip his
throat out with a nail file for doing such a lousy job with my play.  He
thought I "undermined his vision" for the play.  He felt that since I handed
it off to him for his interpretation, I should just stay out of it.  Or I
should have called him during rehearsals to let him know how I wanted it
done.

Um.  The place is called the Bloomington Playwrights' Project.  I actually
outrank him.  Hullo?  I did not undermine anything -- I overrode some stuff,
but I had only one more chance to see if the play worked.  I didn't have
time to coddle egos.  And I'm not only a guest, but a guest of honor.  And I
sent him 71 pages of script, telling him how to do the play -- I'm supposed
to call him, too?  I didn't hand off anything.  The point of a premiere is
for the director to realize the playwright's vision.  Not interpret
anything.  Christ.

Rich and I talked and laughed about this Friday night at his house.  I
alluded to it when Julie and Lee wandered the Farmer's Market and had
breakfast Saturday.  Julie, in her perfect and practical way said, "He is a
big fish in a VERY small pond."  Yes.  I know.  I guess.   I spent Saturday
afternoon shopping on the Town Square.  The owner of the luscious jewelry
store I went into found out I was in town for a show at the Project and
asked if I were connected to the play she saw Friday night.  "I wrote it," I
said.  She shrieked.  She'd never been to that theatre before, and she
adored the play.  A couple of events cited in the story resonated deeply
with her, her relatives were at the disasters spoken of.  Her father worked
for an oil company -- as does the lead character -- for 45 years.  I spent
an hour at the store and she gave me a wonderful deal on an anklet and some
gold hoops.  She asked for a copy of the play.  She introduced me to
everyone who came into the store.  It was perfect.

Then I called Rich and we had lunch at about 4 pm and went home and showered
and got ready for the play and the Talk Back that was that evening.

When we entered the theatre, Dr. Mumford immediately grabbed Rich's arm and
started railing about me.  He had already excoriated me to the actors, and
now was going at me again with Rich.  I had dawdled at the front door and so
was around a corner -- but only ten feet away.  I stopped to listen.  Why?
 Well, sort of a train wreck kind of fascination.  And I wanted to hear if
Rich responded to Dr. Mumford in any of the ways he had said he would, the
night before.

No.  He apologized for my behavior.  He placated Dr. Mumford.  He said I,
myself, had said I probably should have asked Dr. Mumford first.  Mumford
was on a roll , and went on and on about how insensitive and disrespectful I
was -- to talk to them RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM.  He also warned Rich that he
was going to talk to me about it.  Rich did not defend me at all.

Rich sat down at the box office, I went to him and said simply, "I heard the
whole thing."  He nodded.  "You didn't tell him off," I said.
  "It... I... I didn't think ti was worth it."

"I'm going for a walk," I said, and turned on my heel and left the building.
 And walked the town square for the next hour, crying.  Christ, if anyone
had a right to throw a hissy fit, it was me.  I detested the man's
direction, from the first moment when the lead actor stands in his light for
several seconds, waiting for his cue to knock on the door to the last
instant when the actress turns the TV to different channel and then doesn't
watch it.   I was completely worn out with being trotted about as a dog and
pony show, and everyone asking how I liked the play and I had to smile and
nod when I wanted to rip the director's throat out.  Along with the actor's.
 I was astonished that I had won a national playwriting contest, and had to
pay my own way to see the play and the actors DID NOT EVEN KNOW THEIR LINES.
 It's been a long time since I've seen a play where the actors forgot their
lines.  I think it was a Christmas pageant.  Talk about insensitive and
disrespectful.

And Rich -- who had been a great supporter, and told me that he would
personally see to it that this play got done again and got a GOOD production
-- had simply lied to me.  He hadn't stood up to the guy at all.  He hadn't
defended me at all.  Maybe he was just trying to dissipate the guy's anger,
but he knew I was listening, and he... blew it.

I remembered why I stopped writing plays.  You work really, really hard,
write a wonderful piece, and then you get punished.  Idiots with egos run
right over you.  All the horrible theatre experiences of my life came
rushing back.  The most painful experiences -- when you want things to be so
wonderful and everyone ELSE seems to be having such a good time -- and
someone seems to target you to destroy you and all your good memories of the
place.  I walked and cried and practiced speeches to Rich and Mumford.  I
had no one to call, so I worked my self up and down till I was exhausted
beyond measure.

I arrived back at the theatre one minute before the show started.  I passed
Rich and he said my name and I spun at him and whispered "Do not talk to
me."  I went into the theatre and I sat in the back row.  It was just like
before.  Only worse.  The actor kept forgetting lines and the actress kept
jumping her cues.  What a mess.  The audience was having a good time -- and
the script is really, really good.  But I cannot imagine a worse production
except perhaps in a high school drama class.  Christ.

At intermission I followed the audience down the steps.  I walked by the
director.  I waited as people filed out to the lobby.  Over my shoulder, a
man said, "It's a really terrific play."  I glanced over.  An older couple
were seated there, looking at me.  He had spoken directly to me.  I looked
at them both, thinking I must have met them at the board meeting/dinner or
on one of the chance encounters in town.  How did they know who I was?
 Never mind.  I smiled and said, "Thank for saying that.  It means a lot to
me.  Thanks."

Somehow that exchange just did me in and I went back out to walk some more.
 No Act Two for me.  I realized that the Talk Back with the audience was
after the show, and I didn't want Rich to think I had left town or
something, so I went back in to let him know I would be there.  I touched
his shoulder -- he was talking to patrons -- and when he turned I said, with
tears streaming down my face, "I'll be here for the Talk Back."  And I
walked out, fast.

He must have leaped over furniture to get outside so quickly, but he caught
up with me and said, "Can we talk?"  I broke down and cursed and wailed and
said, "You hold a NATIONAL playwriting contest -- and you hand the winning
script off to a director you have not worked with before, who has absolutely
no interest in pleasing the playwright or realizing her vision?  You get a
first time actor who cannot remember his lines, can't stand in the same
place two nights in a row, prowls the stage like some Jabba the Hut, and
delivers the most important speeches to his co-actor -- the speech she has
been pleading for since the top of the story -- he delivers it an entire
stage away, to the audience, like he's some kind of Hamlet in a demented
soliloquoy, and the actress -- who the audience's eyes should be glued to --
is in darkness?  YES the play works -- all IN SPITE of this horrid
production which you dropped the ball on repeatedly.  AND you have a prima
donna director who badmouths your playwright to both the actors and artistic
director and you -- his BOSS -- just suck up to him, never defend me, do not
explain that this process is supposed to be all about the PLAYWIRGHT -- and
is not about him or his so-called "interpretation" at all.  If I were a new
playwright and this were my first script, I would never, ever write another
one, after this experience.  AND I should not care this much.  This kind of
crap is why I stopped writing plays in my 20s, and now, 20 years later, it
still makes me cry, still hurts me deeply, more than anything else can, and
I feel so stupid and foolish to get so emotional about a fucking tiny show
in Bloomington, Indiana.  I should care less about this at my age."

"I think you should care MORE at this age."

"I can't afford to!  I can't work this hard and then feel this bad!  Why
would I put myself through this kind of stuff?!"

"I can't apologize enough.  I am so, so sorry about all this, and your work
deserves so much better, and I admire your work and you so much, and I know
this doesn't even come close to --"

"Rich!  I just heard you do the same kind of suck-up apology to DR MUMFORD.
 You have a real credibility problem with me now.  Maybe you are just
telling me all these nice things and then behind my back you're laughing and
telling people how you're going to straighten me out.  I don't even want to
hear it!"

He walked Town Square with me for almost an hour.  We had only one other
exchange.

Rich: What would you want most to be different about this show, knowing the
limitations we have here?

Me: A director who has an interest in realizing the playwright's vision.

He nodded.

Me:  An ACTOR.

He nodded.

Me:  A SET.

He nodded.

Me:  And do the PLAY, with the LINES and the stage directions and cues.  How
about that for a strategy?

He nodded.  "You're right."

Oh Stop It.

He went in to prepare the reception after the show, with the Talk Back. I
kept walking and entered the lobby just as the play ended.  I went upstairs
to the offices to watch the crowd, study their expressions, see what the
reaction was.  They were so into it.  So happy.  People gathered around
Rich, clapping him on the back.  The actors came out almost immediately and
there was a crowd around them.  I slipped downstairs and got a glass of wine
and stood over to the side.  A man about my age with wonderful eyes sidled
up to me.

"You're the playwright?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, for one, your picture's in the program, and for two, I pretty much
know everyone else here."

"Okay.  I'm the playwright."

"You wrote a terrific, terrific play.  A great and beautiful play."

"Thank you."

"Are you pleased with the production?"

(WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP ASKING ME THAT?!?  AAAAAA?!?!?)

"I have some problems with the production"

"Like what?"

I mentioned a couple -- nothing about the director or actor, but some
specific odd choices.  He nodded, then interrupted me.

"I know those are -- I mean, I hear what you're saying, and I understand it
would have been better that way and it must be very frustrating for you, but
you have to know that the play still shines through."

"I know.  It's a good play.  Thanks."

We all filed back into the house and the director and actors and Rich and I
sat onstage as people from the audience asked questions.  A couple were not
clear on some specific points, and I was glad I could say, "I'll have to
defer the question to the director.  The script does have very specific
beats and and stage directions about that moment."  (Grrr.)  The Talk Back
lasted over an hour, and everyone said it was the best Talk Back they ever
had there.  Two people asked me for my autograph on their programs.  The
audience finally left. Dr. Mumford came over to me and said, "May I have a
word with you?"  I looked him in the eye and said, "No."  He raised his
eyebrows.  "No?"  I nodded.  "NO."  I walked out as he was saying to others,
"You see, THIS is what I am talking about.  This kind of effrontery. . ."

Bite. Me.

Apparently he has vowed to never come the play again and wants his name
taken off the production.

Fine O.  Whut an ego.  And I live in Egoville.

I was then taken to the Board of Directors house because Rich was headed for
Indianapolis to see his girlfriend.   When he left he said "I'm really
sorry."  I said, "Yeah.  So am I."

The next morning I found out from the President of the Board that I am
supposed to get $300 for travel expenses.  And $500 prize money.  Although
no one has mentioned either of those during my stay.  "Isn't it in your
contract?"  she asked me.  I looked at her.  "What contract?"

Got home last night.  I didn't get out of bed today at all.

xoxos.