The Basics

Before I get into the nuts and bolts of scoring, we will need to talk about objectives and beats in general. I apologize if this is Acting 101 for some of you, but I have run across a stunning number of actors who have a surprisingly vague understanding of these terms. Since the words beat and objective get hurled around a lot I think it is important everyone is on the same page when discussing them.

Let us begin with beats. I like to think of beats as separate thoughts. Each line of text should have its own thought behind it. For example, the text I am using begins with these words: You're all flops. I am the Earth Mother and you are all flops. One could make the choice to have that contained in one beat- one thought. Of course, that would make for a fairly flat and lazy line reading. The stage directions indicate that Martha is saying this more or less to herself. This is a clue to her need and her thought process.You're all flops. One thought. I am the Earth Mother... I would say that this is one thought and the end of the sentence... and you are all flops... is yet another thought. The circumstance here of extreme drunkenness gives me the freedom to let thoughts clang around noisily in my mind. She isn't thinking too clearly. Here is how I would begin scoring this text- by separating it into beats like this:

You're all flops./ I am the Earth Mother/ and you are all flops./

Looking at that now, I question my need to separate that sentence into two beats. Let's leave it for now and see where the exploration takes us. We can always change it later. My own personal habit is to over-intellectualize this process. I must caution the academic actors out there against obsessing about scoring. If you spend too much time with the text and a pencil and not as much time putting it into your body, you will find yourself disconnected. Kinesthetic performers, however, will benefit from sitting down and understanding the text this way- it will help during those performances when you are not "feeling it". But, I get WAY ahead of myself.

Now that we understand beats, to a certain extent, let's look at objectives. I use the word "objective". Other directors or actors may use terms like "need" or "motivation" or "intention". For all intents and purposes these terms are interchangeable. They all refer to the same thing. I've grown fond of the word "objective", so that is what I use.

Objectives help the actor to understand the interior life of the character. There are two "types" of objectives I will explore in this post, the first is the Super Objective which I define as the driving need behind every action the character takes within the play. The second type is the Beat Objective which refers to the actions/thoughts that happen from moment to moment within the text. All Beat Objectives should be in line with/ reinforce the Super Objective and vice versa. If you find your Beat Objectives contradicting your Super Objective, that should be a red flag for you to explore changing one or both of them. You may just be barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. I can get into that in a bit more detail later. For now we should begin with the Super Objective.

As I said earlier, the Super Objective identifies your character's greatest need within the context of the play. Objectives are framed in the form of a statement of purpose, usually something like this:

I want/ need to...

For example, one could say their character wants to survive, to win, to destroy, to rescue...etc. Objectives should never, never, never be verbs of being. Verbs of being do not give the actor anything to PLAY. Tell me, how can you "be funny" or "be famous" or "be a great lover"? "Be" implies something one just "is" by accident of birth. Using a verb of being will lead to hollow indications and will not inspire you to fill your role. Action verbs (the more colorful the better) will help you to live in your character and will give you direction. Take those same "be" objectives I just cautioned about and turn them into more active verbs. "Be funny" could become "to entertain" or "to fling myself into my performance" or even "to abandon self-consciousness". "Be famous" could become "to claw my way to the top" or "to devour competition" or "to plead for validation/ love/ acceptance". "Be a great lover" could become "to seduce" or "to pleasure" or "to surround myself with love and comfort". See how each active verb gives a completely different picture of a character? Seeking objectives, both beat and super, gives the actor the opportunity to be a writer and the tools with which to practice specificity.

Here's how far we've gotten: One beat = 1 thought. Each beat has its own objective. Each beat objective must, in some way, lead toward the Super Objective which is the character's need throughout the entire play. In my next post I plan to tackle scoring my chosen monologue and discuss the benefits and dangers of scoring. (Okay, dangers is a bit dramatic, but what kind of language do you expect from an actor?) I'd love to write more on this topic, but I have a baby who desperately needs to eat blueberries.

To devour, to consume, to stuff his face with, to celebrate, to enjoy blueberries.

Notes on Martha

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf is destined to be one of those scripts I will need to wallow in.

Through my readings I have come to my usual position of Armchair Psychologist. My gut instinct is to "diagnose" Martha with Borderline Personality Disorder. Now, I would hesitate to make such a statement about a real, living person, but for the sake of pursuing a character I will make this judgement. Martha displays some classic characteristics of BPD. For the sake of expediency I will send you to this excellent post that validated my theory.

In addition to my multiple readings of the text, I have been searching for connections and others' ideas about this play. In the absence of a cast and table discussions I find reading others' opinions to be highly stimulating. Sometimes it is exciting to agree. In this particular case, I find myself in violent disagreement with some of the character studies I have found. Specifically, in regard to George. Most have found him to be weak-willed and spineless... in essence, the opinions I have read have validated Martha's worst opinions of George. On the contrary, I have found him to be principled (although not in the more traditional vein), calm and exceptionally compassionate. Granted, his compassion manifests itself in some fairly sick ways, but he does try to help everyone in the play. He tries to warn Nick, he feels true pity for Honey and he fights tooth and nail with Martha because he loves her. Love does not always have a healthy shine to it. In my various readings I keep thinking George is not unlike the Hollywood cliche of the boy who raises an orphaned animal and through an unfortunate set of circumstances finds himself deep in the forest chucking rocks at his beloved friend to force it to return to the wild- where it belongs. George lobs compassionate rocks at everyone in this tale. On the outside, this ineffectual cuckold is really a courageous lover.

Ah, but that is my tendency toward co-dependency speaking! Of course I relate to George! Of course I like him! Of course I skew toward seeing him as noble and kind! That's MY personal sickness speaking. As for Martha... she is going to be a huge challenge for me. I can get at the loud and vulgar part of her- that is well within my range. It is her extreme cruelty, her vindictiveness... see? It is the ultimate challenge for me to frame this behavior in the "actor positive", meaning that I need to put this behavior into non-judgmental language. If I am judging her behavior I will have difficulty justifying it for myself. After all, everything she does feels necessary to her survival. She needs to lash out, to bray, to punish, in order to save herself in some way.

A plan of attack is beginning to form and the specific text that I will use for my explorations is starting to rise to the surface.

Brando Experience

As a young actor immersed in study I loved Brando. Nearly every method trained actor does- excepting those with a chip on their shoulder and something to prove (we'll discuss THAT in a future post, I suppose) - because to look at Brando's fiery work in his younger days is to look upon some of the most complex acting creations in American performing history. Not to mention that Brando's young physique is one of the most beautiful specimens of manhood ever to walk the planet. I could watch Brando over and over again, from A Streetcar Named Desire to Last Tango in Parisand I never found him anything but bold and honest. That scene in Last Tango in Paris where he talks to his dead wife is so brutal, especially knowing what we know about Brando's personal life. It was impossible to understand, as a student, why such a brilliant actor would turn on his craft and call it all bullshit. It offended me to my core that someone with such talent would dismiss what he had worked so hard to become.

Of course, the older I get and the more immersed I become in day to day living the more I understand about Brando's disdain for the craft. When the first organic thoughts of "that's bullshit" entered my mind I almost keeled over from shock. The further my family life took me from the dirty rehearsal studios, cramped dressing rooms and masturbatory post-show drinking sessions the more I could see how deeply actors wade in their own self-important excrement. I began to despise the whole thing. I hated actors, I hated plays, writers irritated me, autuers made me want to pull out my hair in bloody clumps and set myself on fire. It all seemed so obnoxiously elitist and arrogant and I did not want to encourage that part of myself. Oh and it is a large part of me. It causes me great shame. I started to see what Brando had been getting at- I think...

When you are a young actor facing some daunting statistics regarding your future employment (or lack thereof) your mentors will mostly say things like, "We are lucky to get to do what we do. You have to be exceptionally strong to follow your passion against such odds". They paint a highly romantic picture about suffering for truth and art and how important it is. Everything loses perspective and suddenly everything in life is seen through an almost adolescent prism of art and that which is personal suddenly becomes public display. It is your duty to "use" yourself, your experience, for the cause of truth! What they neglect to mention is that it is just a job. It is a rewarding and fun job that requires great skill and commitment, but it is just a job.

One never hears lawyers, doctors, financial analysts or teachers discussing their work with such religious ferocity. Well, perhaps teachers, but teachers are passionate about teaching to lift up their pupils- not themselves. In acting the actor himself becomes the subject of his own religious fervor. He is his own deity. Frankly, that is a little difficult to live with. (My apologies to my husband!) Not only is it difficult for those who love the actor, but it becomes a burden to the actor him/herself. Look at what happened to Marilyn Monroe and Judy Garland. Without proper perspective regarding the place of entertainment within the scope of the Universe an actor can and will implode. We are not built to withstand such self-scrutiny!

I am not saying that we should avoid introspection or examination of our past experiences. I believe there is a level at which the craft is therapeutic. But I've met actors who, even when low on the fame totem pole, have fallen victim to the pressures the craft can exert on a person. There is something wrong about selling your life, your essence for the amusement of others. Which brings me back to that scene in Last Tango in Paris that is just so brutal. Knowing what we know about Brando's tragic family life, this scene begins to topple. It is by turns both beautifully honest and a horrible prostitution of pain. I can't look away. I feel something. It is naked and real, but a human's nakedness (both figurative and literal) can be a celebration or it can be a degradation. It is so difficult to figure out which is which and so often so many of us are degraded and what is worse is that we DO IT TO OURSELVES! Is it worth it? What we give- do we get back? Not just in little gold- plated statuettes, but in reception. Does the audience open up and understand? Do we achieve any kind of acceptance on any real level? Does the world change? Is it really worth the price we pay?

Then again, do we really have to pay that price? Can we act, be honest and personal but still maintain some privacy? Can we maintain the dignity of the form without plumping up our egos with the cheap currency of celebrity?

I'm not willing to give up on the form. I still love the process. I still love taking a great script, pulling it apart and putting it back together again. I love what I learn in rehearsals. I just need to figure out why it ever needs to be performed and how to do so without selling myself or my castmates too cheaply. Then I watch this scene and I feel so... human.

I like feeling human.

Fly Over Paranoia

It is no secret that the vast majority of the United States harbors an ugly resentment against "the Coasts". Namely New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles. When loose tongues are wagging you'll hear people say terrible things about the Jews in New York, the Gays in San Francisco and the money grubbing demons of immorality who run the entertainment industry in LA. To a certain extent, our fly over brethren are not necessarily wrong to be so bent out of shape- after all the majority of popular entertainment tends to narcissistically focus its energies on New York and LA for its characters and story lines and largely ignores what is going on in the rest of the country.

What fly over states may not know is that a lot of New Yorkers (in particular) are terrified of the rest of the country. New Yorkers are comfortable with their junkies, but the tweakers really scare them. New Yorkers can function (admittedly, it can be begrudgingly...) with Hasidim, Muslim, Catholic, Buddhist and Atheist populations living and working together- but the Evangelicals are enough to make the average New Yorker want to duck into a Satanist S & M parlor for safe harbor. We have religion here, but most New Yorkers would feel uncomfortable being confronted by a highway sign telling them to repent- regardless of their religious affiliation.

We fear.

That's the bottom line. Anything that is unfamiliar causes anxiety and anxiety can cause any human to jump to irrational and illogical conclusions.

Yesterday I was watching some interviews on YouTube with West Virginians about the recent primary. I'll admit that listening to these opinions made my heart race and I began to perspire. Just listening to these different perceptions caused my body to have a mild stress reaction. I wanted to scream and shake them. One woman insisted that Obama was Muslim and she didn't like that. When the interviewer corrected her and told her that he is NOT a Muslim she just closed her eyes, shook her head and said, "I don't agree with that" as if the facts were somehow able to rearrange themselves by the force of her opinion. I was angry and I wanted to reach into the screen and throttle her. Her resistance to the facts that have been available for years (the man has published two very personal books detailing his upbringing and influences for crying out loud!) made me angry and scared. I then commented to my husband that Obama probably made the right choice to concede West Virginia and not make a glut of personal appearances there because they might have shot him on the spot.

Of course- that was MY FEAR talking.

Not everyone who thinks a certain way is a gun toting radical with an itchy trigger finger. Upon closer inspection, I probably would have found this woman to be someone who was shaken by the horror of 9/11 (who wasn't?) and who has probably never met or even seen a Muslim in person before. I'm sure that the culture of racial division that is still common in some parts of the country- West Virginia reportedly being one of those places- made it difficult for this woman to see in Obama what some other people see in him. It is so much safer to take in only the information that conforms with your world view and act on that. I've done that with her. It conforms with my world view to think that she is an idiot redneck. Whereas, she may be a woman who has found herself faced with a myriad of economic and social challenges that are now foreign to her. In the last decade, the world has become a much scarier place. Can I blame her for trying to protect herself from perceived threats? Isn't that what we all do? Isn't that why I will not be considering West Virginia as a vacation spot anytime in the near future?

My point in discussing this is not to deal with the election, necessarily. Rather it is to bring up empathy. Empathy is a powerful thing - not just in personal relations or politics but in storytelling. Storytelling, as you may have noticed, is one of my chief concerns. Recently, I read a screenplay about domestic violence. (Sadly, I read a lot of scripts about domestic violence and more than a few of them fit this particular description...) I found it cliche and since it lacked any real insight into the characters' behavior I wondered why anyone would want to watch such a thing. The screenwriter had written the script based on memories of incidents that happened to his neighbors and his parents' friends as he was growing up. He had already formed an opinion of these people and he wrote the script to pass judgement on them. That was clear from the first scene. Since he lacked any empathy for the characters he was able to write this orgy of violence and insult that bordered on the pornographic. He had become so obsessed with the imagery of violence that he neglected to motivate it in any understandable way. It was kinky in its lack of compassion for the characters and their plight and worse yet- it tried to pass off its judgement of the characters as some sort of moral high ground. The voice of the writer was smug and superior. So I asked him- if you don't struggle to understand and feel for these people, then why should I? And if you don't want your audience to care for these people, what do you expect your audience to walk away with? What will they learn about the characters? What will they learn about themselves? If they walk away with a feeling of superiority over these characters haven't you just given your audience permission to ignore what you profess to shine a light on?

To his credit, this screenwriter heard me out and went back to re-writes. It takes a bold writer to do that. It takes a brave person to stretch themselves to try to understand the incomprehensible. That is what a writer needs to do. That is what an actor needs to do. Circumstance can conspire to make monsters of us all and if we want to fight that- if we really want to become better people we need stories that challenge us to empathize. I'm not pimping any kind of moral relativism here- as some have accused me in the past. There is a difference between understanding and condoning. But if you understand what you are up against you will understand how to put up a resistance. Especially if the monster that emerges surprises you by emerging from within.

The Seven Year Rule Revisted

The Seven Year Rule is complicated.

As I've stated in my previous post, there is some definite method to the madness. By violating the rule an actor risks losing control of her choices becoming a slave to her own emotions and disregarding the given circumstances of the text. We've all seen it happen in black boxes across the country. I once saw a perplexing production of Country Girl in which an actor completely disappeared into himself while staring at his own outstretched hand and slowly sinking to the floor while the action continued around him. It was terribly distracting for me as an audience member because I just could not comprehend the relevance of his choice to the play. His "moment" was so all consuming for him that he created a black hole on the stage and I missed a good 10 minutes of the play because of it. His company members were obliged to bring him back from the brink so that he could say his next line. They did it with great difficulty.

I have no idea what that actor was "using" in that moment and I can only speculate that he was violating the Rule. However, the nature of his distraction was not unfamiliar to me. Self-indulgence and self-fascination are telltale signs of an actor using something "hot" as an emotional propellant. Although one can never quite tell if it is the violation of the Rule or just a selfish actor.

The Rule, however, does not preclude us from using immediate emotional stimulus. On the contrary. One should never suppress what is bubbling up from your daily interactions. For example, during a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in which I was playing Helena, I found myself laboring under intense, self-inflicted pressure. I believed that the director thought I was a moron. My mother was coming out to see the production and she had not seen me perform in almost 10 years. I felt woefully inadequate and unlovable. I spent most of my time backstage crying my eyes out but once I hit the stage I did my best to cover up my shame and perceived sense of immediate rejection. My cast mates were always waiting in the wings with quizzical looks on their faces. Why aren't you just letting it go? You are so Helena right now. Get on that stage and use Shakespeare to express your self-pity! It wasn't until the dreaded performance in front of my mother was over that I let myself experience onstage what I was experiencing behind the scenes. My work took off and Helena and I were finally one. I did not spend the performance weeping- the tears I had shed were merely a manifestation of blocked energy from a denial of key circumstances in the text. When I let myself feel what I was experiencing in the moment and gave myself over to it I found Helena's humanity- and my own.

The Immediate must never be ignored but your system's ability to handle past traumas should always be respected. This profession can be emotionally treacherous and one must be careful not to prostitute themselves through their art. Some things are private and should remain so in order for the actor to do his work safely.

The Seven Year Rule

In school there were certain teachers who would drill it into our heads never to "use" anything emotionally touchy from our lives that occurred LESS than seven years ago. The theory was that anything that happened during that time frame would be too emotionally "hot", and rather than using "it", "IT" would control you.

It takes seven years for every cell in your body to be replaced by new cells. The argument is that once seven years has passed and all the cells that had experience the event first hand have been replaced you will have enough physical and psychological distance to be able to use the event without falling apart.

I wonder if the Strasbergs ever told Marilyn Monroe about the seven year rule?

In school, I had just decided it was safer to follow the rule. I didn't buy into the rule 100%, but I wasn't about to dismiss the wisdom of an octagenarian who could see through my soul even when I thought she had been napping during my performance. (Seriously, that woman had some scary insights!) As I passed through my classes, however, I began to collect all kinds of fascinating information about how, why and where my body stores information. The seven year rule didn't seem to look so silly after a while.

Through repetition our bodies develop a memory of their own- something not involving the conscious mind. This is how we can train ourselves to perform marvelous physical feats without having to consciously plan every physical step. Let's say you are learning a dance routine. Each portion of the routine requires intense mental concentration. My foot goes back, my hand counters the weight over hear, my center of gravity shifts... but with repetition you can eventually perform a complex system of movements simply by allowing yourself to feel the rhythm of the chosen music. Your body has recorded this kinesthetic memory at the cellular level. The theory says that when an original cell dies the one that replaces it carries a copy of that memory so the body can call upon that particular routine later. The more repetition, the better the copy in subsequent cells. I don't know how correct that is from the standpoint of biology, but I DO know that I can still perform my pompom squad audition routine from 1988.

I began to experiment with my body's memory in my second year of school. It was after a particularly disturbing session of body work just before we had left for holiday break that I realized the power of my own body to protect my brain and my emotional state. I was in no way consciously aware of the amount of stress I had been under. I had felt pretty confident that I was holding things together even though there were all kinds of money issues, relationship issues, and particularly stressful family developments all happening at the same time. When our instructor suggested that we do body work as a pre-holiday treat I was ready to roll up my sleeves and physically manipulate a fellow classmate into the land of bliss and relaxation. We were an odd number that day and so the teacher opted to use me as his example body for the day. I could not have expected what happened next.

Once I was on the mat he began to demonstrate how to work the shoulders. Things were fine at first but once he found a tight knot and started to work it I was assaulted by all of these feelings that I had been sweeping under the rug for what must have been weeks. I tried not to cry, but the more he worked it, the more I felt the injustice of the situation I had been in and the more I couldn't stop replaying an incident in my head. It was as if the knot was a playback button on a recording device. My instructor could see that I was in a bit of trouble. He sent the rest of the class off to work and then whispered to me that he was going to work on me for the entire hour. He instructed me to let it get ugly. I'm nothing if not a good student so it got ugly. It got very ugly.

He found spots all over my body that triggered very emotional and immediate responses. There was a warehouse of emotional baggage stuck in my body. My boyfriend in my fingertips, my father in my shoulders, my dog in my lower back... on and on and on it went. I couldn't stop the rush of anxiety and sadness and I began to wail like an emergency siren. The sound flew out of my body without my will. I simply HAD to. The pressure building up inside was too great, I was unable to maintain any kind of composure. My teacher reassured me with great kindness that I needed to let it go and he prompted me to be sloppy every time I attempted to stop crying or drooling or stop my nose from running all over the place. He just brought me some kleenex and continued to work me until I couldn't make any more sound.

When class was over I was exhausted but feeling much better. My face was a snotty, puffy mess and I was a little ashamed to meet my classmates' eyes. However, as is the case with good ensembles, I was met without judgement or revulsion but with quiet hugs and non-verbal gestures of support. I went about the rest of my day trying to figure out what had happened to me.

After this incident I began to notice how my body stores stress, grief, happiness, and desire. I can recognize it before it builds to such a pitch and I have found ways to release it. I even attempted to access these parts of my body- the parts with this immediate store of emotion- in my work but I found it to be overwhelming. It overwhelmed my technique and destroyed my sense of textual circumstances. I was no longer crafting performance, but letting self-indulgent emotional display take over. This was not good for my work. It was not good for any kind of storytelling. It was therapy.

Art may have therapeutic properties, but GOOD art is NOT THERAPY. We should always avoid this kind of selfishness and emotional public masturbation. Above all, everything an actor does needs to be a choice.

That is where the seven year rule fits for an actor. It is about experiencing the freedom to make choices and not being walled in by one experience or another. If you need to fall apart, falling apart should be your choice. If you need to slip but still try to hold it together, your emotional life should be constructed to allow you to do so. You should not be ruled by the emotion or obligatory emotional reactions. Circumstances need to be crafted, rehearsed, repeated, memorized and then forgotten so that you may live in the circumstances and be in control of your choices.

Writer's Block

I used to brag that I never got writer's block.

The truth is, I have always kept myself busy with so many other types of projects that I was never forced to write when I didn't feel like it. For example, I would line up a writing project followed by a directing project coinciding with a building/ craft project. That way if the writing wasn't working I was always involved in something else and I would never notice the block. Now that I am trying to focus on one thing at a time I realize that writer's block is a deadly predator that needs to feast on my creative brain several times a day.

I've never freaked out about it before. As busy as I've been, I've never missed a deadline- self imposed or otherwise. However, this is the first time I am experiencing writer's block with down time. I'm like a shark. I need to keep moving or I drown. So sitting on the couch watching episode after episode of MythBusters doesn't feel all that productive. It feels like oxygen deprivation.

However, I am determined to go through this one. I am going to experience the stewing. It will pass. I don't believe for one second that I've exhausted all of my creative reserves. I'm just percolating. Consciously, slowly, painfully percolating without the benefits of caffeine, nicotine and/or psycho-sexual drama.

Basically, I'm just sitting on the couch watching CNN until a new episode of MythBusters is on and learning to be okay with it. Sometimes carpe diem means "sitting on your ass and liking it".

Is the Theatre Really Dead?

Simon and Garfunkel sang that question a few decades ago. I remember the first time I heard that question in my mid-teens I was indignant. The theatre could never actually DIE. It is too much a part of the human soul!

Yeah. Little did I know that the theatre was dead, is dead and has been dead for a long time. What's worse is that I've done my fair share to kill it.

I don't go.

It's that simple. I just don't go.

That doesn't mean that I don't miss it or that I don't want to go. I have plenty of excuses. It is too expensive. I don't really care to see a musical rehashing of some film that I found mildly amusing sometime in the 1980's. Anything that is challenging seems almost too challenging. Let's face it. I'm tired. I don't go out much at all anymore. It is too exhausting and the idea that I would have to get tickets in advance, organize a babysitter and commit to NOT being in my pajamas at 8:00 PM just seems too much to bear. Although I've already said it, it bears repeating... it is just too expensive. At an average of a $50.00- $60.00 ticket for nosebleeds and $12-$15/ hour for a sitter it is just too cost prohibitive. And forget about going out for dinner beforehand. That would break the bank for a couple who is trying to live on a budget, save for "retirement" and pull themselves out of debt. As much as I love the theatre I've got bigger fish to fry.

Part of the reason I've produced theatre is so I could actually SEE some theatre. I do have opportunities to get cheap tickets to the odd show now and again, but for some reason I can't quite work up the emotional fortitude to go. Usually it works out that I would have to go see the show alone. Which is fine, except that I like to talk about the show afterward. There's nothing worse than having to scan the audience for another lone theatre goer and then trying to devise a way to get them to discuss the show with you without coming off like a freak. I usually save my commitment energy for seeing artists I know doing small shows. I like to lend my support when I can. Of course, this has its drawbacks. As a producer of "small shows" myself, I can tell you that "small shows" are often just that. Small. In which case going becomes an exercise for my directorial eye and not so much about the joy of seeing a show. I can't remember the last show I went to that I just sat down and watched. I miss doing that. Terribly.

I often sit and think about what would be a good enough deal to get me out the door to go see a show. What would it take? Well, it would take a good show, I suppose. But what does THAT mean? I've become so cynical that I find myself dismissing concepts because they seem too, well, conceptual. I'm a fan of the kitchen sink. I love simple drama done well. I suppose I would get off my ass to see a group of unknowns tackle something impossible like A Streetcar Named Desire. I don't care to see any celebrities do it. That's too much expectation- most of it bad. I don't want to go to the theatre just to cross my arms and wear a "prove it to me" scowl. That's no fun. And I don't want to go just because there's a really good light show or expensive costumes and sets. I want to see people. Real people. Not cardboard robots programmed to emote. The theatre I've seen in the past few years has just been too overwrought with self-indulgent emotional outbursts. What's even worse than that is watching someone with technical skill go to that hyper emotional place. When that hysteria reaches a peak and yet every word is clearly spoken and fully supported by breath and technically perfect... I want to vomit.

Either tone down the hysteria or tone down the technique. Together they read as rehearsed.

I know I ask for the impossible. Maybe that is so I will have the excuse to stay home. But I recognize that this also means that the audiences I want to reach are fighting to sit on their couches in their pajamas as well. Once I figure out how to reach ME I might be able to figure out how to reach THEM.

We Love You Miss Hannigan!

If there is anything you could blame for my involvement in the theater it would have to be "Annie". Every redheaded actress I know has her "Annie" story. Every one of us outgoing reds figured we WERE Annie. We were all spirited, charming and resourceful! Clearly it was a role made for only me (us!). The stories only take two tracks, either it was her crowning achievement or the role that got away. For me, it was the role that got away.

I was too old to play Annie when the opportunity finally came to my small midwestern town. I auditioned anyway and I did not get a part, but I was offered a chance to create fairy tales from improvised structures with other too-old-for-Annie theater geeks for the summer. That was clearly that. It was a way for me to write out loud and get immediate satisfaction as opposed to the hours I had previously spent plunking away on my mother's electric typewriter working on short stories that only my best friend would read.

I was never really the musical theater type. I can sing but I'm not showy. As a general rule, musicals aren't what floats my boat. With that being said, I can't help but find it fascinating that of the top three theatrical events that have most influenced me, two of them were musicals. The first being "Annie" and the second being a musical about the lynching of 4 black men in Duluth, MN called "The Last Minstrel Show". I've been raving about that show for over 15 years. It completely changed the way I looked at the theater.

"The Last Minstrel Show" was produced at Penumbra Theater in St. Paul, MN. I spent the entire performance with my jaw dragging on the floor beneath my seat. The black cast performed in black face for a white, liberal Minnesota crowd. They made you comfortable with racist humor, let you laugh at it and then pulled the rug out from underneath you and showed you what you just did. It was eye opening. It made me see that I did not understand as much about the world as I thought I did. This is a huge feat to pull off with a cocky teenager, but I left the theater with that heady feeling of having learned a little too much about myself and the world I lived in. Damn that was good.

Every once in a while I think about auditioning for a musical. For laughs, I guess. Of course, now that I am older I keep thinking that the only musical role for me would be Miss Hannigan. "Little Girls" is a song that I began to truly understand as I spent two years as a stay at home mother. Boy, little brats can just burrow under your skin! Every time I see Carol Burnett do it in the film version I can't help but get a little twitchy wishing I could have a crack at it. Of course, I've only seen auditions for that role twice in the last few years. Both times I've been visibly pregnant. Damn. That just won't do! It seems that "Annie" will be forever out of my reach and I have no hopes of ever being in "The Last Minstrel Show". That would just be wrong.

Of course, there is a musical in the works with Playful Substance- believe it or not. It won't be as fluffy as "Annie" and I doubt it will be as confrontational as "The Last Minstrel Show" and I probably won't be IN it. This is all just as well, I suppose. Every time I tell someone I will be working on a musical I laugh involuntarily. I just can't believe it. It doesn't seem to fit somehow- which, I suppose, is precisely the reason to do it.

Stories, Stories Everywhere

There is a certain joy in my morning routines. One of them is the delightful ritual of dropping my son off at his neighborhood school. Every morning I pass neighbors and nod hello. I hand out a few warm smiles and receive a few as well. My son gets high fived. We meet up with classmates on their own walks to school. The weather is crisp and pleasant and the neighbors are welcoming. Once the children line up and head in to their classes it is time for the PTA parents to make thier rounds outside, catching other parents to chat or to work out details for this bake sale and that fundraiser. All in all, it is a lovely way to spend a few minutes of my morning.

This morning, however, my deeply disturbed mind came up with a rather titilating question. If any two parents here were going to have a scandalous affair, who would be the most likely? Now, I don't suspect anyone. Let's make that clear. But, WHAT IF? Would it be the older mother whose husband works a lot and she stays at home volunteering hours and hours to various causes? Would she fall for the short, awkward but very attentive father with the indistinguishable accent? Would it be the single father with the rowdy child who woos a mother going back to school despite her husband's obvious disapproval? How about the hyper organized, Puerto Rican mom and the over protective father who has any number of reflective patches applied to his childrens' winter coats? Who could it be and, more importantly, how might that go? What would happen when word got out on the playground? Would the other parents pretend it wasn't happening? Or would they rip them to shreds? Or would that depend, entirely, upon the two parties involved? Oh how I wonder...

Appropriate Forum

Navigating my way through this new and rather restrictive view of my life in art has become tiresome and old. This occurred to me as I was trying to make my way past a pregnant woman who was slowly and unpredictably zig zagging on the sidewalk in front of me. At first, the fact that she was dressed in a huge parka and flip flops amused me. Then the crusty foam at the corners of her mouth disturbed me. The straw that broke the proverbial camel's back was represented by the handful of scratch off lottery tickets that distracted her from her surroundings and made her impossible to get around. I was impatient with myself for being impatient with her. After all, this is a woman who is clearly in some kind of trouble. However, I am not without my own concerns and I could do very little for her in a brief roadside interaction. Especially when she was completely oblivious to me and my many parcels to begin with.

Once I had finally mounted the steps to my apartment building I caught myself dissecting this woman, her situation and my responsibility to her. In my wildest super compassionate fantasies what could I do for her? Oh, and what lessons could she teach me? (God I am such an after school special.) I then forced myself to think a bit more abstractly. The absolute frustration I felt while trying to get around her is not like the daily frustration I am experiencing with my creative endeavors. It is as if I have placed a big, odd, meandering, clueless pregnant woman in front of me wherever I go!

A few months ago a fairly prominant New York playwright sampled some of my work. Well, not the kind of work I usually like to show off- he read my chicken scratchings for a scene between two characters from a play I've been kicking around that had previously not had a scene together. I wrote the scene not to have the scene in the play, but to help illuminate for me what kind of relationship was between them. I needed to explore some subtext and discover whether or not their interaction was the missing piece in this play. Clearly, he didn't quite understand why I had written it and what I had written it for. I suppose that it is possible that not everyone organizes information and creates in quite the same manner as I do. His response to me was this:

"I think you might be too young to write a family play."

Well, he's a successful writer so he must be right. Regardless of the fact that he has not seen one word of the play itself and that I didn't quite articulate to him what it was I was doing with the scene, he must know better. I've put the play away.

I've tried to take it out and work on it, but I keep judging my work as I go. This is too close to something in my real family. That is too self-indulgent. This is funny but too private. It goes on and on and on like that. In my heart I know that he was wrong. (I know for a fact that he thinks I'm a lot younger than I actually am.) I know that this play is exactly where I am at in my creative life. But the meandering pregnant lady has a sign on her back that says, "Is this really the appropriate forum?"

I am heading into a part of art and expression that is personally dangerous. I've become entangled. In a simpler times my private life was MY private life. I could do with it as I pleased. I could drink a lot, make an ass of myself, say and do whatever I felt. It didn't matter. It was just me. But now my private life isn't just my private life. Now my private life belongs to so many others whose right to privacy is just as valid as mine.

So I feel stuck behind this woman, frustrated at my observations of her but too tongue tied to make the real, honest observations from which real art grows.

I've placed a lot of restrictions on myself and those restrictions are deadening my work. But I fear lifting them. As much as what I want to express is about love I know from experience that honesty can often be mistaken for malice. In short, I haven't given myself permission to say what I want to say. To be more accurate, I should say that I haven't given myself permission to feel what I need to feel. I'm letting this woman get in my way. I don't need to knock her down or make passive aggressive sighs of discontent.

I could just get her attention and say, "excuse me".

Real Make-Believe

There have been many times in my life in which I have found myself in conflict with the actor's craft. My faith in the craft that has given me so much is sometimes shaken by what I see on movie screens, in rehearsal rooms, onstage and on TV. Red carpets both attract and repulse me. Talk shows where actors make a few slick jokes and wink at the camera in an attempt to lure my film dollar make me immediately (and many times, unfairly) skeptical. I am both weary and leary of my opinions and my loyalties being bought and sold for the sake of flashy crap starring a bunch of short, skinny, pretty people in designer clothes.

Sometimes I feel my career, my artform is useless tripe.

When Will Smith was plugging "The Pursuit of Happyness" on Oprah, he told a story about a meeting he had with Nelson Mandela. He (Will Smith) was in awe of Mr. Mandela (rightfully so) and had told him that he felt his profession wasn't as worthwhile, expecially in comparison to Mandela's. According to Mr. Smith's story, Nelson Mandela told him that what he does is powerful and important.

That story should make me feel good, validated and empowered. But it doesn't. Because the context in which the tale was told leaves me cold and disgusted. It was told in the context of making a sale. It was told to make me see that this movie is as important as Nelson Mandela's struggle against Apartheid.

Well, it's not.

It just isn't. While I hold tightly to the belief that art can change the way people see the world and can spur them into action, I also know that we must keep our influence in perspective. Few people exhibit the level of strength and courage that inspire others to greatness. We can't expect a handful of mealy-mouthed celebutants to be the ones who change the world. Real society changing stuff doesn't happen in a sequinned gown on a red carpet. Social equality will never be reached in the back seat of a stretch limo even if that limo runs on bio-diesel. Real change happens on street corners, prison cells, living rooms, bars and coffee shops.

But there is no reason for me to believe that I cannot, by virtue of my chosen profession, play an integral part in change. I do not have to participate or encourage the artificiality that is celebrated in our culture. What I need to keep in mind is that there IS something true and rare about what I do.

Here is something interesting, when a person watches a compelling performance the viewer's brain kicks into overdrive- as if the events on stage or on screen are actually happening to the viewer. The experience of the viewer is in synch with the performer. Both the performer and the viewer's brains act as if the event depicted in the film or play or whatever is actually happening to them. Even though we can walk away from a performance and understand that those events did not "actually" happen, our systems feel as if it did. Our systems interpret the experience on that level of truth. In essense, this means that our make-believe experiences are real to our bodies. This is where my artform is uniquely necessary.

Acting can inspire empathy. Empathy- with proper direction- can be inspired to action.

While that calling is not as grand or as self sacrificing as that of a political dissident, it still has unlimited potential for changing the hearts and minds of others. But potential can be squandered by the celebration of the messanger and not the message.

What I am saying here is- Don't break your arm patting yourself on the back.

Whole Lotta Nuthin'

There is nothing like a good creative stretch when work just comes spilling out. It feels so productive and energizing and when I'm in the middle of one of these periods it can be easy to forget that I had ever concerned myself with mundane details like food and laundry. I can become quite frustrated with having to deal with everyday activities when I'm on a roll. Then it gets worse when the creative river dries up and all that I am left with is a pile of laundry and a refrigerator in desperate need of being refilled. Not to mention a husband and child who are in need of some attention as well.

I am starting to think of these lulls as a necessary part of my creative cycle. This is helping with my level of resentment once my pen runs dry. Incubation periods are necessary. If it weren't for these periods with ideas and observations clanking around in my head the creative times would not happen at all. It can be hard to be thankful for these frustratingly slow periods when I'm in the middle of them, but I need to learn to appreciate them.

Of course what makes these lulls so frustrating is the fear that I'm finished. What if my magnum opus was that dance piece I did in school with the 6'6" dancing female reproductive system with maracas for ovaries? What if that's all I've got in me? Ever? Intellectually I know that those fears are just a sign that I need to take a break. I need to relax and pick some blackberries with some good friends on a mountainside in Vermont.

So that is exactly what I am going to do.

Giving Direction/ Needing Direction

I had always hoped that I would have ended up being some flamboyant genius director. I wanted to be one of those revolutionary directors that could leave a welt on the text. I wanted to be visionary, loud and odd.

I'm not. The more I work as a director the more I feel I should just get out of the way. I'm starting to see my job as a director more akin to a goalie than a master artist. My job is to define the boundaries of the text and when an actor or designer gets too close to the edge my job is to kick 'em back into play.

I suppose it is more than that. Beyond defending the outer edges of the given circumstances I am also a good host. Rehearsals should be loose and enjoyable and I get to plan the working party. I suppose I also play cheerleader and mascot from time to time but other than that I don't do much. That used to bother me. I used to complain that I wasn't DOING anything and wasn't serving any useful purpose other than being a really good pre-audience laughter guage. I am a healthy laugher. But now I am seeing the subtle and quiet value of my fly on the wall style. Occassionally I give a ripping good note and I can be fairly insightful, but mostly I just watch. And when I am not watching I am pretty good at pinpointing the reasons why I am not watching. Those reasons are often the same reasons that will cause a general audience to go astray. So, I make note of it and decide how to relay that information to the actor in question. That's it. There really isn't much else to my job.

Except for my aesthetic sense, which I suppose is important. Just not day to day.

But I am learning that I cannot and should not direct myself. I freeze on myself all the time and I don't make choices. I don't know how anyone else does it. It is most definitely a skill I do not possess. You can't imagine how it pains me to say so! But, in the immortal words of Popeye, "I am what I am and that's all that I am".

Well, good. I'm glad I know that much. It keeps my head from getting too big.

Tomorrow night I will be stepping on stage in a role I would not be comfortable with if I had a million rehearsals. As it turns out, I've only had two. Due to a bizarre set of circumstances I find myself covering for an actor in the show I've been directing (see notice on the right) and I wish I had someone standing guard on the edges of the text to kick me back into play. In the two rehearsals that I've had I have paced over the same well-worn path and I am terrified of deviation. What if I get lost and there's no one to bring me back? What if, what if, what if? Sometimes, it's nice to know someone is looking out for you so you don't have to look out for yourself.

Thank God, though, that I've got some stellar actors that I know have my back.

Maybe I'll feel better about it next week.

No Dignity in Needless Self-Torture

I once saw an interview with John Partick Shanley in which he bassically said that if a project isn't working and you feel miserable you should quit. This makes some sense and, for most people, would not have stood out as anything to remember. For me, however, it was revolutionary. I felt a pathway literally fire through my brain like a hot knife through butter. What do you mean, quit? Stop doing it? What?

The idea was foreign to me and I had to sit down and really think about what it means to be a woman of my word. I think many of us "dependable people" look at the world and see how others can be, well, less dependable. It makes us double our efforts, it makes us think that our dependablity makes us special. So, for me that means I will stick with a bad job or a bad project to the point of torturing myself. I am learning that part of having personal integrity is knowing when to say, 'there is a better person for this job than me'. It is okay to learn that you have limitations and it is okay to discover that you've made a wrong turn and you need to get back to the main road- fast. Sometimes it is okay to quit.

I recently had a pleasant conversation with someone who was overwhelmed by a certain responsibility. He felt he wasn't up to the task, but also felt that he was between a rock and a hard place because he assumed no one else could do the job. I heard the struggle inside him. I know he wanted to be shot of it. The job was just too big for him, bigger and harder than he could have imagined when he said yes to the job. The job made him feel miserable. The misery spilled out into his work. His work was not up to par. Everyone suffers in the group when one person is not up to the job. He quit. He felt guilty but much lighter once it was all over.

No, it is not okay to just quit because you're feeling diva and are bored. But if the job isn't right and if you aren't right for it, there is no shame in admitting it. There is great wisdom in knowing and understanding what it right for you. Now that I consider this lessson ( which I imagine I will be practicing for years to come) I feel a sense of freedom. I don't have to be chained to things that make me miserable simply because I want to be seen as dependable. I am not doing anyone any favors by sticking it out when there is probably someone who is just right for that job right around the corner.

The Universe wants us to be free. So choose it.

Messiness and Spectacular Saves

Ah! The lure of live theatre is just as much about the possibility of spectacular crashes as your average NASCAR event. It is just that the crashes in live theatre tend to be less fiery and more humiliating.

I've spent many a drunken evening lifting my glass to the glory of crashing. I've extolled the virtues of a messy theatre - a survivalist theatre, if you will- to anyone who would sit and listen. Well, if my company's production of "Adventures in Mating" has taught me anything it has taught me that anyone can talk. When it comes down to it, messiness is terrifying.

When you are involved in a show that has 60 different scene combinations and a rotating cast running one night a week messiness is no longer some passionate, adolescent artistic fantasy. It is a fact of life. Sitting in the back of the theatre watching these performers that I love and trust face the Goliath of a script and an audience every week is nerve wracking. It feels like I've thrown my baby to the lions armed with a Swiss army knife and some hugs. If the lion gets too close, son, give him a big hug and hope he melts. If he doesn't, well, I hope you can jam that knife into his jugular before it's too late. If that doesn't work out, well, it was nice knowing you. Bye. Mommy loves you!

It is sick to enjoy this feeling of dread every week. We're still tinkering with the formula, but I have faith that we will be a well oiled machine in a couple of months.

Of course, when that happens we will be required to up the ante and make it just a little more dangerous.

I only hope I'll get to see Ben's fully comitted, utterly dorky air kick again. That was a thing of beauty.

In the Beginning...

If Harry Potter has taught me anything it is that selling the premise is the most important thing in storytelling.

No, you won't find any spoilers about the Deathly Hallows in here so it is safe to read on.

A multitude of literary sins can be forgiven if you can do two things. The first is to believably construct the premise of the story. The second is to avoid betraying that construct. That's it. The key is not in gags, one-liners or even artfully turned phrases. It is the framework and adherence to that framework that matters. As my teachers used to say, "Within form there is freedom!". That, my friends, is the ultimate truth.

We cannot create in chaos. We crave order, outline and form. Pathways are important. They need not always be linear, but they do need to exist. Creation is the process of order- putting details in their proper places for a purpose. The purpose is usually to entertain, but if you go just slightly deeper than that you will find the desire to place the Universe in a context that can be understood. Ah, but if I go any further I will start sounding like that jackass Aristotle. (I'm joking Aristotle! I'm joking! Don't get your toga in a knot!)

So, if I am to look at literary creation from a constructive, as opposed to deconstructive, perspective I would need to consider the world in which my journey would take place. Now, here's the question, how does one construct the literary framework that will provide enough structure to sell the premise of the story without over constructing it so as to squelch all creative discovery? How do you give yourself enough room to surprise yourself and learn something new while still giving form and shape to the general premise? How do you know when you have it just right?

I was trying ot explain to my husband some of the finer points of the seventh Harry Potter book (which I know he will never read so I am free to spoil things all I want) and found myself flitting from book to book to make some of the things from the seventh book make sense to him. I can't help but marvel at the framework that Rowling has created even if I have found her phrasing to be tiresome and repetitive at times. That repetition is forgivable, in my estimation, because the structure of the tale is so well done and she never betrays her characters or her boundaries. Truth be told, she could have written complete crap and I'd never know it because I've become so invested in the series, the characters and the outcome of the circumstances. I've bought the premise and she could pull me to the ends of the earth and I would go willingly because she has earned my trust.

As a reader I am like a skittish little squirrel (I can't imagine I'm the only one!) and I can be scared off by formless storytelling. Betray the characters for the convenience of the story and I will rail against you like a New York City pigeon at the old lady who has just run out of bread crumbs. So I am beginning to think that my focus in my own work should be on the framework. On the beginning. I've got to sell the premise.

And I maybe should stay away from metaphors for a while...

MacGyver It

I'm bored with smoke and mirrors. I tire of things blowing up and gratuitous CGI. It annoys me to see a film or theater performance where the art direction dictates and overwhelms the story as opposed to enhancing it. I prefer the aesthetics of limitation.

Limitation does not mean everything must be stripped down to a black box with a couple of apple boxes. On the contrary. It is the creative problem solving while laboring under a tight budget that results the most sumptious and luscious visuals. Cheap and creative really gets my juices flowing. I once saw some friends solve a narrative problem in their film by projecting a film of things that were on the character's mind on the hood of the character's car while he was doing a driving shot. It looked great and it quickly solved a visual and narrative dilemma. The 1971 "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" is another of my favorite examples. That was a visually creative film without the gigantic budget films we see today. The visuals support the story, they don't drive the story. That creepy sequence in the boat is terrifying (at least, it was pretty damn intense when I was a kid) and that was done with lights and projection. Oh, and the endless office...what movie was that? Was that in "The Apartment"? That huge, never ending office mostrosity was simply a trick of mirrors.

I worry that the answer to so many creative dilemmas is just "throw some money at it". This does not mean that I do not enjoy or respect the artistry of computer animation or brilliant pyrotechnics or great stunt work. I do! However any tool needs to be used with understanding of each tool's strengths and weaknesses. No tool can make up for a lack of story or character development. Not for me, anyway. To me the endless parade of nonsensical light shows, whizzes and bangs is the equivelent of watching those videos made to entertain your cat when you're away for an extended period of time.

I advocate slapdash, spit and polish productions that make things work in spite of their lack of funds. It is fun to see a show that can whisk you away on the merits of the story, I certainly wish I could see more.

Letting Be

I sometimes wonder if I have "style". My favorite artists leave a mark on their work that is so distinct, not because they have a rubber stamp of their personality that they routinely use to hold down loose ends, but because they can't help it. The way they see the world and themselves in it is so individual that it seeps into their work regardless of the medium of genre. Arthur Miller has a very distinct and curious view of the world. Billy Wilder made wildly different films and yet, as different as they are, they all have an unmistakable wit to them that crosses over from noir to comedy because of Wilder and his ever-present collaborator I.A.L Diamond. Hal Ashby's films have a bizarre and uniquely masculine sensitivity. I could watch Katherine Hepburn all day long and never tire of seeing how she transforms her "Yankee sensibility" to fit her roles. The list goes on.

How I long to emulate them. Their style, their grace and, above all, their great wit and insight. But I also know that I cannot force myself to be anyone or anything other than what I am. If I am to have a style at all it can only be defined by who and what I am. I can pay hommage to the performers/ writers/ directors I love, but I cannot be them. I have to be honest with myself.

In a way that, well, that sucks. There is no short cut to self discovery and it is hard to just be who and what you truly are. There are roles we play. I often catch myself speaking in my sisters' voices. I sound like Kristen when I tell a joke. I sound like Pam when I flirt. Sometimes I will adopt the cadence of my friends' speech. I sound like Britt when I tell a wry or dirty anecdote. When I'm with Aaron I have to force myself not to conform to his London sound. I'm a verbal Zelig, changing my speech to suit my message and my audience. Then I go home and beat myself soundly for acting such a fool. Why can't you just be yourself? You look like such an idiot! Everybody knows you're a fake and a fraud! Stupid actor! Stupid stupid actor!

Clearly, that will not help me in my quest. But it is so much easier to be angry and self- destructive than it is to be responsible for change and growth. Anger and self-hatred is easy. Acceptance is hard.

A while back a friend of mine read a script I wrote. His first comment was, "Well, it's got your fingerprints all over it". I took that as a great compliment. Then I noticed that he didn't say anything about that being a good thing. My dilemma was how to take that comment. Do I worry about what a dork I am? Or do I realize that this guy is my friend for a reason and maybe my "fingerprints" might not be among the world's greatest, but if they are uniquely mine then I guess I've accomplished something.

I've expressed my self.

The End of the World

Leave it to me to find some reason to fret about my art while I sit under a dark cloud threatening to rain armaggeddon.

I was on the train yesterday reading Aristotle's Poetics. Now, I don't normally flaunt highly intellectual reading material on the subway but since I had just finished re-reading the last two Harry Potter books (in giddy anticipation of the upcoming movie and book release) and I hadn't had time to get to the book store to pick up a new summer read I decided to chew on some literary vegetables for a while. It has been on my shelf forever and I have never read it. I have trouble reading things everyone says I "should" read. I'm a contrary pig that way. At any rate, I skipped the introduction (which is, incidentally, longer than Aristotle's actual work) and started reading.

I found myself arguing a bit with dear Aristotle. You see, I bristle at any distinction between "high" and "low" art. His first mention of comedy seemed snobby and his critical disdain for satire and parody got my back up a bit. Then there was this little nugget: "Objects which in themselves we view with pain, we delight to contemplate when reproduced with minute fidelity: such as the forms of the most ignoble animals and of dead bodies. The cause of this again is that to learn gives the liveliest pleasure, not only to philosophers but to men in general; whose capacity, however, of learning is more limited." And so it has always been this way. Intellectuals tout their superiority over the masses and those who enjoy popular entertainment are irritated by the intellectuals' sense of self importance. So the chasm between the two grows and popular entertainment becomes raunchier and more grotesque while more "intellectual" entertainment becomes so lofty- to borrow a phrase from the character of Mozart in Peter Shaffer's "Amadeus"- they become so lofty it is as if they "shit marble".

The previews before Michael Moore's movie "Sicko" were full of this self- important, self- congratulatory air. It was so noticable that it caused my husband to quip, "Even the company logos are pretenscious." Oh look how clever and how visually stunning we are! Meanwhile the important things, I truly believe, the important messages are being delivered in comedy clubs and improv venues across the country. Subversives love these funny little hidey holes and they say whatever they want there. I'm willing to bet you that the best prophets throughout the centuries were funny. I bet Jesus had a raging sense of humor that we never hear about. How else could he command such a following? Think about it. People were no more nor less intellectual in Jesus' time. Certainly the best church experiences I ever had were while listening to priests who could set you up with a good joke and then reach through the humor with an insight that would knock you off your kneeler. So I think the "low" when done with great intelligence can be much more sublime than the "high" done with great sincerity, and ultimately it is more effective. And fun.

Intellectuals give off the reeking stench of seriousness, as if fun was beneath them. No wonder "men in general" show no interest in that kind of "learning". It is the word "capacity" with which I take issue, Aristotle (or possibly your careless translator) because I believe every human has an infinite capacity for learning. It is the desire that may or may not be lacking. Regardless, I find this schism to be dangerous in today's social and political climate.

Art and critical thinking can be great mobilizing forces in times of strife. But, if art and thought are not communicated in ways that reach people they are completely useless. As I look at where things are headed in this country I consider my own skill set and wonder what these skills are for. I am a talker. If I remain mute when I could have inspired a conversation or a debate then I have not been true to myself and my natural inclinations. If I talk, but only speak to please myself and indulge my own ego then I have not been true to my calling and I will have failed to reach anyone else. If I want my work to have meaning and to function in this society then I need to ask questions and craft my thoughts clearly and set my ego and my personal need for validation aside. I don't have to be the smartest. I have to be the bravest and most honest I can be in order for my work to be relevant. I have to get out of my own way and focus only on communicating with my audience.

And if Aristotle wants to classify my work as "low" I would wear it as a badge of honor.