The passage of time is slow, but sure.

Almost Dark

This is a scan of an old experimental print, made on double-weight fibre paper, now very dry and brittle, in a dusty, tight roll. In fighting it onto the scanner bed, the emulsion has cracked in numerous places.

I like the cemetery, just as the sun goes down, especially in the fall. It's quiet then, no one else is about, and only the rustle of the dry leaves breaks the profound silence. Old Missus Bogy rests under her slab, the mister is in his box, and the two little Lecompte boys sleep silently along side. Night comes on gently.

You fit in with: Atheism Your ideals mostly resemble those of an Atheist. You have very little faith and you are very focused on intellectual endeavors. You value objective proof over intuition or subjective thoughts. You enjoy talking about ideas and tend to have a lot of in depth conversations with people. 60% scientific. 60% reason-oriented.

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A Delicate Balance

First, I was very impressed with the play. The student actors had done an outstanding job of memorizing and delivering their lines in a really well-polished manner. The set was nicely put together, the lighting was good – altogether I thought it was a great example of a good college class production. I was sorry that there wasn’t a larger audience; about 35 people total on Sunday night. So, a lot of locals and students missed out on a very entertaining evening at an attractive price – free.

A few particular observations derived from our playwriting class:

A potential problem in the “disbelief” area was the disparity between the character’s ages and the ages of the actors portraying them. The professor with a role in the play was about the right true age for his character, but he had to play against actors 20 or 30 years younger who were supposedly his same age. All involved made a valiant effort to overcome this problem, and did for the most part, but it did intrude from time to time. (It’s probably a tribute to the playwrite that the lines were good enough that most of the time what was being said outweighed the factor of who was saying it.) Only one time did this problem really pop out in a major way. The two gentlemen – who had been old friends for many decades – were discussing the good old days of their youth. The friend being portrayed by the 19-year-old actor said to the ca. 50-year-old actor “I want to do something that I haven’t done since I was 24.” At that point, the “suspension” just collapsed – there wasn’t any way around the fact that you were watching a very young man speaking to a middle-aged man and saying something that was essentially nonsense. But, there were few moments like that, and generally the oral and visual integration was pretty functional.

I thought the way Albee covered his expositional material in the first scene was pretty slick. The program handed out at this production listed the character’s names, but not there relationships, so I was confused as to whom was what from the moment of curtain rise. But, within minutes the whole matter of husband, wife, sister-in-law, daughter and friends was cleared up with exactitude, but only through casual mentions in the dialogue. I never had the sense of “Aha, the playwrite is now giving us background exposition” – all seemed to flow out in quite natural manner.

At times I thought Albee was pulling an old Wilde trick – occasionally salting the dialogue with extremely quotable aphorisms that weren’t totally relevant to the moment. I imagine all playwrites probably think of good lines from time to time and put them in their cookie jar for future use in plays not yet written, so that was no major sin.

I thought there was a great example of one thing warned against in our textbook: the idea that some references can make a play seem dated. The one I noticed was his use of Claire’s description of her attempt to buy a “topless swimming suit” from an embarrassed and astonished store clerk. His idea, I’m sure, was to establish her as a wild, free spirited woman. But I have no doubt that I was the only one in the audience of generally young students that even knew there really was such a thing. Designer Rudy Gernreich created a national sensation in 1966 when he introduced his “Topless Swimming Suit,” the same year this play first appeared. I’m sure Albee intended his audience to learn that Claire was “with it” as compared to Tobias and Agnes, by having her embrace that current event. Although this reference nailed the play to the 1960s for me; the audience got the right idea, even if for the wrong reason. In an era when even “nice” girls flash their boobs for a string of beads, just the use of the word “topless” served to give the idea that Claire was wild and crazy compared to her sister. So, I would say the playwrite got lucky – changing social mores kept his meaning intact for a comtemporary audience even though they didn’t have a clue as to how specific his reference actually was.

There was one moment that I thought was unclear, and this may be “in the play” and not in this production. When the couple – Harry and Edna – suddenly showed up, all they said was that they had been at home and became frightened. I just had trouble accepting this without any further explanation or discussion, or that Tobias and Agnes just accepted it without asking any questions about it. (Of course, as the play progressed, I began to understand that it was a more general agnst and anxiety that had propelled them to their friend’s home.) I don’t know if I missed some lines, or whether it was Albee’s intent for their arrival to be rather mysterious. (And now, even after the end of the play, I’m still not sure.)

There was one moment that didn’t seem to me to play as it was originally intended. When Julia suddenly appeared in her nightgown, brandishing the pistol, it got a big laugh from the audience. And, it was funny looking; I laughed too. But I thought surely in the original production it must have been intended as a moment of high dramatic intensity as opposed to comedy? It seemed to me it would have worked better that way in the context of what was happening in the play. On the other hand, funny is as funny does, so if the audience perceived it that way … ? But, I’m not sure.

My comments above, as criticism, is only offered in the context of our class and its examination of playwriting technique. The play was very enjoyable, and I was glad I was able to see it. I thought Professor Dick Dalton gave a very polished performance and his status as a veteran actor is further enhanced. I thought all the student actors did very well, but if choosing, I would vote Dionna Mitchell as the plays MVP; her Claire was quite outstanding.

Chapter Eleven: Exercises

(A Play With No Name)

The play is presented in six short scenes. Three of these require no curtain, they are “French scenes,” and start and stop as one or another of the major characters enter or leave the stage. Two scenes end with the stage lighting fading to black, and the last scene is separated by a brief lowering of the lights and curtain.

The action occurs in November, 1947, in the evening of one day, late the next afternoon, and later that night. The last scene takes place six months later.

Dramatis Personae:

Tom, a young “G. I.” veteran, recently returned from Europe and World War II service in the army
Jack, Tom’s brother-in-law, a middle-aged civil engineer
Hardin, Jack’s father, 82 years old, a distinguished businessman and politician
Rose, Tom’s older sister, and Jack’s wife

All action in the play occurs in the same room, the kitchen of Jack and Rose’s home, wherein also live Hardin and Tom.

Scene One: (November evening)

Tom returns home from his afternoon classes at the local engineering college. He professes his unhappiness to Rose, how he hates the school, and his intention to withdraw and study art instead. Rose is understanding, but relates how strongly Jack feels about Tom’s becoming an engineer. Tom expounds on his love of art and his need to follow his dream of creative expression. Rose recounts the sacrifices Jack made during the Depression to support everyone in the family, and her doubt there is enough money to send Tom away to college.

Scene Two: (November evening, a few minutes later)

Jack enters and Tom tells him of his decision to study art. Jack first explains why Tom should not do this, then finally forbids it, based upon a lack of money. Rose attempts to find compromise and keep peace. Tom tells Jack that he knows Hardin has money set aside for him, and angrily leaves the kitchen.

Scene Three: (November evening, a few minutes later)

After Tom leaves, Rose relates to Jack that Hardin has had another episode of public drunkenness. Jack is distressed, and expounds upon the difficulty of dealing with his father, alluding to financial difficulties and the older man’s generally “burnt out” condition since his problems in the 1930s. Jack relates his weariness at being the center of a family that has undergone a great deal of distress, and the necessity of Tom not rocking the boat.

Stage lights fade to black.
Scene Four: (The next day, late afternoon)

Tom requests his money, supposedly held in trust by Hardin. Hardin explains that the financial problems in the late 1930’s have eroded the funds to nothing. Upon Tom’s vigorous protests that this is not possible, Hardin confesses to having resorted to embezzlement at the peak of the crisis, and squandered Tom’s money trying to recoup a bad investment, and to keep the embezzlement from becoming public. The old man begs for forgiveness, but Tom leaves him angrily. Hardin remains on stage, disconsolate.

Stage lights fade to semi-darkness.

Scene Five: (Later that evening)

Tom confronts Jack about the money, accusing him of knowing the old man had lost it, and that all his argument for the local engineering college was about covering for Hardin. Jack admits to knowing something was wrong about Hardin and the money, and explains the stress of trying to keep the family intact during all the hard times. But Jack still holds out for Tom becoming an engineer as a good future for him. Tom counters that he will go to art school no matter what; the strength of his dream will sustain him. He has not been as emotionally damaged by the Depression, and is not afraid of an uncertain future. A chance at happiness is more important to him than financial security. He will go, money or not; Jack tells him he is making a big mistake.

Curtain

Scene Six: (Spring, six months later)

Jack enters the kitchen, where Rose is examining a large crate. She reads a telegram to Jack that the crate contains a statue of a nude woman Tom has made and shipped to them. Jack mutters and moans about such nonsense, and what will they do with such a thing. Upon opening the crate, Jack looks in it and walks around it holding his chin in his hand. Rose asks what is he thinking about? He replies that he is thinking about how to build a pedestal for it in the garden so the neighbors can see it. He is obviously proud of the beautiful statue, and professes that he always thought Tom should study art.

Final Curtain

Talking Heads: The Hand of God

I saw a good piece on PBS Sunday night. I thought it was great theater, but I don’t know if it was originally written for stage production, or whether it went straight to film. In either case, as presented on film, it worked very well as “theater.” Essentially, it was a long – 40 minutes – monologue, broken into four or five scenes separated by fades to black. The scenes took place in progressing time, but all in the same room – a somewhat down-at-heels antique shop – with the narrator standing or sitting in different places in the room in each scene.

The narrator seemed to be addressing both the audience and herself at the same time. The whole monologue was an exercise in self-denial or self-delusion, but it wasn’t quite clear which. The proprietor of the shop told a long tale that wandered along the edge of perfidy, and ended with a come-uppance. I think the playwright’s intent was for us to guess whether the shop owner was trying to convince us that she wasn’t shot through with avarice, or whether she was trying to convince herself that she had acted with good conscience. Along the way, there were nice sub-themes exploring widowhood, loneliness, her sense of being “burnt out,” and the pettiness of English country life.

In a nutshell, her story was about the shop being in the doldrums, and her discovery that a very old lady who lived nearby had a 17th century house filled with valuable antiques. The old lady’s maid came in from time to time to sell a few items, and while calling on the old lady, the shopkeeper discovered her stirring her tea with a silver spoon with the same touch mark as one sold to her by the maid. The shopkeeper doesn’t exactly blackmail the maid, but uses her knowledge to enlist the maid as an ally in her access to the house. As the old lady declines into a terminal illness, the shopkeeper calls on her regularly – she insists to us she does this as an act of kindness – but while in the house notes and appraises the value of everything in it. She is clearly planning to plunder the old lady’s estate, being emboldened by the maid’s assertion that the old lady has no heirs.

After the old lady dies, an unknown niece from Canada shows up, and the plan falls apart. The niece gives the shopkeeper the knickknacks in an old desk because “she was so nice to auntie while she was sick.” There is nothing of value in the desk, but a framed drawing of a finger seems to have an interesting frame, which she thinks she might get 10L for. Later a young fool with lots of money shows up in the shop and wants to buy a large harvest table that has been lingering unsold forever. He has so much money, and so little knowledge of antiques, she prices it to him for twice what it’s worth. He measures it to make sure it will fit his house and promises to call her that afternoon. He’s such an easy mark, as he’s leaving she says he might find this frame of interest at 90L. He takes the frame too; she has totally screwed him -- she thinks. Of course he never calls back about the table, he was playing her, and the “finger” in the frame turns out to be Michelangelo’s cartoon sketch for God’s finger in the Sistine Chapel. As the piece closes, she’s musing about the news broadcast of the new Michelangelo piece that has sold for 1,000,000L.

I think I might have enjoyed this play under any circumstances, but what made it really interesting was that it was the first time I ever watched a play while looking specifically at the writing technique. Sure enough, everything happened right on schedule, almost as if the author was doing the exercises in our text, chapter by chapter. The character development was outstanding. At the beginning we are sympathetic to this tired widow and her dreary little shop. But with every word she says about her concern for the old lady, she protests too much, and we see how underhanded her purpose really is. She sits by the bedside of the old lady, and tells us of her disgust as others come to visit her – “gathering vultures” she calls them, notwithstanding that we understand that she intends to be the chief plunderer. Once, after the old lady is comatose, she lifts the mattress to better determine the age and construction of the bed. When she puts it down, the old lady is awake and mumbles “happy.” At least that is how she narrates it to us, and speculates the old lady is “happy” to finally be dying, at the end of her suffering. But she hasn’t fooled us, the old lady clearly said “happy?” – meaning was the dealer satisfied with the value of the bed. The writer has done a wonderful job with this long narrative monologue, where everything the proprietor says means just the opposite. But, does she realize it? She tips her hand with every word she says, but perhaps she believes what she’s saying about her motivations? Our not knowing is part of the pleasure of the play.

There is a wonderful sense of rising action as the illness develops and the dealer insinuates herself into the household, reaching the climax, we think, when the old lady dies. But the arrival of the unknown nieces makes another, higher, climax, and the discovery of the Michelangelo yet another. This, a 40 minute rambling discourse, is never boring.

There are wonderful “beats.” The dealer relates many “she said, and I said” conversations, always showing herself one-upping whomever she was speaking with – always on a higher moral plane (a plane that is phony as a three dollar bill.) When the niece offers her the cheesy contents of the desk as a gift memento of the old lady, the dealer declines to accept it, speaking nicely, but snobbish in intent, “that it wouldn’t be right, she was just a friend to the old lady.” The niece then says in that case, she can pay her 5L for it, so she [the dealer] will feel better about it, and it will make the estate attorney’s happier too. The dealer’s moral ace is trumped, and she pays, much to her disgust. Of course, the biggest beat of all is the dealer being snide about the young man paying 90L for the frame and its weird picture of a finger.

The playwright did a great job of building his foundation early in the play, planting lots of seeds he would need, and we would recognize, later. In the opening scene, we hear her talk about the harvest table that was such a mistake. She has 1,100L tied up in it and can’t sell it. She’s had it for over a year, and says she’d happily take 1,150 for it to get it out of the shop. In the last scene, when she prices it to the “foolish” young man for 1,700L, we can feel a W. C. Fields moment coming long before it gets there. The maid selling the teaspoons early in the play later lets us understand exactly how the dealer works her plot to get in the house.

Well, I’ve written far too much about this, but it please me that this was the first time I ever saw a play where I could not only see the face of the clock, I could also understand how the hidden gears behind the face made the hands move.

A Doll House

A Doll House. Now, that's a play!