Blog Defibrillator — “Blasted” and why theatre makes me cranky
A blog is sort of like buying a jacuzzi for your home. Once you have one, you feel compelled to use it, even if you don’t particularly feel the urge to continue interacting with it. I mean, it’s *there*, after all.
The problem with expressing your opinions as a playwright is that you will never get produced, ever. At least it feels that way. Especially us up-and-comers — we are told to develop our voices boldly, but this doesn’t actually mean that we should offer our opinion about how the business of theatre is currently running. (Unless you’re Mike Daisey, then you can do anything you want, and God bless him.)
The atmosphere of playwrights offering frank commentary feels like 2003, during the Bush Administration — there is a whole lot wrong, but we’re too afraid to offer our version of the truth. I wish I could publish half the conversations I had last week with playwrights and actors and directors — frustration and confusion and disillusion as toothless irrelevant small-minded productions pass quietly in front of audiences, much better television shows flickering in the back of their minds.
Not every play should be as aggressive as “Blasted”, that amazing play with an amazing production currently playing at Soho Rep. But we can do better. “Blasted” is perhaps the best example of why we go to theatre — and it is not to *enjoy* ourselves. This is a tradition that started with thousands of Greeks watching Oedipus gouge his eyes out. And the Greeks were like, “Now I’ve learned something about my attraction to my mother.” They were surely shocked, and they may have been outraged, but they were definitely stirred, definitely unable to go back to they way they thought previously, and that’s what theatre is for.
For me, “Blasted” felt like the end of theatre, the end of the conversation that started with The Greeks. It unfolds like a regional theatre play gone to hell, a Fuck You to anyone who would ever want to sit through another Ayckbourn comedy or measured play about Iraq (take your pick; there are at least a dozen playing right now to snoozing audiences comparing the the on-stage drama to the New York Times headlines or that conversation they had with an ACTUAL veteran, i.e. a frustrating maddening 2 hours of wasted time.) I’m used to walking out of a theatre and having that annoying 15 minute “checklist” conversation with my date, then immediately forgetting what I saw. I walked out of “Blasted” nearly a month ago with a violent cloud above my head, unable to speak to anyone, and am still visited by its imagery — Marin Ireland’s terrifying seizures, the loving blowjob ending in a beating, the wild human eyes of Louis Cancelmi’s soldier, Reed Birney violently cradling the soldier like it was the last physical thing on earth, the last line (“Thank you”).
That the play has been sold out for nearly its whole run and been extended twice is a big Middle Finger to everyone who shies away from producing aggressive work that provokes an audience. The old adage of “our subscribers won’t like it” has been rendered false. We always knew it wasn’t true. From here on out I’m lumping people who profess this opinion with the people who said Obama couldn’t be president — the fear of success overwhelming the possibility of change. You know you’re wrong. Have courage. Do the plays you want. The audience will love you for it.
I’m not one of those cranks who rant about the Death of Theatre, which is sort of like ranting about the Death of Drawing — will humans ever *not* pretend like they are other people to one another to make a point about humanity? But, like volcanoes, theatre has a habit of going dormant. I dare you to identify a play of note written in the English language between 1800 and 1900. You will not be able to. Why? For a hundred years, audiences were obsessed with spectacle, Equestrian pageantry, nautical dramas. That is, plays that had explosions in them and horses on stage and huge fake ships sinking into the sets. “Quantum of Solace” made 70 million this weekend. Welcome to the next century.
November 18th, 2008 at 10:42 am
Great post…it makes me think of a couple things:
First, it seems like as entertainment choices become more vast, and theaters panic about losing their audiences, it sets off a vicious cycle. Smaller theaters that were created to take artistic chances chase commercially “viable” plays and end up producing second rate material. In turn, they alienate their audience and panic even more, setting off another cycle of flacid productions. It’s interesting, because I don’t think blatantly commercial productions like Spamalot really concern me as much as the middling, sort-of-commercial small play.
Secondly, I think to call a play “provocative” has become almost pejorative, or at least, kind of condescending. It’s like, “oh, look at the young playwright and their ‘provocative’ little play.” I think it’s bullshit. It’s as if somehow “to stir” an audience, as you put it, is cliche, or trite, or too simple.
I don’t know what the answers are, but I believe the pendulum will start to swing back the other way.
November 18th, 2008 at 3:53 pm
Preach, Tommy!
November 21st, 2008 at 9:11 pm
Let the church say “Amen!”
January 16th, 2009 at 9:21 am
This is very well said, Tommy, and I could not agree more.
And I agree with Josh’s comment about the term “provocative” – as if any play that engages in provocation is “merely” provocative, and has no larger goal or meaning beyond pissing people off.
June 17th, 2009 at 2:57 pm
Testing comments