London 1975. Prince of Wales Theater. Jimmy Stewart, playing Elwood P. Dowd, and the
other cast members enchant me into seeing a six-foot, eight-inch tall pooka or rabbit named Harvey
on stage. I have loved the magic of
theater ever since I could afford the price of a ticket. Some
highlights of my appreciation of the
theatrical arts include Kevin Spacey (this was a decade before his
alleged sexual harassment history hit the news) as Richard III at the
Old Vic in London
and Vanessa Redgrave and Joely Richardson as mother and daughter in
“Lady
Windermere’s Fan” at the Theater Royal Haymarket. My enjoyment of theater is not dependent on
movie stars in leading roles. I adore
community productions of “Our Town” and “Tony N Tina’s Wedding.”
My only attempt behind the proscenium was when
another woman and I (students of non-traditional age in a two-week college
program in Greece) read the roles of Euelpides and Pisthetairos in Aristophanes’s
“The Birds,” a farcical, satirical fantasy written in Greece around 400 BC. Our version of the play was staged on the
Aegean beach on the Greek island of Kos. I
suspect we won the roles because the professors thought our maturity would
enable us to handle lines such as “chickenshitter,” “tickling his testicles,”
and “with cocks erect.” We couldn’t, but
after a glass of ouzo we were better at pretending.
My experience with writing plays
is zilch. So I was perplexed by a class assignment on drama. What possible
use could I have for learning how to write plays? Then it struck me like a falling medium-arc
iodide spotlight. Since
I was having
problems writing the scene of Quentin sneaking Algonquin the pony into
the boys' bedroom to cheer up his brother Archie who had the measles, I
could re-write the pony in the elevator event as a mini-play. The techniques used in drama should help me to
better visualize what was happening. I am
adapting Anne Lamott’s suggestion in Bird By Bird of using a different method of conveying character
information, in my case a play instead of a letter, to free me “from the
tyranny of perfectionism.”
I read Burroway's Imaginative Writing to determining
which techniques of the theater might help me in this restaging. Since my miniplay needs to occur on a stage,
I choose to set it in Archie and Quentin’s bedroom, which requires reviewing
floor plans for the White House in 1903.
The set designer needs to sketch the location of windows and doors,
style of bedroom furniture, source of light, appropriate props, etc., to help
establish mood and period. Translating
the plot into dramatic terms means that the inciting incident is the
quarantining of Quentin and Archie to their beds because of measles; exposition
can be delivered by two servants explaining the boys’ dissatisfaction with the
quarantine; and the point of attack comes when Archie is denied a visit with his
pony.
Understanding the design of the set is important
so that I can block the movement of the actors.
Does Archie get out of bed to open the curtains? From
where does the pony enter? As part of
the stage directions, I can describe any critical actions that Archie or
Quentin perform while reciting a bit of dialog.
Does Archie jump out of bed to greet Algonquin? Does he stay in bed and let the pony approach
him?
A consideration of nonverbal sounds is
necessary. What diegetic sounds, sounds
that originate from objects present on the stage, need to be considered? An important one is the sound of the elevator
which could be heard because it abuts the back of the boys’ bedroom. Other diegetic sounds would be the clip clop
of pony hooves down the hall and the opening or closing of drapes. I choose not to use any nondiegetic sounds until
I rewrite the play as a musical.
Burroway presents some “things to remember” about
play dialog that I find useful in writing fiction or non-fiction. Introduce the conflict early so I need to
ensure that Archie asks to visit Algonquin close to the beginning of the play. Dialogue needs to be written so that the
actors can speak it in a natural way.
Silences can be used to introduce tension. The length of the dialog spoken by characters
can be varied to retain the listener’s interest.
I sent the pony play to my
sister. Her reactions helped me evaluate
what format works well in telling different parts of the story. Exposition about the measles epidemic slows
down the play format but can work well as a written introduction to
non-fiction. The elevator scene would
work best in a filmed format since the director can control the frame, angle,
close ups, and points of view to focus on the interactions between person and
pony. The mother-sons-pony scene can
work well in film, drama, or non-fiction if the format captures the truth of
the moment.
My sister, who has met my
Icelandic horse (remember Algonquin is half Icelandic), identifies the truth of
the scene as “Blessi always finds the treats!!!” Writing the pony in the elevator scene as a
play better enabled me to get to the truth of the event. As Donald Barthelme says, “Truth ... is a
hard apple, whether one is throwing it or catching it.” Apples—and cookies--make it easier to catch the
truth of a pony.
