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thehefnerSo, with only a couple days before my next Principles of Realism class at Studio Theatre, I finally bit the bullet and bought the play LOBBY HERO, from which I'm supposed to do a scene.
All the way up through 3/4 of it, I didn't think it was brilliant, but it was good. Well done, interesting, some good tension and character moments. Then I got to the climax, and I immediately knew this was one of those plays. And the extent to which it proved to be one of those plays made me want to fling the fucking thing across the room. Even now, after a good night's rest, I think back on that play and I am literally angry with rage!
Seriously, folks. What the fuck is the deal with modern drama? It's like, in an effort to completely rebel against the sparkly Hollywood happy-ending love-conquers-all bullshit machine, playwrights from Ibsen onward have been obsessed with writing plays about life-crushing situations with little to no way out, with characters who are morally ambiguous at best and who you want to smack at several moments throughout the play.
I know, I know, people will probably say, "But that's the way things go in real life," to which I say, fuck that. That just strikes me as a cop-out used by pretentious art-house snobs, people who see life as nothing more than a series of betrayals and failures, with occasional moments of humor and sympathy sprinkled throughout. It's an unspoken school of thought that I've seen exhibited in the works of such beloved and celebrated playwrights as Paula Vogel, Kenneth Lonergan, Rebecca Gilman (sorry Kevin, I hate her... and not just because I had to go naked on stage because of her), and Neil "NOT THE BEEEEES!" Labute. Not to mention all the young upcoming playwrights who worship these authors.
(A side note: I don't think it's just plays, but it extends to indie films and literature as well. Anyone read/see THE HOUSE OF SAND AND FOG? Holy fucking shit, people. That was an unspeakably beautiful tragedy, yes, a movingly Lear-like tragedy, that reached a point of such marvelous tenderness when he carried her out of the car. And then what happened? The fucking Lonergan-esque subplot, which felt out of place and tacked-on from the start, comes right the fuck out of nowhere, turning the story into a pointless bloodbath. Because, to that author's mind, I guess he thought it had to be so over-the-top dramatically hope-smashingly tragic. I have rarely felt so frustrated by a story)
Maybe I'm exagerating. But frankly, this is why I hesitate to see modern plays anymore, because I'm sick of coming out of a theatre feeling like crap or bubbling with rage. I mean, seeing plays like that is fine just as long as they don't seem to be the predominant style of the modern play. Which these fucking do.
But that's not to say there aren't plays that I like that fit this mold. Many, many people hate Patrick Marber's CLOSER, which I, of course, absolutely adore. Maybe it was because I saw the film first; had I just read it, I probably would have hated it too. Maybe it's the evil humor, that it's almost an emotional Grand Guignol. Maybe it's how close it hit to the bone for me, and how I saw people I knew (including myself) in all the roles. It was just damn well done. But many people hate it anyway, so go figure. I also love DEATH OF A SALESMAN and the works of Eugene O'Neill, but that's because those are such emotionally bare and cathartic works. Yeah, I do rather love cathartic theatre. And I also like Mamet.
Heck, I even acknowledge the excellence of THE SHAPE OF THINGS, even though I have no desire to ever watch that fucking thing ever ever ever. Evelyn is worse than Ralph Fiennes in SCHINDLER'S LIST and Capt. Vidal in PAN'S LABYRINTH combined.
I can and DO enjoy these types of plays, but only when they're well done (subjective, I know; many people clearly think LOBBY HERO is a play worth remembering) and when they are just ONE kind of play, rather than what seems to be the majority of modern playwrighting. And maybe there's a better response than "it's realistic," but in case there isn't, I call shenanigans on that. Maybe it's just because I'm born and raised on what many would consider "escapist" literature and films, but I've seen and read dozens of stories that are every bit as "realistic" without making me feel the way crap like LOBBY HERO makes me feel.
And I love tragedy too; I consider KING LEAR, THE ICEMAN COMETH, and 3/4 of THE HOUSE OF SAND AND FOG to be beautiful and moving in their tragedy. If I didn't like tragedy, I wouldn't be writing my Harvey Dent novel! But these kinds of modern plays are what keep me from being excited about going to see shows at Studio Theatre.
Maybe that just makes me theatrically illiterate. Whatever. I reject your realism and substitute my own.
All the way up through 3/4 of it, I didn't think it was brilliant, but it was good. Well done, interesting, some good tension and character moments. Then I got to the climax, and I immediately knew this was one of those plays. And the extent to which it proved to be one of those plays made me want to fling the fucking thing across the room. Even now, after a good night's rest, I think back on that play and I am literally angry with rage!
Seriously, folks. What the fuck is the deal with modern drama? It's like, in an effort to completely rebel against the sparkly Hollywood happy-ending love-conquers-all bullshit machine, playwrights from Ibsen onward have been obsessed with writing plays about life-crushing situations with little to no way out, with characters who are morally ambiguous at best and who you want to smack at several moments throughout the play.
I know, I know, people will probably say, "But that's the way things go in real life," to which I say, fuck that. That just strikes me as a cop-out used by pretentious art-house snobs, people who see life as nothing more than a series of betrayals and failures, with occasional moments of humor and sympathy sprinkled throughout. It's an unspoken school of thought that I've seen exhibited in the works of such beloved and celebrated playwrights as Paula Vogel, Kenneth Lonergan, Rebecca Gilman (sorry Kevin, I hate her... and not just because I had to go naked on stage because of her), and Neil "NOT THE BEEEEES!" Labute. Not to mention all the young upcoming playwrights who worship these authors.
(A side note: I don't think it's just plays, but it extends to indie films and literature as well. Anyone read/see THE HOUSE OF SAND AND FOG? Holy fucking shit, people. That was an unspeakably beautiful tragedy, yes, a movingly Lear-like tragedy, that reached a point of such marvelous tenderness when he carried her out of the car. And then what happened? The fucking Lonergan-esque subplot, which felt out of place and tacked-on from the start, comes right the fuck out of nowhere, turning the story into a pointless bloodbath. Because, to that author's mind, I guess he thought it had to be so over-the-top dramatically hope-smashingly tragic. I have rarely felt so frustrated by a story)
Maybe I'm exagerating. But frankly, this is why I hesitate to see modern plays anymore, because I'm sick of coming out of a theatre feeling like crap or bubbling with rage. I mean, seeing plays like that is fine just as long as they don't seem to be the predominant style of the modern play. Which these fucking do.
But that's not to say there aren't plays that I like that fit this mold. Many, many people hate Patrick Marber's CLOSER, which I, of course, absolutely adore. Maybe it was because I saw the film first; had I just read it, I probably would have hated it too. Maybe it's the evil humor, that it's almost an emotional Grand Guignol. Maybe it's how close it hit to the bone for me, and how I saw people I knew (including myself) in all the roles. It was just damn well done. But many people hate it anyway, so go figure. I also love DEATH OF A SALESMAN and the works of Eugene O'Neill, but that's because those are such emotionally bare and cathartic works. Yeah, I do rather love cathartic theatre. And I also like Mamet.
Heck, I even acknowledge the excellence of THE SHAPE OF THINGS, even though I have no desire to ever watch that fucking thing ever ever ever. Evelyn is worse than Ralph Fiennes in SCHINDLER'S LIST and Capt. Vidal in PAN'S LABYRINTH combined.
I can and DO enjoy these types of plays, but only when they're well done (subjective, I know; many people clearly think LOBBY HERO is a play worth remembering) and when they are just ONE kind of play, rather than what seems to be the majority of modern playwrighting. And maybe there's a better response than "it's realistic," but in case there isn't, I call shenanigans on that. Maybe it's just because I'm born and raised on what many would consider "escapist" literature and films, but I've seen and read dozens of stories that are every bit as "realistic" without making me feel the way crap like LOBBY HERO makes me feel.
And I love tragedy too; I consider KING LEAR, THE ICEMAN COMETH, and 3/4 of THE HOUSE OF SAND AND FOG to be beautiful and moving in their tragedy. If I didn't like tragedy, I wouldn't be writing my Harvey Dent novel! But these kinds of modern plays are what keep me from being excited about going to see shows at Studio Theatre.
Maybe that just makes me theatrically illiterate. Whatever. I reject your realism and substitute my own.
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Date: 2007-03-29 03:52 am (UTC)That said, I may totally have to write "Frisky Felines and the Gutterhouse Two." But because of your failure to truly understand me, you shall get no credit. In fact, I'll write in a character based on you. The cats will run you over with a tank.