By Don Nguyen, member of the 2008 Emerging Writers Group. Greetings. This is your unreliable narrator speaking. Right off the bat, I've already lied to you. You see, this post is titled "Sorrow, Depression, and Desolation in the American Theater, or How To Be a Sad Playwright in 10 Easy Steps." Yet this post is not limited to just the American Theater. This could very well apply to community theater in the Ukraine or children's theater in Switzerland. Also, there are only 5 steps. And they may not be so easy, depending on who you are.
Let me explain. Two weeks ago, on October 31st, I launched a website called sadplaywright.com based off of my semi-popular sad photo series (sad office and sad umbrella). This new website is a collection of sad playwright photos. Prior to launch, I urged all my fellow playwrights that I knew personally to submit their sad photos. The site started with just thirty photos and within two weeks it jumped to over one hundred playwright photos from all over the world. Playwrights from Russia, Prague, Norway, Scotland, England, Australia, and of course, the United States. Not only that, we've had over 5,300 visitors to the site!
But why would I want to be a sad playwright and how would that better my life?
I would, as any playwright worth their weight in gold, answer your question with another question: Why does Christopher Shinn want to be a sad playwright? Or Natalia Antonova from Moscow? Or Johan Herstad from Norway? Because we all are sad at any given moment in time. We are sad because we are human. But even more than that, why has sadplaywright.com become so popular amongst playwrights that it would cause them to come out in droves to submit their own sad photos? I think Sheila Callaghan said it best when she sent her photo in: "Thank god a venue exists in the world for playwrights to express their sadness publicly." You see, there is simply a need, and we as playwrights probably didn't even realize we needed it until it was there. Like Angry Birds.
Why are you so sad, Don?
Blame it all on Christopher Durang. Early in his career, he wrote a play called The Marriage of Bette and Boo, which in my opinion is one of the funniest saddest plays ever written. In it, he talks about the concept of laughing and crying and how they go hand in hand. That's the beauty of Durang's humor. He finds the funny in the sad, and the sad in the funny. Durang's sense of humor has enormously influenced my own work, be it plays, or sad photos of playwrights. So, you're saying it's actually good to be sad?
I think sadness has gotten a bad rap, and I think it can actually be good for you. Even Joseph Forgas, a psychology professor from the University of New South Wales, found that being sad makes people less gullible, improves their ability to judge others and also boosts memory. His study showed that people in a negative mood were more critical of, and paid more attention to, their surroundings than happier people, who were more likely to believe anything they were told. The study also found that sad people were better at stating their case through written arguments, which Forgas said showed that a “mildly negative mood may actually promote a more concrete, accommodating and ultimately more successful communication style.” See? Being sad actually helps playwrights to communicate better. Who wouldn't want that?
Again, why would I want to be a sad playwright and how would that better my life?
Because I believe sadness and happiness can't exist without the other. Do you really expect a playwright to not be sad? Why, when our profession is based on drama? And if we agree conflict is the basis of all drama, then we as dramatists are creatures of conflict. And conflict is sad. But in a good way. Even British philosopher John Stuart Mills claimed "it is better to be an unhappy Socrates than a contented pig."
Fine, so what are these five not so easy steps to being a sad playwright?
1. First, admit that you're a playwright. I don't mean to yourself. I mean to your friends, family, neighbors, boss, etc. You get extra points if you come out as a playwright at your high school reunion. But brace yourself as they give you "the look." You know the one. It's the same look people give when they smell bad cheese.
2. Admit that you sometimes feel sad. As I stated, there's nothing wrong with that.
3. Instead of wallowing in your sadness, hoping for something or someone to make it to go away, EMBRACE IT.
4. Take a picture of your sadness.
5. Share it publicly at sadplaywright.com/sad-submissionsAnd know that by sharing your sadness, you are actually spreading happiness around the globe (via the internet). I'm not claiming sadplaywright.com will change the world or better your life, but it may very well make your day. And that does not make me sad.
Don Nguyen is a member of the 2008 Emerging Writers Group, The Civilians 2010 R&D Group and the Ma-Yi Writers Lab. His play "Red Flamboyant" was recently developed at the Ojai Playwrights Conference this past summer and he is currently working on "Sound: A Sign Language Play." For more information on Don, please visit his website: thenuge.com.
This post is part of a weekly series from the Emerging Writers Group community of playwrights. The EWG is two-year playwriting fellowship at The Public Theater seeking to target playwrights at the earliest stages of their careers. In so doing, The Public hopes to create an artistic home for a diverse and exceptionally talented group of up-and-coming playwrights.
By Aaron Wigdor Levy, member of the 2011 Emerging Writers Group I like beer. Probably a little too much. I spend a lot of time trying different beers and seeing what new styles breweries are releasing. If I find a beer I’ve never had before or a brewery I particularly like I could easily end up spending a little too much money on it. This whole beer thing has become a minor obsession of mine. So why is a member of the Emerging Writers Group writing about beer on the Public Theater Blog and what does it have to do with theater? A lot actually.
Most of the beer I drink would be categorized as craft beer. It’s made by small breweries that have a much different product and operate on a much different mentality than mass-produced commercial breweries like Budweiser and Miller. Fundamentally it’s still beer, but a wheat beer from a brewery like Sixpoint in Red Hook, Brooklyn is in no way comparable to a Bud Light. They’re technically the same thing, but completely different. I see theater in the same way. It’s craft entertainment. Most people who go to the theater are looking for an entirely different experience than they'd get from a movie or TV show. It’s not to say one is better than the other; they’re just fundamentally different. Yes, they’re both forms of entertainment. You go to a theater and sit down with an audience to watch both, but they aren’t the same. And they shouldn’t be. Too often I see theater defining itself by what it’s not rather than what it is. Theater markets itself in the same way movies and television do. But it shouldn’t. Someone going to see a play is looking for an entirely different experience. They’re looking for a craft experience.
In the last few years there’s been a craft movement in the United States. It’s not just with beer. There’s an entire slow food movement based on regional cuisine. Farmer’s Markets have been popping up in more cities. Articles and blogs espouse the virtues of slowing down and finding out what we’ve lost in our go-go non-stop world. Old school butcher shops and barbers have popped up in trendy neighborhoods. Pickling and making soap is cool.
Why shouldn’t theater be included in this? So much of what I see in various craft movements are already in place in the theater world. A brewery is based in regional taste and pride. It’s outside the mainstream. Theater operates in the same way. Brewers come together to try to create their vision of a beer they want. It may be a lager or ale, a porter or a stout, but they’re trying to create the best beer they can. Breweries, like theater, mostly serve a local audience. They become a point of pride for that community. Theater should be the same. It’s a group of people creating something different outside of major corporate institutions in accordance with their own taste and style. Maybe producers think that they have to draw their audience away from television and film. But the moment they set themselves in direct competition with TV and film they miss what makes theater different. How about we, as theater artists, remember that. Aaron Wigdor Levy is a member of the 2011 Emerging Writers Group and holds an MFA in Dramatic Writing from NYU. His plays include This is Not a Time Bomb, The Ball Player and Hunky Dory and have been developed or produced at The Public, The New Group, The Lark, and The Source Theater Festival. This post is part of a weekly series from the Emerging Writers Group community of playwrights. The EWG is two-year playwriting fellowship at The Public Theater seeking to target playwrights at the earliest stages of their careers. In so doing, The Public hopes to create an artistic home for a diverse and exceptionally talented group of up-and-coming playwrights.
By Vickie Ramirez, member of the 2009 Emerging Writers Group
I’m about to lose a lot of friends with this one but here we go!
Most Indian* people believe that only Native writers should write about Indians. This applies to plays, films, literature and television. I’m about to get in serious trouble when I say, with qualification….I’m not one of them.
There are many reasons why Indian people reject the idea of outsiders telling our stories. We were aggressively colonized, Nations were eradicated, populations decimated and many lost tribal lands, languages, traditions and identity. Lest you think that I’m whining about the past, I would like to remind you that the residential schools, famed for their policy of “Kill the Indian and Save the Man,” were active until 1969. Children were taken from their homes, hair was cut and they were beaten if they showed signs of “Indianness” (e.g. speaking their language, or practicing ceremonies, etc.). Many of these kids are still very alive and part of modern Native society. My own people, the Haudenosaunee, still have clashes with both the Canadian and U.S. governments over land claims. When I say clashes, I’m talking about physical confrontations with armed government troops. The most recent of these clashes happened in 2009*. Last year, our lovely Mayor Bloomberg suggested that Governor Patterson “get a cowboy hat and a shotgun” to explain the law of the land to the Seneca Nation. Colonialism is a very tangible and immediate reality for all of us.
When a member of an invader culture picks up a pen to write about Indians, it gets very dangerous very quickly. The pen IS mightier than the sword and we know this because storytelling has a long-standing and revered place in our societies. It’s hard not to feel under attack when others pick up a pen in our name. Especially as many folks cherry pick the parts they like (ceremonies and way-cool buckskin accessories) and forget about the parts they don’t like (poverty, racism, highest suicide rate of any ethnic group in the Americas, etc.) Insulting pieces (Sitting Bull in Annie Get Your Gun) have evolved into paternalistic (Christopher Seldon’s adaption of Black Elk Speaks), prop-like (Johanna in August, Osage County) or historically inaccurate and offensive (Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson). We’re like a seasoning – if you want a little tragic flair, a little “magical” flair, toss in a little bit of NDN.
So why do I believe its okay for non-Indians to write Native plays? Well, each of the above-mentioned plays inspired plays to answer them. The pantheon of Native plays is richer for the dialogue. This is the essential nature of theater, is it not? It’s how I started writing.
I would go to “Native plays” and not recognize anyone. I started writing because I wanted my people to have a chance to speak. I have some nameless writer with very little awareness about Native culture to thank for this.
I’ve written white characters. I’ve written black characters. I probably got it wrong, but they’re out there. I have yet to write a Latino, Arab or Asian character but if their voices creep up in my head, I’m gonna write ‘em too. I don’t expect any other playwright to do otherwise. Maybe it is my traditions but I believe artists are given their stories the way they are for a reason. Whether “Good Mind” or “Bad Mind” inspires you, your play is there to shed light on the human condition. We can’t be afraid to offend, nor can we be afraid to be offended.
However, I’m not saying call yourself “Running Deer” and you too, can write a Native play! I’m saying if you write a Native play – be ready. We will respond.
Sherman Alexie said it best:
“Well, artists can follow whatever path they want to, but they should also realize that they’re gonna be held to close scrutiny by the people they’re [making] work about. They have to expect it, but it also should be seen as what it is. When non-Natives write about Natives, that’s colonial literature. It can be great literature…it can be wonderful, amazing, but it’s still colonial literature…I think the United States forgets it colonized the Native Americans, and you know, I should say, by and large, it’s white liberals that forget that. I think white conservatives are happy they colonized Native Americans, but white liberals forget that and don’t think of themselves as being colonial.”
Let’s see if the dialogue can flow both ways.
*Let me apologize, I have to lose the “P.C.” label – I have no emotional connection to the phrase “Native American” so I find it difficult to use when I’m writing * See Seaway Bridge dispute and Caledonia/Six Nations land claim dispute
Vickie Ramirez is a Tuscarora playwright,a member of the Emerging Writer’s Group 2009 and a member of Amerinda Theater and Chukalokoli Native Theater ensemble. Her play SMOKE, will be produced in April 2012 by Mixed Phoenix Theater Group in New York City.
This post is part of a weekly series from the Emerging Writers Group community of playwrights. The EWG is two-year playwriting fellowship at The Public Theater seeking to target playwrights at the earliest stages of their careers. In so doing, The Public hopes to create an artistic home for a diverse and exceptionally talented group of up-and-coming playwrights.
