This is what goes through my mind when I finish a play:
This is the best thing anyone has ever written; how come I still have to go to work this morning?
I so want to get laid right now.
Let’s start the next project right away.
Let’s take a breather for a couple of days.
Let’s do something quick. Like in, y’know, three days?
Y’know, it’s pretty good for a first draft, but don’t show it to the agent until it’s been rewritten.
How about a hug?
Which one of 20 Get Me Out Of My Day Job projects should I work on next?
And what about the other thirty folders in my files?
Let’s go through everything and see what strikes my fancy.
God, there’s so many things I could be doing!
I really wish I didn’t have this day job.
I am never going to be able to write one-fiftieth of all these projects.
My life sucks.
And this play sucks; I am going to have to rewrite it top to bottom.
Don’t touch me.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Weekend Update
Rewrote Act 2 Scene 2 on Friday night after work? Check.
Set alarm for 7 AM? Check.
Watched Un Flic with Alain Delon and Catherine Deneuve? Check.
Went to bed at 1? Check.
Got up at 7:30 Saturday? Check.
Wrote first draft of Act 2 Scene 3? Check.
Read first scene of play out loud in preparation for Sunday public reading? Check.
Completely re-structured first scene of play based on crappy out-loud reading? Check.
Re-wrote Act 2 Scene 3? Check.
Got heat prostration headache? Check.
Crashed at 4? Check.
Woke up when lightning storm hit Manhattan at 6? Check.
Watched Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and Indy and the Holy Grail on TBS? Check.
Drafted final scene of play? Check.
Went to bed at midnight? Check.
Got up at 7:30 on Sunday? Check.
Wrote final scene of play from 8 till 10:15? Check.
Saw The Incredible Hulk Sunday at 11? Check.
Still think Liv Tyler and my friend Elizabeth Chaumette were separated at birth? Check.
Had lunch at O'Flaherty's? Check.
Somehow restrained myself from trotting out awful "Flaherty's will get you nowhere" pun? Check.
Read first scene of play at uptown diner at 4 PM? Check.
Finished final scene of play? Check.
Took deep sigh after finishing first draft of play? Check.
Immediately started rewriting? Check and double check.
Sent script copy to Ava in Australia? Check.
Re-set alarm for 5:15 PM instead of 5:15AM? Check.
Woke up at 5 AM and said to self "Okay--the alarm will go off in like 15 minutes?" Check.
Woke up at 6:15 AM? Check.
Got fear-induced surge of adrenaline, threw on clothes, and got out of apartment in 90 seconds? Check.
Got into work about 20 minutes later than normal? Check.
Finally zipped fly at 11:10 AM? Check.
Set alarm for 7 AM? Check.
Watched Un Flic with Alain Delon and Catherine Deneuve? Check.
Went to bed at 1? Check.
Got up at 7:30 Saturday? Check.
Wrote first draft of Act 2 Scene 3? Check.
Read first scene of play out loud in preparation for Sunday public reading? Check.
Completely re-structured first scene of play based on crappy out-loud reading? Check.
Re-wrote Act 2 Scene 3? Check.
Got heat prostration headache? Check.
Crashed at 4? Check.
Woke up when lightning storm hit Manhattan at 6? Check.
Watched Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and Indy and the Holy Grail on TBS? Check.
Drafted final scene of play? Check.
Went to bed at midnight? Check.
Got up at 7:30 on Sunday? Check.
Wrote final scene of play from 8 till 10:15? Check.
Saw The Incredible Hulk Sunday at 11? Check.
Still think Liv Tyler and my friend Elizabeth Chaumette were separated at birth? Check.
Had lunch at O'Flaherty's? Check.
Somehow restrained myself from trotting out awful "Flaherty's will get you nowhere" pun? Check.
Read first scene of play at uptown diner at 4 PM? Check.
Finished final scene of play? Check.
Took deep sigh after finishing first draft of play? Check.
Immediately started rewriting? Check and double check.
Sent script copy to Ava in Australia? Check.
Re-set alarm for 5:15 PM instead of 5:15AM? Check.
Woke up at 5 AM and said to self "Okay--the alarm will go off in like 15 minutes?" Check.
Woke up at 6:15 AM? Check.
Got fear-induced surge of adrenaline, threw on clothes, and got out of apartment in 90 seconds? Check.
Got into work about 20 minutes later than normal? Check.
Finally zipped fly at 11:10 AM? Check.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Weekend Update
Irish Flu. Because of Friday night? Saturday was a total loss. Thank you, Jameson's!!!
Sex And The City. Whatever movie Anthony Lane saw, it wasn't the one I watched. Don't any of these male film reviewers have female friends? Or are they just all full of crap? Discussion to come.
War, Inc. A satire that tries so hard to be sharp that it ends up being a blunt instrument. Instead of crying "Wow!" you keep on saying "Ow!" except when Marisa Tomei is on.
Sunday, Sunday. Got up at 7. Rewrote Act 2 Scene 2 in a coffee shop till 9:30. Saw the 10 AM Sex And The City at Lincoln Square. Walked out into the 95-degree-heat and felt like I'd been hit with a burning oven mitt. Walked to the Borders on 59th. Rewrote the rewrite of Act 2 Scene 2 in their coffee area from 1 to 2. Walked to work. Typed out the rewrites and printed them. Subwayed to the Angelika and picked up tickets for the 5:30 War Inc. show. Rewrote the rewritten rewrites for Act 2 Scene 2 from 4 to 5:15. Walked to the Corner Bistro. Had a Bistro burger at the bar. Got home at 10. And thanks to the August heat and humidity, slept for all of maybe 20 minutes.
Sex And The City. Whatever movie Anthony Lane saw, it wasn't the one I watched. Don't any of these male film reviewers have female friends? Or are they just all full of crap? Discussion to come.
War, Inc. A satire that tries so hard to be sharp that it ends up being a blunt instrument. Instead of crying "Wow!" you keep on saying "Ow!" except when Marisa Tomei is on.
Sunday, Sunday. Got up at 7. Rewrote Act 2 Scene 2 in a coffee shop till 9:30. Saw the 10 AM Sex And The City at Lincoln Square. Walked out into the 95-degree-heat and felt like I'd been hit with a burning oven mitt. Walked to the Borders on 59th. Rewrote the rewrite of Act 2 Scene 2 in their coffee area from 1 to 2. Walked to work. Typed out the rewrites and printed them. Subwayed to the Angelika and picked up tickets for the 5:30 War Inc. show. Rewrote the rewritten rewrites for Act 2 Scene 2 from 4 to 5:15. Walked to the Corner Bistro. Had a Bistro burger at the bar. Got home at 10. And thanks to the August heat and humidity, slept for all of maybe 20 minutes.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Elsinore by Moonlight
Random thoughts about the Hamlet in the Park:
Michael Stuhlbarg. Probably the most manic Hamlet I've ever seen, which is not a bad thing at all. It really makes "Now I am alone" a potent moment when, for the last 20 minutes, you've been watching a guy bounce around the stage like a little kid who just had one brownie too many, a big smile on his face, saying anything that comes into his head; and then when he's alone that mask drops to the ground along with his father's coat. That's the brilliance of this performance: you can actually see the words coming into Hamlet's head. Stuhlbarg isn't reciting -- he's thinking out loud, in that high-pitched voice of his that switches back and forth between fiddle and violin, now grating and edgy, now lyrical and sweet. During intermission, my friend said: "I thought it was Joaquin Phoenix until he opened his mouth and I could actually hear him."
Hamlet and Hamlet. Running time with intermission: 3 hours and 15 minutes. Cuts I noticed in the script: no Second Gravedigger; no "Our ship got attacked by pirates;" and (oddly) the moment just before "To be or not to be" that contains Polonius' set up ("With pious action we do sugar o'er/The devil himself") and Claudius’ response ("How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!") (Disclaimer: I might have totally missed it because I couldn't take my eyes off Lauren Ambrose, and was much more interested in her than in anything Claudius had to say.) Kudos to director Oskar Eustis for creating that rarity of Public Theatre evenings, one in which all 20 actors are not in 20 different plays. Double kudos for not having an Interpretation into which the text must be shoe-horned. (Which makes the final moment a powerful kick in the teeth.) On the "Did Gertrude know anything beforehand?" debate, the verdict is out (thanks for nothing, Margaret Colin). On the "Did Hamlet sleep with Ophelia?" debate, hell to the yes (thanks for everything, Lauren Ambrose). [Sidebar story: when John Barrymore was asked "Did Hamlet ever sleep with Ophelia?" back in the day, he replied: "Only in the Chicago company."] And on the mad/sane debate, this Hamlet is always mad with a purpose. Does he ever really lose it? Yes, with Ophelia -- and it breaks your heart.
The Meh. Andre Braugher and Margaret Colin just didn't do it for me as Claudius and Gertrude. Braugher was likable but bland; his soul-searching monologue was more like a rant, going up and out instead of down and in. He had an odd "Whoo hoo!" moment when the treaty with Fortinbras was announced -- it was like a Yankees fan watching Rodriguez hit a home run -- and if memory serves me right, his whirling of Colin in a victory hug was their only passionate moment. After which Colin made a point of straightening her skirt, which got a laugh, but epitomized the Nancy Reagan vibe in her character. And that cool public distance sure didn't help her when she got to the "Ophelia is drowned" speech. I have to say, if she was actually using her performance to suggest possible reasons why Gertrude would marry her brother-in-law so quickly, then I missed it entirely. Overall, I didn't get any chemistry between the two of them, and that's the one thing these two characters need.
Lauren Ambrose. An alabaster acting god. The “Watch every emotion register on my face” style of acting which, in Claire Danes, comes off as affected and technical, always feels like the real thing with Ambrose. She hurts so much you just wanna hug her, and then sneak a look at her face to see how she’s taking the hug. How good is she? If there’s a god in heaven, she will get to play Hamlet in the next 10 years. And it will be talked about for the next 50.
Ophelia. The hardest thing for an actress to do as Ophelia isn’t the mad scene –- it’s the stupid “O what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!” monologue after the Nunnery scene. The more she gets emotional about Hamlet telling her to get to a nunnery, the bigger the leap to channel that emotion into a speech that says “He coulda been a contender” instead of “Why are you DOING this to me?” [Just the existence of this speech after that scene is a window into (a) how Shakespeare’s characters constantly surprise you, (b) how in Shakespeare rhetoric always takes precedence over everything, and (c) how Shakespeare’s boy actors were expected to play their female parts.] Even in the best of productions, this speech is a pothole, which means the only way to get past it is to hit the gas and try to convince the audience (and yourself) that Hamlet isn’t really like this, honest, and it’s all my stupid fault because I listened to my father. It’s the acting equivalent of an Immelman Turn, and Ambrose comes the closest I’ve ever seen to pulling it off.
Sam Waterston and Jay O Sanders. The anchors. Waterston makes Polonius proud and blind and helpless. There's a moment after the nunnery scene where Ophelia reaches up to him as he stands on the scaffolding, reaching up as if to beg him to come down and take her in his arms, and the look on Waterston's face is shattering. (It's a visual that Ambrose echoes in the mad scene; nice touch.) As for Sanders, there are probably people in the audience who will think that the Ghost, the Gravedigger and the Player King are played by three different actors. Praise doesn't get any higher than that.
Fresh Eyes and Ears. I went with a friend who had never seen a production of Hamlet before. She gasped when Polonius died; had a hard time remembering who Claudius was because (Hamlet trivia) he’s never once called by his actual name in the course of the play; got a little confused about what happened to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (because the pirate ship scene was cut); and loved every minute of it, not the least because all the catch phrases and famous lines that she knew as “Hamlet quotes” were spoken as part of the play itself, so she could hear them literally for the first time. It’s not true that she turned to me after Hamlet’s “The rest is silence” and said: “He dies?!?" But at the actual end of the production she did turn to me and say, "Whoa -- that’s not in the script, is it?” “Hell no,” I said, “but it’s great, isn’t it?” “God, yeah,” she said, “what a kick in the teeth.” So, uh, stay to the end, people.
And yes, okay? I do hang out with people who have never seen Hamlet before.
Michael Stuhlbarg. Probably the most manic Hamlet I've ever seen, which is not a bad thing at all. It really makes "Now I am alone" a potent moment when, for the last 20 minutes, you've been watching a guy bounce around the stage like a little kid who just had one brownie too many, a big smile on his face, saying anything that comes into his head; and then when he's alone that mask drops to the ground along with his father's coat. That's the brilliance of this performance: you can actually see the words coming into Hamlet's head. Stuhlbarg isn't reciting -- he's thinking out loud, in that high-pitched voice of his that switches back and forth between fiddle and violin, now grating and edgy, now lyrical and sweet. During intermission, my friend said: "I thought it was Joaquin Phoenix until he opened his mouth and I could actually hear him."
Hamlet and Hamlet. Running time with intermission: 3 hours and 15 minutes. Cuts I noticed in the script: no Second Gravedigger; no "Our ship got attacked by pirates;" and (oddly) the moment just before "To be or not to be" that contains Polonius' set up ("With pious action we do sugar o'er/The devil himself") and Claudius’ response ("How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!") (Disclaimer: I might have totally missed it because I couldn't take my eyes off Lauren Ambrose, and was much more interested in her than in anything Claudius had to say.) Kudos to director Oskar Eustis for creating that rarity of Public Theatre evenings, one in which all 20 actors are not in 20 different plays. Double kudos for not having an Interpretation into which the text must be shoe-horned. (Which makes the final moment a powerful kick in the teeth.) On the "Did Gertrude know anything beforehand?" debate, the verdict is out (thanks for nothing, Margaret Colin). On the "Did Hamlet sleep with Ophelia?" debate, hell to the yes (thanks for everything, Lauren Ambrose). [Sidebar story: when John Barrymore was asked "Did Hamlet ever sleep with Ophelia?" back in the day, he replied: "Only in the Chicago company."] And on the mad/sane debate, this Hamlet is always mad with a purpose. Does he ever really lose it? Yes, with Ophelia -- and it breaks your heart.
The Meh. Andre Braugher and Margaret Colin just didn't do it for me as Claudius and Gertrude. Braugher was likable but bland; his soul-searching monologue was more like a rant, going up and out instead of down and in. He had an odd "Whoo hoo!" moment when the treaty with Fortinbras was announced -- it was like a Yankees fan watching Rodriguez hit a home run -- and if memory serves me right, his whirling of Colin in a victory hug was their only passionate moment. After which Colin made a point of straightening her skirt, which got a laugh, but epitomized the Nancy Reagan vibe in her character. And that cool public distance sure didn't help her when she got to the "Ophelia is drowned" speech. I have to say, if she was actually using her performance to suggest possible reasons why Gertrude would marry her brother-in-law so quickly, then I missed it entirely. Overall, I didn't get any chemistry between the two of them, and that's the one thing these two characters need.
Lauren Ambrose. An alabaster acting god. The “Watch every emotion register on my face” style of acting which, in Claire Danes, comes off as affected and technical, always feels like the real thing with Ambrose. She hurts so much you just wanna hug her, and then sneak a look at her face to see how she’s taking the hug. How good is she? If there’s a god in heaven, she will get to play Hamlet in the next 10 years. And it will be talked about for the next 50.
Ophelia. The hardest thing for an actress to do as Ophelia isn’t the mad scene –- it’s the stupid “O what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!” monologue after the Nunnery scene. The more she gets emotional about Hamlet telling her to get to a nunnery, the bigger the leap to channel that emotion into a speech that says “He coulda been a contender” instead of “Why are you DOING this to me?” [Just the existence of this speech after that scene is a window into (a) how Shakespeare’s characters constantly surprise you, (b) how in Shakespeare rhetoric always takes precedence over everything, and (c) how Shakespeare’s boy actors were expected to play their female parts.] Even in the best of productions, this speech is a pothole, which means the only way to get past it is to hit the gas and try to convince the audience (and yourself) that Hamlet isn’t really like this, honest, and it’s all my stupid fault because I listened to my father. It’s the acting equivalent of an Immelman Turn, and Ambrose comes the closest I’ve ever seen to pulling it off.
Sam Waterston and Jay O Sanders. The anchors. Waterston makes Polonius proud and blind and helpless. There's a moment after the nunnery scene where Ophelia reaches up to him as he stands on the scaffolding, reaching up as if to beg him to come down and take her in his arms, and the look on Waterston's face is shattering. (It's a visual that Ambrose echoes in the mad scene; nice touch.) As for Sanders, there are probably people in the audience who will think that the Ghost, the Gravedigger and the Player King are played by three different actors. Praise doesn't get any higher than that.
Fresh Eyes and Ears. I went with a friend who had never seen a production of Hamlet before. She gasped when Polonius died; had a hard time remembering who Claudius was because (Hamlet trivia) he’s never once called by his actual name in the course of the play; got a little confused about what happened to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (because the pirate ship scene was cut); and loved every minute of it, not the least because all the catch phrases and famous lines that she knew as “Hamlet quotes” were spoken as part of the play itself, so she could hear them literally for the first time. It’s not true that she turned to me after Hamlet’s “The rest is silence” and said: “He dies?!?" But at the actual end of the production she did turn to me and say, "Whoa -- that’s not in the script, is it?” “Hell no,” I said, “but it’s great, isn’t it?” “God, yeah,” she said, “what a kick in the teeth.” So, uh, stay to the end, people.
And yes, okay? I do hang out with people who have never seen Hamlet before.
Weekend Update
Human Nature 101. When you’re born, the landlord shows you the apartment you’ll be living in for the rest of your life. “You get to design the room yourself,” he says, “you get to furnish it, paint it, add whatever you want to it, but there has to be a hole. You can put it anywhere, and you can’t cover it with anything, but there has to be a hole.” So you say okay and you sign the lease and when you build the room, you put the hole off in a corner somewhere, maybe against the wall –- some place you know you won’t fall into it accidentally. But it doesn’t matter where you put it –- you’re always falling into it. Sometimes deliberately, sometimes by mistake, but it never fails: the one place in the room you’re supposed to avoid is the one place in the room you can’t stop visiting.
June Means Parades, and the second Sunday in June means . . . That’s right; next Sunday is the parade everybody avoids but nobody talks about out loud. Especially if you’re this Upper East Side Coffee Shop.
Blood and Thunder. If you’re going to see Hamlet in the Park, there’s no better way than to go with a friend who has (a) never seen a production of Hamlet before and (b) never been to the Delacorte Theatre before after (c) getting a couple of tickets on the Public Theatre’s new virtual line. Thumbnail review: Michael Stuhlbarg as Hamlet, Lauren Ambrose as Ophelia, Sam Waterston as Polonius: wonderful. Andre Braugher as Claudius, Margaret Colin as Gertrude: meh. And give Jay O Sanders a special prize for making the audience go “Wait -- you mean the Ghost, the Player King and the Gravedigger were all played by the same actor?”
June Means Parades, and the second Sunday in June means . . . That’s right; next Sunday is the parade everybody avoids but nobody talks about out loud. Especially if you’re this Upper East Side Coffee Shop.
Blood and Thunder. If you’re going to see Hamlet in the Park, there’s no better way than to go with a friend who has (a) never seen a production of Hamlet before and (b) never been to the Delacorte Theatre before after (c) getting a couple of tickets on the Public Theatre’s new virtual line. Thumbnail review: Michael Stuhlbarg as Hamlet, Lauren Ambrose as Ophelia, Sam Waterston as Polonius: wonderful. Andre Braugher as Claudius, Margaret Colin as Gertrude: meh. And give Jay O Sanders a special prize for making the audience go “Wait -- you mean the Ghost, the Player King and the Gravedigger were all played by the same actor?”
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