Back to that Freeman review... she thinks that I somehow de-sympathized the character of Antoinette/Bertha..
(I used the name Antoinette, as in the Jane Eyre prequel "Wide Sargasso Sea" because the name Bertha seems clunky for such an exotic character)
To review what Freeman said:
Is she really insane or is her insanity a result of being used as a pawn and her resulting loveless marriage? The production does not portray Antoinette sympathetically. She draws blood after biting her brother's neck, sets fire to Rochester's bed curtains, and tears Jane's wedding veil. The portrayal of Antoinette, a character who should be pitied, seems at odds with the portrayal of Jane, another strong woman, who has been allowed her independence, and therefore will avoid the fate of Antoinette.
Another of these "English Department notions" as Feingold calls it, is that clinical insanity doesn't exist - nobody ever just becomes insane due to a medical condition - it has to have a narrative origin. I guess ever since Ophelia, it's been the thing to do to have women go nuts in response to tragedy. If that happened in reality as often as it happens in literature, half the women on Earth would be barking mad.
But on to "the production does not portray Antoinette sympathetically" - here's how the production portrays her:
(ANTOINETTE MASON-ROCHESTER enters. She is dressed in a lovely but disheveled gown and carries a fan.)
RICHARD MASON Antoinette. It is I, Richard, come to see you.
ANTOINETTE I curse you both! You took me away from my beautiful lovers!
(Antoinette hits Mason with her fan and tries to bites his hand. Rochester tries to free Mason and she hits Rochester, then exits.)
We ended up staging it with Antoinette biting Mason's neck, but at least she gets to talk. Here is how she is described in the novel:
In the deep shade, at the farther end of the room, a figure ran backwards and forwards. What it was, whether beast or human being, one could not, at first sight, tell: it grovelled, seemingly, on all fours; it snatched and growled like some strange wild animal: but it was covered with clothing, and a quantity of dark, grizzled hair, wild as a mane, hid its head and face.
“Good-morrow, Mrs. Poole!” said Mr. Rochester. “How are you? and how is your charge to-day?”
“We’re tolerable, sir, I thank you,” replied Grace, lifting the boiling mess carefully on to the hob: “rather snappish, but not ‘rageous.”
A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favourable report: the clothed hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind-feet.
“Ah! sir, she sees you!” exclaimed Grace: “you’d better not stay.”
“Only a few moments, Grace: you must allow me a few moments.”
“Take care then, sir!—for God’s sake, take care!”
The maniac bellowed: she parted her shaggy locks from her visage, and gazed wildly at her visitors. I recognised well that purple face,—those bloated features. Mrs. Poole advanced.
“Keep out of the way,” said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside: “she has no knife now, I suppose, and I’m on my guard.”
“One never knows what she has, sir: she is so cunning: it is not in mortal discretion to fathom her craft.”
"We had better leave her," whispered Mason.
"Go to the devil!" was his brother-in-law’s recommendation.
"'Ware!" cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously. Mr. Rochester flung me behind him: the lunatic sprang and grappled his throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: they struggled. She was a big woman, in stature almost equalling her husband, and corpulent besides: she showed virile force in the contest—more than once she almost throttled him, athletic as he was. He could have settled her with a well-planted blow; but he would not strike: he would only wrestle. At last he mastered her arms; Grace Poole gave him a cord, and he pinioned them behind her: with more rope, which was at hand, he bound her to a chair. The operation was performed amidst the fiercest yells and the most convulsive plunges.
It's clear to ANYBODY WHO HAS READ THE BOOK that my portrayal of Bertha is far more sympathetic than the original. The book describes the character as an animal. I give her human dignity.
Which brings me to the last and greatest reason why this review is a travesty....
Sonnets do have therapeutic power To soothe, but the world will finally win. Tears will shower and anguish devour Your whole sanguine self - a shame and a sin. And instead of sublime felicity It's a learning experience again: "Don't trust so much, watch for duplicity, Actors are jerks, especially the men." So I freeze my heart intentionally All beat up all torn down all black and blue. No one else, but me, confidentially, Will ever write love-sick sonnets for you. You will know your error, I prophesy, One day. Too late. Good-bye. Good-bye. Good-bye.
Myth: Really handsome men are bad news for women. Debunk! "You don't want to date someone prettier than you are," is just the kind of snippy comment you don't generally hear from superhandsome men. It's not the chiseled pecs, perfect nose or soulful eyes, it's that pretty boys tend to be nicer to women than other boys. And why not? They've been nothing but accepted by women since they were old enough to wonder if they really got the lead in the school play because of their acting ability. Beautiful men are less critical of women's looks than unattractive men because they don't need a gorgeous woman to validate them to, well, anyone. Can you picture Johnny Depp playing Howard Stern's "Hot or Not?" Me neither. Matinee-idol types can and do date average-looking women like yours truly and they base relationships on having things in common rather than what their friends think. Good-looking men are also naturally more empathetic to female fears like age and weight gain, especially if their career is tied up with their looks. Remember, underwear models with floppy hair named Brandon deserve love too.
I won't mention the other two reviewers of JANE EYRE by name, although I have a beef with each, because I don't want them Googling themselves and finding my criticisms.
But I WILL mention Amy Freeman because she should not be a reviewer, and I hope she won't review anything by me in the future.
Greg Oliver Bodine falters a bit initially by seeming to inject a bit of postmodern insincerity and sarcasm into his early flirtations with Jane. Bodine strengthens in the end, when his character has lost everything and is in the depths of despair.
Jane Eyre questions the role of women in society. Jane refuses to be a kept woman, and does not return to Rochester until she has secured financial independence. The woman in the attic, named Antoinette in the stage version, represents the domination of men in the nineteenth century. Is she really insane or is her insanity a result of being used as a pawn and her resulting loveless marriage? The production does not portray Antoinette sympathetically. She draws blood after biting her brother's neck, sets fire to Rochester's bed curtains, and tears Jane's wedding veil. The portrayal of Antoinette, a character who should be pitied, seems at odds with the portrayal of Jane, another strong woman, who has been allowed her independence, and therefore will avoid the fate of Antoinette.
It is best for fans of Bronte's novel to stick to the book, as even the best of actors cannot replace the beauty that is to be found in there. McClernan makes a valiant effort in transplanting the sprawling work to the confines of the stage, but in the end, as our high school teachers always said, it's best just to read the book.
Firstly - there was nothing "post-modern" about Bodine's performance. But unlike many other adaptations of the novel, his Rochester wasn't constantly scowling, bellowing and brooding. In other words, he was closer to the Rochester of the book.
Second - "The woman in the attic... represents the domination of men in the nineteenth century."
This is the clearest demonstration that Freeman's understanding of "Jane Eyre" is based exclusively on adaptations. Charlotte Bronte never intended for the mad wife in the attic to represent male dominance and neither did I. But recent adaptations of the novel, notably the Polly Teale version, do. As Michael Feingold said in his review of a 2000 production of Teale's adaptation:
Meaning to view the myth through a modern feminist prism, Teale exploits a predictable strategy: The mad wife locked up in Mr. Rochester's attic is the heroine's Doppelgänger (or more precisely Doppelgängerin), beginning as the naughty second self for whose misbehavior her aunt punishes her in childhood. Extending this English-department notion over three hours of theater produces exactly the diminishing returns you'd expect— especially since, in accordance with the official feminist rules for approaching nonfeminist women's literature, the principal male figure has to be utterly deromanticized.
Although I disgreed with much of Feingold's review (he doesn't like the original novel much) he's onto something here. The implication of this male dominance theory is that Rochester is a bad guy.
The idea that the wife in the attic represents male domination is so prevalent that Freeman doesn't even think twice before proclaiming it as a settled matter of fact. But Rochester, in the novel, is not a force of represssion, but is rather the supreme object of desire. Any adaptation that denies or downplays this fact diminishes the power of the story.
More thoughts on this travesty of a review soon...
How did you come to such a sorry state? You offer shit for love, ill will for good, And now you’re middle-aged and it’s too late To learn to behave as a human should. You had me fooled – give the devil his due - Before the season of anguish unfurled I had such great admiration for you, Called you “the coolest straight guy in the world.” Is it a sociopathic nature, Or a serious trauma to the head? What is it that makes you so immature, Makes you so unlikely to ever wed? Out of such stuff cannot a husband make - A stream of heartsick hearts bleed in your wake.
Unlike most animals, a human's mental state is preoccupied a great deal with what has happened in the past or what may happen in the future. Parts of the frontal lobe are essential for this type of "time travel." Indeed, good judgment requires evaluating the possible consequences of a variety of future activities and selecting the one with the most good consequences and the fewest bad consequences. Accordingly, poor judgment and inappropriately weighting the value of past experiences often occur with frontal lobe dysfunction.
So I'm going to write a long response to the reviews for my recent adaptation of JANE EYRE, and I've been going over the three we received.
I have noticed in the past that off-off Broadway reviewers are careless about getting the facts straight. I fired off an email to one reviewer of my TAM LIN because he literally got ten points of fact wrong. And the JANE reviewers were almost as bad. Here is example one:
We meet Edward Rochester (Greg Oliver Bodine), a well to do bachelor calling out the name "Jane" without receiving a response.
WRONG. He DOES receive a response. The reviewer starts off by bitching about our technical issues - she came to the very first performance - but that was not a technical problem. When Rochester calls Jane's name, she responds by calling "Where are you." Everybody in the theatre heard it BUT this reviewer.
The same reviewer claimed that nobody during that period wore bangs, as our Jane did. Wrong again.
But reviewers, at least off-off Broadway reviewers, don't give a damn about facts. Clearly they are frustrated fiction authors.
One of the crew had her eye on this reviewer and said she came in to the show looking half awake right from the beginning. Clearly she didn't take her job too seriously.
I will say that the number one problem of reviewers of this particular play is that none of them, whatever else they may claim, has read, or remembered the original novel "Jane Eyre." They don't compare adaptations of "Jane Eyre" to the original work, they compare them to other adaptations. This is especially irritating because in my opinion, so many adaptors just get it wrong.
I saw Polly Teale's stage adaptation, and it was so wrong in so many ways, but primarily because Teale basically changes the meaning of the story by turning Bertha Mason, the crazy wife, into Jane's alter ego. But it's all psycho-drama pseudo-Freudian and the pretentious critics think that's so kewl and cutting edge. Never mind that it has nothing to do with Bronte's vision.
Here's critic and Bronte biographer Lucasta Miller:
When the madwoman is discovered and the wedding between Jane and Rochester broken off, the implication of the Shared Experience production (of Teale's adaptation) is that Jane runs away because she cannot face her own passions. We are left feeling that she should have followed her instinct and united herself with Rochester anyway - that it was only fear and repression that stopped her from becoming his lover. However, this suggests a rather anachronistic view of sex outside marriage. In the original text, Jane's escape from Thornfield is presented not just as tragic self-denial but as an act of empowering self-assertion.
And I won't even get into Teale's staging concepts, like having the actor playing Rochester ride piggyback on the actor playing his horse, while an actor playing Pilot the dog runs around on all fours barking. (shudder) I bet a million bucks Bronte would have been appalled by that.
A major problem of depending on adaptations rather than the original text is the view of Rochester. From Orson Wells on down, Rochester has rarely been portrayed as Bronte wrote him - not even close. The model seems to be more Heathcliff from Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights" and so one critic complained that our Rochester wasn't "dark" enough. Well, more on that in my proper essay, hopefully soon...
It's interesting to compare the proposal scene from Wells' version with the recent BBC's version. While Wells does it 1-2-3, boom lighting, the Beeb's version draws it the hell out. I also think Ruth Wilson is too whiny AND it annoys the hell out of me that she asks "do you think I am a machine" rather than the original "an automaton."
If I kissed your sensitive fingertips; Hugged you from behind, my chest to your back; If I heard words of sweetness from your lips; If you made love to me - the Earth would crack. If I were to caress your face and hair Or you on impulse kissed my hand, again, The whole universe had better beware - Moons would explode, and stars would collide then; Volcanoes erupt; swarms of bees would sting; Suns would go supernovea - planets roast; Saruman would recover the One Ring, Human civilization would be toast. We can never together skyclad lie. Small price to save the world, to make me cry.
Surprisingly funny! Thanks to Bruce Barton for the link.
The actual lyrics:
O Fortuna, velut Luna statu variabilis, semper crescis aut decrescis; vita detestabilis nunc obdurat et tunc curat ludo mentis aciem; egestatem, potestatem, dissolvit ut glaciem.
Sors immanis et inanis, rota tu volubilis, status malus, vana salus semper dissolubilis; obumbrata et velata mihi quoque niteris; nunc per ludum dorsum nudum fero tui sceleris.
Sors salutis et virtutis mihi nunc contraria; est affectus et defectus semper in angaria. hac in hora sine mora cordae pulsum tangite! quod per sortem sternit fortem, mecum omnes plangite!
Translation:
O Fortune, like the moon of ever changing state, you are always waxing or waning; hateful life now is brutal, now pampers our feelings with its game; poverty, power, it melts them like ice.
Fate, savage and empty, you are a turning wheel, your position is uncertain, your favour is idle and always likely to disappear; covered in shadows and veiled you bear upon me too; now my back is naked through the sport of your wickedness.
The chance of prosperity and of virtue is not now mine; whether willing or not, a man is always liable for Fortune's service. At this hour without delay touch the strings! Because through luck she lays low the brave, all join with me in lamentation!
Video clips from the NYCPlaywrights Spring Fundraiser
My play FOX FORCE FIVE - based on a true story. Watch a clip from FFF - Quicktime .mov format, 1.7 MB We were short one female actor so Mike Selkirk is playing a woman in this reading. Also on the clip - Valerie David, center, and Lori Kee, on the right, plus the voice of Alan Gary.
My MR. BLACK - also based on a true story. Watch a clip from Mr. Black - Quicktime .mov format, 2.2 MB Mike Selkirk as Mr. Black, with Reagan Wilson and Bruce Barton.
In our endeavor we are never seeing eye to eye No guts to serve us so forever may we wave goodbye And you're always telling me that it's my turn to move When I wonder what could make the needle jump the groove
I won't fall for the oldest trick in the book So don't sit there and think you're off of the hook By saying there is no use changing 'cause
That's just what you are That's just what you are
Acting steady always ready to defend your fears What's the matter with the truth, did I offend your ears By suggesting that a change might be a thing to try Like it would kill you just to try and be a nicer guy
It's not like you would lose some critical piece If somehow you moved point A to point B Maintaining there is no point changing 'cause
That's just what you are That's just what you are
Now I could talk to you till I'm blue in the face But we still would arrive at the very same place With you running around and me out of the race
So maybe you're right, nobody can take Something older than time and hope you could make It better, that would be a mistake
So take it just so far
'Cause that's just what you are That's just what you are That's just what you are
Acting steady always ready to defend your fears What's the matter with the truth, did I offend your ears You're like a sleepwalking man, it's a danger to wake you Even when it is apparent where your actions will take you
That's just what you are And that's just what you are That's just what you are That's just what you are
Speaking of talented people I know... by day Reagan Wilson is a business woman, by nights a Renaissance woman of the legitimate thee-aye-tah, but OTHER nights she metaphorphoses into The Lovely Rae, goddess of nouveau burlesque!
She also kept me sane during the JANE EYRE run in the face of onrushing arrogance, galloping obnoxiousness and an infestation of snakes, and for that alone she deserves a Nobel Prize.
One of the actors in my recent JANE EYRE production, Nat Cassidy, (he played St. John Rivers, the hot but Christo-fascist minister who almost takes Jane away to India) is not only a great actor*, he's a great songwriter too. And my very most favorite song of his is "Good Seeing You Again." It is by far the best song ever written by a person I actually know. And if my ex-boyfriend (when we were 16, four years before Nat was born that young bastard) singer-songwriter Dan Montgomery reads this - sorry Dan.
Nat's a huge fan of the Beatles - I mean he knows everything about them and I used to think I was the queen of Beatles trivia but now Nat is the queen.
I'm sure he doesn't mind being called "queen" since Nat is a man who loves women, so being referred to with a female term can only be a compliment. Right Nat?
You can tell the Beatles' influence on Good Seeing because of: 1. the rhythm piano that pops up after the first verse. 2. the fun backing vocals that pop up after the second verse. 3. the lyrics, which start out wonderfully ambivalent, but which, by the end of the song morph into a confession ("I've been wandering round the same old places hoping you'd pass me by") and a heartfelt, totally vulnerable plea for reconcilliation ("And I'm hoping baby you will take me back and that we can start again.")
Actually the lyrics are better than virtually any lyrics written by Paul McCartney - and I love Paul McCartney and always defend him against the John-Lennon-is-God brigade.
Good Seeing kicks into a climax right at the lyrics: "I've been wondering where you've been wandering..." It's just the greatest thing.
But enough dancing about architecture - there is a link at the top of this post, just click it and listen to an excerpt of the song. Then buy the song - at 69 cents you can't afford not to.
Here are the lyrics, posted by permission, thanks Nat: I'm sorry if it seemed imperfect I hope you know to me it's worth it I'm sorry if you can't get over what I mighta done.
I'm sorry for the angry letters. At least they made me feel much better. And maybe we can chalk it all up to being said in fun.
Cause it was good seeing you again. And I hope this time we can be friends. And I'm sorry for all the times I done yah wrong And I hope we can start again.
I think the torch has finally gone out And now your picture don't hold much clout Cause there's no sense in sitting home wondering what you coulda changed
I mean you really fucked me up good And made me feel what no man ever should But baby I'd still take you back yes that means I'm just deranged.
And it was good seeing you again And I hope this time we can be friends. And I'm sorry bout the time I almost killed your dog And I hope we can start again.
(musical interlude)
Cause I've been wondering where you've been wandering And I've been wondering what you've been wondering Cause I've been walking round the same old places Hoping you'd pass me by Cause life's been nothing since the day you took off And the grief just ain't something that can be shook off And I've been hoping that maybe you would just give it a try.
And it was good seeing you again And I hope this time we can be friends. And I'm hoping baby you will take me back And that we can start again. Baby. Baby.
Since reading Mamet's OLEANNA, I've pretty much felt that David Mamet was a reactionary, especially when it comes to evolving gender roles. And recently he came out, in an article in the Village Voice, as a bona fide conservative.
So I really hate to agree with him about anything. But the article he wrote for The Guardian is right on as far as acting goes. Here is an excerpt:
How do great screen actors portray the truth? By withholding emotion
There is a wonderful old weeper called Penny Serenade. Here we have Irene Dunne and Cary Grant. Their little girl has died in the Great Tokyo Earthquake of nineteen-twenty-something, and they are, of course, bereft.
They are awarded provisional custody of a young orphan, and raise her for four years. Grant then loses his job - it is the Depression - and the orphanage informs him that he is therefore likely to lose custody of his daughter.
He goes to the judge and pleads. Now pleading is, in my experience, the hardest thing for any actor to do. It involves, onstage or off, complete self-abasement and (again whether in life or on stage) is very painful. Most actors, asked to plead, will counterfeit the act. This is called "indicating", and means creation of a recognisable rendition of the action required by the script. Grant, in a magnificent piece of acting, actually pleads. He bares his soul before the judge, who holds the fate of his daughter in his hands.
The performance, however, that I count as ethereal is that occurring behind him.
Beulah Bondi, playing the head of the orphanage, has, through the film, championed the cause of Grant and Dunne. She has told them that the chances of the judge awarding the little girl to a family with no income are nil. She accompanies Grant to the chambers, and sits far off in the background to watch the proceedings.
We know she is disposed toward the supplicant, we see that she has no wish to influence the judge. We understand that she feels that any emotion, utterance, any comment whatever would be detrimental to the case of the pleader; and, further, that she believes in the system as constituted - she has intervened to what she considers the limit of the acceptable, and, though it is painful, she will now withhold herself from the necessary operation of the court.
She accomplishes all this through sitting and watching.
He specifies screen actors, but I think it's true, if perhaps to a lesser extent, for stage actors as well.
One of the things that used to drive me crazy when I was producing my play TAM LIN was that it was always so tough to get the actor playing the lead role of Janet to follow the stage directions as written in order for her characterization to have the right impact.
In the play, Janet's father Lord Dunbar, a Scottish warlord, has decided it would be in his own best political interest to marry his youngest daughter Janet to his ally Lord Aberdeen. Janet doesn't know about his plan, and has previously indicated to her lady-in-waiting that she considers him an old man (although Margaret, the lady-in-waiting is in love with Aberdeen from afar, but that's another plot development.
So when Janet does get the news it goes like this:
(Janet is in shock, and just stands there, until Margaret leads her to Aberdeen.)
DUNBAR The Lord and Lady of Carterhaugh.
(All except Aberdeen and Janet applaud.)
ABERDEEN What does my Lady Aberdeen say? Do you like the sound of that? Lady Aberdeen?
(At the question, Janet, still in shock, silently exits.)
I had several different young women play the role and every single damn time I had to tell them, directly or through the director, that they had to JUST STAND THERE IN SHOCK. None of them would do it the first time around. They had to roll their eyes or pout or look in open-mouthed amazement at Margaret or any number of things except stand there in shock. The role allowed for plenty of animation both before and after this moment, which is why doing nothing was so effective. But they NEVER got that until I painstakingly explained it to them. Oy.
Mamet also has some interesting things to say about pleading. One of the biggest challenges for the actor who played Rochester in my recent JANE EYRE was the monologue where Rochester tries to convince Jane that his behavior (trying to marry Jane while he had a wife, albeit a barking mad wife, alive and living in the attic) was understandable, forgivable and that furthermore she should come away with him to France and live in sin (from Jane's perspective) because in spite of any technicalities, Jane and he were truly husband and wife.
I explained up front to him that Rochester was basically pleading his case, almost as if he was a defense lawyer and Jane was a judge. He seemed to find this offensive and we had an argument - although in retrospect I believe now that he was influenced by another actor in the cast who kept trying to direct the play for me. Does David Mamet ever have to deal with bullshit like that? In any case, eventually Rochester and I came to an agreement, and the scene was pretty effective on stage.
In “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” the lucky guy is Peter (the screenwriter Jason Segel), whose stunning conquest, Rachel (Mila Kunis), is so out of his league as to be in another universe. No matter. Peter snags this prize specifically because - from his full-frontal nudity to his penchant for hugs and voluble crying jags, for which he's literally mistaken for a woman - he’s basically another chick, or what Arnold Schwarzenegger once called a girlie man. (The softly plumped Mr. Segel even looks as if he could fit into an A cup.) In one scene Peter goes swimming with Rachel only to end up clinging to the side of a cliff. Rachel, who has already taken the plunge, laughingly yells up at him, "I can see your vagina!"
Better a virtual vagina, I suppose, than none at all. Last year only 3 of the 20 highest-grossing releases in America were female-driven, and involve a princess ("Enchanted") or pregnancy ("Knocked Up" and "Juno"). Actresses had starring roles in about a quarter of the next 80 highest-grossing titles, mostly in dopey romantic comedies and dopier thrillers. A number of these were among the worst-reviewed movies of the year, including "Premonition" (Sandra Bullock) and "The Reaping" (Hilary Swank), the last of which was released by - ta-da! - Warner Brothers. The days of "Million Dollar Baby," for which Ms. Swank won an Oscar, and "Speed," which rocketed Ms. Bullock to stardom in the summer of 1994, feel long gone.
There may be more women working in the industry now — Amy Pascal is a co-chairman of Sony Pictures Entertainment — but you wouldn’t know it from what's on the screen. The reasons are complex and certainly beyond the scope of a seasonal rant like this one. Some point to the lack of female directors, whose numbers in both the mainstream and independent realms hover at around 6 percent. Others blame the female audience, though the success of “Baby Mama” indicates — just as the summer hit "The Devil Wears Prada" suggested two years ago — that if given something decent that speaks to their lives and lets them leave the theater without feeling slimed, women will turn out. The Apatow she-male isn’t bad, but give me the real deal any day.
One thing I meant to blog about was the antagonism between Jon Stewart and Judd Apatow when the latter appeared on The Daily Show . Although maybe it's wishful thinking on my part - I already think Jon Stewart is amazing, dare I hope that he's so cool that he also dislikes Judd Apatow, the People's Asshole? Oh Jon Stewart, you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you!
The easiest money I've ever made as a writer was the short story I sold to Freshmen a gay men's erotica mag in the 1990s. My story, "Wildwood Summer" was published in the October 1996 issue.
I just re-read my story, and it's not bad, as a story. In fact it's kind of funny how much of the story is not about sex, although the sex bits are quite explicit.
My nom de plume was Eric Lahr, which is an anagram of the name Earl Rich, the insanely sexy married man I was pining for at the time. I never got to show him the published story though - he died a month before the issue came out, in a motorcycle accident.
I'm very big with sublimating my desires into art, and this story is another example. It is a story about two guys, Vinny and Woody, and I lived vicariously through Vinny and Woody was a stand-in for Earl. Not that Earl was gay, although lots of gay men had crushes on him. But Earl liked to surf down the Jersey shore, and his wife was named Michele, with one "L" just like Woody's girlfriend in the story.
At the time I wrote this, I thought I was a real trailblazer, a straight woman writing gay erotica. But actually the fan fiction sub-genre known as "slash" had been around for years. Since then I wrote a play about two women writing a story together called THE SLASH, which I self-produced in 2004. It was later produced by Looking Glass theatre, but I try to forget about that experience, since the director had no respect for me, casting one of the worst actors ever in one of the roles, and then inserting a line from Brokeback Mountain ("I wish I could quit you") for the last performance. One more lousy experience with a director, which is why I direct my stuff myself.
I rarely write anything these days besides playscripts, blog posts, and technical manuals. And actually I'm not a big fiction reader - most fiction bores me. But I do love four particular novels.
I've already adapted two of those four into plays - JANE EYRE and HUCK FINN. I have no desire to adapt "To Kill a Mockingbird" since a good adaptation has already been done, and I can't adapt "Catcher in the Rye" because nobody is permitted to do such a thing. My four favorite novels are all written in first-person, and so is my Wildwood story, and looking at it now, it's funny how much my style is influenced by Catcher. My Vinny sounds like a half-Irish half-Italian gay Holden Caulfield.
I always find it easier to adapt novels into plays than writing original plots. I think I'll adapt my own story into a play.
"Wildwood Summer" is about being true to yourself. And hot manly sex.
Here's how it begins:
This is the story of two guys, Vinny and Woody. I'm Vinny. I met Woody last summer while I was working down the shore in Wildwood, NJ. My job was renting out beach umbrellas and Boogie boards. I liked my job - it paid enough to cover another semester at Rutgers, and I got to hang out on the beach. One thing I especially liked about Wildwood was that it was full of Italian guys. I'm half Italian myself, which is why I tan so deeply, and I'm half Irish, which is why I have the blue eyes. You'll hate me for this, but I'm in great shape and I don't even work out that much. I have one of these wiry, muscular physiques. I know it sounds conceited, but I'm just telling you how it is.
The day I met Woody was typical: I got up, showered, and put on my swim trunks, a pair of flip-flops, shades, and a gold chain with my apartment key around my neck. Then it was off to work. I got to the beach by 11 a.m.
By 2 that day I was bored. I was standing there slathering some more lotion on my smooth pecs when along comes this dork of a customer. At least I thought he was a dork at first because he was wearing a white terry-cloth robe and a straw hat. But when he got up close, I could see that he was a damn cute guy. In this soft, husky voice, he said he wanted to rent an umbrella. I had him sign my clipboard. His name was Woodrow Brooke Lovejoy III.
"That's some name you got," I said. I bet old Lovejoy didn't have to work for his college education; his name said money loud and clear. "Yeah, I guess. They call me Woody." He smiled this crooked little smile that made my...
If you want to read the version published in the magazine you can email me at nancy at mergatroyd dot org and I'll tell you where you can read it online.
The Democrats have been offering real plans in response; they’re not perfect, but they are serious.
The G.O.P., by contrast — and this goes as much for Mr. McCain as for the Bush administration — hasn’t even tried to address concerns about coverage. Instead, it has all been about costs, which Republicans insist (wrongly) can be dramatically reduced by a policy of, you guessed it, deregulation and tax cuts.
Until a few days ago, the only answer the McCain campaign offered to those worried about lack of coverage was the vague, implausible assertion that the magic of the marketplace would make health care cheap enough for everyone to afford.
Now Mr. McCain has admitted that maybe a government program is needed for those who can’t get private insurance. This appears to be a response to criticism from Elizabeth Edwards, who has been pointing out that deregulated insurers would deny coverage to anyone with, say, a history of cancer — a category that includes both her and Mr. McCain himself. But the way Mrs. Edwards has rattled the McCain campaign is evidence of just how vulnerable he is on the issue.
The point is that the health care issue could be Exhibit A for a Democratic campaign based on the argument that they are the party of pragmatic solutions, while modern Republicans won’t even acknowledge problems that don’t fit into their rigid ideological framework.
But are Democrats ready to make that case?
To be clear, both Democratic candidates have been saying things they shouldn’t; Hillary Clinton shouldn’t have endorsed the bad idea of a gas tax holiday.
But I think Mr. Obama is doing much more harm to the Democratic cause by echoing Republican attack lines on such issues as insurance mandates and Social Security. And now he’s demonstrating his post-partisanship by giving Republicans credit for good ideas they never had.
My cheek pressed against my enemy's chest - O traitor soul please, no more wanton dreams: Parting his lips with the tip of my breast Caressing him into ecstatic screams. End this torture - I will not be a slave To his gentle firm masculinity. He hurt me sans remorse, I cannot crave Him anymore, it's pure insanity. But nights I fall into his tender arms To kiss his sweet neck I sacrifice years, Decades to know his ineffable charms. Then, in the morning, dissolve into tears. To unconsciously long - oh tawdry fate - For someone whom I most consciously hate.
I came across James Martin Capozzola's web site Rittenhouse Review today, and the article for which he won the 2002 Koufax Award (given to lefty bloggers) "Al Gore and the Alpha Girls" really speaks to me in light of recent angst I've gone through in my personal/artistic life.
This section in particular is enlightening...
Watching the media’s unrelenting pig pile on Al Gore in recent weeks revived these teenage memories, many of them unpleasant, even painful. And as I thought about the matter and observed purportedly mature men - mostly men anyway - attack Gore with a ferocity I had not witnessed since I said good-bye to the Class of 1980, I thought also of “Girls Just Want to be Mean,” an article by Margaret Talbot in the February 24 issue of the New York Times Magazine.
I found Talbot’s essay spellbinding, fascinating, and extraordinarily accurate, at least with respect to my own high school years and much of what I had heard about kids today from friends and colleagues. I was surprised to see Talbot’s piece greeted in many quarters, the predictable and otherwise, with venomous hostility and transparent denial. In the article, which was based upon visits to several schools and extensive interviews with students and teachers, Talbot identifies the characteristic traits and behavioral patterns of the most selective girls’ cliques, the members of which she refers to as “Alpha Girls” and “Queen Bees.”
Alpha Girls, Talbot wrote, armed with intelligence and cunning, devote considerable time and energy to waging complicated, intricate, and highly personalized battles with other girls of similar age, the intent of which is to damage the other girls' friendships, relationships, and reputations, all in an effort to enhance and sustain their popularity and status.
The Alphas accomplish their goals through a wide variety of means, including spreading rumors - some true or at least based on truth, others wildly false - using the power of information and the means of its distribution to assault their prey. With an uncanny ability to identify and exploit their victims’ weaknesses, their opponents’ most vulnerable Achilles’ heels, the Alphas mercilessly exclude from membership - or "merely" reduce the social standing of -- those who don't make the cut.
Membership in the group is uncompromisingly exclusive - like the all-male Augusta National Club, obvious eagerness to join is certain to result in rejection - and unquestioning loyalty to the group’s mores and agenda is required for a girl to maintain membership in good standing. Even the most petty offense - wearing the wrong clothes on the wrong day, eating the wrong food in the cafeteria or even eating in the cafeteria at all, or joining the wrong extracurricular activity, to say nothing of speaking with, or worse, dating, the wrong boy - is grounds for immediate expulsion.
Alliances, many of them temporary and fleeting, are a critical element of the Alphas’ strategy. When it suits them, Alphas will befriend a girl with whom they would not ordinarily be associated with the sole intent - not always apparent to the newly befriended girl -- of inflicting revenge and retribution on their latest victim. Although Alphas can be mean and cruel, they aren’t physical; catfights aren’t their thing. Rather than engaging in physical altercations, they rely on words, insults, rumor, gossip, innuendo, and manipulation. And the Alphas use others who are not members of the clique, including girls aspiring to this lofty status, and boys, naturally the most popular boys whenever possible, in their campaigns to ruin the reputations of others they find threatening or morally, intellectually, socially, or physically superior.
...
The Betas and the Gammas
In her Times essay, Talbot identified two other groups in the social hierarchy of high school girls: the Betas and the Gammas.
The "Beta Girls," or "Alpha Wannabees," rank just below the Alpha Girls. Although the Betas generally earn better grades than the Alphas, demonstrate greater achievement in extra-curricular activities, and typically enjoy the favor of teachers and parents, most wish desperately to become Alphas. Their self-directed, usually independent, Alpha-directed membership drives can border on the obsessive and even the pathetic. Beyond their quest for membership in the school’s highest-ranking clique, the Betas’ most clearly identifiable motivation is fear of offending the Alphas, this out of a justifiable reluctance to become the group's latest target.
Finally, according to Talbot, there are the “Gamma Girls,” girls who generally fit the standard characteristics of the familiar label, “Most Likely to Succeed.” These girls, while not the most popular or most successful girls in school, also happen to be among the most well adjusted. They view themselves and evaluate their peers on the basis of their accomplishments and personal qualities rather than their appearance or social standing; they are often the most consistently congenial girls in school, this despite their often depressed self-esteem; they form new friendships easily and end them without conflict or animosity; and their relationships are more circular than hierarchical in nature, a testament to their more advanced mental and emotional development. The Gammas differ from the Betas, however, in that the Gammas profess a complete lack of interest in becoming Alphas, and this lack of interest, sometimes affected by a few Betas, is genuine.
(My own observation, one not developed by Talbot, is that the Alphas, knowingly or not, tend to define themselves in opposition to the Gammas, those who are, in truth but in secret, the Alphas’ most dreaded adversaries. The Gammas, though, are not cognizant of this latent power and therefore are consigned to operating at an unwarranted disadvantage.)
I wasn't too satisfied with Sonnet 6 so I rewrote several bits.
Sonnet 6
My love was born out of a dream one night. It was not planned, was almost aborted, And its appearance was a sorry sight, From conception frustrated and thwarted. And my darling you did not much impress When we met, in spite of the bizarre voice Buzzing my head which I could not supress: The sound of a serpent hissing "no choice." So onto the ghastly uproar of late So brutal, wicked, envy-bile green, So purple with rage and blackened with hate, So venomous, bitter, thuggish, obscene. From this catastrophe, full, unreserved, Glows my heart in your hands, so undeserved.
God I love Spaulding Gray. I first knew of him when I was home sick from work one day and caught Lincoln Center's production of OUR TOWN on PBS. Then I saw Swimming to Cambodia and I was hooked. I even dragged my (ex) boyfriend, my daughter and her (ex) boyfriend to Manhattan (when I lived in South Jersey and had very little disposable income) to see him do his monologue "It's a Slippery Slope" back in the mid-90s.
OUR TOWN is a masterpiece and not JUST because the set and props expenses for the play are minimal - although, having just gone through an expensive costume production of JANE EYRE myself I REALLY appreciate that aspect of the play. I wrote an essay Why OUR TOWN is Great, defending the play against too-kewl hipsters.
What the hell IS IT with Nietzsche??? When guys on dating sites say they are interested in philosophy, I think, cool, maybe we can philosophize together. So I ask them, who is your favorite philosopher. They ALWAYS - and I mean every single goddam time - say 'NIETZSCHE'!!!
Not only is it tiresome but everything of value that Nietzsche ever said practically, he got from Schopenhauer. There are some people who claim to be interested in philosophy who don't even know who Schopenhauer is.
I find Schopenhauer a great comfort when I'm lonely, in part because few people were as lonely as Schopenhauer, who in the end was alienated from his mother, his sister, and almost everybody else, except his dog Atma.
Some interesting comments from Schopenhauer
A man of intellect is like an artist who gives a concert without any help from anyone else, playing on a single instrument--a piano, say, which is a little orchestra in itself. Such a man is a little world in himself; and the effect produced by various instruments together, he produces single-handed, in the unity of his own consciousness. Like the piano, he has no place in a symphony: he is a soloist and performs by himself,--in solitude, it may be; or, if in company with other instruments, only as principal; or for setting the tone, as in singing. However, those who are fond of society from time to time may profit by this simile, and lay it down as a general rule that deficiency of quality in those we meet may be to some extent compensated by an increase in quantity. One man's company may be quite enough, if he is clever; but where you have only ordinary people to deal with, it is advisable to have a great many of them, so that some advantage may accrue by letting them all work together,--on the analogy of the horns; and may Heaven grant you patience for your task!
That mental vacuity and barrenness of soul to which I have alluded, is responsible for another misfortune. When men of the better class form a society for promoting some noble or ideal aim, the result almost always is that the innumerable mob of humanity comes crowding in too, as it always does everywhere, like vermin--their object being to try and get rid of boredom, or some other defect of their nature; and anything that will effect that, they seize upon at once, without the slightest discrimination. Some of them will slip into that society, or push themselves in, and then either soon destroy it altogether, or alter it so much that in the end it comes to have a purpose the exact opposite of that which it had at first.
Schopenhauer on writing It would generally serve writers in good stead if they would see that, whilst a man should, if possible, think like a great genius, he should talk the same language as everyone else. Authors should use common words to say uncommon things. But they do just the opposite. We find them trying to wrap up trivial ideas in grand words, and to clothe their very ordinary thoughts in the most extraordinary phrases, the most far-fetched, unnatural, and out-of-the-way expressions. Their sentences perpetually stalk about on stilts. They take so much pleasure in bombast, and write in such a high-flown, bloated, affected, hyperbolical and acrobatic style that their prototype is Ancient Pistol, whom his friend Falstaff once impatiently told to say what he had to say _like a man of this world._[1]
[Footnote 1: _King Henry IV_., Part II. Act v. Sc. 3.]
My love was born out of a dream one night It was not planned, was almost aborted And its appearance was a sorry sight, From conception frustrated and thwarted. And you my darling, did not impress me When first we met and made conversation. But time will tell, so inevitably, My great wish for a closer relation. And the tempest that followed was ghastly It was brutish, and envy-bile green, Purple with rage and black with hate, lastly Venomous, bitter, thuggish and obscene. From this disaster, foolish, unreserved shines my heart in your hands, so undeserved.
Fans of Buffy the Vampire Slayer may remember the episode where Spike has a dream about Buffy and then wakes up, completely freaked out, realizing he's in love with her and says "oh god no, please no." That's sort of what happened to me.
When Specialist Jeremy Hall held a meeting last July for atheists and freethinkers at Camp Speicher in Iraq, he was excited, he said, to see an officer attending.
But minutes into the talk, the officer, Maj. Freddy J. Welborn, began to berate Specialist Hall and another soldier about atheism, Specialist Hall wrote in a sworn statement. “People like you are not holding up the Constitution and are going against what the founding fathers, who were Christians, wanted for America!” Major Welborn said, according to the statement.
Major Welborn told the soldiers he might bar them from re-enlistment and bring charges against them, according to the statement.
During the closing days of the Pennsylvania primary fight, the Obama campaign ran a TV ad repeating the dishonest charge that the Clinton plan would force people to buy health insurance they can’t afford. It was as negative as any ad that Mrs. Clinton has run — but perhaps more important, it was fear-mongering aimed at people who don’t think they need insurance, rather than reassurance for families who are trying to get coverage or are afraid of losing it.
No wonder, then, that older Democrats continue to favor Mrs. Clinton.
The question Democrats, both inside and outside the Obama campaign, should be asking themselves is this: now that the magic has dissipated, what is the campaign about? More generally, what are the Democrats for in this election?
That should be an easy question to answer. Democrats can justly portray themselves as the party of economic security, the party that created Social Security and Medicare and defended those programs against Republican attacks — and the party that can bring assured health coverage to all Americans.
They can also portray themselves as the party of prosperity: the contrast between the Clinton economy and the Bush economy is the best free advertisement that Democrats have had since Herbert Hoover.
But the message that Democrats are ready to continue and build on a grand tradition doesn’t mesh well with claims to be bringing a “new politics” and rhetoric that places blame for our current state equally on both parties.
And unless Democrats can get past this self-inflicted state of confusion, there’s a very good chance that they’ll snatch defeat from the jaws of victory this fall.
The Dramatists Guild was giving away tickets to see Beebo Brinker the off-Broadway production of the off-off Broadway cult hit, so I took my daughter to see it, since she read the original Beebo Brinker lesbian pulp fiction that the play was based on.
At the end of my recent JANE EYRE run, one of the actors emailed me and said I should feel proud of my accomplishment. At the time I was feeling very down since several of the actors in the JANE production had turned out to be huge creeps in my book, and it made me very depressed. But in retrospect, and after seeing BEEBO, he's right.
I can't claim to be impartial, but I really think that JANE was a better play. And not just because of the script, but because of everything.
I'm sure BEEBO has a much bigger budget than JANE had, and it is off-Broadway whereas JANE was off-off Broadway.
The BEEBO set was more minimalistic than Jane - although they did have a nifty bed that pulled out from below a set of stairs. But in general the set looked very cold and empty. While the BEEBO play, when it was on the right track, was hot and busy.
I think that the JANE set was just minimal enough to be versatile, but not so minimal that it took away from the script.
Our location was much better too, which was worth it even though I practically paid for the theatre in my own blood it was so damn expensive. But it was right down the street from the Al Hirshfeld, a bona fide Broadway theatre.
And the acting in JANE, for the most part, was every bit as good as the BEEBO acting. Although the BEEBO cast included Bill Dawes, my MySpace friend. Who looks very hot without a shirt, I might add. He had to play the straight man in BEEBO (in both senses of the word) but he's really funny, althought a little defensive about teh gay..
DOWD: Is he skittish around her because he knows that she detests him and he's used to charming everyone? Or does he feel guilty that he cut in line ahead of her? As the husband of Michelle, does he know better than to defy the will of a strong woman? Or is he simply scared of Hillary because she's scary?
Yeah, of course—that’s probably it! Readers, it all becomes so clear when somebody finally says it!
This year’s campaign has shown what can happen when a party has two closely-matched candidates. There are potential downsides for the party, as anyone can see. But journos like Dowd think it’s their role to demand that the person they hate should just quit. Those million-plus Democrats don’t exist in Dowd’s world. In Dowd’s world, Dowd wants Clinton to quit. And so, by the laws of childish dreams, “the Democrats” must want that too.
*****
And he has that right - Dowd HATES Hillary Clinton. Which is yet one more reason why you know Clinton will make a good president.
Sociopaths don't have normal affection with other people. They don't feel attached to others. They don't feel love. And that is why they don't have a conscience. If you harmed someone, even someone you didn't know, you would feel guilt and remorse. Why? Because you have a natural affinity for other human beings. You know how it feels to suffer, to fear, to feel anguish. You care about others. And if you hurt someone you love, the guilt and remorse would be very bad because of your affection for him or her. Take that attachment and affection away and you take away remorse, guilt, and any kind of normal feelings of fairness. That's a sociopath.
and
WHAT DO THEY WANT?
This is an interesting question. Of course most people have purposes that are strongly influenced by our connections and affections with others. Our relationships with others, and our love for them, give us most of the meaning in life. So if a sociopath doesn't have these things, what is left? What kind of purposes do they have? The answer is chilling: They want to win. Take away love and relationships and all you have left is winning the game, whatever the game is decided to be. If they are in business, it is becoming rich. If it is sibling rivalry, it is defeating the sibling. If it is a contest, the goal is to dominate. If a sociopath is the envious sort, winning would be making the other lose, or fail, or be frustrated, or embarrassed.
A sociopath's goal is to win. And he is willing to do anything at all to win. And sociopaths have nothing else to think about, so they can be very clever and conniving. Sociopaths are not busy being concerned with relationships or moral dilemmas or conflicting feelings, so they have much more time to think about clever ways to gain your trust and stab you in the back, and how to do it without anyone knowing what's happening.
On the surface, sociopaths may, at first and even for a long time, appear to function smoothly. Their manners are impeccable; they are well groomed; they fulfill the codes of romance and courtship to a tee. They are likely to be eloquent talkers who lace their speech with impressive sounding facts and figures. They may be fun, laugh a lot, sweep you off your feet with their sweetness. They may also seem ambitious, driven, and fond of grand, impetuous schemes for their success. Unfortunately, this behavior is an act for the sociopath. It is simply a means to getting what they want without thought to future consequences or your feelings.
Thinking of I, Claudius, I remembered just how damn freaky that show could get. This is one of the best scenes - Claudius and two other noble Romans are waiting fearfully for an audience with Caligula, hoping they won't be executed - suddenly Caligula appears as...
I mentioned previously that I cannot understand shameless people. Maybe because as a Catholic - well, ex-Catholic - I was taught to feel shame under almost any circumstances.
A little while ago I sent an email to an actor, telling her that she had contributed to making a production a miserable experience for me - I am not one to leave people wondering what I think of them.
Now if somebody had said that I had made them miserable, my first response would be utter shock and dismay. My second response would be to contact the person as soon as possible and ask them why they felt that way, since I hadn't intended to make them miserable.
This actor's response was utter silence. I find this utterly incomprehensible. How could she not respond?
Is it because making me miserable was exactly what she had wanted? And her silence was an admission of guilt?
People who are not evil are invariably at a disadvantage when they come up against evil people - because non-evil people find it so difficult to believe that evil people could possibly be so evil.
I feel like Caesar's foolish but forthright daughter Julia when she came up against the scheming Livia in I, Claudius.
Sitting down by my window, Whoa, whoa, looking at the rain. Whoa, down by my window, baby, And all around me, I said suddenly I felt the rain. Somethin' grabbed a hold of me, darling, Honey, it felt to me, honey like, yeah, a ball and chain. Oh honey, you know what I mean, It just hurts me.
Say, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, honey, it can't be Whoa, it can't be, babe, Said no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, hey. Whoa, baby, it just can't be Every time I want to reach out my hand. No, no, no, no, no, babe, baby, never, no, no, Never, never, no, no, no. Here you gone today, but I wanted to love you, darling, Oh, till the end of time, Yeah! All right!
Love's got a hold on me baby Feels like a ball and chain. Oh, love just draggin' me down, yeah yeah yeah, Feels like, honey sometimes it feels honey like a ball, yeah like a ball and a chain Wonder why when I did the very best I could to love you You wanted to leave me here, honey in so much pain Come on, honey, I want you to tell me, please, yeah.
Say oh, oh, oh, oh, Honey this can't be No, no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no yeah. Whoa, whoa, whoa Honey, this can't be just because I want to want you Does this mean I have to hide to cry, cry all the time ? I just wanted to love you, darling, Every day, oh, whoa, till the, to the very end, to the end of time, Yeah, no no no no no, hit it!
Love's got a hold on me, baby, Feels like a ball and chain. Oh, love's holdin' on to me, Feels to me, oh like a ball and a chain Honey somethin' will grab around the knees, grab me in my heart, Feels to me like a ball and a chain now, Yeah, alright, yeah!
Say oh, oh oh oh, Honey this can't be Tell me please what am I askin' now, It can't be babe I know it just can't be, darling, no no. Whoa whoa whoa, whoa darling don't you feel me reachin' out Tell me, tell me, darling please Tell, tell, tell me darling please, I'm gonna need it, I want you to hear me baby Tell me why, sometimes darling I said sometimes I feel I got to know why Sometimes I feel, honey, honey that I need to know why I said baby when I ask you I could use a little help sometime When I say, I say tell me, come on man, Tell me, tell me, babe, Honey I never understood, why when I want to work my hands out, I want to wear my hands out, I try the very best I can, babe Why you always want to go, honey and let me down baby. I said why I always wanna go, honey drag me around. Seems like anything, it could be the telephone company man, it could be the man I love, I always got something else going, you know what I mean ? Over on the other side, say, not quite got it right this very minute. I'm so sorry babe, I said I'm so very sorry babe, But I never did promise you nothing, right ? I see what you mean. Come on, man, now come on, that ain't the name of it, And that ain't the end of it, you know what I mean. Sometimes, it feels just about breaking things, you know what I mean. Just like, just like a grave, just like a grave to call Just like a cry to call. Honey I never understood and I said please Lord, I swear I never understood and I say please I want you to help me, fill it up baby, I want you to help me, I said allow me to hear Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, Honey make me understand why love just feels so heavy on me, darling, Feels so bad on my back, babe, Feels just like a ball, Feels like a ball, ball, oh daddy feels like a ball, And a chain.
It doesn't hurt me. You want to feel, how it feels? You want to know, know that it doesn't hurt me? You want to hear about the deal I'm making. You, You and me
And if I only could, Make a deal with God, Get him to swap our places, Be running up that road, Be running up that hill, Be running up that building. If I only could
You don't want to hurt me, But see how deep the bullet lies. Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder. There is thunder in our hearts, baby
So much hate for the ones we love? Tell me, we both matter, don't we? You, It's you and me It's You and me, won't be unhappy
And if I only could, I'd make a deal with God, And get him to swap our places, Be running up that road, Be running up that hill, Be running up that building. If I only could
Come on, baby, come on, come on, darling, Let me steal this moment from you now. Come on angel, come on, come on, darling, Let's exchange the experience
And if I only could, I'd make a deal with God, And get him to swap our places, Be running up that road, Be running up that hill, With no problems.
And if I only could, Make a deal with God, And I'd get him to swap our places, Be running up that road, Be running up that hill, With no problems.
If I only could, be running up that hill If I only could, be running up that hill If I only could, be running up that hill If I only could, be running up that hill If I only could, be running up that hill If I only could, be running up that hill If I only could, be running up that hill
My next production will be HUCK FINN in Central Park. The audience at the Metropolitan Playhouse's Twainathon seemed to really like my HUCK. Even the guy running the festival told a mutual acquaintance he thought it was a great adaptation - even though he apparently loathed me personally, because he thinks I'm a "control freak." In addition to the fact that you really can't exert too much control when you're the playwright/director/producer - as I found out with my JANE EYRE production - he based his assessment of my control freakyness on the fact that I asked him a bunch of questions at the outset of the production - since asking questions is how you learn things, especially when the person in charge isn't giving you the information you need. Argh.
Avoiding unpleasant people and not getting sued, are big reasons why I do the whole producing/directing/writing thing myself.
The big advantage of doing a show in Central Park is you don't have to fork over thousands of dollars for the space, like you do if you rent a theatre in Manhattan. Theatre rental is usually half the budget or more.
So in late summer, look for HUCK FINN in Central Park.
Listen to the song 'I Need a Man' - the lyrics don't come anywhere near conveying the power of the song. The lyrics do show that loneliness and desire for a romantic partner is nothing new - but Janis's performance gets the intensity of the feeling across like nobody else - maybe ever.
Whoa, I need a man to love me. Don’t you understand me, baby ? Why, I need a man to love. I gotta find him, I gotta have him like the air I breathe. One lovin' man to understand can’t be too much to need.
You know it Can't be now Oh no Can’t be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be this loneliness Baby, surrounding me.
No, no, know it just can't be No it just can’t be There’s got to be some kind of answer. No it just can't be And everywhere I look, there's none around No it just can't be Whoa, it can’t be No it just can’t be, oh no! Whoa, hear me now.
Whoa, won’t you let me hold you ? Honey, just close your eyes. Whoa, won’t you let me hold you, dear? I want to just put my arms around ya, like the circles going 'round the sun. Let me hold you daddy, at least until the morning comes.
Because it Can't be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be this loneliness Baby, surrounding me. No, no, no it just can't be. No it just can't be Oh, baby, baby, baby, baby, just can't be. No, no, no No it just can't be
And why can't anyone ever tell me, now ? No it just can't be I wake up one morning, I realize No it just can't be Whoa, it can't be. No it just can't be Now go!
Whoa, I need a man to love me Oh, maybe you can help me, please. Why, I need a man to love. But I believe that someday and somehow it's bound to come along Because when all my dreams and all my plans just cannot turn out wrong.
You know it Can't be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be now Oh no Can't be just loneliness Baby, surrounding
Speaking of talented people I know... by day Reagan Wilson is a business woman, by nights a Renaissance woman of the legitimate thee-aye-tah, but OTHER nights she metaphorphoses into 
