Thursday, January 29, 2009
Luba Mason in Chicago
Here's a little clip I thought some would find interesting in light of the two AUTOGRAPHED Luba Mason Krazy Love CDs I'm giving away (courtesy of Miles High Productions).
Krazy Love dropped January 27, 2009, and it is a departure for Mason’s Broadway fans as she explores a Brazilian-tinged jazz side to her talents in an album that is largely of her own writing.
How to Enter
No need to sign up for any annoying newsletters or to create some stupid password you’ll never remember. To win one of two autographed copies of Luba Mason’s Krazy Love CD, just write a paragraph telling me about your favorite Broadway memory.
I’ve often written on here about my favorite Broadway (or Broadway tour) memories—seeing Carol Channing in Hello, Dolly! or almost crying during “It’s Your Wedding Day” in The Wedding Singer. Tell me what your favorite experience was and then explain how that show, performance, song, or whatever affected you in a paragraph.
The two winning entries will be edited for content and clarity and posted next week. Enter by Friday, January 30, 2009, by emailing me at broadwayloudmouth@yahoo.com. Send me your paragraph and your first name, and if you are a winner, I will email you on Monday to get your address for mailing you your autographed Krazy Love CD. Then, look for my review of the CD early next week.
the Broadway Mouth
January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Broadway as an Educational Tool 2: Jason Robert Brown's "Stars and the Moon" . . . in Kiddie Jail
There are some things you only do for money. Prostitution and teaching in a juvenile detention center are high on the list. I think dressing in that spider costume from Tarzan might be on there somewhere as well (but no judgments). Selling drugs is high on that list too, I think, and if you're under eighteen, it comes with no 401K but a great free meal plan in a juvenile detention center.
Let me start at the beginning. I first encountered Jason Robert Brown's song "Stars and the Moon" on Audra McDonald's first solo CD, Way Back to Paradise. In fact, hearing his work on that album was one of the main reasons I made it to Parade on tour (that and seeing the performance on the Tony Awards).
"Stars and the Moon" is a song about a woman who wants to marry for money. On the road of life, she encounters men who offer her excitement, romance, and adventure, but they don't have what she really wants in life. Finally, she accepts the proposal of a rich man who provides her with a life of the rich and indulgent. By the end of the song, however, she looks back on her life of wealth and security and realizes all the things she's missed out on. It's a beautiful and moving song, starting with a soothing and memorable piano intro, and topped, of course, by McDonald's stunning voice and interpretation.
I first taught "Stars and the Moon" to low-ability sophomores my first two years of teaching. In that class, I was always trying new works to pull the kids in. Some things were effective--Sherman Alexie, short plays, short stories dealing with gangs--some things were not--Maya Angelou, anything in the literature book, anything long. When I first selected it, my principal was coming to observe me, and I wanted something good. "Stars and the Moon" was just the thing.
I began by having my kids draw pictures of what they wanted their life to look like in fifteen years (it was always the big car, the big house, all the money), and then we'd share. When we got to the song, which I'd always play for them as they read along, we discussed the different sections of the song--looking at what each of the men are offering (i.e. what is "the open road" representing, what is meant by the stars and the moon). Then we discussed the ending, exploring how she could be unhappy after getting exactly what she wanted. After that, we evaluated the message of the song and kids shared ideas about what is of more value, the stars and the moon or champagne.
Okay, so I'm not exactly doing justice to the lesson here, but it may help to know that my principal was very impressed with the selection, and essentially for the same reason I was, because it would speak to the kids at their level without talking down to them. There was some new vocabulary in the song, but it wasn't so far beyond them that they couldn't comprehend it. And it was high interest. Best of all, the kids really liked the song and enjoyed getting to share their ideas about the concepts in it.
"Stars and the Moon" has come in handy at all the schools I've taught at. When I taught a discussion class, I used it as a basis for the kids to enter into a discussion (and my singers were all writing down the name of the song and songwriter for later use). When I taught middle school, I used it in a unit with Our Town as a pre-read activity to get the kids thinking about what in life is of value. I also used it once in an eleventh grade unit on The Great Gatsby as a related work. The Great Gatsby is about the American Dream, and "Stars and the Moon" ties in so beautifully with that concept.
The most interesting response to the song, however, was when I taught summer school at a juvenile detention center. Talk about a horrible place to teach. The first day on the job was a training on self-defense techniques--what to do if a knife is held up to your back, what to do if a student has you by your hair, that sort of thing. We learned the different emergency codes to use (one was if you needed a student removed from your classroom, the other if you needed emergency assistance from about everyone in the building--I used that one once).
I'm an idealist, and as much as teaching wore me out more than inspired me, I really worked hard for my kids. I always put in 110% and really longed to inspire and motivate my students to become more than what they imagined they could be (I am, at heart, a nurturer).
But let me tell you, it was hard there. As everyone young and naive (or is that stupid?--I was 30) thinks, I really felt like I had the chance to change their lives. But as the days wore on, I realized the chances of that happening were slim to none. Dean (not his real name), for example, started out really eager to do work, to read, to engage in conversation, but then two days later, he was belligerent and rude and remained that way the whole five weeks. Mitch informed me that when he got out he'd go back to dealing drugs because that was the easiest thing to do and the whole time refused to do any work, to focus, or to even be pleasant. Little John was in for spray-painting a police car (he was about fourteen), and though he wanted acceptance more than anything, he could not earn anything but scorn from the older kids. He would certainly never do anything as un-cool as be respectful or do work.
And it wasn't a question of me being nice. I was so nice to those kids and did everything I knew how to do to bond with and engage them, but for the most part, it just didn't work.
When I wound up with about forty-five minutes at the end of the day with no district-endorsed curriculum (though I quickly learned the district-endorsed curriculum was worthless for these particular students anyway), I decided to round up some songs to teach. I wanted to find songs that had some literary depth to them but would speak to something about their situation in life--give them hope, give them motivation, inspire them.
I don't remember all the songs I used, but the one that the kids liked best was undoubtedly "Stars and the Moon." Here's a room with eight or so really tough kids, most of them people of color, and I'm playing for them a song performed by operatic Audra McDonald. And they liked it!
There was one kid, Jimmy, who would close his eyes and move his head to the music, playing an imaginary piano. He was trying to get a response from the other kids, but at the same time, I could tell he was connected with the music. After discussing it, he said, "That was a good song." And he wanted me to play it again.
At the end of the summer, five weeks after I had originally played "Stars and the Moon," we discussed our final song, and Jimmy asked me to play "that one with the piano." There were some new kids in the class now (there was a constant rotation of kids in and out of the detention center), and he wanted them to hear it too.
When I gave up the district-endorsed curriculum, I replaced it with high-interest articles from People and Ebony. Like the songs, I tried to find articles that gave them hope--stories about people rising out of poverty, using their time in prison to develop their talents, that sort of thing. A number of times, after reading the articles or the songs, one of the kids would say, "Are you trying to tell us something?" or "Did you pick this just for us?" I'd always answer, "No, I just thought it was interesting."
They always believed me. I don't know if that's a good thing. Yet, I still hope that one of those kids remembers something from that summer, maybe even that sacrificing your freedom and joy to make quick, easy money won't bring true contentment.
I don't know if any will, but I will always hope.
the Broadway Mouth
January 28, 2009
Note: Don't forget to enter the giveaway for one of two autographed Luba Mason Krazy Love CDs. For info, see below!
Let me start at the beginning. I first encountered Jason Robert Brown's song "Stars and the Moon" on Audra McDonald's first solo CD, Way Back to Paradise. In fact, hearing his work on that album was one of the main reasons I made it to Parade on tour (that and seeing the performance on the Tony Awards).
"Stars and the Moon" is a song about a woman who wants to marry for money. On the road of life, she encounters men who offer her excitement, romance, and adventure, but they don't have what she really wants in life. Finally, she accepts the proposal of a rich man who provides her with a life of the rich and indulgent. By the end of the song, however, she looks back on her life of wealth and security and realizes all the things she's missed out on. It's a beautiful and moving song, starting with a soothing and memorable piano intro, and topped, of course, by McDonald's stunning voice and interpretation.
I first taught "Stars and the Moon" to low-ability sophomores my first two years of teaching. In that class, I was always trying new works to pull the kids in. Some things were effective--Sherman Alexie, short plays, short stories dealing with gangs--some things were not--Maya Angelou, anything in the literature book, anything long. When I first selected it, my principal was coming to observe me, and I wanted something good. "Stars and the Moon" was just the thing.
I began by having my kids draw pictures of what they wanted their life to look like in fifteen years (it was always the big car, the big house, all the money), and then we'd share. When we got to the song, which I'd always play for them as they read along, we discussed the different sections of the song--looking at what each of the men are offering (i.e. what is "the open road" representing, what is meant by the stars and the moon). Then we discussed the ending, exploring how she could be unhappy after getting exactly what she wanted. After that, we evaluated the message of the song and kids shared ideas about what is of more value, the stars and the moon or champagne.
Okay, so I'm not exactly doing justice to the lesson here, but it may help to know that my principal was very impressed with the selection, and essentially for the same reason I was, because it would speak to the kids at their level without talking down to them. There was some new vocabulary in the song, but it wasn't so far beyond them that they couldn't comprehend it. And it was high interest. Best of all, the kids really liked the song and enjoyed getting to share their ideas about the concepts in it.
"Stars and the Moon" has come in handy at all the schools I've taught at. When I taught a discussion class, I used it as a basis for the kids to enter into a discussion (and my singers were all writing down the name of the song and songwriter for later use). When I taught middle school, I used it in a unit with Our Town as a pre-read activity to get the kids thinking about what in life is of value. I also used it once in an eleventh grade unit on The Great Gatsby as a related work. The Great Gatsby is about the American Dream, and "Stars and the Moon" ties in so beautifully with that concept.
The most interesting response to the song, however, was when I taught summer school at a juvenile detention center. Talk about a horrible place to teach. The first day on the job was a training on self-defense techniques--what to do if a knife is held up to your back, what to do if a student has you by your hair, that sort of thing. We learned the different emergency codes to use (one was if you needed a student removed from your classroom, the other if you needed emergency assistance from about everyone in the building--I used that one once).
I'm an idealist, and as much as teaching wore me out more than inspired me, I really worked hard for my kids. I always put in 110% and really longed to inspire and motivate my students to become more than what they imagined they could be (I am, at heart, a nurturer).
But let me tell you, it was hard there. As everyone young and naive (or is that stupid?--I was 30) thinks, I really felt like I had the chance to change their lives. But as the days wore on, I realized the chances of that happening were slim to none. Dean (not his real name), for example, started out really eager to do work, to read, to engage in conversation, but then two days later, he was belligerent and rude and remained that way the whole five weeks. Mitch informed me that when he got out he'd go back to dealing drugs because that was the easiest thing to do and the whole time refused to do any work, to focus, or to even be pleasant. Little John was in for spray-painting a police car (he was about fourteen), and though he wanted acceptance more than anything, he could not earn anything but scorn from the older kids. He would certainly never do anything as un-cool as be respectful or do work.
And it wasn't a question of me being nice. I was so nice to those kids and did everything I knew how to do to bond with and engage them, but for the most part, it just didn't work.
When I wound up with about forty-five minutes at the end of the day with no district-endorsed curriculum (though I quickly learned the district-endorsed curriculum was worthless for these particular students anyway), I decided to round up some songs to teach. I wanted to find songs that had some literary depth to them but would speak to something about their situation in life--give them hope, give them motivation, inspire them.
I don't remember all the songs I used, but the one that the kids liked best was undoubtedly "Stars and the Moon." Here's a room with eight or so really tough kids, most of them people of color, and I'm playing for them a song performed by operatic Audra McDonald. And they liked it!
There was one kid, Jimmy, who would close his eyes and move his head to the music, playing an imaginary piano. He was trying to get a response from the other kids, but at the same time, I could tell he was connected with the music. After discussing it, he said, "That was a good song." And he wanted me to play it again.
At the end of the summer, five weeks after I had originally played "Stars and the Moon," we discussed our final song, and Jimmy asked me to play "that one with the piano." There were some new kids in the class now (there was a constant rotation of kids in and out of the detention center), and he wanted them to hear it too.
When I gave up the district-endorsed curriculum, I replaced it with high-interest articles from People and Ebony. Like the songs, I tried to find articles that gave them hope--stories about people rising out of poverty, using their time in prison to develop their talents, that sort of thing. A number of times, after reading the articles or the songs, one of the kids would say, "Are you trying to tell us something?" or "Did you pick this just for us?" I'd always answer, "No, I just thought it was interesting."
They always believed me. I don't know if that's a good thing. Yet, I still hope that one of those kids remembers something from that summer, maybe even that sacrificing your freedom and joy to make quick, easy money won't bring true contentment.
I don't know if any will, but I will always hope.
the Broadway Mouth
January 28, 2009
Note: Don't forget to enter the giveaway for one of two autographed Luba Mason Krazy Love CDs. For info, see below!
Monday, January 26, 2009
Autographed Luba Mason Krazy Love CD Giveaway!
For those of you familiar with Luba Mason through her work as Heddy LaRue from the 1995 Broadway revival of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying (appearing on the cast album), Mason’s latest CD—Krazy Love—will seem quite the departure. As Heddy LaRue, Mason was the cure for the common secretary, the empty-headed sexpot who had her claws in boss J.B. Biggley and almost ruined things between Matthew Broderick’s J. Pierrepont Finch and Megan Mullally’s Rosemary Pilkington. Her tracks on the OBCR are in a rich, squeaky character voice.
Mason’s Broadway credits, however, show her depth as a singer and actor. Her debut had been in The Will Roger Follies, which was followed by Sunset Boulevard. After H2S, she appeared opposite Marc Anthony and Ruben Blades (who is now her husband) in Paul Simon’s controversial The Capeman, then as the big-voiced Lucy in Jekyll and Hyde. As if jumping from dancing, character, and singing parts wasn’t enough, Mason’s last appearance on Broadway was as triple-threat Velma Kelly in the popular revival of Chicago.
Krazy Love drops January 27, 2009, and it is a departure for Mason’s Broadway fans as she explores a Brazilian-tinged jazz side to her talents in an album that is largely of her own writing. Soon, I’ll be reviewing Mason’s latest work, but until then, you, dear reader, have a chance to win one of two autographed Krazy Love CDs courtesy of Miles High Productions.
How to Enter
No need to sign up for any annoying newsletters or to create some stupid password you’ll never remember. To win one of two autographed copies of Luba Mason’s Krazy Love CD, just write a paragraph telling me about your favorite Broadway memory.
I’ve often written on here about my favorite Broadway (or Broadway tour) memories—seeing Carol Channing in Hello, Dolly! or almost crying during “It’s Your Wedding Day” in The Wedding Singer. Tell me what your favorite experience was and then explain how that show, performance, song, or whatever affected you in a paragraph.
The two winning entries will be edited for content and clarity and posted next week. Enter by Friday, January 30, 2009, by emailing me at broadwayloudmouth@yahoo.com. Send me your paragraph and your first name, and if you are a winner, I will email you on Monday to get your address for mailing you your autographed Krazy Love CD. Then, look for my review of the CD early next week.
the Broadway Mouth
January 26, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Broadway as an Educational Tool 1: Elaine Stritch and The Glass Castle
One of my assistant principals (from my teaching days) always managed to observe me on a day when I was showing my students a video clip. It got to the point where we would laugh about it in my post-observation meeting. I was never big on showing entire movies (of course I usually did it once a year in most classes, incorporating it into an actual unit and making it a valuable learning activity), but I’d often show short clips and scenes to illustrate a point.
I never used Broadway clips to indoctrinate my students (though it sometimes resulted in that); I used them because when you are up until midnight trying to figure out the best way of illustrating something, you grasp on to what you know well and what will be the most effective manner of communicating the idea. As my assistant principal agreed, showing five-minute clips was much more effective than showing entire movies. I also think the Broadway clips I showed were important because it exposed the kids to art, something they wouldn’t otherwise see. I always felt like I was expanding their minds in one tiny way or another.
Elaine Stritch At Liberty came in handy when I was teaching Jeanette Walls’s The Glass Castle, her memoir of growing up in a crazy household where her parents moved constantly and required parenting themselves, often leaving their children without food, without heat in winter, without even proper garbage removal. Life begins for the Walls children as an exciting adventure as their father moves them around the country in hopes of striking it rich and inventing great things. As his dreams crumble, and he is faced with the reality of the life he has created for his children and that it is vastly different from the dreams he had, he begins to medicate with alcohol, which causes things to deteriorate even more rapidly for the children.
One of the greatest pains I experienced as a teacher was knowing that my students would spend their weekends drinking and drugging themselves up and not being able to do a single thing about it. It’s particularly troubling when you read the statistics on teen drinking and how it relates to alcohol addiction later in life. I don’t know the statistics now, but the relationship between teen drinking and adult alcoholism is astounding. In my first years of teaching, I thought if I shared with them the moderation with which I lived my life that they would see they didn’t need reckless behavior to enjoy their time on this earth. Well, that backfired quickly, and I never knew really how else to address this effectively.
I also wanted to delve into the psychology of the characters in The Glass Castle (these were eleventh graders in a class for students with low ability/achievement) without it turning into me preaching. My objective was to help them process and interpret the characters in the story while also helping them to understand the steps of addiction.
I popped in At Liberty and began by showing them the scene when Stritch has her first drink. It’s a funny memory, and the kids laughed (one said, “She’s crazy”). I have a feeling a number of them could relate to the “fun” of first getting drunk. I then showed the scene in which she’s performing in California and is forbidden from drinking backstage, to which she forges congratulatory notes on bottles of booze with rigged corks to mask the sound of opening the bottle. Again, it’s a very funny story, but Stritch hints at why she was depending on alcohol, and it begins to become apparent that this is more than a choice. I ended with the wrap party in which she starts out with one drink, and then argues with herself about having another, then another, until she almost kills herself because she lacks the control she perceives herself to be exerting. I then fast-forwarded to the part at the end of the show when she says she’s had a great life and almost missed it all.
Yeah, it was an old woman singing, and I did have to explain that she was wearing dancer’s tights and wasn’t walking around in her underwear, but it helped us enter into a discussion of the dad in The Glass Castle. It helped us engage in a discussion on the power of addictive substances, how people come to depend on them, and we looked at why both Stritch and Rex Walls came to be alcoholics. The discussion wasn’t forced, it wasn’t me preaching; it was a discussion.
I ended the unit by showing the Sherman Alexie-penned Smoke Signals, which allowed us to discuss (less vibrantly) the effect of parents and how a person’s intentions aren’t always the same as their actions. It was a good unit, and the best part was that Elaine Stritch helped me cover the topic I was least-skilled at covering. Stritchy rocks.
the Broadway Mouth
January 22, 2009
I never used Broadway clips to indoctrinate my students (though it sometimes resulted in that); I used them because when you are up until midnight trying to figure out the best way of illustrating something, you grasp on to what you know well and what will be the most effective manner of communicating the idea. As my assistant principal agreed, showing five-minute clips was much more effective than showing entire movies. I also think the Broadway clips I showed were important because it exposed the kids to art, something they wouldn’t otherwise see. I always felt like I was expanding their minds in one tiny way or another.
Elaine Stritch At Liberty came in handy when I was teaching Jeanette Walls’s The Glass Castle, her memoir of growing up in a crazy household where her parents moved constantly and required parenting themselves, often leaving their children without food, without heat in winter, without even proper garbage removal. Life begins for the Walls children as an exciting adventure as their father moves them around the country in hopes of striking it rich and inventing great things. As his dreams crumble, and he is faced with the reality of the life he has created for his children and that it is vastly different from the dreams he had, he begins to medicate with alcohol, which causes things to deteriorate even more rapidly for the children.
One of the greatest pains I experienced as a teacher was knowing that my students would spend their weekends drinking and drugging themselves up and not being able to do a single thing about it. It’s particularly troubling when you read the statistics on teen drinking and how it relates to alcohol addiction later in life. I don’t know the statistics now, but the relationship between teen drinking and adult alcoholism is astounding. In my first years of teaching, I thought if I shared with them the moderation with which I lived my life that they would see they didn’t need reckless behavior to enjoy their time on this earth. Well, that backfired quickly, and I never knew really how else to address this effectively.
I also wanted to delve into the psychology of the characters in The Glass Castle (these were eleventh graders in a class for students with low ability/achievement) without it turning into me preaching. My objective was to help them process and interpret the characters in the story while also helping them to understand the steps of addiction.
I popped in At Liberty and began by showing them the scene when Stritch has her first drink. It’s a funny memory, and the kids laughed (one said, “She’s crazy”). I have a feeling a number of them could relate to the “fun” of first getting drunk. I then showed the scene in which she’s performing in California and is forbidden from drinking backstage, to which she forges congratulatory notes on bottles of booze with rigged corks to mask the sound of opening the bottle. Again, it’s a very funny story, but Stritch hints at why she was depending on alcohol, and it begins to become apparent that this is more than a choice. I ended with the wrap party in which she starts out with one drink, and then argues with herself about having another, then another, until she almost kills herself because she lacks the control she perceives herself to be exerting. I then fast-forwarded to the part at the end of the show when she says she’s had a great life and almost missed it all.
Yeah, it was an old woman singing, and I did have to explain that she was wearing dancer’s tights and wasn’t walking around in her underwear, but it helped us enter into a discussion of the dad in The Glass Castle. It helped us engage in a discussion on the power of addictive substances, how people come to depend on them, and we looked at why both Stritch and Rex Walls came to be alcoholics. The discussion wasn’t forced, it wasn’t me preaching; it was a discussion.
I ended the unit by showing the Sherman Alexie-penned Smoke Signals, which allowed us to discuss (less vibrantly) the effect of parents and how a person’s intentions aren’t always the same as their actions. It was a good unit, and the best part was that Elaine Stritch helped me cover the topic I was least-skilled at covering. Stritchy rocks.
the Broadway Mouth
January 22, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Make ‘Em Laugh
I am a huge fan of the Michael Kantor documentary that aired on PBS (and is now on DVD) Broadway: The American Musical. Kantor’s latest work is Make ‘Em Laugh, about the history of comedy in America, and it is currently making the rounds on PBS stations across the country. I just happened to catch the tail-end of one of the sections, and just like the Broadway documentary, I’m finding this one fascinating. I’m looking forward to getting to see the entire series on DVD (PBS has horrible reception in my area, and I don’t have cable).
I’m still not confident of what (if any) strengths I have as a writer of musicals, but I think my experience of growing up watching way too much television has actually helped. As a writer of scripts and plays, I can’t believe how fortunate I was to grow up watching I Love Lucy, The Honeymooners, Diff’rent Strokes, The Beverly Hillbillies, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, The Patty Duke Show, Father Knows Best, The Facts of Life, and The Andy Griffith Show (among many others). These are hilarious, brilliantly written comedies, and I actually got to grow up experiencing them.
When I was teaching acting, I realized that as a play director, I could direct a kid to be funny (which I did, quite successfully) but I could not teach him to be funny. When I had to revise my curriculum to fit state standards (the ones my state spent millions upon millions to implement before repealing them just a few years later—only one of the reasons congress needs to allow teachers to do the teaching), I decided to break down my units into different kinds of acting—a comedy scene, a dramatic scene, or something along those lines.
And I realized you can’t teach kids to be funny. As any writer or actor knows, the comedy of any given scene is dependent on at least two things, the rhythm of the comedy line (which includes wording, phrasing, situation, set-up, and character development) and execution. You can have a very funny play destroyed by a bad director or an inexperienced actor (think of a high school production you may have seen), and you can have a very funny actor bogged down by weak material (think Elaine Stritch in the movie Monster-in-Law or a very hard-working Chestor Gregory II in Tarzan on Broadway).
To remedy this, I tried showing them classic comedy bits and analyzing them. Yeah, it didn’t work so well (Who ever heard of anyone not laughing at a classic I Love Lucy scene? I did, when I showed them to my high school students that year.).
The ability to analyze is the key to anything challenging you may want to undertake. Kids who become billionaires from creating computers started out by taking them apart, reassembling them, trying to create something new. Those well-paid mechanics who forgot to put the oil cap back on my car learned to fix things by tinkering around with engines at a young age. I learned about writing and storytelling by experiencing it at a young age AND analyzing it. Just as a mechanic learns his way around an engine by getting in there and taking it apart, a writer learns by getting into stories and taking them apart to see how they work and why (or why not). It’s the same set of skills as a mechanic; it’s just less provable on a resume.
I’ve said this before, but I feel sorry for kids today who focus on the newer, not-so-funny sitcoms like Yes, Dear; According to Jim; The George Lopez Show; or That 70s Show. There’s a wealth of styles of comedy they are missing out on entirely because they don’t get the older stuff. I didn’t have seventy-five channels to choose from, so when Green Acres was on, it was either that or Taxi or The Munsters. How will the comedy writers of tomorrow learn what they need to know if they’re only learning from today?
If you’re a writer and aspire to write for Broadway, then run out and buy Broadway: The American Musical, and when you’re done with that, you could probably gain something by checking out Make ‘Em Laugh as well. After all, the ability to analyze is a key step in writing.
the Broadway Mouth
January 20, 2009
I’m still not confident of what (if any) strengths I have as a writer of musicals, but I think my experience of growing up watching way too much television has actually helped. As a writer of scripts and plays, I can’t believe how fortunate I was to grow up watching I Love Lucy, The Honeymooners, Diff’rent Strokes, The Beverly Hillbillies, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, The Patty Duke Show, Father Knows Best, The Facts of Life, and The Andy Griffith Show (among many others). These are hilarious, brilliantly written comedies, and I actually got to grow up experiencing them.
When I was teaching acting, I realized that as a play director, I could direct a kid to be funny (which I did, quite successfully) but I could not teach him to be funny. When I had to revise my curriculum to fit state standards (the ones my state spent millions upon millions to implement before repealing them just a few years later—only one of the reasons congress needs to allow teachers to do the teaching), I decided to break down my units into different kinds of acting—a comedy scene, a dramatic scene, or something along those lines.
And I realized you can’t teach kids to be funny. As any writer or actor knows, the comedy of any given scene is dependent on at least two things, the rhythm of the comedy line (which includes wording, phrasing, situation, set-up, and character development) and execution. You can have a very funny play destroyed by a bad director or an inexperienced actor (think of a high school production you may have seen), and you can have a very funny actor bogged down by weak material (think Elaine Stritch in the movie Monster-in-Law or a very hard-working Chestor Gregory II in Tarzan on Broadway).
To remedy this, I tried showing them classic comedy bits and analyzing them. Yeah, it didn’t work so well (Who ever heard of anyone not laughing at a classic I Love Lucy scene? I did, when I showed them to my high school students that year.).
The ability to analyze is the key to anything challenging you may want to undertake. Kids who become billionaires from creating computers started out by taking them apart, reassembling them, trying to create something new. Those well-paid mechanics who forgot to put the oil cap back on my car learned to fix things by tinkering around with engines at a young age. I learned about writing and storytelling by experiencing it at a young age AND analyzing it. Just as a mechanic learns his way around an engine by getting in there and taking it apart, a writer learns by getting into stories and taking them apart to see how they work and why (or why not). It’s the same set of skills as a mechanic; it’s just less provable on a resume.
I’ve said this before, but I feel sorry for kids today who focus on the newer, not-so-funny sitcoms like Yes, Dear; According to Jim; The George Lopez Show; or That 70s Show. There’s a wealth of styles of comedy they are missing out on entirely because they don’t get the older stuff. I didn’t have seventy-five channels to choose from, so when Green Acres was on, it was either that or Taxi or The Munsters. How will the comedy writers of tomorrow learn what they need to know if they’re only learning from today?
If you’re a writer and aspire to write for Broadway, then run out and buy Broadway: The American Musical, and when you’re done with that, you could probably gain something by checking out Make ‘Em Laugh as well. After all, the ability to analyze is a key step in writing.
the Broadway Mouth
January 20, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The Effects of Gamma Playwriting Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Fiction Marigolds
The longer you teach English, the worse your grammar gets. You get so used to kids writing suceed instead of succeed, using random commas, or using colons incorrectly, you forget the way it's supposed to go. Just as reading helps improve kids' spelling and punctuation, reading kids' spelling and punctuation helps un-educate educators.
Apparently the same thing happens when you write plays.
I've been writing so much drama in one form or another for the past nine years, I've almost lost all eloquence in my fiction writing. Even before my playwriting journey began, I could never aspire to the prose heights of my favorite writers--Mary Stewart with her lyric use of words, Jane Austen with her fancy British tone, or Amy Tan with her Amy Tan-ish style--but two music-less musical libretti, four sitcom episodes, five or six other minor plays, two television drama episodes, a half-completed movie script adapted from a beloved novel, and countless skits later, I've lost the little I had.
My friends who have read my fiction tell me that how I write is fine and that they don't see anything wrong with it, but I know what I'd really like to do with what I say. Yet, no matter my intentions, when I sit down to revise my second novel (the one I actually think has a hope of getting published), I can't help but feel like I use the same fifty words over and over. It's almost as if I just want to get to the point, like stage directions and dialogue. I don't want to wow anyone with rich, exciting, original metaphors or vivid, lyrical descriptions of trees; I want my (non-existent) readers to know that Grant saw Sam, the boy looked away, and Clark said something. Grant didn't gaze, ponder, take in, peruse, observe, consider, or wonder at his similar features. He saw Sam, enough said.
It's not that I don't try to write my fiction with great eloquence and beauty; it's simply that when I say what I have to say, it doesn't come out pretty. It's basic. Perhaps someday I'll be admired for my style. Critics will rave about my direct, minimalist style as if every word was carefully selected for its most basic synonym, weighed out like single grains of rice on a scale. My work will be seen as a breath of fresh air after the bloated, pompous works of late (though I don't know when "of late" will be).
Oh but wait, maybe someone else will have published a book just as basic as mine, only first. Then my book will be seen as a cheap knock-off, the generic version of that other writer's work (the jerk) who found a publisher before I did. Critics will read my book and think (in a derogatory tone), "Another one like this?!?"
Hmmm, there seems to be a lot more to this creating thing that just creating. It's also all about timing and attitude, what people are tired of and what trends have passed their prime.
Well, I guess that part is out of my hands. Maybe like my two music-less musicals, my novel will be in the wrong genre for the moment, passé because someone beat me to it, or will just manage to hit the bookstores AFTER the crest of a wave that started while I was looking over the galleys.
Still, I'm going to keep revising. I'm an aspiring-to-be-produced librettist with no musical collaborators. I think revising a novel I wrote some five years ago is as good as any other project to focus on. And maybe it will open doors. Could you imagine if Nicholas Sparks, John Grisham, or Amy Tan wanted to write a Broadway musical? Yeah, skip the overture and go directly to the eleven o'clock number, that's what would happen.
the Broadway Mouth
January 18, 2009
Apparently the same thing happens when you write plays.
I've been writing so much drama in one form or another for the past nine years, I've almost lost all eloquence in my fiction writing. Even before my playwriting journey began, I could never aspire to the prose heights of my favorite writers--Mary Stewart with her lyric use of words, Jane Austen with her fancy British tone, or Amy Tan with her Amy Tan-ish style--but two music-less musical libretti, four sitcom episodes, five or six other minor plays, two television drama episodes, a half-completed movie script adapted from a beloved novel, and countless skits later, I've lost the little I had.
My friends who have read my fiction tell me that how I write is fine and that they don't see anything wrong with it, but I know what I'd really like to do with what I say. Yet, no matter my intentions, when I sit down to revise my second novel (the one I actually think has a hope of getting published), I can't help but feel like I use the same fifty words over and over. It's almost as if I just want to get to the point, like stage directions and dialogue. I don't want to wow anyone with rich, exciting, original metaphors or vivid, lyrical descriptions of trees; I want my (non-existent) readers to know that Grant saw Sam, the boy looked away, and Clark said something. Grant didn't gaze, ponder, take in, peruse, observe, consider, or wonder at his similar features. He saw Sam, enough said.
It's not that I don't try to write my fiction with great eloquence and beauty; it's simply that when I say what I have to say, it doesn't come out pretty. It's basic. Perhaps someday I'll be admired for my style. Critics will rave about my direct, minimalist style as if every word was carefully selected for its most basic synonym, weighed out like single grains of rice on a scale. My work will be seen as a breath of fresh air after the bloated, pompous works of late (though I don't know when "of late" will be).
Oh but wait, maybe someone else will have published a book just as basic as mine, only first. Then my book will be seen as a cheap knock-off, the generic version of that other writer's work (the jerk) who found a publisher before I did. Critics will read my book and think (in a derogatory tone), "Another one like this?!?"
Hmmm, there seems to be a lot more to this creating thing that just creating. It's also all about timing and attitude, what people are tired of and what trends have passed their prime.
Well, I guess that part is out of my hands. Maybe like my two music-less musicals, my novel will be in the wrong genre for the moment, passé because someone beat me to it, or will just manage to hit the bookstores AFTER the crest of a wave that started while I was looking over the galleys.
Still, I'm going to keep revising. I'm an aspiring-to-be-produced librettist with no musical collaborators. I think revising a novel I wrote some five years ago is as good as any other project to focus on. And maybe it will open doors. Could you imagine if Nicholas Sparks, John Grisham, or Amy Tan wanted to write a Broadway musical? Yeah, skip the overture and go directly to the eleven o'clock number, that's what would happen.
the Broadway Mouth
January 18, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
Izzy’s First Musical: High School Musical 3 (Part 2, My Response)
I kid you not, for my thirty-first birthday last year, my dad paid extra to get me a High School Musical cake. It had lots of festive red frosting and a circular red High School Musical CD holder with the image on it of the six lead cast members jumping in the air (FYI, the cheap thing can’t actually hold CDs). I had never seen High School Musical (I don’t have cable or tweens), but if my dad picked that out for his musical-loving son, I figured it was time I get down to business.
I got High School Musical and High School Musical 2 from the library.
High School Musical is what it is. It’s a Grease rip-off that celebrates musicals and wholesomeness with little that is clever or original. It has some energetic dance numbers staged in the classic “imaginary audience” fashion of the 1930s and 1940s with cast members that display a wide range of musical abilities from impressive (Lucas Grabeel, who looks like he could pass for Cheyenne Jackson’s younger brother) to not so impressive (Vanessa Hudgens). At the same time, it’s not hard to see why kids (and a few adults) have eaten it up (though, as a middle school director I know pointed out, no one seems to question why the siblings are trying to get the romantic leads in the school play).
High School Musical 2 is a change in two ways. The music and choreography take a big step up with moves that are more energetic, complicated, and overall impressive, a variety of the numbers requiring more complicated moves. While the acting is still overall Nickelodeon-annoying, the same cast members seem to excel—Lucas Grabeel and Monique Coleman still being tops. Directed by Kenny Ortega, High School Musical 2 even has a fun homage to Esther Williams during Sharpay’s clever “Fabulous” number. Storywise, however, the movie falters. The original film’s story was nothing special, but at least it kept moving in a forward motion. Here, the plot begins is stagnate midway through and never really picks up steam.
For what it’s worth High School Musical 3 is a big step down from the other two films in both story and music. In plotting, there is very little happening, and the story almost entirely lacks forward motion. Instead of a strong central conflict that moves to a climax, the movie consists of loosely connected events that don’t really add up to anything. The plot seems a mish-mash of ideas, which may explain the void of logic in the series of events.
Oddly enough, the High School Musical series is more realistic than many other high school movies because of its desire to unite students rather than capitalize on perceived cliques and group stereotypes. For example, the overweight cheerleaders who are not bearing abs are pretty much a dead-on portrayal of every high school sports game I’ve been to. That said, any semblance of reality disappears in the structure of putting on a high school play. Characters drop in and out of the show at will, understudies are assigned for some characters and not for others, the understudies are deemed as important but never are rehearsed, and dedicated theatre students like Troy don’t even bother to show up for opening night. One major plot point involves a student missing out on the end of senior year to head off to a college camp, which, of course, is ludicrous. It’s as if the writers knew they were creating something intended for kids and didn’t bother to revise anything.
Musically, the show opens very weak. Instead of having a strong opening number (like “What Time Is It” from 2), the first song is garbled in a basketball game, unclearly staged and the lyrics muddled by the action. There’s a nice dance number for Troy and Gabrielle, and there’s some clever ideas in the junkyard number “The Boys are Back,” but it does nothing to rival the energy and staging of 2. Just as Ortega hearkened back to Esther Williams in 2, here he calls back to Fred Astaire dancing on the ceiling in Royal Wedding (Ortega is too big a fan of old musicals for it to have come from Lionel Richie or NSync) in a stunning number feature Zac Efron. The number that really makes its mark, however, is the final number “High School Musical,” the only song to revival the hits from the past two movies.
What all this means is that I was bored out of my mind during High School Musical 3, simply because there was no forward motion in the plot and the numbers rarely dazzled in the way they did in High School Musical 2. I love getting to see any big screen musical packed with dancing and fun, but I only wish I didn’t spend so much of the movie wanting to leave.
That said, Izzy enjoyed it. As bored as I was, watching her dance along with Troy and Chad in the junkyard made it all worth the while. And that’s why I love the High School Musical series. Plot, intelligence, and music quality all seem so unimportant when what is there is creating a huge new audience for film and stage musicals at a level they understand.
the Broadway Mouth
January 16, 2009
I got High School Musical and High School Musical 2 from the library.
High School Musical is what it is. It’s a Grease rip-off that celebrates musicals and wholesomeness with little that is clever or original. It has some energetic dance numbers staged in the classic “imaginary audience” fashion of the 1930s and 1940s with cast members that display a wide range of musical abilities from impressive (Lucas Grabeel, who looks like he could pass for Cheyenne Jackson’s younger brother) to not so impressive (Vanessa Hudgens). At the same time, it’s not hard to see why kids (and a few adults) have eaten it up (though, as a middle school director I know pointed out, no one seems to question why the siblings are trying to get the romantic leads in the school play).
High School Musical 2 is a change in two ways. The music and choreography take a big step up with moves that are more energetic, complicated, and overall impressive, a variety of the numbers requiring more complicated moves. While the acting is still overall Nickelodeon-annoying, the same cast members seem to excel—Lucas Grabeel and Monique Coleman still being tops. Directed by Kenny Ortega, High School Musical 2 even has a fun homage to Esther Williams during Sharpay’s clever “Fabulous” number. Storywise, however, the movie falters. The original film’s story was nothing special, but at least it kept moving in a forward motion. Here, the plot begins is stagnate midway through and never really picks up steam.
For what it’s worth High School Musical 3 is a big step down from the other two films in both story and music. In plotting, there is very little happening, and the story almost entirely lacks forward motion. Instead of a strong central conflict that moves to a climax, the movie consists of loosely connected events that don’t really add up to anything. The plot seems a mish-mash of ideas, which may explain the void of logic in the series of events.
Oddly enough, the High School Musical series is more realistic than many other high school movies because of its desire to unite students rather than capitalize on perceived cliques and group stereotypes. For example, the overweight cheerleaders who are not bearing abs are pretty much a dead-on portrayal of every high school sports game I’ve been to. That said, any semblance of reality disappears in the structure of putting on a high school play. Characters drop in and out of the show at will, understudies are assigned for some characters and not for others, the understudies are deemed as important but never are rehearsed, and dedicated theatre students like Troy don’t even bother to show up for opening night. One major plot point involves a student missing out on the end of senior year to head off to a college camp, which, of course, is ludicrous. It’s as if the writers knew they were creating something intended for kids and didn’t bother to revise anything.
Musically, the show opens very weak. Instead of having a strong opening number (like “What Time Is It” from 2), the first song is garbled in a basketball game, unclearly staged and the lyrics muddled by the action. There’s a nice dance number for Troy and Gabrielle, and there’s some clever ideas in the junkyard number “The Boys are Back,” but it does nothing to rival the energy and staging of 2. Just as Ortega hearkened back to Esther Williams in 2, here he calls back to Fred Astaire dancing on the ceiling in Royal Wedding (Ortega is too big a fan of old musicals for it to have come from Lionel Richie or NSync) in a stunning number feature Zac Efron. The number that really makes its mark, however, is the final number “High School Musical,” the only song to revival the hits from the past two movies.
What all this means is that I was bored out of my mind during High School Musical 3, simply because there was no forward motion in the plot and the numbers rarely dazzled in the way they did in High School Musical 2. I love getting to see any big screen musical packed with dancing and fun, but I only wish I didn’t spend so much of the movie wanting to leave.
That said, Izzy enjoyed it. As bored as I was, watching her dance along with Troy and Chad in the junkyard made it all worth the while. And that’s why I love the High School Musical series. Plot, intelligence, and music quality all seem so unimportant when what is there is creating a huge new audience for film and stage musicals at a level they understand.
the Broadway Mouth
January 16, 2009
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