INDELIBLE FRECKLES » Theatre

Stage Watch: Raising the Titanics

d f mamea — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 07:00:09 +0000

Went to a play last year: Albert Belz‘s Raising the Titanics. It’s an homage to the Maori showbands of the 1960s. The Herald summed it up as an enjoyable if slight frolic. Pfft.

For me, from the moment the cast opened with song, my right eye teared up. It wept steadily through the remaining hour and a half of the play – and copiously in the closing ten minutes.

I can’t figure out my reaction to the play. I’d read the first act the year before and had a pretty good idea of where it was going to go.

Was it the songs? They sounded familiar but I didn’t know any of them. I grew up with The Sound of Music and Easter Parade (and Jesus Christ Superstar). According to my sister-in-law, being Samoan, I’m genetically/naturally disposed to singing well, in tune, and harmoniously – so maybe the brown people singing and laughing and crying on stage touched some genetic/native chord within.

Whatever it was, it touched me, I loved it, and when it tours and touches down in your neighbourhood, I recommend you go see it.

Disclosure: playwright Albert Belz is a generous supporter of the Banana Boat writing group, honouring it with a reading of the play’s first act, in first draft form, in June 2009.

2010 in Pictures, Text and Theatre

d f mamea — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 08:00:28 +0000

Comics

The Arrival

Ball Peen Hammer

Berlin Volume 2

The Education of Hopey Glass

Ex Machina: Dirty Tricks; Ring Out the Old

I Kill Giants

I Killed Adolf Hitler

Low Moon

League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Black Dossier

Omega the Unknown

Planetary: Spacetime Archaeology

Powers: The Sellouts; Forever; 25 Greatest Dead Superheroes of All Time

Scalped: The Gravel in Your Gut

Stitches: A Memoir

Usagi Yojimbo: Tomoe’s Story

The Walking Dead

The Complete Zot!

A bit sad to see the end of Planetary and Ex Machina but The Walking Dead and Scalped carry the torch onward.

Books

Blood Meridian

The Constant Gardener

The Corner: A Year in the Life of an Inner-city Neighbourhood

Crafty TV Writing

Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets

Notes from a Small Island

The Road

I suspect Blood Meridian has ruined all other western fiction for me.

Scripts

30 Rock

The 40 Year Old Virgin

The American

The Blind Side

The Book of Eli

Green Zone

Michael Clayton

Out of Sight

Scrubs

Starting Out in the Evening

The Shield: Circles

Three Kings

Valkyrie

I’m pretty sure Out of Sight and Three Kings are re-reads, but I just can’t remember for sure. And if they were, they were just as enjoyable this time ’round.

Theatre

His Mother’s Son

Leilani Unasa

Le Tauvaga

Louise Tu’u

Raising the Titanics

Albert Belz

Two Old Women

Velma Wallis

I suspect I may be cheating here by having just one actual production – Belz’s Titanics – surrounded by three readings but… these were the ones I marked as having made an impact.

Own It

d f mamea — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 17:00:30 +0000

INT. THEATRE – NIGHT

People mill about as stagehands begin cleaning up the theatre.

A FELLOW CREATIVE chats with a couple of straggling AUDIENCE MEMBERS – we overhear “It was... interesting” – before Fellow Creative joins our WRITER.

WRITER

(shakes hands with Fellow Creative)

Well done on your opening night.

FELLOW CREATIVE

Thank you.

WRITER

It was a good turn out.

FELLOW CREATIVE

Yes it was.

Beat. The Writer scans the posters on the stage. Fellow Creative looks at Writer.

FELLOW CREATIVE

... What did you think of the play?

WRITER

What did YOU think?

FELLOW CREATIVE

This -

(indicates the stage)

- this was just a trifle ’cause what I REALLY care about is -

Writer holds up his hand:

WRITER

Whoa there. Sorry to cut you off but --

(counts off a finger)

-- did you write it?

FELLOW CREATIVE

Yes.

WRITER

(counts off another finger)

Did you direct it?

FELLOW CREATIVE

... Yes.

ON FELLOW CREATIVE as their expression shows a swathe of emotions.

WRITER

(gentle)

Not everyone could’ve done what you’ve achieved tonight.

FELLOW CREATIVE

Nah, anyone could’ve -

WRITER

I don’t see anyone here but you, bucko.

(again with the finger-counting)

You had a dream – a vision. You wrote it up. You got some people involved because they were fired up by your vision and your passion. You directed it. You produced it. You put it out there. It may not have turned out the way you first dreamed it but you made it REAL.

(puts a hand on Fellow Creative’s shoulder)

This is your night. Enjoy it.

Then some background music SWELLED –

– and CREDITS floated upwards into the sky as –

– I headed for the exit – the DOOR opened by unseen hands as I approached it and –

– FADE OUT.

“O le Samaria” Online

d f mamea — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 02:16:22 +0000

OooOOooh.

Point & Click

d f mamea — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 08:00:52 +0000

Kinda flat out.

PostmodernBarney has an adorable array of uncomfortable plot summaries.

There’s an interesting article over the ditch about the journey of multihyphenate Serhat Caradee who, despite having a developed script and a few short films, found he had to shoot ‘pilot scenes’ to attract funding. (Fedora-tip: Lynden Barber.)

If, like me, you found Battlestar Galactica‘s final moments wanting, to quote the late King of Pop, you are not alone. (Fedora-tip: Alex Epstein.)

The National Post has a cautionary tale about the four acts of a television series’ life. (Fedora-tip: Ben Boychuk.)

After a looong period of radio silence (hey, he was busy), Josh Friedman has lately thrown up two posts in as many months.

An excellent New York Times article explores the seduction and corruption of Graham Greene by the silver screen. (Try here if that NY Times link doesn’t work.)

And English playwright David Edgar has a brill’ extract from his book, How Plays Work, in The Guardian. (Fedora-tip: WGGB Blog.)

Hobnob

d f mamea — Tue, 05 May 2009 10:00:26 +0000

Just over a year ago, I reeled from a Pasifika playwrights forum.

This year, I networked at it.

Yes: I hate networking. It feels false:

INT. A GATHERING – WHENEVER

Our WRITER walks up to a STRANGER --

WRITER

(extends hand)

Hi I’m D F Mamea.

STRANGER

Hi.

Beat.

WRITER

(drops hand)

And your name is?

STRANGER

Dave.

WRITER

(shit-eating grin)

Well, hi Dave. What do you do?

(I really should just let go of such exchanges – it’s just -, it’s not often that I want to smash someone in the face [half an hour later because it didn't register with me at the time].)

What I meant to illustrate as false was something like this:

INT. A GATHERING – WHENEVER

Our WRITER approaches a STRANGER --

WRITER

(extends his hand)

Hi, my name’s D F Mamea.

(voice-over)

Should I’ve said I was a writer? Or is that too forward? Too desperate?

They shake hands.

STRANGER

Steve Ranger. Pleasetameetcha.

(voice-over)

Oh please god no, not another desperate writer.

What was different this time around was that I knew more of the faces. Familiarity breeds confidence.

Now for some rampant name-dropping:

TV and feature writer Oscar Kightley;

I got snapped by playwright Gary Henderson;

visual and performance artist Shigeyuki Kihara;

playwright and producer Makerita Urale;

film and TV director Sima Urale (and Makerita’s sister);

film and TV director, and reluctant producer Justine Simei Barton; and

actor and theatre director Nancy Brunning.

It wasn’t all about the laying on of hands – forum attendees were treated to works in progress:

Ali Foa’i‘s MindSex;

Victoria Schmidt‘s Then Sings My Soul;

Jonathan P Riley‘s Makigi;

and Chetan Patel & Eric Smith‘s I Don’t Do Coconut.

(A first draft of this post had one-word adjectives for each of the above. I’ve changed my mind, obviously: you can stew in anticipation.)

My plan to be in the right place at the right time has yet to bear fruit. But seeds have been sown. The competition has been reconnoitred and noted.

I am patient.

A Gathering of Brown

d f mamea — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 19:30:29 +0000

The Pasifika Playwrights Forum is TOMORROW, Saturday 2 May from 12:30pm to 7:00pm at the Aotea Centre, Auckland CBD.

The Playmarket website has more information – but most exciting to me are presentations of works in progress by Banana Boat writers Victoria Schmidt and Jonathan P Riley.

Alu la ‘ia, e.

Pots on the Boil

d f mamea — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 05:15:32 +0000

INT. LOUNGE, HOME – EVENING

I lie in the arms of THE GODDESS.

I haven’t done ANYTHING this year.

THE GODDESS

Oh rubbish.

I’m serious.

THE GODDESS

What were you busy doing at the beginning of the year then?

... The short film.

THE GODDESS

And what have you been doing with those playwrights, hm? And that stuff for the guild?

I open my mouth, then close it.

THE GODDESS

And then there’s your radio play. Well?

You can’t just let me feel sorry for myself, can you?

She kisses my forehead --

THE GODDESS

No, I cannot.

What have I achieved this year then?

I wrote a ten-minute play in twelve hours, and watched it premiere (and close) twelve hours after that;

I’m facilitating a disparate group of Pasifika playwrights (four months straight and counting);

I’m an (increasingly) active Board member of the New Zealand Writers Guild;

I’ve had a short radio play accepted for broadcast on National Radio;

and I did some script consulting on a couple of projects.

I’m tempted to skew my stats a la the police leadership in The Wire but, for me, a project isn’t finished unless it’s finished, knowwha’Imean?

So:

To’ona’i crawls towards completion;

I’m co-writing a play, to premiere in 2012;

I have my own play to push – and thanks to the joys of ~~misery likes company~~ peer pressure, the first act is due by mid-January 2009;

the diversionary feature spec has copious thematic and strucutural notes… but an actual story has yet to emerge;

enamoured with the short radio play’s ‘success’, I’m writing an hour-long radio play: I’ve got the opening and closing acts while the middle is currently all rough notes – forty pages to go!

and the long awaited spec feature of 2007 has been roughed out and is approaching a proper first draft.

[Takes a few steps back and squints]

Okay. I suppose it’s just about perspective.

INT. LOUNGE, HOME – LATER

Maybe this is my dash. Maybe this is IT. Maybe -

THE GODDESS

Maybe you needed a year to consolidate.

I thought last year was a consolidating year.

THE GODDESS

It’s a bit hard to consolidate when you’re juggling paying work, don’t you think?

I mumble something.

THE GODDESS

Pardon?

... I suppose.

She nods, knowing, as always, that She’s right.

Point & Click

d f mamea — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 05:54:41 +0000

I’ve done my shopping. I can do whatever I like now.

Danny Stack has ten essential ingredients to becoming a professional screenwriter (the first step? read.)

John August has some solid advice on what to do with your ~~ill-gotten gains~~ hard-earned ch-ching: money 101 for screenwriters.

Lynden Barber has a posted an excellent article on The non-cinematic art of David Lynch (with part one of seven here).

Another Kiwi scribe hits the ‘sphere: Sanjay Patel asks, in the context of local stories having global resonance, What makes a Kiwi film?

It would be just like Lucy Vee to be an agent of the universe and provide some online resources for writing a play.

Lee Lofland has a list of suggested pressies for the protagonist in your life (no Barretts or miniguns, but).

Jane Espenson has a post about writing comics, while –

– the Lair of the Kung Fu Monkey has a been taken over by comic scribes Mark Waid and Michael Alan Nelson. (“[A] comic story is made up of frozen moments” – I mean, who’d a thunk?)

And I’ve just read the final volume of Brian K Vaughan and Pia Guerra‘s Y the Last Man. Having swallowed tears aplenty, I have vowed to read the whole series through again (once the libraries reopen).

Ladies and germs – happy holiday reading, viewing and relaxing.

Tick Tock

d f mamea — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 04:55:05 +0000

You know those black-and-white films where -

INT. NEWSROOM – NIGHT

Several strata of cigarette smoke span this large room. A handful of reporters sit at their desks, hands and fingers stabbing and massaging their typewriters.

An OFFICE DOOR opens to reveal THE EDITOR, cigar in a corner of his mouth -

EDITOR

I want five hundred words on string theory using words of three syllables or less! Which one of you bums feeling lucky?

One dozing JOURNO pushes his fedora up from his eyes and sticks a well-chewed pencil stub into his mouth:

JOURNO

Give me ten minutes, chief – five if Miss Stanton brings me a cup of joe.

How do they do that?

(Okay-okay-okay: it’s a movie.)

I was flashing on those kinds of scenes when I took up a 24-hour theatre challenge last weekend. Twelve hours to write a ten-minute script (to be followed by another twelve hours where the director and actors would make the script a reality). I’d spent the first two hours thus: 30 minutes to find out the actors’ strengths and weaknesses (the director couldn’t make the meet-and-greet so I’d have to wing the content and style); 15 minutes to drive home; 45 minutes of quality time with The Goddess; and 30 minutes of, among other things, making coffee, adjusting my seat, realigning the rubbish on my workspace for optimum feng shui, scheduling my chocolate intake, and surfing the net.

… Maybe the quality time was more 30 minutes (and no less) and the ~~fart-arsing~~ writing prep/warm-up was 45 minutes.

So. There I was, in my cave, mentally juggling the following elements:

three actors – one male and two females – to play with;
two props – a length of rope and a violin case – to work into the story;
and less than ten hours before I had to hand in a script.

The first opening riffed on Waiting for Godot. Maybe too self-referencing. I stopped after the second line of dialogue.

The second opening came straight out of Casablanca. I stopped the moment I typed (V.O.).

I had beginnings but no ends. With the nine-hour mark rapidly approaching, I tried to tackle it more from a production point of view instead of my usual story-is-king position.

I had my props, both meat and inanimate. I had a running time. I was one of six writers, and my position in the playing schedule was four – after an intermission. Assuming the first three plays were trend- and bar-setters, I needed to get right into the action. I needed to stake a claim on the audience’s attention, and keep it.

A filthy smile formed on my lips: What if we returned from intermission to some good ol’ bondage?

I laughed out loud.

The stage is BLACK as --

HAYLEY

(unseen)

Aow! ... Yes. ... Agh! ... Yes!

LIGHTS UP on --

And in that beginning was the ending, too.

Sometimes, I’m just too cool for school.

POSTSCRIPT: As it played out on stage, all I could see were the bits of dialogue I could have trimmed, all the action I could have written, as well as an act that is one long fridge moment. But it has a beginning, middle and end. It has a set-up, exposition and pay-off. And it got some laughs, none of them cheaply, and moved. Thank the gods for actors – and the director, of course.

How Long Does It Take?

d f mamea — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 20:41:29 +0000

After the play’s opening scene was given a group reading, I did a Q&A on the script’s background, why’s and wherefores, and there was one question I didn’t get around to answering (sorry Bronwen): How long did it take to write?

Thirty minutes including a couple of passes at dialogue and characterisation.

Such a glib response, however, is disrespectful to the craft. The actual ~~writing~~ typing may have taken only a half-hour but that doesn’t take into account that:

I’d had the idea since May;
I didn’t start making notes about it until July;
and the mental image of actors lying on the stage before the audience only occurred in September, and kicked around my head for a week before I put finger to keyboard.

I continue to live in hope that my creative process would be something like being struck by a sustained series of creative lightning, long enough to thump out a feature-length script… but the reality is a much more mundane process:

eureka-moment -> cogitate -> ~~avoid~~ -> make notes -> ~~procrastinate~~ -> write

Sometimes, due to sheer inspiration, utter bullheadedness or an insane deadline, it can all occur within a matter of weeks. Other times… it takes as long as it takes.