Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Themes & Outlines

We had a big Wasteland meeting last night, in which the producers unveiled the seven outlines for the seven shows we’ll be putting up in November/December.  The seven organizing principals have held up well, and will indeed be the 7 shows we produce.

A hell of a lot of time was spent parsing through two months’ worth of material, then organizing it by theme, then scraping and molding it to feel cohesive.  We still have a lot of work to do, but the show outlines look very exciting.  I think we’ve managed to write about 6.5 hours, and the remainder will come together by the end of August.  We’ve got films, experimental videos, stage sketches, fake video games, musical numbers, audience-interactive bits, and jokes to produce, rehearse, and polish.  There’s not nearly enough room in our schedules to do it all, but luckily the producers have the power to bend space-time.  All my other projects take a back-seat until Christmas.

My personal challenge in the next two weeks is to rewrite a series of sketches for the War/Aggression show, tentatively titled “My Thing Is Bigger.”  I’d written a fun running bit about a unicorn terrorist attack and the media’s exploitation of the event, which would periodically interrupt T.S. Eliot’s late-night program.  (We’ve begun referring to these running motifs as superstructures, to differentiate them from the 3-act structure we’ve built around Eliot’s show-within-a-show.)  After discussing this episode with Tucker and Haas, we decided we were missing an opportunity to actually discuss issues surrounding the Iraq War, the fictitious “War on Terror,” and the trouble we Americans have dissecting the conflict.  The unicorn runner, fanciful as it is, is going to be reworked to be a little heavier, a little more palpably linked to the global events of the last six years.

The difficulty, of course, is actually writing a series of scenes about the Iraq War, without undue levity or condescending heavy-handedness, starring a bunch of fucking unicorns.  The point is not to engage in discourse about the war, but to pull our comedy from the aspects of the war that are most real, most difficult.  I think our team can pull it off, so long as we use these:

Monday, July 30, 2007

DCM Postmortisserie

UCB Theater, 9:30pm Friday night. The lights go up, I walk on stage for the first time, and half of the audience boos.  That’s when I know it’s going to be a good show.

Code Duello
They weren’t booing me, of course, but Mr. Aaron Burr. It’s happened a few times, now, where the audience chooses their side before the show even begins. This is facilitated in part by our show opener—a brief narration refreshing the audience on their post-colonial American history—when the narrator intones the name Aaaron Burrrrr in “spooky-voice,” as if our silly improv play is being told over s’mores by an aging camp counselor.  At this year’s DCM, Aaron Burr was a villain before he even opened his mouth, and that served as a nice little roadmap for the show—hopefully I gave the audience who they wanted, a lovably despicable Vice Presidential man-child.  And Mr. Hamilton turned out to be a pithy cockney lad masquerading as the ex-Secretary of Treasury.

At the DCM you only have 30 minutes before you’re blacked out, and they run a really tight ship, so there’s no leeway. This is a challenge for our show, which has a definite end point we must reach by the 30-minute mark; if Hamilton isn’t dead when the lights go out, we’ve broken our promise to the audience, and god judges broken promises pretty harshly.  Matt kept a better eye on the time than I did, and thank god—he died with 1 second left on the clock. We didn’t get to see the brief aftermath, but at that point the show was so silly it was best to end on another childish tiff (as to whether or not he was truly dying). Cheers and thanks to the UCB’s tech crew, who executed our show flawlessly.

Boston & the DCM
Bostonians made a healthy showing at this year’s marathon. I was able to get my butt in the audience for both Bastards Inc. and Uniprov‘s sets.  I wasn’t able to attend Backstory or Dream Show or This Is Pathetic, but when the topic of Boston improv came up backstage (as it inevitably did), I spread the word about our traveling troubadours. (If you have a recap for a show I missed, post it in the comments!)

Matt Walsh and other UCBers asked me if there’s a big scene in Boston.  My response was, there’s a growing scene.  This seemed to be the consensus amongst non-Bostonians familiar with ImprovBoston and Improv Asylum.  In talking to UCBers and improvisers from around the country, I’ve come to realize that Boston has a reputation for producing theme-heavy shows.  Waiting for Ennis Cotter, Code Duello, Backstory, Uniprov, Dream Show, The Robert Cycle... these shows all have a “hook” because that’s how we draw audiences in Boston, where the interest in improv from non-improvisers is pretty low.  Although shows like Ennis Cotter and Code Duello have traveled well and been well-received, I find the general sentiment in Chicago and New York is, “why would good improv need a hook?”  In New York, Chicago, and LA, good Harold teams are consistently able to entertain audiences without costumes, highbrow themes, crazy structures, consistent characters—the very things that define a “showcase” show in the Boston scene.  At the DCM this year, most of the shows with “hooks” were one-off jokey shows, highly entertaining but ultimately just opportunities for the veterans to fuck around on stage.

It’s a shame that more Bostonians don’t regularly see shows at festivals, particularly the shining gems at the Del Close Marathon.  I remember my mind being blown three years ago by Scheer-McBrayer, Respecto, The Beatbox (from DSI), and Mother.  Two years ago I added The Stepfathers to my list of must-see shows.  This year I wasn’t able to see nearly as much of the veterans as I’d like, but I was delighted by the depression-era antics of The Sunshine Gang, and Chuckle Sandwich was hilarious. 

Anyway, the point is that there are people in our generation doing stage-work that is smarter, faster, funnier, more believable, more organic, and more supportive/supported than anything happening in Boston.  It’s not a matter of personal taste, or of “different styles,” or of a larger pool of talent.  They are simply better ensembles. They work better together. Why?  Training, drive, and practice, I’m guessing—emphasis on the latter two.  At first it’s a bitter pill for Bostonians to swallow, but I have never walked away from a festival intimidated or down-on-Boston.  I always walk away inspired.  The kind of improv that we want to be doing is attainable, and it’s being done by people our age, in commuting distance, in places that we can watch.  The Boston scene is growing, yes, but how much faster would it grow if everybody were inspired by the superior work being done on the national stage?

Backstage @ the UCB
Last year I was super fucking scared of being at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater. In retrospect, I feel almost lucky that I was able to pull a good performance out of my jangled mess of nerves. This year I was way, way more relaxed, and consequently was able to enjoy some time backstage, afloat in the sea of free beer, improvisers, improv groupies, and improv celebrities.

I don’t know if it’s my uninformed outsider’s opinion, but there seems to be a fair amount of incest and idol-worship amongst the UCB community.  Boston may be insular, but we don’t have any heroes.  I’ve always been astounded at those moments when you realize that 3/4 of the audience knows every performer on stage by name.  It may be a result of UCB alumni actually being successful in the entertainment world at large.  Let’s face it—those of us who do improv want to have the careers of the famous improv alumni, be they from Second City or the UCB.  But idol worship?  Improv groupies?  I thought I was immune.

And then, I found myself conversing with a few of those people who I want to be.  Whose careers I envy, whose talents I respect, whose genuinely nice personalities seem unaffected by their success in television.  I fell into fanboy mode, covertly drooling after pleasant interactions with writer/performers from The Daily Show, The Office, 30 Rock, and… oh, fuck it, I’m a groupie.  I want to push these men into a dark corner backstage, demand they tell me all their secrets, then kiss them heterosexually.

The icing on the cake is that Code Duello seems to be building a great reputation, both amongst general audiences and improvisers.  Having somebody compliment Matt and I on a great show is awesome, but having somebody tell us they heard we had great shows and were really sorry they missed us… that’s a completely unnecessary (but delicious) courtesy!  And it seems like our audience has a few more returning members with each performance, another wonderful silent compliment.  I feel like I’m able to network, remember names and faces, and generally put myself out into the larger improv community better than I was able to a year ago.

DCM ‘08
Obviously I had a great weekend, and I must thank the DCM selection staff again for giving Matt and I the opportunity to play in the festival.  Next year, Boston, send your best. And until then—fucking see some shows in New York.  If you need direction, I have more raving recommendations than you can handle.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Del Close Marathon

If you’re in New York this weekend, and you don’t hate comedy, you should drop in for the 9th Annual Del Close Marathon.  3 stages, 72 hours, all-improv all the time.  Celebrity improvisers mix with unknowns, polished and long-running shows go back-to-back with one-off experimental performances, and you both meet people and ignore strangers.

I’ll be playing in Code Duello on Friday night, 9:30pm, in the Upright Citizens Brigade theater.  Bastards Inc. has a set at 1am that night (Sat. morning).  Best get in line earlier if you want to catch the show; once the theater fills to capacity, you have to wait until people exit in order to get in.  It’ll be sweaty, claustrophobic, and hilarious.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Baby’s First Screenplay

Today I finished the first draft of my first real screenplay. THUMBS UP! Although this should probably feel like an accomplishment, I’m too aware of how much work still needs to be done to really enjoy the fleeting moment. In many ways the work is only now starting; I’ve got the skeleton of the story on the page, I know who my characters are and where they’re going, and I basically have the sequences laid out.  However, the script suffers from the following:

• Acts 1 and 3 are too long
• Shifts in protagonist’s desire aren’t mapped to specific twists in the story
• Act 2 climax doesn’t feel climactic
• Subplot about protagonist’s parents feels forced and clunky; I forget why I created it in the first place
• I’m not using all the aspects of my primary setting to their fullest
• There are about 20 pages of room to expand, but I can’t figure out what precisely would be enhanced by expansion
• It isn’t funny yet

... and that’s just off the top of my head, without any feedback from other readers. My screenwriting professor is going to tear this thing apart (thank god).

I’m looking forward to the next (insert high number here) drafts, because I tend to do my best writing in smaller chunks in the revision process.  The shittiest scene ever written is still less intimidating than a blank page.  It will probably be another 4-5 drafts before I share the script with anybody.

I’m also—and I can’t figure out whether this is good or bad—looking forward to the next script I want to write, which becomes alarming only when I start thinking and plotting this next project while my unfinished script sits on the screen, demanding love.  I want to develop my current spec script to the point that I’m proud of it, then mail it into the wild in hopes of securing an agent. Am I naïve to think that my first screenplay ever is going to be worth purchasing, or land me representation?  I’m not going to mail the fucker until it’s representative of what I can do, but still… it’s the first.  Part of me wants to revise, polish, and bury it, theoretically forcing the emotional detachment necessary to throw a spec script against a wall of rejection letters.  But… I like my script.  I like the characters.  Someday it will be airtight, charming, and funny.

WOULD THAT DAY WERE TODAY!

Isn’t that right, noble steed?

Monday, July 16, 2007

You and I are done.

I’ve watched the season finale of The Office, season 3, at least four times. Last night I watched it again with Sarah, and the magic is still strong. The episode’s final beats are two of the most elegant climaxes I’ve ever seen—both beautiful for opposite reasons—and that’s about all I can say without diving into spoilers. Jim’s epiphany towards the end of the episode was also intercut with a true flashback, which I thought was taboo in the documentary-style of The Office… but yeah, it fucking works, and all the seeds were planted so it didn’t feel forced or out of place. 

I would kill to work on that show. I think the turning point, in terms of my obsession with The Office, was reading this interview with Mindy Kaling, in which she references the kinds of discussions they have in their writing meetings.  Wait, it’s not just writing jokes? You actually discuss character, truth, honesty, plot and development? For a job? It’s so obvious, watching the show, how much care is put into the writing, but to hear the process described in such plain terms… well, it makes it seem accessible, normal.

p.s. This article on the management lessons of The Office is alternately insightful and embarrassing.