E minor - Now That's What I Call Music

I absolutely love adaptation. Maybe this is because I have a deep seeded love for ancient stories, maybe this is because all my favourite playwrights seem to love adaptation, maybe it is because I was able to figure out most of the 7th Harry Potter book before it came out because I was up on my mythology. Who knows? The fact of the matter is- adapting ancient stories is genius. Especially if the adaptation is such like Sarah Ruhl's take on the classic myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. I am very familiar with the story because one cannot take Music History and not be familiar. Almost every single great composer of early opera wrote some version or another of the myth and musical adaptation is an interesting ball game in which to compare theatrical adaptation. They share a lot of similarities. Both are new representations of the core of the matter, finding the subtle nuances and exploiting them, even if the new version does not stay completely true to the original. The opera versions use key signatures, tonal centres, and chordal structure to signify to the audience how a character is feeling or whether or not they should sit up and take special notice of what is happening. When adapting for a play, the music is not (necessarily) an inherent part of the author's vision and so the words and the relationships are what clue in the audience. Dialogue and adaptation follow many of the same guidelines- because adaptation is dialogue. Just with lots of extra fun for those of us who are way too geeky for our own good.
One thing I like about the new trend in adaptation is the move away from simply rewriting the old words into a syntax that newer audiences can understand, but actually trying to rewrite the play and making it mean something more than just an updated original. One of my new absolute favourite playwrights, Enda Walsh, just completed his adaptation of The Brothers Karamazov and it was utterly genius. He didn't just try to update the language of Dostoevsky, he created a whole new play. It was the same story but it was entirely its own entity. The adaptation movement in Ireland has been going strong since Yates, but recently the ancient Greek tragedies have been remade and specifically placed in the North where characters are specified with specific regional accents to help try to understand The Troubles through the eyes of outside cultures and history. Ruhl follows along with this pattern of updating the originals to become something more than just a basic remake. She has made the classic story entirely her own. The language is modern and fast paced, full of colloquialisms and blatant moments of PDA that bring her Eurydice and Orpheus out of mythology and into the 21st (well, 20th technically) century. I love the idea of having the chorus acting as if "nasty children at a birthday party" and having the Lord of the Underworld behave as a spoiled little child. The imagery of children and child like behaviour adds and interesting element to the story.
Most importantly to me is how easy it is to read. While I am rather devoted to Greek Tragedy, some translations really bog me down with the grandiose language and rhyme schemes to help keep it 'high culture' and 'academically intellectual.' Ruhl by passes this idea and, instead, opts for an accessible version that speaks more of the love story than of the scholarly inquiry. This isn't to say that the accessibly of the language dilutes the intelligence and breadth of the play. Quite the opposite for me. The themes of music and the importance of music in the play are never lost. They are highlighted, subtly or not, throughout the entire play- therefore remaining true to the myth and the roots of the play.
The humour in the play is also something that I absolutely appreciate. Greek tragedy is usually associated with the pinnacle of drama, and rightfully so. But there is humour in Greek tragedy- a lot of it- and I feel like Ruhl really found how to play up the funny without demeaning the heartbreak of the story. Although I will be honest and admit that, at times, I feel like Ruhl was trying to make her characters human for the modern century but just ended up over doing it. Although, it is possible that she is just exaggerating the nature of the characters as she interprets them. Enda Walsh does the same thing in Delirium. His characters are utterly ridiculous- but it gets the point across and captures the essence of the story. Here Eurydice is kind of whiny and Orpheus is off in a dream land- but they are rather like that in the original as well. At the same time- Eurydice is given more strength throughout this version than she is usually. The new twist on the ending is a perfect example of added empowerment. I like that Eurydice is the one who decides to come back. She is given more power here than she gets to have in the myth. It is not just that Orpheus turns around and ends up losing her- he turns around and she decides to return. It is an interesting idea.
Adaptation is fun and quirky. My kind of dialogue, my kind of play. While I still prefer Enda Walsh and Brendan Kennelly, I found a charm in Ruhl's version. Banter, rhythm, colloquialism, modern speech patterns- all sorts of fun. Plus the music geek that still lives in me was very very happy about all of the music references (both the subtle and the blatant). Having Orpheus and Eurydice create speech music at the very end while he is trying to rescue her made me forget all the small parts of the play that bugged me and instead I am left with nothing but love for the play. And an extremely large wish to both direct this play and write lots of my own quirky, fun, adaptations. Bring on the symbolism and keep it in e minor. Because- really - that is key to the essence of the story.

Talk it Up

As I started to read the various snippets of dialogue I was caught up in how interested I was that all dialogue is so different. Seemingly obvious thing to say- but there you have it. However- as I continued to read I started to notice more and more the various ways of how dialogue is so similar. Again, a rather obvious answer, but when the two thoughts are put together it creates a rather interesting juxtaposition. One that has left me rather confused, but pensive which I figure is a good thing when trying to discover the secrets of good playwriting.

Take Shakespeare for example. He is a well known guy - or at least should be by this point in any college students career (having graduated from High School and presumably taken an English class) - and is a pinnacle for good writing. Yet there is not a huge difference between his tragedies or comedies - barring the ending. At least not on the surface. Take Much Ado and Hamlet- seemingly different pieces, and they are, but they share similarities. In the scene between Hamlet and Polonius where Hamlet either is mad or is trying to convince Polonius that he is mad (depending on what you want it to say... I'm personally all for Hamlet is ingeniously trying to convince the world and then ends up ruining his life because it all goes hideously wrong) the scene reads much like a comedy. The lines are funny and Hamlet is really pulling a number over Polonius. And it works. It works because Hamlet's language convinces Polonius that he is crazy but Hamlet reminds the audience that he is tricking them all. Whereas, in Much Ado About Nothing, the play is a comedy but Beatrice tells Benedick that if he wishes to prove his love he needs to kill his friend Claudio. Not very funny for a comedy. Both bits of dialogue share similarities but the dialogue style and content goes against the style of the piece. In this way, both bits of dialogue are similar but also drastically different. What is important to me about this convoluted conception is that funny works in drama and drama works in funny. Much Ado becomes more powerful than just a romp in the Italian countryside, just as Hamlet breaks up the three hours of "Oh Woe is Me." Now- not everyone is Shakespeare (in fact, only Shakespeare is Shakespeare...) but the concept can work in other ways.

Take Closer for example. In a way I see the snippet of Closer as being sort of like what happens after the close of Much Ado only in the 20th century. There is comedy and tragedy within the lines, which adds a depth to the characters, the story line, and the emotional pull of the audience for the characters. Before, in monologues, I discussed the issue of distance. In Closer it would be very easy to make the characters all dispicable and distance the audience from them. Yet even while saying absolutely dreadful things to eachother and ruining each other's lives- they are still human. There are moments of humour and moments of weakness. The humanity that is so essential in monologues is also essential for dialogue. Basically for all writing. Below the Waste is similar. In a way, Below the Waste is much like Hamlet- is Allen crazy? Is he a Vampire? Is he crazy for having identity issues about being a Vampire? And while the scene is very humorous and utterly rediculous- the audience does not write it off as both have humanity underneath the rediculous. There is a real need that creates pitty, which allows the humour to be more poignant than pure slapstick.

Really, the need is what it all boils down to. All dialogue is the same in the case that all dialogue (or at least- all good dialogue) is about NEEDING something. Call it the character's want, the motivation, the intent, whatever. The fact is- if a character didn't want something they wouldn't say anything. That would be silly and a waste of stage time. Shakespeare is all about one character trying to make another character (or the audience) listen. Permenant state of needing something. In essence, that concept hasn't changed. In The Importance of Being Earnest, Gwendolen and Cecily are verbally sparring throughout the entire scene. And while they are wanting to demean the other, scope out the competition, and rise their own self-worth, they are also trying to make sure the other is listening to them. Otherwise, why bother dithering about spades or what is or isn't fashionable? The same applies to Beauty Queen. There are multiple facets of needs and wants and intents and whatever else you wants for Mag and Maureen, but it all rolls down to trying to get the other's attention. Mag has assured that she is all Maureen has, and needs to keep Maureen's attention in order to remain dominant. Maureen needs to get her mother to listen long enough to understand the hell she is being put through. Now, they make eachother's lives living hells, but the basis is all about getting the attention of the other. The importance of need. Every scene invovles the intense needs of the characters. As mundane as trying to make a daughter come out of the bathroom and get married in the Plaza Suite to trying to make sense of a strange culture in The Philidelphians.

Be it Tennessee Williams or William Shakespeare, the need is the essence of drama. That is a point that every drama class I have ever taken has stressed. Even contemporary plays like HamletMachine, Hey Girl!, or anything by Beckett, or any play where dialogue is not immediately central, if there at all, the characters are trying to get someone's attention. And the dialogue that is there is all about getting attention. What that attention is- I usually have no idea, but usually the people in all black sitting next to me find it divinely inspiring. The point of this small tangent is that, without the need there is no point in theatre to me. I don't want to direct a play where the characters don't want anything. That's boring. If Stanley never wanted to kick Blanche out of the house, or Blanche never wanted to protect Stella from being abused, or whatever other wants you wish to read into Streetcar, the play would be immensely boring and I doubt I'd be reading it. Action is relative, but desire is essential.