While the phrase “public domain” may hold little meaning for you (or make your eyes glaze over), January 1, 2019 will mark a significant milestone in that seemingly arcane distinction. That’s because at the beginning of the new year, creative works will once again begin to enter the public domain – that is to say that they will no longer be subject to copyright protection or restrictions – for the first time in 20 years.
Why the gap? Because in 1998 Congress enacted an extension on copyright protection (named for entertainer and congressman Sonny Bono, who fought for such legislation). So while works from 1922 have been in the public domain for two decades, it is only now that 1923 works move out of copyright. This means they can be produced, adapted, copied as anyone sees fit. If you’ve always wanted to create a radical modern retelling of Felix Salten’s Bambi, it’s all yours – provided you don’t accidentally incorporate elements which were unique to the Disney animated film, because those bits belong to Disney and they’re likely to vigorously protect their intellectual property.
While there have been various articles and web essays about what enters the public domain imminently, they have tended to concentrate on books, movies and songs – for example, you will no longer have to pay for the rights to “Yes, We Have No Bananas” going forward, should you be inclined to use it. You’ll also be able set Robert Frost’s “Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening” to a hip-hop track and not owe his estate a dime.
Condola Rashad in “Saint Joan” at Manhattan Theatre Club in 2018 (Photo by Joan Marcus)
When it comes to theatre, the most notable work – and it has been noted elsewhere – that will come into the public domain is George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan. That means if Manhattan Theatre Club had just waited a year to produce the play, they would have saved, assuming a 6% author’s royalty, about $125,000 on their production. That said, Shaw’s Saint Joan is just one of many versions of the story, so keep your hands off everything from Jean Anouilh’s The Lark and Jane Anderson’s very recent Mother of the Maid.
This prompts the question: what other theatrical work is about to be up for grabs for all takers?
Certainly nothing as quite as classic as the Shaw work, although Elmer Rice’s The Adding Machine is widely acknowledged as an important work by an important playwright, even if recent outings are few. There was a musical adaptation that found success a decade ago.
A flip through the pages of the venerable Burns Mantle Best Plays books for 1922-23 and 1923-24 is a great survey, and while the synopses that appear for most plays suggest there’s a lot that’s best left in the past, there are some plays that might be worth looking at again, either to produce on a budget (no royalties), or adapt for modern audiences. Mind you, there’s no racial or ethnic diversity to speak of in the mix, unless you count Hungarian, but of course now anyone can set that right. Maybe there are shows out there ripe for musicalization, with no strings attached?
Here’s a cursory sampling, in no particular order:
Will Shakespeare by Clemence Dane, which posited a love triangle in which Shakespeare and Kit Marlowe fight for the affections of one Mary Fitton, lady in waiting. It climaxes with a fight between Will and Kit which climaxes with (spoiler alert) Kit falling on his own knife. One can never have to many plays chronicling a life which went largely unrecorded by history.
Mary the Third was a mid-career work by Rachel Crothers, a highly successful playwright whose greatest success would nonetheless come with her last produced piece, Susan and God in 1937. Mary the Third looked at marriage across three generations of women in the same family.
Humoresque by Fannie Hurst was the story of a an up-from-the-slums violinist, and had already been a silent film based on Hurst’s short story. It was later considerably reworked by Clifford Odets and Zachary Gold into a film released in 1946, with the violinist now caught in a romance with his wealthy patroness, played by Joan Crawford.
My Aunt from Ypsilanti was “adapted from the French” and while the play seemed entirely negligible, you gotta love that title, the only Broadway show to ever use the place name Ypsilanti. Of course, titles can’t be copyrighted, so if no one stole this one by now, it’s unlikely to see a resurgence.
Swashbucklers weren’t reserved for the screen, and 1923 saw the stage debut of Rafael Sabatini’s Scaramouche. One Sheldon Stanwood played the French hero, later embodied in 1952 on the screen by Stewart Granger. No records survive (actually, just didn’t look) as to whether the title character did the fandango.
“Scaramouche”
Frederick Lonsdale was a successful writer of musical librettos, but it’s his plays that have lived on, including The Last of Mrs. Cheney and On Approval,which will come into public domain in 2021 and 2023 respectively. But his Aren’t We All? from 1923 was in fact his last show to be seen on Broadway, in a starry 1985 production led by Claudette Colbert and Rex Harrison.
The sharp-eyed might question the inclusion of Outward Bound by Sutton Vane, but while it premiered on January 7, 1924, the Best Plays book notes that it was copyrighted in 1923. This metaphysical mystery, a thematic precursor to the TV’s Lost (oh, right, spoiler alert), was sufficiently popular to yield two movie versions, first in 1930, with Leslie Howard reprising his stage role, and again with Paul Henreid in the Howard role in a 1943 version called Between Two Worlds (oops, again, spoiler alert).
“Outward Bound”
The same “Say, wasn’t that a 1924 show?” query might be applied to Beggar on Horseback by George S. Kaufman and Marc Connelly but once again, while it premiered on February 12, 1924, its copyright was 1923 – the same year as another collaboration by the duo, the musical Helen of Troy, New York, which had songs by the team of Kalmar and Ruby. Somewhat surprisingly, it’s the play which seemed to have legs, as it turns up now and again on various stages, though its last Broadway run was in 1970.
Ferenc Molnar had a solid run of hits between 1902 and 1941, including Liliom (which later became Carousel) and The Play’s The Thing (later adapted by Tom Stoppard as Rough Crossing). His 1923 fantasy of royalty, The Swan, translated by M.P. Baker, would become a film in 1956, starring Grace Kelly and Alec Guinness. It was one of two Molnar plays to debut on Broadway in October of that year, the other being the more tragically-minded Launzi, adapted by Edna St. Vincent Millay, about a young woman, rebuffed in love, who tries suicide, fails, is romantically rebuffed again, then acts as if she were dead, taking to wearing an angel’s wings.
Not to be outdone by Kaufman & Connelly and Molnar, George M. Cohan wrote two shows that premiered in 1923, doing the book, music and lyrics for The Rise of Rosie O’Reilly, which gave Ruby Keeler her Broadway debut, a musical, and The Song and Dance Man, a play. Just to one up the competition, Cohan starred in the latter piece – and the two shows opened in the same week, the former on Christmas and the latter on New Year’s Eve.
Cervantes’s Don Quixote predates concerns like copyright, so the material has actually long been available for free use. But for those who have grown tired of Man of La Mancha, they might want to delve into some archive and find out if there’s anything to be salvaged from Sancho Panza, the 1923 musical by Melchior Lengyel, with a score by Hugo Felix, which seems to have emphasized the wrong character, no doubt contributing to its brief run. Even 95 years ago, marketing mattered.
Years before Hedy Lamarr worked her white-washed wiles on Walter Pidgeon, Annette Margulies embodied the “native girl” Tondeleyo in the potboiler White Cargo, itself adapted from a novel called Hell’s Playground by Ida Vera Simonton. A British film of the play preceded the Lamarr version, and faced censorship for sensual content, even in the pre-Production Code days.
Those with forethought may have already been working on resurrections or revivals of some of these works, but have kept silent until the copyright fully expires at 12:00 am on January 1. But if we’ve had dueling The Wild Partys and both a play and musical called Hamilton, who’s to say there might not be multiple Aunts From Ypsilanti in our future. Dramaturgs and literary managers, playwrights and composers, artistic directors: start your engines. The new year will be here before you can say “Scaramouche”!
Update, December 31, 2018: Subsequent to the publication of this post, I was contacted by Glenn Fleishman, who wrote the excellent Smithsonian piece linked above. According to his research, while Saint Joan debuted in 1923, it was not copyrighted until 1924. So if this Shaw play is on your theatre’s schedule for 2019, you may want to delve deeper into its copyright history before deciding not to pay royalties on it.
Having spent 13 of the past 21 hours embedded at the American Airlines Theatre with The 24 Hour Plays, I’m reaching my natural state of exhaustion, without the participatory exhilaration of pending performance to boost my energy. But here are images from the latter group of plays on tonight’s bill, once again with the caution that these may not be the costumes, props or lighting that will end up on stage in just two hours time.
The best laid plans: any effort to write meaningfully about being embedded with The 24 Hour Plays will have to wait. All I can manage to do is process some of the many photos I’ve taken – and share them with you even in advance of the performance.
Mind you, these are rehearsal photos, with actors wearing their own clothes, some temporary costumes and some outfits that will appear on stage this evening at 8. The lighting was in constant flux as spacing rehearsals took place regardless of whether the lights were on or off, swirling disco lights or a dedicated single instrument. So these aren’t reflective of what will be seen, but of works in progress, possibly never seen like this again.
Having long been intrigued by the 24 hour play concept, it was a stroke of fortune that when I affiliated with The New School a year ago, I was provided with office space that is shared with the official 24 Hour Plays. While we occupy the same small spot, we’re not affiliated. That said, it’s impossible for us to not know what the other is up to much of the time. In proximity, I saw possibility.
Beginning at 9 pm on November 13 and continuing until roughly the same time on the 14th, I’ve been afforded access to every bit of The 24 Hour Plays on Broadway process, to report and photograph as I see fit. At this point, late morning on the 14th, it’s quite clear that I had no idea what I was tackling, in terms of numbers, time, space, and so on. It’s overwhelming. Photographing rehearsals taking place in three different buildings? Read-throughs taking place as other shows, barely read through, are on stage doing spacing rehearsals? Writing live blog posts and editing photos while keeping up? And I certainly didn’t have the stamina to stay through the night as casts were chosen and plays were written.
Patrick Wilson
So this first post covers only the meet and greet on Sunday evening: meetings of old friends, actors approaching other actors who they’ve always admired but never met, staff getting necessary details to facilitate the compressed production schedule.
During the meet and greet, each actor, director and playwright introduced themselves, but they had also been asked to bring a item or two to contribute to the production, and a piece of clothing as well. They were also asked if they had any special talents they’d like to use, as well as anything they’ve never done on stage but have always wanted to do. Here’s a highly selective sample of images and comments from the meet and greet, but in the order in which they were spoken.
Aasif Mandvi
Justin Bartha, actor: “I can do an OK Jerry Seinfeld.”
Jason Biggs, actor: “I’m shite at accents.”
David Krumholtz, actor, contributed a framed image of the Mona Lisa with a cat head.
Hansol Jung
Joanna Christie, actor: “I just want to shout expletives.”
Paul Schneider, actor: “I’ll make you better by dancing.”
David Greenspan, actor: “I can jump rope for 20 minutes straight.”
Shakina Nayfack
Michael Chernus, actor: “I’ve never played drunk, but I’m afraid of that.”
Marin Ireland, actor “I’ll take what you throw at me.”
Bess Wohl, playwright: “I didn’t know about bringing a costume, so…nudity.”
Dick Scanlan and Alicia Witt
Hugh Dancy, actor: “I’m not a bad whistler.”
Shakina Nayfack, actor: “I’m a trans woman, but I’d like to just play a woman.”
Olivia Washington, actor: “I can make shapes with my tongue.”
Christopher Oscar Peña, Patricia McGregor and David Diggs
Ukweli Roach, actor, brought a “Max onesie” from Where The Wild Things Are.
Alicia Witt, actor: “I can do whatever you throw at me.”
Warren Leight, playwright: “I was here 10 days after 9/11. We’re in the right place tonight.”
Julie White
Carolyn Cantor, director, brought a pair of angel wings.
Rachel Dratch, actor: “If you need a big dramatic moment, I’m not your woman.”
David Lindsay-Abaire, playwright, brought a giant prop meat cleaver and an evil clown mask.
Warren Leight
Genevieve Angelson, actor: “I’m really good at giving a bat mitzvah girl a speech – ‘You haftorah was amazing!’”
Grace Gummer, actor: “I brought a guitar, but I can’t play it.”
Anson Mount, actor: “I’ve always wanted to play Joel Osteen…he is smooth. Or Rasputin.”
Anson Mount and Jenna Ushkowitz
Jenna Ushkowitz, actor: “I can do a baby sound with my voice.”
Julie White, actor: “I’ve worked with a lot of fake babies.”
Michael Cerveris, actor: “I’d like to get to the end of the play with the girl, ideally alive.”
Justice Smith
Justice Smith: “I’d like to play a sociopath who falls in love, or an old person in a young person’s body.”
Christopher Oscar Peña, playwright, brought a Marge Simpson rubber duckie.
Patricia McGregor, director, brought an hour-old piece of fried chicken.
Olivia Washington
Daveed Diggs, actor: “I fall really well.”
For rehearsal photos of plays by Warren Leight, Christopher Oscar Peña and Jonathan Marc Sherman, click here.
For rehearsal photos of plays by Hansol Jung, David Lindsay-Abaire and Bess Wohl, click here.
Željko Ivanek, Zakes Mokae and Danny Glover in the 1982 U.S. premiere of Athol Fugard’s “MASTER HAROLD …and the boys” at the Yale Repertory Theatre (photo by Gerry Goodstein)
After its US debut at Yale Repertory Theatre in March 1982, and before it opened on Broadway in early May of that year, Athol Fugard’s MASTER HAROLD…and the boys played a one-week engagement at the Annenberg Center in Philadelphia. During that brief run, one critic wrote of the play, in part:
Fugard, who also directed the Yale Repertory Theater production, has fashioned a play of compactness and clarity. Running without intermission for a rapid one-and-three-quarter hours, the play manages to develop and destroy this idyllic refuge for Hally while still taking time to comment on the human condition. To Fugard, life is a ballroom dance, but the humans who are on the floor are often tragically unaware of the steps.
The cast is exemplary. Danny Glover, with a minimum of dialogue, creates in Willie an admirable man whose emotions are obviously trapped by the racial system that restricts him. As Hally, Lonny Price captures the essence of a youth caught between two fathers and the pains of growing up. Price, who has replaced the explosive Željko Ivanek from the original Yale production, brings a gentle and more melancholy tone to the character of this young and misguided protagonist.
Dominating the show is Zakes Mokae as Sam. Mokae provides an ideal father figure for Hally, a man who painfully endures the insults of his “son” in an attempt to salvage the boy’s self-respect.
I recall this review distinctly because I wrote it. I also remember fighting angrily to insure that it appeared in The Daily Pennsylvanian, my college newspaper, because having seen the original run at Yale, I believed Master Harold to be a major work of theatre that students should know about. However, because my actual “beat” was writing theatre and film reviews of activities off-campus for the weekly entertainment magazine, 34th Street, shows at the on-campus Annenberg Center were the purview of others – though no one had asked to or been assigned to cover Master Harold. In some ways, it was a conflict of interest for me to write about Annenberg shows, because my work-study job was in the box office there, and in addition I had taken over running the Center’s post-show discussion series.
My fight to write about Master Harold was less because I was so eager to opine on it, but because I thought better me than no one. That’s not to say the play was struggling up from obscurity. On the same page where my review appeared there was an ad for the production, noting positive reviews by, among others, Frank Rich and Mel Gussow of The New York Times, Jack Kroll of Newsweek and Douglas Watt of the New York Daily News. But I doubt many Penn students at the time, even the theatre crowd, had read those.
I met Fugard that week in 1982 when he was on campus, albeit briefly, when I led a post-matinee discussion with him (two years earlier, also at Yale Rep, in a fleeting opportunity for me, he had signed my copy of A Lesson From Aloes). The event was to a degree derailed, first by the retirees in attendance, who used the opportunity to chastise the many high schoolers present for their inappropriate behavior during a pivotal moment in the play. Then more responsible students then took offense and spoke out to distance themselves from their less mature peers. Let’s just say I had no quality time with Athol on stage or off, as he disappeared immediately after the talk, which had squandered his presence.
It would be 28 years before I had the opportunity to speak with Fugard again, occasioned by my podcast “Downstage Center.” I had long wanted to talk with him, to revisit the Master Harold that I had seen both in New Haven and Philadelphia, and later on its national tour. Despite the fact that Fugard continued his relationship with Yale Rep into the latter part of the 80s, even as I began to work at Harford Stage, our paths never crossed, until October of 2010 for the podcast session.
Based upon what I had seen in 1982, I had been harboring a long unanswered question. However, what I wanted to discuss was so specific, that I didn’t bring it up during the 65 minute interview (which you can listen to here), because so few listeners might be interested. But once I turned off the recorder, I finally had my chance. I asked Fugard if he minded answering a very particular question almost three decades on, and he generously encouraged me.
As it was widely acknowledged, at the time and ever since, Ivanek could not stay with Master Harold because he was already committed to appear in a movie, The Sender, his first significant film role. Lonny Price, as he told me himself both back in 1982 at the Annenberg Center and again when we met as adults years later, had gone into the show with only 10 days preparation.
But as I intimated in my review, there was a shift in the play with the change from Ivanek to Price. Specifically (and if you don’t know the play, you may want to stop reading now), at its climax, Hally (as Harold is called throughout the play), spits on Sam, his surrogate father, and the two must confront the anger and shame that brought them to that moment and its aftermath. The play ends relatively quickly thereafter, with Hally making an emotional departure from the tea room where the play is set.
“When Željko played the role,” I related to Fugard in 2010, “it felt to me like there had been an irrevocable break. That Hally had become his father, embittered and racist, and that his friendship with Sam would never be repaired. With Lonny in the role, the moment seemed to be one that was more ambiguous, more confused, and even though he stormed off, you had a sense that they might work things out. Was that,” I then asked, “simply the result of the differing nature of the two actors, or was it a change in the intent of the moment and the play?”
“Well, the second way is truer to what really happened,” Fugard explained. As he had said previously in interviews over the years, he was Hally and there was a Sam. However the actual incident had taken place when Fugard was younger, a pre-teen, as opposed to the older teen as portrayed in the play. “We did become friends again,” he said.
“But,” he mused, “what you say is very interesting. Because what we ended up showing may have been the truth, but what you saw originally may have actually been the more dramatically interesting choice. I didn’t necessarily see it, because I knew what happened and that’s what I wanted to show. But perhaps I missed an opportunity.” And with that, since I had already kept Fugard past my allotted time, he was whisked off to some event where he was slated to put in an appearance.
I tell this story in part because while my question was birthed in 1982, it was with perseverance and luck that I was able to get an answer in 2010 – and because that’s an awfully long time to walk around with what was, in essence, a burning dramaturgical inquiry. But I also tell it because, for the first time in some 30 years, I’ll be seeing MASTER HAROLD…and the boys later this week at Signature, in a production once again directed by Fugard. Having seen it so often, and done so well, in the first half of the 1980s (including with James Earl Jones as Sam in the national tour), I have shied away from subsequent productions – and I wasn’t yet living in NYC when Lonny Price directed a revival for Roundabout in 2003. I’ve also never seen the TV version with Matthew Broderick, John Kani and Mokae from 1985 or the 2011 film (directed by Price) with Ving Rhames and Freddie Highmore.
It is now six years since I interviewed Athol, 34 years since I first saw Master Harold, and a few days before I see the play again. Perhaps Athol will be lurking at the back of the house, since I’m seeing a late preview; even if he is, I doubt he’ll remember me after our three brief meetings spread over so many years. I find myself wondering about what Hally I’ll see: the one who eventually reconciles with his friends or the one hardened into racism fueled by apartheid, or someone in between. But no matter what, I’m ready to spend an afternoon in the tea room with Willie, Hally and Sam, all of whom were theatrical mentors to me, teaching me how much one actor, and a shift in emphasis, can so change a play.
“I knew y’all would come. It’s the rest of the world I couldn’t have anticipated.”
Lin-Manuel Miranda (all photos by Howard Sherman)
That was what Lin-Manuel Miranda admitted about his extraordinary recent success with the musical Hamilton to some 200 high school drama teachers in a session on July 7, just two days before he was to leave the cast of the show. He was speaking at the Broadway Teachers Workshop, an annual summer program for theatre teachers from around the country, in a wide-ranging discussion that took him from elementary school to the present day. While questions came to Miranda at first from the moderator Patrick Vassel, the associate director of Hamilton, the session was predominantly Miranda responding to questions directly from the teachers.
For the benefit of all of the teachers (and students) who weren’t there, here are some highlights from Miranda’s remarks, slightly condensed and edited for clarity. Among the material not included here are any topics covered in my prior interviews with Miranda, both for Dramatics magazine and this website.
On being a teacher post-college
When I was about to graduate Wesleyan in 2002, I called Dr. Herbert [Miranda’s high school mentor] and said, “I have a BA in theatre arts, can I come substitute teach at Hunter for a living?” He said, “I’ll do you one better we actually have a part time English position.” So I taught seventh grade English my first year out of school.
There’s nothing better than the people who taught you becoming your friends suddenly being on the other side of that divide So that was enormous fun. And I loved it, I loved my students. I had two seventh grade English classes and I still follow them and they’re still in touch.
They offered me a full-time position at the end of the year and I could kind of see the Mr. Holland’s Opus life ahead of me and I said, ‘I’ll kick myself forever if I don’t even try to work on this musical I’d already been working on called In The Heights.’ I’d already met Tommy [Kail, Hamilton’s director], we were workshopping In The Heights in the basement of the Drama Book Shop while I was teaching. I basically quit teaching part time to be a professional sub, which is much more precarious because you don’t know if you’ll make rent month to month. But it’s much less draining, so your time is free to write.
Lin-Manuel Miranda
So I really was a professional sub until In The Heights opened on Broadway. Elementary school Spanish, physics, science – in the physics classes I’d be like “who wants a song”? I didn’t know what I was talking about. But it was enormously life-changing and it’s in the DNA of everything I do now.
A huge impulse from Hamilton is that impulse to teach. Because what you learn when you’re a teacher, in a lot of ways it’s different from being a performer. You go into being a performer because you get that itch that only applause can scratch. What you realize when you’re teaching is tactually the best moments when you’re a teacher is when you’re laying back and the kids are making the connections for themselves and all you do is keep the ball in the air. You watch them make the connections with each other and my best teachers always did that. You’ll know when those neurons are firing and things are happening and you just get to watch it. They’ve got the information and they’re making the connections, they are debating.
So that was enormously useful as well, because I think the best actors know how to listen. They don’t just scratch that itch that applause provides, they listen to their fellow castmates and they hold them up. They realize they’re twice as strong when they are in an ensemble than when they’re center stage and in the spotlight. Those are the lessons I’ve learned from being a teacher and a performer and they’ve been essential, really essential.
On his earliest musicals and the influence of mixtapes
I wrote four musicals in college. Only one of them was In The Heights. I wrote another one called On Borrowed Time, which was my senior thesis, which if I have my way you’ll never hear. I wrote a jukebox musical called Basket Case; I wrote the book and it was all 90s songs. It was about a school shooting and it started with “Jeremy” by Pearl Jam and it ended with the shooting to “Black Hole Sun” by Soundgarden. In it was “Barbie Girl” and Destiny’s Child.
It actually came as a result of listening to mixtapes of music I liked in the car. They were starting to form the spine of a story in my head which is sort of how I write scores. I’m really grateful that I was a teenager in a time when to impress a girl you made her 90 minutes of cassette music and that’s an art form unto itself, is it not? Draw the cover art, you have a rise and a fall, you can put in skits. It’s not like a CD, they have to listen to it in the order in which you have arranged it. That is a musical score. It’s usually the musical score of, ‘Why don’t you like me?’
But it’s also a way of making friends, a way of showing of your tastes, or a way of getting a friend into music that they don’t really know about, My knack for eclecticism in music is born of the mixtape era.
On student audiences at Hamilton
Lin-Manuel Miranda at the Broadway Teachers Workshop
To an insane degree, the best shows are the student shows, because they’re prepped. They know what they’re coming to see. You don’t realize how much life has beaten you up until you see a bunch of kids see a show. The things they react to wouldn’t occur to you to react to.
There’s a moment where an American spy passes another spy a letter and a redcoat comes and just twists her neck and pulls her away. It’s not on the album, it’s a physical moment, it’s just before “Right Hand Man.” Adults watch and they go, ‘oh, this is a transition, it’s a stage transition, this is information we needed to know.’ When kids see that moment they go “OH!” Honest. Life hasn’t beat them up yet, they can actually be surprised and afraid and annoyed. It’s such live ammo to have an audience of students but it’s so much more rewarding because they’re there for all of it.
They’re there for Anthony being gorgeous because he’s gorgeous, so when he says “Let’s strip down to our socks it’s like, “Aaah!” – ten kids just started puberty. Twenty girls just started puberty and ten guys just figured something out. ‘Oh. Oh this. I know this about myself now.’ The inverse is true for Jasmine. Jasmine did one of our video Ham4Hams and the overwhelming comment was from teenage girls saying, “I’m so gay, I’m SO GAY.” That’s because they’re in love with her.
All this is to say the student matinees are just thrilling because the reaction is completely unguarded. When our characters pass away there are honest to god hitching sobs. We get that from adult audiences too, but its harder to get to you. It comes unbidden from these kids.
The enthusiasm during the rap battles, holy crap! Rap battles are the lingua franca of these kids. I mean there’s YouTube channels devoted to rap battles, Wilmer Valderrama telling “Your mama” jokes on MTV, so to see the founders snapping on each other, it’s revelatory to them and they’re getting the food of what they’re fighting about almost in spite of themselves. We really tried, we’re threading the needle of, “This is what the debt plan is really about.” This is what they’re for and this is what they’re against – and also ‘I’m going to put my foot up your butt.’ Oh! It is that thing of being able to fly in both directions, therefore all of it, if one thing doesn’t get them, something else will.
If we start from the point that these founders are human and what we’re trying to uncover is as much humanity [as we can] in two hours and forty-five minutes, what does that mean about the rest of your history textbook? It’s the beginning of a discussion and that’s very exciting. It’s not ‘we spoon feed you a musical and you love history.’ This musical unlocks that history is written by the victors and so what does that mean for history, what does that mean in your mind.
On failing and learning from failure
Lin-Manuel Miranda
There is so much liability for a teacher. There is so much you’re not willing to go out on a limb on, because you don’t know what’s going to come back to you. I felt very lucky that I found teachers that were willing to show up and be present so we could have a student run musical. That’s huge.
I learned how to corral a group of kids when you couldn’t hire them or fire them. If someone missed rehearsal, what could I say? “You’d better come back or…you just really need to come back!” You learned how to get everyone involved in something and do it for the sake of it, as opposed to for a grade or for cool points. It’s about making a great thing and learning to inspire your peers. I think probably half the things I did were probably artistic failures, but they were met with support and I think that’s the sort of important thing.
That’s how we figure out who we are and what we like and what we respond to. One of the great lessons I took away from film and theatre is to watch everything critically. If you’re in a show and you hate the show, don’t turn your brain off. ‘Why isn’t this show working?’ I find myself often imagining my own scenes on the ashes of a failed show that is happening in front of me in real time. ‘What about this isn’t working? Is it the performance, is the set distracting you from the performance, is the set too much for the plot?’
Continue to think critically when you’re watching any piece of art, because even if you say, “I wish I had those two hours of my life back,” you’ll know a little bit more about your taste, about who you are as an artist, about what you respond to. So it’s never really a waste of time. I think that’s a good perspective to have both when it’s creating things that don’t work or seeing things that don’t work.
On policy makers, politicians and the arts
Lin-Manuel Miranda
What I am finding is Hamilton has become a Rorschach test for our nation. Every candidate has been compared to every character in my show. Depending on which way you lean, either Trump or Hillary is Burr, and that’s OK, that’s fine. It’s good for us to have shared things to discuss. That is one of the places where the arts help us, to have water cooler moments in a time when everybody curates their own reality, right?
I think what we’re finding with social media is we have some shared moments but actually they allow us to go into our own windows and take our lessons from that. I’m always grateful for the way the arts can engender empathy. That’s the biggest thing that we can do that a politician, unless they’re really good, can’t do. We can let you into someone’s life and make you feel like you spent a hundred years with Eliza Schuyler Hamilton and been in her world, and that’s going to change you somehow, in a good way or a bad way. That’s what the arts can do.
Music is our secret weapon. It sneaks in past your defenses, it doesn’t matter who you vote for. If you’re not crying at the end of Hamilton or at the end of The Color Purple, you’re not a human. [The arts have] the ability to engender empathy and to see world views beyond our own. When you can’t shut out people as the other, that what the arts can do that nothing else can do.
On writing Hamilton
Lin-Manuel Miranda
I think a part of me is always trying to write the ideal school show. So much of my life, from elementary school, was “What’s going to be the school play.” So there’s a part of me that’s always trying to answer that calling in my work now. That’s my ideal for what a great show is.
The watchword, the phrase I went by is “The personal is political.” It’s not enough to have a song about the debt plan for the capitol, how does it advance our story, how does it advance our characters. If it doesn’t it goes. We get away with all of the information that’s sneaking into your kids’ brains because Burr is like, “Everyone’s in that room, why can’t I be in that room?”
If the personal is political you can get away with anything. That’s the fun of it. It’s making sure you as long as you’re moving the story along, we can feed in as much stuff as we want, they won’t even know they’re learning. They just want to know what happens. We had to be very ruthless about that.
On the big takeaway from Hamilton
What’s the proverb? “May you live in interesting times.” I don’t know that it gets more interesting than right now. I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. To be honest, it vacillates every day. I think that your kids are going to look to you to make sense of all this. We’re all trying to make sense of it. That’s an enormous responsibility, but it’s also an enormous gift.
We get 1,360 kids to see the show a few times a year. They’re not all going to become theatre teachers, they’re not all going to write musicals or songs. But what they do have to reckon with when they see Hamilton is that Hamilton made the most of his time, he made the most of his less than 50 years on this earth.
Charge your kids with that, the notion that life’s a gift, it’s not to be taken for granted, it’s not to be taken lightly You’re born with gifts and you’re born with an honesty that can never really leave you. What are you going to do with your time? What are you going to do with your time on this earth?
I remember being a teenager and thinking, ‘We have so much time, we have time to kill.’ Man, what I would do to get that time back. I think the continuing awareness that being here is a real gift, that whatever is happening in the world, make the most of it and sink your teeth into whatever you’re doing. That’s your biggest charge and the rest flows from there.
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Disclosure: I presented four sessions on censorship in high school theatre at the Broadway Teachers Workshop in 2015, for which I received a $600 honorarium. BTW did not solicit this post, but agreed to my attendance at my request.
Since 2005, Sir Alan Ayckbourn, the British playwright and director, has been bringing plays – often two or even three at a time – to 59E59 Theaters in New York from his home base at the Stephen Joseph Theatre in Scarborough, England, where he was artistic director for more than 30 years. On each of his six visits to the U.S. – save for one where he fell ill at the last moment – I’ve moderated a public conversation with him, prompted by our friendship dating back to 1996 and the U.S. premiere of By Jeeves at Goodspeed Musicals, where I was general manager at the time.
For the first time, this year I remembered to record our conversation on May 29. Because I always learn so much from discussing theatre with Alan – we’ve also done two lengthy audio interviews, the most recent (2011) of which can be found here – I thought I’d set down a bit of this year’s conversation, focusing entirely on what Alan had to say. These pieces of the conversation have been slightly edited and condensed for clarity.
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Richard Stacey and Elizabeth Boag in Confusions
On Confusions, his 14th play, from 1974, which is only now having its U.S. premiere at 59E59 Theaters.
I hardly recognize the boy who wrote Confusions. He was very, very young. I never rewrite them, I just them be. I just don’t know the guy who wrote it and I don’t want to meddle with his work, in case he comes forward in time and beats me up….
It’s a great art form, one-act play writing. Just because you can write full-length plays doesn’t necessarily mean you can write one-acts. One of our great one-act writers was a guy called John Mortimer who wrote some wonderful one-act plays. But I think his full-length ones were slightly less certain or sure-footed than his one act plays, plays like The Dock Brief and What Should We Tell Caroline and all those were marvelous little examples.
It’s like the way Saki wrote a short story. It’s akin to short story writing because you just need a different set of muscles. Like an athlete, just because you’re a 100-metre sprinter doesn’t mean you can run a marathon, in fact you probably can’t. It just depends on the discipline.
The one-act is a fascinating discipline because everything has to be very concise, very quick By the time one of the Confusions plays is over, Hero’s Welcome [this year’s other Ayckbourn production in New York, his 79th play], in time span, is just getting underway and you think that’s leisurely, you can establish the characters, you can establish the situation, you can plant questions in people’s minds.
On working in theatre.
One of my crusades is live theatre and keeping it alive. I’ve never worked extensively in movies, or television or radio. I’ve always concentrated in theatre.
About every five years, we need to stop and just ask ourselves, why are we staying in theatre? The depressing Sunday morning when nothing’s happening or the Wednesday afternoon when nobody’s coming in, you think “What the hell are we doing this for?” and I just have to list the things which I consider important with live theatre.
One of those things, and it sounds like a total cliché, is it’s live. It’s when you do something here in this space, we’re all in the same room and in this tiny space a group of people will perform something and hopefully you will interact with them and they will interact with you. It’s a live, living experience.
It’s the one facet of theatre that’s totally unique. You can forget all the other things: big flying pieces of scenery and spectacular lighting effects and the huge orchestras that swell up. In the end it’s just a group of human beings with a certain talent for acting getting together and doing something, trying to tell a story which somebody else who has a certain talent for writing has constructed, and allowing it to happen.
On his eight-hour narrative for voices, The Divide, performed only once to date.
I think one of the things that drives me, apart from live theatre, is the need to surprise myself, or indeed in the case of The Karaoke Theatre Company [his newest play, debuting this summer at the Stephen Joseph], to terrify myself.
I’m aware that when you get to my length of career, 80 plays and counting, the danger is to rely on the tried and tested. There’s nothing in new in theatre. Always when you do something you consider totally new someone will come up and say, ‘I saw in 1921 an identical play to this’ or it was just slightly different, so you don’t try to do that but do something different.
Because I’m a director and a writer and the two roles are simultaneous – as I’m writing a new play I’m directing it in my head, I’m solving the problems, at least to a certain extent. I’ve got no unsolved problems by the time I’ve got them onstage, because I know what I’m doing. That’s not conceited, it’s just practice really. So when I sat down for The Divide, I wrote something I knew I couldn’t stage.
On science fiction.
Sci-fi gives you common ground with the generations you are no longer part of. You can invent a world which hopefully they will accept which doesn’t depend on me knowing their jargon or their way of texting or anything like that. I invent the ground rules. You ask them please accept the ground rules of this….
When you try and do an Isaac Asimov, when you start prophesying the future, you try and think of the trends. I got quite a lot in Henceforward [his 1987 play being revived this summer at the Stephen Joseph] right. What I haven’t got right is the technology, which has leapt through. Who could anticipate that since 1987 digital technology would advance as far as it has?
On relationships between men and women in his plays.
Russell Dixon and Stephen Billington in Hero’s Welcome
I always felt that I’m probably very calm and I hope pleasant person, but whenever I’ve hurt people, they’re always people I love, because it’s a sort of defensive thing. Over the years, when I was very young, I got quite aggressive to some people with whom I should have known better.
Nevertheless, you must have perceived in some of my plays that when men and women cohabit, when they choose to live together, they proceed to destroy each other and do terrible things they never would dream of doing to a complete stranger – even if it’s non-physical, saying terrible things.
On whether he sees much theatre beyond his own work.
When I go into a theatre I go to work. I sit in the auditorium, and I sit and worry, quite often. I think about how can we make this better, how can we make this right? So I go to the movies. I don’t have to worry there.
If you’ve ever been to the movies with a film editor they are appalling people. They go “No, no, no. Cut, cut, cut. For god’s sake they’ve let that shot go far too long.” And I just sit there going, “Oh, that’s good.”
Responding to an audience member who asked how, since he works so much, he’s learned such a great deal about human nature.
I’ve worked with human beings. They are actors, admittedly, and they’re rather extraordinary human beings. Actors have a tendency to live very close to the surface and they tend to be very fluent about themselves because they use themselves so much. I learn a lot about human nature from actors, and the rest I observe, staring out of the window and walking around.
The deep and interesting things, the psychological things I learn by working as a director. The director is an interesting mix of facilitator and dictator really and a little bit of something else, a sort of counselor, who hopefully is helpful.
Once I asked Stephen Joseph, “What’s the secret of directing?” and he said, “The secret to directing is to create an atmosphere in which other people feel free to create.” That is the most extraordinarily easy answer and the most difficult thing to achieve. Because you get a group of actors who are different, they’re fairly centered a lot of them, and you can persuade them, cajole them, to work together and sometimes they do very willingly and sometimes with great reluctance. It’s most interesting and informative thing for a dramatist and also I think it brings me a lot closer to the psychology of what makes people tick.
On casting and creating an ensemble.
Like many directors I try not to always rely on the same team because there’s eventually something stupefying about that. You sit there thinking, ‘Aren’t we wonderful, aren’t we wonderful?’ No, we’re not wonderful. You have to bring new blood in. I have a sort of rolling system. Hopefully I have enough actors at any one time in the company who understand the ethic of the way I like to work and then you bring the new people in who provide the new spark. It is a growing thing.
I’ve always worked on the assumption, it’s an old show biz cliché really: Take the work seriously, but never yourself. A lot of the time we work from having fun, just enjoying each others’ company and I think that is very helpful in the process of creation, because it relaxes people, they feel confident, perhaps. If you’re going to act, you’ve got to try a role out, try to do something with it, chances are you’re going to make a bit of a fool of yourself in the early stages, because you’re going to go too far or just do something that’s totally wrong, but if you give the actor the feeling they can do that without you going “Ga-ah, stupid,” you just say “Well that hardly worked, but well done. Moving on. Shall we try another one?” So it’s that sort of trust. I hope the actors who work with me trust me to say the right thing.
Exiting the subway at Christopher Street, turning south on Seventh Avenue, my eyes always turn to the brick building on my left, with the word “Garage” inlaid near the peak of its low-rise roof. The site of restaurants for the past two decades, currently plastered with a “For Lease” sign, this building always triggers the same series of thoughts, in more or less the same order: What a shame. Circle Rep. Balm in Gilead. Lanford Wilson.
I most recently walked by this location seven days ago. As I thought about Lanford, I was prompted to Google how long it has been since the playwright had passed away. As I write, it is five years ago to the day. I barely knew Lanford personally (I spoke with him a few times in the early 90s, and interviewed him in 2008), but I knew many of his plays, and I find myself missing him and his work.
Danny Burstein and Sarah Paulson in Talley’s Folly
In New York, there have been two revivals of Wilson plays in recent years, both in 2013: The Mound Buildersat Signature Theatre and Talley’s Follyat Roundabout’s Laura Pels Theatre. But prior to those runs, you have to jump back a decade to find significant Manhattan productions of Wilson’s work, when he was a Signature playwright with a season devoted to his plays. There has not been a Wilson play on Broadway since 1993, when Redwood Curtain played a short run.
I find myself wondering whether Wilson – Pulitzer Prize recipient, Obie Award-winner, three-time Tony nominee – has fallen out of favor. It happens to some authors, perhaps more than anyone realizes: after several Broadway failures, Edward Albee faded somewhat in the 1980s, only to roar back as one of the nation’s most admired playwrights in the mid-1990s; late in life, Arthur Miller was perhaps more acclaimed in London than on New York stages, but he has rebounded in critical and popular opinion.
Looking at the list of upcoming Lanford Wilson productions on the website of Dramatists Play Service, which licenses his work, one finds two “pages” of his plays, a seemingly healthy list. But it’s worth noting that of the nearly four dozen planned productions, only two are by professional companies, both of those being Talley’s Folley, probably Wilson’s most popular play, due in part to being a two-character, single-set play. Of the non-professional productions, the most-produced play is The Rimers of Eldritch, which requires a company of 17, ideal for high schools seeking large-cast plays.
Swoosie Kurtz, Richard Thomas, Jeff Daniels and Amy Wright in Fifth of July
I have many distinct memories of seeing Lanford’s plays, though oddly enough, I first became aware of his work because his first significant success, The Hot L Baltimore, which ran for more than 1,000 performances, was turned into a short-lived sitcom in 1975. Lanford had nothing to do with the show and didn’t much care for it, but as I once told him, it prompted me to find a copy of the script of the play, so it had a small lingering impact on at least one impressionable youth; surely I was not alone. A few years later, I saw Christopher Reeve (succeeding William Hurt; preceding Richard Thomas), Swoosie Kurtz and Jeff Daniels on Broadway in Fifth of July. I was introduced to Talley’s Folly in a production at the Philadelphia Drama Guild, with an actor named Jerry Zaks as half of the cast. I was mesmerized by the landmark Steppenwolf-Circle Rep revival of Balm in Gilead, directed by John Malkovich and featuring Gary Sinise, Laurie Metcalf, Terry Kinney and Giancarlo Esposito, among many others. I did publicity for a production of Serenading Louie at Hartford Stage during my time there.
Lanford Wilson outside Circle Rep
It is worth noting that Lanford was also one of the four founders of Circle Rep. While it’s hard to perpetually recall the broader legacy of a defunct theatre company and those who created it, it’s worth noting that among the plays produced by Circle Rep during its 20 year lifespan, above and beyond Wilson’s own, were Craig Lucas’s Prelude to a Kiss, Paula Vogel’s The Baltimore Waltz, Jon Robin Baitz’s Three Hotels and William M. Hoffman’s As Is.
Five years after his passing, some 20 years after his period of greatest success and productivity ended, what will be the legacy of Lanford Wilson? Will he live on only at high schools, colleges and community theatres – while that is certainly perpetual life? Is he already seen as a writer of his day, like Maxwell Anderson or even William Inge, remembered more in history books than in professional production? Or will it take just a single, significant production to prompt artistic directors and literary managers to reread his many works and begin mining his trove of plays once again?
I hope it’s the last scenario, because for all of Lanford’s plays that I’ve seen, there are plenty more that I only know from the page. But whether set among the denizens of the grungy New York of the late 60s and early 70s, or on the Talley family property in Wilson’s native Missouri, his plays evince a compassion for the foibles, flaws and eccentricities of humanity that I like to think transcend their era, and put me in mind at times of Horton Foote, not in subject or tone, but in spirit.
There’s no plaque on that building at 99 Seventh Avenue South to mark the work that began life there and ultimately the production those plays means more than a small metal plate attached to the brick of yet another restaurant. Nonetheless, I’m going to reroute my walk to work today to pass the building once again as a small tribute to Lanford Wilson, and hope that his work will be returned to professional stages very soon, not to supplant the essential new work to which he was himself devoted, but to sustain the voice of a quintessentially American author, but to remind theatregoers of the lives of the Talley family (beyond just Matt and Sally) and the residents of The Hot L Baltimore.
Promotional image for thatswhatshesaid (photo by Tim Summers)
There’s nothing quite like getting a cease and desist letter.
It may be commonplace if you’re an attorney and you’re receiving a cease and desist claim on behalf of clients, but for artists and arts administrators, at least, there’s a particular chill that accompanies opening a letter (or e-mail) that informs you that if you plan to present, or are currently presenting, a work that the sender feels is in violation of their rights and you don’t stop right away, you’re going to be subject to an assortment of penalties, typically not specified in the first salvo. Cease and desist letters are rather blunt instruments, and unless the artists or companies that receive them had an inkling that what they were doing might tick someone off, they can be quite disorienting, especially if the artists and/or companies don’t have an attorney on speed dial who can help them to determine the best course of action and the ability to pay said attorney to advise them and defend their interests.
According to a report by Rich Smith for Seattle’s The Stranger, Erin Pike, Courtney Meaker and Gay City Arts in Seattle, or some combination thereof, received a cease and desist late yesterday (Friday), demanding the immediate suspension of performances of Pike and Meaker’s thatswhatshesaid, which had given the first of four scheduled performances at Gay City Arts on Thursday evening. Thatswhatshesaid is a two-act theatre piece, performed solely by Pike, which is constructed out of dialogue and stage directions given to women in the 11 most produced plays in the country in 2014-15, as determined by American Theatre magazine. The works on that list include Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike by Christopher Durang and Sondheim and Lapine’s Into The Woods. Earlier, briefer versions of thatswhatshesaid have been performed in Seattle, Portland and Minneapolis.
The cease and desist correspondence came from Samuel French, the licensing house which represents some of the works on the American Theater list and are therefore excerpted in the production; Smith’s report doesn’t say whether Dramatists Play Service or Music Theatre International, which also represent some of the works utilized by Pike and Meaker, have taken any action against thatswhatshesaid. Smith’s report also seems to indicate that French’s letter concerns only the use of material from Bad Jews by Joshua Harmon, even though the newly devised work also contains material from Tribes by Nina Raine and The Whipping Man by Matthew Lopez, which are is also represented by French.
The report in The Stranger quotes a segment of French’s letter and it seems to be fairly standard cease and desist boilerplate, with the appropriate parties’ names plugged in:
Any such program, publicity, production and/or presentation by you and/or permitted by you constitute and shall constitute the intentional infringement of the copyrights, trademarks and or other rights of our author and subject you and any and all other persons and/or firms involved with the publicity, presentation and/or production to the civil and criminal penalties specified under applicable law.
Should you or any of you permit these unlicensed programs and/or performances to take place and/or be performed, whether at a venue leased, owned or operated by you or otherwise, you and all involved personal shall be held fully liable and accountable as infringers and/or contributory infringers as specified under applicable law.
Accordingly, formal demand is hereby made that you immediately cease and desist from any and all such action by the end of business today, Friday, February 5, 2016, and you confirm that you will not conduct, publicize and/or present and/or permit to be conducted, publicized and/or presented any such program and/or performances.
Failure to do so will expose Gay City Arts, and all individuals acting in concert with these parties, to actions for willful copyright and trademark infringement and other legal claims.
Daunting, no? Enough to scare off lots of those accused of infringing, especially those with limited means, without a fight, right?
Now if Pike were simply standing on stage and sequentially reading every bit of dialogue and stage directions involving the female characters from each play, then what’s going on might be perceived as simple appropriation of copyrighted material, though even that’s not remotely a definitive determination. However, even with male roles excised, the sum total of that dialogue and stage directions could amount to seven or eight hours of stage time. Smith’s review of thatswhatshesaid for The Stranger, posted only seven hours before his report about the legal action, didn’t suggest he’d been at a marathon, but rather that Pike and Meaker had selectively chosen pieces of the various works and woven them into a quilt that yielded commentary on both the specific works, as well as the prevailing attitudes towards women being advanced in American theatre today.
So this seems the appropriate time to bring in the concept of “fair use.”
Your eyes may glaze over the moment someone suggests a primer in the fair use provision of U.S. copyright law, but it’s extremely pertinent here. Copyright law is designed to insure that original works remain the property of those who own them, for a defined period of time, so that they can derive revenue from the material without having it simply taken by others for their own benefit. It is why, simplistically, someone cannot simply retype a novel and publish it as their own work, or why plays can’t be performed without appropriate royalties due to the playwright.
But fair use keeps that ownership from being absolute in all cases. Because fair use allows for parody, Mad Magazine or Saturday Night Live or Key and Peele don’t need to pay the authors of creative works they might riff on. Because fair use acknowledges the value of education, teachers don’t need to pay royalties when their students simply read a play aloud in class. Fair use permits quotations from an original work in reviews and critical pieces about that work, and the same holds true for scholarly works. Fair use also considers whether new work that is in some way drawn from or inspired by an earlier work or works is sufficiently transformative of, and distinct from the original(s) as to constitute a sufficiently original work in and of itself.
But here’s the tricky part about fair use: while there are general guidelines as to what is protected under the fair use provisions, there is no absolute determinant that can be applied in all cases. That’s where lawyers and judges come in and that’s what helps to keep the field of intellectual property law perpetually active.
In Smith’s second report, he indicated that Pike had a plan as to how to proceed in the face of French’s cease and desist letter. That should prove fascinating. But it seems clear that if Pike and Meaker wish to mount future productions of thatswhatshesaid, or publish it, or have it licensed so that others may perform it, they’re going to have to challenge French’s assertions that their piece does violate the copyright protections afforded to Bad Jews, and presumably the other 10 works represented in the piece as well.
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I haven’t read or seen thatswhatshesaid, but like many people to whom I’m connected on Facebook, I’d really like to. I wonder whether anyone from French has read or seen it, or if they’re just responding to The Stranger’s coverage of it. Smith’s review was zipping around on my timeline yesterday afternoon between theatre practitioners from all over, and I have to admit that the moment I read it, I thought, ‘Wow, this is going to be an interesting copyright test.’
Without having firsthand knowledge of the piece, or a legal degree, I can’t even hazard a guess as to whether thatswhatshesaid is, even just in my opinion (which counts for absolutely nothing legally), seemingly allowable under fair use, or if the situation is somewhat muddier or even a definitive violation. What I do know is that unless Pike and Meaker themselves were to agree that they were knowingly skirting copyright violation, I’d like to see them pursue their rights to the new work, at least so far as getting good legal counsel about their creation.
In this instance, the new work is using verbatim quotes from other copyrighted works, by authors I admire and several of whom I know, rather than just a general outline of a dramatic/comedic premise, but I can’t help but wonder whether this newly coalescing dispute is in some way akin to what befell David Adjmi and his play 3C. That work was a dark parody of the sitcom Three’s Company, which was proscribed from production or publication for three years until a judge determined that it was permitted under fair use. That said, there may be a corollary here to the disputes over sampling in music, which in many cases have found that the original creators are due income from the subsequent work since their original material was taken directly, even if it was incorporated into something new.
Some might wonder how, given my advocacy for the rights of playwrights to control their work, I can also express support for what Pike and Meaker have reportedly done. My answer is that we’re dealing with artists on both sides of this issue, and if thatswhatshesaid is genuinely transformative, if it is a critical assessment of those original works achieved through theatrical means, if it parodies those original works by mashing up and using their own words against them, then perhaps it should be allowed to have its own life. I doubt, even without having seen it, that thatswhatshesaid will undermine the value of or confuse audiences about the original works excerpted and collaged within it. I appreciate French’s position in defending their clients, but I’d like to see Pike and Meaker have an equally strong defense too.
Update, 12:30 pm February 6, 2015: I’ve stumbled onto the Twitter account of Courtney Meaker and I’d like to selectively quote from her posts regarding how they proceeded with the second performance of thatswhatshesaid. I share them in chronological order, but not every single post:
The show went on.
We redacted all the offending text per the cease and desist letter.
There will be more thoughts and likely a long essay to be written by me, but I want to say that[…]
[…]as a playwright, I would be 100% on board with someone using my work in this way.
We held a completely subjective lens up to the work of the top ten most produced plays.
If my work was ever so lucky as to reach that spot, I would welcome someone dissecting it and taking it out of context.
I would want to know what someone thinks I’m saying about women using my own words.
I’m not perfect. I’m not a perfect feminist playwright. I’m me. And I would want to know.
Update, Monday February 8, 12 noon: Rich Smith of The Stranger has continued to pursue the story of thatswhatshesaid and the cease and desist letter issued by Samuel French. He interviewed French’s executive director Bruce Lazarus about their action, the play and the possibility of the piece being permissible under fair use.
I told him that in my review I described the work as a parody and a collagethat draws from several plays, and asked if he considered the play fair use.
“That’s your interpretation. Because you call it a parody doesn’t make it so,” he said. Then he added, “Fair use is a defense, and if proved it’s perfectly fine and within the law. But it’s a judge’s determination as to whether [That’swhatshesaid] constitutes fair use.Not having seen it, not having read it, I couldn’t tell you if it was fair use or not.”
When asked whether he’ll act on his claim to “go after” Gay City Arts knowing that That’swhatshesaid ran with lines from Bad Jews redacted, Lazarus said it was up to Harmon and all the other authors “whose rights are potentially being infringed” to decide whether they want to pursue legal action.
I posited this story as a David and Goliath situation. Here you have a big publisher coming down on a tiny theater presenting a self-produced play. Did he consider the fact that the artists might not have enough money to retain a lawyer? “For all I know, the author of this play has the wherewithal and the resources to hire an attorney to do this play,” he said, “And our author has the wherewithal to hire an agent to enforce his rights.”
Update, Monday February 8, 11 pm: The Stranger’s Rich Smith continues to report on thatswhatshesaid, with a post from this afternoon citing the receipt of a second cease and desist letter by the show’s creators. It came from Samuel French specifically on behalf of Matthew Lopez in connection with his play The Whipping Man, which was included on American Theatre’s list. However, as Smith notes, The Whipping Man contains no female characters [the text in the original post above has been struck out to reflect that fact]. The only material in thatswhatshesaid pertaining to the play is the sound of performer Erin Pike riffling through the 72 page script.
Update, Thursday February 11, 3:30 pm: In a new report in The Stranger, Dramatists Play Service has now issued a cease and desist letter to thatswhatshesaid on behalf of five of their authors: Other Desert Cities by Jon Robin Baitz, Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike by Christopher Durang, Venus in Fur by David Ives, Tribes by Nina Raine, and Outside Mullingar by John Patrick Shanley.
This post will be updated as new information warrants.
Howard Sherman is director of the Arts Integrity Initiative at The New School College of Performing Arts.
At first, they were a few lunchtime tweets, which proved of little interest, it seemed. But when I collected a couple, and added a few more, for a Facebook post at 9:30 pm on New Year’s Eve, they seemed to resonate. And so, with little ado, my New Year’s resolutions by way of lyrics and dialogue from works of theatre, but no less heartfelt for being so.
Talk less, smile more.
Wake each morning to realize I have a good thing going.
Never walk alone.
Decide what’s right, decide what’s good.
Half the fun is to plan the plan. All good things come to those who can wait.
Many people have to depend on the kindness of strangers. Be that stranger.
When I speak, and I will, be kind.
Sources
I don’t want to patronize those who recognize where these are all from, or presume that everyone will know each one. So if you want to seek any of these out in their original contexts, here are some details.
Lin-Manuel Miranda, Hamilton, direct quote
Stephen Sondheim, Merrily We Roll Along, “And then one morning I woke to realize, we had a good thing going.”
Oscar Hammerstein II, Carousel, “Walk on with hope in your heart and you’ll never walk alone.”
Stephen Sondheim, Into The Woods, “You decide what’s right, you decide what’s good.”
Stephen Sondheim, Sweeney Todd, direct quote
Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire, “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
Robert Anderson, Tea and Sympathy, “When you talk about this…and you will…be kind.”
