GenePool Theater

The Lecture

     (Lights go up on a barren stage.  After a brief pause,
the Professor enters and crosses to DC, where he stops,
facing the audience.)
 
PROFESSOR:  Good evening.  This is a stage.  It is a fairly
     common stage, as far as stages go.  It is called a
     proscenium arch.  What we are here to discuss today is
     playwriting, and I have already begun with the first
     piece of information you need to write a play; the
     stage.
     First, we must get to know the stage better.  Right now
     I am standing downstage center.  If I were to walk over
     there I would be standing downstage left, and
     consequently that is downstage right.  The left and
     right is determined by the actor's point of view.  These
     directionals are reputed to date back to the time of the
     ancient Greeks, whose actors were not known for their
     intelligence.  Which brings me to my next directional,
     downstage and upstage.  This dates back to the Greeks as
     well.  Their plays were originally done on a sloped
     stage, so that the back of the stage was higher than the
     front.  This was so that the actors in the back could be
     seen and heard.  It wasn't until later that it occurred
     to them to put the audience on a slope instead.  So.
     The stage is divided into nine sections.
     Now what we need is a prop.  Props are an important part
     of any play.  You, the audience, can tell a great deal
     from a play simply by seeing the props when the curtain
     rises.  For example, if this stage has a table and a
     refridgerator on it, you can assume, first, that the
     play takes place in a kitchen, second, that there will
     probably be no other rooms in the play since
     refridgerators are somewhat heavy, and third, that
     somebody spent enough money to go out and buy one, and
     so it's probably a good play.  Since I am giving a
     lecture, the necessary prop will be supplied.  (Turning
     to face offstage)  You can bring it in now.
 
     (There is the sound of a door opening and then closing
offstage.  A man wearing a white shirt and a white jacket
enters carrying a podium.  He crosses to DC and places the
podium in front of the professor.)
 
MAN:  There you are Professor.
 
PROFESSOR:  Thank you.  I haven't discussed dialogues yet,
     so please don't speak to me.
 
     (The man gives the Professor a silent 'okay', then
exits.  Sounds of a door opening and closing.)
 
PROFESSOR:  Now, we have our prop, we have our stage.  Let me
     impart to you the most important aspect of any play.  I
     call it the suspension of disbelief.  Let us pretend
     there is a scene going on right now behind me-  a simple
     scene, such as (pause) a man having an argument with his
     wife.  Now, you, the audience, know this is not really a
     man arguing with his wife, but in fact two actors
     pretending to be a man and a wife having an argument.
     However, you choose to ignore what you know about the
     actors in favor of the roles they play.  Why?  Because
     if you didn't, then nothing that happens would make any
     difference to you.  You cannot care for a character you
     do not believe actually exists, and so for the benefit
     of the moment you have chosen to suspend your disbelief.
     So when the wife of the man leaves him, you feel sad,
     when he is consigned to a mental home you are upset for
     him, and so on.  It is the job of the playwright to
     honor this suspension of disbelief.  Say, for example,
     in the middle of the argument a martian walks into the
     room and offers the husband a bagel.  Since it is often
     hard to reconcile the interruption of a domestic
     argument by an extra-terrestrial, the audience no longer
     believes in the scene or cares for the characters.  The
     suspension of disbelief has been betrayed.  Once
     establishing the limits of the scene the playwright
     cannot violate them.  Now.
     The one person scene, or, the monologue.  The monologue
     involves one character, either speaking directly to the
     audience, much as I am doing now, or speaking to
     himself in the form of an aside.  If other characters
     are on stage they are assumed to be unable to hear it.
     It is much the same thing as a thought balloon in a
     comic strip, where only the reader and the thinker are
     privy to the information.  Monologues are typically, if
     done well, the most informative parts of the play, for
     they reveal the inner workings of the character in the
     simplest form possible.  So, whereas in dialogues and
     three-person scenes information of the character may
     only be gleaned by inference regarding the interaction
     with other characters, in the monologue the audience is
     given information direct from the source.  (Pause)  Let
     me give you some idea of what I mean.
 
     (The professor steps away from the podium.  His posture
changes slightly, shoulders sagging into a more natural, or
at least comfortable stance.)
 
PROFESSOR:  Did you ever get the sudden impression you were
     being watched?  It's a feeling I used to get all the
     time when I was young.  Sometimes, usually, it was one
     of my parents, who for some reason liked to just sit and
     stare at me a lot.  But there was the occasional
     incident- where I'd turn around to nobody- and I got
     fairly worked up about it.  My parents told me it was a
     "paranoid delusion", and when I was old enough to
     understand what that meant I agreed with their
     assessment, and the feeling never returned.  (Pause)
     But recently...  I try... I try telling myself it's all
     up here, (points to head) but whatever rational
     component... whatever it was that had convinced me when
     I was six years old seems to have disappeared.  I admit,
     I'm becoming paranoid, but realizing that doesn't help
     matters, because (brief pause) well, when I'm sitting
     there in the study, and suddenly I'm not alone... and I
     race through the house with a baseball bat, into the
     bathroom and the living room and the kitchen and the
     dining room and the closet and the hall, the basement
     the...  the bedroom (brief pause)- and I discover I'm
     really alone, that's when it's hard to convince myself
     it's all in my head...
 
     (The professor moves back behind the podium and
straightens his shoulders.  The sound of the off- stage door
can be heard opening.)
 
PROFESSOR:  Add one person to the stage and we have a
     dialogue.  The dialogue is simply a conversation between
     two characters, and generally offers no direct
     acknowledgement of the existence of an audience. (Enter                  		a man in a long white jacket with a clipboard.  The man
does not look up from the clipboard, and occasionally jots down a note or two.) I will give you an example.
     Continuing the scene of the husband in the psychiatric
     home, I give you a conversation with a doctor.  (Turning
     to the man.) Hello doctor.
 
DOCTOR:  Hello professor.  How are we feeling today?
 
PROFESSOR:  Wonderful.  Fantastic.  Really, I'm doing
     marvelous.  Yourself?
 
DOCTOR:  Your nurse tells me you didn't finish your breakfast
     this morning.  Would you like to tell me why?
 
PROFESSOR:  Well the eggs were scrambled.  I prefer them
     poached.  Plus, they were powdered.
 
DOCTOR:  Well I'm afraid we can't have that.  You have to eat
     if you expect to regain your health.
 
PROFESSOR:  But I am as fit as a fiddle.  Peak of health.
     Just ask my wife.
 
DOCTOR:  But your wife isn't here.  You know that.
 
PROFESSOR:  What do you mean my wife isn't here!
 
DOCTOR:  Calm down professor.  Remember the last time you
     raised your voice like that.
 
PROFESSOR:  Yes, yes, of course.  (Pause)  I'm sorry.  I
     promise to finish my breakfast next time.  (He turns
     away, pauses, then turns back.  The professor has
     returned.)  Thank you, that was admirably done.  You may
     leave until it is time for the three person scene.
 
     (Pause.  The man scribbles something on the clipboard,
     then looks up and smiles.)
 
DOCTOR:  All right.  (He exits off stage, but does not open
     off-stage door.)
 
PROFESSOR:  This is a simple example of the dynamics of a
     dialogue scene.  It was a short scene, but far more
     informative than it may at first have seemed.  Without
     any knowledge of the rest of the play at our hands we
     are still able to glean a great deal.  First, the doctor
     character is in a position of superiority and control
     over the weaker character, the role I played.  This is
     apparent in the manner and tone in which he spoke, much
     the same way a parent speaks to a child.  Second, we
     learn of my character's reticence in acknowledging his
     inferior position, especially when he refuses to give a
     decent reason for not finishing the eggs.  He moves to
     challenge the position of superiority.  Third, and most
     important, we have my character's complete inability to
     accept the very reason he is hospitalized.  This is
     enough to convince the audience of the doctor's stand;
     it convinces the audience my character is indeed very
     ill.  Finally, these three elements combine in the
     conclusion of the scene, where the doctor uses the
     patient's denial of his wife's departure as a means of
     re- establishing his superiority, and the patient,
     forced to accept the unacceptable, backs down and
     accepts defeat.  So, we have learned a lot from this
     simple exchange.  Now if a third person were introduced
     to this situation the dynamics would change
     dramatically.  Now we will add an orderly to the scene.
 
     (He glances off-stage and motions the doctor in.  The
doctor walks back on- stage, jotting notes.  The professor
motions again, and the sound of the door opening and closing
is heard.  The man who brought the podium in earlier enters.)
 
PROFESSOR:  Using the same topic as before we will see how
     the conversation is changed by the addition of the third
     man.
 
     (The doctor continues taking notes, while the orderly
stands between the two.  He looks over to the doctor with a
puzzled expression.  The doctor nods approvingly.)
 
PROFESSOR:  Now then doctor, lets start off with my
     breakfast.  Begin with "your nurse."
 
DOCTOR:  (Pause, while doctor finishes note he was writing.
     Looking up from the clipboard.)  Your nurse tells me you
     didn't finish your breakfast this morning.
 
PROFESSOR:  Well they were scrambled.  I prefer them poached.
     Besides which, they're powdered.  (To orderly) They do
     taste terrible, don't you agree?
 
ORDERLY:  Oh yeah, powdered eggs are, uh, really terrible.
 
DOCTOR:  Nonetheless, you should have finished them.  How do
     you expect to regain your health if you don't finish
     your eggs?
 
ORDERLY:  (After being nudged slightly by the professor.)
     Well doc, I mean powdered eggs can't be that healthy.
     Give the guy a break.
 
PROFESSOR:  I do have a sensitive palate.
 
DOCTOR:  Your palate isn't the issue.  Your health is.
 
PROFESSOR:  But I am quite healthy.  Ask anybody.  Ask my
     wife, she'll tell you.
 
DOCTOR:  Your wife isn't here.  You know that.
 
PROFESSOR:  What do you mean she isn't here, she... I... (He
     looks sympathetically toward the orderly.)
 
ORDERLY:  Yeah, yeah, of course she's here professor, we, uh,
      we just can't reach her at the moment.
 
DOCTOR:  (pause) Regardless, I expect in the future you will
     finish everything on your plate.  I don't want to have
     to speak to you again about it.
 
PROFESSOR:  Of course doctor.  (He turns away, inhales
     sharply, then turns.)  Thank you.  I have no further
     need of your assistance.
 
     (Both exit.)
 
PROFESSOR:  Notice how significantly the dynamics changed
     from the first conversation to the second.  In the first
     case there was a simple cause and effect relationship
     between two individuals.  You saw how my character
     affected the doctor character, and consequently how his
     affected mine.  You saw a superior to inferior
     relationship.  When the third person was added the
     equation changed dramatically.  By establishing a
     superiority relationship with the orderly, the patient
     found strength for his argument.  The odds changed, and
     the doctor's argument suffered for it.
     Now that we have an established basis for character
     relationships, (Sound of off- stage door opening) as
     well as a working knowledge of the stage and the
     responsibilities of the playwright to the audience, the
     remainder of my lecture today will focus on the general
     structure of a play.  The first part of a play (Enter a
     woman, dressed in street clothes.) is... (The professor
     sees the woman and tries ignoring her.)  devoted almost
     entirely to information.  It is the first introduction
     the audience has to the characters and the situation the
     play encompasses- Excuse me, (to woman) can I help you?
 
WOMAN:  (Confused) I.. no, I just...
 
PROFESSOR:  (Interrupting, indignant) You are interrupting my
     lecture.
 
WOMAN:  I...
 
PROFESSOR:  If you are looking for some sort of rehearsal or
     something you have come to the wrong stage, now would
     you please leave so I may continue my lecture?
 
WOMAN:  (Very upset) All right... I just wanted...
 
PROFESSOR:  Leave!
 
     (The woman, on the verge of tears at this point, leaves
hurriedly.)
 
PROFESSOR:  Pardon me.  Now then, where was I... ah.  The
     start of a play.  It is essential for a history to be
     established during this period.  The play involves the
     abnormal.  The audience must already know what the
     normal is in order to appreciate the abnormal.  Let us
     return once more to our example.  The start of our
     unfortunate play concerning the insane husband begins in
     the lap of domesticity.  Our hero comes home and, at the
     dinner table, discusses his work day with his wife.
     Mundane, yes.  But necessary.  (Beginning here, the
     Professor becomes more and more animate as he creates
     the play on-stage.)  From this conversation we learn
     things like what the man does for a living, how long
     he's been doing it, whether he likes it, and so on.
     With a quick turn of the conversation we can learn the
     same of the wife.  So, let us say for the purpose of
     your understanding, that the man is... a director.  Yes.
     A successful director of off- Broadway shows.  And the
     wife... let us say she is a student.  No, an actress.
     She is an out of work actress.
     Now, let us introduce a conflict.  Let us say the couple
     have plans for the weekend.  Through inference we
     discover they have planned this several weeks in
     advance, and that it is their first vacation in four
     years.  Now the wife mentions this off- handedly-
     something like "Oh, and Mary said she has no problem
     with tending the plants this weekend."  Then, belatedly,
     the husband recounts the unfortunate circumstances that
     led to his agreeing to give a lecture in a local college
     that weekend.  Our conflict is introduced.
     This conflict is fairly minor, and since conflict is the
     center of every play, a much more significant conflict
     is needed.  Our next scene must be devoted to
     introducing that.
     So enter... Bill.  Best friend to the director husband
     and personal confidante to the wife.  Partly out of
     anger and part because she is determined to go on the
     weekend with or without her husband, the wife runs to
     Bill with tears in her eyes and asks him to go with her.
     Now we have the audience guessing.  Some of the bolder
     and somewhat less imaginative members of the audience
     will even go as far as expecting Bill and the wife to
     engage in an affair.  This is what the husband will come
     to believe, and what the playwright is counting on the
     audience to believe.  You see, the playwright must never
     forget he is dealing with an audience of intelligent
     people who are trying constantly to second-guess him.
     Now let us move ahead in the production.  The wife and
     Bill have left for the weekend, leaving us, for the
     moment, with the husband in an empty home.  Since we
     have already decided he is going to end up in a mental
     home we must give some early indication that he is
     missing a few pages, as it were.  To bring him from
     mental competence to complete nervous breakdown is to
     stretch the suspension of disbelief a bit too far.  So,
     we find him sitting in the living room, staring fixedly
     at his typewriter, wearing only a pair of shorts.  Here,
     we introduce a monologue, with just a tinge of madness.
     In the process of the monologue the husband also manages
     to convince himself his wife and best friend are having
     an affair, setting us up for the return of the wife.
     Advancing a bit more in the play we discover the husband
     has completed his presentation, but that it has been
     cancelled.  His wife returns, no longer angry, to face
     an enraged and accusing husband.  Appalled by the
     accusation she leaves him, and he suffers the breakdown
     that hospitalizes him.
     Now we have reached the climax and end of our play.
     Over the course of the play we have introduced more
     conflict, gradually raising the general tension in the
     theatre.  By the point of climax this tension should
     become almost palpable, so high the audience can feel
     it, so high the audience is uncomfortable with it, so
     high it has no place to go but down.  Picture the
     tension on a graph, (gesturing) going higher and higher
     until like some great stock market crash it plummets at
     the peak.  The peak is the climax.  The plummet is
     resolution.
     For a good climax it is often best to engage the senses,
     combine a sight too terrible to see with a sound too
     loud to hear.  Picture our hero lifting the gun off a
     lax security guard on his way to his room, then pulling
     it out suddenly and unexpectedly during a monologue,
     raising it to his head and pulling the trigger.  (pause)
     BANG!  (pause)  But I see the effect is wasted without
     the appropriate sound.  Fortunately, I expected as much,
     so I came prepared with this.  (He pulls a gun from his
     coat pocket.)  Oh, it's a prop, I assure you.  But it
     makes the desired noise.  Now let me see if I can re-
     create this for you.
 
     (After putting the gun back in his pocket he crosses to
near the offstage door exit, and stops.)
 
PROFESSOR:  Naturally I can't rattle off a monologue without
     preparation.  If you'll bear with me I'll substitute the
     start of tonight's lecture.
 
     (He turns and takes a sharp breath, then turns back and
walks slowly to the podium.)
 
PROFESSOR: Good evening.  This is a stage.  It is a fairly
     common stage, as far as stages go.  It is called a
     proscenium arch.
 
     (He has reached the podium.  He pulls out the gun, puts
it up to his head and fires.  He falls to the ground and lies
motionless.  Long pause.  The orderly bursts in.)
 
ORDERLY:  Holy shit!  Professor?  (Crosses to professor.  He
     sees the gun.)  Ohh, Jesus.  Oh, it's my ass for sure.
 
     (Enter doctor, still holding clipboard.)
 
DOCTOR:  What was... (Sees professor.)  Oh no.  (Crosses to
     professor.  Pause.  Turns to orderly.)  What happened?
 
ORDERLY:  I... Uh, I dunno, I went to... (Enter two
     paramedics.  One carries a stretcher.)  to the bathroom,
     an'... an when I came out I heard the...
 
     (He points to the gun.  A paramedic takes the
professor's pulse.)
 
PARAMEDIC:  (To doctor)  He's dead.
 
DOCTOR:  Great, wonderful.  (He rubs his forehead with the
     palm of his hand.  To orderly.)  What did I tell you to
     do?
 
ORDERLY:  Oh, geez.  Dead?
 
DOCTOR:  WHAT did I TELL you to do?
 
ORDERLY:  You told me to... to give him the podium... if he
     asks an' to... to call you if he did anything new...
 
     (The paramedics put the professor on the stretcher and
pick him up.)
 
DOCTOR:  And don't you think pulling out a gun qualifies as
     something new?  I don't recall him drawing a gun in
     yesterday's lecture do you?
 
     (The paramedics start carrying him to the exit.  The
doctor begins to follow.  The orderly's eyes dart between the
doctor and the professor.)
 
ORDERLY:  I...
 
DOCTOR:  I want you to come with me.  We are going to speak
     to the police and YOU are going to tell them exactly
     what happened.  Do you understand?
 
ORDERLY:  Uh... yeah...
 
DOCTOR:  GOOD!  (He turns to leave, then turns back near the
     exit.)  And bring that podium with you.
 
     (Doctor exits.  The orderly stands still for a moment,
then he turns and looks out over the audience.  He begins to
squint and move his head around as if trying to see something
partially hidden in the distance.  He stops, shrugs, and
walks to the podium.  He begins to pick it up, but stops
himself.  He stands behind the podium and squints and looks
again.  He looks down at the podium, straightens his
shoulders, then looks up again, and out at the audience.)
 
ORDERLY:  Uhh... Good night...
 
     (He shrugs, picks up the podium, and exits.)
 
 
     CURTAIN

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© 2000, Gene Doucette