Poetry & Blindfolds

When not practicing my deepest and most sincere humility, I am wont to occasionally troll through the internet in search of ‘Vincent Truman.’  The results that pique my interest, however, rarely have anything to do with me; the gentleman with my same name who might be an Australian long distance runner or a retiring librarian are far more interesting than some stray blog or video that mentions the version of Vincent Truman that is me.  A couple of weeks ago, I found myself fascinated by finding among a list of entrants for a screenwriting competition a play by Andrew Thompson entitled, “The Early Retirement of Vincent Truman.”

It is not my practice to reach out to (other) authors, but occasionally I will give it a shot, either half-heartedly, in the case of Gina Welch (“In The Land of Believers”), or with a mind towards one day sharing a cup of tea, in the case of Kerry Cohen (“Loose Girl”).  However, so intrigued was I with the fact that there existed a screenplay in which a fictional version of myself – OK, I’m reaching, I realize this – was the victim of early retirement that I immediately sent an email to the screenwriting folks, explaining who I was and how my name was used in the title of one of the plays under consideration.  They graciously put me in touch with Andrew Thompson, my not-even-fictional biographer.  Andrew was very kind enough to send along to me a copy of “The Early Retirement of Vincent Truman” and I thought it fair to send a copy of “The Observatory” to him.  Note: this is a common practice for me, I confess; in exchange for Ms. Cohen’s autograph on my copy of “Loose Girl”, I sent her a copy of my cartoon book, “This Is My First Time So Please Be Brutal”, which I presume is propping up one quarter of an otherwise-slanted table in the Cohen household somewhere.

Reading “Retirement” has been a very fun experience for me, and not really because my name happens to be in the title.  Rather, I had the opportunity to read a new work without a critical eye or a thought of producing it or having to learn lines; it’s been sheer entertainment.  A mental Wii.  Since Andrew has requested some sort of feedback, I have read the screenplay with my red pen at hand – but confess I have only used it to write variations on “ha ha ha” in the margins.  It’s quite a funny piece of writing – the scene in which the titular character attempts to reclaim a tie his dead friend is to be cremated in had me in stitches (Andrew, if you’re reading this, I hope this doesn’t give too much away).

Speaking (ever so fleetingly) of Wii, the wife and I were presented with one for our collective birthdays by the wife’s mother.  This mantel of white accomplishment had to be accompanied by the other mantel of white accomplishment: the wide-screen television.  Since these two objects have invaded our home, I have taken to playing virtual tennis and the wife has taken to watching the first season of “Lost.”  I cringe at the idea of “Lost” as I cringed to the idea of “E.T.” all those years ago.  Anything that popular, so goes my logical and atheistic mind, cannot be good for you.

Tomorrow will mark the day of my readthrough/workshop for “The Observatory.”  Even more than getting live feedback for the play, I am thrilled for the opportunity to have so many people I respect and have worked with in attendance.  I am still in the “fun” phase of playwrighting; the eventual production will be the nightmare phase.  But that is for another day.

The evolution of “The Observatory”, years in the making (or lack thereof), has been remarkably swift, due primarily to the wisest people I know, Lisa and Jennifer, the latter of which I have been fortunate enough to marry.  I know it’s pretty much ready due to the questions Jennifer has asked me.  For Draft 1, my answers were mumbles and excuses.  For Draft 4, my answers were answers. 

What was Draft 1 at the beginning of last week catapulted forward into Draft 4 by week’s end, at which time I decided, somewhat arbitrarily, to stop work on it and dumped it into lulu.com.  The form of the piece, with its act-sized first scene (25 pages) followed by fragmented scenes racing months in both directions, now seems in harmony with the story itself, as I’ve added a great section in which one of the main characters questions his sanity. 

It is no secret that my favorite composer is Mozart, though it is not necessarily for his tunes themselves, which often strike me as a bit “pop” for the 1700s.  Rather, I like Mozart because each of his compositions contains such melodies, counter-melodies, hidden melodies and other, for lack of a better word, “stuff” that I can listen to any of them in any number of ways.  Some days, I will audibly latch onto an oboe and follow it through its course; other days, the second piano.  I try to do the same with my writing, which may be why it’s been two years since my last personally successful play.  I’m pleased to say that “The Observatory” now has that Mozartian influence it was missing before, in that an audience member or reader can pick a character and basically follow their “tune”, which is independent yet harmonizes with the others.

Writing “madness”, or the fear of madness, is very difficult for me, so I admit I raced through what became Draft 3 very quickly.  To write a character truthfully, I often have to put myself in that character’s shoes, which in the case of madness, is a hard thing to do – or perhaps it’s just hard to pull myself out at the end of a writing session.

As unbelievable as it might have appeared to me in the past, I am finding that gardening is a great muse in and of itself.  While thinking about a play or a sketch, I don’t often like to talk to people.  I’m not that good at multi-tasking, and I find when I try, I feel I come across like a complete mindless idiot.  Sitting on my own certainly has yielded some good material in the past, but I find that unleashing my Inner Redneck by tilling soil and removing weed trees to be more rewarding.  And I’m pretty much left on my own when I’m doing it: if you see somebody hard at work in a yard, you generally don’t approach them, possibly for fear they will ask you to join in.

My friend-in-law Bijal has introduced me to a sketch-writing friend of hers, with whom I’ve written a couple of times.  The friend is looking for a bit of advice and has been very generous in sending me a sketch of hers.  The sketch reminds me somewhat of the sketches that my partner Robert Felker would bring into Suspicious Clowns.  Robert and I have very different approaches to comedy: I’m a strong student of the Rule of Threes in comedy; Robert tends to like the Rule of a Thousand.  I haven’t written the friend back yet regarding her sketch as I don’t want to sound professorial as much as I want to offer some bit of wisdom.  She’s invited me to a show in which she was one of the writers, but I’ve silently declined, as those kinds of situations don’t leave much room for constructive conversation.  Still, I return to the sketch in my mind at least once a day, even if my wisdom eludes me.

I find that I am struggling a bit with what to do next, and although sketch would be the easiest, I cannot see myself taking the stage doing it again.  Yet I feel I am a bit too young to just direct and/or produce, and the horror of a sketch show turning into “Suspicious Clowns: The Next Generation” keeps me from considering it too much.  “The Observatory” seems a likely contender, if it survives a public readthrough with some of my actor friends (a necessary, if pride-swallowing, exercise that has effectively killed at least two plays I have written).  I’d very much like the director of “Gless”, Rick Gawel, to take a stab at the lead character, even though – or maybe because – he’s not an actor.  I will have to work on him a bit more, but I think if he didn’t act while reading David, the show would resonate deeply.

I’m presently in rehearsals for a film entitled “Gless”, written and directed by Rick Gawel, who, despite being a friend of a friend, I find I like a great deal.  He’s a very nice, soft-spoken, affable fellow who tends to write about women exploding – mentally anyway – if his prior film and “Gless” are any indication.  I spy a certain kinship with his style, as all of my plays have featured very dynamic, strong and combustible women as well.

I should clarify what I mean by “in rehearsals.”  I am not working with any of the other artists.  Instead, I am mumbling the lines of my character (a shrink with no name) to myself wherever I happen to be.  I’m not worried about appearances too much; there’s plenty of people who appear to be talking to themselves, and some that actually are, roaming the city at any given time. 

I will have my performance, and meet the rest of the cast and crew for the first time, this weekend.  Fortunately, the cast reads like a Who’s Who of people I’ve either worked with or nearly worked with over the last couple of years: Melissa Malan (who worked with me on my “The Tearful Assassin”), Joe Bowen and Angela Jo Strohm (both of whom appears with Ricky March and me in our improvised “Today Is Stupid” video), and Jamielyn Gray (who auditioned for “The Tearful Assassin” and was beautiful and brilliant, but a tad too old to play the role she read best on).

It is potentially humiliating, but I can’t quite make out what “Gless” is about, even after a few reads – hence my intentionally confusing title to this entry.  It’s very deep, or at least deeper than I can mentally swim in, and very evocative.  It’s certainly inspired me to do some writing of my own, which says to me it’s saying something but I can’t quite hear exactly what yet.   I dug out an old treatment I did for a play entitled “The Observatory”, which, for me, combines the claustrophobia of “Kiss of the Spider Woman” with some of the horrific loneliness of Terry Gilliam’s “Brazil.”  So, yes, a slapstick comedy.  Some bawdy musical numbers and some topless women carrying suggestive fruit should do the trick.

My puzzlement over “Gless” doesn’t worry me too much, however, as all I really have to do is Rick and his gang to edit it together as they see fit.  I’m just a guy who sits, wears a suit and says some words.  And, after producing and directing for nearly two decades now, I quite like that role.

In fact, “Gless” makes me really appreciate being an actor in a film.  I am very excited to go to the set for a few hours, make my contribution and then piss off.  So much more attractive than the idea of theater, at least today.  I’m skeptical if I will act onstage again, as I just think I’m mediocre as a stage actor (I feel a bit more confident as a film actor, as film acting is more quiet than theater – onstage, even a sensitive, vulnerable speech must be projected to reach the back row, and I’ve never been able to reconcile how to do both at the same time successfully). 

Still, the search to get the accolades I missed as a child (self-skewer intended) goes on.