Review

I have to see plays and review them for my...shocker...Theater Reviewing class. So far we've seen three plays (almost one a weekend) and turned in one review. I really disliked the first play, a new one called "The Secret Lives of Losers," and so wrote a harsh review. A harsh but really funny review, which I think fulfills the two roles of a reviewer -- to inform and entertain.

I just got back my prof's grade on that review. He said it was "a really really good review" ...and gave me a 90/100. A 90? For a 'really really good review'? You've got to be kidding me. He made two minute corrections to it, said it was funny and that he laughed out loud, but all I got was a 90? This guy has some ridiculous standards. If my awesome review only got me a ninty (he said I should try to make it shorter (note: the length was 3-5 pages, and mine was just a hair over three) and that I should watch to make sure I'm not 'needlessly cruel.' I'm the first to admit my review was harsh, but the play was bad. Therefore, it isn't needlessly cruel.)

Arg.

At any rate, I've wanted to show y'all my (in my opinion EXCELLENT) review. Here it is:

Megan Mostyn-Brown’s The Secret Lives of Losers needs to stay a secret. I can’t imagine anyone who would be interested enough in the lives of losers to pay to see this production.
This play is intended to be “one girl’s journey on the road to realizing that potential has an expiration date and if…we don’t take the plunge…we might miss out on who we really are meant to be,” according to the note from the playwright in the playbook. This is a story about…well, a bunch of losers. Neely, our hero if we could call her that, is a 19-year-old clerk at a local Amoco with kleptomaniac tendencies. She is burdened with Nelson, her 15-year-old brother who is fiercely addicted to methamphetamines and ‘Wheel of Fortune.” Their parents are both completely out of the picture; her father died and her mother is ‘finding herself’ in Bolivia, leaving Neely struggling to keep Nelson and herself fed. She finds some comfort in her best friend Alex, a small-time pot dealer with a young baby. Baby Sophie was abandoned with Alex while her mother attends college, leaving Alex constantly depressed.
But things go from interminably boring to merely bland, as —Alex becomes interested in talkative and overly peppy Sylvia, as Neely discovers the new cop in town has taken an interest in her, and as Nelson starts lighting things on fire. The plot trudges along while DJ, the police officer, encourages Neely to break out of her sickening life and look for something better. He does this by giving her, of all things, a crawfish as a pet – a bottom-feeder as low and nearly as worthless as Neely. Neely is eventually moved to a spiritless change of sorts, though what follows just seemed confusing.
When it ended, the audience didn’t believe what they were seeing qualified as a closing, the halting, half-hearted applause only beginning when the actors tipped for their bow. It’s impressive, frankly, that the audience was awake enough to remember to applaud at all. In trying to describe it, I find myself searching for synonyms for ‘boring.’ I’m not sure there are enough for this humdrum play. Losers might be successful with fans of poor-quality reality TV shows like Cheaters, but then again, that particular audience might find they have too much in common with the characters of this play and feel repulsed by the blandness of their own lives. This play is as stimulating as babysitting Sophie, who was played by a plastic doll in a car seat.
The problems with this play begin with the playwright, who called herself a “burnt-out actor.” What an enlightened point to begin a writing career. This play appears to be an attempt at a more depressing and less irreverent Napoleon Dynamite or Clerks. Unfortunately for Mostyn-Brown, those works look like Shakespeare compared to her play. The relationship between teenaged Neely and the 29-year-old DJ is strained at best, uncomfortable at least. Mostyn-Brown seems to mistake the effects of crystal meth for those of weed – meth suppresses hunger, leaving the user emaciated. Mostyn-Brown has Nelson always craving Corn Nuts. This is sloppy work for a playwright, particularly when the play is performed in the former meth capital of the country; thanks to the Internet, I found the effects of crystal meth in less than five minutes. But the biggest flaw in the script is the complete lack of motivation, which is why the audience was uncertain at the close – without a point, it is hard to know when the play is over. Mostyn-Brown also has a penchant for cussing; the play begins with the f-bomb, which is appropriate, considering how much of a bomb this play was.
For all of my complaints about the script, however, director Meredith McDonough managed to pull the story together. The actors were all dressed appropriately, particularly the neon-favoring Sylvia – not that this was a challenge; the costume design only required a trip to WalMart. McDonough had the actors doing all of the set changes in character, which was a refreshing and interesting choice. The set design was clever in the low-budget but effective spinning set pieces, enabling the actors to easily and swiftly move the production from an outdoor park to the inside of Neely’s house. McDonough also has music during the set changes to prepare the audience for the tone of the next scene; my personal favorite was what I’ll call “Club Fortune,” a hard-rock mix of the Wheel of Fortune intro. McDonough also influenced the stage design that left the secretive treasure closet always on stage. When said closet is opened to reveal Neely’s stash of stolen items, the clutter is backlit with purple, adding a level of sophistication missing from the story.
But all of McDonough’s directing could not save actress Anna Safar from hanging herself with her inability to correctly play Neely. Despite Mostyn-Brown’s other writing flaws, she wrote clever sarcasm, which Safar butchered with an awful sense of timing and a huge idiotic grin. In the hierarchy of actors, the plastic crawfish is above Safar. At least the crawfish portrayed its part correctly. Thanks to Safar, Neely comes across not as the lost, sarcastic clerk that Mostyn-Brown wrote, but as an inane child.
Fortunately the other actors don’t let themselves be utterly dragged down by Safar. TJ Chasteen is brilliant and even manages to be riveting as the depressed, static Alex – one almost believes that is how he actually lives. Jason Reynolds makes Nelson a realistic and even fun drug addict, while Patrick Du Laney plays a completely believable drifting small-town officer. These three make the play almost bearable. But then Angela Cristantello walks on stage as overly peppy Sylvia, and one is reminded of all the reasons to hate it. Cristantello is obviously uncomfortable with the character, and so overdoes an already overwrought character. If she would relax a little and stop striving to convince the audience that she isn’t actually as irritating as Sylvia, we might believe her. As it was, I just wanted her to get off the stage -- which wasn’t an unfamiliar thought during the hour and a half I sat through the production. But what more can one really expect? This play about losers is, in the end, the biggest loser.

How embarrassing...

I may never be able to show my face again in my Ancient Novel class. Seriously. They now all think I'm really "hardcore" into porn and the like. Great. Just the impression I'm trying to make in my college classes.

We were reading this story, "Daphnis and Chloe," from ancient Greece. It's about this young couple that are very much in love *insert many references to Eros and the like here* blah blah blah, but they don't know how to have sex. (Go with me here). The basic point of the story is to ask "how do we (humans) learn about sexuality, if we are totally innocent and no one tells us anything? How do we figure it all out?" So the first three chapters are a slow, cautious growth in their love and sexuality, as they learn to kiss and embrace and "lay down naked together." But they are a little dense, and take the advice to "lay down naked together" literally, so they just lay on the cold ground naked...and think that is the greatest satisfaction they can get. Then this older woman (it says she was "imported from the town" ha! Imagine Paris Hilton in this role) comes along and has the hots for Daphnis (the boy) and takes him aside and, in the guise of 'educating' him, has a romp with him in the woods.

Then the fourth and final book comes along, and the whole book is all about discovering Daphnis and Chloe's mysterious past and how they are actually the children of rich landowners and not just slaves and goatherds/shepherdesses. Hurray! They can get married and all live happily ever after! The last sentence is the only part of that whole chapter that deals with sex at all and all it says is "they slept less than the owls that night." That's it. No details at all, after all that buildup. All we get is "yup, they did it."

So in our class discussion today a guy named Jim said "well, I felt that the fourth chapter was kindof a letdown. I mean, we talk about them almost having sex for three books and in the fourth it's just ...there it is." My teacher acted astonished at this, but I really agree with Jim, so I pipe up, "yea, I agree. The author doesn't resolve all the reasons they hadn't yet figured it out and suddenly completely abandons that theme for this 'yippee we're rich' thing."

Apparently I shouldn't have said anything. These statements were received with general laughter and hilarity all around, and everyone who spoke after us tried to avoid agreeing with us. My prof., in jest, said "yea, you don't want to be grouped in with those pornographers over there." She also variously made comments like "geez, you guys are hardcore," "so you wanted some ancient Greek erotica?" and "what, did you want more details in the sex? I think we are supposed to assume the reader just knows what having sex is like."

It was really embarrassing. I still stand by my opinion, but now the whole class and the professor thinks ole' Jim and I are sex-fiends. I was really enjoying that class, too.

St. Valentine

Happy Valentine's Day! I've been really blessed today (and yesterday too, actually). Apparently this year was "everyone send someone else a Valentine's gift" in my family and I missed the memo. But I have been loaded down with presents! It was really like a mini-Christmas or birthday. It is amazing! (And I haven't yet gotten my gift from Adam because we aren't going to worry about it until the weekend...so I know there is more to come. But now I'm a little worried that he is feeling pressured next to the gifts from my family).

But the reason I wanted to post is my annual gift from my Pop, my grandfather on my mom's side. Every year since I was in ...middle school, I think...he has given all the girls in the family a 2 lb box of chocolates on Valentine's Day with a note saying "will you be my Valentine?" It's a really sweet sentiment and I always look forward to it. The kind of chocolate has changed a little over the years -- I used to get Fanny Mae, but they went out of business and I got chocolates from a local place near my Pop's house. But this year is extra special. My uncle started an online business around Decemeber selling "Snap's Chocolates." Snap is my Pop's name (short for 'Snapdragon,' a nickname his sister gave him as a child that just stuck). So, now I have a chocolate factory in my family! www.snapschocolates.com

So this year my chocolates are from my own family, with my Pop's name on the front and on the biggest piece of milk chocolate. And the candy is delicious! It really is melt-in-your-mouth. And it is extra special to me this year, because it is not just a love gift from my Pop, it's his chocolates.


Oh! And thank you to Amy for the lovely Christmas-Valentines-Birthday present! Now I have a wonderful movie to watch while I eat my candies!


On a complete tangent, two days in a row I've missed phone calls from a number in Texas, and when I've called it back, I've gotten a recorded "Sorry, this number does not exist" message. Anyone have any idea what this could be?

PS. BUY Snap's Chocolates!

So I said to myself, Self:...

Note to self: Just because you bought the 'student' scissors instead of the 'professional' scissors does not mean you will not be cut when you foolishly run your thumb along the blade in an attempt to 'clean' the scissors.

At least I only took off a sizeable layer of skin, and didn't actually break the skin and bleed all over my scrapbook full of semi-professional clips.

Janeway and Troi

Disclaimer: If you are going to read this, read all of it before you think of commenting. This kind of writing is hard for me, but it is completely honest, every word of it. If the length seems overwhelming, don’t read it. The most important thing to me was that I wrote it down, and made it possible for you to read it if you cared to. You don’t have to read it or say anything for that goal to be completely accomplished. Thank you.


I just finished talking with Adam, and he said something to me that I feel I need to explore further. I was upset about something that isn't that important and he took notice of some of my self-depreciation. This is what he said in response, generally: “I don’t know how to explain it. People really do like you. I don’t know why you don’t believe me. (pause) You are like a combination of Captain Janeway and Deanna Troi. …. You are naturally a leader, and, for some reason I still don’t really understand and totally respect, people always innately feel like they can talk to you. [insert several examples from this year to make his point]. How can you not believe that people like you? People love you.”

While this, on the one hand, is a vivid example of just how our relationship works and how warped [no pun intended] the two of us really are, I understand what he was saying. He’s right – my whole life, people have felt they can talk to me, about, well…nearly everything, it seems. Example: In high school, a guy I hardly knew pulled me aside and proceeded to tell me all about the 23 women he’d had sex with over the summer and why. (That is easily the oddest one so far). And it really has been like that my whole life. Adults, when I was dramatically younger, people I didn’t have too much in common with, like Veronica, the gothic Wiccan girl who cracked the bullwhip at RenFests and desperately needed a friend in Middle School, different people from this year, all have shared a part of their heart with me when they needed someone to talk to. People at my church used to call me wise beyond my years. I never felt it was wisdom, truly, just an ability to listen.
And I feel differently about this…tendency sometimes. I’m proud, honored, sometimes, that people feel like they can turn to me when they are in trouble, that I will help them, no matter what. It was part of the reason I thought (think?) I could be a good reporter. (Things do get easier when people have a tendency to share their secrets with you).
But a lot of the time, I also feel like it only gets in the way. For people to feel confident in me, I have to be somewhat apart, far enough removed to be nonjudgmental. I have to be totally stable, a rock for people to stand on while the beach flows out from underneath them. I don’t mean to do this; I don’t intentionally create this distance, this separateness from people. But that separateness from them creates isolation for me. It is impossible to appear stable and to let down your own walls. Anyone who knows me well enough will tell you I’m a complete mess. But it is very rare to see me crack in front of someone I don’t intimately trust.
This leaves me feeling that I’m undoubtedly well-liked; I work at that every day, and strive to be a good person that others can come to when they need help in some form. But I also feel like, not to be too morbid, if I died tomorrow, few people would be able to say they really knew me. Not many people would be able to accurately say what I liked and disliked, what issues were important to me, what I was like in the time before they met me. I think, in that way, I’m the well-liked loner, if you will. I wonder what people would think to say at my funeral, what songs they would play. I don’t think many people would know what I wanted.
I don’t know how to break through my own walls, most of the time. And sometimes when I do, I feel like I’m playing a part. I feel like I would always be the supporting character in someone else’s movie.
I’m not saying this for sympathy. I honestly don’t know why I’m writing any of this, except that I felt I should, that I needed to be totally honest with myself, with you, who are reading this.
My friends, I am honored to have you. I honest-to-goodness don’t feel like I make friends very well, and so I cherish you, whether or not I have spoken to you in awhile. I am always here for you, but sometimes what matters most to me is that you are also there for me. So thank you for being there for me.
And I thank God that I have been blessed with a boyfriend as caring, considerate, and nurturing as you, Adam. You know me perhaps better than I know myself sometimes, and I never doubt that you would go to the ends of the earth for me. You make me feel like Helen of Troy, like the most beautiful person on the planet, and as though you’d be willing to fight for decades to rescue me. I have no idea what the future holds for us, but I love you, and I am blessed to know you.
Thank you, everyone.