Mall Madness is now available!

Just in time for the new school year, Pioneer Drama Service has released my 29th play with them (and 33rd overall). Set in the 1980's, Mall Madness is a lighthearted romp through all those great fads of that wonderful decade: Rubik's cubes, Dungeons and Dragons, Sony Walkmans (Walkmen?), Swatch watches, boomboxes, and, of course, Air Jordans.

To read a script sample or review ordering info, visit the play's web page here.

It's a Mall World After All

Most of my early plays were set in fairly generic settings: an Old West town, a French restaurant, a mythical kingdom. But I've been having fun lately placing my plays in oddly specific locales.

It Happened on Route 66 is set at an actual 1950's diner in Winona, Arizona, which I made a point of visiting last year and discovered it to b very different that the diner I'd imagined when I was writing the play.

Thirty Minutes Till Boarding, a play I'm currently developing with Belmont Day School in Massachusetts, takes place at gate E7 of Boston's Logan Airport. 

And while the abandoned theater of Bringing Down the House is completely made-up, I placed it on a very specific street in Lower Manhattan for one very good reason.

Mall Madness is no different. I could have set it in any 1980's mall. But I decided to plop it down right in the middle of the Glendale Galleria in the San Fernando Valley of California. Why? Well, I wanted the laid-back, Southern California vibe that the characters in movies like Say Anything and Fast Times at Ridgemont High had. I also found that there are a ton of videos and photos of the place online, which inspired my own writing.

The Glendale Galleria also has a fascinating history in itself. It was the home of the very first Disney Store. The home of the very first Panda Express. It appeared in a number of 1980's movies, including Miracle Mile and Valley Girl. And Billie Eilish recorded her music video for her 2021 single "Therefore I Am" in the empty, after-hour corridors of the mall.

Of course, I don't expect directors to make their set a carbon copy of the Glendale Galleria. That would be insane. But I think that having something to look at will inspire them in their own work. They may end up going in a completely different direction. But at least they'll have a starting point.

Those Golden Treasures

One more thing about the play. Mall Madness is one of my few plays that features a full, minute-long monologue.

I know, I know. I should write more monologues as a way to introduce directors and actors to my plays through the audition circuit. And I've tried. I've really tried.

The thing is that my characters absolutely refuse to talk that long. They like to get to the point, their dialog taking a rat-a-tat rhythm that keeps things moving.

Well, that all changed when Darla, a teenage employee of Rooster Ray's, America's Poultry Palace, took the stage in Mall Madness. Her job was to hand out samples of the latest high tech food product: chicken nuggets. And she took that job way too seriously:

I understand, ma'am, but I'm not allowed to give you any more. My manager was very clear about that during my training. Why, I remember it as if it were yesterday. Come to think of it, it was yesterday. "Darla," he said. "Do you see this chunk of chicken in my hand? Well, this is no ordinary chunk of chicken. Oh, no! This chunk of chicken is going to change the world! For too long, mothers have suffered the backbreaking burden of roasting entire chickens in their ovens. For too long, their husbands and children have grappled with scrawny drumsticks and unwieldy wings at the dinner table. But today we are on the verge of a new dawn. Today the chicken chunk has eliminated those hassles forever by offering a source of protein that is not only easy to cook but delicious to eat as well. Which i why we must treat them as the golden treasures they are. No not hand them out willy-nilly. They are much too precious for that. No, our corporate rule--and it is an ironclad one--is that you are to distribute only one sample per customer. Not three. Not two. Not one and a half. Just one. One chicken chunk, now and forevermore.

Summing it up 

Mall Madness is a big, fun comedy jam-packed with crazy characters like Darla. But it's not all yuks. There's also a heartwarming message about teenage relationships and figuring out who your real friends are. And, of course, there's a ton of cultural references that will make any child of the 80's smile.

I think you're really going to love it.

You can check it out here.

UPDATE: Mall Madness booked its first production on August 27, just 6 days after it was released. That's a new record for me. Thank you, Mascoutah Middle School of Mascoutah, IL!

I'm thinking it's going to be very popular.

Belmont diary: Start the engines

I've completed the first draft of my airport comedy. It's titled Thirty Minutes Till Boarding. And it's a monster.

104 pages. 40 characters. One high-energy dance number that can boost the cast size to 50 or more. And lots and lots of luggage.

It's my biggest play to date. But that's not the only reason it was such a bear to write. It's also the first play I've written that has multiple storylines.

A new journey

My other huge-cast plays, It's a Madhouse! and Bringing Down the House, only had one storyline. Five or six characters drove the plot while the rest of the characters interacted in some way with the main ones in order to advance the plot.

There's one big advantage to doing it this way. It makes it very easy to follow the Hero's Journey template. After only, I only had to create one journey.

Thirty Minutes Till Boarding, on the other hand, has multiple storylines. Twelve, to be exact.

Some of the storylines have two characters. Some have three or four. The biggest one has six. But all of the characters are the heroes of their own story.

Writing it this way was fun but also extremely challenging. The biggest challenge was just coming up with all those different stories.

But there was one other big challenge. To keep the play under two hours, each storyline had to be very short, no more than ten minutes. How could I make those stories satisfying, with a complete narrative arc for each character, in just a few minutes?

There was only one answer. I had to use a simplified version of the Hero's Journey.

Six steps to story

Instead of the the 15 beats of Save the Cat!, which I usually use for my plays, or the 12 beats of The Writer's Journey, which many screenplays use, I settled on six that each of these stories had to have:

1) Status Quo--We meet the characters, find out what makes them tick, and discover what their goals are (a lot to cover in just a page or two).

2) Catalyst--An external event prevents the characters from achieving that goal.

3) Turning Point--A new complication raises the stakes for the characters.

4) All is Lost--The character seems to fail in their mission, usually because they're approaching the goal in the wrong way.

5) Final Victory--With a different approach and a newly reenergized effort, the characters finally succeed in achieving their goals.

6) Reward--We get a glimpse of the new normal, which shows us how the characters have been changed by their journey (usually, but not always, for the better).

I'm really happy with how the play turned out. I think it's really funny and really heartwarming, maybe my most heartwarming play to date.

It's also makes a great ensemble piece. No character has more than 63 lines, and 3/4 of the characters have at least 20 lines.

That magic number

One last thing. As I said, this is my biggest play, both in length and cast size. It's a Madhouse! and Bringing Down the House both ended up with 38 characters. That seems to be a magic number for me because my first draft of Thirty Minutes Till Boarding also had 38 characters.

But Belmont Day School really wanted 40 characters. I'd have to add two. What would their story be? 

Well, that's where the old axiom "write what you know" came into play.

I thought back to my own experiences flying commercial and I remembered the time a middle-aged lady squeezed into the seat next to me, her hands clutching something wrapped in foil. She sat there with it on her lap, admiring it, the whole time we were waiting for the plane to takeoff. 

Finally, it's twenty minutes later, we're in the air and she unwraps this thing. It's a chili dog. Like a loaded with everything chili dog. Ketchup. Mustard. Relish. And, of course, a lots and lots of onions.

She could have eaten it in the restaurant. She could have eaten it at the gate. But no. She carried it onto the plane so that all 150 passengers could appreciate this stink bomb.

I had my storyline. All I needed to do was move it into the airport, add a couple of brothers, give them a reason for traveling, and it was a go.

Scene: A crime against humanity

Here's the first scene of that storyline:

NEIL and VERN ENTER RIGHT, carrying backpacks. VERN holds a chili dog wrapped in foil.

NEIL: I'm telling you, Vern. This trip to Italy is going to make us rich!

VERN: I sure hope so, Neil.

NEIL: Are you doubting me? Don't be doubting me, bro. You know I've always been the smart one.

VERN: I'm not doubting you. It's just that, well, I guess I'm a little confused about the plan.

NEIL: (Sighs.) All right. I'll go over it one more time, but only because you're my little brother and I know you tend to forget things.

VERN: Thanks, Neil.

NEIL and VERN sit.

NEIL: Now listen. It's really very simple. Step one: We buy an abandoned house in the village of Sambuca for one measly euro. Step two: We renovate the house. Step three: We sell the house for a whole lot more than one euro. Bing bang boom!

VERN: Sounds like a lot of work.

NEIL: Well, sure, it's a lot of work, but that's why we make such a good team, right? You do all the physical labor and I take care of the brainy stuff.

VERN: What brainy stuff?

NEIL: Well, you know. Drawing up plans. Getting permits. Those are just as hard as laying brick or putting up drywall. (Sees the foil.) Wait a minute. What's in that foil?

VERN: A chili dog. I haven't eaten since breakfast, you know.

NEIL: You're bringing a chili dog on the plane?

VERN: Yeah.

NEIL: A casing-wrapped tube of heavily processed meat and meat byproducts, smothered in some overly seasoned bean slop, and topped off with tear-inducing onions?

VERN: Oh, yeah!

NEIL: You can't eat that on the plane!

VERN: Why not?

NEIL: Because it's a crime against humanity, that's why! As soon as you open that foil, the vile stench will fill the cabin and the other passengers will be forced to inhale those toxic fumes for the rest of the flight!

VERN: I could eat it now.

NEIL: Do you really think I want to smell that foul concoction on your breath for the next eight hours? No! Throw it away or I'm going to be sick!

VERN: Yes, Neil.

VERN EXITS RIGHT with the chili dog.

NEIL: (To himself.) He's lucky he's got me to watch out for him.

 

What comes next 

I emailed the play to Belmont Day School today, which feels like starting the engines on a jetliner. The play is fully boarded, but it's not ready for takeoff just yet. 

That won't happen until October, when we finally nail down the script and the school starts rehearsing for their March performance.

But for now, we've got a story--oops! make that twelve stories--that are just begging to come to life.

I can't wait to dig in.