Fear in London

Just got word that my 10-minute comedy Fear of Clowns will be produced next month at a pub named The Horse & Stables in London. I'm thrilled as this will be my debut in the theatre-loving UK.

Coming alive

There's a great lyric from the musical Applause in which the headstrong Broadway star Margo Channing lays out for her young protege what she can expect from a life in the theatre. Among things like grabby stagehands and dark toilets in the halls, comes this little gem:

"You'll only come alive at night, when you're in a show."

That pretty much sums it up , doesn't it? And not just for actors, but for playwrights as well.

At least that's the way I felt this week, as I sat in on the rehearsals for the world premiere of my new farce, Million Dollar Meatballs, at Discovery Canyon High School.

It's a wonderful experience, and a rare one. I've attended rehearsals for my plays a couple of times before, but this time it's different. This time the play is still in development.

Oh, it's close to being done. I'm happy with the pacing and flow. I don't have to rewrite huge sections of dialogue and I certainly don't have add or delete any scenes.

But there are a ton of physical gags that I may discover aren't possible (a beard made of whipped cream?). And every new script I write seems to have plenty of "jokes" that just aren't be funny.

Fortunately, I found a dream director in Amy Keating, the school's theatre director. She has years of directing under her belt and really knows her stuff. And yet she's open to questions and suggestions from a relative newbie like myself. Just as importantly, she's been giving her students free rein to play with the script. After just two walkthroughs, we're already finding new directions to take the story.

One major change has been with the character of Humphrey, the maitre d' of the restaurant in which the play is set. I originally described him in the script as "maddeningly dense", but Amy had the idea of patterning him after the snarky maitre d' in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. And she found the perfect actor to pull it off, a young man with a smarmy delivery that reminds me of the Jim Carrey character in Liar, Liar. I've been tweaking his dialogue to bring that out some more and we even stole one line from another character because it fit Humphrey's sardonic view of the world much better.

I've also been punching up a lot of the jokes. One big surprise about this whole process is that I found I don't need an opening night audience to know which lines work and which don't. Between the understudies and the crew, about 30 people are present at each rehearsal and that's more than enough to get meaningful feedback (some local theatre companies don't get that many people to their actual performances), And these kids make the perfect audience, eagerly yukking it up--or not--through each run-through.

The most important thing I've learned? It turns out that there are three kinds of jokes.

One, is the joke that never gets a laugh. It may sound funny in your head when you're typing it on your laptop, but in the harsh bright light of the stage, it fall flats on its face.

Here, to great embarrassment to myself, is an example from the script. It's the scene where that dubious whipped cream beard comes into play. Beans, a stupid jewel thief, has disguised himself as a waiter and Cecil, the arrogant restaurant critic who popped in by surprise, sees right through his dubious costume.

CECIL: You're not Boris. Boris has a beard. You've just got a face full of whipped cream.

BEANS: I do?

CECIL: Yes. Right there.

(BEANS takes a taste of the whipped cream.)

BEANS: Ah. So that's why those cats were following me.

Ouch. The best thing to do with these jokes is rip them out of the script at your first opportunity and give them a quick burial in some dark alley.

Then there is the joke that gets a laugh the first time it's heard and never again. This type of joke  typically involve a degree of wordplay or wit, something that surprises you the first time you hear it, but once you "get" the joke, it doesn't offer anything new.

An example of this occurs when Tommy the Singing Telegraph Boy arrives on the scene:

TOMMY: Look, I need your help. If I don't deliver this message, then I won't get paid. And if I don't get paid, then I won't be able to get into clown college.

HUMPHREY: You want to become a clown?

TOMMY: No. I'd rather be an accountant, but my father insists I become a circus clown like him.

HUMPHREY: Those must be some pretty big shoes to fill.

TOMMY: You have no idea.

I don't mean to suggest these are lesser jokes. After all, most of your audience will only see your play once. Just don't rely solely on this type of joke.

Finally, there is that Holy Grail of Humor, the joke that gets a huge laugh no matter how many times it's repeated.

It's not witty. It's not particularly clever. I don't even know how to describe it except to say that it's just a long, oddly specific way to say something that could be said much simpler. And, as much as I hate to admit it, it's funny not because of the writing skill of the playwright but because of the delivery and timing of the actor.

An example of this comes when Cecil attempts to order some food from the sullen Russian waiter, Boris:

CECIL: All right, fine. I'll have the Duck L'Orange.

BORIS: I'm sorry, sir, but the duck flew south for the winter.

CECIL: Are you joking?

BORIS: Oh, no. The migratory habits of waterfowl are no laughing matter.

Believe it or not, that last line gets the biggest laugh in the play. Sure, it's a good line, but it gets a huge boost from the outrageously accent of the actor playing the part.

And yes, using an accent is a cheap way to get a laugh. But you know what? It works. Every single time.

So I'm now looking for ways to add more of these jokes to the script. After all, it's not my job to write funny lines. It's my job to write lines that the actors can make funny.

Keystone crazy

Over the last decade, as newspapers have slashed page counts, printed reviews of plays have become increasingly rare. Printed reviews of short plays are rarer still. So it was a pleasant surprise to be alerted to this little item in today's Erie News-Times:

"During that inaugural performance, 90 minutes' worth of material translated to 12 plays. The funniest was Todd Wallinger's 'You're Driving Me Crazy,' an excellent showcase for the talents of Shaun Taylor, who is riotously funny as a batty driving instructor opposite Dreihaup's skeptical student."

They're talking about Rollercoaster, a short play festival by Edinboro, PA's Laugh/Riot Performing Arts Company. Rollercoaster offers an interesting twist on these kind of festivals. Instead of programming the same 12 plays each night, they assign a number to 25 different plays and let the audience choose which ones get performed. Supposedly, this results in over a trillion combinations of plays, motivating theatregoers to return again and again.

Needless to say, I've been thrilled by the reception this little play has received. All four of my driver's ed plays have now been produced, but it's this first one which has garnered the most attention.

If you'd like to read a sample, click here.

Gopher crazy

Apparently, You're Driving Me Crazy #3 went over so well at the Lakeshore Players 10-Minute Play Festival in June that the theatre company decided to take my play to the Minnesota State Fair. If you're going to be there this weekend, be sure to stop by the Front Porch Stage in front of the 4H Building to catch it. Performances are Sunday, August 31 at 11:00am, 11:45am, 12:30pm, 1:15pm and 2:15pm.

As a native Wisconsite, I wish I could go if only to try the fair's famous cheese curds. Yum-mo!

Break legs, everybody!

A mile high debut

I was thrilled to find out this week that my play Table for Three will be produced at the Rocky Mountain Short Play Festival at Red Rocks Community College in Lakewood, Colorado.

I'm thrilled for three reasons.

One, Table for Three was the first 10-minute play I write three years ago when I decided to jump headirst into the playwriting world. I've submitted it to several contests and it got rejected every time. It wouldn't have broken my heart if it had never gotten produced. When I wrote it, I hadn't found my voice yet. And rereading it now I don't think it's all that funny. But I do like it so I'm glad ithas at least one chance at life.

Two, this will be my first production in the Denver metro area. For five years now, I've been driving up to the Mile High City on a monthly, sometimes weekly, basis to enjoy its dynamic theatre scene. It means a lot to me to know that one of my works will now be part of that scene.

And three, I'll be sharing the stage with Jess Weaver, one of the best of the young playwrights in my playwriting group. In fact, both her play, The Addition, and my play were read at the Drama Lab. I like to think they were both improved as a result of the feedback they got.

The festival runs November 6-16 at Red Rocks Community College Theatre, 13300 West 6th Avenue, Lakewood. If you're in the area, I'd love for you to come.

You know I'll be there.

For more info, click here.

Crazy down under

I just learned that You're Driving Me Crazy #1 won the Director's Choice Award at the Short + Sweet Theatre Festival in Canberra, Australia. I want to send a big shout-out to Kate Clark, who directed the piece. Thanks for doing such a wonderful job with it!

Why I love theatre - Part 1

Longtime theatre fans know that seeing a play can often be a magical experience. But there are nights when that magic reaches new levels of meaning.

That happened to me last night. I was seeing TheatreWorks' production As You Like It, one of Shakespeare's brightest comedies. And they did a fine job, making Will's words come alive with playfulness and wit.

In the spirit of Joe Papp's original Shakespeare in the Park, the production was performed on the grounds of the Rock Ledge Ranch--not outdoors, but inside a large tent that had been erected for the occasion.

I've been to several of these productions over the last few years, and the one drawback is that they are always at the mercy of the weather.

Last night's show was no different. The show opened to the accompaniment of a light rain pattering on the canvas, making it hard to hear the Bard's beautiful but often difficult language. Fortunately, the rain soon stopped.

But it was until the final scene that the Magic happened.

The four happy couples had just taken the stage, eager to unite in wedded bliss, when the power went out. The tent was plunged into darkness, and as the audience gasped, the stage manager's voice rang out: "Actors hold!" Three flashlights turned on and the stage was instantly bathed in a dim but workable light.

And then, all around the tent, audience members fished out their phones and flipped them on, adding what light they could. The stage manager called for the actors to proceed and we all dove back into the world of the play.

It was a small moment. But it was a moving one.

And it reminded me again how much of a two-way street theatre is. As creators and performers, we shine what light we can.

But without an audience to join us, we're all just fumbling in the dark.