CultureHack

Onward To the Past

Being yet another theater project update
and a return to full-time writing about flashbacks . . .

Now I sit with different faces
In rented rooms and foreign places
All the people I was kissing
Some are here and some are missing
In the nineteen-nineties
I never dreamt that I would get to be
The creature that I always meant to be
But I thought in spite of dreams
You'd be sitting somewhere here with me
'Cause we were never being boring
We had too much time to find for ourselves...
And we were never holding back
or worried that
Time would come to an end
We were always hoping that, looking back
You could always rely on a friend
--Pet Shop Boys, "Being Boring"

In the past week my work on the novel took a backseat to (or at least a costarring role with) the theater project site. During this time, my normal six-hour book-writing days weighed-in at something like three hours. The rest of the time (which wound up being way more than those missing daily three hours) was devoted to rethinking and redesigning the website of the theatrical presentation, as explained in the previous post.

All those years in publishing have made me a pretty good estimator. Exactly a week ago to almost the hour, Bazz and I sat in a neighborhood grill and, over a couple of beers, decided to Get Serious about theater project site. At the time, I said it'd take a week and, well . . .

For those interested, the sneak preview of the new site has been updated to reflect the latest, near-final changes to the design. It can be found here. Being a sneak preview, not all the links are working--but the ones needed to navigate the three sample pages are functional. Also, the overall speed of this preview also approximates its real-world build and refresh rates.

(And--ahem--as for the fan mail I've received regarding my bio photo in the sneak peek of the site, gee, er, thanks--I think. The favorable response suggests that (a) I should smile more often in photos or (b) continue to use artful lighting or (c) move the photo to my blog biography and retire the pic of Snotty Me (which saddens, because I work very hard at being snotty). Or maybe all of the above. Also know that the whole Gregory House Thing has already been noted by friends. Unfortunately--for all of us--they are referring to my personality and leg in addition to the beard. But, again, thanks for the well-meaning comparisons to an unpleasant Vicodin addict . . . )

Recognizing the Patterns

Part three of an accidental meditation on writing
(and the limits of contextually useful "R" words) . . .

I'm sick of love but I'm in the thick of it
This kind of love I'm so sick of it
I see, I see lovers in the meadow
I see, I see silhouettes in the window
I watch them 'til they're gone and they leave me hanging on
To a shadow
I'm sick of love; I hear the clock tick
This kind of love; I'm love sick . . .
Could you ever be true?
I think of you
And I wonder
I'm sick of love; I wish I'd never met you
I'm sick of love; I'm trying to forget you
Just don't know what to do
I'd give anything to
Be with you
--Bob Dylan, "Love Sick"

This has been a week of substantial breakthroughs with regard to The Work: A newly deepened, newly understood resolution to Beatrice's story arc has occurred, along with a more clearly seen and portrayed connection between Tony and Beatrice (transformed into something both simpler and more complex--the usual result of true insight). Lastly, a minor theme--Beatrice's writing--has been elevated to important-motif status; portrayed in parallel with Tony's art, critical elements of their relationship are examined from the oblique angle of their respective art. (This has forced me to rough-in what will be a body of Beatrice's poems. Thankfully, all those hack-saturated years of putting words in other mouths and pens--speechwriting and ghost-writing--made me a very good mimic: As models, I had certain actual poems in mind, and I think I've pretty much nailed their voice and approach--similar to the Beatrice horoscopes, which nod to at the tone of a specific astrological series.)

Also on my Ah-Ha! List this week was a sudden, unexpected comprehension of the relationship between the theater piece and the novel. Conceptually, I'm dealing with a triptych--the same themes and characters seen through three different media and three different stories. Each,, will have stand-alone artistic integrity (fingers crossed), but taken as a whole--as a three-part-single work--larger truths emerge. (By way of explanation, here is my long-held theory about the Star Wars films: With enough installments, in a large enough fictional time frame, the main characters of the story become the robots, C3PO and R2D2. Whether intended or not, the 'droids will eventually become central in much the same way Tom Stoppard shifted the focus of Hamlet from the Prince to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. In a similar fashion, bigger truths are in evidence in my triptych--stuff not as obvious in any specific iteration.)

But having said this--having established three artistic "panels" and grouping them in such a way that each provides context for the others--what actually connects them? Pretend my project is like a Byzantine religious icon that folds up, providing portability for pilgrims. What functions as its hinges? Beyond juxtaposition, how do the panels touch each other?

A Young Person's Guide To Formal Absences

In which the evolution of the
theater songs is amply displayed . . .

I'll root-toot-shoot myself to fame
Every kid alive gonna know my name
An overnight phenomenon like there's never been
A motivated supersonic king of the scene
I'll be a teenage idol, just give me a break
I'm gonna be a teenage idol no matter how long it takes
You can't imagine what it means to me
I'm gonna grab myself a place in history
A teenage idol that's what I'm gonna be
--Elton John/Bernie Taupin
"I'm Going To Be a Teenage Idol"

I'm beginning to worry about Bazz--he's been barricaded in the studio for weeks now, and his escalating requests for provisions and assistance have taken increasingly dodgy turns: Things like cases of Wild Turkey, the San Francisco City Ordinances, Eric Clapton (or Phil Manzanera, if Eric is out of the country), rough designs for a prospective Bazz Rulezz! tattoo (to be featured in finer tat parlors across the country), a complete 1957 edition of The Encyclopedia Britannica, and--most disturbing to me--Bernie Taupin's phone number. . .

Meanwhile, I'm down the hall in Atlas/Sheridan World Headquarters, simultaneously working on a libretto and a novel (and wisely sticking by my original and sole request for Tilda Swinton--circumstances to be determined). Dramatically, I'm facing all sorts of challenges--for example, having succeeded in making emotional blackmail danceable, can careful duplicity be played for Big Laughs--sort of A MidSummer's Night Dream, but with psychological scarring?

After yelling at Bazz through the wall, telling him to pipe-down about how crowded it is in there with the London Symphony Orchestra, it occurred to me that much has transpired theater-piece-wise over the past few months. So see this as a one-stop update on Formal Absences--not to be confused (yeah, right) with The Formal Absences of Precious Things, the CD, or Formal Absence, the novel.

Realizing the Resonance

Being the Author's writerly admission,
he's grown accustomed to his ways . . .

They were down for each other . . .
Something might have kept them apart at the party where they met--if he had left a little earlier or a little later--but it was just bad timing . . .
--Nicolas Roeg, on Alex and Milena
in his film, Bad Timing

Party doll, what's your game?
Do you move, or entertain
What people say
Well it don't mean a thing
It's a sin
Heads they lose
Tails you win . . .
Amen
--Bryan Ferry, "Party Doll"

Over the weekend I finally made the decision to use "Losing Ground" in the novel--it's the structurally demanded song written for the theater piece at a distance of seven months from the rest of the tunes.

While this might first seem an obvious conclusion, it must be remembered that the CD of the songs, the theater piece and the novel are all doing significantly different things--past divergent plots and right down to the choice and order of the songs that trigger the memories in the book. So no, there was no predestined need to use "Losing Ground" in the novel--in fact, there there was all kinds of good reasons not to use it if it simply served the same function on the stage and the page.

I'm not novelizing a theater piece, or making a musical out of a book--nor am I staging a previously recorded song-cycle. That's not The Point. Rather, I want to tell a cubistic story of the same fateful relationship (or perhaps that relationship as it happens in three parallel dimensions) that purposely leverages the structural conceits and unique advantages of three different mediums. I decided on a triptych because I naturally think in threes--but with more energy and a less-focused mindset, it ideally should have been a four-unit matrix, including a screenplay of the events. Recontextualizing the story a fourth time as a film would have forced me to rethink it in an aggressively visual fashion, forgoing the deeply interior lives of novel's characters and the end-all-be-all dialogue of the theater piece. And, at some point, who knows? Fates willing, I may tackle the screenplay version someday just to prove it can be done. Always say Never Say Never. Or something like that . . .

Back to the discussion at hand: Sitting in Ralph Lauren's restaurant in Georgetown (yes, there is such a thing; and yes, the food is very good; and no, polo ponies are not involved in any way), I finally work out how to use "Losing Ground" in a way consistent with the artistic intent of the book, rather than its function in the theater piece. So out comes one of the half-dozen Moleskines in my messenger bag--the thing that is now never out of my sight. (View it as an artist's version of the nuclear-weapon launch codes perpetually following the president around.) But see? This is why I drag that effing bag everywhere--ideas have their own sense of timing and propriety--the best I can do is be there waiting with my own kind of catcher's mitt.