2221. I Spied: John Paul II

(Stories posted on Mondays on this blog – at least for a while – will present famous people I once spotted, albeit from a distance.)

Don’t get me wrong; I quite liked the man. But I was not overly impressed by what I am about to tell…

I had been travelling Europe on a train pass for seven weeks. One does that when trying to find a way home from America to New Zealand. Distance precludes repeated returns. One must cram everything – tourist-wise – into an opportunity that may come but once in a life time.

Incidentally a train pass (which must be purchased outside of Europe) enables one to travel on any train all over Europe. And trains are everywhere all over the place. I was young enough to get in a train and sleep until midnight, swap trains and sleep until morning, alighting in the same city I started from the night before.

It was the beginning of 1987. I had “done” England, Ireland, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and France. Finally, it was Italy’s turn. I was to end my trip in Rome flying from there to a change of plane in Melbourne, Australia. Rome was last on the list because I knew people living there and I had somewhere to stay. I visited half a thousand churches, and half a million ancient ruins. I covered half a trillion corridors in the Vatican dripping with famous works of art. Every corner turned revealed a new masterpiece – “Oh yes! I’ve seen that in a book”.

My Roman hosts asked me if I would like to attend a papal audience, and of course though travel-weary, I said yes. I was given a ticket and excitedly turned up to the huge hall where such an event was held. I was handed a sheet of paper with a list, not of the Ten Commandments, but a list of don’ts to be obeyed during the papal audience. The one I remember is “Thou shalt not rip the buttons off the pope’s cassock.”

I sat down in a row next to the aisle about halfway down the hall. Next to me were 20 or 30 nuns from Argentina. Music was piped over loud speakers. The music changed key. A cardinal entered the stage and sat in a chair. Excitement grew in the audience. Again the key of the music changed. Tension grew. A bishop entered. The music grew louder and the key changed again. Several bishops entered. I thought, “This is getting to be like a Nuremberg rally”. Everyone was excited. I thought the Argentinian nuns were about to pass out. The Wagnerian music changed key again – higher and more tension ridden. Swiss Guards in their medieval costumes designed by Michelangelo stood at attention.

And then…

In an orgasmic volume of key changing and loudness came the climax and…

There stood the pope. People screamed. It was staged. It was manipulative. Quite frankly, I was disgusted.

The rest was quite boring. A long speech was given in Italian, during which people clapped and cheered. At the end, the pope walked the aisle touching hands with whoever could reach out the furtherest. Being on the aisle I could have reached out, but I was too busy holding back 30 screaming orgasmic Argentinian nuns who were trying to scrum their way past me to the aisle.

All said and done, the pope seemed like a nice person; ordinary and agreeable enough. But being a little travel-weary it was the event itself that rattled my hackles. And that is how I spied…

Pope John Paul II

How to… 1: Writing for children to perform on stage

I thought I’d start a new category (for myself) on this blog. Basically it’s called “How”. What it amounts to is not a great deal, but over the past seventy years or so I’ve done the occasional thing and possibly learnt something from the experience.

Writing down these things is probably more for myself reflecting on life than wishing to pass on potentially useless information. Anyway, here goes… Today’s “How” is about writing for children to perform on stage.

I don’t know how many children’s plays and musicals I’ve written over the years – thirty or forty maybe. I’ve also directed quite a few productions. The biggest cast had 1500 children; the smallest cast was 8. So here’s my thoughts in the order they come into my head:

1. Who is the audience? If you write a children’s book the audience is primarily children. It frequently is read aloud by an adult, but basically the writing is for children either reading themselves or being read to. When it comes to writing for the stage, it’s the opposite: you’re writing to entertain adults. Children perform for their parents and grandparents and aunties and uncles. Sure, there are siblings in the audience, but if Mum and Dad are bored so are the kids. If Grandma and Grandpa are laughing hysterically so are the kids in the audience. So here, you’re writing a double-pronged fork: children on stage must perform with an understanding on one level, and adults must be entertained with understanding on another level.

It’s not really as highfaluting as it sounds. An example: the very plain fir tree and the poinsettia are sad because they don’t have pretty flowers like many of the other plants. The fir tree cries, and the poinsettia sings “My heart bleeds for my best friend, red, red.” Children in the audience see a Christmas tree being decorated and the poinsettia turning red (the adults see it too) but the adults better relate to the feelings of rejection portrayed by the fir and poinsettia. While the children are going WOW! the adults are dabbing their eyes. In short, write for the audience not for the performers.

2. Your play is not going to make it big on Broadway or West End. In all likelihood it’s not going to be given a slot at the Sydney Opera House or in Milan. So stop hoping it will. Next time you attend a children’s concert take a peek at the audience. Jesus can be rising from the dead centre stage and Hiroshima can be bombed on stage right. All cameras and phones will be pointed at Betsy in the third line of the chorus or Johnny in the second row. Parents have come to see their kid on stage, not to be gobsmacked by a production of Phantom of the Opera.

So – put every kid on stage and LEAVE THEM THERE. I (nearly always) put bleaches up on both sides of the stage. Children can go up and down onto the stage as required. Or stand and sing where they are. The only thing to practise avoiding is long waits while children move about. Work it so that they will appear almost instantaneously without upstaging while getting into position.

This idea of having everyone on bleaches does away with teaches backstage saying “Shh children! Shh children!” There’s no one out the back, except for a couple of stage hands.

3. No one cares if the teachers are sitting with their students on stage, especially with the littlest children. If the youngest children have to dance around dressed as snowflakes then why not have their teacher in a snowflake hat directing their arm-waving and skipping and singing?

4. If there are songs, solos are of course sung solo, but when it comes to a particular chorus on stage there’s no reason why everyone in the bleaches can’t be singing along too. Besides, if there’s a chorus say of hens and roosters, it’s a lot easier for them to mess around and scratch with their masks on if they don’t have to worry too much about singing.

5. Regarding the learning of songs… Many a time have I been invited to a school to “introduce” their musical; “and while you’re here could you teach them the songs”. I never minded that. But what always got to me were the teachers who thought the first run-through should produce a finished product. “We’ll just run through that again children.” And again. And again…

I used to teach a song line by line, put the lines altogether, and move on to the next song. They would basically know all the songs and words after a good night’s sleep when they came back to school in the morning!

6. Regarding leads and soloists. Turn single characters into a bunch of people. For example, instead of one wise sage have a chorus of ten. They can all wear long beards. Working as a group increases confidence.

I am older than time
Wiser than the wind
Colder than the winter snow.

If you’re writing for a group, write with a rhythm. It doesn’t have to be rap – in fact that could become monotonous. Short sentences recited rhythmically are a lot more decipherable for the audience than long complex sentences. Besides – a chorus of ten wise sages with long beards is much more fun than a single sage!

7. Nothing bores an audience more than being too long. In fact, the shorter the better. If it’s good they’ll want more; if it’s bad they’ll be relieved. Be short. Twenty to forty minutes is fine.

8. Stick them in a costume. Teens might be more comfy in their street gear, but younger kids like to dress up. Ten old bedsheets with holes cut into them will cover maybe fifty snowflakes. Kids are generally not experienced enough to play naturalistically, that is, to play themselves. They’re much better at acting at being something else. Dress them up and have them play dragons.

9. Accommodate to let teachers use the talents available – maybe (if you’re lucky) there’ll be one good singer amongst the students, or the school has a Taiwanese Club so have a Taiwanese dance, or rappers, or…

10. Remember as a playwright that you’re the dregs in the process. The teachers and performers will receive all the accolades. They’re so excited about what they’ve done. Your name will more often than not NOT appear on the programme. Sometimes, you might get some money – but usually not. Teachers are the biggest photocopying-breaking-copyright people in town. You are nothing in the process – although teachers will be very quick to point out improvements to your script and even condemn it outright. I had one teacher screw up the script and throw it at me as “Utter rubbish” and then use it as her own!

11. Workshopping from ideas. Again, cynically, but it’s generally true… Time and time again people will say, “I suppose you workshopped these ideas with the students and incorporated their ideas into the play”. And of course you’ll say, “Oh yes!” But the truth is that generally speaking they don’t have a great many ideas, and most of them are really boring. The aim is to let them think that they thought it up. So they think it’s their play, and you’re really grateful for all they’ve contributed. A great friend of mine – sadly deceased – was masterful at “workshopping”. She was so successful with her youth plays that when she died the city named their main theatre after her!

12. Music. Don’t presume that young people like one particular type of music and nothing else. I had a group of wonderful fourteen year old boys who were fabulous break-dancers. They were in a play about endangered species. I said “Come back with music you’d like to dance to.” They came back with extracts from Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring and Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé! It’s the only time I’ve had a twenty minute standing ovation!

13. Themes. Don’t ram ideas down the audience’s throat. I know we should be Green, and not drink and drive, and wear a permanent condom, and all that – but the audience are there to be entertained not preached at. I find it the strangest question in literature class: what is the moral of this novel? Oh for goodness sake! I read the novel because of the story. So don’t preach; tell a rollicking yarn.

Well now, I’ve gone on for long enough. These are just haphazard general thoughts. Maybe, if this verbal diarrhoea is appreciated I’ll give some more pointers about things further down the track. In the meantime, all I’ve been trying to say is, when writing for children on stage, try not to be a pretentious arsehole or a boring old fart. The school play is simply a thing for kids to do for their parents.

1350. Back to square one

Brianna was excited. She had recently graduated from the city’s Academy of Music and Dance. It was a three year course, and Brianna played the piano. Now she needed to find a job; perhaps attract a few pupils. It would grow from there.

Brianna placed an advertisement in the local weekly paper. She would give a one hour concert in the Community Hall, and it was free. Works would be played by Liszt, Scriabin, and Handel. Brianna would then hand out little business cards she had printed off on her computer.

No one came. She played to an empty hall. A man wandered in at some stage, but it was probably a mistake. He was playing music on his mobile – without headphones. He left, mumbling something about “a racket”.

Oh well, thought Brianna, it’s back to square one.