COMMING UP DONNA

COMING UP DONNA

The writing style of Quentin Tarantino is extremely entertaining for me. He presents radical thought and action through elaborate scenes often coupled with brutality, gore, sex, and foul language. Something about the way he sites, however, presents these characters in a very familiar and surprisingly mundane way. I am sure that many people would disagree with me, arguing that a samurai sword to the throat, or a Big Kahuna burger hit man job, are each, far from mundane. I would simply retort with the honest fact that I often forget how horrific these scenes are, as I am completely ensnared in the clever writing, colourful environments, and impressive cinematography. 

STOP

Cinematography: a young playwright's Kryptonite,at least, my Kryptonite anyway. The biggest challenge I have with writing for the stage is simply that I cannot get my creative thought process to make the switch from film to stage. When I imagine a scene, I have camera movement, scene jumping, complex settings, and so on and so forth. It's tough stuff. I really didn't even solve that problem. I just kind of kept writing, knowing that it was going to come back and bite me in the rear end at a later date, and indeed it did. It tore my behind with the ferocity of an angry puma on a mountain elk. I had dialogue, oh yes, heaps of it. But as for lighting and sound cues? Hopeless. Nothing. I wasted hours trying to figure out this problem, and in the end decided to wing it. I planned tech rehearsals with my lighting and sound technicians, not really having any clue whatsoever of what I was going to do, and showed up with combed hair and a clipboard and pretended to look like I wasn't completely clueless. Fearless leader or whatever, they needed to trust me a little bit. I made it clear that I had ideas, but that I wanted it to be a group process, a collaboration, with plenty of room for my tech to provide input. That is if they were up for it. And they were, in fact they were actually pretty excited. I have to give them credit, as they were patient with me. Honestly though, I think I handled it pretty well. I suppose I will be in a position to provide a more thorough analysis of the technical aspect after the show is over. 

BACK

Sorry for the break there. Back to the sitcom, "Coming Up Donna"

This is Donna, well, Leslie Hall. She is an American Comedian and she is hilarious. Although her comedic style is not directly represented within the script, I did use her physical appearance as inspiration for the character of Donna Todd. Donna is a Lesbian as well as a film critic, not to say that film is the only thing she ever criticizes. She lives, quite parasitically, with her partner, Mel, in Mel's apartment flat. She dominates the sitcom in every instance, repeatedly aggravating Mel, and insulting her around every corner. I'm not entirely sure why Mel puts up with Donna too be honest, and I am sure that I may be able to come up with some sort of clever psychoanalysis involving some sort of timid sadism towards verbal abuse, but it really doesn't matter too much. Coming up Donna is a television show, and it's ridiculous. Especially taking into account that it is a family television show. I would hope that any decent parent would never let their child watch this show that I have created. There is really no definite storyline, other than that Mel is an aspiring actress, and that Donna thinks that her talent is non-existent. After that, it's mostly inappropriate rubbish. Sure there are some hints and motions towards the shows much larger themes, which is important, as well as the fact that there is a show in the first place, the progression of Mel and Donna's relationship is unimportant to the common viewer: of the play, or the theoretical T.V. series. The characters' depths are known by me, and the actors who play them, for practical purposes as I am sure you can imagine. 

Donna's character is two-tiered. She exists within the television series, as well as outside of it. Outside of the show, I think, she has a very interesting story. She is a television star, and everyone loves her. At some point in her career, maybe near the beginning, Donna viewed her work as art. But, unfortunately for her, the powers of publicity, money, and perhaps an introduction to hard drugs, lead her spiralling into a métier of unvarying formulaic comedy. She quickly turned away from her once young and artistic self. The next step in the transformation, inevitably being cynicism and depression, ceteris paribus. 

At this point in time, during the play, ratings are beginning to drop for "Coming Up Donna". Like most things, the vulgar, lesbian, dynamic duo was going out of fashion. The audience is craving for something entirely new and fresh. Taking this drop in ratings as an opportunity, Mel, the aspiring young access inside and outside of the show, decides to play the board. With a foolproof plan to rise to the top of the food chain, Mel begins her sinister puppet show. Manipulating both the gallows management (Roeper), as well as Mr.Jezebel (owner of the company that runs both the sitcom and the gallows), Mel manages to get Donna a spot to star at the gallows, and of course a noose around the neck.

Mel convinces Roeper that Donna needs to go quite easily. She criticizes him first, for his phoney ignorance, questioning the legitimacy of conscious absurdity. 

" Well did it occur to you, perhaps, that this show is

     just one show inside of another inside of another? Who
     knows how many tiers there are in this phenomenal
     layer-cake of deuces?"

 Roeper addresses the idea that he is aware of this absurdity arguing that his role at the gallows actually serves a purpose. This, essentially, supports Mel's argument that you simply cannot be aware of your own absurdity. 

 
  
  
 
 
  
     "Now that you know, now that you know that I know that
     you know you know, there will be nothing absurd about
     any of this. It won’t be funny, firstly, because we
     know you’re trying. But where once substance was
     synthesized by the very absence of it--like a fart in a
     sea of primordial borscht--now nothing will come of the
     absurdity. It will fall flatter than a steam-rolled
     holocaust joke. It will fall, and keep falling, until
     it falls into a bucket of discounted PEZ dispensers,
     and that musty, moth-eaten absurdity you used to think
     was fresh will be nothing more than kitsch."



Showing Roeper that his show is no longer useful, Mel plants a new idea in his head: The show needs something new, a star, a supernova. Donna's death would be perfect, an "entirely different show". The audience is hungry for change, they are growing sick of hanging convicts, and drug addicts, and homeless people. They want faces that they recognize, faces like Donna. 

IP

LET US GET ABSURD

My Independent project: Ideas. Stories. Characters. But which ones?

I knew that I wanted to write my own piece for my Independent project right from the get go. I did not, however, have any clue how I was going to go about doing it. I decided that inspiration would come one way or another, so I just simply decided to wait it out. It took quite a while until anything hit me. Finally though, with my sisters wedding on the doorstep and plenty of people and buzzing around the house, my family and I decided that we needed to take a quick break and relieve some stress. The picture above is the result of hot, sweaty, tiring, frustrating, wedding preparation overseen by a stressed,  nervous, and delirious mother. I think it's pretty amusing. We were working tirelessly to set up our back yard, pitch a giant tent, gather chairs, so on and so forth, all the while dressed up in these extremely uncomfortable black tuxedos and being ordered by a very "on edge" mother of the bride. Absolutely ridiculous. People were fainting from heat exhaustion. 

It was during this pandemonium that I decided what my play was going to be about: A group of people who work, day in, day out, at a gallows. They would set up the stage,  book the guests, ready the ropes, and put on a show. Yes, a show. It would be a show that everyone in the city came to watch, where people would actually be hung, and killed. It would be absurd and comical and truly outrageous in almost every way. 

Now, this was the starting point, nothing more. After much writing of the gallows I found that it simply was not going to do, I needed story, and a much better one. I decided that I would keep the gallows idea, at least a diluted version, and add in a couple new elements. Other stories perhaps that could run beside the gallows, a story that would be intertwined. What those other stories were, however, I had no idea. And so, I went back to the waiting game. I listened to music. Lots of it. Form Verdi, to alternative Japanese Sludge Metal. I began to develop the characters who work at the gallows a little bit more. Ebert and Roeper, that would be their names. Ebert, like the famed critic, would be unable to speak. Roeper would be unable to hear. They would spend their entire lives together at the gallows and neither one would notice the others disability, until a new character entered into their lives. 

I wrote some new material for this idea, but once again I was unsatisfied with the result. I decided to scrap it and comeback to it later. I began to develop another idea that I had. 

THE JEZEBELS

Family dinner time is a sacred part of my family mechanism. Nothing puts a bigger smile on my mothers face then family dinners, especially when everyone is around. It really is a magical time. I have been to lots of family dinners, and I have also been to many of my friends family dinners. I find them extremely entertaining. There is something about a dinner table that can really give people a whole new sense of character and confidence. All of my most vivid memories of family disagreements occurred at the dinner table, all of fighting, mud-slinging, yelling, crying: that happened at the dinner table. And then, when you were done throwing a fit about something like not being allowed to go to friend X's party, or friend Y's hockey game, mom would clench her teeth and tell you to sit up straight and get your elbows off of the table. Very ridiculous. I knew that I wanted to explore this common scene in my independent project. And so I created a family. They were called the Jezebels, and they were extremely religious. But boy oh boy, were they amusing to watch. Kind of a mixture of "The sound of Music" and one of those really old mid century family magazine advertisements that you might analyze in an English class, plastered with rosy cheeks and charlatan smiles. 

I wanted them to be crazy, and I wanted them to be entertaining. That's kind of a theme that I had in mind. Entertainment. How peculiar it is, how addictive it is, how we expect it constantly. Entertainment  can come from some of the weirdest sources, just like the wedding day preparations. And maybe this desire to be constantly entertained isn't so bad, in fact maybe it's good. But I sometimes wonder if people are even aware of any difference. I mean even your work is supposed to be entertaining! Who ever thought that shovelling grain out of a bin everyday, forking manure, greasing an auger, was meant to be entertaining? Maybe it always was, I mean, I like doing it, but I never associated that kind of thing with entertainment. It seems as though it has leaked into every aspect of our lives, and I see it more at Pearson than anywhere else. 

Now, I'm not entirely sure what all of this means, but it has something to do with my play, and my play has something to do with it. 

I came to Pearson, and I wanted to be a doctor. End of story. Kaput. That's all folks. 

If I take another science or math course in the rest of my life, I will be thoroughly depressed. In fact I would go so far as to say my academic aspiration has changed direction entirely. Picturing myself in a lab coat with plastic gloves and a face mask makes me sick, I want to access people. I want to make them think. I want to address issues in a way that nowadays, seems to be the only way to go. I want to entertain, and I want people to get something out of it. Something positive. 

Firstly however, I want people to make a distinction between what is entertainment and what is not. I feel as though most of the "entertainment" we see now is lacking in almost every sense of the word. I want people to be conscious of the things that they watch, listen to, read. Because we are malleable. We are docile, and especially vulnerable when we are unaware that we are giving ourselves to these absurd things. 

In my opinion, life is quite an absurd thing. People expect far too much. And when somebody gives you something that you are expecting, you begin to trust them. And when they give you their next gift, you begin to think that you were expecting it. Our trust is stolen by formulaic, oxymoronic,  dream-forfieited "Artistic-Buisnessmen". 

One member of the family, however, named Kirk, is a bit of a black sheep. Kirk is unlike the other members of his family. He dresses in all black, wears make-up and is cruel to animals. Kirk sees through the charade of his family, and his family resents him. Now, this isn't to say that Kirk is the light at the end of the Jezebel tunnel. He isn't necessarily any better than the rest of his family and he has issues, no doubt. In fact he is perhaps just as fake as they are. I don't think it really matters though. Kirk is perhaps the emblem of rebellion. He represents all the people who don't associate themselves with the work of the "Artistic-Buisnessman". We see though, clearly, that by the end, even people like Kirk- who don't associate themselves with shit- still smell it. 

The Jezebel family represents all of the fake conversation that we find ourselves having. They represent the role that media and entertainment have in parenting. They represent the novelty that religion has become within my community. They represent the chaos that has been created by the Parenting 101 books you see people purchasing at gas stations. They represent the parents who think that they have succeeded, as well as those who think that they have failed. Most of all, however, they allow us to reflect on the absurdity that we experience every Sunday evening at the family dinner table in an exemplified and entertaining way. 

This has something to do with my play, and my play has something to do with this. 

The reason for the foul language in this scene goes back to the mysticism of the dinner table. I know parents and families where swearing is just an integral part of their day to day conversation. Luckily, I was raised in a household where swearing was prohibited in every instance, save for the right field of a baseball diamond as a mutter under your breath. If my mom ever heard me swear she wouldn't feed me for a week, not that it ever happened. I am the only kid in the community who has never heard his parents swear. My father once broke his finger in a door and yelled "Jeepers Creepers Dirty Rodder". I still don't even know what exactly a Dirty Rodder is, but the point is that my parents don't swear. Maybe they did when they were younger, I like to think so at least, or maybe when they are alone, I like to think less of this, but I honestly have never heard them use "potty language". Even the lords name is off limits.

Anyway, like I said earlier, my friends parents swear like crazy. At hockey games, at work, in the house watching T.V, while they are driving, when they talk about their farms and the weather (especially about their farms and the weather) and I even heard my friends dad drop an F-bomb at church one time when he got "Christ's-Welchers-Grape-Juice-Blood" all over his shirt during communion. It was quite a stain. 

Never, though,  have I ever heard my friends parents swear at the dinner table during supper time. It's true. There really is something funny about dinner tables. We argue at them, yes, but we do it without dipping into our arsenal of vulgar vocab. I find something like this quite funny, and so I wanted to play with the idea in my show. The Jezebels dinners are these formulaic meals with the standard useless conversation, but the extremely religious father explodes with swearing and screaming at his children whenever something goes wrong. I think this is a great way to shock people. Its more shocking, in my opinion, to hear swear words at a dinner table, then at church. And which, honestly, is more peculiar. The conversation that occurs with the Jezebel family isn't extraordinarily outrageous in my opinion (except for maybe Kirks spiel). I see parents yelling at their kids all the time, but its always at the rink, or in the truck, or when their son gets the tractor stuck in a marsh. Never at the dinner table though, and that is what makes the scene interesting. The "Juxtaposition" of discipline and dinner tables. 

I knew going into this, that there would be swearing. I knew that there would be uncomfortable conversation topics and as my mom would call it "trash". But the fact that I can assure the world that I will never let my mother read this play ensures you that I don't throw it into the mix carelessly. I do it because it is valuable to the story that I am trying to tell. Because, and maybe this is just me, but I know people who speak like this. In fact, when my parents aren't around, sometimes I dabble in it. It serves a purpose. Learning to swear is like learning an entirely knew language. When you are young, and you don't fully understand, it's magical to think of these words that carry with them so much power and clout. And over time, if you are fortunate, you outgrow this romance. Just like you outgrow Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, etc. It's an odd analogy to make, I understand and maybe you don't see the same link that I see, but the point is that lots of people don't outgrow this obsession with swearing.

And so was the birth of the Jezebel family.

The father, Mr. Jezebel, is a pretty typical man in context. He runs a business, finds peace in the lord, and makes most of his decisions based on sexual impulse. His vocation is not so twisted, as he is the owner of a television company. What is twisted, though, is the content displayed on these shows. The first one, which we touched on briefly, is the gallows. Goldwynn Gallows. Where, as we know, people are hung and crowds pile in to watch. The other show is a not-so-family friendly sitcom, which I will discuss later. Anyway, in a modest suburban community, presumably North American,  Mr. Jezebel and his loving wife, Mary-Ann raise their four children: Milles, Valentine, Rosalie, and Kirk.

The Jezebel family, essentially, is one of the "parallel stories" that will intertwine with the idea I had thought of earlier involving the Goldwynn Gallows.

"Take a seat please..."

                  -Arvo Hex (from the gypsybird speaks)

Artemis Wolfe & Philena (picknick scene) 

This year I was fortunate to be a participant in a play written and directed by Derek Mitchell. The play is title "The Gypsybird speaks".

The set for the play was truly incredible, and it was an engineering feat I would say in getting in put together. I was able to help with some odds and ends but the true showcase of artistic elitism goes to Amelia Redmond and the director Derek Mitchell. They put in many long and strenuous hours to get the set completed in time for the performance and in the end it was definitely a success. 

The character who's role I played, was Artemas Wolfe. Artemas was a character I was particularly drawn to because of his complex history. It is never fully stated in the script what exactly Artemas has been through, but it is certain that whatever it was, it had turned him into a monster, at least in his eyes. It was a challenging role for me to play because it was so difficult for me to become a character that I knew so little about. In the end, with help from the director, I was able to come up with my own story of how Artemas came to be who he is today, a "Genesis of the Wolf" you might say. This strategy helped me better connect with Artemas and soon I found I was having little troubling getting into character. This character allowed me to experiment with some new acting techniques. Because some of the scenes were set in a dream like fantasy world created by the mind of the main character Philena, I got to explore the different ways of transforming myself into something that wasn't exactly real. Exploring the use of voice control and focusing on creating abnormal contrasts in my personality helped me to accentuate the unworldly essence of my character. This was a very difficult task. Artemas' final scene is in fact the best representation of the character himself as it is presumably the only one where he is not just a memory twisted and manipulated by another character's mind. The final scene was very rewarding as it allowed me to take what I had explored earlier, regarding the history of my character, and really transmit those ideas and emotions to the audience. 

NUIT BLANCHE

Grizzly Mtn

This was a film piece that I put together for Nuit Blanche. I wrote and directed this film over the course of two months and it helped me a lot with the work of directing. It was a challenge to transmit the characters that I had in my head to the actors that i worked with, in the end however, it worked out quite well. Although this project is film and not theatre, I found that the work was still relevant. I experimented with lighting oth indoors, and out, which has helped me visualize the lighting for my outdoor mini independent project. Unfortunately the size of the movie file is too large to upload onto my blog, but I will try and get in onto the internet and put a link up. 

THE BEET CREEK APOTHECARY 

This piece was written for our mini Independent Project. It was inspired by Hansel and Gretel, and the stories of Baba Yaga. It is set in the forest along a stream need a tree house.




ACT I


Scene 1

VIREOS


A young girl carrying an oil lantern comes running from behind a giant fallen oak onto the path. A voice in the distance calls out for her. She stops in front of the audience, and turns around, disorientated. She sits down, placing the lantern on the ground. The voice, now close and audible, is calling "Patricia? Patricia Elizabeth Howard-Caldwell, you answer me right now!". The young girl does not answer.

The voice shouts out one last time but is silenced as it's source, a teenage boy, comes from behind the fallen tree. Seeing the young girl sitting on the ground, the boy walks over, and picks up the lantern.

Pavel

laughs

My mind must be playing tricks with me Pat, no water, no rope swing, no tree fort... I don't remember Beet Creek looking like this. Weird, but I guess this must be it, because you...

Patricia

Shut up! I'm not lost, I'm just waiting.

PAVEL

Come on Patricia, don't be so selfish. Dad's ready to drop, he shouldn't have to deal with a delusional daughter on top of his new vegetable jardiniere of a spouse!

PATRICIA

Just wait Pavel, listen.

PAVEL

There's no bird, no light, and I'm as sure as god made little green flipping apples that there's no cure for ma

PATRICIA

But mom said...

Pavel

Mom is crazy! She can hardly stay alive let alone put together a sentence Patty. There's not a vial of voodoo vaccine that can save her soul now. It's time to grow up Patricia, It's time to go home.

PATRICIA

She may be sick Pavel, but she's not crazy and she told me to wait, she told me it would help. The bird will sing, and I will find my way. You may come if you like.

In the distance a songbird sings. Patricia picks up her lantern and gets up to listen. Pavel tries to interject but Patricia hushes him. The two stand silent as the bird sings once more. Patricia begins to walk in the direction of the sound. She takes a few steps and turns.

PATRICIA

Are you coming?

PAVEL

sigh

Pavel follows Patricia, and the two of them head out along a trail. The songbird continues to play his tune leading Patricia along.

Scene 2

Perisor

Pavel and Patricia come into a clearing in the woods. There is a small stream running under an old fir tree and a small tree house. Patricia stands on the edge of the bank. The song bird has stopped singing and now only the wind and water can be heard.

PATRICIA

Do you know what kind of bird that was Pavel? A Gray Sage Thrasher. A member of Mimidae family. It is said that thrashers mimic the whistling of passing hikers, unable to change their tune until they hear a new one. Some, singing the same song for their entire lives. How, one might ask, do they sing if never meeting a hiker at all.

PAVEL

They don't, they keep their beaks shut thus living a dull and monotonous life. But, at least they have their worms, or must they wait for Julia Child to cook up some spaghetti under the canopy?

PATRICIA

They have only the symphonies of their brothers and sisters

Pavel

Hand me downs

Patricia

An archive, a fable, a skipping message passing from generation to generation waiting for someone to pick up the needle and change the vinyl.

PAVEL

I think that maybe mom had you listening to Johnny Winter's record a bit too much, if anything drove her crazy it's Hoochie Koo and Mojo Boogie.

Patricia

She's not crazy. Why can't you love her like a son ought to love his mother.

Pavel

I love her Patty, but why hold on to something that's hardly there?

PATRICIA

It's far better to sing a song you didn't write than it is to mute yourself out and condemn the music you love so much.

PAVEL

It's far better to help those you love pass, than disappear on the eve of death.

PATRICIA

(sighs and sits down)

Do you remember what happened here Pavel?

(silence)

PAVEL

Of course I remember, this is Beet Creek. Mom used to bring us here before she got sick.

PATRICIA

Do you know why she brought us here?

PAVEL

She brought us here because she could! Because that is what normal people do Patty. I don't know if you noticed but most kids our age don't have a sanatorium for a living room. While most families are out picnicking at Queen's park, we get to play solitaire and guess how many times the IV drips in a minute. I remember how it was, I really do, and it was great, but you were to young. You never experienced what a family was Patricia, I don't blame you for salvation, but mom is dead, there is nothing you can do.

Patricia

Mom was sick when we came here last Pavel. In fact I think she knew long before then. She brought us here because this is a special spot. There is something here that will fix her, I don't yet know what it is, but there is something here.

PAVEL

Well you can find you own way back, this may just be her last night, and I plan on spending it with her.

Pavel begins to walk away. In the tree house, not far from Patricia, a light flickers on. Light escapes the tree house only through the many cracks and spaces in the wood siding. Pavel stops walking and looks over his shoulder at the light. Patricia, however, remains seated and doesn't acknowledge it. Slowly two hands emerge from between two wooden boards, followed by a face.

PAVEL

Patty, what is that?

Patricia

What are you talking about?

Pavel runs over to Patricia. He crouches, with one hand on her shoulder, the other pointing at the house.

Pavel

In the tree house Patty, the light, the face!

PATRICIA

I don't see anything, Pavel you are starting to scare me. If this is some trick to get me to come home, it isn't working.

PAVEL

God Patricia, look! There is someone inside!

Patricia

Your crazy

PAVEL

I'm not! She is looking right at me!



Patricia pushes Pavel over, gets up and moves toward the house.

Patricia

Isn't that frustrating Pavel? Wouldn't it be just unbearable to be crazy, to lose articulation, to lose the trust of those you love? Boy, especially when you know that there's nothing wrong with you. Imagine trying to tell something to someone who tunes you out and writes you off as a lunatic before you've even opened your mouth!

PAVEL

Oh bugger off! I knew you could see it! What is it?

Patricia

It's exactly what I told you it would be. It's what I've been waiting for.

PAVEL

Who's in there then?

Patricia

I don't know who it is Pavel, and I don't need to know. But whatever it is, mom knew that it would be here.

Patricia turns to the house

PATRICIA

Hello? My name is Patricia Caldwell, and that boy over there is my brother, Pavel. Our mother is at home and she is very very ill. Will you please help us?


The figure inside the house points towards Pavel and motions for him to come closer. He stays put.

PATRICIA

Pavel move.

PAVEL

No. Who is she?

Patricia

Pavel move.

PAVEL

Who are you!

Once again the figure motions for Pavel to move closer. Pavel takes a step forward, but the figure continues to prompt him. He continues walking until the figure stops him right beside Patricia.

Patricia

Please, we don't have much time. We need help.

The figure does not move and Patricia nudges her brother.

Pavel sighs in resignation

PAVEL

Listen, we have came along way, and my sister here is certain that you can provide us with some kind of... pill or herb or potion or something. Are you going to help us?

behind Pavel and Patricia the song bird sings again, the figure in the house disappears and the light behind its wooden boards goes out.

PAVEL

Hey!

Pavel picks up a stone and throws it at the house. Patricia grabs his arm, scolding him.

PATRICIA

Stop, listen Pavel!


The bird sings once more and then a glowing pail slowly lowers down from a tree behind them. Inside the pail sits a corked bottle. Pavel moves toward it.

PATRICIA

Wait...

Pavel continues for the bottle. He stands before the pail but as he reaches for the bottle the pail rises out of reach, Pavel jumps for the pail but cannot reach. He grunts, and stands arms crossed. Slowly the pail lowers again and Pavel stares at it for a few seconds. He grabs for the bottle once again, but just as before it rises out of reach. Pavel, infuriated, turns and falls to the ground snarling. Patricia picks up her lamp,  walks over to Pavel and reaches out her hand to him. Pavel declines at first but Patricia persists and eventually he grabs her hand and gets to his feet. The Pail lowers again and Pavel reaches and grabs the bottle from the pail. After the bottle is removed, the pail immediately rises back up the tree. The two stand with the bottle, observing the liquid inside it. Then a voice from the house comes blasting over a megaphone.

Vereon

Drink it.

The light in the house from before is not re-illuminated , but instead a small spotlight peers out of the cracks focusing on the two.

Pavel uncorks the bottle and holds it to the air. He begins to laugh.

PAVEL

To mom!

Pavel holds the bottle to his mouth

PATRICIA

Pavel!

Patricia tries to grab the bottle but Pavel spins around and proceeds to take a long swig from the bottle. He stumbles, turns, and thrusts the bottle to his sister.

PAVEL

Here, uh, just...

VEREON

Drink.

Pavel points to the tree house and shakes his finger, nodding his head in agreement. Patricia takes the bottle and pushes it right back into her brothers hands.

Patricia

No.

Vereon laughs

Vereon

Drink.

PAVEL

Drink.

The songbird sings, and Patricia takes the bottle and drinks from it. She spits out the contents in disgust.

VEreon

Drink.

PAVEL

God damn it Patty, drink the flippin stuff.

Patricia takes the bottle, drinks, and swallows. She drops the bottle, falls to her knees, and gasps for air. Vereon begins to laugh. Pavel goes to help his sister to her feet.

PAVEL

How do you feel?

Pavel reaches for his sister

PATRICIA

I'm okay.

Patricia nudges him away

VEREON

Now, doesn't that just make you shiver? So smooth, and rich, it's my favorite. Oh, I swear by the gods, if I were the last living thing on this planet I'd know not the feeling of loneliness, not with my raspberry ale, or my saskatoon liqueur. Hell, even the white horse rum I get at the Sunday store would keep me company well enough. You alcoholic nutcase Vereon, who needs love when you've got barley, hops and cranberry?

PAVEL

Vereon is it? What tonic is this? It has made me feel light and... lifted.

VEREON

That, dear boy, is beet Schnapps. And any more of it and you'll be out harder than a tit mouse in an eagle nest.

Patricia

Will it cure our mother?

Vereon

If by cure you mean rail her like a pile driver... then yes it ought to be perfect.

PAVEL

Listen if you won't help us, then we are leaving. Our mother is dying and our dad is going crazy.

Vereon

You can't leave now!

Patricia

I'm sorry Pavel, you were right, we need to go.

Vereon

I'll make you a deal, you stay and talk to me and I will help you with your problem.

PATRICIA

No, that's okay, thanks anyway.

Vereon

I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. You see, my beet Schnapps is the best in the west. Yes it is sweet, and it kicks like an ass with a tamale up its arse, but the vava voom, and the boom boom bang that you feel as it burns its way down your throat? That is one part fermented holly berry juice, two parts... rat poison.

PAVEL

What the-

Vereon

Now, because I too enjoy my beet Schnapps, I have carefully concocted a brew that negates all effects. But it must be drank within an hour of ingestion.

Scene 3

Vereon

The drink is your only chance at survival

PATRICIA

No, we are leaving. This is stupid

PAVEL

Wait, wait, excuse my sister. What exactly do we have to do?

Vereon

Ah- ha you perky little heroine. Well, it's simple enough. There will be three pails to choose from, one of which will save you from the many excruciating and lethal effects of my Schnapps.

PAVEL

And the other two?

Vereon

They will more than likely kill you.

Patricia

Pavel, please, we need to go...

PAVEL

Patty, you heard her, we don't have a choice!

Patricia

Its not real Pavel! She is crazy, she lives in a tree for Christ's sake.

PAVEL

Hey Hey, you were the one that brought us here, you were the one that decided to just stroll into the forest and start up a nice conversation with a witch!

Patricia

I was trying to help!

PAVEL

Well you didn't! And now you and me are going to keel over unless we can find this stupid drink!

Patricia

Fine! for crying out loud. Alright Vereon, where are the bottles, let us see them!

Vereon begins to laugh

Vereon

Oh, I am delighted that you decided to stay and play. Like I said, I find contentment in my wine and whiskey, but it's not often I get visitors around these parts. Especially not adorable loving siblings such as yourselves.

Patricia sighs and Pavel looks at her sarcastically. Then, from the same tree that produced the first pail, comes three more pails, each with a bottle inside. The pails glow, but so does the liquid inside of the bottle. Pavel picks up the lantern and runs over to the first pail examining it carefully. He picks the bottle up out of the pail and watches as the liquid flows back and forth within it. He puts the bottle back and continues to the next pail, each time repeating the same motions. Patricia stands in place watching her brother. Pavel finishes examining each bottle and then walks back towards the house.

PAVEL

How the hell are we supposed to know which one it is?

Vereon

Well if I told you that, it wouldn't be any fun.

Pavel moves closer to the house and throws another stone at it.

Pavel

Listen you old hag, you tell me what to do. I don't have time for these pails, we need to drink your stupid potion!

As Pavel argues with Vereon, the songbird sings, this time it can be heard over by the third pail, which sits down at the bank of the stream. Patricia stands up straight and listens. She begins to move closer to the sound as Pavel and Vereon continue to argue oblivious to what is  going on behind them. On her way down the bank she removes the two bottles from pail one and two carrying them with her. The spotlight focuses solely on Pavel.

Vereon

Three pails, two possibilities, one sip! I can't help you anymore than that kid. In case you haven't noticed I don't stray to far from the comfort of my, oh so humble abode.

PAVEL

You horrible hermit! I swear if you don't help us, I will come a tear down the trees on which you stand.

Behind them, Patricia stands beside the third pail holding a bottle in each hand.

Patricia

Pavel stop!

Pavel turns to look at his sister, and the spot light from the tree house moves to Patricia.

patricia

in exasperation

This is ridiculous, can't you see? You're negotiating a witch in a tree house! Threatening a witch in a tree house in fact! Here are your god damn potions, and the one in the pail is the one will save us.

Patricia uncorks the two bottles in her hand and empties the glowing liquid into the stream.

PAVEL

Patty no!

Pavel runs to the side of the bank as Patricia pours the bottles. He stops and grabs at his hair.

Great, great, great. One flipping bottle left, we're as dead as mom is!

Vereon

Your sister is obviously much more reasonable than you Pavel. She understands that if you don't drink whats in that bottle, you will die.

Patricia

It doesn't matter Pavel, this is the one.

Pavel stands still, eyes wide. Patricia reaches into the final pail and removes the bottle. Then, from below the tree house, a figure emerges. The figure, a woman, slowly wades in the water until she is standing not far from Patricia. Patricia stumbles backwards and regains her posture. Pavel runs down into the water.

PAVEL

Mom? Mom!

Pavel runs towards the woman but Patricia pushes him back and he slips into the water. Pavel gets up and runs at his sister growling as he speaks.

PAVEL

What the hell Patricia!

He pushes her back and turns to the woman, slowly walking towards her.

PAVEL

Mom, what are you doing here, mom?

PATRICIA

Stop. Pavel stop. Pavel stop or I'll Pour it!

Pavel spins around, Pointing his finger at her and shaking his head.

PAVEL

Don't you dare, don't you dare, its our mother Patricia, can't you see her?

He motions back at the figure. Patricia stares Pavel right in the eyes. Patricia removes the cork, and raises the bottle to the air.

Patricia

I'm sorry Pavel

PAVEL

Don't you do it.

Patricia

To mom.

PAVEL

You. Selfish... argh!

Pavel runs at his sister and tackles her in the water. the bottle fly's from her hand and lands on the bank. The two lay in the water. Vereon begins to laugh. Patricia isn't fighting back and as Pavel shakes her she shouts...

Patricia

It's not real Pavel. We aren't dying! And that is not her. Look at what you are doing, Pavel, fighting each other as the flipping shadows laugh at us.

Vereon stops laughing. Pavel is now still and frozen, his arms on his sisters shoulders. He collapses on a rock and begins to weep. Patricia gets up and and walks over to him.

Patricia

She may be sick Pavel, but she's not crazy and she told me to wait, she told me it would help. The birds will always sing, and we will find our way. Together.

Patricia offers her hand to Pavel and at first he declines, but she persists and he gets to his feet. The two embrace. The three buckets slowly rise and the woman slowly disappears back under the tree house. The Spotlight which has, during this time, been focusing on Pavel and Patricia goes out. Then the songbird sings for its final time, this time singing a different tune. Then only the wind and water can be heard.

FIN.

Julie Taymor "What can only theater do?"

Re-investigate the mundane

Awareness of the transformation- how the transformation told

Sacred space

The audience fills in the blanks

ideograph/ essence

She spoke about simplicity and the power of audience participation. She really feels sorry for the film industry in that she feels as though it has been trapped by technology and lost much of its creativity. The idea of suggestion to the audience in a deliberate and obvious fashion instead of attempting to hide the truth from the audience. ex) the bicycle wheels with gazelles in The Lion King

and just like that it was over

Well, it was worth it. Now it is time to reflect. 

Two days ago, our theater group completed yet another incredible feat. We came together as a single driving force creating a story that not only created an incredible atmosphere on stage but was able to brighten the entirety of our campus with an energy so amazing that all the thoughts of exams, university applications, homework and internal assessments seemed to dissolve away. 

Although I have been in plays before, I consider this one my first true production. Something about the creative work, team spirit, and delicate framework I found in Metamorphosis, was something completely new. I remember the last week of classes before the winter holidays, and my class and I being given our respective duties. I clearly remember thinking that it was going to be a messy, not synchronized, impeded undertaking. I had no experience whatsoever in set design, and I knew that most of us first years were in the same boat, be it lights, sound, or costumes. Maybe it was great delegation and leadership. Maybe it was fear and panic. In fact it was most likely a combination of many things but the one thing that is certain is that at the end of it all each one of us had something beautiful in front of us, a show that we could all be proud of. There were definitely things that didn't go according to plan, and looking back there are things that we could have done differently, but the illuminating journey that we took together was the biggest and most rewarding part of the whole show. We had done a good job, for our first time at least. And with our work came the necessary complications giving us the experience we need to continue our theatrical adventures. 

Building the set and helping to create an appropriate atmosphere for our story was a magical experience. The directors had a pretty clear vision for the set and I can proudly say that we were able to follow the vision out until the very end. It was nice to have a picture in my mind that I could work towards, but also to know that there was room for me to be creative and resourceful in my own ways. I was able to meet the directors needs but also have the chance to display some of my own ideas. The importance of getting to work immediately after the design is ready is critical.

I began working on the set construction about three and a half week before the production day and although I thought that it would provide me with ample time, and in the end was able to finish in time, I regret not starting earlier. In building a set you can never be sure that the original design will not need any changes along the way. Our set was altered from time to time which meant work that I had not anticipated. This led to late nights and sleep deprivation, which as any Pearson student knows, is extremely dangerous. I am simply preaching to the choir as I say this but make sure, if nothing else, to avoid procrastination and plan for your work to take longer than expected.

The set was almost entirely built with recycled materials, the only exception being the spray paints used for graffiti on the flats. Everything else was built from items taken from the costume room (clothing, tent frame, sheets), students rooms (ropes), or the school's junk pile/recycling (screen doors, cardboard, garbage can). The fact is that the college is full of building materials all around, and when undertaking a project such as this it is extremely valuable to use the resources around campus. Not only will this save you money, but also valuable time. I was thankful for the generosity from students and our maintenance staff members, Josh and Wayne. 

After the set was finished it was time for me to sit back, relax and enjoy the show. I, personally, love METAMORPHOSES. The idea of setting the play in an occupy camp was brilliant as it ties into the message of love and greed so perfectly. I was lucky however to have watched the scenes many times, and just through working with the class I was able to develop a firm understanding of the piece. It wasn't until after the show, taking to audience members, that I began to think of what maybe we could have done differently. Keeping in mind that we were a young theater class with a very little amount of time I think that one thing that may have been a possible alteration is to bring to story of occupy back to finish off the show. Many of the people I talked to were still unclear of how the occupy story was related to the story of METAMORPHOSES. Maybe if we had have been able to connect the story at the end it would have made the Meta character idea more clear to the audience.

Having fun while you work is something that is maybe not experienced enough in schooling, but alot of the enjoyment weaved into the IB is up to you to discover. This, for me, was a perfect example of an assignment given to me that I thoroughly enjoyed. Working on the set gave me the chance to work independently on a project that would help bring a piece of art together which would be there for the entire college to see. Just the idea of this, for me, is exciting. Knowing that my work would be there on stage for my peers to hopefully enjoy and criticize I think really inspired me to produce my best work and maybe that is one of the main underlying reasons why I enjoy theater so much. When I write a math test, and score a good grade I feel accomplished. When I work in theater and put on a show, and see the enticing environment and story I have helped engaged our audience in, Its breathtaking.