The following was handed out at the public reading of "William Weathersby" at Theatre Exile.
April 3, 2010
Dear X-hibition series attendee:
Let’s hug. Seriously. Even polished theatre isn’t easy entertainment, and you have willingly signed up for something much more rough-hewn. Thanks for lending an ear, and welcome to the discussion.
The director [Brenna Geffers] and I have been going back and forth about this piece for a few months now. I asked her to send me some simple questions to share with the audience. I tried to answer these with a swift hand – free and easy. If I pondered them too long, I think I would just confuse the hell out of everybody. Including me.
Hug line starts after the talkback.
Yours,
Bruce
What was the inspiration to write this the first time?
My parents were 30 or so when they had me. They’re baby boomers. I think my generation is in a strange spot historically: the children of the most idealistic American generation. Plus, we’ve been marketed to – lied to – more than any other generation in history (until this latest one). I wanted to know how that double edged dagger weighs on our hearts. I had a vague notion of the death of my tribe – the American middle class – both spiritually and in tangible numbers. Like, if I had kids one day, I would have to explain the strange customs of our ancestors, over bowls of stone soup. I guess I was working on a kind of elegy for my tribe. If I recall correctly, I wanted all the characters to be in advertising in the first act, and in the service industry by the second. Which is kind of weird since it was 2004. The bubble hadn’t burst yet, but that’s sort of where I saw things. I was quite cynical. (Hmm.) The brush strokes of all of that are still in this play but, thankfully, I discovered something more interesting and personal as I worked on it. More hopeful too.
How has the play changed over the years?
I completed a draft of something called “Landscape With Woman and Noose” (cheery!) in 2004 for a workshop at Philadelphia Theatre Company. That’s sort of the early fossil record of this piece. That script was size of a freakin’ telephone book. It was all over the place really. But I loved the relationships the actors made with the characters and the director [Dan Kutner] made to the play. Some of them were children of baby boomers too, and I think something connected. It inspired me. I had to move on quickly though. I was scheduled to write a site-specific piece for the Live Arts Festival. I think back then I did better work when I was writing site-specific stuff, because the rules and craft are so limited by what you can practically do in the environment. When I had an empty stage, I wound up with telephone books, not plays. I did another Live Arts show the following year. But I kept tinkering with the “Landscape” play when I could. 1812 Productions scheduled a workshop of the piece in 2006, and I got to work more seriously on it. (Workshops are great for that: the real and present threat of public humiliation.) The play was called “Old Bill” at that point. Unlike the phonebook, it was, at the very least, a play. It got itself over and done with in 100 pages. But I felt it was missing something. A big something. The play was flat, and I wasn’t sure why. But, again, I had to move on quickly. I started working on what became “Whisky Neat,” which closed last May. But when you [Brenna] contacted me about “Weathersby,” I saw what was flat in the piece. It was sitting up and smacking me in the face. Old Bill was the same guy throughout. He didn’t change, because I didn’t understand him. I get Bill now. I love Bill. I’ve loved and lost a lot more since 2004–06. That’s basically Bill’s story – love and loss.
What genre would you consider this piece?
I don’t think a writer can use that kind of shorthand. Perhaps it’s a useful thing for audiences, if the piece is lucky enough to find an audience. But that’s for someone else to decide. In one of our discussions, I think you [Brenna] mentioned Noah Haidle's assertion that a good play teaches the audience how to watch it in the first eight pages. I think that’s true. “Weathersby” lives in dream, and in a backyard at the same time. It also lives in a physicalization of a legacy the characters share. The rules for all of that are implied early on. The play can shift from the backyard to a daydream with certain triggers. Just like in life. You can be involved in a certain conversation and something will send you daydreaming. (The story of my life.) That isn’t something I set out to do in the play. It just evolved that way over many, many hours of work. It's the old story: listen to where the play wants to go. Let's call it a “William Weathersby” genre, like if Cheech and Chong wrote “Long Days Journey Into Night.” Just like that.
What character's journey do you identify with as a writer?
Can’t choose.
Clara: She worked at UPS. I worked at UPS. She works on medical marketing films and so did I (my private shame). She’s balancing having to make money and the pure joy of music. Me too (writing). [Aimee Kelly (above) played Clara in the workshop.]
Jacob: There’s a big part of me that just wants to give up too. Every once in a while I hide under my covers in the morning. [Sean Lally (above) played Jacob in the Workshop.]
Photo from Temple University Theaters website.
Pete: I have a chip on shoulder too. I want to fight and scrap for my own shard of divinity in the world.
[Robert Daponte (left) played Pete in the workshop.]
Stace: I’m ambitious, too, and, like her, I have hurt people because of that. Also, I’m still coddled, like her. Recently, it was a huge shock when some people didn’t like my play. How dare they! Everything I do is precious and beautiful. Just ask my dad. [Sara Howard (above) played Stace in the Theatre Exile Workshop.]
Old Bill: Bill wants people to be happy and things to be comfortable. But you can’t accomplish that by wanting just that. I’ve tried that too. In act two he’s been flattened so many times he can’t remember why or how he ever got up off the mat. I went there last year. I got up. So does he. [Joe Canuso (left) played Old Bill in the Theatre Exile workshop.]
Photo from Theatre Exile website.
What is the “moral” of this story?
Love God. Love each other. What else is there? I think each of us has a divinity within, though obscured. And I think we’re unconsciously aware of this – this glowing center of truth and love. And in some ways the story of our lives is the degree to which we’re willing to share it, and the ways in which we protect and fight for it. I think, too, we’re apprehensive to share that center – acknowledge it even – because to love is to give someone the power to flatten you. Squash. And they usually do. It’s not just people. Writing is like that for me. I got flattened 14 times just working on this play. God has the power to squash you too. There’s a relationship there, for me, between God and what we love.
What is the overlying metaphor for the piece?
Let’s find that together tonight. It’ll be more fun. I’ll tell you if you buy me a beer later. Kenzinger please.
Why Halloween?
My friends will laugh, because they know I hate dressing up for Halloween. We fight about it every year. I love making other people dress up though (not in a weird sex way). There is this element of the characters playing each other in dreams (the physicalization of a legacy). There’s a big part of Old Bill’s story in Jacob’s story and vice-versa. I thought Halloween provided some possibilities for that to stretch into their waking lives too. Incidentally, I think I could have done a better job of incorporating the vibe and meaning of Halloween into the piece. I’ll be looking closely at that element tonight.
Why is it important to have the piece stretch over five years?
The play is about love, passion, and relationships being eroded over time. But that erosion also gets to the core of something. Something bigger and better. It takes about five years to see erosion occurring, geologically speaking. I think it’s that way for humans too.
Due June 7: No pencil sketches of Jerry Garcia permitted at Art For the Cash Poor
Due June 11: DO NOT F--K UP YOUR SPELLING! Philly's quizzo Badass
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Old Bill: Bill wants people to be happy and things to be comfortable. But you can’t accomplish that by wanting just that. I’ve tried that too. In act two he’s been flattened so many times he can’t remember why or how he ever got up off the mat. I went there last year. I got up. So does he. [Joe Canuso (left) played Old Bill in the Theatre Exile workshop.] 
