on my soap box, part 86.5

I’m going to be right up front with it: TV doesn’t suck.

I have a pet peeve that is giving me grief lately, and that’s that so many people are so high and mighty in the way that they say: “Oh, I don’t watch TV, it isn’t worth my time.” And it seems the intention is to make someone like me, who does watch TV, feel insignificant and stupid. Shall we check to see if that is indeed the case? Does Mel feel insignificant and stupid?

… … …

Yes, Mel feels insignificant and stupid, but not because she watches TV.

Seriously. If I were to make a list of all the things in the world that aren’t worth my time, well — golly. The thing is, sweeping generalizations like that brass me off, for a number of reasons. Prepare yourself, folks, because Mel is going to vent.

Yes, there is a lot of programming on TV that sucks rocks. Is this shocking to anyone? (Tangent: The other night at a dinner I used the word “suck” with a little too much emphasis in front of a 4-year-old; that was embarrassing, to say the least.) But then let me pose a question: For every good book out there, aren’t there something like 85,000* out there that blow chunks? I read somewhere once that upwards of 600 – 700 feature films are made each year. Do we ever hear about more than 15 – 20 % of those while they’re in the theatre? No. Why? Because a lot of them are bad. And even some of the bad ones get more press — and ticket sales — than the good ones.

Now, let’s be clear. I’m not a fan of reality TV; I cringe whenever I recall that there are whole channels devoted to putting narrative writers out of work. Whoever the genius is at NBC that thought it would be a good idea to cancel the whole week of prime prime-time in favor of the Jay Leno hour is not a genius. Cartoons aren’t what they used to be; neither are sitcoms, for that matter. I know all of this. Does that mean that TV sucks? NO. It means that some of the stuff on TV sucks. There is a big difference, peeps. “Is Mel arguing semantics?” you may ask. I say, “Of course.” People forget that words have meaning. They have weight. You don’t have to be a writer to know that saying one thing does not always mean you are saying another. Fancy that! Talking to people is not like talking to your boyfriend — It helps if you’re not cryptic and insane. Say what you mean.

Now, if you actually mean that TV is not worth your time… It’s very possible that you are the saintly sort who spends their summer holidays caring for orphans in Sarajevo. If this is you, I applaud you; I am not worthy of admiring you, let alone dissing how you discuss your free time. However, you that are that saintly sort — You are like excellent books, film, and TV; you are that rare example of what is good in the world.

I will bear witness to the fact that there is such a thing as fantastic TV. Pushing Daisies, anyone? 30 Rock. Mad Men. I’m personally not a fan of The Sopranos, but I can appreciate the effort and artistry that went into every episode. A lot of people like Lost, and there’s a lot about Lost to like. Firefly was a fantastic show. The West Wing was idealistic, yes, but totally committed to being so; and the acting was stellar. Battlestar Galactica is some of the best sci-fi ever because the dramatic point wasn’t that the show was sci-fi; the point was that the characters were human.

Lately I’ve been into The Good Wife, Castle, and Glee. Are any of these shows perfect? No. But they have moments that are too die for; moments that I’m glad I’ve seen because they do what art does — they make me think. As an audience member, I look for those moments in everything: those instances that make me a better writer, a better artist, and a better person. Am I being grandiose in assuming an hour of TV can make you a better person? Probably. But that is why I watch. I would be a liar if I said otherwise, since I think the same thing whenever I go to a film or a play or an art show: Good art makes you a better person. That’s the truth. That’s the core of everything. Which brings me to this simple point: Good TV is art. Plain and simple.

I want to be a better person; I know I need to be a better person. Is that an idealistic world view? Yes. What’s wrong with that? This cynic believes this cynical world and its penchant for sarcasm and darkness could use a little idealism.

Now, it’s true TV has brain-sucking capabilities (thanks for pointing that out, Hulu) but like anything that is available in vast amounts, proper consumption requires moderation. I’m not saying we should all just sit at home all day and watch TV and hope for a shining moment of goodness to sneak up and bop us on the head. I’m saying don’t write off the medium. If you choose not to watch TV, that is fine, you have that right; good on you. But don’t you dare judge me if I choose to partake, because you can’t win the argument that “TV is worthless.” Judge me off of something you can argue: that I drink too much sugar, that left-handed people are more likely to be insane, that I need to work on my penmanship, that I can be rude and selfish and not a good person. But see how those are all specific flaws and not blanket generalizations? Excellent.

That is all. Now proceeding to step off the soap box. Moving on…

___________________
*Not an actual statistic. I’m a dramatist, folks; I make this stuff up. But it sounded dramatic, didn’t it? “85,000.” Just has a nice authoritative tone.

pink and frilly and freudian

Today was very much a Monday.

For proof of this, think on what happened in my Theatre History class this morning. We had a review session for an exam the class is taking this coming weekend. I had prepared a handout listing some of the terms everyone needed to be familiar with for the exam, and we were going through the list pretty systematically. I was jumping around a little bit — I didn’t want to spoonfeed everything to the students. Anyway, at this particular moment I went through a list of performative elements (i.e., participants, clothing, sound, etc.) The whole list is on one of the pages of the review guide, so when a student asked me to repeat the list, I said, “It’s on the first sheet.” Only I was stepping toward her as I said it, and the word “sheet” came out as another word. Read the subtext, people, and you’ll get the gist because, like I said, I’m not going to spoonfeed. Ha.

Anyway, the class got a good laugh, and I’m pretty sure that was a moment when the brown of my face couldn’t hide the flush in my cheeks and and ears. Good times.

So I swore in class, however accidentally. Can you top that for a Monday morning?
Don’t answer that.

Also, just now, my already non-existent faith in the History Channel dipped to new lows. I’ve been working tonight, with the TV on for white noise. Because the DVR was recording Castle, I had turned on the History Channel to check out Jesse James’ Hidden Treasure. Actually wasn’t bad; presented some interesting information about Jesse James, as well as a conspiracy theory suggesting that James faked his 1882 assassination and lived in rural Kansas under an alias until 1935. In between showing the history and the conspiracy, the doc followed a pack of treasure hunters looking for James’ legendary final haul of gold, digging up the Kansas countryside. Things looked really promising, that they were going to find something. All of this fancy equipment found an irregularity under the soil that is a 3 x 5 foot box. And they have a Bobcat (or whatever that bitty steam shovel is called) and they’re about to dig up the box — And the music is all exciting, and I’m all “ooh, ooh, ooh” —

And then the narrator says they’ve run out of funding and the weather is getting cold. Suddenly the frame is full of treasure hunters packing up their truck and leaving because they will have to wait for spring. Just like that, the show is over.

What the frak?!

How dare you, History Channel! How dare you spend two hours reeling me in only to smack me with the worst kind of anticlimax. And then you have the gall to try to get me to buy the show on DVD? Are you kidding? They didn’t find anything! They may have, but you decided not to show it. What?! It would have been so much more satisfying for them to dig up the box and find nothing rather than say “Too bad, we have to pack up for the winter.” Pschaw.

Such a Monday. Egad.

another pass

So tonight I rewrote my program note. I like it quite a bit more. Here’s the new draft:

I’m a sucker for a good romance. But where can you find one nowadays? The contemporary cinema is filled and refilled with flashy, love-at-first-sight stories wherein a girl meets a boy on some street corner only to decide in that instant, that very moment, that they are meant to be together, and have the happiest of endings.

While we may want that story to be true — while we may even want it for ourselves — sometimes it’s hard to know that such a love will last.

Yes, Persuasion begins with that significantly insignificant moment — we don’t even see it played out within the course of the novel — wherein a girl meets a boy. But in this case, in the case of Anne Elliot, the girl in question is persuaded by those dear to her that it’s in her best interest to await a more suitable match, and she chooses to let that moment slip by. The story is far less flashy than Jane Austen’s other novels; some describe it as somber and autumnal. When I first read Persuasion, I was immediately struck by the quiet strength Anne has as a heroine, and how hard she must work not only to keep herself together, but also to protect and support everyone around her. While the story might not “sparkle” as other Austen works do, it is indelibly rich in language, character, and realism; it is easily the most believable and contemporary of Austen’s domestic dramas, and reading it has brought me more satisfaction than any of its companions.

The power of Persuasion lies in the fact that its story —Anne’s story — is so very true, even today, when a single choice can alter all of one’s plans for life and love. Anne can think on her mistake of eight years past, and she does, constantly; but the everyday cares of her family and their financial woes force the greater part of her attention. Life must go on, even if it’s hollow for a while, or what chance does happiness have of finding us?

Thanks for coming.

program notes

So I have a show coming up in two weeks. Ahh!! Well, technically they are in tech and opening this week, but I’m going to see the show the week after. Concordia University Nebraska is staging my adaptation of Persuasion. And thanks to American Airlines and frequent flyer miles, I get to go see the show, which is directed by my friend, Bryan Moore. I’m totally excited in a nervous kind of way. At the moment, I am drafting my note for the program and coming up blank. So here I am, on the blog, trying to think of brilliant things to say to a couple hundred people I don’t know. Sorry, folks; because you’re so good as to be here, reading this, you’re the guinea pigs in this experiment.

So. I like the book. A lot. Hmm. That’s a brilliant place to start, Mel. The book is good. Jane Austen’s a funny girl. Very clever. Bah. Bah to figuring these things out, anyway; not to Jane being clever.

Anne and Wentworth make for a beautiful story. It seems to tell more about the true nature of love than any of these quick, love-at-first-sight stories contemporary cinema gives us as a side to popcorn and a Coke. I’m trying to remember when exactly it became acceptable to have a girl in a story meet a boy on a street corner and decide in that instant that they were meant to be together. That they were intended for the happiest of happy endings. While we want that to be true — while we may even want it for ourselves — it’s a little wacky weird, don’t you think? That someone can judge so much off of such a brief encounter; off a single moment, a single touch?

What I think makes Persuasion such a lovely story is that yes, it’s a story that started with that significantly insignificant moment — we don’t even see it within the course of the novel — wherein a girl meets a boy. But in this case, in the case of Anne Elliot, the girl in question chooses to let that moment slip by, persuaded by those dear to her that it’s in her best interest to await a more suitable match. But it’s through losing Frederick Wentworth— in allowing herself to be convinced to give him up before our story even begins — that she realizes its value. At the start of the novel, she’s had nearly eight years alone to think on her choice and not only regret it but imagine how things might be different. Seeing Wentworth again, she knows her feelings are real because she has nurtured them over time, at the same time enduring the pain of separation. As those eight years roll slowly by, does she think she will ever see Frederick again? Who knows? But she can hope, and she does.

Bleh. I suppose it’s a start. Perhaps some bed will help in the inspiration department…

trying not to think TOO much

A lot has gone down in the last couple of months. It’s easy to be overwhelmed. I’m a full-time faculty member for one. I just got a Wii for another. I think I might need to get checked out and find out if I have tendonitis, because I have an ache in my left arm that is almost a week old and just won’t go away. Sure, it’s dull now — but ibuprofen isn’t doing anything to help with it. And back to the first one… I’m a full-time faculty member! What does that even mean? I’m not sure. Egad.

For the past year, I’ve been working in the Theatre department at Utah Valley University as an administrative assistant. Last Spring the department asked me to teach a playwriting class adjunct. Now they are opening a position in Theatre History and Dramaturgy, and I’ve been appointed to take it for the the first year while a national search is underway for a permanent professor (I guess that’s the word, though there are a lot of hoops to jump through before you can actually be a professor). So at the moment I’m teaching two sections of Intro to Theatre, a section of Theatre History and Literature, and a section of Script Writing I. Very exciting. Makes me nervous every day. I hate to think that I might be saying the wrong thing and having someone take it as right. Does that even make sense? I don’t know if this is what I’m supposed to do with the rest of my life, though it looks like it’s the right thing until May, anyway.

Teaching is a very cool thing. It’s also a very hard thing. I wonder sometimes if I’m built for it. Or at least, for the way that most people do it. Naturally it’s something that takes getting used to, right? Right.

So here I am, late at night, reviewing my notes for my history lecture tomorrow and watching Friday night’s episode of Dollhouse (frakking awesome, BTW). And I’m thinking too much. Thinking about my Standing Still Standing rewrite, and my Harvester adaptation, and the fact that Persuasion opens at Concordia University Nebraska in less than a month. (WOW!) Thinking about money and not having it (isn’t that the way it always is?) and having to get new tires (I just did) and wishing for fantastic theatre to come to Provo (wait, Theatre Mitu was just here; whew). And look, I’m being all parenthetical. Egad. Does blogging count as being productive? Don’t answer that.

Pelikan 205 demonstrator. Sure is pretty...