shakespearemom

I’ve already blogged about reading one’s words out loud–when one is revising–for several reasons. But since I am shortly heading off to a local theatre here in Seattle to watch half a dozen actors present my play Desdemona to a modest audience, I wanted to cover a few things that make theatre a little different from novel writing. 

It is still important that the author of a play read through the play aloud–and I suggest doing so more than once. Though a novel is more narrative than dialogue, and plays work in the reverse–sometimes nearly devoid of narrative–both forms of storytelling benefit from oral reading. You can hear the pacing of a conversation. You can see how fast or slow the plot develops, and make changes. You might even cut much of your stage direction, allowing future productions to find their own way to block characters or contribute to the play’s meaning.

But nothing–and I mean nothing–is more beneficial to a playwright than having talented, experienced actors do the reading for her. Suddenly, instead of tackling all four characters in a single scene, trying to make their voices different, and thereby not devoting enough time to listening, a playwright can sit back, watch the drama unfold, and feel the play in the same way an audience would feel it for the first time.

It is both a thrill to hear one’s own words coming out of an actor’s mouth, and a terrifying ordeal. What if what you thought was funny wasn’t? What if the play drowns in the second act, and the energy never rises back up again? What if a certain scene doesn’t make any sense at all? It’s nerve-wracking, but the benefits to the exposure are endless. You may have found yourself stuck on a certain scene, aware that it didn’t work, but unsure why (and clueless how to fix it). But each actor is on a mission while reading your piece. His or her job is to figure out and project a certain character–and skilled actors will note places where dialogue seems out of character, where an action or response seems unmotivated, or where he or she can’t figure out what is really going on between characters. Each actor–even not-so-experienced actors–can offer valuable criticism, information about how they felt, what they saw, or where they saw the character going, and such information gives the playwright a lot to work on.

An audience makes the session even better, though an audience is not necessary for the time to be worthwhile. But an audience’s only job is to react. They will laugh when something’s funny, be moved when something affects them, and follow along with the flow of the piece. And if something jars, if something isn’t what they wanted, expected, or imagined, they give you feedback on that as well. The feedback might get you to change something significant, or it may reinforce the reasons that you wrote it down the way you did, and convince you that you must not change it. 

So if you have a play–even a short one–bake a few brownies and invite some actors over to read it. If you don’t think the play’s that good, make some deviled eggs, too. And ask questions, take all comments with a smile, and learn from others in the craft. Your play will be the better for it.

Now I need to get going. I have much to do before I go. Wish me luck! 

Trackback URI | Comments RSS