Cookie of Creativity

Thich Nhat Hanh shares in his book Peace Is Every Step about a memory from his childhood when his mother would bring him a cookie, and he would eat it with joy and in peace. "I did not think of the future, I did not regret the past," he writes. Eating the cookie was a truly serene moment for Hanh, and one he channels now as an adult when he eats.

After reading this, I've tried to think about an equivalent memory from childhood when I was so attuned to the present moment; a time when I so enjoyed what I was doing that I was freed up from worry. I realized that for me, these were moments of creative work.

Once, in high school, over a three-day weekend, I created a stop-motion animation film set to the song "Zero to Hero" from the Disney movie Hercules. No one told me to do it. There was no deadline I was trying to reach. I simply conjured the idea up in my head, set up the camera and figurines, and did it! This happened a lot when I was a kid, whether it was making comic books or the guide map to my made-up waterslide park or recording songs I had written. I would have surges of creativity initiated from within, when I just needed to make something and my mind would enter a sort of zen-zone, flowing and engrossed in the project.

The heretofore mentioned stop-motion animated film.

As an adult, I often find it hard to enter into that zone. There are a lot more "grown-up" things like logic, deadlines and social obligations that need tending to. But remembering my childhood bursts of creativity helps me feel more motivated to get going on my projects. Hopefully, when I'm in the midst of a rewrite or drowning in books for research, I can channel the "cookie of my childhood" and find that place of joy and freedom once more.

Story Explorers: Being Open to Openness

Now that the in-class sessions for Story Explorers are over, I have the task of taking the stories and artwork generated by each class and transferring them into a new theatre piece. What exactly that means is entirely nebulous, which is both a wonderful and terrifying thing. Before I even attempt to put anything onto the page, I’ve entered into “research mode” for the work, soaking in stories and perspectives from as many sources as possible. Recently, I was able to watch two eye-opening films that got my mind and imagination churning. This blog post is about the first. I’ll share about the other film in a future post.
 

BECOMING BULLETPROOF

This documentary follows the film-making process of Zeno Mountain Farm, a non-profit organization that hosts camps for people with and without disabilities. Their LA camp offers a unique film-making session during which camp participants star in a fully-produced film. For most of the participants, their disabilities mean they won't be accepted into mainstream Hollywood fare. Zeno offers them a chance to live out their movie star dreams.

Becoming Bulletproof walks us through the entire process from actors’ acceptance into the camp to casting to filming and, finally, to the movie premiere of Bulletproof Jackson, a classic-style Western. Along the way, we see the struggles that go into any film-making process as well as the unique challenges that come from working with a cast comprised of folks with a variety of disabilities. The documentary does an excellent job of showing the huge heart and dedication of both the production team and the cast as they work hard to make the film a reality.

Through this documentary, I observed that the process of creating film (or theatre or any performing arts, for that matter) with a cast of disabled players isn’t necessarily all that different from working with those who are labelled “able.” Every actor has their particular difficulties to work through in their craft. Some thespians are hopelessly tone-deaf. Some singers can’t dance to save their lives. Some dancers aren’t able to emote in the same way an actor can. And yet, we don’t think of these performers as disabled. They simply have a particular skill set in which they excel.

What I saw while watching Becoming Bulletproof was individuals working with their disabilities with the help of a very open-minded production team. In a wheelchair? They will make it work with the character you play. Having trouble with verbal clarity? They will hone in on your emotive facial expressions. Not able to recall your lines well? They will modify the lines in the script without compromising the story or switching you out for another actor.

These kinds of decisions require an open mind and heart as well as a deep respect for the dignity of each person in the room. It got me thinking that maybe some of the “rules” of theatre that I operate by are actually just “norms” that can be revised or redacted as needed. I need to enter into the creation process for Story Explorers, and indeed every play I write, with a similar openness to the Zeno film camp. My goal may be a little different with Story Explorers: we’re creating a sensory-friendly work for children with autism and other behavioral/cognitive needs to enjoy with their families as audience members. However, there is something about how Zeno Mountain Farm goes about its creative process that I want to channel as I continue my development of Story Explorers.

Learn more about Becoming Bulletproof.

Takeaways from Day 3 of the ASCAP/Dreamworks Musical Theatre Workshop

Tonight's panelists were Michael Weiner and Alan Zachary, the writing team responsible for Broadway's First Date among many other impressive projects.

• Solve the problem of your story's superstructure before you tackle its musicalization.
• Don't take the path of least resistance when it comes to your song moments. There are moments that write themselves, but there will be times that require etching and digging to find the songs that have yet to be.
• "All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others." - George Orwell, Animal Farm. Some characters have to be more important than others in order to give a solid through-line for the story to fall back on. Answer the question - "Whose story is this? Who am I rooting for?"
• Don't leave vague empty gaps in your writing when it comes to action/staging. Even if the director changes it eventually, give her something to start with (I thought of Mrs. Lovitt's opening solo in Sweeney Todd and how it's very clear musically that she's busy pounding dough with very specific musical figures).
• Don't rely solely on your lyrics to get the point across. Your music itself provides emotion, subtext and other storytelling elements. Don't ignore the effect your music is having on a scene's mood or premise.

Takeaways from Day 2 of the ASCAP/Dreamworks Musical Theatre Workshop

Today's panelists included Kevin Bannerman who has worked on story development for Disney Animation (Pocahontas, The Hunchback of Notre Dame), 20th Century Fox (Anastasia), and now Amazon Studios; and Winnie Holzman, book writer for Wicked and writer of TV series such as My So Called Life and Huge. This evening's presentation was not a plot-driven musical, but rather, as Stephen Schwartz called it, a "thematic revue." A show consisting of songs & scenes connected by a theme, but that didn't follow a standard narrative arc (think Cats or A Chorus Line).

• Who is your show aimed at? Answering this may help you keep the thematic threads of your work focused and clear.
• Leaving the audience wanting more isn't always a good thing. Make sure you answer the right questions for your audience so they get a grasp on what the premise of the work is. (For example, clarify the language of the show, real vs. heightened moments, context for songs).
• Schwartz: "I'll accept any level of reality you present, if I understand what it is."
• It doesn't matter how good the individual songs are if you don't provide an organizing principle that propels your audience forward. In a story-based show, this job is relatively easier - the central conflict should provide the forward momentum. However, when you no longer have a story to depend on, you need to give us a reason to stay interested.
• I wish I could recall this verbatim, but Schwartz went through examples of shows that aren't structured around a typical narrative, and he explained what ties Cats together. It went something like: "They keep bringing out this old, sad cat and then shooing her off-stage. And you keep wondering, what's with that old, sad cat? And then she gets to sing her heart out at the end and go to heaven in a tire." True words.
• Also, provide that organizing principle early enough in the show so that the audience isn't left confused or tempted to check out.
• Holzman (paraphrased): "Be OK with living with these questions for now. You don't have to have everything answered." Schwartz: "Yet."

Influence: Alan Menken, King of Melodies

In 1991, I got the soundtrack for Disney's Beauty & the Beast on cassette tape before I had even seen the movie. What I heard on that tape was epic. The opening number "Belle" in particular blew my mind completely with its layered vocals and bright melody. When I finally saw the movie at the theater, I remember getting so excited that "Belle" was beginning that I shouted out "Bonjour! Bonjour!" right along with the 2-D French people on the screen. My mom and sisters had to shush me and tell me that it was not polite to blurt out the words. My love for this film was further solidified when the VHS came out on October 30th the following year, and I opted to skip trick-or-treating just so I could watch Belle, Beast, Gaston, et al three times in a row on Halloween.

I couldn't have told you then what it was about the score for Beauty & the Beast  that I was so taken by. I know now, though, that it was a combination of lyricist Howard Ashman's fantastic use of the English language, and composer Alan Menken's uncanny ability to make melodies that whisk you away into the story. Ashman, unfortunately, was taken from the world way too soon. But Menken continued on to create the memorable scores for Aladdin, Pocahontas, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and Hercules. Each new Menken-Disney project offered musical compositions that were unique from those of previous films (compare Pocahontas  to Hercules , for example). And yet, they all brought the storytelling power that came to be expected of 90's Disney films. This is why, even as a kid, I was sorely disappointed with the music in The Lion King.  This is not to harp on Elton John's amazing pop sensibilities. But there's just something about a Menken melody that grabs you and says "Listen! Something very important to the story is being sung here!"

Why do Menken's melodies work so well? Two answers. First, I think it's because he knows when to surprise us. Take my favorite Menken tune "Out There" from Hunchback.  The structure is pretty standard for an "I want..." ballad. There isn't anything particularly tricky about the meter or structure or form. But the main melody of the chorus starts off with a descending minor 7th. For those who are less musically inclined, all you need to know is that a descending minor 7th is very rare in songs. Menken harmonizes it so well that you don't realize it's so different, but the subconscious impact remains. This big jump in the melody sounds fresh and expansive, and gives the song its particular character.

Second, Menken's not afraid to keep things simple. The song "Beauty & the Beast" is essentially a series of varying five-note patterns, some of which are overtly scales going up or down (think "Barely even friends / Then somebody bends"). But he chooses his five notes carefully each time, and the little surprises that arise give the song its emotion (think of the difference between "Tale as old as time" and "Song as old as rhyme." Rhyme is the surprise note.) What I also think is so compelling about the song, is that it never overstates itself. Even the climax happens right in the middle, rather than towards the end, where many Broadway numbers like to build. The music stays simple, and doesn't let itself get in its own way. It allows the audience to just take in what's happening - Belle and Beast are falling in love.

While I am forever indebted to Mr. Menken for his musical influence in my life, I will probably never be able to capture the exact quality of a Menken melody. I'll be happy if my songs have a sort of "Min-ken" quality about them. And maybe someday, a parent will have to shush their kid in the audience of one of my shows because the little one just couldn't help but sing along.