Thursday, November 17, 2016

Writing Challenge 2016 #17 - Puke Pinter

NWC #17- "Puke Pinter- anti-theatrical sustains" DUE Nov 18th at 8am

This CHALLENGE is on Anti-theatrical energy, which I define here as a Fascist act.

Pinter is extremely anti-theatrical, stringing along dramatic action (not the same as theatrical action/energy) in a fascistic anti-theatrical environment... until the end, where he does a negative theatrical act.

Okay! so now you're saying "what the hell man just give me the challenge!"

*CHALLENGE*- Write an anti-theatrical play with one negative theatrical action at the end (unsustainable actions producing a negative response from the audience).

Examples: A mother making out with her child. A person puking in another's open mouth. A ripping or tearing of something we have come to regard as precious.

At the start of the play, feel the audience wishing you'd give them more.  Set them up to care about things, but do nothing with them. Feel the glee of hating them, hating yourself, and hating your characters.
Hate this play.
Hate it!
And then go for it- make the worst possible feeling you can in the audience based on the given circumstances that you've established

Congrats. You're Pinter.

(I honestly don't have the energy to hate the audience, my characters or the play right now.  I'm all hated out.  I'm going to keep working on the monologue...)

(DRAFT 1, part 3)

My grandparents were an example of the ideal, happy marriage until the day my grandfather died of a heart attack at 72.
My grandma outlived him by over thirty years.
Never met another man.
Never went looking, as far as I can tell.
She'd landed one of the good ones.  Guess she figured someone doesn't get that lucky twice.
She missed him, she dreamed about him.  For years she would get sick right around the anniversary of the day he died.
But she lived a long and happy life all the same.
Outlived her brain power by just a couple of years.  Made it to 100 years old, looked around, figured that was enough, and about a month later, she was gone.
My dad's 88 years old.  Two years ago he had a stroke.  Put him in a nursing home.  He was already experiencing dementia, some memory loss, confusion.  The stroke just accelerated it.
But it's a great facility.  The staff loves him, he loves them, he appreciates how lucky he is to get a good level of care.  My stepmom visits with him every day.  She misses him, being in their home alone without him.  Their partnership continues.
People find a way to deal with what life gives them.
Other people have it a lot worse than us.
But perspective is hard to hang on to sometimes, I guess.
From a distance, from where I was, outside of it -
You looked like you had it all.
Husband.  House.  Good neighborhood.
Sort of surprised you never got a dog.
Would a dog have helped somehow?
The two of you created elaborate Halloween installations that all the kids marveled at.
You were part of a community.
And you were always doing civil rights work - which I guess can be depressing a lot of the time, but the victories must be really sweet, when they come.
In the middle of all that - all those connections - all those things grounding you here - giving your life scope and meaning - somehow you got untethered from all of it and you were alone.
And that was the only solution?
You were smart, funny, surrounded by love and respect.
If you couldn't find a way to stay afloat, what chance do the rest of us have?

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