The Play about the Spaceship

Hey everyone!  Posts have been quietly being written this week - but not quite ready yet - for posting next week or so.  In the meantime, I have started writing a play!  How exciting!

More on that later, and also a post about how I watch tv and movies now - dramatically different.

Love,
Ben

It's Gene To His Friends

DISCLAIMER:  WIKIPEDIA RESEARCH AHEAD.  I can't find my goddamned Brockett, it is absolutely nowhere in this house but then where did it go.  [confused ben body language]


So Eugene O'Neill.  An interesting guy.  His most lasting contribution to the American theatre was realism; stark realism, more often than not.  Stark because all but one (1) of his plays is a tragedy, the tragic* comedy Ah, Wilderness!, a piece largely remembered for Mark Chevalier's purple, brown, and skeletal set.  Sigh... so tragic.  His importance as a force of American theatre was reinforced during his lifetime as he won four (4!) Pulitzer Prizes, awarded for:

Problems with the formatting tools

Pardon my tiny script and enormous hard returns - I'm still figuring out these goddamned formatting tools.

update: BLARGARITAS THIS IS FRUSTRATING

Summary v. Synopsis v. Analysis

My idea for this blog was nebulous at best - read play, post about play.  So I eventually got to the point while writing my first play post where I had to ask myself: how much is too much, and what kind of information is more important?  What do I focus on in this blog?

Q: To Agamemnon, or Not to Agamemnon?

A: Not to Agamemnon.

A thought came up the last time I sat down (after several previous failures) to write the Topics post for Agamemnon.  I’d been having problems getting started and it was starting to piss me off.  That thought is this: 

A Quick Note on Homecoming

Homecoming, by Mr. Eugene O'Neill, was finished last night out on the porch.


Previously, this would be cause for excitement, if not a drunken bitch session with other theatre students/normal people who felt like I did after I read The Hairy Ape: glassy-eyed, lethargic, filled with post-modern John Osbourne-levels of rage, and thoroughly bored out of my goddamn skull.

This Joint Needs a New Name

So right now I'm fully aware I'm simply shouting into the void (or sometimes singing, sometimes reciting dry, horrible background) in this space, with these posts.  Pointless?  I don't think it is, yet.  It could become a gray landscape of devestation, Hamm and Clov arguing eternally in a corner and me in a garbage can, wondering how it all went awry, but only if I neglect it.  So, attention must be paid!