to me anymore. For some. It’s been very interesting for me to see who wishes to talk to me these days, and who doesn’t.
You see once, I had a little bit of fame. (It was a long time ago.) Soon I was surrounded by people — but I didn’t know their motives.
For example, a few years ago a young man wanted to talk about playwrighting. People don’t usually want to talk to me about playwrighting. But I love talking about it, so I said sure.
And when he sat down in front of me I was impressed by what seemed at first to be intellectual passion. But a couple of sentences in, my fascination disappeared.
He leaned forward. “What I want to know is — how do you write a hit that’s as popular as The Drawer Boy? I just want to know how to do that.”
I was speechless for a moment, as I had really been looking forward to talking to him about playwrighting. Then I told him that there was a formula for writing a popular play; in fact Eugene Scribe had perfected it many years ago.
I won’t explain that formula in terms of The Drawer Boy — as I certainly don’t mean to suggest that Michael Healey is merely a craftsman. But I don’t mind speaking about it in terms of Come From Away.
The secret to writing a hit play — in case you want to know — is this. First, try not to challenge the audience’s basic assumptions about themselves. If they come into Royal Alexandra Theatre thinking that middle class white people are essentially good people — like the Come From Away audiences do — then they need to be congratulated on that fact. Also, your piece should centre around a controversial topic (something ‘edgy’), but the play itself must not be controversial, or ask any deep or probing questions about that topic. If you want to, you might add a suspenseful plot — you know, withhold some information until they very end. But audiences are a little less literate than they used to be, and don’t care as much about that anymore. Add a little romance, set your play in a locale that the audience will find ‘exotic,’ and you have the basics for what Scribe would have called a well-made play.
I told this young man the magic formula, and he went away. I don’t remember his name. Maybe he’s one of the creators of Come From Away.
But why in heaven’s name did this young man think that someone like me could somehow help him make his fortune in the theatre?
Fame.
That’s what it was, the fact that I was — or had been — somewhat famous at one time.
Well I have news for this young man and anyone else like him. After all that’s happened, no one can ever mistake me for famous; I am merely infamous. That means (please write this down!) talking to me will no longer get you anywhere. In fact, if you are ambitious in the theatre, I suggest you stay away from me. If you want to be rich and famous and/or solidify for yourself a position in the 'entertainment industry,' you’d better talk to someone else.
Of course, if you want to have a serious (or perhaps oddly funny) discussion about art, theatre or sexual politics—I’m still available for discussion.
Just so you know.
Otherwise there is, in fact, no point in talking to me.
Thank God.
Thank God.
