ill...ini

when the cheerleaders scream "ILL", the audience cheers back "INI", which spell Illini and that is where I was on Saturday afternoon. The orange crush and the rabid cult-like fans were an enjoyable aside to the sub-par game. Some may say it was a "good" game, but there was only once or twice where I found myself in awe of a play or a player. The Illini team may be on the top of the polls, but they are no playing championship basketball...in my opinion.

What do I know though? I am not an avid fan of any sport, though I enjoy a good sport now and then. I am anticipating a stellar super bowl and hope the ads do not outweigh the game, nor does the halftime show pop of any extreme controvesy like those of old Janet's tit.

You know, I like tits and wouldn't mind if television was filled with porn 24/7, but you gotta think of the Catholics. I mean, what would they watch if TV broadcasted belly thumping and ass jiggling? Maybe there would be a soft core porn channel for the faint of heart. Maybe we do live in a perfect world where everyone has a channel suited to them.

To make a pointless story pointed, where have all the flowers gone? Yes, it's winter, but it's not like it's snowing. So! the polar ice caps are melting and in a thousands years we will no longer be able to sustain our lives and so! the president is going to give us all a good time tonight. What is it saying about us though? What do we care? Do we care? I'm reading a book about the flattening of the world. I told my cousin, who responded, we need to add shape.

Sha! Pe!

esoteric

it is something I am constantly accused of during rehearsals for plays old and new. i get things like "well, that will be a gem for the person who comes to see the play 16 times." or, "i just don't think our audience will get it." or my favorite, "is that just for you?"

my answer to it all is, open your fucking mind and ears to the world around you. i'm not just talking about the world that we are inudated with from the mass media, but the world of life and the world of human experience, the third worlds and the other worlds, the world wide web and the wide world, of sports, literature, art and the like.

please come see my shows to gain a greater understanding of the world from a common point of view and if you don't get something, ask. if you don't get an answer, ask me. and if we begin a philisophical debate, know that I am not saying that I have all the answers, only those which led me to write said play.

said playwright, "birth was the death of him."

modernization

what is modern and where does it exist? is modern contemporary? is it now? how do you convey to an audience modern though?

we are in a heated debate over these topic during rehearsal. some good insights and some large avenues to explore.

what do I want to get across and what will I be able to in this production is something I will be mulling over for the next couple of weeks as we begin the next draft of the play.

is modern theater and realism a thing of the past? i prefer to explore non-realism and with a dream play like Strindberg's Miss Julie, I find it necessary to explore his themes, characters and story in a new fashion so that today's audience will not feel jilted by a out-dated piece.

but how up-to-dated will they allow and how forward thinking can we purport? i hate the term "post-modern", but maybe that is the type of play I am trying to achieve. something that goes beyond the present tense, beyond the inital experience and allows the audience a greater deal of ownership on the outcome of the play.

does she kill herself? does she fall?

and what of this new ending I have devised? I want you to decide. it is not my job to dictate. it is to entertain and tell a story. how it will be told is in the hands of a director, an actor, designers and fellow theater artists.

i must make sure it is clear to them, so that it may be clear to you and we can clear our minds and survive these times...

does anyone get the parallel between Hamas and Haman?

a night of innocent games

The first reading of my new play, The Julie, went off like gang-busters last night. I was truly impressed with the cast we had and look forward to developing the play with them, and seeing the director take hold and put it up on stage. I will make sure I post the show dates when they come near, but for all you pre-planners, the dates currently set (and I only use currently because dramatic events occur in theatre shifting time and space) are March 30th to April 30th. Openning night will be April 1st (no fooling) and the run days and time will be Thursday - Saturday at 8pm and Sunday at 2pm.

I hope you can all make it.

dead poets society

i bought the special edition DVD of Peter Weir's Dead Poets Society. This film hold many memories for me such as it being the first movie I saw an advanced screening of, such as watching the film with my crazy cousin who stopped the movie half way and gave my sister and I a lecture on siezing the day (because we were obviously not picking up on the major theme?) and such as watching the film with college friends in our 2 story house, living below three women we all despised, standing on our couches, banging the walls, screaming Captain! My Captain, until the bitches came down to see what the commotion was (i think we started throwing our beer cans at them, prompting them to move out the next term and letting three of our good friends move in, so that we could put holes in the wall and set garbage on fire). Ah! Dead Poets...

The special edition DVD has some awesome interviews and behind the scenes looks at the film making process and as I am beginning my career as a filmaker, it was good to watch the footage of a film that has stood the test of time throughout my life.

i recommend this to everyone.

Load-out in Dubuque, Iowa

The crew was an hour and a half into loud-out when the bossman barked at his young, seasoned assistant.

“If you haven’t started stacking that shit in the next thirty seconds with the motor, you’re going to do it by hand!! Start with the upstage beam!”

“But the catwalk is still laying on top of the truss. I’ll have to start downstage, and then work my way up,” said the assistant, still working by himself.

“Fine!” answered the limping, frustrated boss, “Tick tick tick. You’re clock is running.” Ten seconds pass. “Don’t make me come over there son!” Another ten seconds pass. “What the fuck is taking you so long boy?!”

“First of all, don’t call me boy! Second, the locals didn’t take all of the truss pins out like I asked them to, so get off my back.” replied the more irritated assistant.

“You watch your damn mouth. Don’t you think for a second that I can’t make you life hell, son.”

“ ‘Don’t call me son, Dad’,” the assistant stated, cleverly quoting a show from his past.

“Just take the damn pins out so we can get the fuck out of Dubuque.”

That was the only thing the two could agree upon all night.

- Benjamin D. Bain

if I have nothing to say

should I still post so that i keep up with my daily journal?

Well, I finished another draft of The Julie last night. Definitely feels tighter and I look forward to hearing it read tomorrow night by the group of actors that will perfom the play in a matter of months. I am a little more worried and apprehensive about this production. We actually held auditions rather than casting in house. Though the last "in-house" casting was out of my hands, it was "in-house" of the director and production company(s?) working on it.

I guess this brings up a recent decision I made on the editing of the film project I've got in post production. You see, the producer and technical director (a couple, if you will) has an editor friend, but we all wanted to interview others with the potential of going outside of our "zone". I would say "comfort" zone here, but the roles we all hold in this project are already outside of this zone, so hiring someone even farther outside was what we were contemplating. The individuals we interviewed varied in level of experience and professionalism and a few remained candidates for a few weeks after the initial meeting. We finaly made the decision to hire the friend rather than the stranger. Of course, we can't determine whether this was a good or bad decision as we have not seen a cut yet (due in the next couple weeks). However, the final decision was made because we all hold this project close to our hearts and handing it over to a friend felt like the smartest move, though each and everyone of us was excited about the possibilities for the future with new friends and strangers alike.

so, here I am, one day before meeting a cast of strangers to take hold of my work. what will become of it and what will become of me, my play, my wors, etc. i am optimistic, but not overly at this point, I must say. i guess I am working on the age old wisdom I once found in a cereal box or fortune cookie, "to a pessimist, the world is filled with happy suprises."

either way, I look forward to it. "fuck up, friend! or you will find yourself living on our terrible streets."

under the weather

what do you find? how little it takes to survive...and to die. that life is worth living even when you must keep a tissue up your nose. solitude and space. i'm glad i'm not a giraffe. what if it got a sore throat? to quote Mitch Hedberg, "goddammit anyway!"

how much happiness it is to see white muccus rather than yellow...or green. to have an appetite once again. where did it go and what did it see? i tried to read. it didn't work. so I slumped in front of the t.v. and caught up on what the world is watching. why are we watching? i need to get cable. how awesome would getting sick be then?

i remember being young and faking sick to stay home and play Sega (not nintendo, I had a Sega...and Atari!). maybe I was afraid of something at school. learning? peers? unfinished homework? who knows? who cares? it is passed and I have not. sick is gone, almost gone, came back for a bit, then left again. I should be 100% tomorrow. what is 100%?

i'm still at work. not today, but when sick. dedication? delirium? who knows? who cares? nothing to fear there, but fear itself is everywhere...right? no, it is no where. doesn't exist. flew out the window in a doctor's office when I was 8. when I wet the bed. when I wished I were dead. what a stupid thought. i try to speak out loud more often. play with my tongue at will. she will. one day.

i'll skip the moral. none I can find so don't you be the wiser.

peace. i must wretch now.

jaw

the lot (continued)

so, this is the play I am writing. it is a play inspired by the Book of Esther, the story of Purim. Purim, "the Jewish Mardi-gras". I was doing research on a TV Pilot I was toying with and wanted to set the first episode during this festival of Purim. Upon reading the Book from the Torah I was captivated by the tale.

The tale goes that during the time of King Ahasuerus, a hero emerged among the Jewish people, Queen Esther. You see, one of the King's advisors, Haman, hated the Jewish people and wished for them all to be blotted of the face of the world. Esther's Uncle, Mordecai, caught wind of Haman's desire and brought Esther before the King, to become a part of his harem. Ahasuerus loved Esther more than all the others and he made her his Queen.

In her new post, Mordecai began to relay Haman's plan to her and she promised to do what she could to stop him from playing out his plot. So she cooked a feast that lasted many nights under the guise of wishing to tell her King of some grave news. Once their appetite could stand no more, Esther told the King, in front of Haman, what this evil advisor had been stirred behind the King's back.

Now, the story goes that Haman had in fact told the King about a people he despised like no other and wished to be granted the power to wipe them out. The King, not knowing which people, but that Haman was a trusted advisor, granted him this power. When the King heard from Esther, he was shocked by her passion for such a people and, in turn, shocked by the discovery that his Queen was also a Jew. He loved her more than anything and he put a stop to Haman's wrath. Haman was hung and this is the end of the story as most people, includes Jews know it.

Upon reading the portion in the Torah, a piece is missing that has been bouncing around in my head ever since. You see, once Haman was hung, the Jewish people did not stop with this one murder. Killing the top man was not the end. The Jewish people then turned their swords on all of Haman's people and exterminated them.

When I attended Hebrew school, this final act was never brought to our attention and in most of the commentary I read, this is overlooked. As I began to write my version, this act stopped me cold as I did not know how I would handle such an event. Do I ignore it as well?

I don't think I could.

I think it is imperitive that we know all that we are to know so that we can make wise decisions on the history of religion, heritage, humanity. I think it is imperitive to say, "You know what? Haman was an evil man for wanting to destory the Jewish people, but were his people as evil? Could they have been spared? If he was truly a madman, then his followers were victims along with the Jewish people, one could say. But one does not say in the Book. One just says they followed and were blotted out. The Jewish hero rose to the heights and became just as much a madman. Revenge is just as ugly."

There is a movie out, Munich, that has made me focus my attention on this play of mine once again. Speilberg dealt an even had with the Jews and the Arabs. He shot a film that looked at a character in the midst of all the chaos. The movie paralleled the Book of Esther for me. Israel took their revenge on the tragedy that took place at the Munich Olympics...or did they? Was it not another leg of a vicious cycle? Israelies I know say there are historical inaccuracies, but Munich is a piece of fiction. Speilberg used his knowledge of this event to tell the story of a man in the midst. Is it so hard to believe that this could happen?

Is it so hard to believe that our homeland could be less golden than we imagined?

the lot

is it that difficult to believe your homeland is not as golden as you once thought? as an American it is quite easy for me to believe this, though I don't remember a time when I thought my homeland was golden. the first imprint my country left on me was the fear I got when I heard over the car radio that we were going to war in the Persian Gulf. Then, President Papa Bush, gave me no indication that this wasn't a grave matter. Little did I know then that the graves were not on these shores, though some were filled with our bodies, but I was too young to know those things at the time. And what about my junior high social studies teacher who reassured us, living in a suburb of Washington D.C., that if nuclear war were to happen we would be sure to be the first to peril. ah! youth...

now, I know more history and can't fathom how anyone would hold America up too high, unless it is in the catagory of The Most Capitalistic Country. we built this country on the graves of indians and fight foreign wars because we believe it is the right thing to do...to butt our noses in where they don't belong. sending troops to stop genocide because no one should be like us, though everyone should be like us. a vicious cycle.

And what about the fact we don't have a properly elected official? did you know that if you do a google search for the word "failure", President Baby Bush is on the top of the list? Now, the story goes that Bush supporters couldn't handle this so they started their own SEO efforts and got Michael Moore to be #2. What has he failed at though? His movies are quite popular. Blockbusters if you will. But that is neither here nor there. For the first time, in my knowledge, there is criticism from outside observers that they can no longer differentiate between the will of the American people and the will of the American President. This, my friends, is a catastrophe...

once again, you all know this, so I don't have to tell you.

What I want to talk about now is Israel, the Jewish people and a play that I am working on...The Lot, but you will have to wait for next time, as I must see to my day job...

it was beauty killed the beast

not the planes.

Last night I spent 3+ hours watching Peter Jackson's King Kong. walking out of the theater, my friend turned to me and said, "that was stressful". exactly what I was thinking. but why? the answer is simple. during 3+ hours, not a moment goes by in the film where the characters aren't fighting for their life...for survival; whether it's from gigantic bugs, dinosaurs, the titular ape, the sea, an ancient civilization or modern day New York City (though by modern, I mean the 30s, the Great Depression era). hmmm...

As I sat watching, I decided to keep my eye on the timing of the film. it is, of course, all in the timing, right? we are dealing with actors, a director, multiple crew members and a screenwriter. everything is about timing in this industry.

it took an hour and fifteen minutes for us to catch a glimpse of King Kong (the first act, which concludes with him capturing Naomi). it then took the crew of the film and the ship an hour to capture the beast (many lives were lost and act two ended). the final act, set in New York, with the Eighth Wonder of the World on display and then on the run took the remainder of the time (ending with the now infamous line, delivered by the infamous Jack Black).

but you already know this, so I don't have to tell you.

The Road is a Lonely Place When You're out of Whiskey and Your Bed is Empty

Every day is a constant struggle. With all of the doings and undoings.
My soul hasn't been breathing for a while now. I want to be at home
with my son in the sun. I am drowning in the gulf. In the sea of cell
phones, call times, politics, union dues, taxes, and cabs. Writer's
block is a killer. I can't reach my friends, and television ruins more
minds than drugs. John, Janis, Jimmy, Jim, and Jerry are all dead, and
I can't find any good music. All I can seem to write is hate poetry.
My hands are clenched in fists of rage. This fit! This cage! This
shrinking island I call Despair. Good guys always finish last. Then I
guess I'm the best there ever was.

- Benjamin D. Bain

inauguration

F. was read on Saturday to a capacity house. Thank you friends of old, friends of new and friends of many different views...for not only watching this play unfold, but help in its future development. I was in awe at the response of people during our talk back and though I could write for days on end delving into each and everyone's comments, I will hold myself to revising the play at hand so that those who are now a part of the process can come visit once we mount our full productions, and those who wish to become part may witness what a collaborative world we live in. If anyone wishes to invest in the future of F., please feel free to contact me, GroundUp Theatre or LiveWire Theater. We would be glad to accept any in-kind donations and/or monetary funds. In return for your help, we promise to publicize whatever name, company and/or entity you so desire in all marketing for this production and beyond, if you so desire. Support Your Art in Chicago.

Peace,
jaw

shot

who cares? it's just a "reading". no reviews. nothing at stake. friends and a forgiving audience, right? we've only spent a month or so on it. 20...24 hours, if we want to keep in step. a day, out of a year, out of a lifetime.

i wrote the play in cabo san lucas on vacation with my family. i had a view of the ocean I couldn't swim in because the riptides were too dangerous. smoking cigars that I couldn't get in the states. drinking by, and in, the pool. an aquabar. the family we rode with from the airport to the resort had the hottest daughters, too young. maybe in cabo they weren't...maybe if I hadn't be writing I would have grown a pair. Their father looked like he could snap my neck with his pinky. maybe in cabo...he wouldn't have cared? we tried going marlin fishing, but about a half hour into the trip I was green and wretching over the side. back to my balcony. my thoughts. my play. i had an opportunity, with a deadline, i needed to hit.

in Chicago, life is not all too different from the rest of the world. from cabo. the views are picturesque, but of another landscape. towers scraping the sky. traffic moving in and out of consciousness. a new draft of the play. beginning to collaborate. it is not just my dream now. the hands and minds of others interact.

who cares? it's just a "play". a script. what is the deal? nothing is at stake but our time...or if we had money. so, maybe its dark. the sun may never shine again. one night only. i couldn't treat a woman like that.

some say that the pages are like your children you must look after. birth. life. conception. if I were a woman.

the pages are women. drawn to them like berries on a tree. sweet, but in multitudes. one, then the other, then the other, then the other, then...so, then F., are you a one night stand? Yes! O.K.! There have been others. None so grand, so dense. so here and so now. so there will be others. The Julie is around the corner. I beg for your forgiveness. I long for your return. though I know, and so do you, I won't be all there again, like I am now.

F. you all! my nerves...they're shot.

jaw

no comment

I have decided that on my home page to start listing Favorites rather than keep up with current readings/viewings/listenings, etc. That is what your blog is for, says I.

So here's the scoop of the day:

I've just cracked the surface of The World is Flat by Thomas Friedman. It is huge in volume and scope. He is dealing with one of my favorite topic, Globalization. His theory is that we are in the 3.0 version of this phenomenon and it has been keeping my up at nights. More later.

Finally finished the August Wilson journey by reading Radio Golf in American Theatre Magazing (I must say this is an excellent magazine, which often times prints full versions of stellar plays). Wilson's final play of his 10 play cycle was jaw dropping. My favorite of his plays is Jitney, which is one of the first he began, though not the first produced. Radio Golf had the same feel of Jitney and ended in my favorite way, open-ended. The main question that most Wilson scholars ask is, "Where do we go from here?" Wilson does not answer be he leaves his characters ready to set forth on two divergent paths. Without stating his preference, Wilson fades the lights to black, and defines an American culture. Bravo! And we miss you, man.

GroundUp Theatre, who is producing my new play, F., inspired by the Faustus myth, more info on the production here is geting ready to do The Tempest by William Shakespeare. I could not help myself by reading this play, which in my defense was on my shelf. I look forward to their production and was awed once again at the bard (i am trying to read them all, probably a third of the way through), especially the monologue at the end where he sets Prospero forth as the Playwright offering the plea that I admire and try to adhere in all my writing, which is that he wrote to entertain...anything else would be uncivilized.

Just before all these, I read The Accident by Elie Wiesel and am on the same mission, to read all of his work. It is slightly absurd, but The Accident reminded me of Irvine Welsh's Marabou Stork Nightmares, whose protagonist also lays in a coma and at death's door. Welsh modernizes the structure of the story, maybe even postmodernizes it, but Wiesel captivates without the flash. I am learning that it is because I am Jewish that his work reaches me so poignantly. I recently purchased Dawn as my next Wiesel read. On the same bill, I bought The Dubliners (in constant pursuit of my short story writing inspiration and a collection of Harold Pinter work titled, Death, etc.)

etc., etc., etc.
jaw

to myself

i was thinking to myself last night because there was nothing good on tv that I post a lot of archived work and should start using this blog, as I originally intended, to further my writing.

so, i am promising new content from now on and if any of you hackers out there see a piece of work that has been lying around my desktop up here on this site then i give you persmission to wipe my files clean so that I can only publish new writing.

with that said, you must all come to the reading of my new play, F., inspired by the History of Dr. Johann Faustus, the man who sold himself to the devil for 24 years to gain unlimited power and in the end was met by the devil and torn to piece. it is showing for ONE NIGHT ONLY at National Pastime Theater on Broadway. You can visit wetcityproductions.com, livewirechicago.com or grounduptheatre.com for more info. We are suggesting dontations of $5, but would not be opposed to millions.

peace for now and to all in the Middle East, especially the friends and family of Mr. Sharon.

jaw

a man walks into his corner pub

a man walks into his local pub, let's say he is a writer. the confines of his apartment haven't been creating the adequate citrus to start his juices flowing.

you see, he had a deadline to make. in one month his short screenplay was going to be shot. the cast and crew were looking for new drafts. he had the film rolling in his head, but now it was time to get it down. to business.

he sat in the back where the pub became a restaurant and ordered a jameson and coke. the bartender noticed his papers and asked what he was working on.

a film. shooting in a month. got to finish the script.

what's it about?

a love story between two songwriters.

where's it going to show?

we've got to finish it first. the writer laughed and ordered a mixed green salad with ranch and a j pats burger with cheddar and mushrooms. J Patricks was the corner pub, one the writer had frequented often since arriving in chicago 8 months ago. he took friends and family when they came into town, would walk up and watch a big game or just sit at the bar and swoon over the blonde waitress he was secretly in love with.

i told the waitresses we have a writer in the house, the waiter said as he dropped off the salad and burger, careful not mess up the writer's paper piles.

they asked what it was about. i told them love.

the writer smiled and snuffed out the american spirit light he was smoking.

thanks.

the pub was working. the visions of the film were flowing out of his mind and onto the paper. he was in the perfect setting to draft up a revision so that he could then walk back home and transfer it to his
computer. print it out. and send.

he finished his meal between spurts of crossing out portions of the script, writing new lines and rearranging structure. he lit a cigarette and ordered a third jameson and coke.

then she sat down...the waitress.