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ejreadswords's Reviews (100)
adventurous
dark
funny
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I’ve always had an idea what “Kafkaesque” meant, but needed to make my foray into his work to know where the essence of it comes from.
An essential short story. Three chapters of a life, of this transformation, that even though it mostly takes place within the cramped quarters of a small apartment, tells us so much about the world — where we have misguided or misaligned priorities; where we dwell in things we can’t change; where we have capacity to grow and change into the better.
There’s dual metamorphoses in this story. Really ripe with lessons in just over 60 pages. Great stuff. Also just so coarsely funny in the beginning, in I suppose, that “Kafkaesque” way.
An essential short story. Three chapters of a life, of this transformation, that even though it mostly takes place within the cramped quarters of a small apartment, tells us so much about the world — where we have misguided or misaligned priorities; where we dwell in things we can’t change; where we have capacity to grow and change into the better.
There’s dual metamorphoses in this story. Really ripe with lessons in just over 60 pages. Great stuff. Also just so coarsely funny in the beginning, in I suppose, that “Kafkaesque” way.
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
So I watched Anatomy of a Fall (directed by Justine Triet) twice in theaters. one of my favorite films of 2023 and such an illuminating piece about complicated characters forced to reckon with some of their darkest secrets in a courtroom. lots of discourse is out there saying, "is a French courtroom really like that? they're wild over there."
after my second viewing, my friend Justin said, "if you loved this so much, you should read The Stranger." an apt comparison because it's a French courtroom story, with a main character that plays on a slightly different moral / behavioral playing field than is typically expected of someone on trial for murder.
I'm not comparing Meursault of The Stranger with Sandra Hüller's character in Anatomy of a Fall as one-to-one, because they're very different people. but since both pieces are attempts at understanding complicated people (and they act in ways that probably piss off judges, prosecutors, lawyers -- much moreso with Meursault), there are parallels.
really loved the structure of this story. part 1 and part 2 are very different stylistically; I read all of part 1 in one sitting, but had to break up part 2 because I was reading it on commutes. it was funny reading in the intro that Camus was going for an Americanized style; going for the Hemingway simplicity & terseness -- that classic iceberg. haymakers of revelations and sentiments expressed, that even for its short duration, it asks questions that you'll consider and ponder for all your life. I found the style super effective. I found its caustic sense of humor at-times side-splitting, but also just profoundly sad.
the final image of this novel reminded me so much of john gardner's grendel -- the alternate perspective of the legend of Beowulf. that in itself was one of my first introductions to existentialism, and while camus rejects the claim that he's an existentialist, i'd say that absurdism and existentialism share many similar strands. there's a beauty of this story's ending, and it's a tragic one.
Meursault is one of the most interesting & flawed narrator's that I've read. it's obvious there are emotional deficiencies, and his isolation and lack of moral compass (or apathy toward it) has led to some extremely short-sighted decisions. I'm no expert on existentialism, but I know one antidote of it, given the absurdity & disasters that we have zero control over, is just personal ambition, drive, and purpose. finding the joie de vivre, finding the reasons to keep going, given everything has been and will be shit. that sounds so dramatic, and believe me, I don't straddle on that type of thinking very long or at all; but for someone that goes down Meursault's path, and to be faced with such momentous decisions and to think so flippantly of it, for it to have an indelible, irreversible impact on your life... you just begin to think, "where did it all go wrong?"
after my second viewing, my friend Justin said, "if you loved this so much, you should read The Stranger." an apt comparison because it's a French courtroom story, with a main character that plays on a slightly different moral / behavioral playing field than is typically expected of someone on trial for murder.
I'm not comparing Meursault of The Stranger with Sandra Hüller's character in Anatomy of a Fall as one-to-one, because they're very different people. but since both pieces are attempts at understanding complicated people (and they act in ways that probably piss off judges, prosecutors, lawyers -- much moreso with Meursault), there are parallels.
really loved the structure of this story. part 1 and part 2 are very different stylistically; I read all of part 1 in one sitting, but had to break up part 2 because I was reading it on commutes. it was funny reading in the intro that Camus was going for an Americanized style; going for the Hemingway simplicity & terseness -- that classic iceberg. haymakers of revelations and sentiments expressed, that even for its short duration, it asks questions that you'll consider and ponder for all your life. I found the style super effective. I found its caustic sense of humor at-times side-splitting, but also just profoundly sad.
the final image of this novel reminded me so much of john gardner's grendel -- the alternate perspective of the legend of Beowulf. that in itself was one of my first introductions to existentialism, and while camus rejects the claim that he's an existentialist, i'd say that absurdism and existentialism share many similar strands. there's a beauty of this story's ending, and it's a tragic one.
Meursault is one of the most interesting & flawed narrator's that I've read. it's obvious there are emotional deficiencies, and his isolation and lack of moral compass (or apathy toward it) has led to some extremely short-sighted decisions. I'm no expert on existentialism, but I know one antidote of it, given the absurdity & disasters that we have zero control over, is just personal ambition, drive, and purpose. finding the joie de vivre, finding the reasons to keep going, given everything has been and will be shit. that sounds so dramatic, and believe me, I don't straddle on that type of thinking very long or at all; but for someone that goes down Meursault's path, and to be faced with such momentous decisions and to think so flippantly of it, for it to have an indelible, irreversible impact on your life... you just begin to think, "where did it all go wrong?"
adventurous
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“I am glad we do not have to try to kill the stars.”
I think I find myself most moved by what I'm not seeing. It's baked primarily in the set-up of the story, of Santiago's quest back to sea on his eighty-fifth day in a row without making a catch; of meeting a man who dreams of his youth, of his glory days; 0f admiring and putting heroes on pedestals, such as Joe DiMaggio. When Santiago compares the searing pain he experiences at sea, in near-death experiences, and wonders aloud if DiMaggio felt similar pain with his "bone spurs"... it makes you think that pride is the devil, in a way, and by the power of all things holy, we try and curb that pride through sheer tenacity and stubbornness.
But it's the stubbornness that makes us human, but which also makes us animals. When Santiago, singularly-focused, begins to empathize with his potential conquest -- the bull to his matador -- and the rationalizations he makes in his head, and his resignation to his role and place in the world -- it's just so affecting and moving in such a short space.
“But then everything is a sin. Do not think about sin. It is much too late for that and there are people who are paid to do it. Let them think about it. You were born to be a fisherman as the fish was born to be a fish. San Pedro was a fisherman as was the father of the great DiMaggio.”
“But he liked to think about all things that he was involved in and since there was nothing to read and he did not have a radio, he thought much and he kept on thinking about sin.”
It is simultaneously inspiring and disheartening. I suppose it depends on your mood or worldview as you read it. Santiago's victory at the end is both empty and full. Really the biggest beast man must conquer is his own self, and being contented. However the road to contentment is long and arduous.
I recently listened to a Tom Hanks interview with Guy Raz on Raz's Great Creators podcast. Hanks told a story of when Joe DiMaggio was at a restaurant eating alone, and he asked the staff if he could meet Hanks (he had heard that Hanks was also eating, or maybe he saw him there?). Anyway, Tom Hanks went over to DiMaggio and told him how much he admired his poise and how easy he made playing Centerfield look.
DiMaggio said to Hanks, and I'm paraphrasing, "it may have looked easy, but it wasn't easy here," and DiMaggio pointed toward his heart.
I suppose in life, with anything you care about, it takes so much out of you. Physically, mentally, emotionally. When you have nothing left to prove, or don't care for the opinion of others, I think one should at the very least have respect of self.
And I just wish to hit the hay as contentedly as Santiago. Not paying mind to the condition of my home (he's never been happier to lay his head on his newspaper pillow). To be proud of what you can or do accomplish. Maybe it's just day 37 for me at sea. Onward I traverse.
I think I find myself most moved by what I'm not seeing. It's baked primarily in the set-up of the story, of Santiago's quest back to sea on his eighty-fifth day in a row without making a catch; of meeting a man who dreams of his youth, of his glory days; 0f admiring and putting heroes on pedestals, such as Joe DiMaggio. When Santiago compares the searing pain he experiences at sea, in near-death experiences, and wonders aloud if DiMaggio felt similar pain with his "bone spurs"... it makes you think that pride is the devil, in a way, and by the power of all things holy, we try and curb that pride through sheer tenacity and stubbornness.
But it's the stubbornness that makes us human, but which also makes us animals. When Santiago, singularly-focused, begins to empathize with his potential conquest -- the bull to his matador -- and the rationalizations he makes in his head, and his resignation to his role and place in the world -- it's just so affecting and moving in such a short space.
“But then everything is a sin. Do not think about sin. It is much too late for that and there are people who are paid to do it. Let them think about it. You were born to be a fisherman as the fish was born to be a fish. San Pedro was a fisherman as was the father of the great DiMaggio.”
“But he liked to think about all things that he was involved in and since there was nothing to read and he did not have a radio, he thought much and he kept on thinking about sin.”
It is simultaneously inspiring and disheartening. I suppose it depends on your mood or worldview as you read it. Santiago's victory at the end is both empty and full. Really the biggest beast man must conquer is his own self, and being contented. However the road to contentment is long and arduous.
I recently listened to a Tom Hanks interview with Guy Raz on Raz's Great Creators podcast. Hanks told a story of when Joe DiMaggio was at a restaurant eating alone, and he asked the staff if he could meet Hanks (he had heard that Hanks was also eating, or maybe he saw him there?). Anyway, Tom Hanks went over to DiMaggio and told him how much he admired his poise and how easy he made playing Centerfield look.
DiMaggio said to Hanks, and I'm paraphrasing, "it may have looked easy, but it wasn't easy here," and DiMaggio pointed toward his heart.
I suppose in life, with anything you care about, it takes so much out of you. Physically, mentally, emotionally. When you have nothing left to prove, or don't care for the opinion of others, I think one should at the very least have respect of self.
And I just wish to hit the hay as contentedly as Santiago. Not paying mind to the condition of my home (he's never been happier to lay his head on his newspaper pillow). To be proud of what you can or do accomplish. Maybe it's just day 37 for me at sea. Onward I traverse.
adventurous
emotional
funny
informative
inspiring
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
“You write about him as you remember him and then if he came here I will remember him."
There’s much to say about this book. I’ll eschew eloquence and just focus on how A Moveable Feast made me feel, as a young man navigating the world in his twenties, who over-romanticizes the one (1) time he went to Paris for three days and four nights.
“We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.”
This book’s existence is almost an oxymoron (keyword: “almost”). It was released posthumously, and as the foreword of the book said, Hemingway didn’t have an intro or a conclusion written yet — arguably, those things are what Hemingway is best known for, right? Instead, we have a snapshot of the Paris that Hemingway roamed and mulled about in. It’s a snapshot of a place and of people, and it’s about the endless drama and intrigue that exists in our everyday lives. Stakes are somewhat low and plot isn’t there — it’s just life. But his observations are so astute; simultaneously detached and inquisitive. He observes by saying and remembering, and the act of remembering and acknowledging extends the lifeblood of the people discussed in his book.
It’s about several things, but something I grasped onto quite early was how difficult it is to create.
“All I must do now was stay sound and good in my head until morning when I would start to work again. In those days we never thought that any of that could be difficult.”
There’s so much beauty in this world, but we find ourselves pulled magnetically to our worst impulses, to acts of degeneracy. In Paris, it’s whatever bar is serving you another round; the way Hemingway talks about Scott Fitzgerald in the later passages of the book, he knows his friend is capable of a bigger output and of compromising himself less for the pursuit of money, but Fitzgerald, whether he does it consciously or unconsciously, resigns himself to the Parisian life of excess in.
“I had learned already never to empty the well of my writing; but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.”
The experiences here clearly shape Hemingway’s other works (probably The Sun Also Rises is the clearest example, as that was loosely-based on his experiences, while A Moveable Feast IS his experiences). I find it romantic and honestly just freakin’ cool to see a writer’s process and get a sense of the world he was in to create these vast worlds we can find ourselves lost in.
“We’re always lucky,” I said and like a fool I didn’t knock on wood. There was wood everywhere in that apartment to knock on too.
An essential read for a Hemingway fan, and an enlightening read about Paris and all its beauty without ever having to step foot there (though you should!).
Read more than half of this book going to-and-from Utah for the Sundance Film Festival. Read a couple chapters at my apartment, and finished the last chapter on the PATH train. We love public transportation and its literal transportations and a good book that transports us completely elsewhere.
The librarian told me I should write on the March bulletin board about my thoughts on A Moveable Feast, so I'm thinking I'll write a quick blurb like, "An instant teleportation to Paris. Thoughtful on the creative process and the beauty of enjoying where you are in that moment; if you want to remember something or someone, write it down..."
There’s much to say about this book. I’ll eschew eloquence and just focus on how A Moveable Feast made me feel, as a young man navigating the world in his twenties, who over-romanticizes the one (1) time he went to Paris for three days and four nights.
“We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.”
This book’s existence is almost an oxymoron (keyword: “almost”). It was released posthumously, and as the foreword of the book said, Hemingway didn’t have an intro or a conclusion written yet — arguably, those things are what Hemingway is best known for, right? Instead, we have a snapshot of the Paris that Hemingway roamed and mulled about in. It’s a snapshot of a place and of people, and it’s about the endless drama and intrigue that exists in our everyday lives. Stakes are somewhat low and plot isn’t there — it’s just life. But his observations are so astute; simultaneously detached and inquisitive. He observes by saying and remembering, and the act of remembering and acknowledging extends the lifeblood of the people discussed in his book.
It’s about several things, but something I grasped onto quite early was how difficult it is to create.
“All I must do now was stay sound and good in my head until morning when I would start to work again. In those days we never thought that any of that could be difficult.”
There’s so much beauty in this world, but we find ourselves pulled magnetically to our worst impulses, to acts of degeneracy. In Paris, it’s whatever bar is serving you another round; the way Hemingway talks about Scott Fitzgerald in the later passages of the book, he knows his friend is capable of a bigger output and of compromising himself less for the pursuit of money, but Fitzgerald, whether he does it consciously or unconsciously, resigns himself to the Parisian life of excess in.
“I had learned already never to empty the well of my writing; but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.”
The experiences here clearly shape Hemingway’s other works (probably The Sun Also Rises is the clearest example, as that was loosely-based on his experiences, while A Moveable Feast IS his experiences). I find it romantic and honestly just freakin’ cool to see a writer’s process and get a sense of the world he was in to create these vast worlds we can find ourselves lost in.
“We’re always lucky,” I said and like a fool I didn’t knock on wood. There was wood everywhere in that apartment to knock on too.
An essential read for a Hemingway fan, and an enlightening read about Paris and all its beauty without ever having to step foot there (though you should!).
Read more than half of this book going to-and-from Utah for the Sundance Film Festival. Read a couple chapters at my apartment, and finished the last chapter on the PATH train. We love public transportation and its literal transportations and a good book that transports us completely elsewhere.
The librarian told me I should write on the March bulletin board about my thoughts on A Moveable Feast, so I'm thinking I'll write a quick blurb like, "An instant teleportation to Paris. Thoughtful on the creative process and the beauty of enjoying where you are in that moment; if you want to remember something or someone, write it down..."
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
lighthearted
reflective
sad
medium-paced
“I would go as far as I could and hit a wall, my own imagined limitations. And then I met a fellow who gave me his secret, and it was pretty simple. When you hit a wall, just kick it in.”
Fell in love with Patti Smith’s lyrical prose instantly, and adored her recollections of her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe — from the meager beginnings where art was barely enough to sustain (but it did power them through!) to the tastes of success; or rather, the public just catching up to what they were both living authentically day in and day out at the Hotel Chelsea, Max’s Kansas City, and everywhere in between in New York City.
“Still love you through it all,” Robert says to Patti, and that’s perhaps the most succinct way to describe their relationship, and the relationship artists have with art itself. There’s a magnetism between Robert and Patti that makes their feeding off of each other vital, necessary, important. Despite their differences as they grew older, nothing was more honest or truthful than when each inspired each other’s best work.
Patti Smith’s writing shines through. I hadn’t realized that she really began as a poet prior to being a rock star and punk rock icon, and her command of the written word is simply sublime. Lived in, honest, and dancing across this invisible melody that makes reciting each sentence in my head like discovering a new favorite song.
“I felt, watching Jim Morrison, that I could do that. I can’t say why I thought this. I had nothing in my experience to make me think that would ever be possible, yet I harbored that conceit. I felt both kinship and contempt for him. I could feel his self-consciousness as well as his supreme confidence. He exuded a mixture of beauty and self-loathing, and mystic pain, like a West Coast Saint Sebastian.”
Tremendous read. About these brilliant artists, and the world they were brought up in, were inspired by. How every experience informs the next. About the magic of looking around and observing the beauty all around you, despite impoverished circumstances; despite the odds stacked against you; despite the starvation. I teared up while reading this at a couple points and had to pause while reading the last three pages on the train home today. Amazing stuff.
Probably one of my favorite books ever now.
Fell in love with Patti Smith’s lyrical prose instantly, and adored her recollections of her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe — from the meager beginnings where art was barely enough to sustain (but it did power them through!) to the tastes of success; or rather, the public just catching up to what they were both living authentically day in and day out at the Hotel Chelsea, Max’s Kansas City, and everywhere in between in New York City.
“Still love you through it all,” Robert says to Patti, and that’s perhaps the most succinct way to describe their relationship, and the relationship artists have with art itself. There’s a magnetism between Robert and Patti that makes their feeding off of each other vital, necessary, important. Despite their differences as they grew older, nothing was more honest or truthful than when each inspired each other’s best work.
Patti Smith’s writing shines through. I hadn’t realized that she really began as a poet prior to being a rock star and punk rock icon, and her command of the written word is simply sublime. Lived in, honest, and dancing across this invisible melody that makes reciting each sentence in my head like discovering a new favorite song.
“I felt, watching Jim Morrison, that I could do that. I can’t say why I thought this. I had nothing in my experience to make me think that would ever be possible, yet I harbored that conceit. I felt both kinship and contempt for him. I could feel his self-consciousness as well as his supreme confidence. He exuded a mixture of beauty and self-loathing, and mystic pain, like a West Coast Saint Sebastian.”
Tremendous read. About these brilliant artists, and the world they were brought up in, were inspired by. How every experience informs the next. About the magic of looking around and observing the beauty all around you, despite impoverished circumstances; despite the odds stacked against you; despite the starvation. I teared up while reading this at a couple points and had to pause while reading the last three pages on the train home today. Amazing stuff.
Probably one of my favorite books ever now.
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
mysterious
reflective
sad
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“Truth and illusion, George; you don’t know the difference.”
“No, but we must carry on as though we did.”
My first introduction to Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was Mike Nichols’ 1966 film adaptation masterpiece of the original Edward Albee play. Since, it’s gone through some updates and revisions, and this update for the 2005 revival is considered to be the definitive version now, and is what has usually been staged since. I haven’t seen the film in a few years, but there definitely were a few changes made here and there that I could notice.
Gosh. What brilliant, brilliant dialogue. So darkly funny, so coarse, so vicious. The “fun and games” that Martha and George have for their guests Nick and Honey, lordy lordy.
The Succession Season 4 balcony fight between Tom and Shiv wouldn’t be possible without this sacred text from Edward Albee. Just hearing it in my head, how I’d play it, or how I’d imagine actors playing it… it’s intense and it’s amazing.
My acting technique teacher Ella saw me pull out the book since I used it as a prop in setting up “my room” for an assignment in her class, and she told me that she played Honey in a production of the show once. Another time, I was holding this book while on my way to a comedy show at the Bell House and the woman who checked my ID told me, “that’s my favorite play of all-time.” And it took me a second to process that I was holding the book.
I’d LOVE to see this performed live soon. I’d love to be in it one day, shiiiiit. I feel like I’d only be qualified to ever be George, lol, so I guess I have to wait some 20+ years for this to ever be an option.
“No, but we must carry on as though we did.”
My first introduction to Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was Mike Nichols’ 1966 film adaptation masterpiece of the original Edward Albee play. Since, it’s gone through some updates and revisions, and this update for the 2005 revival is considered to be the definitive version now, and is what has usually been staged since. I haven’t seen the film in a few years, but there definitely were a few changes made here and there that I could notice.
Gosh. What brilliant, brilliant dialogue. So darkly funny, so coarse, so vicious. The “fun and games” that Martha and George have for their guests Nick and Honey, lordy lordy.
The Succession Season 4 balcony fight between Tom and Shiv wouldn’t be possible without this sacred text from Edward Albee. Just hearing it in my head, how I’d play it, or how I’d imagine actors playing it… it’s intense and it’s amazing.
My acting technique teacher Ella saw me pull out the book since I used it as a prop in setting up “my room” for an assignment in her class, and she told me that she played Honey in a production of the show once. Another time, I was holding this book while on my way to a comedy show at the Bell House and the woman who checked my ID told me, “that’s my favorite play of all-time.” And it took me a second to process that I was holding the book.
I’d LOVE to see this performed live soon. I’d love to be in it one day, shiiiiit. I feel like I’d only be qualified to ever be George, lol, so I guess I have to wait some 20+ years for this to ever be an option.
emotional
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“Well, yesterday I had this thought.
I was like: okay.
Maybe it’s never gonna get better.
Maybe I’m gonna live with my dad for the rest of my life and like the actual problem is just that I’m waiting for things to change.
Like maybe I’m just gonna be that weird depressed guy and I should just like accept it.
And that’ll be the life I get.
And that’ll be okay.”
I read Act One, Scene Six, which only features Avery talking on the phone with his therapist while his coworkers are out for a lunch break, and I thought to myself, “I think I found my next monologue for acting class.”
I’ve since decided to change it since the whole entire scene is too long, and taking out only a chunk of the scene won’t have it hit as hard. But Avery expresses sentiments in this monologue that I feel like I’ve almost said verbatim out loud myself (even in a video I made!) that I found endlessly relatable that I reread the scene on the train and then again a couple of times (when I was considering using it as a monologue of my own) to examine each little ebb of his speech on his dreams, his dad, his doubts, his loneliness, and his movies.
Nevertheless, really had a great time reading Annie Baker’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play. Only took me two sittings! Such an easy page-turner, and as a reader, it’s so easy to keep going; but some of the magic of this play exists in the frequent pauses and beats — in the awkward, deafening silence of addressing shame, fulfillment, circumstance, or even just changing a film projector to a digital one.
Such natural dialogue, and such vividly-realized characters, even if presented in such modest, simple ways.
A play that follows three people coming of age in their own ways, each in completely different phases of their lives. Annie Baker emphasized their insecurities and shortcomings in ways that are extremely relatable as an audience.
I merely only knew the setting of the play, that it won the Pulitzer, and that it was Annie Baker, who I became initially familiar with through her radiant film Janet Planet (which inadvertently may have kickstarted this theater kick I’m on). I didn’t expect this play to be so… simple. In an admiring way, it makes me think, “fuck, why am I not writing something like this?” But the ability to make “simple” naturalistic writing so effective is so hard to master, and now I’ve got folks like Annie Baker and Hemingway to look up to in terms of this brevity in speech and scene-setting.
I was like: okay.
Maybe it’s never gonna get better.
Maybe I’m gonna live with my dad for the rest of my life and like the actual problem is just that I’m waiting for things to change.
Like maybe I’m just gonna be that weird depressed guy and I should just like accept it.
And that’ll be the life I get.
And that’ll be okay.”
I read Act One, Scene Six, which only features Avery talking on the phone with his therapist while his coworkers are out for a lunch break, and I thought to myself, “I think I found my next monologue for acting class.”
I’ve since decided to change it since the whole entire scene is too long, and taking out only a chunk of the scene won’t have it hit as hard. But Avery expresses sentiments in this monologue that I feel like I’ve almost said verbatim out loud myself (even in a video I made!) that I found endlessly relatable that I reread the scene on the train and then again a couple of times (when I was considering using it as a monologue of my own) to examine each little ebb of his speech on his dreams, his dad, his doubts, his loneliness, and his movies.
Nevertheless, really had a great time reading Annie Baker’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play. Only took me two sittings! Such an easy page-turner, and as a reader, it’s so easy to keep going; but some of the magic of this play exists in the frequent pauses and beats — in the awkward, deafening silence of addressing shame, fulfillment, circumstance, or even just changing a film projector to a digital one.
Such natural dialogue, and such vividly-realized characters, even if presented in such modest, simple ways.
A play that follows three people coming of age in their own ways, each in completely different phases of their lives. Annie Baker emphasized their insecurities and shortcomings in ways that are extremely relatable as an audience.
I merely only knew the setting of the play, that it won the Pulitzer, and that it was Annie Baker, who I became initially familiar with through her radiant film Janet Planet (which inadvertently may have kickstarted this theater kick I’m on). I didn’t expect this play to be so… simple. In an admiring way, it makes me think, “fuck, why am I not writing something like this?” But the ability to make “simple” naturalistic writing so effective is so hard to master, and now I’ve got folks like Annie Baker and Hemingway to look up to in terms of this brevity in speech and scene-setting.
funny
lighthearted
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
“I fell asleep the other night with my eyes open. I thought I was dreaming about a ceiling.”
This was my first Neil Simon play and gosh, this was so freakin' FUNNY. This was 114 pages, and pages 1-111 are frequently funny; even its beats of dramatic moments or tension are quickly disarmed with humor. But pages 111-114? Wow. That sentimentality and the shift took me for a whirl. I had a lump in my throat on the PATH train as I was finishing reading this. I told my technique teacher Ella that I had that reaction at the end, and she said, "typical Neil Simon." And she was happy that I took initiative and read this.
The last few times I went to my local library I checked out theater-related things; what kick-started it was going to the library for a book of men's monologues so that I could pick one to do for my scene study class. Then I went back for The Flick by Annie Baker, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? by Edward Albee. When I went to return those, I was just browsing the shelves, without a particular author or title I was gravitating for purposely. The title + Neil Simon caught my eye. I read a brief blurb that it was about a tumultuous writers' room, and then I read Simon's little dedication and his shoutout to all the writers that helped him, which included Mel Brooks.
I thought, "yeah, this is enough of a hook." I figured it'd be witty, punny, and rhythmically sound. They also had the original cast written, and J.K. Simmons, Nathan Lane, and John Slattery together on stage, along with the rest of the cast, was probably electric. Circa 1995, so they were all relatively younger (for whatever reason I imagine they all look exactly the same). Helped me visualize their characters and then I used my imagination for the others.
“Thirty years from now he’ll be writing game shows and I’ll be VP of MGM screwing Lana Turner.”
“When she’s sixty-two? Why?”
The premise is a group of writers for a weekly variety show are meeting to write for the week's show and discuss why their boss (the manic genius that they write for, Max, who I imagined would've been played wonderfully by Nathan Lane) had a shotgun ready to shoot the night before. Each writer is introduced seamlessly and imbued with personality; each are so distinct that even without watching, I have a great sense of who each is. I can see them so clearly, and that's from the beautiful dialogue and characterization from Simon.
“It’s Ira. He’s running late at his analyst’s.”
“I thought his analyst died.”
“He met another one at the funeral.”
The play discusses the state of the world and how some of them can only cope with humor. In a time of corporate greed and slashing truly creative, profound works for simple programming that can be enjoyed by the masses (does this sound familiar?). While the era of this show is during McCarthyism, there were many parallels you could make for today. References are dated, but I thought they were all sweet. It's always a game for me to understand these references -- pop culture, history. You turn into quite a history buff with the more art you take in and process.
I hope to read some more Neil Simon soon! Not sure when this play kick will end, but it's been so enjoyable.
This was my first Neil Simon play and gosh, this was so freakin' FUNNY. This was 114 pages, and pages 1-111 are frequently funny; even its beats of dramatic moments or tension are quickly disarmed with humor. But pages 111-114? Wow. That sentimentality and the shift took me for a whirl. I had a lump in my throat on the PATH train as I was finishing reading this. I told my technique teacher Ella that I had that reaction at the end, and she said, "typical Neil Simon." And she was happy that I took initiative and read this.
The last few times I went to my local library I checked out theater-related things; what kick-started it was going to the library for a book of men's monologues so that I could pick one to do for my scene study class. Then I went back for The Flick by Annie Baker, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? by Edward Albee. When I went to return those, I was just browsing the shelves, without a particular author or title I was gravitating for purposely. The title + Neil Simon caught my eye. I read a brief blurb that it was about a tumultuous writers' room, and then I read Simon's little dedication and his shoutout to all the writers that helped him, which included Mel Brooks.
I thought, "yeah, this is enough of a hook." I figured it'd be witty, punny, and rhythmically sound. They also had the original cast written, and J.K. Simmons, Nathan Lane, and John Slattery together on stage, along with the rest of the cast, was probably electric. Circa 1995, so they were all relatively younger (for whatever reason I imagine they all look exactly the same). Helped me visualize their characters and then I used my imagination for the others.
“Thirty years from now he’ll be writing game shows and I’ll be VP of MGM screwing Lana Turner.”
“When she’s sixty-two? Why?”
The premise is a group of writers for a weekly variety show are meeting to write for the week's show and discuss why their boss (the manic genius that they write for, Max, who I imagined would've been played wonderfully by Nathan Lane) had a shotgun ready to shoot the night before. Each writer is introduced seamlessly and imbued with personality; each are so distinct that even without watching, I have a great sense of who each is. I can see them so clearly, and that's from the beautiful dialogue and characterization from Simon.
“It’s Ira. He’s running late at his analyst’s.”
“I thought his analyst died.”
“He met another one at the funeral.”
The play discusses the state of the world and how some of them can only cope with humor. In a time of corporate greed and slashing truly creative, profound works for simple programming that can be enjoyed by the masses (does this sound familiar?). While the era of this show is during McCarthyism, there were many parallels you could make for today. References are dated, but I thought they were all sweet. It's always a game for me to understand these references -- pop culture, history. You turn into quite a history buff with the more art you take in and process.
I hope to read some more Neil Simon soon! Not sure when this play kick will end, but it's been so enjoyable.
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
mysterious
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
My first Kenneth Lonergan play that I've read, after being a fan of his mostly through his film work such as Manchester by the Sea. Goodness, Lobby Hero is tremendous. I am so happy that I was assigned a scene from this play for my scene study class. I'd kill (maybe not the time to use this expression) for a part like Jeff. My middle name is Jeff! Imagining Michael Cera play this role was fun, and he got nominated for a Tony for it. But when I perform the scene with my partner Liz for the first time tomorrow at our class, I won't be invoking Cera but rather me, and how I'd tackle this role. A character who finds himself objectively in the middle of two deceptively-complex scenarios where everyone has a Chekhov's gun to an extent -- knowledge of the truth.
But it's like what Tom Wambsgans says in Succession: "information's like a bottle of wine; you store it, and then smash it on someone's fucking head when it suits you" -- I'm paraphrasing, but it's something like that.
“My whole life I’ve told the truth. I always tell the truth. Because I believe in that, OK? You don’t worry about if the world is bad or good, because I know goddamn well it’s bad. You just do your best and let the chips fall where they may."
This play is so insightful to the human experience. Why we tell the truth, why we lie. It's gray! It depends, doesn't it? It depends who for. It depends how much leverage you have, if at all. I mean, in a utopia, we wouldn't need to lie at all. But we aren't in a utopia, and humans have feelings and humans have flaws. The system's stacked against women like Dawn who work in the male-dominated police force; the system's stacked against Black men like William and his brother -- in a world where it's all too common for overworked defense lawyers assigned to 200 of the same type of case; confusing clients because they all "look the same."
“How are you supposed to know if you’re right and everybody else is wrong, or if you’re just wreckin’ your own chances?”
“I wouldn’t know. I never tried to do anything before.”
It's kind of a depressing look, what I've written about so far and what I've emphasized... but would you believe me if I said the whole thing is very funny? Act Two is considerably less funny than Act One, but some of Chekhov's guns firing off in the second act had me cackling by myself as I was reading at the unbearable cringe.
“I hate bachelor parties. Bunch of guys sitting around some apartment drinking beer and watching porno movies — it makes me sick, it really just disgusts me.”
“I thought all guys liked porno movies.”
“Well, we do. It’s just the thought of all these guys together, sitting around doing this stuff that makes me uncomfortable.”
Such an intelligent, insightful play of the human experience, all happening over the course of a few nights during the night shift of a desk security guard (get it right, he's not a doorman) and the people he encounters. The dialogue is TREMENDOUS. Not a second wasted. I'd love to see a staging of this. Excited to perform my scene (which is relatively light, but I have such a better grasp of Jeff's insecurities after now finishing the whole play) with my scene partner Liz as Dawn.
But it's like what Tom Wambsgans says in Succession: "information's like a bottle of wine; you store it, and then smash it on someone's fucking head when it suits you" -- I'm paraphrasing, but it's something like that.
“My whole life I’ve told the truth. I always tell the truth. Because I believe in that, OK? You don’t worry about if the world is bad or good, because I know goddamn well it’s bad. You just do your best and let the chips fall where they may."
This play is so insightful to the human experience. Why we tell the truth, why we lie. It's gray! It depends, doesn't it? It depends who for. It depends how much leverage you have, if at all. I mean, in a utopia, we wouldn't need to lie at all. But we aren't in a utopia, and humans have feelings and humans have flaws. The system's stacked against women like Dawn who work in the male-dominated police force; the system's stacked against Black men like William and his brother -- in a world where it's all too common for overworked defense lawyers assigned to 200 of the same type of case; confusing clients because they all "look the same."
“How are you supposed to know if you’re right and everybody else is wrong, or if you’re just wreckin’ your own chances?”
“I wouldn’t know. I never tried to do anything before.”
It's kind of a depressing look, what I've written about so far and what I've emphasized... but would you believe me if I said the whole thing is very funny? Act Two is considerably less funny than Act One, but some of Chekhov's guns firing off in the second act had me cackling by myself as I was reading at the unbearable cringe.
“I hate bachelor parties. Bunch of guys sitting around some apartment drinking beer and watching porno movies — it makes me sick, it really just disgusts me.”
“I thought all guys liked porno movies.”
“Well, we do. It’s just the thought of all these guys together, sitting around doing this stuff that makes me uncomfortable.”
Such an intelligent, insightful play of the human experience, all happening over the course of a few nights during the night shift of a desk security guard (get it right, he's not a doorman) and the people he encounters. The dialogue is TREMENDOUS. Not a second wasted. I'd love to see a staging of this. Excited to perform my scene (which is relatively light, but I have such a better grasp of Jeff's insecurities after now finishing the whole play) with my scene partner Liz as Dawn.
funny
informative
inspiring
medium-paced
“In this life, most people are forced to use only one side of themselves. All those other selves create a unique unquiet in the actor’s soul; and that is what provokes the actor’s talent to be heard."
Yeah. This is kind of a Bible for an actor, or I’d go as far as to say any creative. To the few of you who follow me here, I’ve been a broken record talking about my recent start at acting school (specifically the Stella Adler Studio of Acting).
We were encouraged to seek this book out for more context before starting at the conservatory. And this was such a succinct, easy read, with many insights and quick, intuitive examples that really helped reframe my mind when it comes to acting and using my imagination. Seeking the truth.
It’s a book I could probably reread once a year, or whenever there’s an intense role I need to prepare for and I just need to go back and learn the essentials again. It’s like a musician still needing to do scales before a performance, like an athlete who warms up before a game; it’s all applicable.
“These set standards of behavior, or the Norm, are obstacles for the growing artist. This middle-class way of thinking (Norm) becomes a straitjacket for the imagination.”
Organically in my life I’ve already referenced this book that applied to scenarios or conversations outside the context of acting. Specifically the idea that actors only really have two different motivations when it comes to a scene, when you really break it down:
“1. His destructiveness when he deals solely with the appetites he was born with.
2. His dissatisfied struggle to attain something higher in life than his instincts.”
There are pearls of wisdom like these that kept popping up. Sure, it’s a book about the technique of acting, but acting is representative of a life itself, even if heightened, exaggerated, or fictional. Within the context of its scene or play, it’s truth. Playing characters with real problems, we can, if managed correctly, merge parts of ourselves with the character. My voice & speech teacher said my Edmund will be different than other people’s Edmund because I approach the role, written in classic Shakespearean old English, differently than how someone else would.
“An actor is the person who understands that words carry ideas.”
And damn, they do. Thank you, Stella. Excited to keep moving forward and growing. Apologies in advance, to anyone that cares, that all the books I’ll be reading are probably plays or relating to craft. Back in #school.
Yeah. This is kind of a Bible for an actor, or I’d go as far as to say any creative. To the few of you who follow me here, I’ve been a broken record talking about my recent start at acting school (specifically the Stella Adler Studio of Acting).
We were encouraged to seek this book out for more context before starting at the conservatory. And this was such a succinct, easy read, with many insights and quick, intuitive examples that really helped reframe my mind when it comes to acting and using my imagination. Seeking the truth.
It’s a book I could probably reread once a year, or whenever there’s an intense role I need to prepare for and I just need to go back and learn the essentials again. It’s like a musician still needing to do scales before a performance, like an athlete who warms up before a game; it’s all applicable.
“These set standards of behavior, or the Norm, are obstacles for the growing artist. This middle-class way of thinking (Norm) becomes a straitjacket for the imagination.”
Organically in my life I’ve already referenced this book that applied to scenarios or conversations outside the context of acting. Specifically the idea that actors only really have two different motivations when it comes to a scene, when you really break it down:
“1. His destructiveness when he deals solely with the appetites he was born with.
2. His dissatisfied struggle to attain something higher in life than his instincts.”
There are pearls of wisdom like these that kept popping up. Sure, it’s a book about the technique of acting, but acting is representative of a life itself, even if heightened, exaggerated, or fictional. Within the context of its scene or play, it’s truth. Playing characters with real problems, we can, if managed correctly, merge parts of ourselves with the character. My voice & speech teacher said my Edmund will be different than other people’s Edmund because I approach the role, written in classic Shakespearean old English, differently than how someone else would.
“An actor is the person who understands that words carry ideas.”
And damn, they do. Thank you, Stella. Excited to keep moving forward and growing. Apologies in advance, to anyone that cares, that all the books I’ll be reading are probably plays or relating to craft. Back in #school.