Manna-Hata: What You Probably WON'T See

Because of the episodic nature of my new piece, Manna-Hata, I've written a number of scenes that most likely—and in some cases, most definitely—will not be in the finished work. Some are ideas that I had early in the writing process that might have worked if I'd gone a different direction with the piece: compelling stories I found that just don't add anything to narrative I'm trying to create.* I may eventually cannibalize some of the material in them for other scenes—I've already done that in a few instances—but, as written, they're essentially detritus. I've had the idea for a while to post these to the Interlude to show a little of my process as a playwright on the piece.

The link at the bottom is a flight of fancy I had based on a few paragraphs from E.B. White's incredible treatise, Here is New York. As far as I'm concerned, any New Yorker who hasn't read this essay is not a New Yorker. At one point, this scene was going to be the beginning of the piece. At the end of the dialogue, you'll find the excerpt from White's essay that inspired the scene.

The Three New Yorks

Manna-Hata: How It May Begin....

I'm writing the script for our next large-scale promenade performance, Manna-Hata, and it's been very slow-going: 400 years of NYC history in one event that (I hope) will be less than 2 hours long ain't easy. I have lots of material written but nothing that's been jazzing me in terms of how to approach the story.... until now. I think I've got something that may work. There's a dialogue scene that follows this stage direction but I'm still working on that. I'm interested to hear what others think: intriguing, confusing, something else? Let me know....

As the audience enters, THE BAND is playing: perhaps something fast and percussive in a classic NY jazz style. As the music ends, the lights fade slowly out. Silence. 

Lights up suddenly on a street corner in Manhattan. The ensemble are all frozen in place, as though they have been captured mid-stride by a photograph; in the middle of it all stands the SETTLER. At the same time, a musical cue suddenly sets the scene into motion and the ensemble begins to perform the Pedestrian Street Ballet (1): they travel along a grid pattern as though they are navigating sidewalks in an intricate, fast-paced dance. As they do, the SETTLER stands still in the middle of them while the Ballet takes place around her. Occasionally, she will watch an individual or an encounter between people but, for the most part, she is merely looking all around, blissfully trying to absorb the entire scene. 

After the ballet has been going for a while, the NATIVE enters. She expertly navigates the Street Ballet until she reaches the spot where the SETTLER is standing. At this moment, however, the SETTLER decides to leave her spot and interrupts the flow of the Ballet directly in front of the NATIVE. She attempts to sidestep but moves in exactly the same direction as the NATIVE; she tries again and they continue to block each other. After a few back-and-forths, their movement modifies into a partner dance/movement. The SETTLER is awkward with the dance but the NATIVE is patient and guides her through the steps.

During their scene, the Street Ballet continues with various members of the ensemble occasionally tossing interjections into the dialogue.

The Street Ballet is a recurring theme I hope to use in the piece—something that can be modified to indicate time/place, if needed.
---
(1) "Under the seeming disorder of the old city, wherever the old city is working successfully, is a marvelous order for maintaining the safety of the streets and the freedom of the city. It is a complex order. Its essence is intricacy of sidewalk use, bringing with it a constant succession of eyes. This order is all composed of movement and change, and although it is life, not art, we may fancifully call it the art form of the city and liken it to the dance — not to a simple-minded precision dance with everyone kicking up at the same time, twirling in unison and bowing off en masse, but to an intricate ballet in which the individual dancers and ensembles all have distinctive parts which miraculously reinforce each other and compose an orderly whole. The ballet of the good city sidewalk never repeats itself from place to place, and in any once place is always replete with new improvisations." —Jane Jacobs

“So, Mom took off for Alaska, huh?”

Last October, I went out to Los Angeles for a production of one of my plays at Theatre of NOTE. While I was there, I had an opportunity to sit in on a couple of classes that my friend, Lee Wochner, teaches at USC. It was Lee who said to me, shortly after we met and right after he saw a staged reading that I had directed, that it's great when you see the work of someone you like and you like the work, too. While I'd seen and enjoyed Lee's work as a playwright and director, I'd never seen him in action as a teacher. All I can say is, I wish I'd had professors that good when I was in college... and I had some pretty good ones. As an example, I point you to this post on his blog, which he used in class that day. Not being someone with those kinds of analytical skills, I find the people who have them most impressive.