Theater Farts

How Changing a Minor Key Could Become a Major Improvement or What One Could Learn about Theater While Listening to a Christmas Song

Oh my dear darlings, I know you missed me like last year’s Christmas, I know. I missed myself too. Only a few days have passed after New Year’s smashing celebrations and I am already singing Christmas songs in the shower for you. Darlings, I missed being important as much as I missed Christmas. You don’t believe me? Oh, you’re so sweet. What do you think I do on those lonely nights being away from theater and all these artistic endeavors? Well, of course, I write blogs and critique others. It helps me to get my importance back, so get ready to hear something you could use if you are as smart as I am, that is. Besides, it’s winter, what else one does but listens to SirGay’s salty balls jingle in the wind while he shines his unbelievable intelligence while living on a mountain somewhere upstate New York.

Christmas to me is like this show I am forced to watch every day every year for two months. It is like a broken record stuck on the same song. God wrote a play called Christmas and nobody can change any word or scene in it. This is precisely how I feel about some theater shows and some playwrights who are running skitters when a director or an actor wants to change a line or a scene in their written play. Playwright is God. Everyone else is just a decoration. Or is it?

Many times I would hear some playwrights complain how one or another director or actor changed something in their play. They would make it sound as if the world is just about to collapse. I don’t know why I am so concentrated on these poor playwrights. Maybe that is because I care about them and I want to prove to them that if a creative mind decides to change something in their work that change is a really good thing.

For some reason musicians are less uptight about somebody else covering and changing their music. Maybe that is the nature of music or maybe they are smoking too much MJ in studios, who knows. The point is that most musicians welcome interpretations of their music by other artists, be it another composer, a singer or a DJ. Why there is this uptightness in theater, I ask?

Before I prove my point that any change improves your work, dear playwrights, I want you to listen to two versions of the same Christmas song. I actually bought one of them to listen for my own pleasure. What the what? I am asking this myself too. I can’t believe I bought a song called “All I Want for Christmas Is You?” I must have lost my mind somewhere in my sweaty ass-crack. The song which inspired this entry is the Mariah Carey song, but here is a twist, the version of the song I purchased is Chase Holfelder’s. There is a major change in the song and the change is – the minor key. Before I go further please listen to both versions here.

Mariah Carey’s version

Chase Holfelder’s version

No, you really need to listen to them before continuing reading what I have to say about theater and playwrights. Listen! I said (smiley face).

Now, remember my rant about how some playwrights are just (insert a curse word here), because they believe that “if anything is changed in their plays they are going to be somehow destroyed and what not?” Remember that letter I wrote to them? Well, if you don’t remember it, here is a quick break down for ya.

For some reason there is this notion that if a director or actor or any creator but a playwright changes anything in a play, the play becomes like that herpes everybody is afraid to claim to have. My darlings, herpes has nothing to do with it, smell your farts. It is quite challenging to explain to today’s self proclaimed Shakespeares that Shakespeare’s works actually improved by all these cuts and different interpretations throughout these years Shakespearian plays have been performed.

But let’s not distract ourselves from the Christmas songs I presented to you here. Even though Chase Holfelder’s version of the song is almost unrecognizable and eerie as Christmas is to me, for some “weird” reason it is still the same song. The same way a Shakespearean play is still a Shakespearean play even though Romeo and Juliet are played by two boys in some productions. Well, of course, if you know the history of theater you know that there were no female actors allowed on the stage at the time Shakespeare wrote his plays. All the female roles were played by men only. To see two men play Romeo and Juliet nowadays is somehow innovative while the biggest innovation of the play happened at the time when women stormed onto the stages and the role of Juliet was given to a female actress. Do you see what I have done here, or you are still thinking about herpes?

In any case my dear theater people, especially you my darling playwrights, every time you are not sure if you like an interpretation of your play just remember Christmas and Mariah Carey, then remember that killing is not an answer ever! Enjoy those different takes of your work made by other creative minds and just let it be even if your jingle bells are up your ass and you want to vomit flowers. Believe when I say this, because of that Christmas song I forgave you all. I found my old/new love and you will find it too.

I’ll point it out to you and say it again; anybody who is inspired to give their take on your work is only improving your work? Anyone who is able to find something worth changing/interpreting in your play is giving you a great compliment. Your work could tremendously improve if you just let another creative soul to be creative with it. You could reap a major success by letting it happen. Enjoy and let it be.

Ciao-cacao and don’t forget to flush after you do your do-dos. Oh yeah and you should take care of that herpes!

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Re-Views, Unsolicited Solicitations

How “A Streetcar Named Desire” Took “Blue Jasmine” to the Oscars

I know, I know my darlings, you might get quite bored with me constantly talking about Tennessee Williams and Cate Blanchett, I know, but you know what they say, keep repeating that one thing and you will become a master at it. And darlings, who wouldn’t want to write plays like Tennessee and act like Cate, who? So here comes my next rant which involves another colleague of mine, my dear Woody Allen.

I have had quite a few woodies in my life and there might be some Allens involved with them, but this entry is not about them, even though I wish it would be, because that might have given me a happy ending, but I digress, no really, I do digress not having a happy ending for this entry.

During my breakfast break suddenly I… Well this has happened not so “suddenly” but the use of word “suddenly” reminded me about some writer I read recently who suggested that good writers should remove “suddenly” from all of their writings. His suggestion sounded quite strange because, first of all, who said that I want to be a good writer (this one I believe is a lie) and second of all, just imagine Tennessee Williams, yes, Tennessee Williams himself, removing “suddenly” from the name of his play “Suddenly Last Summer.” It would leave us only with “Last Summer” which would be just sad, because “suddenly” gives that needed kick in the balls and defines the pain which happened that last summer. This entry is not about “Suddenly” and not about “Last Summer” but it has something to do with removing some things and loosing the others because of that change.

While eating my breakfast I was arranging another “Temperamental “T” Battle.” Somewhere in between devouring a leaky egg yolk and a large piece of salt crystal I realized that I have way too much to say about Woody Allen’s “Blue Jasmine” alone. Before I ate that egg I thought that I would compare two films, a great classic “A Streetcar Named Desire” and a new Oscar nominee “Blue Jasmine,” but, after finishing that poor egg I realized that that battle was won way before it even started. Who can compete with Tennessee Williams’ written characters, who? He is one of the best when it comes to it. When somebody wants to rewrite a gorgeous play written by him, it better be good, because whoever attempts to do so unsuccessfully might get a taste of Plastikoff’s testicles on their face. Your big movie name won’t help to avoid this from happening. You should be already aware that Plastikoff knows more than you do, so you must listen to him, otherwise you might get that uneaten egg yolk thrown at you and later smeared on your face by his, above mentioned, testicles. This time Woody Allen is under my radar or, should I say, under my hanging bangers. It is going to be hard (pun intended) to be Woody.

I love you Woody, I truly do. And how could I not love a director and writer who gave me one of my favorite comedy films “Bullets Over Broadway,” how? This will be tough for me to write, because you, my dear Woody, showed me with your “Bullets…” that you know and love theater very much.

The Oscars are literally a few hours away. This year’s nominations are quite forgettable. I don’t think any of the films which are nominated this year will be remembered after thirty years, but since I, ze Plastikoff himself, am living today, I thought I would give another piece of my mind (god, I am so generous, giving my brains and stuff away to ze people) and write another review of a film that has something to do with the Awards. If you haven’t read my take on “her,” you can read it here. This time I am going to go for “Blue Jasmine.”

It’s not a secret anymore that the film industry is going down the drain. There is almost nothing exciting coming out in the past few years and it’s getting worse. When movie theaters are concentrating more on the sale of popcorn and soda, you know you are popped.

This blentry (no, this is not a misspelled word, no, if you know a little Russian you know what “blet” means) is a character and play study where I discuss good versus bad adaptations of very known plays. I am going to concentrate my brain cells that are still left in my head on “A Streetcar Named Desire” and what happened to it when Woody Allen rewrote it into “Blue Jasmine.”

First of all one must be blind not to see that “Blue Jasmine” is “A Streetcar Named Desire.” It is and it is all the things it should not be.

I was quite shocked and taken aback by the fact that there was no mentioning of Tennessee Williams in any way in the credits of “Blue Jasmine.” What I saw was that this script was “originally” written by Woody Allen.

Oy Woody, Woody, yes, of course you gave your own twist to my bellowed play, but to be so blunt and not even say that your script was at least somehow inspired by “…Desire” was a sneaky way to go. You are definitely not winning any points from me on that. Thinking that putting Blanche (Jasmine in your film) in today’s environment would distract me from recognizing the play is a huge miscalculation.

First of all putting a play or adapting a play for today’s environment is nothing new, you know that, Woody. Almost every play has gotten that treatment in theater. Directors take old plays and adapt them constantly. Theater directors (usually) acknowledge original writers leaving their names in credits even though there might be nothing “original” left in their productions.

I recognized that Stella’s home from “A Streetcar Named Desire” is Jasmine sister’s home in San Francisco in your film, my dear Woody. Jasmine from “Blue Jasmine” is broke as it is the original Blanche from “A Streetcar…” when she comes to live with her sister. My dear Woody, you haven’t even escaped saying that Jasmine has a French background, and oh yeah, you think I would not catch where Jasmine’s name originated from? Blanche in “…Desire” mentions her perfume “Jasmine” which is hated by Stanley Kowalski. Is this where the name Jasmine came from in your film? There are many recognizable details as this in your film, Woody, but let me dissect first how “A Streetcar Named Desire’s” characters became “Blue Jasmine’s” characters.

As you know, my dear darlings, I love the fact that I find certain things hidden in films. If you read this review, you know what I am talking about. So here it goes, characters from “Blue Jasmine” and which characters from “A Streetcar Named Desire” I think “inspired” them:

Jasmine is Blanche DuBois
Ginger is Stella
Chili, Augie and Dr. Flicker are Stanley Kowalski
Dwight is Mitch
Hal, Jasmine’s husband, is the boy who killed himself in “…Desire”

I am going to start from Stanley Kowalski. Stanley was broken into three characters in “Blue Jasmine.” This was a very poor decision from you my dear Woody. And this is why.

You lost all the drama that surrounded Blanche by breaking the events and characteristics of Kowalski. All of these men in “Blue Jasmine” became very plain and didn’t contribute to Jasmine’s mind f*ck as Kowalski did in “…Desire.” What was this mess that represented Stanley in your film, Mr. Allen? You flattened Stanley from ”…Desire” so much that I was just plain sorry for the guys who were playing representations of what was once the greatest character in the history of theater.

Augie, played by Andrew Dice Clay, became Stanley whom Blanche met for the first time after arrival to her sister’s home in “A Streetcar…”
The sexy, full of passion and temperament Stanley from “…Desire” became Chili, played by Bobby Cannavale.
The “raping scene Stanley” became Dr. Flicker played by Michael Stuhlbarg.

The three characters created from one became disjointed and without depth. It was very disappointing to watch that happen.

In “A Streetcar…” Blanche’s character remembers a boy she fell in love with, who later on she realized was gay. In your version, Woody, this boy became Jasmine’s husband, Hal, played by Alec Baldwin, who cheated on her and killed himself in jail because of… well I didn’t quite get why did Jasmine’s husband killed himself in jail.

The boy from “…Desire” killed himself because he was a homosexual. Blanche revealed that secret. Jasmine’s husband, on the other hand, killed himself because Jasmine called the FBI and told them about the shady business her husband had been doing. Jasmine was emotionally distressed after finding out about Hal’s cheating. Hal got jailed because of Jasmine. I am not going to tell you in every detail how that happened but if you know “A Streetcar…,” Jasmine as well as Blanche had something to do with the suicides of their husbands.

While I totally understood Blanche’s boy’s suicide, I was not buying Jasmine’s husband’s suicide at all. The story leading to the event was flat and just too weak to be convincing. The way you wrote Hal’s character, my dear Woody, gave me an opposite impression. I couldn’t believe that a man like Hal was able to kill himself this easily.

I understand that you, my dear, wanted to portray these rich, lying people in your “Blue Jasmine,” but you failed it. You rewrote the sensitive boy’s character from “A Streetcar…” who represented Blanche’s feelings into this manipulative, cheating husband of Jasmine’s. Of course I could find some kind of connection there and say that Jasmine’s husband Hal represented Jasmine’s wish to live richly without doing any work to earn any money. That is true, that could be your idea of why Jasmine had her nervous breakdown. But with the decision of writing Hal the way you did you completely removed Jasmine’s fragility. Later on you went to explore that quality of Jasmine’s in other scenes of your film where she’s meeting Dwight, but it was too late.  You already made a cold Jasmine. You removed from her the greatest value, her fragility which was so beautifully developed by Tennessee Williams in Blanche.

My writing of this review is as messy as your film my darling Woody. See what you have done to me?

Yes, you tried to return to the original Blanche with your Jasmine being dependent on rich men. I was waiting for “I depend on the kindness of strangers” come out of Jasmine’s lips the whole film but it never happened. This beautiful quote turned into some mumbling jumble coming out of Jasmine’s lips at the end of the film which was just plainly very disappointing to me. I wanted to kick you in the balls my dear Woody. You had Cate Blanchett saying those meaningless words at the end of your film which actually hurt Cate’s as an actress’ image. She was put in a situation where she was asked to do a very cliché thing, talk into nothing with her lips slightly shivering and leaking through her eye sockets, what appeared to be some kind of liquid called tears. I found myself concentrating on Cate Blanchett’s face without make up rather than “feeling” what she was going through in that particular scene.

Funny, how you, my dear, were not able to escape shower scenes in your film. The shower scenes in “…Desire” were essential. After every one of them something happened to Blanche. Not so much happened to Jasmine in your film, my dear Woody. In “A Streetcar…” Blanche wanted to wash off something that could not be washed off. What you washed off in “Blue Jasmine,” my dear, was Cate Blanchett’s make up and that was it. Yes, with that you revealed how old Jasmine is, but it added almost nothing to the character. Cate Blanchett went quite disheveled and with the runny make up throughout the whole film. You decided to “add” to Blanche’s from “…Desire” character, an oily skin shine and sweaty armpits. This was strange to see happening knowing that the action takes place in San Francisco where the weather is cool. New Orleans’ weather is thick with sweaty armpits and oily skin. That is more appropriate for Tennessee Williams’ play, but I guess you can sweat in any weather if you drink this much alcohol as Jasmine did in your film.

The difference with Stella, Ginger in “Blue Jasmine,” is less obvious. In “Blue Jasmine” Ginger has two children while in “A Streetcar…” Stella is pregnant with her first one. Ginger’s character in “Blue Jasmine” got Blanche’s sexual freedom. Jasmine’s character became even flatter because having Ginger this sexually active removed another great layer beautifully written by Tennessee Williams for Blanche.

Jasmine’s sister, Ginger, goes around sleeping with men. She divorced her first husband for no apparent reason. There was not even a hint why she did it. Then she almost ditched a better looking and more passionate boyfriend/fiancé after she met a balding man, Al, played by Louis C.K., at a party. Ginger’s new interest was apparently cheating with her on his wife. After a phone call to Al’s house and talking with his wife, Ginger, almost instantly, dropped the passionate love for Al and returned to her hot fiancé Chili as if nothing has happened. Ginger switched back to the hotty in literally a second after she learned about Al’s wife. Ugh.

And what was that mess of a scene with Jasmine and Dr. Flicker when he was sexually abusing her in the office? I went, what the duck just happened? This came from nowhere and was so painful to watch that I lost it. This scene was so fake that I think I believed more in drag queen’s fake boobs than Dr. Flicker’s arousal towards Jasmine in that scene.

I am going to end my rant with another quite strange detail about “Blue Jasmine.” The young salesman who came by Stella’s house in “A Streetcar…” and met Blanche there became Jasmine’s son. Weird decision I’d say. With that you, my dear Woody, stripped away from Jasmine her sexual gravitation to younger men which was so crucial in Tennessee Williams’ play. With that you not only said that Jasmine is not sexually attractive, because she has a son, but you also didn’t even suggest that Jasmine could like any of her sister’s lovers.

And here comes the ending punch. The way the character of Mitch from “A Streetcar…” was written in “Blue Jasmine” was so outlandish that you, my dear Woody, didn’t know yourself what to do with him. Dwight, played by Peter Sarsgaard, appears from nowhere like a rich prince on a white horse. He almost instantly proposed to Jasmine, then he dropped her as a plastic bottle in the middle of nowhere after learning that Jasmine was divorced and had a child. It was quite convenient, I should say, to be dropped next to a place where Jasmine’s estranged son was working. Okay, I think I got it, this scene was needed because it was vital for Cate to get a little of California’s sun on her pale skin while walking those few frames, I got it.

The decision for Jasmine and Dwight to get married and break up came so forced and fast in “Blue Jasmine” that one could miss it. Turn your attention for a few moments from the screen and you won’t even know that the proposal even happened.

The dialog between characters were flat and choppy. I was constantly hearing Woody Allen’s voice which was weird because Jasmine is hardly Woody (pun intended). It was painful to listen.

After writing all of this long ass wordy diarrhea I came to a realization that you, my dear Woody, most likely decided to play a game with us. You took “A Streetcar Named Desire” written by Tennessee Williams and decided to rewrite it creating opposite characters to those written by Tennessee Williams. Hmmm, I think you didn’t have enough Port to do that my dear Woody. But I guess it worked out somehow for you, because you got quite a few nominations for the film.

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Litter-Rat-U’r[in]e

Unusual Books for the Nooks (And Crannies in Your Life)

Now this is a list of books I want to read!
Take it away Little Miss Menopause!

P.S. Don’t forget to read her “Who’s Writing This Quirkiness?” page. You will thank me later ;)!

Once Upon Your Prime

Disclaimer: This topic has no author turning over in his grave. It’s all in fun.

Let’s turn “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” into “If You Give Your Spouse Some Nookie.” I think books should grow with us as we age. I don’t want to keep packing up my beloved classic children’s literature into cardboard boxes to be rummaged through by sticky hands at garage sales for a quarter. Any writer expecting to have their children’s book become a Classic AND sustain a permanent place on our bookshelves needs to offer an intriguing 2nd Half-Of-Life version. We are no longer wearing footie pajamas and reading in our bean-bag chairs. Now we’re donning housecoats (what IS that type of apparel for, anyhow?) and reclining in our Barcalounger chairs.

In that spirit, here are some new “Grown-Up” Title modifications and a few of my recommendation notes to the Author.

SELF-HELP SECTION

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Litter-Rat-U’r[in]e

The Flowers or the Fart Who Wasn’t There

Inspired by Clarissa D. and playwrights’ egos. Dedicated to all writers who couldn’t but still… (farted)

Mr. Dalloquay said he would buy the flowers himself.

He just knew he needed to. No, the problem was not the party he wasn’t eager to invite anybody to. It was something else, something too peculiar to mention here or anywhere for that matter.

Clarence was carrying it for a few weeks now. It was becoming him, undefined and hurtful. Clarence knew that as soon as he does it, nobody will be able to help him… nobody… nothing… nowhere…

The flowers looked too weak and he was just too distracted from himself, from the world that needed him. He wanted to be but he wasn’t. What and how were not the questions anymore. It was the disconnection he saw becoming and engulfing all of him with no mercy, with nothing, but everything…

The undefined emptiness was growing inside him promising him zip, nada, niento… He couldn’t face the people. He knew that it is bigger than him – bigger than anything ever imagined. He knew that he couldn’t do it, even though so many said, don’t be afraid, it will remove your fear of not being there where flowers were not enough to be just that, the flowers. They needed to become something else. He still didn’t know what, but he felt it. He was becoming that emptiness inside him. He was becoming nothing in everything. If he were let it go, the world would know he did it and that was not an option.

He looked at the sky. There was this thing he forgot the name of. Then he looked at the bitch, unleashed but somehow still chained to the anger of its two front legs as if the tail couldn’t wag anymore.

The bitch was there, but how? There was no leash and no tail. Was he wagging the bitch or was it that he knew nobody saw the bitch but him. He was that bitch with all his being, unchained but somehow still there where he just couldn’t…

This face, where has it gone? He picked a pickle or was it a radish? He couldn’t distinguish. He felt the same bitterness as he always did while eating something that he didn’t wanted to. The bitch again or was it that something which spread inside him as some plague promising to destroy that everything he was so fond to keep? Everything is gone now… the bitch too… He still feels that radish or the pickle in his mouth. He couldn’t prevent it from happening. He had nobody to see it, even the bitch… It was gone… The emptiness was growing consuming all of him… the otherness… the intestines… now was the time for his heart…

He thought he made it clear to her, he hated to rewrite. He hated to change anything. It had to be the way it is, with the bitch and the tail wagging away… But it was too late…

It was growing inside him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it longer in. Why did he say that he was okay? He wasn’t. That was that something he hated speaking about, coming from inside him, devouring his being, changing him, making him not the one he really is. He’ll disappear, he knows it, he’ll disappear if he lets it loose.

The scene he wrote was written and somebody foreign wanted to change it. He couldn’t apprehend it why. Was it the bitch or the flowers that still needed to be bought that made him think: I am not and I will not… but it was already too late… three minutes after four too late…

These flowers were too wilted and he was not there anymore. Why did he say he was unhappy? The bitch again was wagging him like there was something he needed to remember. Oh yes, the flowers… He was holding them just a moment ago and now they were gone…

How did she dare to say my writings would improve if only I removed the bitch? No, the bitch is me and it has to wag.

He was disappearing like that bitch he fought so much about. The emptiness inside him was growing through intestines to his heart. His heart is strong but way too soon removed from what he is, from who he was.

He did it yesterday and now he’s disappearing. That day which called him out diminished all that he believed was true. No, he is not going to change it – he will say it to her – I’m not the bitch you want me to be – you go and duck yourself with your three acts of glory – I’ll stay with the bitch – the bitch is me and she needs to wag… He is her now or she is him, he could not feel it anymore.

He farted… No, no, no it is too early for that to happen, no! The fart was gone, but where? He couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t smell it. Where did it go? The flowers! Why do I smell the flowers? The audience is clapping, screaming “Bravo!” He changed the wagging bitch, but why? The emptiness is full again, but is he him or her? He’s on the stage – oh yes, the flowers – you giving them for free? The claps of million palms – the bitch – she’s free – the bitch is free – the empty is full again. He cannot smell it, but why? He knows he released it. More flowers? More applause? The bitch is gone. He’s free.

Everybody dies at the end anyway…

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