Okay playwrights, as we move into Day 3 of our workshop we have drawn from our memory and our present observations to come up with a “present setting” and a “past setting,” a “present character” and a “past character.” Now we are going to mix things up. “Business” is the word for the physical activities of a character on the stage, and its time for our characters to get busy.
Day 3 – Put the Characters in the Settings: Place the “present character” in the “past setting.” Have the character perform a simple, specific piece of business with some part of the setting that reveals something about both who the character is and why the character is in the environment. Describe the activity in a short paragraph. Repeat the exercise, describing the “past character” performing a piece of business in the “present setting.” Adapted from The Playwright’s Handbook, by Frank Pike and Thomas G. Dunn (Revised Edition, 1996).
In a play, stage directions help the actors figure out what they should be doing besides engaging in dialogue. Think about what items a character in this setting would have around to interact with. Practice observing people in your life or strangers you encounter and jotting down things that they do. Pay attention to the way the waiter clears the tables, the way the librarian shelves books, the way people prepare to go out in the rain or cold. How does a woman search in her bag for something she thinks she’s lost? How do people eat, drink, clean up after themselves (or not)? How do they read the Sunday paper? What little rituals or odd habits do people have that tell us something about them?
Think in bold, simple strokes. Complex activities get “muddy” onstage and the audience will lose interest trying to figure out what your character is doing. And remember, if your character and setting don’t seem to go together, no cheating! That is part of the challenge.
[updated]
Mac bursts through the door of the Arrowhead Café, scowling up at the jingling bell that sounds his entrance. It’s the morning rush and there’s a line of commuters waiting to place their orders. Another group stands around poking and swiping at their phones while they wait for their drinks. Mac purses his lips and turns to go but is blocked by a woman trying to maneuver a giant double stroller through the door. Seeing no one else move to help, he hops forward and swings the door wide for her, giving a tight little nod in response to her exaggerated display of gratitude.
Mac lets the woman go ahead of him and, turning back to the door, swings it open and shut a few times, squinting at the pressurized door closer and fingering a spot on the wall where the handle is starting to go through the drywall. He flips open a little spiral notebook and scribbles something in it with a pencil he pulls from behind his ear. With a sigh, Mac glances at his watch and moves forward to stand in line. Military “at ease,” he stands with his feet apart, his hands clasped loosely Behind him. He winces in acknowledgment at the sticky-faced toddler who cranes her neck to gape at him from the stroller.
As the line moves slowly forward, Mac’s attention is drawn to the framed artwork on the wall. He leans close, wrinkling his nose as if he’s smelled something bad or shaking his head in disbelief. When he comes to the last piece, however, his face goes blank, his shoulders relax, and he just stands there, with an almost serene look on his face. The girl at the counter has to call out to him to get his attention. Embarrassed, he orders a small black coffee to go. His eyes return for a moment to the painting. The girl slips him something with his change and he holds it out to her, confused. “What …” “The artist,” she explains. It’s a business card. He shakes his head, moves to return it to her, but the line has moved forward. He slips the card in his pocket.
As he waits for his coffee, Mac leans against a nearby table. It tilts abruptly and he frowns at it, crouching to inspect where the legs meet the base. He pulls a little multi-use tool from his wallet and tightens the screw, giving the table a good shake to make sure he’s fixed it. The girl appears. “Well look at that! Tomorrow’s is on the house.” She hands him his coffee. Mac nods and walks past her, taking one last look at the painting by the register. He leaves the café with a faraway look on his face, as if he’s just remembered something he forgot long ago.
* * *
Allister Frisbie walks into the empty living room from the glow and commotion of the adjoining kitchen. He is humming “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” as he makes his way around the room, dropping dirty paper plates and napkins into a large trsh bag. He dips the last shrimp in the dish of cocktail sauce and eats it in one bite, tossing the tail into the bag and makes his way back to the tree, where he stoops to pick up balls of crumpled wrapping paper. He stacks the toys strewn about in neat piles. When he comes to one toy he stops, a look of pure nostalgia on his face.
Frisbie drops the bag and holds the gift out in front of him. It’s a hinged wooden box with a little brass handle. He carries it to the bar, clears a space for it, and lifts the lid. It’s a child’s art set. A really extravagant one. He fingers the supplies, pulling some out to check their labels before returning them. There are watercolors, chalk pastels, sticks of charcoal, little squares of patterned paper for origami, and, set into the lid, tubes of oil paint. Frisbie plucks a little wooden palette out with his index finger and thumb, then quickly lays it flat on the bar when he realizes it’s heavy with wet paint. The lucky recipient of this art set seems to have squirted a few tubs of paint out and then promptly given up on a career in the arts. Frisbie tisks and shakes his head. He looks from the palette to the trash bag but then seems to change his mind. Instead, he tears a large piece of cardboard from a crushed box and, pulling a stool to the bar and pouring himself some eggnog, selects a brush from the box and dips it into the paint.
