I used be a student of the strip out the stage directions school of thought, which can be a good thing for a young writer because it forces you to write strong dialog and stop qualifying everything with a stage direction. But then I heard Paula Vogel talk about Tennessee Williams’ stage directions, which are so lovely, and that sort of nudged me out of that tendency. It’s really challenging to write stage directions that leave enough room for people to create.

I’ve had some odd experiences with playwrights who were not open to that kind of collaboration, even with directors in some cases – playwrights who have been burned by the development process and hunker down into an auteur – theory sort of rigidness of interpretation. Beckett’s relationship with his work is kind of along those lines, where he continues to manipulate interpretation from the grave. But without naming names, I’ve seen that kind of reaction from playwrights in the room as well, which is where my last comment came from.

It sounds like we’re both on the same page. Collaboration is valuable, and a different set of eyes and ears and emotional reactions should be explored together, with respect.

As a playwright, I may have particular music in mind when I’m writing, but I don’t put those choices in the script because usually that music was a source of inspiration or used as motivation to write the script. I don’t think that belongs in the script. More importantly: I ultimately don’t want to limit the emotional quality of a particular moment or scene by marrying it to a specific song. Music really tells an audience how to feel (ignoring all the possible reactions a person might have on their own) and I’m not a big fan of that. There are probably exceptions to that rule. The only one that comes to mind for me based on something I’ve written wasn’t about a specific song, but more of a reaction I wanted to achieve. A woman was trapped in a room and surrounded by the FBI and it’s a typical tactic for them to play some sort of insanely mind-numbing music. Like when GB1 rounded up Manuel Noriega, the army played “I fought the law” for days on end or like in Guantanamo they play head-slamming music in a prisoner’s cell for days on end, so I’d write a direction that goes something like: Head-slamming music plays relentlessly. It seems like there is a lot of choice there: it doesn’t necessarily have to be loud, just present somehow.

Usually I aim for what you’re talking about in the Piano Lesson. That’s a fairly specific direction – it conjures a beautiful image, but it’s open to interpretation. When I’m writing a script, I try to convey a particular visual image (which may be very specific for me), but write it so there’s room for interpretation. I figure the designers are going to interpret those directions in ways I never imagined and their choices are usually better (just like when actors approach the text and movement) because you know, they know their art.

That said, I don’t think I’d be opposed to stripping a script of stage directions. I think it all depends on how it’s done. If it were done without asking me, I might be a little upset and would at least ask about it. But if the director and design team talked to me about it, I’d be open to listening to their reasons. I think you’re talking about the former: stripping the script, no questions asked. So yeah, I’d be upset. I probably say something. But it would depend on the situation.

My experience, so far, has been that directors and design teams have been pretty respectful of the stage directions especially concerning sound and light. I’ve worked with Jake Rodriquez who is an amazing sound designer (and I’ll admit, I’m a little spoiled by that relationship). He’s come to work-in-progress performances of my work and had great suggestions about sound choices that were made (when he wasn’t available to work with me), ways to improve the sound, add to it, and even made dramaturgical suggestions about the play. He’s not afraid to tell me, yeah, you should really cut that scene, it’s too much. So I guess that is my optimal working relationship with a designer.

All I can teach in sound design is practical physics and then what I see as common assumptions – including my own common assumptions.

I’m curious to break this conversation open… what do you mean by relying on sound as a playwright? I actually hear that from almost ALL contemporary playwrights. Do you mean you write in specific music or sound choices into your script? What happens when those choices are stripped away (like some directors & design teams do with stage directions)?

I’ve had a couple nerve-wracking situations where I (or more accurately, the director’s concept) worked with the fundamental world of the play but disagreed with a playwright’s specific sound choice… and changed it… and then had to sit in the audience while the playwright watched the show. At no point was that situation not hand-wringing, but I’d be interested in getting a playwright’s perspective on that question… Is music just another stage direction? And are stage directions an indicator of intention, or are they an unalterable piece of the world of the play? For me, writing sound into a play feels constricting as a designer. (Note my comment about The Varsouviana in Streetcar)

Other times, it’s liberating. I’m currently working on Piano Lesson at Court, and I find August Wilson’s sound directions utterly inspiring as a designer. “A rustle of wind blowing across two continents.” It gives me as an artist room to interpret and adapt the playwright’s sonic intentions for the audience that I know will be seeing the show, and to match the designs of the other artists in the room.

So I can see it both ways.

Just a thought.

Cheers,
Elizabeth