Friday, February 11, 2005
Me Versus Miller, or How a Bad Teacher Can Ruin a Good Play
I heard Arthur Miller died, which actually made me a little nostalgic. Well, really that started when I read something April wrote. I had a long love/hate relationship with Arthur Miller for some time. It started in high school when The Crucbile was crammed down my throat in American Lit. I was vigorously underwhelmed, and as far as I could tell, he could give a shit about me (or was that my cold, snooty Lit teacher? -- this was the teacher who made us address each other only by last name because, she said, that's how it is in college).
Then, a year later, I got cast as Happy in a thrown-together reading of Death of a Salesman (I think my costume consisted of a cap worn sidways, or am I remembering wrong? Taryn?). Better teacher, better play. He'd won that round.
I saw A View From the Bridge at a high school theatre conference thingy in which Drama Club nerds from far and wide came together (it wasn't an AV Club convention or anything, but pretty close). Good play but over-acted, as one might expect from eighteen year-olds who ACTED and DID THEATRE, as well as other things IN ALL CAPS. A draw for Miller and me.
Did scenes from View in college in various acting classes. Began to understand what teachers meant when they talked about his vision of the American Experience. Two wins for Miller.
Saw a great production of DOAS at the Lyceum in San Diego, and the following year had to teach DOAS to undergrads while earning my MFA. Turned out to be the most accessible, discussion-provoking play of the term. We were on a path to peace.
Then, two years ago, Liam Nieson and Laura Linney sealed the deal for me by tearing shit up Puritan style in The Crucible. It was such a visceral rendering of a play I'd thought was stale and melodramatic. Turns out it was mostly the fault of a crappy teacher in eleventh grade.
RIP.
I heard Arthur Miller died, which actually made me a little nostalgic. Well, really that started when I read something April wrote. I had a long love/hate relationship with Arthur Miller for some time. It started in high school when The Crucbile was crammed down my throat in American Lit. I was vigorously underwhelmed, and as far as I could tell, he could give a shit about me (or was that my cold, snooty Lit teacher? -- this was the teacher who made us address each other only by last name because, she said, that's how it is in college).
Then, a year later, I got cast as Happy in a thrown-together reading of Death of a Salesman (I think my costume consisted of a cap worn sidways, or am I remembering wrong? Taryn?). Better teacher, better play. He'd won that round.
I saw A View From the Bridge at a high school theatre conference thingy in which Drama Club nerds from far and wide came together (it wasn't an AV Club convention or anything, but pretty close). Good play but over-acted, as one might expect from eighteen year-olds who ACTED and DID THEATRE, as well as other things IN ALL CAPS. A draw for Miller and me.
Did scenes from View in college in various acting classes. Began to understand what teachers meant when they talked about his vision of the American Experience. Two wins for Miller.
Saw a great production of DOAS at the Lyceum in San Diego, and the following year had to teach DOAS to undergrads while earning my MFA. Turned out to be the most accessible, discussion-provoking play of the term. We were on a path to peace.
Then, two years ago, Liam Nieson and Laura Linney sealed the deal for me by tearing shit up Puritan style in The Crucible. It was such a visceral rendering of a play I'd thought was stale and melodramatic. Turns out it was mostly the fault of a crappy teacher in eleventh grade.
RIP.
