Interview with Ellen McLaughlin
via email
9 & 10 August 2010
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As an actor, I’m most proud of some of the work I’ve done in new plays, originating parts, as with Tony Kushner’s Angels in America, in which I played the Angel, starting in the first workshops and appearing in every American production through the Broadway run and thereby creating the part. I also worked on some the early versions of Tony’s one-woman monologue, Homebody, which is, I think, one of the greatest monologues in the English language.
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As a playwright, I’ve written about a dozen plays now, many of which are adaptations of Greek plays. The adaptations vary widely in terms of how closely they cleave to the original work, but all are inspired by what I perceive as the primal formative power of that ancient work. One of the productions I’m most proud of was a version of The Trojan Women I wrote for refugees from the Bosnian War who had fled the former Yugoslavia and were living in NY in the mid 1990s. I received a grant from the Lila Wallace Reader’s Digest Fund that allowed me to organize the project with a psychiatric social worker who had experience in Yugoslavia and with the American Friends Service Committee, which helped me to recruit participants in the project, none of them professional actors, all of them traumatized to some extent by the war.
What we were able to achieve in the project was a real confirmation of the community-building and healing capability of the theater. Participants were from all different sides of the conflict and were people who would have gone to great lengths to avoid each other in ordinary circumstances but who managed not only to cooperate with each other to make the piece but to really collaborate, moving past bitter animosities and suspicions to make something cohesive and powerful and to make it together.
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Just after we began the invasion of Iraq in 2003, I wrote a version of The Persians for National Actors’ Theater in NY that was produced immediately in response to the war. The Persians is the oldest play we have in the canon and is an extraordinary document, written with compassion and perceptiveness by a Greek veteran of the Persian invasion of his own country about that battle’s losers—the Persians—from their perspective. It’s still shockingly original and powerful.
Lately it seems that virtually everything I’ve been doing, both as a playwright and as an actor, has touched on the trauma and loss of war. I wrote a play for the graduate acting students at ART based on interviews and research they’d done into the war in Iraq called Ajax in Iraq, a melding of two tellings of the Ajax myth—a version of the Sophocles and a modern one, set in Iraq.
My one woman piece, Penelope, a modern rendering of the Odyssey, is a monologue by a woman whose long estranged ex- husband returns to her, brain damaged by a war injury, uncertain of who he is. As they wait for him to return to his own mind, she reads him the Odyssey and in the experience of that book finds a means of entering into her ex-husband’s trauma.
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This winter I was performing at Playmaker’s Rep. in Chapel Hill, NC, in Arthur Miller’s All My Sons, a great play addressing the long repercussions of a war upon veterans and their families.
For several years now I’ve been working on writing a music theater piece based on an incident that occurred in France involving a veteran of the First World War so traumatized that he became a total amnesiac and the ensuing drama of the many grief-stricken families who tried to claim him as their own lost son or husband.
This summer, I was working on an adaptation of Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, which is in part a piece about a shell shocked veteran of the Great War’s journey through psychosis and his ultimate suicide.
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When I came into the field back in the early 80’s, there were very few women playwrights working professionally and those that were were seldom produced by major theaters. The major playwrights, both contemporary and past, were all male. Now the vast majority of people writing plays are women, and though we are still shockingly underproduced (17% of the plays produced professionally are by women) and underrepresented, we have a foothold at last. This is encouraging and makes for a more interesting scene—as does the fact that there are many, many more plays written by non-whites. Color-blind casting is no longer remarkable and has also been vital to opening opportunities to actors of color across the country.
As far as the form is concerned, I think there is more tolerance for experimentations with structures and techniques in writing, and that innovative, unconventional work is now in evidence everywhere, not just in NYC and pockets of culture across the country, but generally and in theaters which once only staged the most conventional kitchen-sink realism and melodrama.
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I have not heard about this “post-human” movement you write about, which sounds alarming; but I think that theater, because of its adamantly home-made, present tense immediacy, is immune to such things. Theater evolves with the times, adopts whatever new technology is useful to it—sophisticated sound techniques and video are a commonplace in any theater that can afford them—but these technological innovations, however fascinating and labor-saving, are finally beside the point, in my opinion. Since the theater is dependent on the most basic dynamic in human interaction, live performers before live audiences, the form is fundamentally the same as it was thousands of years ago, when the plays I’ve spent so much of my career thinking about were first performed. And, as is evidenced by my own career, technological innovations and even literary movements are relatively superficial in terms of what makes the form meaningful and vital to the lives of its audience.
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I’m confident that as long as the race survives we’ll be making theater. And as long as we’re making theater, we will be riffing on these ancient texts, sorting through the myths, making use of them as we need to, shaping the same clay.
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