#33 - Doubt Is An Energy
I'm writing this while late - a perpetual state these day, it seems. So this won't be a long one, but I'll try and give a snapshot of the week. I've been thinking of central images for the scripts that I'm working on at the minute and if you want one for this newsletter its me making my way through Peaky Blinders while on my exercise bike because there was a lot of that.
Speaking of Peaky Blinders, a blog by Nick Cave (who provides the theme tune) about why he writes was passed around a lot this week. It's an elegant piece, as all his blogs are, and though I have some quibbles (the equivalence of Antifa and the Far Right in the context of protest is, I think a little complacent) it was a much-needed galvanising read. In particular, his claim that doubt is an energy stuck with me and it's something I've been thinking on since.
It doesn't feel like a good time to have doubt, is it? I used to roll out my droll commentary - "theatre always says it's about asking questions but everyone seems to have the same answers" - when considering its place in art because I found the lack of faith in doubt tricky to grapple with but I came to understand where it was coming from. We live in an unstable moment with a strong longing and need for belief. In social norms. In the testimony of victims. In the purpose of the cause. In these circumstances, doubt can come off as a bit of a hobbler or, worse, it can be a cause of suspicion in you as a person. Though that's not entirely without merit (thank you, hordes of 'Devils Advocates), it's hard to be doubtful and genuinely interrogative when you constantly feel like you'd probably get it if you read the article/blog post/tweet thread so you better damn well go and find it before you attempt to question. I guess that instinct makes sense and asks you to do the work before you make any grand declarations. But I think I personally may have swung too hard the other way and I'm going to try and remember that yes, doubt is an energy and there is a way to work with it meaningfully and in good faith. Maybe you can't write a decent, doubtful script unless at least one good friend will disown you for it?
Work went better this week. I broke the curse surrounding one particular pitch and got it in. I prepped religiously for a big meeting that I think went well. I even had some useful new ideas, sparked by an RSL event I was on a panel at. Well. I got them from the discussions in the pub afterwards, but that counts.
It still feels like it's been ages since I've been a writer who, y'know, writes with most of their time. A steady flow of days filled with scene writing. I miss the thrill of a concise, evocative stage direction. A dialogue exchange that makes you push your chair back. The genius plot solution that wakes you up in the middle of the night...and then looks stupid in the morning light. HOWEVER! It looks like I'm going to get that this week though, so hold me to that, dear newsletter readers. If I don't talk glowingly of all the brilliant scenes I've knocked out in the next newsletter, if I haven't hit *checks* 7500 words of this script, you have my permission to find me and slap me repeatedly.
I went to see two plays where water features heavily this week: Solaris at the Lyric Hammersmith and A History of Water in the Middle East at the Royal Court. Solaris was a gorgeous piece to sit with and had a set that worked like magic (though I feared for the stage manager at every turn). Encountering the conceit of Solaris is a bit like watching Citizen Kane in the modern day - the big ideas within it have been used again and again to the point where you feel bit sorry for the story of origin. It can't help but feel a little anaemic compared to later, deeper explorations. But the tight focus on the emotion here helped mitigate that and it was a useful touch point for Brown Chekhov in Space.
A History of Water... was created by friends and colleagues of mine so it's hard to speak neutrally about it (even though I had a great time with it) but I took an old mate of mine to see it with me and his response is probably more illuminating. He's not someone hugely into the arts and certainly doesn't have a lot of plays under his belt. I instinctively shushed him when he asked me a question while one of the actors was talking...later, in a music section, he loudly joined in and self-censored a second later. I regretted my silencing of him earlier because I clearly made him feel like this wasn't a place he could be expressive. Need to be more careful with my instincts. Having said that...as we left the space, my friend turned to me and proclaimed: "If more theatre was like that I'd come more often."
Can't ask for a better review than that, hey?
V x
If you're new to Patelograms and like what you've read, you can subscribe by clicking here.
If you're an old hand, thanks as ever for taking the time.
Speaking of Peaky Blinders, a blog by Nick Cave (who provides the theme tune) about why he writes was passed around a lot this week. It's an elegant piece, as all his blogs are, and though I have some quibbles (the equivalence of Antifa and the Far Right in the context of protest is, I think a little complacent) it was a much-needed galvanising read. In particular, his claim that doubt is an energy stuck with me and it's something I've been thinking on since.
It doesn't feel like a good time to have doubt, is it? I used to roll out my droll commentary - "theatre always says it's about asking questions but everyone seems to have the same answers" - when considering its place in art because I found the lack of faith in doubt tricky to grapple with but I came to understand where it was coming from. We live in an unstable moment with a strong longing and need for belief. In social norms. In the testimony of victims. In the purpose of the cause. In these circumstances, doubt can come off as a bit of a hobbler or, worse, it can be a cause of suspicion in you as a person. Though that's not entirely without merit (thank you, hordes of 'Devils Advocates), it's hard to be doubtful and genuinely interrogative when you constantly feel like you'd probably get it if you read the article/blog post/tweet thread so you better damn well go and find it before you attempt to question. I guess that instinct makes sense and asks you to do the work before you make any grand declarations. But I think I personally may have swung too hard the other way and I'm going to try and remember that yes, doubt is an energy and there is a way to work with it meaningfully and in good faith. Maybe you can't write a decent, doubtful script unless at least one good friend will disown you for it?
Work went better this week. I broke the curse surrounding one particular pitch and got it in. I prepped religiously for a big meeting that I think went well. I even had some useful new ideas, sparked by an RSL event I was on a panel at. Well. I got them from the discussions in the pub afterwards, but that counts.
It still feels like it's been ages since I've been a writer who, y'know, writes with most of their time. A steady flow of days filled with scene writing. I miss the thrill of a concise, evocative stage direction. A dialogue exchange that makes you push your chair back. The genius plot solution that wakes you up in the middle of the night...and then looks stupid in the morning light. HOWEVER! It looks like I'm going to get that this week though, so hold me to that, dear newsletter readers. If I don't talk glowingly of all the brilliant scenes I've knocked out in the next newsletter, if I haven't hit *checks* 7500 words of this script, you have my permission to find me and slap me repeatedly.
I went to see two plays where water features heavily this week: Solaris at the Lyric Hammersmith and A History of Water in the Middle East at the Royal Court. Solaris was a gorgeous piece to sit with and had a set that worked like magic (though I feared for the stage manager at every turn). Encountering the conceit of Solaris is a bit like watching Citizen Kane in the modern day - the big ideas within it have been used again and again to the point where you feel bit sorry for the story of origin. It can't help but feel a little anaemic compared to later, deeper explorations. But the tight focus on the emotion here helped mitigate that and it was a useful touch point for Brown Chekhov in Space.
A History of Water... was created by friends and colleagues of mine so it's hard to speak neutrally about it (even though I had a great time with it) but I took an old mate of mine to see it with me and his response is probably more illuminating. He's not someone hugely into the arts and certainly doesn't have a lot of plays under his belt. I instinctively shushed him when he asked me a question while one of the actors was talking...later, in a music section, he loudly joined in and self-censored a second later. I regretted my silencing of him earlier because I clearly made him feel like this wasn't a place he could be expressive. Need to be more careful with my instincts. Having said that...as we left the space, my friend turned to me and proclaimed: "If more theatre was like that I'd come more often."
Can't ask for a better review than that, hey?
V x
If you're new to Patelograms and like what you've read, you can subscribe by clicking here.
If you're an old hand, thanks as ever for taking the time.
Don't miss what's next. Subscribe to patelograms: