Drama Post 3: Resolution or Lack Thereof
Admittedly, I wrote my last blog post not as a way
to write my death scene, but as a way to understand my dilemma when writing my
death scene. The importance of that and my breaking free from what I called the
Pinter box is the writing that must take place to finish my play. I figure I’m
two (maybe three) scenes from its completion: a middle scene that heightens the
quirkiness in the relationship between the main character Henry and his girlfriend
Julia, and a final scene that in some way remarks on the death of Henry—or
doesn’t; I’ve yet to decide. Obviously, my quandary is more about my end scene
than the middle, mostly, again, because of feeling the requirement to treat a
death as something weighty, something that should be remarked upon because of
its severity and its assumed long-lasting ramifications for characters.
However, considering my last post—looking into the importance of contextual
rhythms for Pinter—as well as some of the themes in my play—an individual
(Henry) trying to make his mark on the world—I wonder if it wouldn’t be more
accurate to go the other way with the resolution. More specifically, there
would not be one. More specifically than that, there would not be a resolution
for any characters, as Henry didn’t make a lasting impact on anyone. Logically,
one could assume the tenants of Henry’s apartment would momentarily sympathize
with the “tragic” situation, but this would only be momentary—and pretty false
at that. And in that sense, a more true representation of life.
Analyzing this from the perspective of
characterization, this is exactly the opposite of what Henry desires in his
final monologue before he jumps to his death:
Across
his cheeks it [the wind] rushes. Not like a bullet, but not not like a bullet.
It’s hard to explain, but the writer will get it right. Will he name the wind?
Should he? Like his own children speeding past him as he shrinks in height and
significance, a speck behind the specks of ink. He is his description, they
will say the next day. In the papers. About the papers. The wind pushing the
words through people’s hands and minds, blowing it through their hair,
transcending form about them, them transcending with it. It pulling their being
with it, everything they are and ever will be, every fiber pulling into—into
a—smile.
If you can get past the fact that I quoted my own
scene, clearly, Henry conflates the writer and himself, melding the reporting
of his death with the making of it. So, an ending that ignores him, as he’s
been ignored throughout the play, is fitting and sad and somewhat ironic. What
still remains a mystery is what to do with Julia. She only ever interacts with
Henry, and seemingly leaves him to his suicidal thoughts on the roof, kissing
him goodbye before he leaps. So, what’s her stake? More specifically, what’s
her role in Henry’s death? My fiancée
In order to attempt to answer this and more general
questions about the end scene, I have a short list of inclinations:
1. The
scene must at least partially take place on the street in front of the
apartment building that Henry leapt onto. Because his death scene ends slightly
ambiguously, the street will affirm Henry’s suicide, and will also allow for a
space for characters to remark on the death. Or, as I’ve said before, they
won’t, thus playing with the audience’s expectations of the treatment of death
and, considering Henry’s obsession with it, life.
2. Julia
will need to interact with someone. Because all the other scenes are built
through her ability to manipulate dialogue (and people through dialogue), there
needs to be another body present to receive this energy. Whether there will be
any manipulation is still up in the air, though I assume there will have to be
hints of it, considering Julia’s character. On a side note, I’ve been toying
with the idea of not having the other individual remark to Julia until the end
of the scene in order to play with the idea of her being an apparative force.
Again, though, who this individual should be is not clear. He/she could be a
new character, though that seems like a cop out, considering how self-enclosed
Pinter plays tend to be. Perhaps Neighbor 2 would be a good candidate, as she
is a funny but frustrated character. It stands to reason that she could be
manipulated as well.
3. The
scene needs to end dryly. Perhaps remarking about weather or what’s on tv
(maybe a western, as remarked about before; maybe Hollywood Square, considering
the set layout), as those mundane pieces of life are the only tangibility in characters’
dialogue.
4. I’m
not sure if I want to utilize the Hollywood Squares-like structure of the
stage, but it would be interesting. Perhaps Neighbor 1 could yell out a window
to Neighbor 2. Or she could yell down to Julia at the end, leaning over the
edge of the square, much like Henry did on the roof.
And that’s it so far. Obviously, I’ve tied the gravity of
the final scene to how Julia is perceived. I hope I’m not writing myself into
another Pinter box. But because I’ve decided (yes, now I’ve decided) not to
speak of Henry’s death, I believe I can keep the dialogue more ambiguous and
chase the comedy of the absurd again. Perhaps the menace will come with not
speaking about Henry’s death but subtly promising another to come. Perhaps the
menace will be in the characters’ frivolous conversation and a lack of
resolution.
