There’s a saying amongst theater cognoscenti that goes:

“Musicals aren’t written, they’re re-written.”

I would say that’s half true. I mean, call me a stickler for semantics, but I’d say:

“Musicals are written. And then they are re-written.”

Maybe the reason the saying goes the way it goes is that the re-written part of it is the part more people see: actors, directors, designers, producers, stage managers, the guy who delivers the coffee filters to the rehearsal hall. The writing part happens, for all anyone knows, in dark, secret caves somewhere, all musty and underground. Or, in my case, all alone, sweating and pacing in my cramped apartment.


But once you emerge from your musical theater Bat Cave, the sunlight and the dazzling glow of actors make you see what you wrote a little differently, and force you to go back and make the things you wrote better than they were before.

The idea of re-writes used to be, well, quite terrifying to me. “Oh my God, I have to do re-writes,” I would say, “which means the show SUCKS and I never should have written it in the first place.” Then I’d start tossing pages about. “What is this piece of crap? Why am I a writer? Is it too late to go get my M.B.A.?”

These days, I like to think I’ve gotten better at zen and the art of re-writing, mostly by being surrounded by a team of incredibly smart, perceptive, and generous people. Because when you’re working with a group of people you trust, and who trust you back (as I am blessed to be doing here at Roundabout), doing re-writes becomes—dare I say it—fun. Like getting a group of friends together to put together a jigsaw puzzle.

(Someone out there must do that and think it’s fun. Anyone? Anyone?)

To illustrate the re-writing process, here is a little section of Ordinary Days that has evolved over several stages during our rehearsals these past weeks!

This little snippet is sung by the character of Deb (played by the marvelous Kate Wetherhead). This is early in the show, and, originally, Deb came out and sang:

So, I’m here at school, right?
Getting my M.A.
Which gets your life on track,
This is what they say.

Cute enough – we get the information that Deb is pursuing a graduate degree, because she thinks that’s what she should be doing, even though there’s a little bit of doubt in there somewhere. Thing is, I re-wrote Deb’s first song so that all of that information comes earlier in the show, and we want to hear something new about her already. So, the director suggested maybe something that establishes where she’s at, location-wise, at this moment in the show. So I tried:

So, here’s my little room, right?
Everything’s okay.
I’m working on my thesis
Every day.

That was okay for awhile. Then one day, Kate, the actress playing Deb, asked a question about Deb’s thesis. It’s mentioned in the show that Deb is writing her dissertation on Virginia Woolf, and Kate wondered if I had any thoughts about what drew Deb to that particular author, and why she might ultimately find this thesis topic frustrating.

And boy did I have some thoughts.

“Well,” I said. “I think Deb read Virginia Woolf’s ‘A Room of One’s Own,’ which is basically this feminist essay in which she says the only thing a woman needs to write as well as a man is a room of her own in which to do it. And Deb was really drawn to that idea of female ambition, being an ambitious female herself. But isolating oneself in a room, all alone, is not really a good way to relate to the world. I mean, it was great for Woolf’s writing, clearly, but didn’t really work so well for her personal life. And I think Deb starts to discover that she’s been cutting herself off from the world rather than living as a part of it.”

There was a brief pause before Kate said, “Um, can you put that in there, please?”

“And in four lines. That rhyme,” the director chimed in.

So I came up with:

So, here’s my room at school, right?
Where I keep tucked away.
A room that’s all my own,
Virginia Woolf might say.

That winds up being more specific to the character, and gives the audience new information they need in that moment, all while planting the seeds of what’s going to come later.

In conclusion, re-writes can be fun, because they make your show better.

And now, for even more fun, here are some photos documenting the re-writing process of Ordinary Days!



Here we are, l-r, our director Marc Bruni, assistant director Ross Evans, and yours truly, watching the actors perform a scene. Note how the pencil is hovering near my mouth. This is a sure sign that a re-write is coming on.



This is a Gwon’s-eye view of the action. Pencil, score, computer, and coffee are all at the ready for when re-writing inspiration strikes.



I offer new pages to the group. Our musical director Vadim Feichtner plays through them approvingly. (That is actually Vadim’s look of approval.)



The actors rehearse the new material and generously do not throw staplers at me when they have to learn new lines.

Of course, the final part of the re-writing process happens once we get the piece in front of an audience, and get to see what parts still aren’t exactly clear. And which jokes get the rotten tomatoes. So grab a fruit (tomatoes are a fruit, you know) and come on down to Roundabout Underground, starting October 2nd! Who knows, your very loud laugh (or grunt of disapproval) might be responsible for a script change that will make you a part of Ordinary Days forever!

Comments

1. Brent Stansell Says:
   September 27th, 2009 at 1:34 am

   Adam, this blog entry is FANTASTIC! What great insight into the revision process… I’m so excited to come see the show!

2. Kim del Busto Ramírez Says:
   September 27th, 2009 at 3:24 pm

   Congrats, Adam. Lovely glimpse into the process here. See you at the show.

3. Brian Lowdermilk Says:
   September 29th, 2009 at 9:31 am

   that is absolutely vadim’s look of approval. congratulations!

   can’t wait to come see the show. xo, Brian

4. Marti Says:
   October 6th, 2009 at 10:07 am

   We were at opening night of Ordinary Days. We loved it. We were visiting NY for just four days and so many of the lines in the play connected with where we had just been inclucing the Met. Guess it’s all about connections, even to those of us who don’t live there. Kate Wetherhead is brilliant – great sense of timing, terrific with her many and complex lines and you felt like you knew her. If she doesn’t go places somebody is missing the boat. Of course, Jared Gertner you are sure you know after his very convincing performance of an endearing character.
   We will be back to the Roundabout Underground every time we visit NY?

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