Honesty

I’m writing a play about honesty. The funny thing about writing a play about honesty is that the writing has to be honest as well. The writing should always be honest, but it’s especially now with this play. It’s forcing me to be as honest as possible.

My writing has evolved to a point where my technical abilities are what they are. I’ve been writing since I’m twelve and at a time when my need to express dominated my writing. The writing was sloppy, but the sentiments were truly honest. As I’ve added a high level of craft to my writing—through fiction classes in high school, playwriting courses in college and graduate school—the writing has become increasingly more and more clever. I perfected my humor by writing monologues at the Blue Dog Café on Carmine Street in the West Village, underneath my apartment in New York. I learned how to write TV scripts—tight scenes, jokes that propelled the story forward, act breaks that had suspenseful events. I know how to craft a story. But all of that technique always runs the risk of making the writing too technical, methodical and cold.

At this point in my abilities, honesty is paramount. It’s more important than ever.
I like to think that I became a become a better writer with everything I write. But if I may speak honestly, I don’t think that was true of the last couple TV scripts I wrote. I started writing to get hired for jobs. It lost the heart of why I write in the first place, which is to make sense of the world around me, to approach truth. My truth. And as a result, the writing suffered.

I’m listening to all of the Madonna songs on my iPod. Listening to an ample selection of the Madonna oeuvre, what occurs to me is the presence of honesty in the songs—to varying degrees. I hear the songs from Ray of Light and I hear how raw much of that album is. Some of the production is bare and the lyrical content really comes through in an honest way. It’s more confessional than anything. Then I listen to an album like Confessions on a Dance Floor and it sounds so hollow to me. None of the songs resonate with me—not really. Maybe “I Love New York” –but that’s because I do. The purpose is so dance driven, but the intent isn’t there.

My favorite album is still Like a Prayer because it is so diverse. “Like a Prayer” is nothing like “Express Yourself”, which is so different from “Love Song”, “Til Death Do Us Part”, “Cherish” and “Keep It Together” for example. That album is the most honest and expressive. I get the return to the dance floor in Confessions and the escapism of it. Erotica was so dark and sexual and a real concept album. It has real purpose, even though some of the songs on that album seem to lose their way. I don’t tend to enjoy the songs or albums that feel conflicted or uncertain. Bedtime Stories, Confessions, and Hard Candy are like that to me. Yes, there’s a lightness and shallowness that works in the first album, Like a Virgin and True Blue; but that’s because we didn’t need or expect any more from her. Those albums were honest in her expression of pure youthful joy.

Then came Like a Prayer. Then came Ray of Light. Both true pieces of pop artistry. The influences of Joni Mitchell, Carole King, Motown and the music of her youth are all there. These are the moments where Madonna feels like a singer-songwriter in that tradition. You can sense the maturity. I don’t fault Madonna for taking 10 years between the two best albums of all time. Because baring your soul and making it fun to listen to is hard.

And I don’t fault her for putting 14 years between the last masterpiece (“Masterpiece” is playing right now, btw) and this one: MDNA. Like Like a Prayer, each song is totally different. “Girl Gone Wild” harkens back to her early 90s Erotica era. “Gang Bang” has a Quentin Tarantino vibe to it. “I’m Addicted” is pure euphoric dance. “Turn Up the Radio” reminds me of Donna Summer in a light way. “I Fucked Up” is pure confession, yet with a great drive. “Masterpiece” is pure Spanish guitar classic Madonna ballad. I’m totally into the album. (How this conversation about honesty became a discussion of Madonna’s body of work, I don’t know. But it makes sense if you know me)

This is the marriage of her confessional work, the drive of the beat, her neo-Disco roots and her sexuality. It’s infectious and introspective. In a way, my goal as a writer has been to marry my introspection and my desire to entertain and be infectious in my writing. It’s what draws me to pop music. Erik Ehn once said about my 20 year-old writing style that it was mercurial and like a great pop song. I have never forgotten that. Probably because he’s a genius and one of the theatre artists I most admire. And it described me perfectly, even now.

My work at its best is confessional, yet packaged in a way that isn’t self indulgent (I hope). It’s meant to be enjoyed by everyone, not just a sneak peek into my personal journal.

Honesty.

It’s what I respond to the most in plays I read, songs I listen to, movies I see, etc. And in my own work it’s the most noticeable element either in its presence or absence. So it’s funny that this play is about honesty. It’s challenging me. It’s keeping me honest. That is my barometer.

We say as teachers and commentators of the craft: Keep It Honest. Write what you know. But what a challenge it is to honor those simple edicts. Yet, that is all that is required. And honesty is what cuts across all barriers: Authenticity. YOUR truth. Keeping It Real.

These have become statements of pop philosophy. We hear people proclaim their ability to maintain a level of honesty, at all times, which means integrity. We are all called to maintain our integrity. It’s an interesting thing to think about. It’s almost like we need to Post It to our foreheads, our mirrors, our vision boards.

So this is one giant Post It for me to Keep It Honest in every moment, every word, and every breath of this play. And the many, many more to follow.