O.K., you just sold your 120-page screenplay masterpiece to Hollywood. You deserve it. You rewrote it ten times. Now, you’re hanging out with Johnny Depp on location as production begins. At night, you’re dining on Wilshire Boulevard at L.A.’s famous Continental Restaurant, a favorite of Matt Damon’s and Ben Affleck’s.
Could this be real?
Well, hold that thought.
Let’s switch to the East Coast for another scenario. Your well-appointed corner table is reserved at Elaine’s, Manhattan’s Upper East Side celebrity eatery. Your play is a big Off-Broadway hit. It received a terrific review in the New York Times, and the cast and crew are trying to insinuate themselves into your inner circle. Woody Allen, at the next table, with his entourage, looks over and wonders what the hub-bub is all about. Yes, another fantasy come true. In either case, you’re thinking: “This must be a dream! Better pinch myself and wake-up.”
Well, if you are Bruce Graham, former stand-up comic, actor, schoolteacher, and for the past 20 years full-time playwright and screenwriter, you just might want it to be a dream. Because, if you’re like Bruce, and have stayed faithful to your root values and beliefs, you’d be more likely to think of it as a nightmare.
When I got a hold of Bruce, he had just gotten off the phone with some production people in L.A. “We were discussing some issues about an upcoming project of mine. They said I didn’t have to come out to L.A.—thank God!”
Graham didn’t seem too impressed by the New York theatre scene either. “You know,” he said, “for all the talk about sophisticated audiences in New York, I don’t see it. New Yorkers much of the time go by what the critics say. They often go to specific productions because it’s the thing to do. In Philadelphia and other regional theatre locales, people seem more willing to give a play a chance.”
That’s the world according to Bruce.
Among his recent endeavors is a successful Off-Broadway run of a full-length play. Currently, September Tigers, a new screenplay, is in production with the Disney Channel, and he’s also working on a biopic of the Smothers Brothers for cable TV. His retelling of Dickens’ Christmas Carol was premiered at the innovative Mum Puppettheatre in Philadelphia for the Christmas 2003 season, and a world premiere of his latest play According to Goldman is scheduled for a March 2004 opening at the award-winning Philadelphia Theatre Company.
Bruce’s busy career as a dramatic writer includes over a half-dozen produced screenplays ranging from the mini-series The Hunt for the Unicorn Killer about Philadelphia’s own notorious murderer Ira Einhorn, toAnastasia, a feature fantasy animation about the daughter of Russia’s last Czar. A Ring of Endless Lightwon the 2003 Humanitas Award for Best Children’s Film. His full-length plays have been produced throughout the United States at major regional and Off-Broadway theatres. These works include Burkie,Early One Evening at the Rainbow Bar & Grille, Moon Over the Brewery, Belmont Avenue Social Club,Desperate Affections, Coyote on a Fence, and Minor Demons among others. In addition to this full plate of movies and plays, he has had time to write for network television, teach dramatic writing at colleges and universities, and maintain a normal family life with his wife and daughter in Media, a suburb of Philadelphia.
Bruce grew up in Ridley in Delaware County, a typical post-World War II European immigrant working class town of small single-family homes. He has never resided more than five miles from these Pennsylvania roots, except for a two-year stint trying to “make it” in New York as a performer.
Although Graham has worked on both coasts—he fielded telephone calls from people giving him updates on his various projects during the course of our conversation—he can do just fine without either end of the bi-coastal celebrity scene, whether hanging out with the Hollywood crowd or being part of the upscale Manhattan scene, neither of which he has much interest in talking about. But if you want to know what it means to be true to your artistic self and make a living at it, he’ll talk.
DOJ: When you think about growing up, did anyone in your family or neighborhood influence your idea to become a dramatic writer? Anyone veer you toward the theatre?
BG: Are you kidding? My father was a plumber. We never went to plays. It wasn’t part of my home life.
DOJ: What about your own early interests? Was storytelling a part of your childhood? Did you enjoy things like listening to people’s conversations.
BG: Not storytelling, but conversations, yes. I loved to listen to conversations between my parents and my parents and their friends. I would especially be interested when they lowered their voices. What were they talking about, I’d think to myself. I started doing impressions of them.
DOJ: Did you do anything else that hinted you might be interested in drama or dialogue?
BG: I used to make audiotapes of old movies. This was before VCR’s. I’d tape Bob Hope and Bing Crosby movies, Marx Brothers’ movies right from the TV speaker. Then I’d listen to the tapes over and over to understand what made the dialogue funny.
DOJ: So you were just naturally drawn to this stuff?
BG: That’s it.
DOJ: What about your own theatre-going experiences when you were younger?
BG: I’d go into Philadelphia once in a while to see a touring company at places like the Forrest Theatre or the Annenberg, but not a whole lot. Philadelphia theatre was a lot more limited back then.
DOJ: Was there any play in particular that stood out?
BG: I saw a play called Au Pair in the 70’s. It starred Charles Durning and Julie Harris. It was a two-character play written by Hugh Leonard. Something about it really got to me.
DOJ: Did it help inspire your writing career?
BG: No, but it did make an impression. I eventually decided to go to New York City in 1979 to do stand-up and acting.
DOJ: How did that go?
BG: It was the typical struggling New York City actor experience. Odd jobs, waiting tables, playing in clubs, showcases, dinner theatre when I got an opportunity.
DOJ: Did being in New York give you the chance to see lots of theatre?
BG: Actually, not. It was too expensive. On Monday nights, I’d go to free staged readings at New Dramatists, a development place for well-known playwrights. I’d also “second act” plays, walking into high-priced theatres just before the second act opened. Ironically, later on, I was invited to be a member of New Dramatists.
DOJ: Obviously you didn’t stay in New York.
BG: No, after a few years, I came back to Pennsylvania.
DOJ: To do theatre?
BG: Actually, I started teaching theatre and other things in local public schools—middle schools and high schools. I got a Pennsylvania teacher’s certificate. I was also doing some dinner theatre.
DOJ: When did something dramatic happen to you?
BG: I wrote a play called Burkie. It was a two-character play. I may have been influenced by the impressionAu Pair had made on me. It was produced in the early 80’s at the Annenberg Theatre under Carol Rocomora’s direction at the Philadelphia Festival Theatre for New Plays.
DOJ: That’s an impressive opening. What was the first night experience like?
BG: Well, I remember pacing back and forth a lot. That’s me. I pace. But when the play ended, I could hardly believe it. People were crying. I thought maybe women would be affected by the play due to the theme, but men too. They were crying.
DOJ: How did it make you feel?
BG: It freaked me out. I felt powerful. It was very draining. I realized I could manipulate an audience, not in a bad way, but dramatically.
DOJ: I know this is an old question, but does writing plays give you freedom you don’t get in Hollywood?
BG: Definitely. When I write a play, they can’t change a word without my permission. It’s in the union contract. In Hollywood, you know your work is not going to end up the way you wrote it.
DOJ: Any good experiences with your screenplays?
BG: The movie I did about Ira Einhorn. It ended up pretty much the way I wrote it, except for budget considerations and the made-for-TV Standards & Practices policy [translation: network censorship]. But then I also did a Christmas special, which they really messed up with stupid dialogue. I’m not that happy my name is in the screen credits for that one.
DOJ: How do you deal with reviews?
BG: People don’t believe me, but I don’t intentionally read the reviews. But it’s kind of hard when your producer and your family and your agent call you up after an opening and read them to you.
DOJ: How do you respond to the reviews?
BG: I learn something from them, whether they are positive or negative.
DOJ: Any review particularly bother you, not necessarily because it was negative, but just some quirky thing the critic put in.
BG: Yes. Cliff Ridley. He used to write theatre criticism for the Philadelphia Inquirer. He wrote a review and basically gave away the entire plotline and surprise ending of my play Desperate Affections. It destroyed the whole dramatic thrust for anyone who hadn’t seen it yet. I called him up, and I told him that he was lucky I was phoning him from thirty miles away, or else he’d have some real life drama of his own. I did notice, though, after that incident, his reviews seemed to avoid giving things away about other plays.
DOJ: In terms of process, do you re-write plays during rehearsals?
BG: Definitely. One example is the play Coyote on a Fence, a work that dealt with death penalty issues. It’s about two men on death row, one an educated political activist who publishes a jailhouse newspaper, and a fellow death row inmate who is a white-power racist. Some people made suggestions and I rewrote it. My agent submitted the revision to the Lois and Richard Rosenthal New Play Prize competition, which is a pretty important dramatic writing award, and I won. It was also nominated for two Drama Desk Awards.
DOJ: I see you’re doing a lot of things right now. How will you feel when they’re completed? Do you ever have the feeling, “Hmmm, what am I going to do now?”
BG: No. I always have a project in mind, always working on something.
DOJ: I know you teach dramatic writing. Do you have a method?
BG: Absolutely. I’ve developed a series of structured exercises. There are some teachers who say, why don’t you just let the kids get together and write whatever you want. Can you imagine doing that in the public schools? It doesn’t work. Once I was teaching in West Philadelphia. We were doing a playwriting exercise I developed. One kid said, “We already did that one.” I said, “Hey, I created it!”
DOJ: Who are some of your favorite playwrights?
BG: Well, it might not be fashionable but I like Neil Simon. Then of course, Eugene O’Neill. I guess you can’t be an Irish American playwright and not read O’Neill. I like William Saroyan. That doesn’t mean I understand him necessarily, but I appreciate him. Then there’s Lillian Hellman for craft. I also like John Guare.
DOJ: What about movies?
BG: You know those Warner Brothers movies from the golden years of cinema? They are terrific. They stand the test of time. They’re really well done and well crafted.
DOJ: How about fiction? Any favorites?
BG: Sure. I was just rereading John Updike. I love the way Truman Capote can put a sentence together. Of course, I wouldn’t exactly want to live his lifestyle.
DOJ: Lots of writers say that if you want to see really good dramatic writing nowadays, you can find it on certain TV shows like Law & Order, The Sopranos, or Six Feet Under. Do you agree with that?
BG: Some of them are well-written. I’ve never seen Law & Order. The Sopranos was good for the first couple of seasons, but I think the writing sort of petered out. Six Feet Under is good. There’s some well-done HBO movies. Actually, the only TV show I watch regularly is The Simpsons.*
DOJ: Theatre people are always lamenting the lack of funding for good theatre, how the media, namely TV and movies are where people are going. Does that bother you?
BG: Sure. Young people aren’t going to the theatre. Their attention spans are limited. They don’t seem to care about well-done and serious stories or characters or conflict, the mainstays of good theatre. Of course, the present political climate isn’t helping the arts any.
DOJ: You’ve seen productions of your plays performed in New York City and L.A.—plays that may have had their premieres here in Philadelphia. Do you notice any difference in audiences and audience reaction?
BG: Yes. Despite what people say about New York audiences being in the know, I haven’t found that necessarily to be true. Audiences see what the critics tell them is good. They won’t give plays a chance. In Philadelphia, as well as other cities with regional theatre, audiences are less influenced by that. They go to plays and make up their own minds about the plays. They seem more independent and loyal. Which reminds me. I recently met a woman at a recent production of mine. She came up to me and said she’s been attending performances of my plays for the last 20 years. That felt really good.
DOJ: You’ve been quite active as a teacher. Nowadays, just about everybody who plans on entering a particular profession goes to college, and if you want to be a screenwriter or playwright, you’ll probably end up taking a course in one or both of them. What’s something you’d tell students that you don’t learn about in terms of developing their craft?
BG: Connections. Networking. You have to make connections. I know it’s been said before but you have to have them.
DOJ: What about issues of craft?
BG: Audience! You have to think of the audience. Whatever you do as a playwright or a screenwriter, you have to consider the audience. Of course, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be devoted to your art and your craft, but you have to be an entertainer first.
DOJ: Speaking of entertaining. Are you in production for any new plays now?
BG: Yes, my new play, According to Goldman. It’s going to have a premiere at the Philadelphia Theatre Company in mid-March.
DOJ: What’s it about, if you don’t mind giving just a bit of it away.
BG: It’s about a screenwriter who has pretty much left the business and is now a college professor. He gets the chance to write a new screenplay. He has an assistant and it begins to place a strain on his marriage. It contains some basic themes. Honesty versus dishonesty. Issues of truth in being a screenwriter. Being commercial versus real life. Professional issues versus family issues. It’s rounded out by two other characters who play movie freaks with an encyclopedic knowledge of movies. People are going to say it’s autobiographical. But it’s not. I’m just trying to address some concerns I have on my mind.
DOJ: A final question. This goes to the heart of what you do. If an alien from another galaxy came to earth and the first place he found himself is sitting next to you during a rehearsal of one of your plays. And being totally naïve as to the circumstances, turns to you and asks, “What’s going on here?” What would you say?
BG: We’re pretending! That’s what we do. What you see are people pretending.
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