Muhammad Hassan.

One of the questions I get a lot about The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity is “what made you want to write this play?”  And I give a lot of answers, but I don’t get to spend a lot of time talking about the most direct influence: Muhammad Hassan.

He was a WWE wrestler shortly after 9/11, and he might have been the coolest character ever in professional wrestling — had the company not gotten terrified and changed course.

There’s not much I can say that hasn’t been said about him, which is why he’s only briefly mentioned in the play itself, but check out that promo and tell me it’ s not the most progressive, transgressive, potentially worldview changing political statements ever made in pro wrestling.

Teachout on The “Classics.”

Terry Teachout takes a look at the most produced plays of the decade and draws some conclusions that, frankly, horrify me:

Only one, “The Laramie Project,” is an explicitly political play—and none is a musical. (“Crowns” is a play with music, not a musical comedy.) This suggests that, Broadway producers notwithstanding, American theatergoers are not know-nothing neanderthals but intelligent people who are prepared to spend time and money grappling with straight plays that are artful, thoughtful and well written.

So if I’m reading this correctly, musicals and “explicitly political” plays are inherently not artful, thoughtful, and well written.  The way for a theater to prove that its audience is not made up of “know-nothing neanderthals” is to adhere closely to the Pulitzer list, doing small plays that tend to look like, well, every play, taking few artistic or structural risks.

Even that doesn’t bother me as much as this:

New playwrights deserve a chance, and it looks like most of our drama companies are giving it to at least some of them. But it also appears that far too many of those same companies may be steering clear of the classical revivals that are no less central to the continuing health of a theatrical culture—and that is very bad news indeed.

If this were true, I could maybe be interested in hearing a reasoned, impassioned argument for why the “classics” are so much more important than new work.  Teachout certainly does not offer such an argument.  He also, maybe more shockingly, bases this assessment on this one list of most produced plays, ignoring the overwhelming mountain of information that would suggest that the “classics” are far from underrepresented on the American stage.

The conclusion he draws is INSANE. Theaters don’t do enough classical plays? Just because no single play shows up on the list?  Ignore, for a second, the fact that Shakespeare and Dickens aren’t even eligible for the list because they’re done so much.  Ignore, for a second, that he can’t make a compelling case for WHY the old plays need to be done.  Focus instead on the fact that those old plays don’t make the list because there are SO MANY old plays that no single one is going to gain traction.  Too many new plays?   Really?

I won’t even go deep into detail on the Howard Kissel response article, except to say that there seems to be some serious contempt for new plays from the critical corps, and it makes me awfully nervous.

Let’s Hear it For New York, Part Two.

Chad Deity is going to New York.

Chris Jones has the announcement.

Let’s Hear It For New York.

The Spring 2010 Broadway Season.

I have to say, it’s not easy to get all that excited about it based on this article.

American Idiot gets me the most jazzed, and from what I can tell, it’s pretty much a lock to make its way to Broadway sooner than later.  From there though, it sounds like a lot of stuff I’d see if I was given tickets, but nothing that’s got me foaming at the mouth.

More On The Best of 2009.

Hedy Weiss of the Chicago Sun-Times:

Wrestling served as a galvanic metaphor in this multiethnic, verbally brilliant, politically rambunctious play that was a bravura showcase for actor Desmin Borges. A surefire hit, the plans for a New York transfer already are afoot.

From Kris Vire’s Time Out Chicago blog:

It took a fair amount of negotiating for John Beer and I to whittle down our top ten list this year. We both agreed from the first “ballot” that The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity would be number one, but between us we had nearly 30 candidates for numbers two through ten.

Chris Jones on my boy Des:

In this career-making performance as a wrestler with an interest in geopolitics, Borges developed more of a rapport with the audience this fall than any other Chicago actor in 2009. Borges narrated Kristoffer Diaz’s whip-smart new play, taking us into his confidence, cracking self-deprecating jokes, and even deftly executing some wrestling moves. It was a wry, shrewd, charming and wonderfully accessible performance. And it was one of the main reasons why New York producers are now fighting over this play. A knock-out for Borges.

The Wire: Season One, Episode Twelve, Part Three.

S1E12, Part Three
“This is me, yo, right here.”

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hor_gOBU_GU]

The more you watch it, the more heartbreaking it gets. Wallace bounces up the stares, no clue was to what he’s walking into. He’s back with his best friends. He thinks his kids are playing hide and seek. He’s back home. And he’s doomed. Bodie’s a soldier, resigned to do what he’s got to do. Poot trudges up the stairs, absolutely trudges. Wallace calls after the kids: “Game over. When I find y’all, I’m beating y’all asses” — with absolutely no awareness of the irony. And their faces, the looks on their faces – Wallace can’t even play at tough, and Bodie and Poot can barely hold onto that exterior. Even in this moment, Bodie just wants Wallace to “be a man,” to take his inevitable death with dignity. But that’s impossible. For Bodie and Poot, this is being a man, or more accurately, this is becoming a man, becoming the soldier that Wallace never could have been. It’s the end of their childhood.

*The first line right after the shooting? “We’re looking for your son.” To Wallace’s mom. Who couldn’t care less.

*Important to mention: Lester discovers the Downtown Rehab Project via a story on the front page of the newspaper that Presbo was using for his crab leg lunch, and he starts to make the connection between the map of that project and the map of Avon’s illegal properties…and that’s all we get for now. It’s all set-up for seasons two and three, but because this is The Wire, the writers are patient, feeling no need to draw specific attention to it. We know that it’s important because everything is important on this show, but we aren’t going to get anymore about it until we need it.

*McNulty’s reaction to Wallace’s shooting: “That means Stringer’s out of the box.” The recurring theme of this season resurfaces: McNulty’s a dick.

*The relationship between Avon and his sister Brianna is absolutely fascinating to me. I’m hoping I find occasion to write more about Brianna later, because she (a) is one of those unique characters that simply doesn’t exist outside of The Wire, and (b) maybe the most well-rounded, multi-dimensional female character in the entire series (I honestly can’t think of anyone who even comes close). For now, let’s focus on just one moment in this episode: she tells Avon that he doesn’t have to worry about D’Angelo because “I raised that boy, and I raised him right.” And it’s true – she’s raised a smart young man with a strong moral code and sense of responsibility to his family and community. That family and community just happen to be inextricably steeped in the drug trade, and that’s what’s so off-the-charts amazing about Brianna – she’s raised her son to be a model citizen within the drug running world. The problem, it turns out, is that she may have raised her son too well; his conscience and clear sense of right and wrong make him all wrong for the game into which he’s been raised. In fact, it’s Brianna’s diligent, careful, and loving parenting (a complete rarity in this series – who else comes from a stable household?) that leads to this:

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YrSy9r0-lMg]

What you can’t tell if you’re cheating and just watching that scene out of context (meaning that you’re inevitably questioning why the youtube description calls it the “greatest scene in television history” and the clip ends with the “brilliant…fucking brilliant” supertitles): D is crumpling here because of what the cops have told him about Wallace, but not just because of what they’ve told him about Wallace, but also what they started with Gant and what they followed up on after his bust on the package pickup. D doesn’t want to believe them, but he’s just so damn susceptible, and it’s all because his mom raised him so damn well. This scene, like the Wallace shooting scene earlier, is the culmination of all the groundwork laid by the series in its first eleven episodes, and it comes together in such seamless, elegant, brutal fashion that you don’t even realize why it hurts so effing much.

(By the way, my notes, verbatim: “OH SNAP – this scene is in this ep too? Best ep?”)

*”The bug you didn’t brief me about” — this is all Burrell cares about here, even to the point of not celebrating the fact that that bug (and the months of complicated police work that went into it) actually managed to finally nab the otherwise uncatchable Avon Barksdale. Burrell doesn’t even seem to care about capturing one of the guys responsible for Kima’s shooting. His concern is that Daniels just stops following the money, and he’ll use anything he can (especially a disobeyed direct order) to shut the detail down.

*And after all the emotions of this episode, all the histrionics of the season, it all comes to an end with a anticlimactic whimper (for the characters, not for the audience), as Stringer and Avon patiently wait for the cops to show up at the now-empty Orlando’s to lock them both up. As the SWAT team assembles outside for what they know will be a massive fire fight with a criminal mastermind, Avon goes and has his safe opened up so as not to destroy it – and hell, we’ll just write off that hundred and fifty thousand dollars sitting in it as a cost of doing business. I’m fascinated here because this isn’t just about the Barksdales being a unique drug conglomerate; it’s about a whole new way of conducting, well, for lack of a better word, war. I’m reminded of the film Jarhead: at the heart of the movie (and the Anthony Swafford novel on which it was based) is the idea that (I’m oversimplifying insanely now) thanks largely to advances in technology, modern combat is an invariable anticlimax, filled with (in this case literal) armies of young men sitting around, waiting to fire their guns – and that opportunity almost never comes. In this case, it’s SWAT that’s finally told to stand down as McNulty and Daniels enter Orlando’s unarmed to find…Avon Barksdale, waiting with his hand down his pants.

*McNulty does get a nice parting shot in on Stringer, who expects to be captured right along with his partner. The cops don’t give him any information on why he’s staying out of jail; instead, McNulty just says “catch you later.” The double meaning of the line aside, it’s another way that The Wire sticks closer to real life than most shows of its kind – on this show, you don’t explain your master plan to your enemy, you just leave him to figure it out himself.

*”Best work I ever did. I never did a case like this. And it’s not enough.” That’s Sydnor, going back to auto crimes. It’s as close to a thesis statement as you’ll ever get on this show. No matter how well you do your job, you just can’t make difference. It might as well be a show about Sisyphus.

*Final shot: The pit is deserted. There are no drugs to be found. And hey: that’s all the cops wanted, right? The drug trade is stopped (temporarily halted, but you know, close enough). The dealers are out of work (for the day, I mean, and that’s something, right?). The success of the drug war can be measured in that one last image: the orange couch, sitting empty, no Bodie, no Poot, no D’Angelo…no Wallace. All of them, nowhere to be found.

The Wire: Season One, Episode Twelve, Part Two.

S1E12, Part Two.
“This is me, yo, right here.”

Let’s continue.

*D’Angelo won’t give up Wallace to Stringer and Avon because he thinks he’s not a threat, and here, verbatim, is the note I write: “Man, D is wrong about EVERYTHING. He’s so out of his league.” We’ll come back to this later in this episode, but the more time I spend watching D’Angelo, the more I see him as one of the hugest tragedies of the series: he’s born into a situation that could not be more wrong for his talents and personality, but he’s almost slavishly devoted to trying to succeed within that situation.

*And then…Wallace is back. The first of many “oh fuck” moments in this episode. It’s hard to watch. He couldn’t stay in the countryside, and he wants to get back in the game. And it hurts, and it breaks your heart, (a) because you know that he’s screwed, but also (b) because he, like D’Angelo, is in no way cut out for this life. But he’s not cut out for the country either, and now we’re into the tragedy of the Baltimore situation – if there as some other plan for Wallace, some other option that fit him, he’d take it, and he’d get to live out his childhood like a middle-class kid would – but this is his option. This is all that’s really even appealing to him – he’s got to get back in the game. And you know what? If Wee-Bey was his mentor, he wouldn’t even get a shot. If Avon or Stringer had the decision to make, this kid wouldn’t even be part of the Barksdale operation. But D sees something in him, and normally it would be great to have someone who sees something in you, but D’s a disaster himself who can’t even tell that he should be in another business – so he thinks he’s helping Wallace by putting him back on the money. And in the ongoing tragedy that is D’s life, this moment rings out with irony and pain and misgivings: D wants Wallace to walk away from it all, and in his attempt to talk Wallace out of it, takes him under his metaphorical arm and says “let’s walk,” trying desperately to be what he sees himself as, which is the heir to Avon or String – but he’s not. He’s just not. Nothing that the big boys (and let’s agree that the big boys, so far, are Avon, String, and Bey) can get away with saying or doing works for D, but man, he’s going to try his best to make those clothes fit.

*And oh fuck number two: the cops are all standing around the table, talking about how the female security guard from way back in episode one has been shot, and realizing that it’s the Barksdales coming back on everyone who could possibly have something on them with the police, and it’s Bunk who says what they’re all instantly thinking: “what about the boy?” Now, let’s put aside for a second the symmetry of that statement and the spectacular scene we’re going to see later (“where’s the boy, String?”), and instead focus on looking forward to what we don’t know is going to happen at this point (and yeah, one spoiler here for this season and one hint beyond): Bunk is going to be the one to find Wallace, for one. But that’s a small thing. What’s larger is that the reason they forgot about Wallace was that Kima’s shooting pushed him out of everyone’s mind, meaning that he, much like Bubs (who was left alone when Kima couldn’t meet him with the cash), Wallace is an indirect massive casualty of the poorly-planned Kima debacle. Even with the best laid plans, even when you’ve got the witness who can put Stringer Bell away and cripple the Barksdale Clan, you’ve got to be able to cover all your details at all times. If you can’t someone, someone falls through the cracks. Just like we’ll see with Randy in season four (another complete heartbreaker scene), the construction of the system and the overwhelming demands of the real world almost ensure that some important detail (usually someone’s life) will be left to slide into the abyss.
*We’re back to D and Wallace “walking,” and D’Angelo lets Wallace know that when you’re in the game, you’ve got to stay in the game for life. And the irony of it all (minor spoiler for the end of this season into the next) is that D ultimately can’t take his own advice – he’ll end up trying to get out and then jumping back in too. For Wallace, the appeal of the game isn’t the game – it’s the community: “I guess this is home.” And the heartbreaker, for me, is the line from this episode’s title card: “This shit? This is me, yo, right here.“ It’s impossible to deny. The pit, and Baltimore, and the world of the Barksdales – it’s all Wallace, and it’s all terrible for Wallace, and he’s just not cut out for the only world in which he has the realistic opportunity to live.

*We get our first real good glimpse of Clay Davis in action, as he lays out the political chain of command for Daniels and Burrell, trying to kill the paper trail investigation before it digs into the sources of his campaign contributions. It’s a tiny scene that wouldn’t be worth mentioning if it didn’t illustrate the weight that can be laid on the police force from above, really setting up seasons three and four (and introducing the fundraising concept, which is important to Carcetti’s entire rise to power).

*”Wallace is out of pocket. Two days.” Oh fuck.

*The first time you watch the series, there’s no way to know what Bodie will become (and I’m fighting the urge to say a lot more about that right now, but we’ve got time with him – minor spoiler there, I guess), but you can pinpoint the moment when he becomes it: when Stringer pulls him into his car and asks if Bodie is “built for this.” And it’s clear that Bodie will do absolutely anything for Stringer and Avon, because that’s his family – and nah, not family. Stringer doesn’t call Bodie “son.” He calls him “soldier.” And you can see Bodie melt. It’s clear what he’s being asked to do. Poot and Wallace are like his family, but this is larger. This is the army coming to call. And all Bodie has ever really wanted is to be part of that army.

*Wallace feeds the kids Chinese food. Poot looks on with legitimate love. He knows what’s coming. And even then, Wallace is taking new kids into the fold. In this fucked up community, Wallace is a caregiver, which means that not only is his impending doom a personal tragedy, but it’s the further disintegration of one of the few functioning family units that we see.

*Santangelo on Rawls: “I gave him his clearance. What’s he gonna do?” Just keep that in mind when you watch the season closing montage next episode.

*Wallace to Bodie and Poot: “Yo’ ass don’t need to be hard all the time.” Of course they do. Wallace is the prime example of what happens when you go soft for even a brief moment. Bodie’s well aware: “Soft link break the chain.” The boys are eating chili dogs. Earlier this episode, the cops were eating chili dogs as they staked out Orlando’s. Symmetry. More importantly, you get the sense that Bodie and Poot are looking out for their boy, taking him out for a last meal they know he’ll enjoy. Bodie asks Wallace if he’s a boy or a man. Wallace’s response: “I’m a man.” There’s a beat. Wallace continues: “So what are we gonna do, have some fun?” He couldn’t hide the kid inside if he tried.

*Another verbatim note, this one coming when Shardeen counts off the paces to measure Orlando’s. Herc tries to calculate the total in feet, but gets beaten to the punch, and I joyfully scribble: “Pres STAY doin’ math!” And it’s a cute character gag and all, but it’s also laying the entire groundwork for season four.

And we’re well over thirteen hundred words right now. A page and a half of notes left. And we still haven’t gotten to the Wallace scene.

We’ll start there Wednesday.

More Top Ten of 2009 Lists.

From Francis Sadac of From The Ledge:

Kristoffer Diaz’s impressive, unforgettable world premiere was a blistering, flammable, extremely intelligent portrayal of contemporary American society’s complicated relationships with its immigrants, its politics, and its economic divisions, set within the microcosm of the wrestling world. Director Eddie Torres wondrously mixed together hiphop music, beefcake, crowd-rousing entrances, an in-your-face sensibility, and Desmin Borges’ triumphant, definitive Macedonio, the audience’s sherpa as well as surrogate, to give Diaz’s brilliant writing a highly original production.  It’s one of the best plays I’ve seen in this decade.

From Chris Jones in the Tribune:

This eye-popping, brilliantly acted world premiere from the young scribe Kristoffer Diaz offered both an intellectually rich exploration of America’s geopolitical role and a full-on re-creation of the world of professional wrestling. It killed.

(UPDATE: Turns out that while the article part of the Tribune linked above has Chad Deity as the 4th best show of the year, the front page of the Tribune has it listed as the BEST show of the year.  Honestly, I’m not deeply invested either way, but it’s a beautiful thing to see this.)

I’ll let you know if there are any more.

Time Out Chicago’s Best Plays of 2009.

Look what’s number one:

The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity
Victory Gardens Theater and Teatro Vista
Breathless and brainy, this raucous, candy-colored new play gave us insightful commentary on race, identity and pro wrestling. Chad Deity made instant stars of playwright Kristoffer Diaz and lead Desmin Borges while reaffirming Eddie Torres’s status as one of the savviest directors around. And when was the last time we could say we had a blast at the usually staid Victory Gardens?