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 Short crime musical with armed thugs in drag |
 Short screen opera about God, with funny parts |
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Father of twins and novelist/filmmaker/musician
in New York on the
Upper Upper Upper Upper
Upper West Side.
People complain about musicals.
Nobody just stops in the street
I say you know the wrong people.
They say:
and breaks into song.
When to stop
I was just musing over a question one of the actors asked me, and had a thought.
The final addition to the cast, Paul Romanello (Thug #1), asked when I thought the film would be done. I told him six months or so.
I was thinking about that figure while I started my tea a few minutes ago, and it led me to remembering the old line about every artist wishing there was somebody to say STOP! YOU'RE DONE!
So that led me to wondering why that's so, and I thought of this:
The only reason anybody understands anybody else is shared context.
Writing is no exception. Writing plays with the shared context we all call "reality."
After you've been head-down over a piece of art long enough, it becomes part of that reality, and you can start playing with and against it. Because the context you're working in now includes this piece of art.
But nobody else's context does.
Tea time.
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The final addition to the cast, Paul Romanello (Thug #1), asked when I thought the film would be done. I told him six months or so.
I was thinking about that figure while I started my tea a few minutes ago, and it led me to remembering the old line about every artist wishing there was somebody to say STOP! YOU'RE DONE!
So that led me to wondering why that's so, and I thought of this:
The only reason anybody understands anybody else is shared context.
Writing is no exception. Writing plays with the shared context we all call "reality."
After you've been head-down over a piece of art long enough, it becomes part of that reality, and you can start playing with and against it. Because the context you're working in now includes this piece of art.
But nobody else's context does.
Tea time.
Read/Post Comments (11)
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