blogs - scott woldman, writer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My In-Laws Part II

Some of the actors from the show wanted to know just how closely the characters in Indecent Proposals that are based upon my in-laws resemble them. Apparently, they feel that the characters are just too “over-the-top.”

Therefore, I have decided to present some of the high-lights from my real-life experiences with my in-laws so that you (and the actors) will know that the characters in the play are pretty darn realistic.

In no particular order…

·         The first time I met my in-laws, within the first five minutes of our visit, my wife’s brother came running into the room, and with absolutely no introduction to me, or a single word to anyone for that matter, he ran up to my father-in-law, wound up and slapped him in the face harder than I’ve ever seen one human slap another. My father in-law stood up, grappled with my brother-in-law then picked him up and threw him into a china cabinet. Once he regained consciousness, they all had a good laugh about it.

·         After we had been dating for about a year, my wife’s family went to Italy for several weeks. Upon their return, we went to visit them. My mother-in-law presented me with a small box wrapped with a beautiful ribbon – a gift she had purchased for me while in Italy. Inside was a gold chain with a beautiful and ornate gold cross. The problem is I’m Jewish (of which she was well aware). When I “reminded” her of this, her response was “So? Everyone wears a cross.” When I told her I couldn’t accept it, I was dead to her for almost 6 weeks.

·         After my wife and I moved in together, my father-in-law asked me to go on a walk with him. Once we were outside, he asked me if I planned to marry his daughter. When I told him that we hadn’t talked about that yet, he put his arm around my neck, wrenched me forward, and whispered “I think that would be the best solution.”

·         About a month after my wife and I moved in together, my mother-in-law asked me where I slept. After I told her the bedroom, she then asked me where her daughter slept, to which I again replied, “The bedroom.” At that point, she burst into tears and began sobbing and cursing in Italian. After about a half-hour, in which she worked herself up into a hyperventilating fit, she locked herself in our bedroom and refused to leave until I agreed to swear on the bible that I would sleep on the couch. When she learned we didn’t have a bible, she called her sister-in-law who apparently has an extensive bible collection. The sister-in-law came right over and the four of us performed some sort of voo-doo ceremony in which I agreed to give up my soul should I not sleep on the couch. 

·         My wife’s mother was adamant that we name our daughter after her. Except the thing is, her first name is Ledoina – which is pronounced pretty much as “little ween-ah.” Now, as a junior high school teacher, I know what kids would do to a child with a name like that, and I promise you, it’s not pretty. Two years ago, there was a boy named Lindsay at the school where I teach. I think he changed his name to Rocco. There’s no doubt in my mind that some day we’ll be reading about him in the newspapers. When I said no to my mother-in-law, I was again dead to her for almost two months.

·         At my wife’s birthday, my father in-law couldn’t be bothered to get candles for the cake. Instead, he rolled up a newspaper and lit it on the gas range. As he was walking to the table while holding the newspaper- torch away from his body, he walked past my wife and lit her head on fire. In order to put the fire out, my mother-in-law threw handfuls of flour at my wife’s head, sending her into a fit of sneezing and covering everyone at the table in a smoky white powder. My wife’s shoulder length tresses need to be trimmed to a military-style buzz cut.

·         On our wedding night, my mother-in-law insisted we step outside for a toast. She poured me a special drink that she made herself. Being the idiot that I am, I swallowed an enormous gulp prior to asking what was in the drink. After the gulp, which tasted absolutely hideous, my mother-in-law told me I had just drunk some sort of horrible old-world love potion that was designed to help us conceive, the ingredients of which are far too horrific to share in this forum, but are far more repugnant than anything, and I mean ANYTHING, you can ever imagine.  EVER!  I’m talking worse than the most awful incidence of college-fraternity related hazing. I’m talking honest to goodness Brothers Grimm, deep-woods, ritualistic alchemy, ingredients so disgusting they’d make you want to gargle with bleach and holy water, so awful in fact, that I have never revealed to anyone outside my wife that I have ingested them. And the worst thing about it, the potion didn’t even come close to working.

So yes, the characters are definitely over-the-top, but I have to say, as over the top as they may be, they're pretty close to the real thing.

During rehearsal tonight, Director Brad was trying to get one of the actors, Micah Fortenberry, to improvise a few lines in one of the scenes. 

 

Now, not only is Micah a supremely talented actor, he is also one of the nicest and most genuinely good-hearted people I have ever met. He’s so nice that sometimes when I’m around him, I feel like I should apologize for the things I've made him do both in this show and in SpeeDating The Musical.

 

In SpeeDating, there was a scene in which Micah had to lunge across the stage and passionately kiss one of the female actors. He was clearly uncomfortable, so Brad started giving him some direction about how to lunge in a way that showed “desperation, but wasn’t predatory.” (While no one was terribly surprised to discover Brad was a fountain of knowledge when it came to desperation, his expertise on how not to look like a predator made everyone in the room a tad uncomfortable.) After Brad finished describing the creepy nuances of his college years, Micah kind of looked down at his feet, smiled, looked back up, a slight blush coloring his cheeks and said, “Thanks, Brad. It’s my first stage kiss.” It was such an honest and genuine thing to say, even the guys in the room let out an “Awwwww.” And even better, his lunge and kiss became one of the highlights of the show.

 

In Indecent Proposals, Micah has to do something equally “romantic,” but a little bit more sophomoric (my happy euphemism for raunchy). Brad wanted Micah to come up with some improvised lines that would let his scene-partner know how skilled Micah’s character thought he was in the romance department (something crude and conceited), and Micah was struggling because he would never say anything like that in real life. So Brad stopped the action to ask what was the matter. Their ensuing conversation went like this:

 

Brad:    Micah, is everything okay?

Micah:  Yes.

Brad:    Well, I really need you to say something here, and you’re not 

             saying anything.

Micah:   Oh, well, I mean, I don’t want to be vulgar.

Brad:    No, it’s okay. Be vulgar.

Micah:   Really? Be vulgar?

Brad:     I think that’s the wrong question. It’s already vulgar. It just  

             needs to be ridiculously vulgar.

Micah:   Ridiculously vulgar?

Brad:     Trust me, I’ve done stuff like this (on stage), and it’s only funny

             if it’s ridiculously vulgar.

 

(Micah’s brow actually furrowed as he searched through the recesses of his mind for something, anything, that might qualify as ridiculously vulgar.)

 

Micah:  Okay. I’ve got something.           

Brad:    You sure?

Micah:  Yeah. It’s really vulgar.

Brad:    Okay, I can’t wait to hear it.

 

And neither could I and the rest of the cast. Micah and his scene partner (Michelle) began running the scene from the top, and all of us were on the edge of our seats, waiting to hear what Micah would say. Finally, the moment of truth came. Micah grabbed Michelle, kissed her, and then opened his mouth to speak…and out came the most amazing thing I've ever heard. The entire room exploded with laughter, and Micah and Michelle had to stop rehearsing the scene because everyone was laughing so hard that no one could speak.

 

And what was particular interesting is that what he said, while being uproariously funny, was one of the least vulgar or suggestive things I’ve ever heard. It’s the kind of thing you could say in church and no one would blink an eye, but in the context of the scene, coupled with Micah’s delivery, it could easily end up being the funniest moment of the show.

 

It would be terribly unfair to Micah to reveal what he said and steal his thunder, so I’m going to keep it to myself (plus this way, you’ll have an added incentive to come see the show), but I haven’t laughed that hard in a long long time.

 

Kudos, Micah!!

This evening in rehearsal I brought the actors some cake. Actually, I brought them an entirely untouched birthday cake that was purchased for my grandmother who celebrated her 96th birthday today.

The reason the cake was untouched is that after we finished lunch and sang happy birthday, but before blowing out the candles, my grandmother asked if her cake was a carrot cake. Upon discovering that it was not a carrot cake, but a chocolate-frosted yellow cake, my grandmother started screaming “Yellow cake is for dummies!” over and over. 

While I realize that at 96 you are entitled to have whatever type of cake you want, I have to say I felt she was being a tad unappreciative.  No one in the family had any idea she had such strong feelings about cake.

After listening to her scream for about a minute, I offered to run out and get her another cake.   In response, she turned, looked me in the eye and began screaming, “You dummy!” over and over and over again.  I mean, she wouldn’t stop. She just kept repeating “you dummy” nonstop at the top of her lungs.  And what’s particularly bothersome about this is the fact that I wasn’t the one who brought the cake. 

I tried to explain this to her, but she just pointed at me and screamed “You dummy!” even louder. Finally, the rest of my family suggested that I leave and take the cake with me. I have to admit I was a little hurt that everyone wanted me to go, but I could sort of see their point. My grandmother had been screaming “you dummy” at me for almost five minutes. So finally, I packed up the cake and gathered my things to go.

As I was leaving, in a last ditch effort, I told my grandmother that I was sorry I’d upset her and hoped she had a happy birthday. I thought maybe I’d gotten through to her because she finally stopped screaming and just looked at me. 

Then, after several seconds of quiet reflection, she turned to everyone at the table and said “I never liked him.”

The actors were a little perplexed when I gave them a birthday cake that read “Happy 96^th Grandma.” I had the distinct feeling that they thought I was giving them a stolen cake, and that somewhere my grandma was sobbing over her missing dessert. However, it certainly didn’t stop them from devouring the cake.

So Brad Dunn, the director of Indecent Proposals, gave me a very stern reprimand for my last blog.  He was very unhappy with my mention of Jupiter and Uranus in my last blog.  Apparently Brad hates astronomy.  I know that because we had a very awkward phone conversation this morning. It went something like this:

 

Scott: Hello?

Brad: Dude, what’s your problem?

Scott: What do you mean?

Brad: You can’t say Uranus in your blog!

Scott: I can’t?

Brad: Dude, you know you can’t.

Scott. Oh. Can I say Neptune?

Brad: (Deep breath) I hate you.

(Click.)

 

Okay, so I know I can be a little immature.   But I have this theory that all the things I do that make Brad so angry with me in “real life” are the same things that make our theater collaboration work so well. I write things that tend to be (slightly) outrageous, and Brad takes them and brings them to life on stage in this sincere and compelling manner that makes the scenes way, way funnier than they are on paper.

 

I think (hope) that’s what is going to make Indecent Proposals so funny. I am very fortunate to be able to collaborate with such a smart and talented director.

 

So I would like to take this moment and apologize to Brad for anything I have said or written that may have offended him. Particularly the title of this blog, which, when read backwards, contains a secret message.

It’s not easy to write comedy. There are literally hundreds of ways to ruin a joke (which I know from experience), such as a weak punch-line, lack of timing, going too far or not far enough, a bad set-up, and choosing the wrong word. 

A lot of people aren’t aware how important a single word can be.

For example, saying “Your mouth is as big as Jupiter” is not nearly as funny as saying “Your mouth is as big as Uranus.” (I wonder if I’m allowed to say Uranus. Brad’s probably going to yell at me again.) Uranus is just naturally a funny word, and when writing a comedy, you obviously want to do everything in your power to make people laugh, so the goal is to get rid of as many Jupiters as you can and fill your script with Uranuses (Uranusi?) as possible.

One line from Indecent Proposals that was particularly troublesome for me involves a female character screaming out, “Kill that -------!”  For the life of me, I could not come up with a word to put in that blank that seemed funny and would fit the character – a twenty-something trashy woman. 

After hours of frustration, I typed a list on my laptop of possible sentence endings, all of them falling under the heading of what I’ll euphemistically call the “expletive category.” After I finished the list, I took it and began to say the lines out loud as if I was a trashy twenty-something female (which wasn't easy), each time finishing the sentence with a different expletive.

So there I was, staring at my laptop, yelling over and over in my best trashy female voice, “Kill that *&^%$!” ; “Kill that -----!”; “Kill that ~@#$!” Until finally, I found the perfect word.

Unfortunately, in my mixture of frustration and enthusiasm, I had forgotten I was at the Palatine Starbucks, and for the last 20 minutes, I had been screaming “Kill that (random curse word)” in a falsetto voice in a room full of suburban moms, all of whom were staring at me as if I was, well, a 6’6” white male who had been shrieking “Kill that ----!” while doing my best female impersonation.

I tried to explain what happened to the manager, but shockingly, she didn’t find it very funny and asked me to leave.

The rest of the play was finished at Caribou Coffee.

Four years ago, I married into a blue collar, Italian family. Since that time, it’s become increasingly apparent my In-laws don’t think that they lost a daughter, but rather, they’ve gained another daughter due to three masculine shortcomings they feel I have. 1.) I’m a vegetarian.   I’m not preachy or militant about it, my wife’s not a vegetarian, and I’ve never tried to convert her (or anyone for that matter), but man does it infuriate them.   They like to invite us to dinner and try and sneak flank steak in whatever they’re serving in the hopes I’ll eat it.   (Part of me worries it’s Draino, but I try to give them the benefit of the doubt.) 2.) When something breaks, I can’t fix it myself. This alone would drive my in-laws nuts, but I compound the problem by not calling them. I actually pay a repairman. They can’t understand why I ‘d rather pay a stranger to fix something and leave, then have my father-in-law come over and tell me repeatedly that in Italy even the 4-year old girls know how to fix a toilet, shingle a roof, lay the foundation for a new sub-basement etc., 3.) I wear my wife’s clothes.   Kidding. No, the worst thing I do, the number one cardinal sin that makes them think I’m not a man is…. I value my wife's opinion.   My in-laws very much have a 1950’s sensibility when it comes to how women should conduct themselves and how men should relate to them.

Things got especially bad last January which I like to term “The Winter of What Kind of Man.” What kind of man can’t fix the furnace? What kind of man lets his wife talk to him like that? What kind of man doesn’t eat beef shank? “   For everything I did, there was a “What kind of Man…?” And for a long time, I took the high road and didn’t respond, but finally, after months and months something cracked. A little voice in me said, I”LL SHOW YOU “WHAT KIND OF MAN!! THE KIND OF MAN THAT PUTS HIS IN-LAWS IN HIS NEXT PLAY!!!”   

And so I did, and I captured them as accurately and unbiased as possible. And as characters in a play, they’re really funny. I mean really funny. The actors love playing them, the director loves delving into their characters, and I love watching them all have discussions like “What do you think these character’s motivation is for being so awful to each other?”

And the bigger the characters get, the greater the delight I take. It is validation, vindication and I can’t think of another “v-word”, but it’s that too. I’m great to see I'm not the only one who thinks they’re absolutely nuts and loves laughing at them.

Unfortunately, something completely unforeseen (and straight out of a sitcom) happened last night. I was having dinner with my in-laws, and my mother-in-law started telling me how the daughter of one of her friends came to my last show and couldn’t stop talking about how much she enjoyed it. So much so, that they all got to talking and my mother-in-law brought tickets to opening night for the entire extended family.

Not good.

I wrote my very first play when I was in fifth grade. 

 

It was performed for my family, my friends, and my friends’ moms; although I must admit they were somewhat of a captive audience. We were all gathered at the long defunct Goodman’s Restaurant in Northbrook to celebrate my tenth birthday.

 

We had just finished watching the magical stylings of “The Amazing Bob,” and I was opening my final present and was incredibly dismayed to discover that it was not the Atari 2600 video game system I had been hoping for, but rather, yet another brown sweater, only distinguished from the dozen others I had already received by the fact that this one had a yellow parakeet on it (because nothing says cool like a yellow parakeet). In fact, I was so dismayed that I jumped up onto my feet and launched myself into my very first play.

 

The play featured two characters, and I played them both. Character One was a spoiled and miserable ten-year old boy named Scotty who did not get an Atari 2600 for his birthday as he had asked. Character Two was the mother of the ten year old boy.

 

In order to help distinguish between the two characters, for the character of Mom, I shoved my fists into my shirt and stretched it forward at about chest level in order to give myself a more feminine appearance and talked in a falsetto voice while my mother and the mothers of my friends stared on in slack-jawed horror and disgust. The play went something like this:

 

 

The play ended when the playwright’s mother dragged him by his ear into the Women’s Bathroom (another tremendous indignation), and administered a vigorous pummeling.  The playwright then had to go out and deliver a teary-eyed apology to his friends and their mothers and tell them that the party was over.

 

If you have read my first blog, you’ll understand that I expect Indecent Proposals to end much the same way.

Okay, that may not be a hundred percent accurate. Brad Dunn, the director of Indecent Proposals, didn’t tell me that I can’t write, but rather suggested quite strongly that I should try to write more about “the creative process” of writing Indecent Proposals. He feels that I should try to avoid personal anecdotes and talk more about how Indecent Proposals came to be written.

I certainly don’t wish to upset Brad. Besides being a talented actor and director who has been involved with all of my shows, I consider him a good friend. If Brad wants me to avoid personal anecdotes and focus more on how I wrote Indecent Proposals, I can certainly do that. I mean, the last thing I want to do is upset my director.

Okay. How I wrote Indecent Proposals sans anecdotes.

Indecent Proposals had its beginning sometime during the summer of 1980, just before I entered sixth grade. That was when I really started noticing how much I liked having an audience. My father had just given me my first over-the-head monster mask. It had big alien bug-eyes, fangs and long gray hair. The eyes bugged out in such a way that you couldn’t see the eyes of the wearer. It was pretty gruesome and very realistic (i.e. It rocked!).  I had been trying to scare my mom for about a week straight and she was pretty tired of me popping out of the pantry, or the laundry room, or her closet, and felt I needed to go play outside with my brother, Jon.

So I took my brother and my monster mask and went outside. Not really being one for sports, I decided it would be fun to try and scare oncoming traffic with my mask. Therefore, Jon and I stood on the curb and I pretended to strangle him while wearing the monster mask.   Hilarious! Unfortunately, although it was fun for awhile, more people were laughing than were truly being frightened. I decided I needed to go bigger.

I went inside and got my sister’s white comforter and a bottle of ketchup. First, I doused the comforter. Then, I stood on top of the fire hydrant in front of the house and draped the blanket over myself and the hydrant, so I looked about 7 feet tall. Then I made Jon cover himself with ketchup and lie at my feet. Talk about immediate results!

Cars were swerving , honking and stopping to stare. A couple people even pulled over to see if Jon was alive. In less than twenty minutes, I must have been called “sick” by almost a dozen people (very awesome)! Unfortunately, one of those people must have called the police, because in short order, a squad car pulled up, a police officer got out and made me get off the hydrant and give him my mask and my blanket.   That was when my brother, who was still covered with ketchup and playing dead started screaming. Apparently, he was lying on an anthill and I guess ants love ketchup. Who knew?

Boy, was my mother angry when she opened the door to see a police officer hosing down my brother. Then she saw the comforter. I was grounded for the entire summer.

And from there, I’m sure it’s quite obvious how Indecent Proposals came to be written.

p.s. Brad, I hope this is okay. Let me know!!