A BEAR rises from a week-long slumber.
The AUDIENCE has no idea how long the BEAR had been asleep, as they don’t read stage directions.
Maybe we should start putting stage directions in playbills! No dialogue, just those sweet sweet directions.
Of course that would run the risk of audiences getting lost in extravagant scenery descriptions. But let’s be honest, people only write those while they’re trying to figure out what happens next. If you ever see a lovingly-detailed description of an ottoman, it’s just a playwright trying to put off naming a character.
Also why do we have the term “playwright’? We’re not making ships here, we’re just writing lazy novels, with all the hard parts cut out. I mean who has the time to think of the way to describe the way a sunset plays over the face of a loved one? From now on, I’m just going to say “The sun goes down. It’s nice. AND EVERYONE ON STAGE THINKS SO TOO”
So that’s settled. “Playwright” is out. Now we’re “lazy novelists” .
The BEAR yawns and stretches, ready to start over fresh with narrative-driven content, rather than a bunch of boring meta-narrative nonsense.
Again, there’s no way the audience could discern the BEAR’s intention with that yawn, unless the BEAR specifically said “I am ready to start over, etc. etc.” and that would be unnecessarily meta, thus creating a logic paradox.
Anyway, thank you for putting up with these stage directions, I promise things will get much more straight forward from here on out. How about some dialogue?
See? That’s good stuff. Who doesn’t like salmon?
BEAR: I also live in a universe where bears don’t speak. This will create tension with the audience. Are they hearing my thoughts? Am I the world’s only speaking bear? Or are we viewing the world through the prism of a madman? It is very thrilling and everyone is happy about it.
BEAR: Who else would I be talking to?
An actual person! I just represent the author! I shouldn’t even be saying “I”! STAGE DIRECTIONS SHOULD BE NEITHER NARRATOR NOR CHARACTER! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY THIS?
BEAR: Are you talking to me?
No, I’m talking to the lousy novelist that wrote both of us.
BEAR: How can you be having a conversation with somebody that’s already finished writing our story? In a technical sense we exists in their past, not their present.
This is starting to smack of theological philosophy.
BEAR: And here I thought this play was about a narrative drive toward salmon.
Stop that! You’re not supposed to know you’re in a play. That’s the whole point of plays!
BEAR: Except all those famous and popular plays about being in a play.
That was the old way. Now we have Annie Baker, and all plays are about sitting in comfortable chairs and staring at the audience until the actors remember their lines.
BEAR: That sounds very relaxing.
Well, you sleep half the year.
Well, this has been fun. And also unbearable.
Shut up. I’m going home now.
BEAR: How do you have a home, you’re stage directions.
We all just hang out in Elia Kazan’s mausoleum and reminisce about the good old days, when directors would build insanely detailed houses on stage for us to talk about instead of this modern nonsense.
BEAR: That sounds fun. I think I’ll just go back to sleep.
You are living the dream, my friend.
BEAR: I like to dream about butts.
