As any high school kid forced to plod through “Streetcar Named Desire” can attest, reading a play is nothing like going to one. Scripts are akin to coloring books waiting to be filled in. The reader must imagine his own sets, lights, sound, costumes, blocking, and to top it off, he then has to cast the play in his head, like a fantasy baseball team.

(Playwrights occasionally include stage directions, which usually appear italicized and in parentheses, like this, and when they aren’t plain distracting to read, they are  irritatingly bland, i.e., “There is a knock at the door”, or “The lights go down on the scene.”) 

I’d rather watch Marlon Brando howl “Stella!” than have to conceptualize it myself. That’s why I am a playgoer. I defer to the artists to do all the imagining and interpolating for me. Read the rest of this entry »