Arts On Edward Albee
posted by on January 9 at 12:49 PM
So, Albee is coming to town to talk about his “rarely produced play, The Lady from Dubuque.” This event, which is to happen “on Monday, January 15, 2005 at 6:00 p.m. in the Leo K. Theatre of Seattle Repertory Theatre,” is one you should do your very best to avoid. Why? Because few writers in the tradition of American theater are as bad, as vapid, as blunt, as boorish, as obtuse, as this Albee character. It is a wonder that anyone would go out of their way to produce one of his plays, all of which have neither the alacrity of a keen intelligence or the force of good instincts. They are filled with a false sense of importance. They are filled with mucky muck. They are, in the Samkhya theory of matter, the epitome of the tamas guna—heavy, murky, dull. They are noisy and oppressive. They are the products of an imagination that is fueled by big chunks of elephant dung. Albee is an artistic elephant. You know that, right? Of course you do! With just one ear you can hear, from many miles away, his muddy mind plodding on a bad plot. There is no grace, no sensitivity in the pages of his work, just the dumbness of a mass that crashes through trees, stomps on fallen leaves, breaks bark with its rough and thick butt. This is the elephant that writes plays in, that tromps on, our fine language. And yes, I was a student of this monster for a moment.
So, MUDEDE has decided to write about Albee and his “rarely produced play, The Lady from Dubuque.” This piece, which was posted to slog “on Tuesday, January 9, 2007 at 12:49 p.m.” is one you should do your very best to avoid. Why? Because few writers in the tradition of American commentary are as bad, as vapid, as blunt, as boorish, as obtuse, as this Mudede character. It is a wonder that anyone would go out of their way to publish one of his pieces, all of which have neither the alacrity of a keen intelligence or the force of good instincts. They are filled with a false sense of importance. They are filled with mucky muck. They are, in the Samkhya theory of matter, the epitome of the tamas guna—heavy, murky, dull. They are noisy and oppressive. They are the products of an imagination that is fueled by big chunks of elephant dung. Mudede is an artistic elephant. You know that, right? Of course you do! With just one ear you can hear, from many miles away, his muddy mind plodding on a bad piece. There is no grace, no sensitivity in the text of his work, just the dumbness of a mass that crashes through trees, stomps on fallen leaves, breaks bark with its rough and thick butt. This is the elephant that writes pieces in, that tromps on, our fine language. And yes, I read this monster for a moment.
You_Gotta_Be_Kidding_Me: I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE!
P.S. if anyone doesn't see what You_Gotta_Be_Kidding_Me did there, I would be happy to explain!
yay! so true re a.
I love you, Shane
Deft, isn't it?
bad, vapid, blunt, boorish, obtuse? sounds like charles.
I love Albee. It was Albee who made me want to be a playwright. Of course, I wasn't a very good playwright, so make what you want of that.
Charles = yawn. You're not so hot.
Shane = eye roll. You're so clever pointing out how someone else is so clever.
I LOVE the following sentence: "With just one ear you can hear, from many miles away, his muddy mind plodding on a bad plot."
Self-importance, thy name is Charles.
Anyway, Charles, "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" is a brilliant comedy, so eat it.
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