As teachers of playwriting, we must realize that we and our students are part of a community of artists.  Whereas writers in other forms—poetry, for example—can imagine that they operate exclusively in a world of writers, playwrights have no such luxury.  Their work depends on a vast network of artists – actors, designers, stage hands, etc. – who are not primarily literary.  Whereas the decision makers for the printed genres (for example, editors of creative writing journals) can be presumed to have a literary background, decision makers for theatre (for example, artistic directors of professional theatres) may have found their way to the profession through any number of fields unrelated to writing.  For this reason, they do not always see playwriting as important.  It is up to us, then, to insist that it is.

Scott Walters points out that popular music does not rely on covers of past hits, nor does the motion picture industry confine itself to remakes.  In fact, I would go so far as to say that our most vibrant contemporary art forms—popular music, stand-up comedy, video, and, to a lesser degree, movies—are predicated on originality.  Of the arts, only classical music shares theatre’s obsession with re-creating works of the past.  In contrast, visual artists must create afresh, and poetry and fiction become mere book-making without original contributions from today’s writers.  Puzzlingly, theatre is an unwitting oddball in its preference for works of the past.

What we have today is a karaoke theatre, where contemporary artists recreate yesterday’s hits.  While karaoke is entertaining, no one thinks of it as high art because it lacks the ability to further the field.  No one looks to karaoke singers to define what art and culture will become.    Regrettably, theatre today is largely karaoke theatre and satisfied to remain that way.  It excludes the contributions of today’s writers; paradoxically, amending this exclusion could be the solution to many of contemporary theatre’s problems.

Playwriting teachers must be aware of the issues facing the theatre community and must be prepared to make cases like I have made.  If teachers do not advocate for playwriting, there will be no need for the playwrights that we train.

While realistic drama has its place in the classroom, I question the notion that realism must come first.  Such a premise denies the primary reason dramatists write:  not to recreate life—which can be watched as it unfolds in any laundromat or public place—but rather to tell a story aloud.

Playwriting is best understood as a logical step in oral storytelling:  first, describe an incident; then, add dialogue to that description; next, recite the dialogue with appropriate attitude (acting); and, finally—when the story overwhelms the capacity of the solo teller—ask friends to join in and take on roles (drama).  Nothing in this process suggests the necessity of any imitation of life with its nitty-gritty details.  Furthermore, theatre history tells us that drama did not begin with what we would call realism; so why begin with it in the classroom?  Certainly, many of drama’s most lasting successes—the ancient Greeks and Shakespeare, for instance—are not realistic and are nothing like words overheard in a café.

Realism gets promoted because it is comfortable and familiar.  But, if we cling to it too strongly, we neglect some of the advantages of the dramatic form:  we favor interior psychology over external activities such as the machinations of storyline or the simple performing of actions on a stage.  If we neglect external activities, what Aristotle would call plot and spectacle, we miss out on opportunities to connect with our viewing audiences. Instead, the wise dramatist turns to activity:  plot, a tried and true device to hold audience interest; and spectacle, the trappings of performance that delight.  These elements, arguably playwriting’s most glittering advantages, are in no way bound up in the realm of realism.  Playwriting’s history, its underlying impulse, and its potential for distinction among the other creative writing genres all point toward non-realistic styles.

Still, I would never entirely ban realism from the classroom.  In truth, the vast majority of my students choose to write realistic scenes.  But I apply to teaching the ideas that students deserve the right to choose their styles and that realism need not be zealously promoted.

Do you find yourself encouraging or discouraging realism in your teaching?