PI ONLINE:
10-28-05
A Writer Dives into a New Challenge
BY JOLENE TURNER
On a crisp Saturday in October, four actors and four writers, all strangers to one another, gathered on Chicago’s West side for a frightening, yet exhilarating, new challenge: meet one another, get randomly paired up, take 35 minutes to create a monologue based on a line of literature, then perform it immediately thereafter.
This is “Monodogs of War: Literature 201,” the new monologue challenge created by n.u.f.a.n. Ensemble artistic director Paul Barile. The idea is, the writers do the writing, the actors do the acting, and the audience gets to watch cool improv shows and musical reviews while waiting for the writers and actors to reappear with a new piece of witty and dramatic theatre.
Barile began “Monodogs of War” for two reasons: as a networking opportunity for actors and writers to better understand one another’s processes; and to be a friendly competition between like-minded artists. The name derived from the second reason–‘mono’ was used because of the word monologue, and the rest of it, ‘dogs of war,’ to imply fierce battle.
Saturday’s performance was the second of its kind and I was asked to cover it for PerformInk. Before I even saw it coming, I was also participating in it as a Monodog writer, and an undercover PI reporter, with Barile the only one the wiser.
What Did I get Myself Into?
When I received the assignment I was game, but confused. “What exactly am I doing?” I asked Barile in an e-mail, I received a simple reply back: “Just bring yourself and be prepared to have fun.”
OK, gulp.
The day arrives and I am running late. Not good. “Monodogs” is held at the Portage Park Center for the Arts, where n.u.f.a.n.is the resident company. This lovely arts center is located in the old Nebo Lutheran Church at 5801 W. Dakin St. (near Irving and Central). The director of the center, Jennifer La Civita, is there to greet me and calm me down when I rush in a few minutes late. I peek inside at what was once the alter, and there is Barile talking to seven people. This is not what I expected. I presume not what Barile expected, either.
“The first show,” Barile tells me later, “we had a really good sized audience and improv troupes, tonight, though, is obviously a different story.”
Do I need to say it? White Sox. OK, seven people, I‘m still nervous and still clueless. Barile begins to give a run-down of what will happen. The actors will be called to draw a writer’s name. The writer will then draw a line of dialogue, which has to be used somewhere in the monologue. The two will exit together and create magic.
OK, I can do this! Magic? No biggie! The actor I am paired up with is a 20-something woman. Relief, I think! I can write for a 20-something woman. For the sake of keeping all identities private, I call her Lucy. I draw my line of dialogue: “I‘ve never been arrested. I‘ve been stopped, searched and had a gun put to my head by the Chicago cops.”—Tim Meadows.
OK, that quote is not very girly.
Time to Work! Um, I Mean Sweat
Barile says that the program, more important than the actual performance, is a chance for actors and playwrights to do some networking. While that is all well and nice, I want to write something good, and I have my game face on. Lucy and I go to an adjacent room. I begin the mad panic of writing while Lucy flips about on a tumble mat just a few feet away. We try and chitchat, but I am too tense to give her my attention. I realize I am letting my art become more important than making a new friend. I finish with just about 13 minutes left for Lucy to work with it and become the kleptomaniac character I have just created.
Times Up!
The 35-minute bell has rung and as we join the other group, Lucy says to me, “I‘m going to go a completely random angle with this and see what happens.” What? OK. Now Barile also says that the idea is the actor will perform the monologue and the writer will wring her hands of it and pray for the best. Is a racing heart similar to wringing my hands of it?
Lucy and I sit down in the pew and I thank God (pun intended) that this isn‘t a church anymore as my monologue is not God-friendly. The first actor performs and it is at that point that I get it. “Monodogs of War” really isn‘t about being the best. It is an opportunity to learn, support one another and be surrounded by some really great talent that is now so accessible. Lucy did a great job, and while her performance was not what I expected, it was a wake-up call that words have different meaning to different people.
Everyone’s work and willingness to try was impressive. We even got a second round! I felt all warm and mushy inside, until I was paired with a larger than life 6’ 4” male actor, completely opposite of myself. How do I write for him? I began to sweat all over again.
It’s a Wrap!
By the end of the night I had a list of questions ready to throw at Barile. One was: “Have you ever thought of bringing ‘Monodogs’ to the east side of town?’ The second after I wrote it, Barile said, “Thanks for coming and we will bring theatre to Chicago’s west side whether it kills me or not!” OK, scratch that question. But what does Barile mean by that?
“If you want to see good theatre you either go east or you go to Naperville,” Barille says, “and suburban theatre is just a different animal that we are not going to do.” Barile continues, “There is a ton of great theatre east of here and I don‘t want to compete with them. I want to support them, but people in this area are not as likely to go out east, so we are here for them.”
The only thing now is getting “Monodogs” off its feet. Like any new program, it may take time, but Barile is hopeful. And while it hasn‘t become much of a form of fierce competition, Barile is OK with that. “I‘m letting it become its own beast,” he says.
Barile also has a good attitude in regard to those that want to participate. “If you don‘t have the experience but you have the enthusiasm, I‘ll give you as shot, and if you succeed, I‘ll give you another shot.”
“Monodogs of War: Literature 201” will be performed again in February at the Portage Park Center for the Arts, 5801 W. Dakin St. Chicago (in the old Nebo Lutheran Church). Ticket price is $3 or 2-4-$5. To be a participating writer or actor, contact Paul Barile at 773/282-0344, or by e-mail, paulbarile@juno.com.
