Synopsis: | Mary, a playwright, has written an autobiographical play based on her life and her relationship with her mother and her daughter. Which seemed like a good idea until she got the life on stage and discovered that as a play, it has a few problems. The structure is wobbly, character arc muddy, style inconsistent and the premise…well she’s not sure it has one. So to make sure her life isn’t a flop, Mary hires a dramaturge to watch the play and give her pointers on how to “fix it”. The play/life begins with Mary taking her daughter, Hallie, to the train to NYC, when they run out of gas in a thunder storm and are forced to wait for someone to come to their aid. Hallie, a struggling actress and punk rocker, obviously has a problem with her mother but Mary seizes this moment to…talk…something Hallie is reluctant to do…ever. They begin with Mary’s relationship with her own mother, moving through corresponding moments in Mary’s relationship with Hallie and on to the present. Right away the dramaturge starts having problems with the play and Hallie and Mary’s mother have problems with the way their characters are written. As the play goes on, the dramaturge is dismayed to find that even the most basic rules of dramatic structure don’t apply to life which changes from comedic to tragic without the slightest warning, poetic justice or even logic. Nothing makes any sense and no one seems to learn from their mistakes. She wants to change the plot, rewrite the characters, and cut half the scenes, but the playwright won’t let her because they “really happened”. So the dramaturge watches the second act still looking for premise, the journey, the turning point, the defining moment, the conclusion. Structured, logical. Like the movies we see, novels we read. Leading us to believe life is like art. But life is not like art; all we get in life is...Well hopefully, it’s in the script. |