In a message dated 5/24/12 9:30:29 AM, [email protected] writes:
> I'm going to take the time to read Cheerskep's entry with care and > interest. > I > hope it doesn't become a lesson. Didactic art almost never works. Art is > centered on paradox, not solutions. > wc > Thanks, William. The episode I posted was devised for a dramaturgic function. It's an extract from a full-length play, INCOMPLETENESS, that has as a central character an ultra-smart philosophy professor. Plays allegedly about "geniuses" regularly have this flaw: we never see any sample of their "ingenious" thinking. The "genius's" braininess has to be taken completely on faith. As in David Auburn's in many ways admirable play PROOF. It supposedly depicts two mathematical wizards, but there is not a single line of math in the play. It's not that I was itching to do some math while sitting in the theater. It's that I wanted to believe in the characters, believe I was watching special people. Which requires at least a few minutes of seeing them AT their specialty. Interestingly, this doesn't require "understanding" what they're saying; I didn't understand the Alan Turing character talking about cybernetics decades ago when I saw BREAKING THE CODE -- but I FELT it. Though his cybernetics riff is a quick lecture to a class, it's function is not actually didactic. I was determined not to duplicate the PROOF flaw in INCOMPLETENESS. The craft-phrase is, "Show, don't tell." A good part of my interest has been in presenting a seemingly nerdy topic in a way that is theatrical. By 'theatrical', I mean making a scene with an erudite argument come across as important, clear, lively, and personally engaging. I'm fairly sure theater people -- producers and artistic directors - will be skeptical on the trepid principle that cerebral content stops the heartbeat of any would-be drama. If Yogi Berra were in theater, he'd say, "In theater, it's really dumb to be really smart." I think they're wrong. Happily, there's an area in philosophy where unschooled but alert theater-goers can, within ninety seconds of dialog, find themselves following current, cutting edge controversy: philosophy of language. (They can do this without being asked to grapple with the likes of "indexicals", "twin worlds", and "rigid designators". So the scene does simplify - but it does not falsify.) So the scene is meant to show us, not just just tell us, that this special guy Bren is worth watching. Moreover, I'm convinced that if it's done well -- and, being the writer I can't guarantee I've done that -- its nerdy nature can attract, not repel, a substantial audience, both in a classroom and in a theater.
